note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the pony rider boys in texas or the veiled riddle of the plains by frank gee patchin author of the pony rider boys in the rockies, etc. philadelphia henry altemus company copyright, by howard e. altemus [illustration: drop that gun!] contents i. in the land of the cowboy ii. the pony riders join the outfit iii. putting the cows to bed iv. the first night in camp v. cutting out the herd vi. tad takes a desperate chance vii. the herd fords the river viii. the approach of the storm ix. chased by a stampeding herd x. a miraculous escape xi. the vigil on the plains xii. under a strange influence xiii. chunky ropes a cowboy xiv. on a wild night ride xv. fording a swollen river xvi. a brave rescue xvii. making new friends xviii. breaking in the bronchos xix. grit wins the battle xx. dinner at the ox bow xxi. a call for help xxii. lost in the adobe church xxiii. solving the mystery xxiv. conclusion list of illustrations drop that gun! good for you, kid! as the wagon lurched pong plunged overboard. tad gave the rope a quick, rolling motion. the pony rider boys in texas chapter i in the land of the cowboy "what's that?" "guns, i reckon." "sounds to me as if the town were being attacked. just like war time, isn't it?" "never having been to war, i can't say. but it's a noise all right." the freckle-faced boy, sitting on his pony with easy confidence, answered his companion's questions absently. after a careless glance up the street, he turned to resume his study of the noisy crowds that were surging back and forth along the main street of san diego, texas. "yes, it's a noise. but what is it all about?" "fourth of july, ned. don't you hear?" "hear it, tad? i should say i do hear it. yet i must confess that it is a different sort of racket from any i've ever heard up north on the fourth. is this the way they celebrate it down here?" "i'm sure i don't know." "why, a fellow might imagine that a band of wild indians were tearing down on him. here they come! look out! me for a side street!" the little texas town was dressed in its finest, in honor of the great national holiday, and the inhabitants for many miles around had ridden in at the first streak of dawn, that they might miss none of the frolic. a rapid explosion of firearms accompanied by a chorus of wild yells and thrilling whoops, had caused ned rector to utter the exclamation of alarm. as he did so, he whirled his pony about, urging the little animal into a side street so that he might be out of the way of the body of men whom he saw rushing down upon them on galloping ponies. "hurry, tad!" he called from the protection of the side street. that others in the street had heard, and seen as well, was evident from the frantic haste with which they scrambled for the sidewalk, crowding those already there over yard fences, into stores and stairways in an effort to get clear of the roadway. a sudden panic had seized them, for well did they know the meaning of the shooting and the shouting. a band of wild, uncontrollable cowboys, free for the time from the exacting work of the range, were sweeping down on the town, determined to do their part in the observance of the day. yet, tad butler, the freckle-faced boy, remained where he was undisturbed by the uproar, finding great interest in the excited throngs that were hurrying to cover. nor did he appear to be alarmed when, a moment later, he found himself almost the sole occupant of the street at that point, with his pony backed up against the curbing, tossing its head and champing its bit restlessly. as for the freckle-faced boy and his companion, the reader no doubt has recognized in them our old friends, tad butler and ned rector, the pony rider boys. after their exciting experiences in the rockies, and their discovery of the lost claim, which gave each of the boys a little fortune of his own, as narrated in the preceding volume, "the pony rider boys in the rockies," the pony riders had turned toward texas as the scene of their next journeying. with walter perkins and stacy brown, the boys, under the guidance of professor zepplin, were to join a cattle outfit at san diego, whence they were to travel northward with it. this was to be one of the biggest cattle drives of recent years. a cattle dealer, mr. thomas b. miller, had purchased a large herd of mexican cattle, which he decided to drive across the state on the old trail, instead of shipping them by rail, to his ranch in oklahoma. it had been arranged that the pony riders were to become members of the working force of the outfit during what was called the "drive" across the state of texas. the boys were awaiting the arrival of the herd at san diego on this fourth of july morning. though they did not suspect it, the pony rider boys were destined, on this trip, to pass through adventures more thrilling, and hardships more severe, than anything they had even dreamed of before. the cattle had arrived late the previous evening, though the boys had not yet been informed of the fact. the animals were to be allowed to graze and rest for the day, while the cowmen, or such of them as could be spared, were given leave to ride into town in small parties. it was the advance guard of the cowboys whose shots and yells had stirred the people in the street to such sudden activity. on they came, a shouting, yelling mob. tad turned to look at them now. the sight was one calculated to stir the heart and quicken the pulses of any boy. but the face of tad butler reflected only mild curiosity as he gazed inquiringly at the dashing horsemen, each one of whom was riding standing in his stirrups waving sombrero and gun on high. what interested the freckle-faced boy most was their masterful horsemanship. "y-e-e-e-o-w!" exploded the foremost of the riders. bang! bang! bang! bang! as many puffs of white smoke leaped into the air from the revolvers of the skylarking cowmen. "w-h-o-o-o-p-e!" they chorused in a mighty yell, letting go at the same time a rattling fire. "y-e-e-e-o-w!" as they swept down toward the spot where tad was sitting on his pony, the cowboys swung into line six abreast, thus filling the street from curb to curb. this time, however, instead of shooting into the air, they lowered the muzzles of their revolvers, sending volley after volley into the street ahead of them, the leaden missiles viciously kicking up the dirt into miniature clouds, like those from heavy drops of rain in advance of a thunder squall. tad's pony began to show signs of nervousness. "whoa!" commanded the boy sharply, tightening his rein and pressing his knees firmly against the animal's sides. the prancing pony was quickly mastered by its rider, though it continued to shake its head in emphatic protest. "out of the way, you tenderfoot!" yelled a cowman, espying the boy and pony directly in his path. tad butler did not move. "y-e-e-e-o-w!" shrieked the band in a series of shrill cries. when they saw that the boy was holding his ground so calmly, their revolvers began to bark spitefully, flicking up a semicircle of dust about the pony's feet, causing the little animal to prance and rear into the air. at this tad's jaws set stubbornly, his lips pressing themselves firmly together. the boy brought his quirt down sharply on the pony's flank, at the same time pressing the pointless rowels of his spurs against the sides of the frightened animal. though tad determinedly held his mount in its place, he was no longer able to check its rearing and plunging, for the wiry little animal was wholly unused to such treatment. besides, a volley of revolver bullets about its feet would disturb the steadiest horse. two cowboys on his side of the street had driven their mounts toward the lad with a yell. tad did not wholly divine their purpose, though he knew that their intent was to frighten him into giving them the street. he felt instinctively that if he should refuse to do so, some sort of violence would be visited upon him. it followed a moment later. observing that the boy had no intention of giving way to them, the two cowboys held their course, their eyes fixed on the offending tenderfoot until finally only a few rods separated them. suddenly, both men pulled their mounts sharply to the right, and, digging in the spurs, plunged straight for tad. "so that's their game, is it?" thought the boy. they were going to run him down. tad's eyes flashed indignantly, yet still he made no move to pull his pony out of the street. "keep off!" he shouted. "don't you run me down!" "w-h-o-o-o-p!" howled the pair, at the same time letting go a volley right under the hoofs of his pony. it seemed to the lad that the powder from their weapons had burned his face, so close had the guns been when they pulled the triggers. tad had braced himself for the shock that he knew was coming, gathering the reins tightly in his right hand and leaning slightly forward in his saddle. they were fairly upon him now. two revolvers exploded into the air, accompanied by the long shrill yell of the plainsmen. but just when it seemed that the lad must go down under the rush of beating hoofs, tad all but lifted his pony from the ground, turned the little animal and headed him in the direction in which the wild horsemen were going. the boy's clever horsemanship had saved him. yet one of the racing cow ponies struck the boy and his horse a glancing blow. for the moment, tad felt sure his left leg must have been broken. he imagined that he had heard it snap. as he swept past the boy the cowboy had uttered a jeering yell. tad brought down his quirt with all his force on the rump of the kicking cow pony, whose hoofs threatened to wound his own animal. then a most unexpected thing happened--that is, unexpected to the cowboy. looking back at the boy he had attempted to unhorse, the cowman was leaning over far to the left in his saddle when tad struck his horse. the pony, under the sting of the unexpected blow, leaped into the air with arching back and a squeal of rage. the cowboy's weight on the side of the startled animal overbalanced it and the animal plunged sideways to the street. the cowpuncher managed to free his left leg from the stirrup; but, quick as he was, he was not quick enough to save himself wholly from the force of the fall. the fellow ploughed the dirt of the street on his face, while the pony, springing to its feet, was off with a bound. the other cowpunchers set up a great jeering yell as they saw the unhorsing of their companion by a mere boy, while the villagers and country folks laughed as loudly as they dared. yet there was not one of them but feared that the angry cowpuncher would visit his wrath upon the lad who had been the cause of his downfall. with a roar of rage he scrambled to his feet. in his fall the fellow's gun had been wrenched from his hand, and lay in the street. he picked it up as he started for tad butler. tad, who had sat in his saddle calmly, now realized that he must act quickly if he expected to save himself. his plan was formed in a flash. digging in the spurs, and at the same time slapping the little animal smartly on its side, the lad caused his little pony to leap violently forward. "drop that gun!" as he uttered the stern command, the boy brought his quirt down across the cowman's knuckles with a resounding whack. the cowman with a yell of rage sprang at him, but the blow aimed at tad butler's head never reached him. chapter ii the pony riders join the outfit at that instant a man, clad in the dress of a cowboy, leaped from the sidewalk. he caught the angry cowman by the collar. from the way in which the newcomer swung the fellow around it was evident that he was possessed of great strength. "stop it!" he thundered. tad's assailant turned on the newcomer with an angry snarl, his rage now beyond all control. "let me alone! let me get at the cub!" he cried, making a vicious pass at the man. the cowboy's blow was neatly parried and a mighty fist was planted squarely between his eyes, sending him to earth in a heap. "get up!" commanded the man who had felled him. the cowboy struggled to his feet, standing sullenly before his conqueror. "look at me, lumpy! didn't i tell you that i'd 'fire' you if you got into any trouble in town to-day?" the cowboy nodded. "is this the way you obey orders? what sort of recommend do you suppose boss miller will give you when i tell him i found you trying to shoot up a kid?" "i don't care. i ain't askin' any recommends. besides, he--he got in----" "never mind what he did. i saw it all. get your pony and back to the camp for yours. let bert come in your place. you get no more lay-offs till i see fit to let you. now, git!" thoroughly subdued, but with angry muttered protests, the cowboy, walked down the street, jerking his pony's head about and swinging himself into the saddle. "don't be rough on the fellow. let him stay." the newcomer turned to tad, glancing up at the boy inquiringly. "young fellow, you've got nerve--more nerve than sense." "thank you. but i asked you to let the man stay. he won't do it again," urged tad. "i'm the best judge of that. and as for you, young fellow, i would advise you to ride your pony away from here. first thing i know you will be mixing it up with some of the rest of the bunch. i may not be around to straighten things out then, and you'll get hurt." "thank you, sir. i think i have as much right here as anyone else. if those are your men i should think you might be able to teach them to respect other people's rights." "what, teach a cowboy?" laughed the other. "you don't know the breed. take my advice and skip." tad's rescuer strode away. the lad's introduction to cowboy life had not been of an encouraging nature, though it was difficult for him to believe that all cowboys were like the one he had just encountered. "well, you made a nice mess of it, didn't you?" chuckled ned rector, riding up beside his companion a few minutes later. "i didn't see it, but i heard all about it from bob stallings." "stallings? who's he?" "the foreman of the cowboys with whom we are going." "and were those the fellows that tried to crowd me off the street?" "i reckon those were the boys," said ned rector quietly. "then, i can see a nice time when we join them. they will have no love for me after what has happened this morning. where is the camp?" "i don't know. professor zepplin says it's about four miles to the west of here." "when do we join them?" "some time to-night. the foreman says they are going to start at daylight. he's over at the hotel talking with the professor now. he was telling the professor about your mix-up with lumpy bates. that's the name of the cowboy who ran into you. and how he did laugh when i told him you belonged to our crowd," chuckled ned. "what did he say?" "said he thought you'd do. he says we can't use our ponies on the drive." "why not?" asked tad, looking up quickly. "because they are not trained on cattle work." "pshaw! i'm sorry. have we got to leave them here?" "no. he says we may turn them in with their herd, and use them for anything we care to, except around the cattle. we shall have to ride some of the bronchos when we are on duty." "i think i see somebody falling off," laughed tad. "ever ride one of them, ned?" "no." "well, you'll know more about them after you have." "i think i should like to go over and see mr. stallings," declared tad. "all right, come along, then." they found the foreman of the outfit discussing the plans for their journey with professor zepplin, while stacy brown and walter perkins were listening with eager attention. "this is master tad butler, mr. stallings," announced the professor. "i think i have met the young man before," answered the foreman, with a peculiar smile. "tad, i am surprised that you should involve yourself in trouble so soon after getting out of my sight. i----" "the boy was not to blame, mr. professor. my cowpunchers were wholly in the wrong. but you need have no fears of any future trouble. the bunch will be given to understand that the young gentlemen are to be well treated. you will find no luxuries, but lots of hard work on a cattle drive, young men----" "do--do we get plenty to eat?" interrupted stacy brown apprehensively. all joined in the laugh at the lad's expense. "chunky's appetite is a wonderful thing, mr. stallings," said tad. "i think we shall be able to satisfy it," laughed the foreman. "our cook is a chinaman. his name is pong, but he knows how to get up a meal. i believe, if he had nothing but sage grass and sand, he could make a palatable dish of them, provided he had the seasoning. have you boys brought your slickers with, you?" "what's a slicker?" demanded chunky. "a rubber blanket that----" "oh yes. we bought an outfit of those at austin," answered tad. "anything else that you wish us to get?" "the boys don't carry guns, do they?" professor zepplin shook his head emphatically. "most certainly not. they can get into enough trouble without them. we have rifles in our kit, but i imagine there will be little use for such weapons on this trip." "you can't always tell about that," smiled the foreman. "i remember in the old days, when we used to have to fight the rustlers, that a rifle was a pretty good thing to have." "who were the rustlers?" asked walter. "fellows who rustled cattle that didn't belong to them. but the old days have passed. such a drive as we are making now hasn't been done on so large a scale in nearly twenty years." "why not?" asked ned. "the iron trails have put the old cow trails out of business." "iron trails?" wondered tad. "railroads. we men of the plains refer to them as the iron trails. that's what they are in reality. professor, do you wish the boys to take their turns on the herd to-night?" "as you wish, mr. stallings. i presume they will be anxious to begin their life as cowboys. i understand that's an ambition possessed by most of your american boys." "all right," laughed the foreman. "i'll send them out as i find i can, with some of the other cowpunchers, until they learn the ropes. there is too great a responsibility on a night man to trust the boys alone with that work now. but they can begin if they wish. i'll see first how the bunch get back from their celebration of the glorious fourth. you'll come out and have supper with us?" "no, i think not. we shall ride out just after supper, if you will have some one to show us the way," answered the professor. "sure, i'll send in big-foot sanders to pilot you out. you boys need not be afraid of big-foot. he's not half so savage as he looks, but he's a great hand with cows." big-foot sanders rode up to the hotel shortly after six o'clock. leading his pony across the sidewalk, he poked his shaggy head just inside the door of the hotel. "ki-yi!" he bellowed, causing everybody within hearing of his voice to start up in alarm. "where's that bunch of tenderfeet?" "are you mr. sanders, from the miller outfit?" asked the professor, stepping toward him. "donno about the mister. i'm big-foot sanders. i'm lookin' for a bunch of yearlings that's going on with the outfit." "the young gentlemen will join you in a moment, mr. sanders. they will ride their ponies around from the stable and meet you in front of the house." "you one of the bunch?" "i am professor zepplin, a sort of companion, you know, for the young men." "huh!" grunted big-foot. "i reckon you'd better forget the hard boiled hat you're wearin' or the boys'll be for shooting it full of holes. take my advice--drop it, pardner." "oh, you mean this," laughed the professor, removing his derby hat. "thank you. i shall profit by your advice, and leave it here when i start." "all the bunch got hard boiled ones?" "oh, no. the boys have their sombreros," answered the professor. big-foot grunted, but whether in disapproval or approval, professor zepplin did not know. the cowpuncher threw himself into his saddle, on which he sat, stolidly awaiting the arrival of the pony riders. in a short time they came galloping from the stable at the rear of the hotel, and pulled up, facing the cowman. "this, mr. sanders, is tad butler," announced the professor. "huh!" grunted big-foot again. "hello, pinto!" he said after a sharp glance into the freckled face. "who's the gopher over there?" "that's stacy brown, otherwise known as 'chunky,'" laughed tad. "this is ned rector, and the young gentleman at your left is walter perkins, all members of the pony rider boys' party. we are ready to start whenever you are." for answer, big-foot touched his pony with a spur, the little animal springing into a gallop without further command. the pony riders followed immediately, tad riding up beside the big, muscular looking cowboy, which position he held for half an hour without having been able to draw a word from him. leaving the town due east of them, the party galloped off across the country in a straight line until finally the cowman pointed off across the plain to indicate where their destination lay. a slow moving mass of red and brown and white met the inquiring gaze of the boys. at first they were unable to make out what it was. "cows," growled the guide, observing that they did not understand. "what are they doing, mr. sanders?" asked tad. "don't 'mister' me. i'm big-foot. never had a handle to my name. never expect to. they're grazing. be rounding them up for bed pretty soon. ever been on a trail before?" tad shook his head. "we have been up in the rockies on a hunting trip. this is my first experience on the plains." "huh! got good and plenty coming to you, then." "and i am ready for it," answered the lad promptly. "the rougher the better." "there's the bunch waiting for us. all of them got back from town. the foreman don't allow the fellows to hang out nights when they're on a drive like this." now, the rest of the pony rider boys, understanding that they were nearing the camp of the cowboys, urged their ponies into a brisk gallop and drew up well into line with tad and big-foot. that is, all did save stacy brown, who, as was his habit lagged behind a few rods. the cowboys were standing about watching the approach of the new arrivals curiously, but not with any great enthusiasm, for they did not approve of having a lot of tenderfeet with the outfit on a journey such as they were taking now. they were bent on grim and serious business--man's work--the sort of labor that brings out all that is in him. it was no place for weaklings, and none realized this better than the cowmen themselves. yet, they did not know the mettle that was in these four young american boys, though they were to realize it fully before the boundaries of the lone star state, had been left behind them. the pony riders dashed up to the waiting cowpunchers with a brave showing of horsemanship, and sprang from their saddles their eyes glowing with excitement and anticipation. bob stallings, the foreman, was the first to greet them. "fellows, this is the bunch i've been telling you about," was bob's introduction. "where's lumpy?" he demanded, glancing about him with a scowl. "lumpy's over behind the chuck wagon," answered the cowboy of whom the question had been asked. "lumpy!" bellowed the foreman. the fellow with whom tad butler had had such an unpleasant meeting, earlier in the day, came forward reluctantly, a sudden scowl on his face. "lumpy, this is tad butler. stick out your fist and shake hands with him!" lumpy did so. "howd'y," he growled, but scarcely loud enough for any save tad to hear. the lad smiled up at him good-naturedly. "you and i bumped ponies this morning, i guess," said tad. "maybe i was to blame after all. i'll apologize, anyway, and i hope there will be no hard feelings." "lumpy!" warned stallings when he noticed that the cowpuncher had made no reply to tad's apology. "no hard feelings," grunted lumpy bates. he was about to turn away and again seek the seclusion of the chuck wagon, as the cook wagon was called by the cow boys, when chunky came rolling along. in the excitement of the meeting the boys had forgotten all about him. the pony riders swung their sombreros and gave three cheers for chunky brown as he dashed up. chunky took off his sombrero and waved it at them. just then chunky met with one of those unfortunate accidents that were always occurring to him. his galloping pony put a forefoot into a gopher hole, going down in a heap. chunky, however, kept on. when the accident happened he was almost upon the waiting cowboys, his intention having been to pull his pony up sharply to show off his horsemanship, then drop off and make them a sweeping bow. stacy brown was possessed of the true dramatic instinct, yet few things ever came off exactly as he had planned them. as he shot over the falling pony's head, his body described a half curve in the air, his own head landing fairly in the pit of lumpy bates's stomach. cowboy and pony rider went over in a struggling heap, with the pony rider uppermost. stacy had introduced himself to the cowboys in a most unusual manner, and to the utter undoing of one of them, for the boy's head had for the moment, knocked all the breath out of the surly lumpy bates. chapter iii putting the cows to bed the cowpunchers roared at the funny sight of the fat boy bowling over their companion. stallings, however, fearing for the anger of lumpy, sprang forward and hauled the lad back by the collar, while lumpy was allowed to get up when he got ready. he did so a few seconds later, sputtering and growling, scarcely able to contain his rage. "that's a bad way to get off a pony, young man," laughed the foreman. "i hope you won't dismount in that fashion around the cattle at night. if you do, you sure will stampede the herd." chunky grinned sheepishly. "it doesn't take much to start a bunch of cows on the run after dark," continued the foreman, "i've known of such a thing as a herd being stampeded because they were frightened at the rising moon. haven't you, big-foot?" sanders nodded. "the gopher'll do it, too; he's a clumsy lout," he answered, referring to stacy in a withering tone. "and now, boys, i will tell you how our watches are divided, after which you can go out with the cowboys and see them bed down the cows." "bed them down?" spoke up chunky, his curiosity aroused. "that's funny. i didn't know you had to put cattle to bed." "you'll see that we do. boys, the night of the cowman on the march is divided into four tricks. the first guard goes on at half past eight, coming off at half past ten. the second guard is on duty from that time till one o'clock in the morning; the third, from that hour till half past three, while the fourth remains out until relieved in the morning. he usually wakes up the cook, too. and, by the way, you boys haven't made the acquaintance of pong, have you? i'll call him. unless you get on the right side of pong, you will suffer." "pong? that's funny. sounds like ping-pong. i used to play that," interrupted stacy. "pong is as funny as his name, even if he is a chinaman," laughed stallings. "pong, come here." the chinaman, having heard his name spoken, was peering inquiringly from the tail of the chuck wagon. hopping down, he trotted over to the group, his weazened, yellow face wreathed in smiles. "shake hands with these young gentlemen, pong. they will be with us for the next two weeks," said the foreman. "allee same likee this," chuckled pong, clasping his palms together and gleefully shaking hands with himself. "that's the chinaman's idea of shaking hands," laughed stallings. "he always shakes hands with himself instead of the other fellow." stacy brown suddenly broke into a loud laugh, attracting all eyes to him. "funniest thing i ever heard of," he muttered, abashed by the inquiring looks directed at him. "now watch the heathen while i ask him what he is going to have for breakfast," said the foreman. "pong, what are you going to give us out of the chuck wagon in the morning?" "allee same likee this," chattered the chinaman, quickly turning to his questioner, at the same time rapidly running through a series of pantomime gestures. the pony riders looked at each other blankly. "he says we are going to have fried bacon with hot biscuit and coffee," stallings informed them with a hearty laugh. "pong is not much of a talker. that's about as much as you ever will hear him say. he's weak on talk and strong on motions." the foreman glanced up at the sky. "it's time to put the cows to bed. you young gentlemen may ride along on your own ponies, but keep well back from the cattle. those of you who go out to-night will have to ride our ponies. all ready, now." the entire outfit mounted and set off over the plain to where the cattle were moving slowly about, but not grazing much. they had had their fill of grass and water and were now ready for the night. "where's their beds?" asked chunky, gazing about him curiously. "right ahead of you," answered stallings. the foreman's quick eye already had picked out a nice elevation on which the old dry grass of the previous summer's growth lay matted like a carpet for the cattle to bed down on. "how many of them are there in the herd?" asked tad. "about two thousand. that was the first count. since then we have picked up a few stray cows. we will be cutting those out in a day or so, when you will see some real cow work. perhaps you will be able to help by that time." now the cowmen galloped out on the plain, separating widely until they had practically surrounded the herd. they began circling slowly about the herd, at the same time gradually closing in on them. the animals appeared to understand fully what was expected of them, for they had been on the road several nights already. besides, having had their fill they were anxious to turn in for the night. as they found spots to their liking, the animals began to throw themselves down. tad uttered an exclamation of delight as he watched the steers going to their knees in hundreds, then dropping on their sides, contentedly chewing their cuds. it was such a sight as he never before had seen. "what are those steers on the outside there--those fellows without any horns?" asked stacy. "those are the muleys. having no horns, they keep well out of the bunch and wait until the others have gone to bed as you see," the foreman informed him. "you will notice after a while that they will lie down outside the circle. if any of the cows get ugly during the night the muleys will spring up and get out of the way." in half an hour the last one of the great herd had "bedded down," and those of the cowboys who were not on guard, rode leisurely back toward camp. it had been decided that tad butler should go out on the first guard; walter perkins on the second; ned rector third and stacy brown fourth. tad was all eagerness to begin. one of the cowmen exchanged ponies with him, riding tad's horse back to camp. "you see, our ponies understand what is wanted of them," explained stallings, who had remained out for a while to give tad some instruction in the work before him. "give the ordinary cow pony his head and he will almost tend a herd by himself." three men ordinarily constituted the guard. in this case tad butler made a fourth. taking their stations some four rods from the edge of the herd, they began lazily circling it, part going in one direction and part in another. in this position it would have been well-nigh impossible for any animal to escape without being noticed by the riders. "now, i guess you will be all right," smiled the foreman. "make no sudden moves to frighten the cattle." "do they ever run?" asked tad. "run? well, rather! and i tell you, it takes a long-legged mexican steer to set the pace. those fellows can run faster than a horse--at least some of them can. a stampede is a thing most dreaded by the cowmen." "our ponies stampeded in the rockies. i know something about that," spoke up tad. "well, compare the stampeding of your four or five ponies with two thousand head of wild steers and you'll get something like the idea of what it means. in that case, unless you know your business you had better get out of the way as fast as hoss-flesh will carry you. now, master tad, i'll bid you good night and leave you to your first night on the plains." "how shall i know when to come in?" "when the second guard comes out. you will hear them. if you should not they will let you know as they pass you." with that the foreman walked his pony away from the herd. after some little time tad heard him galloping toward camp. at first tad took the keenest enjoyment in his surroundings; then the loneliness of the plains came over him. he began to feel a longing for human companionship. a dense mantle of darkness settled down over the scene. remembering the advice of the foreman, the lad gave his pony the rein. the hardy little animal, with nose almost touching the ground, began its monotonous crawling pace about the herd. it seemed more asleep than awake. in a short time a sheet of bright light appeared on the eastern horizon. tad looked at it inquiringly, then smiled. "it's the moon," he decided. the boy felt a great sense of relief in his lonely vigil. just ahead of him he saw a pony and rider leisurely approaching. it proved to be red davis, one of the first guard. red waved his hand to the boy in passing, but no word was spoken on either side. after having circled the herd twice, tad suddenly discovered a small bunch of cattle that had just scrambled to their feet and had begun grazing a little way outside the circle. the rest of the herd were contentedly chewing their cuds in the moonlight, grunting and blowing over contented stomachs. the lad was not sure just what he ought to do. his first inclination was to call to some of the other guards. then, remembering the injunction placed upon him by the foreman, he resisted the impulse. "i am sure those cattle have no business off there," he decided after watching them for a few moments in silent uncertainty. "i believe i will try to get them back." tightening the grip on his reins and clucking to the pony, tad headed for the steers, that were slowly moving off, taking a step with every mouthful or so. he steered his pony well outside and headed in toward them. the pony, with keen intelligence, forced its way up to the leading steer and sought to nose it around. the animal resisted and swung its sharp horns perilously near to the side of the horse, which quickly leaped to one side, almost upsetting its rider. "guess i'd better let the pony do it himself. he knows how and i don't," muttered tad, slackening on the reins. the straying animal was quickly turned and headed toward the herd, after which the pony whirled and went after one of the others, turning this one, as it did the others. in a short time the truants were all back in the herd. "that's the way to do it, young fellow. i told the gang back there that the pinto had the stuff in him." tad turned sharply to meet the smiling face of big-foot sanders, who, sitting on his pony, had been watching the boy's efforts and nodding an emphatic approval. "you'll make a cowman all right," said big-foot. chapter iv the first night in camp the camp-fire was burning brightly when the first guard, having completed its tour of duty, came galloping in. in a few moments the sound of singing was borne to the ears of the campers. "what's the noise?" demanded stacy brown, sitting up with a half scared look on his face. "it's the 'cowboy's lament,'" laughed bob stallings. "listen." off on the plain they heard a rich tenor voice raised in the song of the cowman. "little black bull came down the hillside, down the hillside, down the hillside, little black bull came down the hillside, long time ago." "i don't call that much of a song," sniffed chunky contemptuously after a moment of silence on the part of the group. "even if i can't sing, i can beat that." "better not try it out on the range," smiled the foreman. "not on the range? why not?" demanded the boy. "bob thinks it might stampede the herd," spoke up big-foot sanders. a loud laugh followed at chunky's expense. "when you get to be half as good a man on cows as your friend the pinto, here, you'll be a full grown man," added big-foot. "the pinto rounded up a bunch of stray cows to-night as well as i could do it myself, and he didn't go about it with a brass band either." the foreman nodded, with an approving glance at tad. tad's eyes were sparkling from the experiences of the evening, as well as from the praise bestowed upon him by the big cowpuncher. "the pony did most of it," admitted the lad. "i just gave him his head, and that's all there was to it." "more than most tenderfeet would have done," growled big-foot. walter had gone out with the second guard, and the others had gathered around the camp-fire for their nightly story-telling. "now, i don't want you fellows sitting up all night," objected the foreman. "none of you will be fit for duty to-morrow. we've got a hard drive before us, and every man must be fit as a fiddle. you can enjoy yourselves sleeping just as well as sitting up." "humph!" grunted curley adams. "i'll give it as a horseback opinion that the only way to enjoy such a night as this, is to sit up until you fall asleep with your boots on. that's the way i'm going to do it, to-night." the cowboy did this very thing, but within an hour he found himself alone, the others having turned in one by one. "where are your beds?" asked stacy after the foreman had urged the boys to get to sleep. "beds?" grunted big-foot. "anywhere--everywhere. our beds, on the plains, are wherever we happen to pull our boots off." "you will find your stuff rolled up under the chuck wagon, boys," said stallings. "i had pong get out the blankets for you, seeing that you have only your slickers with you." the lads found that a pair of blankets had been assigned to each of them, with an ordinary wagon sheet doubled for a tarpaulin. these they spread out on the ground, using boots wrapped in coats for pillows. stacy brown proved the only grumbler in the lot, declaring that he could not sleep a wink on such a bed as that. in floundering about, making up his bunk, the lad had fallen over two cowboys and stepped full on the face of a third. instantly there was a chorus of yells and snarls from the disturbed cowpunchers, accompanied by dire threats as to what they would do to the gopher did he ever disturb their rest in that way again. this effectually quieted the boy for the night, and the camp settled down to silence and to sleep. the horses of the outfit, save those that were on night duty and two or three others that had developed a habit of straying, had been turned loose early in the evening, for animals on the trail are seldom staked down. for these, a rope had been strung from a rear wheel of the wagon and another from the end of the tongue, back to a stake driven in the ground, thus forming a triangular corral. besides holding the untrustworthy horses, it afforded a temporary corral for catching a change of mounts. in spite of their hard couches the pony riders slept soundly, even professor zepplin himself never waking the whole night through. ned rector had come up smiling when awakened for his trick on the third guard. with stacy brown, however, severe measures were necessary when one of the returning guard routed him out at half-past three in the morning. stacy grumbled, turned over and went to sleep again. the guard chanced to be lumpy bates, and he administered, what to him, was a gentle kick, to hurry the boy along. "ouch!" yelled chunky, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "keep still, you baby!" growled the cowman. "do you want to wake up the whole outfit? there'll be a lively muss about the time you do, i reckon, and you'll wish you hadn't. if you can't keep shut, the boss'll be for making you sleep under the chuck wagon. if you make a racket there, pong will dump a pot of boiling water over you. you won't be so fast to wake up hard working cowboys after that, i reckon." "what do you want?" demanded the boy. "what'd you wake me up for?" "it's your trick. get a move on you and keep still. there's the pony ready for you. i wouldn't have saddled it but the boss said i must. i don't take no stock in tenderfoot kids," growled the cowpuncher. "is breakfast ready?" asked the boy, tightening his belt and jamming his sombrero down over his head. "breakfast?" jeered lumpy. "you're lucky to be alive in this outfit, let alone filling yourself with grub. get out!" stacy ruefully, and still half asleep, made a wide circle around the sleeping cowmen that he might not make the mistake of again stepping on any of them. lumpy watched him with disapproving eyes. the lad caught the pony that stood moping in the corral, not appearing to be aware that his rider was preparing him for the range, chunky all the time muttering to himself. leading the pony out, the boy gathered up the reins on the right side of the animal and prepared to mount. lumpy bates came running toward him, not daring to call out for fear of waking the camp. the cowman was swinging his arms and seeking to attract the lad's attention. chunky, however, was too sleepy to see anything so small as a cowman swinging his arms a rod away. placing his right foot in the stirrup, the boy prepared to swing up into the saddle. "hi, there!" hissed lumpy, filled with indignation that anyone should attempt to mount a pony from the right side. his warning came too late. stacy brown's left leg swung over the saddle. no sooner had the pony felt the leather over him than he raised his back straight up, his head going down almost to the ground. stacy shot up into the air as if he had been propelled from a bow gun. he struck the soft sand several feet in advance of the pony, his face and head ploughing a little furrow as he drove along on his nose. he had no more than struck, however, before the irate cowboy had him by the collar and had jerked the lad to his feet. "you _tenderfoot_!" he snarled, accenting the words so that they carried a world of meaning with them. "don't you know any more than to try to get onto a broncho from the off side? say, don't you?" he shook the lad violently. "n-n-n-o," gasped stacy. "d-d-does it m-m-make any difference w-w-h-i-ch side you get on?" "does it make any difference?" the cowboy jerked his own head up and down as if the words he would utter had wedged fast in his throat. "git out of here before i say something. the boss said the first man he heard using language while you tenderfeet were with us, would get fired on the spot." without taking the chance of waiting until stacy had mounted the pony, lumpy grabbed the boy and tossed him into the saddle, giving the little animal a sharp slap on the flank as he did so. at first the pony began to buck; then, evidently thinking the effort was not worth while, settled down to a rough trot which soon shook the boy up and thoroughly awakened him. the rest of the fourth guard had already gone out, chunky meeting the returning members of the third coming in. "better hurry up, kid," they chuckled. "the cows'll sleep themselves out of sight before you get there, if you don't get a move on." "where are they?" asked the boy. "keep a-going and if you're lucky you'll run plumb into them," was the jeering answer as the sleepy cowmen spurred their ponies on toward camp, muttering their disapproval of taking along a bunch of boys on a cattle drive. in a few moments they, too, had turned their ponies adrift and had thrown themselves down beside their companions, pulling their blankets well about them, for the night had grown chill. out on the plains the fourth guard were drowsily crooning the lullaby about the bull that "came down the hillside, long time ago." it seemed as if scarcely a minute had passed since the boys turned in before they were awakened by the strident tones of the foreman. "roll out! roll out!" he roared, bringing the sleepy cowpunchers grumbling to their feet. almost before the echoes of his voice had died away, a shrill voice piped up from the tail end of the chuck wagon. "grub pi-i-i-le! grub pi-i-i-le!" it was the chinaman, pong, sounding his call for breakfast, in accordance with the usage of the plains. "grub pi-i-i-le!" he finished in a lower tone, after which his head quickly disappeared under the cover of the wagon. by the time the cowmen and pony riders had refreshed themselves at the spring near which the outfit had camped, a steaming hot breakfast had been spread on the ground, with a slicker for a table cloth. three cowboys fell to with a will, gulping down their breakfast in a hurry that they might ride out and relieve the fourth guard on the herd. "you boys don't have to swallow your food whole," smiled the foreman, observing that the pony riders seemed to think they were expected to hurry through their meal as well. "those fellows have to go out. take your time. the fourth guard has to eat yet, so there is plenty of time. how did you all sleep?" "fine," chorused the boys. "and you, mr. professor?" "surprisingly well. it is astonishing with how little a man can get along when he has to." "who is the wrangler this morning?" asked the foreman, glancing about at his men. "i am," spoke up shorty savage promptly. "wrangler? what's a wrangler?" demanded stacy, delaying the progress of a large slice of bacon, which hung suspended from the fork half-way between plate and mouth. "a wrangler's a wrangler," answered big-foot stolidly. "he's a fellow who's all the time making trouble, isn't he?" asked stacy innocently. "oh, no, this kind of a wrangler isn't," laughed the foreman. "the trouble is usually made _for_ him, and it's served up hot off the spider. the horse wrangler is the fellow who goes out and rounds up the ponies. sometimes he does it in the middle of the night when the thunder and lightning are smashing about him like all possessed, and the cattle are on the rampage. he's a trouble-curer, not a troublemaker, except for himself." "i guess there are some words that aren't in the dictionary," laughed tad. "i think you will find them all there, master tad, if you will consult the big book," said the professor. the meal was soon finished, pong having stood rubbing his palms, a happy smile on his face, during the time they were eating. "a very fine breakfast, sir," announced the professor, looking up at the chinaman. "he knows what would happen to him if he didn't serve good meals," smiled stallings. "what do you mean?" asked ned rector. "pong, tell the young gentlemen what would become of you if you were to serve bad meals to this outfit of cowpunchers." the chinaman showed two rows of white teeth in his expansive grin. "allee same likee this," he explained. "how?" asked tad. pong, going through the motions of drawing a gun from his belt, and puffing out his cheeks, uttered an explosive "pouf!" "oh, you mean they would shoot you?" asked walter. "i hardly think they would do that, pong." "allee same," grinned the chinaman. "i guess we are pretty sure of having real food to eat, then," laughed tad, as the boys rose from the table ready for the active work of the day. "we will now get to work on the herd," announced the foreman. "we had better start the drive this morning. when we make camp at noon we will cut out the strays. i trust none of you will be imprudent and get into trouble, for we shall have other things to look after to-day." however, the pony riders were destined not to pass the day without one or more exciting adventures. chapter v cutting out the herd "getting ready for rain," announced the foreman, glancing up at the gathering clouds. "that will mean water for the stock, anyway." already the great herd was up and grazing when the cowboys reached them. but there was no time now for the animals to satisfy their appetites. they were supposed to have eaten amply since daylight. the trail was to be taken up again and by the time the steers were bedded down at night, they should be all of fifteen miles nearer the diamond d. ranch for which they were headed. the start was a matter of keen interest to the pony riders. to set the herd in motion, cowboys galloped along the sides of the line giving vent to their shrill, wolf-keyed yell, while others pressed forward directly in the rear. as soon as the cattle had gotten under way six men were detailed on each side, and in a short time the herd was strung out over more than a mile of the trail. two riders known as "point men" rode well back from the leaders, and by riding forward and closing in occasionally, were able to direct the course of the drive. others, known as "swing men," rode well out from the herd, their duty being to see that none of the cattle dropped out or strayed away. once started, the animals required no driving. this was a matter of considerable interest to the pony riders. "don't they ever stop to eat?" asked tad of the foreman. "occasionally. when they do, we have to start them along without their knowing we are doing so. it's a good rule to go by that you never should let your herd know they are under restraint. yet always keep them going in the proper direction." the trail wagon, carrying the cooking outfit and supplies, was not forgotten. drawn by a team of four mules, the party seldom allowed it to get far away from them, and never, under ordinary circumstances, out of their sight. the driver walked beside the mules, while the grinning face of pong was always to be seen in the front end of the wagon. he was the only member of the outfit who never seemed to mind the broiling mid-day heat. he was riding there on this hot forenoon, never leaving his seat until the foreman, by a gesture, indicated that the herd was soon to be halted for its noonday meal. while the cattle were grazing, the cowboys would fall to and satisfy their own appetites. after the cattle had finally been halted, three men were left on guard while the others rode back to the rear of the line. in the meantime pong had been preparing the dinner, which was ready almost as soon as the men had cast aside their hats. "when it comes to cooking for an outfit like this, a chinaman beats anything in the world," laughed stallings. "at least, this chinaman does." pong was too busy to do more than grin at the compliment, even if he fully grasped the meaning of it. the meal was nearly half-finished when the cowpunchers were startled by a volley of revolver shots accompanied by a chorus of shrill yells. "what's up now?" demanded ned rector and tad in one breath. every member of the outfit had sprung to his feet. "sounds like a stampede," flung back the foreman, making a flying leap for his pony. the other cowboys were up like a flash and into their saddles, uttering sharp "ki-yis" and driving in the spurs while they laid their quirts mercilessly over the rumps of the ponies. tad butler, ned rector and walter perkins were not far behind the cowmen in reaching their own ponies and leaping into their saddles. not so with chunky. he only paused in his eating long enough to look his surprise and to direct an inquiring look at the chinaman, while the others went dashing across the plain toward the herd. "allee same likee this," announced pong, making a succession of violent gestures that stacy did not understand. but the boy nodded his head wisely and went on with his eating. out where the grazing herd had been peacefully eating its noonday meal all was now excitement and action. revolvers were popping, cowboys were yelling and the herd was surging back and forth, bellowing and dashing in and out, a shifting, confused mass of color and noise. the boys did not know what to make of it. "yes; they are stampeding," decided ned, riding alongside of tad butler. "i don't believe it," answered tad. "it looks to me as if something else were the trouble." "what?" "i don't know. it's an awful mix-up, whatever they may call it." "yes; see! they are fighting." surely enough, large numbers of the cattle seemed to be arrayed against each other, sending up great clouds of dust as they ran toward each other, locked horns and engaged in desperate conflict. it was noticed, however, that the muleys kept well out of harm's way, standing aloof from the herd and looking on ready to run at the shake of a horn in their direction. "now, look there! what are they doing?" asked walter. "they seem to be cutting out a bunch of steers," answered tad. "that's funny. i can't imagine what it is all about." neither could professor zepplin, who had ridden up at a more leisurely pace, explain to the boys the meaning of the scene they were viewing. "if we knew, we might turn in and help," suggested walter. "that's right," replied tad. "suppose we ride up there where the men are at work. we may find something to do. anyway, we'll find out what the trouble is." starting up their ponies, the boys galloped up the line, keeping a safe distance from the herd as they did so, and halting only when they had reached the trail leaders, as the cattle at the head of the line are called. "what's the trouble?" shouted ned as they came within hailing distance of the perspiring foreman. "mixed herd," he called back, curtly, driving his pony into the thick of the fight and yelling out his orders to the men. "i know almost as much about it as i did before," announced ned, disgustedly. "got any idea, tad?" "yes; i have." "for goodness sake, let's have it, then. if i don't find out what's going on here, pretty soon, i shall jump into the fight in sheer desperation." "mr. stagings said it was a mixed herd. don't you think that must mean that a lot of cattle who don't belong there have mixed up with ours?" asked the freckle-faced boy. "i guess that's the answer, tad. but, if so, how can they tell one from the other?" wondered walter. "from the brands. i have learned that much about the business. every one of our herd is branded with a capital d in the center of a diamond. that is the brand of mr. miller's ranch--the diamond d ranch. evidently they are cutting out all that haven't that brand on." "hello! there's chunky. now, what do you suppose he is up to!" exclaimed ned. stacy brown had finished his meal, mounted his pony and was now riding toward the herd at what was for him a reckless speed. all at once they saw him pull his mount sharply to the left and drive straight at a bunch of cattle that the cowboys had separated from the herd a few moments before. the boy was too far away, the racket too loud, for their voices to reach him in a warning shout. stacy, having observed the cattle straying away, and having in mind tad butler's achievement in driving back a bunch of stray steers, thought he would do something on his own account. "i'll show them i can drive steers as well as anybody," he told himself, bringing down the quirt about the pony's legs. the strong-limbed little beast sprang to his work with a will. he understood perfectly what was wanted of him. a few moments more, and he had headed off the rapidly moving bunch, effectually turning the leaders, sending them on a gallop back toward the vast herd fighting and bellowing in the cloud of dust they had stirred up. the cowboys were so fully occupied with their task that they had failed to observe stacy brown's action, nor would they have known anything about it had not tad, yelling himself hoarse, managed to attract the attention of the foreman. tad pointed off to where chunky was jumping his pony at the fleeing cattle, forcing them on with horse and quirt. they had almost reached the main herd before tad succeeded in informing the foreman. one look was enough for stallings. before he could act, however, the stray herd had once more mingled and merged with his own. the work of the cowboys had gone for naught. stallings fired three shots into the air as a signal to his men to stop their cutting out. "will you young men do me a favor?" he asked. "certainly, mr. stallings," answered tad. "then ride around the herd and tell the boys not to try any more cutting out until the herd has quieted down. the dust is so thick that we can't do anything with the cows, anyway. you have some sense, but that's more than i can say for your friend, brown. of all the idiotic--oh, what's the use? tell him to mind his own business and keep half a mile away from this herd for the rest of the afternoon." "all right, sir. where did those cattle come from?" "i don't know, tad. they have broken away from some nearby ranch. probably somebody has cut a wire fence and let them out. that's the worst of the wire fence in the modern cow business. they can get through wire without being seen. but they can't get by a cowpuncher without his seeing them." "how many cattle do you think have got mixed with ours?" "i should imagine there were all of five hundred of them," answered the foreman. tad uttered a long-drawn whistle of astonishment. "will--will you ever be able to separate them?" asked ned. "we sure will. but it means a hot afternoon's work." "may we help you, mr. stallings?" spoke up walter. "yes; i shall be able to use you boys, some, i guess. it's a wonder to me that those cows didn't stampede our whole herd. had it been night, our stock would have been spread over a dozen miles of territory by this time. being day, however, our herd preferred to stay and fight the newcomers. i hope they clean up the bunch for keeps." pleased that they had been given a task to perform, the boys rode away, tad and walter going in one direction, while ned rector galloped off in another, that they might reach the cowmen in the shortest possible time. the men they found sitting on their horses awaiting orders, though they understood what was in the mind of the foreman almost as well as if he had told them by word of mouth. they found big-foot and lumpy bates expressing their opinion of the mix-up in voices loud with anger. but, upon discovering the boys, the cowmen quickly checked their flow of language. "did you see what that--that----" bellowed lumpy as tad rode up to him. "yes; i saw it," laughed tad. "you think this is some kind of a joke, eh?" roared lumpy, starting his pony toward tad. the boy's smile left his face and clucking to his pony he rode slowly forward toward the angry cowpuncher, meeting the fellow's menacing eyes unflinchingly. "is there anything you wish to say to me, mr. bates?" asked the lad calmly. lumpy's emotions were almost too great for speech. he controlled himself with an effort. "no--only this. i--i'll forget myself some day, and clean up one of you idiotic tenderfeet." "perhaps you would like to begin on me, sir," said tad steadily. "if you feel that way i should prefer to have you do that rather than to try it on any of my companions. stacy brown may be indiscreet, but i'd have you understand he is no idiot." "what--what----" "you have determined to get square with us ever since we joined out with you last night, and i knew that you and i would have to have an understanding before long. we might as well have it now, though there's nothing of enough consequence to have a quarrel about----" "you threaten me?" "nothing of the kind, mr. bates. i only wish to tell you that my companions are the guests of this outfit, and we propose to act like gentlemen. every other member of the outfit, not excepting the chinaman, has given us fine treatment. you have hung back, hoping you would have a chance to get us run off the trail." the cowpuncher's fingers were opening and closing convulsively. "you--you run into me. the whole bunch had the laugh on me and----" "if i remember correctly, it was you who ran me down. but we'll drop that. will you shake hands and forget your bad temper?" asked the lad, reaching over and offering a hand to the cowboy. for an instant the fellow glared at him, then with a snarl he jerked his pony about and drove in the rowels of the spurs. "lumpy's got on the grouch that won't come off," grinned big-foot. "better keep a weather eye on the cayuse. if he gets obstreperous, just you let me know." "thank you," smiled tad. "i thought i had better say something to him before it went too far. i knew he meant mischief to us ever since he ran into me yesterday at san diego." tad then delivered his message and rode on to the next cowpuncher. for fully an hour the cattle surged and fought, some being killed and trampled under foot, while others were so seriously wounded that they had to be shot later in the day. after a time the battle dwindled down to individual skirmishes, with two or three animals engaged at a time, until finally the entire herd moved off to the fresher ground that had not been trodden upon, and began grazing together as contentedly as if nothing had occurred to disturb them. all immediate danger of a stampede having passed, stallings fired a shot as a signal for the cowmen to join him. this they did on the gallop. after a conference, during which each man gave his opinion as to whom the stray herd belonged to, none recognizing the brand, stallings made up his mind what to do. "you will begin at the lower end and cut out as you go through the herd. cut the newcomers to the west, which will be starting them back toward where they came from, wherever that may be. at the same time while we cut, we will be moving our cows north, which is the direction in which we want them to go." in the meantime stacy brown had ridden up. he was sitting disconsolately on his pony near where the conference was being held, having been roundly scored by every cowboy in the outfit. the foreman motioned him to ride over to him. "young man, can you carry a message back to camp and get it straight!" stacy thought he could. "then go back and tell the heathen to pack up his belongings and come on. there will be no more eating done in this outfit till we have cut out that new bunch. tell the driver to be ready to move when he sees us start. we'll get in a few miles before dark, yet, if we have good luck." stacy rode away full of importance to deliver the foreman's order. then the cutting out began. cowboy after cowboy dashed into the herd coming out usually with his pony pressing against the side of an unwilling steer and pushing him along in the right direction by main force. and here was where the pony riders made themselves useful. as an animal was cut out, the boys would ride in behind it and worry the steer along until they had gotten it a safe distance to the west of the main herd. "there's a diamond d steer in that bunch," tad informed one of the cowpunchers as he rushed a big, white steer out. "never mind; we'll trim the mixed outfit after we get more of the bunch out," answered the cowboy, riding back into the herd. while doing the cutting out the men also drove out the few cattle that had strayed into the herd earlier in the journey. for three hours this grilling work had kept up, the perspiring cowboys yelling, their ponies squealing under the terrific punishment they were getting from both riders and steers. but in the excitement of their own work, the pony riders had had little time in which to observe what the cowmen were doing. tad thought of a plan by which he might assist them further. so he galloped his pony over to the edge of the main herd and waited until the foreman dashed out with two red, fighting steers, which he gave a lively start on their way to join the mixed herd. "mr. stallings, may i cut back some of the diamond d animals in the mixed herd?" he asked. "think you can do it, kid?" "i can try." "all right. go ahead. be careful that you don't turn back any of the other brands, though. above all, look out for yourself." tad galloped back to his companions, his face flushed, the dust standing out on his blue shirt, turning it almost gray. "keep this herd up, fellows," he shouted. "i'm going to try my hand at cutting out." fortunately, the pony understood what was wanted of it, and, the moment it had located an animal which it was desired to cut out, the pony went at the work with a will. tad, triumphant and warm, rode out driving a diamond d steer ahead of him, applying his quirt vigorously to the animal's rump until he had landed it safely in the ranks of the main herd. again and again had the boy ridden in among the cattle, seemingly taking no account of the narrow escapes both rider and pony were having from the sharp horns of the long-legged mexican cattle. one big, white fellow gave the lad more trouble than all the rest that he had cut out, and when once tad had run him out into the open the perspiration was dripping from his face. but his battle was not yet won. the steer, for some reason best known to itself, did not wish to return to its own herd. it fought every inch of the way, wearing down pony and rider until they were almost exhausted. tad butler's blood was up, however. he set his jaw stubbornly and plunged into the work before him. bob stallings, shooting a glance in the boy's direction understood what he had in hand, for the foreman had made the acquaintance of this same steer himself, earlier on the drive. the lad had worried the animal nearly to its own herd, after half an hour's struggle, when, despite all his efforts, it broke away and dashed back toward the mixed bunch. "i'll get him if it's the last thing i ever do," vowed the boy. a rawhide lariat hung from his saddle bow, and though he had practised with the rope on other occasions, he did not consider himself an expert with it. he had watched the cowboys in their use of it and knew how they threw a cow with the rope. on the spur of the moment tad decided to use the lariat. lifting it in his right hand and swinging the great loop high above his head, he dashed up to the running steer, and when near enough to take a cast, let go of the loop. it fell over the horns of the white animal as neatly as a cowboy could have placed it there. the coil ran out in a flash; yet quick as the boy was, he found himself unable to take a hitch around the pommel of his saddle with the free end. the running steer straightened the rope and tad shot from his saddle still clinging desperately to the line. chapter vi tad takes a desperate chance when the freckle-faced boy took his unexpected plunge, it chanced that neither cowboys nor pony riders were looking his way. no one knew of his plight. as he felt the line running through his hand, tad butler had given it a quick hitch around his right wrist, so that when the rope drew taut, and the pony braced itself to meet the shock, the lad fairly flew through the air. the white steer had been headed for the mixed bunch which the pony riders were guarding. with the stubbornness of its kind, it wheeled about the instant it felt the tug on the rope and dashed for the main herd, tad's body ploughing up the dust as he trailed along at a fearful pace behind the wild animal, whirling over and over in his rapid flight. the lad's eyes were so full of sand dust that he was unable to see where he was going. he had slight realization of the peril that confronted him. "look! look!" cried walter perkins. "what is it?" cried ned rector. "what's that the steer is dragging?" "i don't know." "and there's tad's pony standing out there alone," added walter. "you--you don't think tad----" "as i'm alive, it is tad! he is being dragged by the steer. he'll be killed! watch this herd, i am going after him!" shouted ned, putting spurs to his pony and dashing toward the main herd. at that moment the white steer, trailing its human burden, rushed in among the other cattle and was soon lost among them. ned did not dare to set up a loud shout of warning for fear of frightening the cattle. however, he was waving his hat and excitedly trying to attract the attention of some of the cowmen. they were too busy to give any heed to him. ned drove his pony in among the struggling cattle with no thought of his own danger. the cowmen were roping and rushing the stock that did not belong to them. as it chanced, however, most of them were working at the upper end, or head of the herd. the foreman, for some reason, had galloped down the line, casting his eyes keenly over the herd. instantly he noticed that something was wrong, though just what it was, he was unable to decide. then his eyes caught the figure of ned rector, the center of a sea of moving backs and tossing horns. the boy was standing in his stirrups still swinging his sombrero above his head. it took the foreman but an instant to decide what to do. wheeling his pony, he fairly dived into the mass of cattle, lashing to the right and left of him with his ready quirt, the cattle resentfully shaking threatening heads at pony and rider and making efforts to reach them with their sharp-pointed horns. "what is it?" shouted stallings after he had ridden in far enough to make his voice reach ned rector. "it's tad!" "what about him?" "he's in there," answered ned, pointing. "where? what do you mean?" "i don't know. it's the white steer. he dragged him." stallings thought he understood. he had seen the lad working with the unruly animal only a few moments before. "what's the trouble--did the boy rope him?" shouted the foreman. ned nodded. "he'll be trampled to death!" snapped the foreman, rising high in his stirrups and looking over the herd. there were several white steers in the bunch, but the one in question was so much larger than the others that stallings thought he would have no difficulty in picking out the animal. not finding him at once, the foreman fired two shots in the air to attract the attention of the cowboys. three of them soon were seen working their way in. "open up the herd!" he shouted. "whereabouts?" asked reddy davis. "anywhere. look out for the big, white cow. the boy's roped to him!" they understood at once. big-foot sanders had heard, and began working like an automatic machine. the way the cattle, big and little, fell away before his plunging pony and ready quirt was an object lesson for those of the pony riders who were near enough to see his effort. in the thick of it was ned rector, driving his pony here and there, anxiously watching for the white steer. "there he is!" shouted ned, suddenly espying the animal still dashing about. "where?" "there, to the right of you!" forcing his mount through the crowded ranks, stallings in a moment found himself within reach of the white beast. however, there were three or four cattle between himself and the one he wanted. the foreman's rope circled in the air above his head, then the great loop squirmed out over the backs of the cattle, dropping lightly over the horns of the white one. the steer felt the touch of the rope and knew the meaning of it. as the animal sprang forward, stallings took a quick turn about the pommel of his saddle and the pony braced its fore feet. when the shock came, the cattle over whose backs the rope lay felt it even more than did the pony itself. three of them were forced to their knees bawling with sudden fright and pain. the head of the white steer was jerked to one side. a swing of the rope and the steer was thrown heavily. "get in there!" roared stallings. ned at the moment, chanced to be nearer than were any of the others to the animal, and to him fell the perilous work of holding down the kicking beast. he knew exactly what was expected of him, having seen a cowboy hold a steer down for a quick branding that morning. ned spurred in and leaped to the ground. without an instant's hesitation he threw himself on the neck of the struggling animal, whose flying hoofs made the attempt doubly dangerous. this act of ned enabled stallings to jump from his pony and run to the lad's assistance, leaving the pony braced to hold the line taut. the foreman sprang to the rear, where he observed the form of tad butler doubled up, lying half under the body of a big, red steer. stallings picked him up, quickly cutting the lariat. "slip the loops off his horns!" he commanded. "look out that you don't get pinked by them." "is tad hurt?" called ned anxiously. "lucky if he ain't dead," answered the foreman, hurrying to his pony, which he mounted taking the boy in his arms. by this time ned had the ropes and had sprung away from the steer's dangerous horns. tad's form hung limp and lifeless over the saddle. his face, with the sand and dust ground into it, was scarcely recognizable. ned followed the foreman as soon as he could get his pony. by the time ned reached them, stallings had laid tad down and was making a quick examination. "get water! hurry!" he commanded sharply. "where?" asked ned, glancing about him, undecided which way to turn. "the chuck wagon. ride, kid! ride!" ned bounced into his saddle without so much as touching his stirrup. with a sharp yell to the animal he sped away over the plain, urging on the little pony with quirt and spur. the way ned rector rode that day made those of the cowmen who saw him open their eyes. ned began shouting for water as soon as he came in sight of the wagon, which, by this time, was packed for the start. pong, understanding from the boy's tone that the need was urgent, was filling a jug from the tap barrel by the time ned rode up beside the wagon. he had less than a minute to wait. grabbing the jug from the hands of the grinning chinaman, and unheeding pong's chuckled "allee same," ned whirled about and raced for the herd. the lad struggled to keep back the tears as he realized that, even with all his haste, it might be too late. that tad should come out of that melée of flying hoofs and prodding horns without being at least seriously injured was more than he could hope. faster and faster ran the pony, behind him a rising cloud of yellow dust. ned's fingers were stiff and numb from carrying the heavy jug, and the lump in his throat was growing larger, it seemed to him, with every leap of the animal under him. now ned could see the cowmen galloping in and gazing from their ponies. he knew they were looking at tad. stallings was bent over him, pouring something down the boy's throat. ned's heart gave a great bound. tad butler must be alive or there would be no need for the liquid that the foreman was forcing down his throat. chapter vii the herd fords the river "is he--is he----" asked ned, weakly, after they had taken the jug of water from his hand. "he's alive, if that's what you mean," answered stallings. "i'm afraid he's got a slight concussion of the brain. he doesn't come around the way i should like to see him." "sure it isn't a fracture!" asked the professor, who had just arrived on the scene. "no, i hardly think so." the foreman washed the unconscious boy's face, soaking tad's head and neck and searching for the seat of the trouble. "huh! steer kicked him," grunted stallings. "it was a glancing blow, luckily for the kid." they worked over the lad for fully half an hour before he began to show signs of returning consciousness. at last his trembling eyelids struggled apart and he smiled up at them weakly. "ah! he's all right now, i guess," laughed the foreman, with a world of relief in his tone. "boys, get busy now and cut out the rest of those cows. if the young man is not able to ride we'll put him in the chuck wagon when it comes up. feel bad anywhere, now?" he asked. "my--my head weighs a ton." "i should think it would. did the white steer kick you?" "i--i don't know. hello, professor. i roped him all right, didn't i, mr. stallings?" "you did. but you got roped yourself, too, i reckon. think you'll be able to ride in the trail wagon? if not we'll have to send you back to town." "that'll be the best place for the tenderfoot," growled lumpy bates. stallings turned a stern eye upon him. "lumpy, when i want your opinion i'll let you know. what are you doing here, anyway? get into that cut out and be mighty quick about it!" lumpy rode away growling. "i'll ride in no trail wagon," announced tad butler, with emphasis. "i guess you will have to, my boy." "i'll ride my pony if i have to be tied on," he declared resolutely. the foreman laughed heartily. "well, we'll see about that. you boys all have good stuff in you. i see that master walter and the gopher are still out there looking after that bunch of cattle." "i told them to do so," spoke up tad. "and they are obeying orders. that's the first thing to learn in this business." "may i sit up now?" "you may try." tad's head spun round when he raised himself up. the lad fought his dizziness pluckily, and mastered it. after a little while they helped him to his feet. finally feeling himself able to walk he started unsteadily away from them. "where are you going?" demanded the professor. "pony," answered tad. "i protest, tad. you will come back here at once." tad turned obediently. "please, professor. i'm all right." "let the boy go. he will be all right in a few moments after he has gotten into the saddle," urged the foreman. "besides, he's too much of a man to be treated like a weakling. he'll get more bumps than that before he leaves this outfit, if i'm any judge." the professor motioned to tad to go on, which the lad did, petting his pony as he reached him, and then pulling himself into the saddle with considerable effort. "i'm ready for business now," he smiled, waving a hand to the foreman. "better look on and let the rest do the work," advised stallings, mounting his own tough pony and riding into the thick of the cutting out process. but tad butler could no more sit idly by while the exciting work was going on than could the foreman himself. the first steer that was cut out from the main herd, after stallings went back, found tad butler alongside of it, crowding it toward his own herd farther out. and this work he kept up until all the strangers had been separated from the diamond d stock. "there, i'm glad that job is done," exclaimed stallings, whipping off his hat and drawing a sleeve across his perspiring brow. "too bad i had to go and upset things so," said tad. "never mind. it's all in a day's work. on a cattle drive if it isn't one thing it's sure to be another. we have been lucky enough not to have a stampede thus far. that isn't saying we won't, however. if you feel like working you can ride up and join the point men. we'll make five or six miles before it is time to bed down the herd." to tad's companions was left the task of driving the strange cattle a couple of miles to the west and leaving them there. the boys could not well lose the main herd; for, no sooner had they started on the trail than a great cloud of dust slowly floated up into the air. tad, in his position near the head of the line, and well out to one side of it, was free from this annoyance. the longer the lad was in the saddle, the stronger he seemed to feel, and the only trace that was now left of his recent experience among the hoofs of the mexican steers was a bump on one side of his head almost as large as a hen's egg. it was near sundown when the foreman, who had ridden on ahead some time before, came back with the information that a broad stream that was not down on his map lay just ahead of them. "there's not more than thirty feet of swimming water there, and i believe i'll make a crossing before we go into camp," he announced briefly. "how deep is the water?" asked big-foot sanders. "in the middle, deep enough to drown, but on the edges it's fordable. the cows will be glad of a drink and a swim after the heat of to-day." with this in mind the cowmen were instructed to urge the cattle along at a little stronger pace, that they might all get well over before the night came on. the animals seemed to feel the presence of water ahead of them, for they ceased their grazing by the wayside and swung into a rapid pace, such a pace as always gladdens the heart of the cowboy. the steers held it until the rays of the setting sun were reflected on the surface of the broad sluggish stream. the pony riders dashed forward intent upon reaching the stream first. tad followed them upon receiving permission from the foreman to do so. the banks on each side were high and steep, making it far from an ideal fording place. stallings, however, thought it better to cross there than to take the time to work the herd further down. joining the boys, he cast his glance up and down the stream to decide whether his judgment had been correct. "i thought we were going to cross the river," said stacy brown. "that's exactly what we are going to do," replied the foreman. "but where's the bridge? i don't see any?" objected the lad. "right there in front of you." "where?" "chunky, there is no bridge," tad informed him. "we have to wade, just as the cattle will." "and swim, too, part of the way," added stallings. "but we'll get wet," wailed chunky. "no doubt about that," roared the foreman. "swim the river with our horses?" exclaimed ned. "hurrah! that will be great!" "i shall be glad to get some of this dust washed off me," laughed tad. "besides, the bump on my head will feel better for it, i think." "spread out, boys. the cattle are coming up on the run. they will push you into the river before you are ready if you happen to be in their way," warned stallings. the riders clucked to their ponies and all galloped up stream some distance that they might be well out of the way of the oncoming herd. the thirsty animals plunged into the water with a mighty splash. some forded until their feet could no longer touch the ground, after which they swam to the other side, while others paused to drink until those behind them forced them out into the stream also. in a few moments the stream was alive with swimming cattle, the herd being spread out for a full quarter of a mile up and down the stream. to the rear, yelling cowboys were urging on the stragglers and forcing the herd into the cool waters. it was an inspiring sight for the boys. here and there a cowman would ride his pony into the water and turn the leaders, who were straying too far up or down the river. after half an hour of watering, the men began to force the cattle to the opposite bank. there was a great scramble when the steers started to climb the steep bluff. the first ones to try it went half way up on a run. losing their footing they came tumbling to the foot of the bluff, knocking a number of the other cattle back into the water. there was much bellowing and floundering about, but the relentless forcing from the other side swept the unfortunate ones to the crest of the tide and up the steep bank. now that the loose dirt had slipped down the footing grew more secure, and the animals soon fell into trails of their own making, up which they crept three and four abreast. once on the other side they started to graze as contentedly as if they had not just passed through a most trying experience. two of the cowmen who had forded the stream further down, now appeared opposite the main fording place, to take charge of the cattle. "get across, boys," shouted the foreman. with an answering shout tad and ned slid their ponies down the sharp bluff, plunging into the water and heading straight across. "slip out of your saddles and hang on!" called the foreman. without an instant's hesitation the two boys slid into the water with a splash, but keeping tight hold on the pommels of their saddles. "let go the reins," directed stallings. "the ponies know where to go." now the lads were being drawn rapidly through the water, and almost before they knew it their feet rested on the bottom of the shallow stream a short distance from the opposite bank. "hooray!" shouted tad, waving his water-soaked sombrero. "come in. the water's great!" "come on, chunky," called ned. "i'll wait and go over in the wagon," decided chunky. "you'll do nothing of the sort," snapped the foreman. "you will swim, if you get over at all." professor zepplin, not to be outdone by his young charges, bravely rode his animal into the stream. the boys set up a shout of glee when he, too, finally dropped into the river with a great splash. instead, however, of allowing the pony to tow him, the professor propelled himself along with long powerful strokes of his left hand, while with the right he clung to the saddle pommel. "three cheers for professor zepplin!" cried tad as the german, dripping but smiling, emerged from the water and scrambled up the bank, leaving his pony to follow along after him. the cheers were given with a will. stacy brown, however, was still on the other side with the straggling cattle which were coming along in small bunches. "young man, if you expect to get in for supper, you'd better be fording the stream," suggested big-foot sanders. the mention of supper was all that stacy needed to start him. "gid-ap!" the pony slid down the bank on its haunches, stacy leaning far back in the saddle that he might not pitch over the animal's head. "chunky would make a good side hill rider, wouldn't he?" jeered ned. "depends upon whether he were going up or down," decided tad. "look out! there he goes!" exclaimed walter. the boy's mount had mired one foot in a quicksand pocket and had gone down on its knees. but chunky kept right on going. he hit the water flat on his stomach, arms and legs outspread, clawing and kicking desperately. the fat boy opened his mouth to cry out for help. as a result stacy swallowed all the water that came his way. floundering about like a drowning steer, choking and coughing, he disappeared from sight. chapter viii the approach of the storm "he's gone down!" cried a voice from the other side of the stream. tad sprang down the bank and leaped in, striking out for the spot where stacy had last been seen. cattle were scattered here and there and the boy had to keep his eyes open to prevent being run down. he had almost reached the place where he had made up his mind to dive, should stacy not rise to the surface, when a great shout from the bluff caused tad to turn. "wha--what is it?" he called. "look! look!" cried ned rector. "i don't see anything. is it chunky? is he all right?" "yes. he's driving oxen just now," answered ned. by this time the cowpunchers had joined in the shouting. tad could see, however, that they were shouting with merriment, though for the life of him he could not understand what there was to laugh about. several steers were between him and the spot on which the glances of the others were fixed. "come on in," called ned. the lad swam shoreward with slow, easy strokes. then he discovered what they were laughing at. stacy, grasping desperately as he went down, had caught the tail of a swimming steer. he had been quickly drawn to the surface, and out through an opening between the treading animals, appeared the fat boy's head. chunky was not swimming. he was allowing the steer to do that for him, clinging to its tail with all his strength. the lad's eyes were blinded for the moment by the water that was in them. he did not release his hold of the tail when they had reached the shore, but hung on desperately while the steer, dragging him along through the mire, scrambled up the bank. there was no telling how long stacy might have hung to the animal's tail, had not stallings grabbed him by the collar as he rose over the crest of the bank. stallings shook him until the water-soaked clothes sent out a miniature rain storm and the boy had coughed himself back to his normal condition. "well, you are a nice sort of cowboy," laughed the foreman. "when you are unable to do anything else to interest your friends, you try to drown yourself. go, shake yourself!" stacy rubbed the water from his eyes. "i--i fell in, didn't i?" he grinned. after having ferried the trail wagon over, everybody was ready for supper. no one seemed to mind the wetting he had gotten. professor zepplin made a joke of his own bedraggled condition, and the boys gave slight heed to theirs. the cattle were quickly bedded down and guards placed around them almost immediately, for the clouds were threatening. stallings' watchful eyes told him that a bad night was before them. how bad, perhaps he did not even dream. supper was ready a short time after the arrival of the wagon, and, laughing and joking, the boys gathered about the spread with a keen zest for the good things that had been placed before them. "do you boys feel like going out on guard to-night?" asked the foreman while they were eating. "i do for one," answered tad. "and i," chorused the rest of the lads. "i see your recent wetting has not dampened your spirits any," laughed stallings. "conditions make a lot of difference in the lives of all of us," announced the professor. "now, were these boys at home they'd all catch cold after what they have been through this afternoon. their clothes, as it is, will not be dry much before sunrise." "and perhaps not even then," added the foreman, with an apprehensive glance at the sky. "what did you say, mr. stallings?" "i am thinking that it looks like rain." "what do we do when it rains?" asked stacy brown. "same as any other time, kid," growled big-foot sanders. "i know; but what do you do?" persisted chunky. "young feller, we usually git wet," snapped curley adams, his mouth so full of potatoes that they could scarcely understand him. "he means where do we sleep?" spoke up tad. "oh, in the usual place," answered the foreman. "the only difference is that the bed is not quite so hard as at other times." "how's that, mr. stallings?" inquired walter. "because there's usually a puddle of water under you. i've woke up many a morning on the plains with only my head out of water. i'd a' been drowned if i hadn't had the saddle under my head for a pillow. however, it doesn't matter a great sight. after it has been raining a little while a fellow can't get any wetter, so what's the odds?" "that's what i say," added ned rector. stacy brown shook his head, disapproval plainly written on his face. "i don't agree with you. i have never been so wet that i couldn't be wetter." "how about when you came out of the river at the end of a cow's tail this afternoon? think you could have been any more wet?" jeered ned. "sure thing. i might have drowned; then i'd been wet on the inside as well as the outside," answered the fat boy, wisely, his reply causing a ripple of merriment all around the party. "i guess the gopher scored that time, eh?" grinned big-foot. that night stacy was sent out on the second guard from ten-thirty to one o'clock. they had found him asleep under the chuck wagon, whence he was hauled out, feet first, by one of the returning guards. tad had turned in early, as he was to be called shortly before one to go out with the third guard and to remain on duty till half-past three. for reasons of his own the foreman had given orders that all the ponies not on actual duty, that night, were to be staked down instead of being hobbled and turned out to graze. tad heard the order given, and noting the foreman's questioning glances at the heavens, imagined that it had something to do with weather conditions. "do you think mr. stallings is worried about the weather?" asked the lad of big-foot sanders, as he rode along beside the big cowman on the way to the bedding place of the herd. "i reckon he is," was the brief answer. "then you think we are going to have a storm?" "ever been through a texas storm?" asked big-foot by way of answering the boy's question. "no." "well, you won't call it a storm after you have. there ain't no name in the dictionary that exactly fits that kind of a critter. a stampede is a sunday in a country village as compared with one of them texas howlers. you'll be wishing you had a place to hide, in about a minute after that kind of a ruction starts." "are they so bad as that?" "well, almost," answered the cowman. "i've heard tell," he continued, "that they've been known to blow the horns off a mexican cow. why, you couldn't check one of them things with a three inch rope and a snubbing post." tad laughed at the quaintness of his companion's words. the sky near the horizon was a dull, leaden hue, though above their heads the stars twinkled reassuringly. "it doesn't look very threatening to me," decided tad butler, gazing intently toward the heavens. "well, here's where we split," announced the cowboy, riding off to the left of the herd, tad taking the right. shortly after the lad heard the big cowman break out in song: "two little niggers upstairs in bed, one turned ober to de oder an' said, how 'bout dat short'nin' bread, how 'bout dat short'nin' bread?" tad pulled up his pony and listened until the song had been finished. it was the cowpuncher's way of telling the herd that he had arrived and was on hand to guard them against trouble. "big-foot seems to have a new song to-night," mused tad. now the lad noticed that there was an oppressiveness about the air that had not been present before. a deep orange glow showed on the southern horizon for an instant, then settled back into the prairie, leaving the gloom about the young cowboy even more dense than it had been before. "feels spooky," was tad's comment. not being able to sing to his own satisfaction, tad shoved his hands deep into his trousers pockets and began whistling "old black joe." it was the most appropriate tune he could think of. "kind of fits the night," he explained to the pony, which was picking its way slowly about the great herd. then he resumed his whistling. the guards passed each other without a word, some being too sleepy; others too fully occupied with their own thoughts. the night, by this time, had grown intensely still, even the insects and night birds having hushed their weird songs. a flash more brilliant than the first attracted the lad's attention. "lightning," he muttered, glancing off to the south. "i guess mr. stallings was right about the storm." yet, directly overhead the stars still sparkled. in the distance tad saw the comforting flicker of the camp-fire, about which the cowmen were sleeping undisturbed by the oppressiveness of the night. "i guess the foreman knew what he was talking about when he said we were going to have a storm," repeated tad. "i wonder how the cattle will behave if things get lively." as if in answer to his question there came a stir among the animals on the side nearest him. tad began whistling at once and the cows quieted down. "they must like my whistling. it's the first time anything ever did," thought the lad. far over on the other side of the herd big-foot crooned to his charges the song of the "two little niggers upstairs in bed." "sanders' stock must be walking in their sleep, too. i wonder----" a brilliant flash lighted the entire heaven, causing tad butler to cut short the remark he was about to make. a deep rumble of thunder, that seemed to roll across the plain like some great wave, followed a few seconds later. the lad shivered slightly. he was not afraid. yet he realized that he was lonely, and wished that some of the other guards might come along to keep him company. glancing up, tad made the discovery that the small spot of clear sky had disappeared. by now he was unable to see anything. he made no effort to direct the pony, leaving it to the animal's instinct to keep a proper distance from the herd and follow its formation. the thunder gradually became louder and the flashes of lightning more frequent. the herd was disturbed. he could hear the cattle scrambling to their feet. now and then the sound of locking horns reached him as the beasts crowded their neighbors too closely in their efforts to move about. tad tried to sing, but gave it up and resumed his whistling. "i'm glad chunky is not out on this trick," thought the boy aloud. "i am afraid he would be riding back to camp as fast as his pony could carry him." no sooner had the words left his mouth than a flash, so brilliant that it blinded tad for the moment, lighted up the prairie. a crash which, as it seemed to him, must have split the earth wide open, followed almost instantly. another roar, different from that caused by the thunder, rose on the night air, accompanied by the suggestive rattle of meeting horns and the bellowing of frightened cattle. by this time tad had circled around to the west side of the herd. the instant this strange, startling noise reached him he halted his pony and listened. off to the north of him he saw the flash of a six-shooter. another answered it from his rear. then a succession of shots followed quickly one after the other. the lad began slowly to understand. he could hear the rush and thunder of thousands of hoofs. "the cattle are stampeding!" cried tad. chapter ix chased by a stampeding herd "whoa-oo-ope! whoa-oo-ope!" the long soothing cry echoed from guard to guard. it was the call of the cowman, in an effort to calm the frightened animals. here and there a gun would flash as the guards shot in front of the stampeding herd, hoping thereby to turn the rush and set the animals going about more in a circle in order to keep them together until they could finally be quieted. it was all a mad chaos of noise and excitement to the lad who sat in his saddle hesitatingly, not knowing exactly what was expected of him under the circumstances. off toward the camp a succession of flashes like fireflies told the cowpunchers on guard that their companions were racing to their assistance as fast as horseflesh could carry them. the storm had disturbed the herd from the instant of the first flash of lightning, and, as other flashes followed, the excitement of the animals increased until, at last, throwing off all restraint, they dashed blindly for the open prairie. desperately as the guards struggled to turn the herd, their efforts had no more effect than if they had been seeking to beat back the waves of the sea. tad was recalled to a realization of his position when, in a dazzling flash of lightning, he caught a momentary glimpse of big-foot sanders bearing down on him at a tremendous speed. tad saw something else, too--a surging mass of panic-stricken cattle, heads hanging low, horns glistening and eyes protruding, sweeping toward him. "ride! ride!" shouted big-foot. "wh--where?" asked tad in as strong a voice as he could command. "keep out of their way. work up to the point as soon as you can and try to point in the leaders. we've got to keep the herd from scattering. i'll stay in the center and lead them till the others get here. bob will send along some of the fellows to help you as soon as possible." while delivering his orders big-foot had turned his pony, and, with tad, was riding swiftly in advance of the cattle, in the same direction that they were traveling. to have paused where they were would have meant being crushed and trampled beneath the hoofs of the now maddened animals. "now, git!" tad pulled his pony slightly to the right. "use your gun!" shouted big-foot. "burn plenty of powder in front of their noses if they press you too closely!" he had forgotten that the lad did not carry a gun, nor did he realize that he was sending the boy into a situation of the direst peril. tad, by this time, had a pretty fair idea of the danger of the task that had been assigned to him. but he was not the boy to flinch in an emergency. pressing the rowels of his spurs against the flanks of the reaching pony and urging the little animal on with his voice, tad swept obliquely along in front of the herd. now and then a flash of lightning would show him a solid mass of cattle hurling themselves upon him. at such times the lad would swerve his mount to the left a little and shoot ahead for a few moments, in an attempt to get sufficient lead of them to enable him to reach the right or upper end of the line. in this way tad butler soon gained the outside of the leaders. by dropping back and working up the line, he pointed them in to the best of his ability. the lightning got into his eyes as he strained them wide open to take account of his surroundings. he would pass a hand over his face instinctively, as if to brush the flash away, groping for an instant for his bearings after he had done so. he remembered what bob stallings had said in speaking of a stampede. "keep them straight and hold them together. that's all you can do. you can't stop them," the foreman had said. the lad was doing this now as best he could, yet he wondered that none of the cowmen had come to his assistance. again and again did tad butler throw his pony against the great unreasoning wave on the right of the line, and again and again was he buffeted back, only to return to the battle with desperate courage. all at once the lad found himself almost surrounded by the beasts. a lightning flash had shown him this at the right time. had it been a few seconds later tad must have gone down under their irresistible rush. the pony, seeming to realize the danger fully as much as did its rider, bent every muscle in its little body to bear itself and rider to safety. yet try as they would, they were unable to get back to the right point to take up the turning work again. the cattle had closed in about the lad in almost a crescent formation, tad's position being about the center of it. "whoa-oo-ope! whoa-oo-ope!" shouted tad, taking up the cry that he had heard the cowboys utter earlier in the stampede. his voice was lost in the roar of the storm and the thunder of the rushing herd. tad realized that there was only one thing left for him to do. that was to keep straight ahead and ride. he would have to ride fast, too, if he were to keep clear of the long-legged mexican cattle. they were descending a gradual slope that led down into a broad, sandy arroyo where still stood the rotting stumps of oak and cottonwood trees that once lined the ancient water course. by this time the main herd lay to the rear nearly two miles, the cattle having separated into several bands. however, the lad was unaware of this. suddenly, in the darkness, rider and pony crashed into a dense mesquite thicket. there was not a second to hesitate, for they were already in. the leading cattle tore in after tad with a crashing of brush and a rattle of horns--sounds that sent a chill up and down his spine in spite of all the lad's sturdy courage. the herd was closing in on him, leaving the boy no alternative but to go through the thicket himself, and to go fast at that. tad formed his plan instantly. he made up his mind to ride it out and let his pony have its own way. yet the boy never expected to come through the mesquite thicket without being swept from his pony and trampled under the feet of the savage steers. he gave the pony a free rein, clutched both cantle and pommel of the saddle and braced himself for the shock that he was sure would come. the cow pony tore through the growth at a fearful pace, while the boy's clothes hung in shreds where they had been raked by the mesquite thorns. all at once tad felt himself going through the air with a different motion. he realized that he was falling. the pony had stumbled and with its rider was plunging headlong to the ground. the cattle were thundering down upon them. chapter x a miraculous escape "that settles me!" said the lad bitterly. the next instant he hit the ground with a force that partially stunned him. his pony, whose nose had ploughed the ground, was up like a flash. realizing its danger, the little animal gave a snort and plunged into the mesquite, leaving its rider lying on the ground with a fair prospect of being crushed to death beneath, the hoofs of the stampeding steers. tad recovered himself almost instantly. his first instinct was to run, in the hope of overtaking the fleeing pony. "that'll be sure death," he told himself. the cattle were almost upon him. if he were to do anything to save himself he would have to act quickly. it came to him suddenly that what the pony had fallen over might be made to act as a shield for himself. the boy sprang forward, groping in the dark amid the roaring of the storm and the thunder of the maddened herd. his hands touched a log. he found that it had so rotted away on one side as to make a partial shell. it was not enough to admit a human body, but it served as a sort of screen for him. tad burrowed into it as far as he could get. "i hope there are no snakes in here," he thought, snuggling close. yet between the two he preferred to take his chances with snakes, at that moment, rather than with the crazy steers. the leaders of the steers cleared the log, just grazing it with their hind feet as they went over, sending a shower of dust and decayed wood over tad. the cattle immediately following the leaders did not fare so well. a number of them, leaping over the log at the same instant, fell headlong as the pony had done before them. however, the steers were less fortunate. before they were able to scramble to their feet, others following had tumbled over on top of them, and tad butler found himself wedged in behind a barricade of bellowing cattle, whose flying hoofs made him hastily burrow deeper into the decayed log. this obstruction soon caused the main body to swerve. their solid front had been broken at last, yet they continued on as wildly as before, bellowing and horning one another in their mad flight. the rain, which had held back during the brilliant electrical display, now came down in drenching torrents, packing down the sand of the plain which the wind, before, had picked up and tossed into the air in dense clouds. tad was soaked to the skin almost instantly. but he did not mind this. his thought, now, was to get out of his perilous position and follow the herd. the cattle that had fallen so near him, were now one by one extricating themselves from their predicament, each one giving vent to a bellow as it did so and dashing after its companions. the lad was not slow to crawl from his hiding place the moment he considered it safe to do so. as it was, he got away before the snarl of steers had entirely unraveled itself. what to do tad did not know. his pony gone, and, with no sense of direction left, he was in sore straits. "i'll follow the cattle," he decided. "besides, it's my business to stay with them if i can. i'll do it as long as i've got a leg to stand on," he declared, cautiously working around those of the cattle that were leaping from the heap and running away. the mesquite was still full of stragglers dashing wildly here and there. in the darkness, the boy was really in great danger. there were no large trees behind which he could dodge to get out of the way of the animals as they rushed toward him, nor was he able to see them when they did get near him. he was obliged to judge of their direction by sound alone. this was made doubly difficult since the rain had begun to fall, for now, young butler could scarcely distinguish one sound from another. once a plunging steer hit the lad a glancing blow with its great side, hurling him into a thicket of bristling mesquite. the thorns gashed his face and body, almost stripping the remnants of his tattered clothes from him. still, with indomitable pluck, the lad sprang to his feet, stubbornly working his way through the thicket. he came out finally on the other side and floundering about for a time, found himself once more on a plain, which he had observed in the light from a flash of lightning extended away indefinitely. off to the west, he plainly made out a large body of cattle. apparently they were now headed to the northwest. it was almost a hopeless task for one to expect to be able to overhaul them on foot, and even were he to do so he could accomplish nothing after reaching them. but tad kept on just the same, with the rain beating him until he was gasping for breath, the lightning playing about him in lingering sheets of yellow flame. he had run on in this way for fully half an hour when a flash disclosed an object to the right of him. it was moving, but tad was sure it was not a steer. the boy changed his course somewhat and trotted along with more caution, shading his eyes with a hand that he might make out what it was when the next flash came. "it's a pony!" he shouted. "it's my pony!" the animal was standing with lowered head, gazing straight at the boy. tad whistled and called with a long drawn "whoa-oo-ope!" the pony made no move to approach, nor did it attempt to run away. but tad had had experience enough with the cow ponies by this time to know that the animal was not likely to stand still and permit him to come up with it. at any moment it was likely to kick its heels in the air and dash away. "i've got to make a run for him," decided the lad, stepping cautiously forward, making a slight detour that he might come up from the animal's left instead of approaching him directly from the front. after having done this, tad waited, crouching low. he chuckled to himself as he observed that the pony was looking straight ahead, not having discovered his master's new position. the boy was not more than two rods from him. measuring the distance with his eyes, he waited until the lightning flash died out, then ran on his toes straight for where he believed the horse was standing. it was tad's purpose to grab the animal about the neck. instead he ran straight against the pony's side with a resounding bump. the pony uttered a grunt of fear, springing straight up into the air. "whoa, barney!" coaxed the lad. but barney had no idea of obeying the command at that moment. it is doubtful if, in the fright of the sudden collision, he even understood what was wanted of him. tad's hands had missed the neck. instead they had grasped the pommel and cantle of the saddle, so that when the pony leaped, tad's feet were jerked clear of the ground. as the animal came down on all fours, tad threw himself into the saddle. instantly the pony's back arched, and, with a cough, it went off into a series of bucks, twisting, whirling and making desperate efforts to unseat its rider. for the first few minutes the lad could do no more than hold on. at the first opportunity, however, he let go of the pommel long enough to reach forward and pick up the reins, which hung well down on the pony's neck. "now, buck, barney, you rascal!" shouted tad gleefully, giving a gentle pressure with the spurs. barney at once decided to stop bucking. tad clucked to him and shook out the reins. away they went on the trail of the cattle, heading to the northwest, where the lad could plainly see them running. at the pace the pony was going they were able to overhaul the herd in a short time. tad had clung to his quirt when he was thrown. reaching the head of the line of charging beasts, he rode straight at the leaders, bringing the quirt again and again across the noses of those nearest to him. this treatment served to deflect the line a little; yet, try as he would, tad seemed unable to turn the bunch toward home. yet he kept steadily at his work, "milling" the steers, as the turning process is called, until pony and rider were well-nigh exhausted. tad knew he was a long way from camp and alone with the herd. after a time the animals seemed to him to be slackening their speed. discovering this, he untied the slicker or rubber blanket from the saddle cantle, and, riding against the leaders again, flaunted the slicker in their faces, shouting and urging at the same time. "if i had a gun i believe i could stop them right away," he said. "but i'm going to turn them if it's the last thing i ever do." the fury of the storm was abating and the lightning flashes were becoming less frequent. now that he had succeeded in turning the point of the herd, it proved much easier to keep them under control. besides, it gave both boy and pony a breathing spell. the hard riding was not now necessary. round and round young butler kept the herd circling for nearly an hour. the steers, moving more and more slowly, tad concluded wisely that they were growing tired of this and that they would quiet down. his judgment proved correct. the storm passed. he could hear it roaring off to the northwest where the lightning flamed up in intermittent flashes. "wonder what time it is," queried tad aloud, searching about in his clothes for his watch. "pshaw, i've lost it," he exclaimed. "well, it is not so much of a loss after all. i paid only a dollar for it and i've had more than a dollar's worth of fun to-night. i wonder what i look like. i must be a sight." it now lacked only an hour of dawn, but, of course, the boy did not know this. in the darkness preceding the dawn he had no idea of the size of the bunch of cattle that he had led out over the plain. he knew it must be large, however. at last daybreak was at hand, the landscape and the herd being faintly outlined in the thin morning light. tad was surprised to find that he had milled the cattle into a compact bunch. now the boy began galloping around the herd, speaking words of encouragement to the animals as he went, whistling and trying to sing, until finally he was rewarded by seeing some of them begin to graze. "i've done it," shouted tad gleefully. "i've bagged the whole bunch. i wonder what mr. stallings will say to that. i don't believe big-foot sanders could beat that. the next question is, where am i? i don't know. i guess i'm lost for sure. but i've got lots of company." to add to his perplexity, a light fog was drifting over the plain from the southeast, shutting out what little view there was in the early morning light. the cattle were now grazing as contentedly as if they never had known such an experience as a stampede. it was useless, however, to attempt to drive them, for he might be leading them away from camp instead of toward it. tad was wet and hungry, and now that he was able to get a look at himself, he discovered that his belt was about the only whole thing left of his equipment. scarcely a vestige of his trousers remained; his shirt hung in ribbons, his hat was lost and his leggins had been stripped off clean. tad laughed heartily as he surveyed himself. "well, i am a sight! i guess i shall need a whole new harness before i drive cattle much more." all he could do now was to wait for the sun to rise. then, he might be able to determine something about his position. but the sun was a long time in making its appearance that day. chapter xi the vigil on the plains "i wish i had a drink of water," said tad after some hours had passed. instead of drifting away, the fog had become more dense. he could see only part of the herd now. however, as they showed no disposition to run, tad felt no concern in that direction. he was obliged to ride around the herd more frequently than would otherwise have been the case, in order to keep the straying ones well rounded in. the hours passed slowly, and with their passing tad's appetite grew. he sat on his pony, enviously watching the cattle filling their stomachs with the wet grass. "i almost wish i were a steer," declared tad. "i could at least satisfy my hunger." then the lad once more took up his weary round. off to the eastward, all was still excitement. the herd had broken up into many parts during the stampede and the cowmen were having a hard time in rounding up the scattered bunches. a few of them had succeeded in working some of the animals back to the bedding ground of the previous night, where the animals were left in charge of one man. with the coming of the morning and the fog, which blanketed everything, their work became doubly difficult. the storm had wiped out almost all traces of the trail made by the different herds in their escape, until even an indian would have been perplexed in an effort to follow them. "who is missing?" asked stallings, riding into camp after a fruitless search for his cattle. "tad butler, for one," answered walter perkins. "let's see. he was on guard with big-foot sanders," mused the foreman. "big-foot has not shown up, so the young man probably is with him. no need to worry about them. big-foot knows this country like a book. you can't lose him. then there's curley adams and lumpy bates to come in yet. i can see us eating our thanksgiving dinner on the trail if this thing keeps up much longer." yet, despite these discouragements, the foreman kept his temper and his head. "is there nothing we can do toward finding the boy?" asked professor zepplin anxiously. "does it look like it?" answered stallings, motioning toward the fog that lay over them like a dull, gray, cheerless blanket. late in the afternoon curley and lumpy came straggling into camp with the remnants of the herd, with which they had raced out hours before. an hour afterwards, big-foot sanders drove in with a bunch of two hundred more. "where's the pinto?" asked stallings as big-foot rode up to the trail wagon and reported. "the pinto? why, i haven't seen the kid since the bunch started on the rampage last night. i thought he was with me on the other end of the herd. hasn't he come in yet?" "no." "then the kid's lost. all the cows back?" "i don't know. i'll look over the herd and make an estimate. you come along with me." together the foreman and the big cowman rode out to the grazing ground, where they circled the great herd, glancing critically over them as they rode. "what do you think?" asked big-foot as they completed the circuit of the herd. "i should say we were close to five hundred head short," decided the foreman. "how does it look to you?" "i reckon you're about right. suffering cats, but that was a run! never saw a bunch scatter so in my life." "couldn't be helped. the night was so dark you couldn't tell whether you had a hundred or a thousand with you. did you strike any cross trails while you were coming in!" "nary a one--not in the direction i came from. if i'd kept on last night, at the rate i was going, i'd have rounded up in wyoming some time to-day i reckon. sorry the pinto's strayed away. he'll have a time of it finding his way back. reckon we won't see the kid again this trip," decided big-foot. "we've got to," answered the foreman sharply. "we don't move from this bed till he's been picked up, even if it takes all summer." "you--you don't reckon he's with that other bunch, do you?" "i shouldn't be surprised. the boy has pluck and i have an idea that if he got in with a lot of cows he'd stick to them till the pony went down under him." "more'n likely that's what happened. i'll tell you what we had better do----" "get all the boys together who are not needed on guard," interrupted stallings. "let them circle out to the west and southwest and shoot. have each man fire a shot every five minutes by the watch as they move out. that will keep them in touch with each other, and will act as a guide to the kid if he happens to be within hearing." "how far shall we go?" "half an hour out. it's not safe to leave the herd any longer unless the fog clears away. as soon as that goes we'll organize a regular search. i want those cows, and i want to find the boy." the men quickly mounted their ponies and disappeared in the fog, following the orders given by the foreman. after a time those in camp could faintly hear the distant cracks of the cowpunchers' pistols as they fired their signals into the air. in the meantime tad butler was keeping his lonely vigil on the fogbound plains many miles away. the fog was still hovering over the herd as the afternoon waned, and the lad's body was dripping wet from it. occasionally he brushed a hand across his face, wiping away the moisture. darkness settled down earlier than usual that night. yet, to the boy's great relief, the fog lifted shortly afterwards and the stars came out brightly. with the skill of an old cowman tad had bedded down the herd and began to ride slowly about them, whistling vigorously. his face ached from the constant puckering of his lips, and his wounds gave him considerable pain. yet he lost none of his cheerfulness. at times tad found himself drooping in his saddle as his sleepiness overcame him. but he fought the temptation to doze by talking to himself and bringing the quirt sharply against his legs. "tad butler, don't you dare to go to sleep!" he warned himself. "it's the first real duty you have had to perform, so you're not going to make a mess of it. my, but i'm hungry!" from that on the boy never allowed his eyelids to drop, though at times they felt as if weighted down with lead. after what seemed an eternity, the gray dawn appeared on the eastern horizon. immediately tad began routing out the cows that they might have an opportunity to graze before the rising of the sun. it was his intention to point them toward where he believed the camp to be the moment they had grazed to their satisfaction. until then it would not be wise to start the animals on their course. about six o'clock, deciding that they had eaten enough, tad began galloping up and down, shouting and applying his quirt here and there to the backs of the cows. it was slow work for one lone horseman to start five hundred cattle on the trail. yet, after half an hour of effort, he had the satisfaction of seeing them begin to move. "whoop!" shouted the boy. "i'm a real cowboy this time!" yet his task was more difficult than he had imagined it could be. while he was urging on one part of the herd, the others would lag by the wayside and begin to graze. constant effort and continual moving about at high speed on his part, were necessary to keep up any sort of movement among the cattle. the lad headed as nearly as possible for the southeast, believing that he had come from that direction. at the same time a party had set out from the camp in search of young butler. they had laid their course more toward the southwest. holding these directions the two parties would not come within some miles of each other. tad's eyes were continually sweeping the plains in hope of discovering a horseman or some signs of the main herd, which he was sure must have been rounded up long before. not a trace of them could he discover. once the boy straightened up in his saddle believing he had heard the report of a gun. after listening for some time he came to the conclusion that he had been in error. "i guess it's my stomach imagining things," grinned tad butler. he had now been out for two nights, and was now well along on the second day. during all that time he had not had a mouthful to eat. his lips were dry and parched; his throat burned fearfully. still, he kept resolutely on. about two o'clock in the afternoon the herd came upon a clump of trees. tad at sight of it, spurred his pony on, attracted by the greenness of the grass about the place, hoping that he might find a spring. but he was doomed to disappointment. there was no sign of water to be found. with almost a sob in his throat the boy swung himself into his saddle again. "barney, you and i ought to be camels. then we could carry all the water we need," he told the pony. "if we don't find some pretty soon i reckon we'll dry up and blow away. gid-ap, barney!" once more the lad began his monotonous pounding back and forth along the side of the herd which was now spread out over a full half mile of territory, urging with all his strength in order to get the animals to quicken their pace. in the camp, stallings and the others had begun to show their worriment. not a trace had been found of boy or herd. the main hope of the foreman was that tad might come upon a ranch or a town somewhere, in his course, and in that way get help to direct him back to camp. as for the cattle, he feared that they had become so split up that it would be well-nigh impossible to get them together again. during the whole afternoon, bob stallings had been riding about his own herd, sweeping the plain with a pair of field glasses. a speck of dust far to the northwest suddenly attracted his attention. stallings halted his pony, and, sitting in his saddle almost motionless, gazed intently at the tiny point that had come within range of his vision. "i wonder what that is," mused the foreman. "it can't be any of our party, for they would not be likely to be away off there--that is, unless they have rounded up the bunch." stallings, after a while, wheeled his pony and dashed back to camp. "if any of the men come in, tell them to head northwest and come on as fast as they can." "do you see anything?" asked the professor anxiously. "i don't know. i hope i do," answered the foreman, leaping into his saddle and putting spurs to his mount. "it may be some other herd crossing the state," he muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the speck that was slowly developing into a miniature cloud. the foreman urged his pony to its best pace, and, in the course of half an hour he was able to make out a herd of cattle. that was all he could tell about it. however, it was not long before he discovered a lone horseman working up and down the herd. stallings was in too great a hurry to use his glasses now. he was driving his pony straight at the yellow mark off there on the plain, without swerving or appearing to exert any pressure at all on the bridle rein. "it's the pinto, as i'm alive!" he breathed. the horseman with the herd saw him now, and rising in his saddle, waved a hand at the foreman. in a few moments stallings came rushing up with a shout of joy. [illustration: good for you, kid!] "good for you, kid! how are you?" "baked to a turn," answered tad hoarsely, but with face lighting up joyously. "i never was so thirsty in my life." "what? haven't you had anything to drink?" "not a drop in two days." "great heavens, boy! you head that pony for camp mighty quick. ride for it! you will have no difficulty in following my trail back. don't drink much at a time. take it in little sips," commanded the foreman in short, jerky sentences. "yes, but what about the herd?" asked tad butler. "never you mind the herd. i'll see to them. you move!" stallings noticed that the boy sat in his saddle very straight, and he knew well enough the effort it cost him to do so. "i think i'll stay," answered the lad after a moment of indecision. "you'll go!" tad shook his head. "i've pulled them through, even if i have had quite a time of it. now i'm going to stay with them. i guess i can stand it as well as any of your men could under similar circumstances. they wouldn't desert the herd, would they?" stallings glanced at him sharply. "all right," he said. "if you insist upon it. by good rights i ought to order you in. but i understand just how you feel, kid. here, take a drink of this brandy. it will brace you up," said the foreman, producing a flask from his pocket. "i keep it for emergencies, as the men are not allowed to use it while on duty." "thank you," answered the boy, with an emphatic shake of the head. "i don't drink." "i understand. but this is medicine," urged the foreman. "it will set you right up." "i haven't the least doubt of it," grinned the boy. "but i don't want to be set up that way. you'll excuse me, mr. stallings. don't urge me, please." the foreman replaced the flask in his pocket, a queer smile flickering about the corners of his mouth. "you are the right stuff, kid," he muttered. "if you stayed in this business you'd be a foreman before you knew it. you are a heap sight better than a lot of them now. fall in. i'll ride around on the other side of the herd, and urge them along from the rear. you ride up to the right of the line and keep them pointed. follow our trail. you will make out the main herd very soon." with renewed strength, tad went at his work, though it was with an effort that he kept his saddle. he was afraid he must collapse before reaching the camp, and his straining eyes kept searching for the herd and the white-topped wagon that he knew held what he needed most of all at that moment--drink and food! soon tad and the foreman made out a rising cloud of dust approaching them at a rapid rate. stallings waved his hand toward the cloud and nodded to tad, being too far away to call. the lad shook his head in reply. he understood what the foreman meant. men were coming to their assistance and the boy was to push on for camp alone. the cowpunchers began to laugh as they rode up and observed the boy's tattered condition. "so the pinto got a dose this time, eh?" jeered lumpy bates. "you shut up!" snarled big-foot sanders, turning on him menacingly. "he's brought them cows back, and i'll bet a new saddle it's more'n you could have done. don't you see the kid's near all in? here you, pinto, you hike for camp!" he shouted. "i'm staying with the cattle," announced tad, firmly. "cattle nothing. it's the camp for yours and mighty quick!" without waiting for argument big-foot grasped the reins of tad's bridle and whirling his own mount about, galloped away, fairly dragging tad butler and his tired pony after him. with no reins in his hands the boy was powerless to interfere. all he could do was to sit in his saddle and be towed into camp. "please don't take me in this way. let me ride in," he begged as they neared the camp. "all right," laughed big-foot, slacking up and tossing the reins back over the pony's neck. "it's a terrible thing to be proud, when a fellow's down and out. but i want to say one thing, kid." "yes?" "there ain't a gamer critter standing on two hoofs than you--bar none. and that goes." tad laughed happily. "i haven't done anything. i----" "haven't done anything?" growled big-foot, riding close and peering down into the boy's scarred and grimy face. "say, don't pass that out to the bunch. lumpy'll say you're fishin' for compliments. i don't want to thump him, but, if he passes out any talk as reflects on what you've done for this outfit, i'll thrash him proper." they were now so near to the camp that the professor and the boys were able to recognize the horsemen. they set up a great shout. "meet me with a pail of water," yelled tad. "i'm hot." pong heard him and almost immediately emerged from the chuck wagon with a tin pail full of water. "throw it on me, quick," commanded the lad, leaping from his pony. pong tipped the pail and was about to dash it over the lad when big-foot suddenly freed a foot from the stirrup. he gave the pail a powerful kick sending it several feet from him, its contents spilling over the ground. "you idiot! you fool heathen!" roared big-foot. "the pinto didn't say he wanted boiling hot water thrown on him. he said he was hot. if you wasn't the cook of this outfit, and we'd all starve to death without you, i'd shoot you plumb full of holes, you blooming idiot of a heathen chinee!" "allee same," chuckled pong, showing his gleaming teeth. "what! you climb into that wagon before i forget you're the cook!" fumed big-foot, jumping his pony threateningly toward the chinaman. pong leaped into the protection of his wagon. "boys," said the big cowman, "the pinto has come back with the crazy steers. he's rounded up the whole bunch and never lost a critter. look at him, if you don't believe me. ain't he a sight?" tad smiled proudly as he sipped the water which one of the boys had brought to him. "any man as says he ain't a sight has got a fight on with big-foot sanders. and that goes, too!" announced the cowman, glaring about him. "three cheers for tad butler, champion cowpuncher!" cried ned rector. "hooray!" bellowed big-foot. "y-e-e-e-o-w!" "hip-hip, hooray!" chorused the boys, hurling their sombreros into the air. their wild yells and cat calls made the cattle off on the grazing grounds raise their heads in wonder. "allee same likee this," chuckled the grinning chinaman from the front end of the chuck wagon, at the same time making motions as if he, too, were cheering. the boys roared with laughter. big-foot sanders grunted and turned his back on the grinning face of pong. "one of these days i sure will forget that heathen's the cook," he growled. chapter xii under a strange influence "we will move to-morrow shortly after daybreak," announced the foreman at supper that night. "will you put me on the fourth guard this evening, mr. stallings?" asked tad butler. "you take the fourth guard? a cowpuncher who hasn't had a wink in more than two days? why, i wouldn't ask a steer to do that! no kid, you roll up in your blankets and sleep until the cook routs you out for breakfast." "i'll take my trick just the same. i can sleep at home when i get back. i don't want to miss a minute of this fun," returned tad. "fun--he calls it fun!" grunted lumpy. "it's just the beginning of the fun," answered big-foot. "i knew things would begin to happen when we got near the nueces." "why?" asked ned rector. "i don't know. there seems to be some queer influence at work round these parts. last time i was over this part of the trail we had a stampede almost every night for a week. two months ago i heard of an outfit that lost more'n half its stock." "how about it, mr. stallings?" laughed tad. "are you superstitious, too?" the boys noted that the foreman frowned and would not answer at once. "not exactly. big-foot means the adobe church of san miguel." "what's that?" interrupted chunky. "an old mexican church on the plains. probably hasn't been used for a hundred years or more. you boys will have a chance to explore the place. it's not far from the ox bow ranch, where we take in another herd. we shall be there a couple of days or so until the cattle get acquainted. besides, we shall have to buy some fresh ponies. four of ours broke their legs in the stampede and had to be shot." "oh, that's too bad," answered tad. "i'm sorry. i don't like to see a horse get hurt." "no more do i, master tad. but in this business it is bound to happen. i think we shall be able to get some green bronchos. they usually have a bunch of them at the ox bow ranch. you will see some fun when we break them in," laughed the foreman. "i think i should like to take a hand in that myself. but i am anxious to hear more about the haunted church." "who said anything about a haunted church?" demanded stacy brown. "the gopher is right. the church isn't haunted. it just happens that cowmen fall into a run of hard luck in that neighborhood now and then." "do you believe in spooks, mr. stallings!" asked walter. "never having seen one, i don't know whether i do or not. were i to see one i might believe in them," laughed the foreman. "i saw a ghost once," began stacy brown. "never mind explaining about it," objected ned. "we'll take your word for it and let it go at that." tad butler had gotten into a fresh change of clothes after having taken a bath in a wash tub behind the trail wagon. his wounds pained him, and he was sleepy, so the lad turned in shortly after his supper, and was soon sound asleep. nothing occurred to disturb the camp that night, and when finally tad was awakened to take his watch, it seemed as if he had been asleep only a few minutes. however, he sprang up wide awake and ready for the work ahead of him. as usual, he went out with big-foot. a warm friendship had sprung up between the big cowboy and tad butler. they were together much of the time when their duties permitted. "is there any truth in that spook story?" asked tad, as the two rode slowly out to where the herd was bedded down. big-foot hesitated. "you can call it whatever you want to. i only know that things happen to most every outfit that gets within a hundred miles of the place. why, out at the ox bow ranch, they have the worst luck of any cattle place in the state. if it wasn't for the fact that they keep their cows fenced in with wire fences, they wouldn't have a critter on the place." "but, i don't understand," protested tad. "i don't seem to get it through my head what it is that causes all the trouble you tell me about." "no more does anybody else. they just know that hard luck is lying around waiting for them when they get near and that's all they know about it." "when shall we be near there?" asked tad butler. "we are near enough now. our troubles have begun already. herd stampeded. ponies broke their legs and had to be shot. nobody knows what else will break loose before we get a hundred miles further on." "i am anxious to see the place," commented tad. "you won't be after you've been there. i worked on a cow herd near the place two years ago." "yes?" "well, i got out after i'd been pitched off my pony and got a broken leg. that was only one of the things that happened to me, but it was enough. i got out. and here i am running my head right into trouble again. say, kid!" "yes." "you'd better ask the herr professor to let you carry a gun. you'll need it." "what for--to lay ghosts with?" laughed the boy. "well, mebby something of that sort." "don't need it. i guess my fists will lay out any kind of a ghost that i run against. if they won't, no gun will do any good. i don't believe in a boy's carrying a pistol in his pocket. it will get him into more trouble than it will get him out of." "well, that's some horseback sense," grunted big-foot. "i never built up against that idee before, but i reckon it's right. we don't need 'em much either, except to frighten the cows with when they start on a stampede, and----" "it doesn't seem to stop them," retorted tad, with a little malicious smile. "it strikes me that a boy without a gun can stop a runaway herd about as quickly as can a cowboy with one." "right again, my little pardner. scored a bull's-eye that time. i guess big-foot sanders hasn't any call to be arguing with you." "we were talking about spooks," the boy reminded him. "i am anxious to see that church. i've wanted to see one all my life----" "what? a church?" "no; a spook." "oh! can't promise to show you nothing of the sort. but i'll agree to stack you up against a run of hard luck that will make you wobbly on your legs." "that will be nothing new, big-foot. i've had that already." "sure thing. that's the beginning of the trouble. as i was saying before, we don't need the guns for any other reason unless it's against cattle rustlers. sometimes they steal cattle these days, but not so much as they did in the early days of the cattle business." "think we will meet any rustlers?" asked tad, with sudden interest. "nary a rustler will tackle this herd. first place, we are not yet in the country where they can work profitably----" "where's that?" "oh, anywhere where there's mountains for them to hide in. i'll show you where the rustlers used to work, when we get further along on the trail. but, as i was saying, there are no rustlers hereabouts." "oh," answered tad butler, somewhat regretfully. "you never mind about hunting trouble. trouble is coming to this outfit good and plenty, and i reckon a kid like you will be in the middle of it, too. you ain't the kind that goes sneaking for cover when things are lively. i saw that the other night. stallings is going to write to boss miller about the way you stuck to the herd when it ran away." "what for?" "i dunno. guess 'cause he knows it'll make the old man smile. we boys will come in for an extra fiver at the end of the trip, for saving the herd, i reckon." "that's where you have the best of me," laughed tad. "no fives for me. i get my pay out of the fun i am having. i think i am overpaid at that. well, so long, big-foot," announced the lad as they finally reached the herd. "so long," answered the cowman, turning his pony off to take the opposite side of the sleeping cattle. in a few moments tad heard his strident voice singing to the herd again. the hours passed more quickly than had been the case the last time tad was on guard, for he had much to think of and to wonder over. daybreak had arrived almost before he knew it and the call for breakfast sounded across the plain. as soon as he had been relieved, tad butler galloped back to camp, bright-eyed and full of anticipation, both for the meal and for the ride that was before them that day. corn cakes were on the bill of fare that morning and the pony riders shouted with glee when they discovered what pong had prepared for them. "bring on the black strap," called stallings. stacy brown glanced at the foreman suspiciously. "why do you want a black strap for breakfast?" he demanded. "to put on the corn cakes of course, boy," laughed stallings. "i've heard of using a black strap to hitch horses with----" "and to correct unruly boys," added professor zepplin. "but i never did hear of eating it on corn cakes." everybody laughed at chunky's objection. "you will eat this strap when you see it," answered stallings, taking a jug from the hands of the chinaman and pouring some of its contents over the cakes on his plate. "what is it!" asked ned rector. "molasses. it's what we call black strap. help yourselves. never mind the gopher there. he never eats black straps for breakfast," the foreman jeered. "here, i want some of that," demanded stacy, half-rising and reaching for the jug. "my, but it's good!" he decided with his mouth full. "that's all right," answered walter. "but please do not forget that there are some others in this outfit who like cakes and molasses. please pass that jug this way." "yes, the pony won't be able to carry him to-day if he keeps on for ten minutes more, at the rate he's been going," laughed ned rector. "i never did have any sort of use for a glutton." "neither did i," added chunky solemnly, at which both pony riders and cowboys roared with laughter. "going to be another scorcher," decided the foreman, rising and surveying the skies critically. "we shall not be able to make very good time, i fear." "when do you expect to reach the nueces river?" asked the professor. "i had hoped to get there by to-morrow. however, it doesn't look as if we should be able to do so if it comes off so hot." "is the nueces a large river?" asked walter. "sometimes. and it is a lively stream when there happens to be a freshet and both forks are pouring a flood down into it. we will try to bed down near the river and you boys can have some sport swimming. do all of you swim?" "yes," they chorused. "that's good. the cowpunchers will have a time of it, too." "i can float," stacy brown informed him eagerly. "so could i if i were as fat as you. i could float all day," retorted ned rector. "you couldn't sink if you were to fill your pockets with stones. there is some advantage in being fat, anyway." "he didn't seem to float the day he fell in among the steers," said one of the cowboys. "that isn't fair," interrupted stallings. "the steers put the gopher under, that day. any of you would have gone down with a mob of cows piling on top of you." "the river is near the church you were telling me about, isn't it?" inquired tad of big-foot in a low tone. sanders nodded solemnly. tad's eyes sparkled eagerly. he finished his breakfast rather hurriedly and rose from the table. as he walked away he met the horse wrangler bringing the day ponies. the lad quickly saddled his own mount after a lively little struggle and much squealing and bucking from the pony. tad was eager to reach the river and get sight of the mysterious church beyond. yet, he did not dream of the thrilling experiences that were awaiting them all at the very doors of the church of san miguel. chapter xiii chunky ropes a cowboy "wow! help! help!" the herd had been moving on for several hours, grazing comfortably along the trail, when the sudden yell startled the entire outfit. the cowboys reined in their ponies and grasped their quirts firmly, fully expecting that another stampede was before them. instead, they saw stacy brown riding away from the herd, urging his pony to its best speed. right behind him, with lowered head and elevated tail was a white muley, evidently chasing the lad. what the boy had done to thus enrage the animal no one seemed to know. however, it was as pretty a race as they had seen thus far on the drive. "point him back! he can't hurt you!" shouted the foreman. instead of obeying the command, stacy brought down his quirt on the pony, causing the little animal to leap away across the plain in a straight line. the cowboys were shouting with laughter at the funny spectacle. "somebody get after that steer!" roared the foreman. "the boy never will stop as long as the critter keeps following him, and we'll have the herd following them before we know it." "i'll go, if you wish," said tad butler. "then go ahead. got your rope?" "yes." "it'll be good practice for you." tad was off like a shot, leaving a cloud of dust behind him. "that boy's got the making of a great cowpuncher in him," said the foreman, nodding his head approvingly. tad's pony was the swifter of the two, and besides, he was riding on an oblique line toward the runaway outfit. it was the first opportunity the lad had had to show off his skill as a cowman, for none had seen his pointing of the herd on the night of the stampede. he was burning with impatience to get within roping distance of the steer before they got so far away that the cowmen would be unable to see the performance. "pull up and turn him, chunky," called tad. "i can't." "why not? turn in a half circle, then i shall be able to catch up with you sooner." "can't. the muley won't stop long enough for me to turn around." tad laughed aloud. he now saw that it was to be a race between the steer and his own pony. the odds, however, were in favor of the steer, for stacy brown was pacing him at a lively gait, and tad was still some distance behind. the latter's pony was straining every muscle to overhaul the muley. tad finally slipped the lariat from the saddle bow. swinging the great loop above his head, he sent it squirming through the air. at that instant the muley changed its course a little and the rope missed its mark by several feet. now it was dragging behind the running pony. by this time tad had fallen considerably behind. he took up the race again with stubborn determination. coiling the rope as he rode on, he made another throw. the noose fell fairly over the head of the muley steer, this time. profiting by a previous experience, the lad took a quick turn about the pommel of the saddle. the pony braced itself, ploughing up the ground with its little hoofs as it did so. a jolt followed that nearly threw tad from his saddle. the muley steer's head was suddenly jerked to one side and the next instant the animal lay flat on its back, its heels wildly beating the air. "whoop!" shouted tad in high glee, waving his hat triumphantly to the watching cowpunchers. the steer was up in a moment, with tad butler watching him narrowly. "cast your rope over his head, chunky." chunky made a throw and missed. the angry steer rose to its feet and charged him. stacy brown held the muleys in wholesome awe, though, having no horns, they were the least dangerous of the herd. "yeow!" shrieked chunky, putting spurs to his pony and getting quickly out of harm's way. the steer was after him at a lively gallop, with tad butler and his pony in tow. tad had prudently shaken out the reins when he saw the animal preparing to take up the chase again. waiting until the steer had gotten under full headway, the lad watched his chance, then pulled his pony up sharply. this time the muley's head was jerked down with such violence that it turned a partial somersault, landing on its back with a force that must have knocked the breath out of it. again and again did tad repeat these tactics, the pony seemingly enjoying the sport fully as much as did the boy himself. after a time he succeeded in getting the unruly beast headed toward the herd. once he had done that he let the animal have its head and they sailed back over the trail at a speed that made the cowboys laugh. tad seemed to be driving the steer, with stacy brown riding well up to the animal's flanks, laying on his quirt to hasten its speed, every time he got a chance. as they neared the herd, tad in attempting to release the rope from the pommel let it slip through his hands. the lad was chagrined beyond words. "rope him quick, chunky!" he cried. lumpy bates, observing the mishap, had spurred toward the running steer, intending to cast a lariat over one of the animal's feet and throw it so they could remove the lariat from its neck. just as the cowboy wheeled his mount in order to reach one of the steer's hind feet, chunky clumsily cast his own rope. instead of reaching the muley steer, the loop caught the left hind foot of the cowpuncher's galloping pony. "cinch it!" called tad as the loop followed an undulating course through the air. chunky did cinch it gleefully about his saddle pommel. at the same time he cinched something else. the cowpuncher's mount went down, its nose burrowing into the turf. lumpy was so taken by surprise that he had no time to save himself. he shot over the pony's neck, landing flat on his back several feet in advance of the pony's nose. the watching cowboys set up a jeering yell. lumpy scrambled to his feet, his face purple with rage. "you tenderfoot!" shrieked curley adams. "to let the gopher rope you like a yearling steer!" chunky sat on his mount with blanched face, now realizing the enormity of his act. "i--i didn't mean to do it," he stammered. at first lumpy did not know what had caused his pony to fall. but no sooner had he gotten to his feet than he comprehended. with a savage roar he sprang for the fat boy with quirt raised above his head, prepared to bring it down on stacy brown the instant he reached him. the blow would have been bad enough had it been delivered in the ordinary way. the cowboy, however, had gasped the quirt by the small end and was preparing to use the loaded butt on the head of the boy who had been the cause of his fall. tad had halted upon observing the accident, laughing uproariously at the spectacle of lumpy bates being roped by stacy brown. when he saw the quirt in the hands of the cowpuncher, however, and realized what his purpose was, the laughter died on the lips of tad butler. "drop that quirt, lumpy!" he commanded sternly. lumpy gave no heed to the command, but broke into a run for stacy. tad, who was a few rods away, put spurs to his pony, at the same time slipping off the lariat from the other side of his saddle. "the pinto's going to rope him," gasped the cowboys. all were too far away to be of any assistance. stallings was with another part of the herd, else he would have jumped in and interfered before tad's action had become necessary. tad's pony leaped forward under the pressure of the spurs. the boy began spinning the noose of the lariat above his head. the cowboys were watching in breathless suspense. tad sent the loop squirming through the air, turning his pony so as to run parallel with the one on which stacy was sitting, half paralyzed with fear, as he gazed into the rage-contorted face of lumpy bates. as the quirt was descending, tad's rope slipped over the cowboy's head and under one arm. this time, however, the lad did not cinch the rope over his saddle pommel. he held it firmly in his hand, with a view to letting go after it had served its purpose, having no desire to injure his victim. lumpy bates went over as if he had been bowled over with a club, and before he had realized the meaning of it he had been dragged several feet. tad jerked his pony up sharply and slowly rode back to where his victim was desperately struggling to free himself. "y-e-e-e-o-ow!" screamed the cowboys, circling about the scene, their ponies on a dead run, discharging their six-shooters into the air, giving cat calls and wild war-whoops in the excess of their joy. big-foot sanders, however, had not joined in their merriment. instead, he had ridden up within a couple of rods of where lumpy bates was lying. big-foot sat quietly on his pony, awaiting the outcome. at last lumpy tore off the lariat's grip and scrambled to his feet. he glared about him to see whence had come this last indignity. "i did it, lumpy," announced tad butler quietly. "you----" "wait a minute before you tell me what you are going to do," commanded tad. "chunky did not mean to throw you. he was trying to rope the steer. he'll tell you he is sorry. but you were going to hit him because you were mad. if you'd struck him with the butt of that quirt you might have killed him. i had to rope you to prevent that. is there anything you want to say to me now?" "i'll show you what i've got to say," snarled the cowboy, starting for tad. "stop! lumpy bates, if you come another foot nearer to me i'll ride you down!" warned tad, directing a level gaze at the eyes of his adversary. the cowboy gazed defiantly at the slender lad for a full moment. "i'll fix you for that!" he growled, turning away. at that moment big-foot sanders rode in front of him and pulled up his pony. "what's that ye say?" "nothing--i said i'd be even with that cub." "i reckon ye'd better not try it, lumpy. the kid's all right. big-foot sanders is his friend. and that's the truth. don't let it get away from you!" chapter xiv on a wild night ride "your fat friend, over there, is making queer noises, master tad. must be having a bad dream." big-foot had reached a ponderous hand from his blankets and shaken tad roughly. "mebby the gopher's having a fit. better find out what ails him." the rain was falling in torrents. the men were soaked to the skin, but it did not seem to disturb them in the least, judging by the quality of their snores. tad listened. stacy brown surely was having trouble of some sort. the lad threw off his blankets and ran over to where his companion was lying. "chunky's drowning," he exclaimed in a voice full of suppressed excitement. big-foot leaped to his feet, hurrying to the spot. stacy was lying in a little depression in the ground, a sort of puddle having formed about him, and when tad reached him the lad had turned over on his face, only the back part of his head showing above the water. he appeared to be struggling, but unable to free himself from his unpleasant position. they jerked him up choking and coughing, shaking him vigorously to get the water out of him. "wha--what's the matter!" stammered the boy. "matter enough. trying to drown yourself?" growled the cowboy. "di--did i fall in?" "did you fall in? where do you think you are?" "i--i thought i fell in the river and i was trying to swim out," answered the boy, with a sheepish grin that caused his rescuers to shake with merriment. "guess we'll have to get a life preserver for you," chuckled big-foot. "you ain't safe to leave around when the dew is falling." "dew? call this dew? this is a flood." "go find a high piece of ground, and go to bed. we haven't got time to lie awake watching you. be careful that you don't step on any of the bunch. they ain't likely to wake up in very good humor a night like this, and besides, lumpy bates is sleeping not more'n a rope's length from you. you can imagine what would happen if you stepped on his face to-night." chunky shivered slightly. he had had one experience with the ill-natured cowpuncher that day and did not care for another. "i'll go to bed," he chattered. "you'd better. what's that?" exclaimed the cowpuncher sharply, pausing in a listening attitude. "some one coming," answered tad. "they seem to be in a hurry." "yes, i should say they were. i reckon the trouble is coming, kid." a horseman dashed up to the camp that lay enshrouded in darkness, save for the lantern that hung at the tail board of the chuck wagon. "roll out! roll out!" it was the voice of curley adams. the cowpunchers scrambled to their feet with growls of disapproval, demanding to know what the row was about. "what is it, a stampede?" called big-foot, hastily rolling his blankets and dumping them in the wagon. "no; but it may be. the boss wants the whole gang to turn out and help the guard." "for what?" "the cows are restless. they're knocking about ready to make a break at any minute." "what? haven't they bedded down yet?" asked big-foot. "no, nary one of them. and they ain't going to to-night." "i knew it," announced the cowman, with emphasis. "knew what?" asked tad. "that we were in for trouble. and it's coming a-running." by this time the horse wrangler had rounded up the ponies, and the cowboys, grumbling and surly, were hurriedly cinching on saddles. a few moments later the whole party was riding at full gallop toward the herd. "where's the gopher?" inquired big-foot, after they had ridden some distance. "did we leave him behind?" "i guess chunky is asleep," laughed tad. "best place for him. he'd have the herd on the run in no time if he was to come out to-night. never knew a human being who could stir up so much trouble out of nothing as he can. we're coming up with the herd now. be careful where you are riding, too." all was excitement. the cattle were moving restlessly about, prodding each other with their horns, while guards were galloping here and there, talking to them soothingly and whipping into line those that had strayed from the main herd. bunches of fifteen or twenty were continually breaking through the lines and starting to run. quirts and ropes were brought into use to check these individual rushes, the cowmen fearing to use their weapons lest they alarm the herd and bring on a stampede. "what's the trouble!" demanded big-foot as they came up with the foreman. "i don't know. bad weather, i guess. the evil one seems to have gotten into the critters to-night. lead your men up to the north end of the line. we will take care of these fellows down here as best we can." the men galloped quickly to their stations. then in the driving rain that soaked and chilled them the cowmen began their monotonous songs, interrupted now and then by a shout of command from some one in charge of a squad. there was no thunder or lightning this time. the men were thankful for that; it needed only some sudden disturbance to start the animals going. the disturbance came after an hour's work. the cowmen had brought some sort of order out of the chaos and were beginning to breathe easier. stallings rode up to the head of the herd giving orders that the cattle be pointed in and kept in a circle if possible. to do this he called away all the men at the right save tad butler and big-foot sanders. as it chanced, they were at the danger spot when the trouble came. chunky had been awakened by the disturbance in camp, not having fully aroused himself until after the departure of the men, however. he sat up, rubbing his eyes, grumbling about the weather and expressing his opinion of a cowpuncher's life in no uncertain terms. finding that all had left him, the lad decided to get his pony and follow. "what's the matter, pong?" he called, observing the chinaman up and fixing the curtains about his wagon. "allee same likee this," answered pong hopping about in imitation of an animal running away. "he's crazy," muttered chunky, going to his pony and swinging himself into the saddle. chunky urged the animal along faster and faster. he could hear the cowboys on beyond him though he was able to see only a few yards ahead of him. however, the boy was becoming used to riding in the dark and did not feel the same uncertainty that he had earlier. "i'll bet they are getting ready to run away," he decided. in that, stacy was right. before he realized where he was he had driven his pony full into the rear ranks of the restless cattle. chunky uttered a yell as he found himself bumping against the sides of the cows and sought to turn his pony about. the startled steers nearest to him fought desperately to get away from the object that had so suddenly hurled itself against them. instantly there was a mix-up, with bellowing, plunging steers all about him. "help! help!" shouted the boy. now his pony was biting and kicking in an effort to free itself from the animals that were prodding it with horns and buffeting it from side to side. only a moment or so of this was necessary to fill the cattle with blind, unreasoning fear. with one common impulse they lunged forward. those ahead of them felt the impetus of the thrust just as do the cars of a freight train under the sudden jolt of a starting engine. "what's up?" roared the foreman. "they're off!" yelled a cowman. "head them!" "can't. they're started in the center of the herd." with heads down, the entire herd was now charging straight ahead. big-foot sanders and tad butler, nearly half a mile ahead, felt the impetus, too. "keep your head, boy," warned the cowpuncher. "we are in for a run for our money, now." it came even as he spoke. with a bellow the cattle started forward at a lively gallop. "whoa-oo-ope!" cried big-foot, riding in front of the plunging leaders. he might as well have sought to stay the progress of the wind. the leaders swept man and boy aside and dashed on. "better keep them straight and not try to stop them, hadn't we?" shouted tad, with rare generalship. "that's the trick! can you hold your side?" roared big-foot in reply. "i'll try," answered the boy, riding so close to the leaders that they rubbed sides with his pony. the latter, understanding what was wanted of him, pushed sturdily on holding the cattle with his side, leaning toward them to give the effort the benefit of his entire weight. one end of tad's neckerchief had come loose and was streaming straight out behind him, while the broad brim of his sombrero was tipped up by the rushing breeze. it was a wild and perilous ride. yet the lad thought nothing of this. his whole thought was centered on the work in hand, that of keeping the cattle headed northward. tad was unable to tell whether they were going in a straight line or not, but this time he had the big cowman to rely upon. "give way a little!" warned big-foot. "right!" answered the lad, pulling his pony to one side, then straightening him again. "we'll hit the injun territory by daylight if we keep on at this gait! you all right?" "yes. but i think the herd is spreading out behind me," answered tad. "never mind that. they'll likely follow the leaders." off to the rear they could hear the sharp reports of the cowboys' revolvers as they sought to stay the mad rush. big-foot, however, had thought it best not to resort to shooting tactics. they were making altogether too good headway. if only they were able to keep the cattle headed the way they were going the herd would be none the worse off for the rush and the outfit would be that much further along on the journey. the thundering hoof-beats behind them as the living tide swept down upon them, was not a pleasant sound to hear. yet big-foot and tad were altogether too busy to be greatly disturbed by it. they had gone on for fully half an hour, after that, with no apparent decrease in the speed of the stampede. the ponies were beginning to show their fatigue. tad slowed down a little, patting his faithful little animal to encourage it and quiet its nerves. as he did so, the boy's attention was again called to the fact that a solid wall of cattle had apparently closed in behind him. "big-foot!" he shouted. "yes?" answered the cowboy, in a far away voice, for some distance now separated the two. "it looks to me as if they were closing in on us. what do you think?" "wait! i'll see." the cowboy pulled up a little and listened. "right you are. they have spread out in a solid wall." "what shall we do?" "ride! ride for your life!" came the excited reply. "where?" "to your right. don't let them catch you or you'll be trampled under their feet. they'll never stop, now, till they get to the river." "is it near here?" "only a few miles ahead. i can hear it roar now. a flood is coming down it. hurry!" tad had barely heard the last word. already he had swung his pony about and was galloping with all speed to the right in an effort to get free of the herd before they crowded him and his pony into the turbulent, swollen river. chapter xv fording a swollen river the first light of the morning revealed to tad butler the narrow escape he had had. he had barely passed the outer point of the stampeding herd when the cattle rushed by him. on beyond, less than half a mile away, he made out the river in the faint light. his companion was nowhere to be seen. however, that was not surprising, as the cattle now covered a large area; so large that tad was unable to see to the other side of the herd. as the day dawned the cattle began to slacken their speed, and, by the time the leaders reached the river bank, the rush was at an end. some of the stock plunged into the edge of the stream where they began drinking, while others set to grazing contentedly. as the light became stronger, the lad made out the figure of big-foot sanders approaching him at an easy gallop. "we did it, didn't we, big-foot?" exulted tad butler. "that we did, pinto. and there comes the rest of the bunch now," big-foot added, pointing to the rear, where others of the cowboys were to be seen riding up. stallings was the first to reach them. "good job," he grinned. "we are at the river several hours ahead of schedule time. doesn't look very promising, does it?" "river's pretty high. are you thinking of fording it this morning?" asked big-foot, looking over the swollen stream. "we might as well. the water will be higher later in the day. we may not be able to get across in several days if we wait too long." "what do you think started the cattle this time?" asked tad. "i don't think. i know what did it." "yes?" "it was that clumsy friend of yours." "the gopher?" asked big-foot. "allee same, as pong would say. that boy is the limit. is he always falling into trouble that way?" "yes, or falling off a pony," laughed tad. "there he comes, now." stacy rode up to them, his face serious and thoughtful. "well, young man, what have you to say for yourself?" asked the foreman. "i was going to ask you, sir, where we are going to get our breakfast?" stallings glanced at tad and big-foot, with a hopeless expression in his eyes. "go ask the chinaman," he answered rather brusquely. "i can't. he isn't here." "well, that's the answer," laughed the foreman, riding to the river bank and surveying the stream critically. tad and big-foot sanders joined him almost immediately. "think we can make it, chief?" "i think so, sanders. one of us had better ride over and back to test the current." "i'll try it for you," said tad. "go ahead. sanders, you ride back and tell lumpy to return to camp and bring on the outfit. they can't reach us until late in the afternoon, as it is. i presume that slant-eyed cook is sitting in his wagon waiting for us to come back. hurry them along, for we shall be hungry by the time we have finished this job." tad promptly spurred his pony into the stream. after wading out a little way he slipped off into the water, hanging by the pommel, swimming with one hand to relieve the pony as much as possible. the boy made the crossing without mishap, stallings observing the performance to note how far down the stream the pony would drift. tad landed some five rods lower down. on the return, the drift was not quite so noticeable. "we'll make it," announced the foreman. "if you want to dry out, ride back and tell the bunch to crowd the cattle in as rapidly as possible. the faster we can force them in the less they will drift down stream." "very well, sir," replied the boy, galloping off to deliver his message. with a great shouting and much yelling the cowboys began their task of urging the cattle into the river. not being over-thirsty, it was no easy task to induce the animals to enter the water, but when the leaders finally plunged in the rest followed, fairly piling on top of one another in their efforts to follow the pilots of the herd. above and below, the cowboys who were not otherwise engaged were swimming the river endeavoring to keep the animals from straying one way or another. tad butler and his companions were aiding in this work, shouting from the pure joy of their experience, and, in an hour's time, the last steer had swum the stream and clambered up the sloping bank on the other side. "there!" announced the foreman. "that's a bad job well done. i wish the trail wagon were here. a cup of hot coffee wouldn't go bad after an hour in the water." "after several of them, you mean," added tad. "you know we have been out in the rain all night." "yes, and you did a bang-up piece of work, you and big-foot. how did you happen to lead the cattle straight ahead, instead of turning the leaders?" "it was the kid's suggestion," answered big-foot sanders. "he's got a man's head on his shoulders that more'n makes up for what the gopher hasn't got." "it does, indeed," agreed stallings. "how are we going to get that trail wagon over when it comes up!" asked one of the men. "that's what's bothering me," answered the foreman. "perhaps our young friend here can give us a suggestion. his head is pretty full of ideas," added the foreman, more with an intent to compliment tad than in the expectation of getting valuable suggestions from him. "what is your usual method?" asked the boy. "well, to tell the truth, i've never had quite such a proposition as this on my hands." "i guess you will have to float it over." "it won't float. it'll sink." "you can protect it from that." "how?" asked the foreman, now keenly interested. "first take all the stuff out of it. that will save your equipment if anything happens to the wagon. ferry the equipment over on the backs of the ponies. if it's too heavy, take over what you can." "well, what next?" asked stallings. "get some timbers and construct a float under the wagon." "where you going to get timber around these parts?" demanded big-foot. "i see plenty of trees near the river. cut down a few and make a raft of them." "by george, the kid's hit it!" exclaimed stallings, clapping his thigh vigorously. "that's exactly what we'll do. but we'll have to wait till the wagon gets here. the axes are all in the wagon." "mebby i'm particularly thick to-day, but i'd like to inquire how you expect to get the outfit over, after you have the raft under it?" demanded shorty savage. "answer that, if you can?" "i think that is up to the foreman," smiled tad. "were i doing it i think i should hitch ropes to the tongue and have the ponies on the other side draw the wagon across. of course, you are liable to have an accident. the ropes may break or the current may tip your wagon over. that's your lookout." "now will you be good?" grinned the foreman. "you know all about it, and it would be a good idea to let the thought simmer in your thick head for a while. it may come in handy, some day, when you want to get across a river." shorty walked away, none too well pleased. about three o'clock in the afternoon the wagon hove in sight, and the boys rode out to meet it. it was decided to camp on the river bank until after they had eaten their evening meal, after which there would still be time to ferry over. while the meal was being cooked stallings sent some of the men out to cut down four small trees and haul them in. they grumbled considerably at this, but obeyed orders. tad went along, at the suggestion of the foreman, to pick out such trees as he thought would best serve their purpose. the trail wagon's teams were used to haul the logs in and by the time the work was finished a steaming hot supper had been spread by the smiling chinaman. professor zepplin had come along with the wagon. he said he was a little stiff from the wetting he had received, but otherwise was all right. "now, young man, i'll let you boss the job," announced stallings as tad rose from the table. "i give you a free hand." with a pleased smile, tad set about constructing his raft. ned rector swam the river with the ropes, and fastened them to trees so they would not be carried away by the current. the wagon was then run down into the water by hand, the ropes made fast, and all was ready for the start. "what are you going to do about the drift?" asked the foreman, who had been interestedly watching the preparations. "we are going to tie ropes to the two wheels on the upper side. one is to be held on this side of the river, the other from the opposite side. i think the kitchen will ford the river as straight as you could draw a chalk line," announced tad. "i guess it will," answered the foreman, with a suggestive glance at professor zepplin. "all right when you get ready over there," called tad to the waiting cowboys on the other side. they had taken firm hold of the ropes with their right hands, their left hands holding to the pommels of their saddles. "ready!" came the warning cry from the other side. "haul away!" shouted tad. the ropes secured to the tongue of the trail wagon straightened, and the wagon began to move out into the stream. "be careful. don't pay out that rope too fast," directed tad to the man on his side of the stream. the trail wagon floated out easily on the swiftly moving current. it was greeted by a cheer from the pony rider boys. those of the cowboys who were not otherwise engaged joined with a will. "there's that fool chinaman," growled stallings, observing the grinning face of pong peering from the tail of the wagon. "look out, the dragon will get you, sure, if you fall out!" he warned. "i don't care anything about you, but we can't afford to be without a cook." "there goes the fool!" cried big-foot. "now we sure will starve to death." [illustration: as the wagon lurched pong plunged overboard.] as the wagon lurched in the current, the chinaman had plunged overboard and disappeared beneath the surface. chapter xvi a brave rescue "save him, somebody! the fool's fallen overboard!" roared the foreman. "i can't let go this rope!" tad had not seen the cook take his plunge, so, for the moment, he did not realize what had occurred. "who's overboard," young butler demanded sharply. "the cook," answered stallings excitedly. "can't any of you slow pokes get busy and fish him out?" "pong!" cried tad as the head of the chinaman appeared on the surface. without an instant's hesitation the lad leaped into his saddle. "yip!" he shouted to the pony, accentuating his command by a sharp blow with the quirt. the pony leaped forward. "here, he's not up there; he's in the river i tell you!" shouted the foreman. tad had driven his mount straight up the bank behind them. he paid no attention to the warning of the foreman, having already mapped out his own plan of action. reaching the top of the sloping bank, tad pulled his pony to the right and dashed along the bluff, headed down the river. "watch your lines or you'll have the wagon overboard, too," he called back. "i'll get pong out." big-foot sanders scratched his head reflectively. "ain't the pinto the original whirlwind, though?" he grinned. "i never did see the like of him, now. he'll get that heathen out while we are standing here trying to make up our minds what to do." "yes, but i'm afraid the chinaman will drown before tad gets to him," said the foreman, with a shake of his head. "here, don't let go of this rope while you are staring at the kid. i can't hold it alone." tad drove his pony to its utmost speed until he had reached a point some little distance below where the head of the chinaman had last been seen. all at once the lad turned sharply, the supple-limbed pony taking the bank in a cat-like leap, landing in the water with a splash. tad kept his saddle until the pony's feet no longer touched the bottom. then he dropped off, clinging to the mane with one hand. the cook was nowhere to be seen, but tad was sure he had headed him off and was watching the water above him with keen eyes. "there he is below you!" shouted a voice on shore. "look out, you'll lose him." tad turned at the same instant, giving the pony's neck a sharp slap to indicate that he wanted the animal to turn with him. the lad saw the chinaman's head above the water. evidently the latter was now making a desperate effort to keep it there, for his hands were beating the water frantically. "keep your hands and feet going, and hold your breath!" roared tad. "i'll be----" before he could add "there," the lad suddenly discovered that there was something wrong with his pony. it was the latter which was now beating the water and squealing with fear. one of the animal's hind hoofs raked tad's leg, pounding it painfully. tad released his hold of the mane and grasped the rein. throwing up its head, uttering a snort, the pony sank out of sight, carrying its master under. tad quickly let go the reins and kicked himself to the surface. the pony was gone. what had caused its sudden sinking the lad could not imagine. there was no time to speculate--not an instant to lose if he were to rescue the drowning cook. throwing himself forward, headed downstream, tad struck out with long, overhand strokes for the chinaman. going so much faster than the current, the boy rapidly gained on the victim. yet, just as he was almost within reach of pong, the latter threw up his hands and went down. tad dived instantly. the swollen stream was so muddy that he could see nothing below the surface. his groping hands grasped nothing except the muddy water. the lad propelled himself to the surface, shaking the water from his eyes. there before him he saw the long, yellow arms of the chinaman protruding above the surface of the river. this time, tad was determined that the cook should not escape him. tad made a long, curving dive not unlike that of a porpoise. this time the lad's hands reached the drowning man. the long, yellow arms twined themselves about the boy, and tad felt himself going down. with rare presence of mind the boy held his breath, making no effort to wrench himself free from the chinaman's grip. he knew it would be effort wasted, and, besides, he preferred to save his strength until they reached the surface once more. half a dozen cowpunchers had plunged their ponies into the river, and were swimming toward the spot where tad had been seen to go down, while the foreman was shouting frantic orders at them. the wagon had been ferried to the other side, and stallings had run to his pony, on which he was now dashing madly along the river bank. "look out that you don't run them down!" he roared. "keep your wits about you!" "they're both down, already!" shouted a cowboy in reply. "we'll lose the whole outfit at this rate," growled another. yet, not a man was there, unless perhaps it may have been lumpy bates, who would not have risked his own life freely to save that of the plucky lad. after going down a few feet, tad began treading water with all his might. this checked their downward course and in a second or so he had the satisfaction of realizing that they were slowly rising. the current, however, was forcing them up at an angle. this, to a certain extent, worked to the boy's advantage, for the chinaman was underneath him, thus giving tad more freedom than had their positions been reversed. "there they are!" cried big-foot sanders as the chinaman and his would-be rescuer popped into sight. "go after them!" commanded stallings. urging their ponies forward by beating them with their quirts, the cowboys made desperate efforts to reach the two. tad managed to free one arm which he held above his head. "the rope! he wants the rope! rope him, you idiots!" bellowed the foreman. big-foot made a cast. however, from his position in the water, he could not make an accurate throw and the rope fell short. tad saw it. he was struggling furiously now, ducking and parrying the sweep of that long, yellow arm, with which pong sought to grasp him. a quick eddy caught the pair and swept them out into the center of the stream, around a bend where they were caught by the full force of the current. this left their pursuers yards and yards to the rear. tad saw that they would both drown, if he did not resort to desperate measures. drawing back his arm, the lad drove a blow straight at pong's head, but a swirl of the current destroyed the boy's aim and his fist barely grazed the cheek of the chinaman. quick as a flash, tad butler launched another blow. this time the chinaman's head was jolted backwards, tad's fist having landed squarely on the point of the fellow's jaw. but pong was still struggling, and the lad completed his work by delivering another blow in the same place. "i hope i haven't hurt him," gasped the boy. tad threw himself over on his back, breathing heavily and well-nigh exhausted. he kept a firm grip on the cook, however, supporting and keeping the latter's head above water by resting the chinaman's neck on his arm as they floated with the current. in the meantime, stallings was dashing along the bank roaring out his orders to the cowboys, calling them ashore and driving them in further down. yet, each time it seemed as though the floating pair drifted farther and farther away. but tad butler was still cool. now that he was getting his strength back, he began slowly to kick himself in toward shore, aiding in the process by long windmill strokes of his free arm. he did not make the mistake of heading directly for the shore, but sought to make it by a long tack, moving half with the current and half against it. the lad had made up his mind that the cowboys would never reach them and that what was to be done must be done by himself. "can you make it?" called stallings. "yes. but have some one--on the other side--toss me a rope--as soon as possible. i don't know--whether pong--is done for--or not," answered the boy in short breaths. stallings plunged his pony into the current and swam for the other side. reaching there, he galloped at full speed toward the point for which tad seemed to be aiming. the foreman rode into the water until it was up to his saddle and where the pony was obliged to hold its head high to avoid drowning. there the foreman waited until the lad had gotten within roping distance. "turn in a little," directed stallings. "you'll hit that eddy and land out in the middle, if you don't." a moment more and the foreman's lariat slipped away from the circle it had formed above his head. tad held an arm aloft, and the loop dropped neatly over it. stallings pulled it and tad grasped the rope after the loop had tightened about his arm. "haul away," he directed. the foreman turned his pony about and slowly towed cook and boy ashore. the cowboys, observing that tad was being hauled in, headed for the shore. reaching it, they put spurs to their ponies and came down to the scene at a smashing gait. leaping off, they sprang into the water, picking up tad and the chinaman and staggering ashore with them. the lad was pale and shivering. they laid him down on the bank. but tad quickly pulled himself to his feet. "i must look after pong," he said. "you let the heathen alone," growled big-foot sanders. "us tenderfeet'll look after him. that's what we are, a bunch of rank tenderfeet. you're the only seasoned, all around, dyed-in-the-wool, genuwine cowpuncher in the whole outfit. that's the truth." tad smiled as he hurried to where the foreman was working over the unconscious cook. "is he dead?" asked the lad, apprehensively. "dead? huh!" grunted curley adams. "heathen chinese don't die as easy as that." after a few minutes the cook went off into a paroxysm of choking and coughing. then he opened his eyes. chunky brown was standing near, blinking down wisely into the yellow face of pong. "you fell in, didn't you?" he asked solemnly. "allee samee," grinned the yellow man, weakly. chapter xvii making new friends professor zepplin, fully as wet as the others, met the returning outfit. everybody was wet. it seemed to have become their normal condition. "did you get the wagon over?" asked tad. "you bet," replied the foreman. "as soon as we get all the water shook out of that heathen we'll set him to making coffee for the outfit. it's too near dark now to do any more work; and, besides, i guess the cattle are bedded down for the night. i think they're ready for a night's rest along with ourselves. what happened to that pony?" "i'm sure i don't know," answered tad. "that was too bad, wasn't it?" "cramps i guess," suggested big-foot. "they have been known to have 'em in the water. that water must have had an iceberg in it somewhere up the state. never saw such all-fired cold water in my life. whew!" "that's one pony more we've got to buy, that's all. but i don't care. i'd rather lose the whole bunch of them than have anything happen to the pinto," announced the foreman. "or the cook," added tad, with a smile. "yes; it's a very serious matter for an outfit of this kind to lose its cook. we could get along without a foreman very well, but not without a cook." "especially when you have a bunch of hungry boys with you. what about the new ponies?" "i'll ride over to colonel mcclure's ranch in the morning and see what we can do. you may go with me if you wish." "i should like to very much. is that where you expect to get the other herd of cattle as well?" "yes. better take an earlier trick on guard to-night, for we shall start right after breakfast in the morning." "very well," replied tad. "guess i'll get my coffee now." big-foot sanders was already helping himself to the steaming beverage, when tad reached the chuck wagon. "well, kid, what about it?" greeted the big cowman. "what about what?" "trouble." tad smiled broadly. "there does seem to be plenty of it." "and plenty more coming. you'll see more fun before we are clear of this part of the country." "i don't very well see how we can have much more of it. i should imagine we have had our share." "wait. we'll be here three or four days yet and mebby more," warned the cowboy. tad went out with the second guard that night. contrary to the expectations of big-foot sanders and some others, the night passed without incident, the next morning dawning bright and beautiful. for some reason the foreman decided, at the last moment, that he would not go to the ox bow ranch. instead, he instructed big-foot sanders to take three of the men with him and pick out what ponies they needed from colonel mcclure's stock. they were to bring the animals out to camp where the boys would break them in. tad set out with them, after a hurried breakfast, leaving his young companions to amuse themselves as best they could. "how far do we have to ride, big-foot?" asked the lad after they were in their saddles. "mile or two, i guess. it's been a long time since i was through these parts. there's that church i've been telling you about." "where?" "there, near the bedding-down ground. seems as though the boss might have put the cows further away from the place." tad surveyed the structure with keen interest. the white walls of the old adobe church reflected back the morning light in a whitish glare. about the place he observed a rank growth of weeds and evil cacti, the only touch of life to be seen being the birds that were perched on its crumbling ridges, gayly piping their morning songs. "it looks deserted." "i reckon it is," answered big-foot. "anyway, it ought to be. ain't fit for human beings to roost in." "humph! i don't believe there is anything spooky about that building. i'm going to investigate, the first time i get the chance. have we time to stop this morning?" "no; we'll have to be getting along. the ponies we are after will have to be hobbled and got back to camp somehow. i expect we'll have a merry circus with them. if we get back in time for supper we'll be lucky." "that will be fun," exulted tad. "mr. stallings promised me i might break one of them. my pony having been drowned, i should like to break a fresh one for myself." "and break your neck at the same time. i know you've got the sand, but you let that job out, kid. you don't know them bronchos." "i thought you said i was no longer a tenderfoot," laughed tad. "sure thing, but this is different." "i'll chance it. you show me the pony i cannot ride, and i will confess that i am a tenderfoot." their arrival at the ox bow ranch was the signal for all the dogs on the place to try out their lungs, whereat a dozen cowboys appeared to learn the cause of the uproar. the mcclure house stood a little back, nestling under a bluff covered with scant verdure, but well screened from the biting northers of the texas winter. further to the south were the ranch buildings, corrals, the cook house and a log cabin, outside of which hung any number of bridles and saddles, some of which the ranchers were mending and polishing when stalling's men arrived on the scene. big-foot introduced himself and was received with many a shout and handshake. bill blake, the foreman of the ranch after greeting the new arrival, turned inquiringly to tad butler, who had dismounted. "i didn't know you used kids in your business, big-foot," he grinned. big-foot flushed under the imputation. "mebby you call him a kid, but if you'd see the lad work you'd change your mind mighty quick," answered the big cowman, with a trace of irritation in his voice. he explained to blake what the boy was doing with the outfit, at the same time relating some of the things that the slender, freckle-faced boy from the east had accomplished. "shake, pinto," exclaimed bill blake cordially. "i reckon mr. mcclure would like to talk with you. big-foot and i have got some business over in the ranch house, you see," smiled the foreman. "i see," replied tad, though not wholly sure whether he did or not. "he's over there talking with his boss wrangler now. come along and i'll give you a first-class knock-down to him." tad found the ranch owner to be a man of refinement and kindly nature, yet whose keen, quizzical eyes seemed to take the lad in from head to foot in one comprehensive glance. "so you are learning the business, eh? that's right, my lad. that's the way to go about it, and there's no place like a drive to learn it, for that's where a man meets about every experience that comes in the life of a cowman." tad explained about the pony riders, and that their trip was in the nature of a pleasure jaunt, they being accompanied by walter perkins's instructor and that they were with the outfit for a brief trip only. mr. mcclure became interested at once. "i should like to hear more about your experiences," he said. "won't you come up to the house with me, while your man talks horse with my foreman?" tad flushed slightly as he glanced down over his own rough, dust-covered clothes. "i--i am afraid i am not fit, sir." "tut, tut. we ranchers learn to take a man for what he is worth, not for what he has on. you have been riding. naturally you would not be expected to appear in broadcloth. no more do we expect you to. had i a son, i should feel far better satisfied to see him as you stand before me now, than in the finest of clothes. come, i want you to meet my family." tad, somewhat reluctantly, followed the rancher to his house. much to the lad's discomfiture, he was ushered into the drawing-room of the first southern home he had ever entered. "be seated, sir. i will call my daughters. we have so few guests here that the girls seldom see anyone during the time they are home from school." mr. mcclure left the room, and tad, after choosing a chair that he considered least liable to be soiled by his dusty clothes, sat down, gazing about him curiously. he found himself in a room that was by far the handsomest he had ever seen, while from the walls a long line of family ancestors looked down at him from their gilt frames. tad had found time for only a brief glance about him, when the sound of voices attracted his attention. at first he was unable to decide whence the voices came. they seemed to be in the room with him, yet there was no one there save himself. turning about he discovered that a curtained doorway led directly into another room, and that it was from the adjoining room that the sound had come. "you say ruth is bad again to-day, margaret?" "no, mother, i would not say that exactly. yet she does not seem to be quite herself, and i thought it best to tell you. i feared that perhaps she was going to have one of her old attacks." "say nothing to her of your suspicions. the last one passed over, i think largely because we appeared to treat her mood lightly. poor child, she has never ceased to grieve for the man whom her parents refused to permit her to marry. i think your aunt jane made a grievous mistake. i told her so plainly when she brought ruth here to us, hoping she might forget her youthful love affair." tad butler's cheeks burned. that he had unwittingly played eavesdropper troubled him not a little. the boy rose and walking to a window on the further side of the room, stood with hat crumpled in both hands behind him, gazing out. the voices ceased. yet a moment later tad started and turned sharply. "well, young man, what are you doing here?" before him he saw a woman just short of middle age. he inferred at once that she was the elder of the two women whom he had heard speaking behind the curtain. "i am waiting for mr. mcclure," answered tad, bowing politely, his face flushing under its tan. "does he know that you are here?" she asked in a milder tone. "oh, yes. he asked me to wait here until he returned." "pardon me, i----" "ah, here you are, my dear. i have been looking for you. i wish you to meet master thaddeus butler, who, with three companions and a tutor, is crossing the state with the miller herd. it is the most unique vacation in these days. master butler, this is mrs. mcclure. my daughters will join us in a moment." mrs. mcclure shook hands cordially with their young guest. "welcome to ox bow," she smiled. "at first, as your back was turned to me, i took you for one of the men. instantly you faced me i saw the mistake i had made. won't you be seated?" under her cordial manner tad butler was soon at his ease. almost before he was aware of the fact mrs. mcclure had drawn from him the main facts relating to the journeyings of the pony riders. mrs. mcclure's two daughters, sadie and margaret, entered the room soon afterwards, tad being presented to them. margaret, the elder of the two, was a fair-haired girl of perhaps nineteen years, while her sister sadie, who was darker, tad judged to be about his own age. both girls shook hands smilingly with their guest. "i hope you will pardon me for appearing in such a disreputable condition," begged the lad. "i really am not fit to be seen." his quaint way of putting it brought forth a general laugh. "you need make no apology. we are all ranchers here. even my daughters and my niece ride, and sometimes accompany the foreman on drives from one part of the ranch to another. as for my niece, though brought up in the east, she is a born cattle woman. there is hardly a cowman on the place who can ride better than she." "your man tells us that you are the best horseman in your outfit," said mr. mcclure. "i don't think i quite deserve that compliment, sir," answered tad. "but i am very fond of horses. i find, by kind treatment, one can do almost anything with them." "my idea exactly," nodded mr. mcclure approvingly. "the cowpuncher doesn't look at it that way, however. he wouldn't feel at home on a horse that didn't break the monotony by bucking now and then. did you ever ride a bucker?" "once. i expect to break one of the animals i understand we are to get from you." his host whistled softly. "you have a large contract on hand, young man. the ponies i am turning off are the worst specimens we ever had on the ranch. some of them never had a bridle on, for the very good reason that no one ever has been able to get close enough to them to put bridles on. i hope you will not be foolish enough to try to break any of that stock." "oh, we'll rope them and get a headstall on, anyway. the rest will come along all right, i think," smiled tad. "ah, my niece, miss brayton!" exclaimed the rancher, introducing a young woman who had just entered the room. "with the miller outfit?" she asked. "yes," answered tad. "who is your foreman?" "stallings--bob stallings." tad thought miss brayton one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. yet there was something about her that affected him strangely. perhaps it was her abrupt manner of speaking. at any rate the lad experienced a sense of uneasiness the moment she entered the room. he did not stop to ask himself why. tad merely knew that this was true. miss brayton had little to say, but her quietness was more than atoned for by the vivacity of sadie and margaret. as tad was taking his leave the entire family accompanied him out into the yard. "if your duties will permit we should like to have you and your companions dine with us to-morrow evening," said colonel mcclure. "yes; by all means," added mrs. mcclure. "yes, mr. butler, we should love to have you," added sadie. "besides, we want to meet your friends," said margaret. "and i am sure we should enjoy coming. it seems almost an imposition for four of us boys to camp out in your dining room at the same time," laughed tad. "i assure you it will be doing us a favor," protested the rancher. "you will bring your professor, also. we'll have a real family party." tad somewhat reluctantly agreed to bring his companions, though he disliked the idea of going to so fine a place for dinner in their rough, weather-beaten clothing. the boy bade them all good-bye and strode off toward the corral, where the ponies were being roped preparatory to being taken over to the miller herd. "oh, mr. butler!" tad wheeled sharply. ruth brayton was hurrying toward him. the lad lifted his hat courteously and awaited the young woman's approach. "yes, miss brayton." "tell me again who your foreman is." "bob stallings." "stallings--stallings. where have i heard that name before?" mused the girl, staring at tad with vacant eyes. "are you sure it isn't hamilton--robert hamilton?" "quite sure," smiled the lad. "do you know a cowboy or foreman by that name?" "no, i never heard the name before." miss brayton turned abruptly and hurried away. tad heard her repeating the name of his foreman as she walked swiftly toward the ranch house. chapter xviii breaking in the bronchos "my, but that was a job," laughed tad, after they had reached camp again, with three wild bronchos in tow. they had staked the new ponies down on the plain to think matters over while the cowboys sat down to their noon meal. "they sure are a bad lot," agreed big-foot sanders. "never seen worse ones. see that fellow, over there, don't even mind the pinch of that hackmore bridle. he's the ugliest brute in the bunch." "that's the one i'm going to break," decided tad butler, his eyes glowing as he observed the wild pitching and snorting of the staked animal. the pony was running the length of his rope at full speed, coming to a sudden halt when he reached its end, with heels high in the air and head doubled up under him on the ground. it seemed to the lad like unnecessarily harsh treatment, yet he knew full well the quality of the temper of these animals of the plains. "i'm afraid he'll break his neck," objected tad. "let him," snapped the foreman. "there's more where he came from." "by the way," said tad, speaking to the pony riders. "i have an invitation for you fellows. i had forgotten it in the excitement of getting the new ponies to camp." "where to!" asked ned rector indifferently. "to take dinner at the home of colonel mcclure." "that will be fine," glowed walter. "but the question is, what are we going to wear?" laughed tad. "we don't look very beautiful for a drawing room." "drawing room?" inquired ned rector, with interest. "did i hear you say drawing room?" "yes." "huh! there isn't one within a thousand miles of us." "you will think differently when you see the one at the ranch house." "did--did the colonel say what we were going to have to eat?" asked stacy brown, in all seriousness. his question provoked a loud laugh from cowboys and pony riders. "no. naturally, i didn't ask him. there are some very nice girls at the ranch, too." "you don't say!" exclaimed ned. "will wonders never cease? i'll believe i am not dreaming when i see all this with my own two eyes." "yes, colonel mcclure has two daughters, and besides these, there is a niece from the east visiting them. she is considerably older than the daughters, but a very beautiful woman." tad paused thoughtfully for a moment. "professor, i presume you will have no objection to our accepting colonel mcclure's invitation? you are invited to join us." "not at all, young gentlemen. but perhaps i had better not intrude----" "please go," urged tad. "sure. he'll go. you will, won't you, professor?" demanded ned. "of course, if you really wish me to----" smiled professor zepplin good-naturedly. "of course we do," chorused the boys. "very well, i will think it over. i'm afraid, however, that i do not look altogether presentable." "no more do we," answered walter perkins. "tad probably told them we did not." tad nodded. "they refused to accept that excuse. so i told them we would come." the boys were full of anticipation for this promised break in the monotony of their living; and, besides, they looked forward keenly to meeting the young women about whom their companion had told them. after the meal had been finished tad asked when they were to begin breaking the new stock. stallings looked over the ponies critically. "i guess we'll let them stay where they are, for an hour or so yet. it will help to break their spirit. still think you can break one of them in?" "i am sure of it," answered tad butler confidently. "you shall have the chance. however, i shall not permit you to saddle him. some of the cowpunchers, who are used to that, had better do it for you the first time. unless one knows these little brutes he is liable to be kicked to death." "i am not afraid." "no, that is the danger of it. neither is the pony afraid--that is, not until he is blindfolded." about the middle of the afternoon the foreman announced that they would begin the breaking. the cowmen uttered a shout, for the process promised them much boisterous fun. "is the gopher going to break one of the bronchos?" asked lumpy bates. "no, but the pinto is," replied curley adams. "he'll want to go home right away if he tries it, i reckon," jeered lumpy. "don't you be too sure about that," retorted curley. "that kid's got the stuff in him. i've been watching him right along. none of them lads is tenderfeet, unless it's the gopher, and he isn't half as bad as he looks." by this time the foreman had taken hold of the rope that held the most violent of the ponies, and was slowly shortening upon it. as he neared the pony's head a cowboy began whipping a blanket over its back. while the animal was plunging and kicking, stallings gripped him by the bridle, after which there was a lively struggle, and in a moment more a broad handkerchief had been tied over the pony's eyes. "what's that for! is he going to play blind man's buff?" demanded chunky. "huh! get out!" growled big-foot. "if he does, you'll be it," jeered ned rector. at last the animal crouched down trembling. he had never passed through an experience like that before and could not understand it. tad butler standing near, was observing the operation with keenly inquiring eyes. all at once the little animal leaped clear of the foreman's grip, its blinder came off and it launched into a series of wild bucks and grunts. the air seemed full of flying hoofs, and for the moment there was a lively scattering of cowpunchers and pony riders. once more, and with great patience, the foreman went all over the proceeding again. this time the foreman got one hand on the animal's nose and the other in his mane. all at once something happened. a forty-pound saddle was thrown, not dropped, on the back of the unsuspecting pony. the broncho's back arched like a bow, and the saddle went skyward. stacy brown happened to be in the way of it as it descended, so that boy and saddle went down together in a yelling heap. the cowpunchers howled with delight as chunky, covered with dust, wiping the sand from his eyes, staggered angrily to his feet. "did he kick me?" he demanded. "with his back, yes," chuckled shorty savage. again and again the saddle was shot into the air the instant it touched the pony's back. it was back in place in no time, however. after a time the broncho paused, as if to devise some new method of getting rid of the hated thing. as he did so, big-foot sanders cautiously poked a stick under the animal, pulling the girth toward him. a moment more and he had slipped it through a large buckle, and, with a jerk, made the girth fast. again the bucking began, but more violently than before. the saddle held, though it slipped to one side a little. "i've got him now," cried stallings. "the instant he lets up, catch that flank girth and make fast." "right," answered big-foot. it was accomplished almost before the boys realized it. walter and his companions set up a shout. the pony stood panting, head down, legs braced apart. the blinder had been torn from his eyes. he was waiting for the next move. "are you ready for me now?" asked tad butler quietly. the foreman turned his head, glancing at tad questioningly. "think you can stand it?" "i can't any more than fall off." stallings nodded. tad slipped to the pony's side. cautiously placing his left foot in the stirrups, he suddenly flung himself into the saddle. the next instant tad butler was flying through the air over the pony's head. chapter xix grit wins the battle the lad appeared to strike the ground head-on. fortunately, the spot where he landed was covered with soft sand. "are you hurt?" asked big-foot, running to the boy and reaching out to assist him. "i guess not," answered tad, rubbing the sand from his eyes and blinking vigorously. the skin had been scraped from his face in spots where the coarse sand had ground its way through. his hair was filled with the dirt of the plain, and his clothes were torn. but tad butler, nothing daunted, smiled as he pulled himself to his feet. "you better let that job out. you can't ride that critter!" "i'll ride him--if he kills me!" answered the boy, his jaws setting stubbornly. tad hitched his belt tighter before making any move to approach the pony, which stallings was now holding by main force. while doing so, the lad watched the animal's buckings observantly. "what--what happened?" demanded stallings. "foot slipped out of the stirrup." "think you can make it?" "i'll try it, if you have the time to spare." "it takes time to break a bronch. don't you worry about that. i don't want you to be breaking your neck, however." "my advice is that you keep off that animal," declared professor zepplin. "you cannot manage him; that is plain." "please do not say that, professor. i must ride him now. you wouldn't have me be a coward, would you?" stallings, realizing the boy's position, nodded slightly to the professor. "very well, if mr. stallings thinks it is safe," agreed professor zepplin reluctantly. tad's face lighted up with a satisfied smile. "whoa, boy," he soothed, patting the animal gently on the neck. the pony's back arched and its heels shot up into the air again. once more tad petted him. "no use," said the foreman. "the iron hand is the only thing that will break this cayuse. don't know enough to know when he's well off. got your spurs on?" "yes." "then drive them in when you get well seated." tad shook his head. "i do not think that will be necessary. guess he'll go fast enough without urging him with the rowels," answered the boy, backing away to wait until the pony had bounced itself into a position where another effort to mount him would be possible. "will you please coil up the stake rope and fasten it to the horn, mr. stallings?" asked tad. "i don't want to get tangled up with that thing." "yes, if you are sure you can stick on him." "leave that to me. i know his tricks now." cautiously the rope was coiled and made fast to the saddle horn. "i'm coming," said tad in a quiet, tense voice. "ready," answered the foreman, with equal quietness. the lad darted forward, running on his toes, his eyes fixed on the saddle. tad gave no heed to the pony. it was that heavy bobbing saddle that he must safely make before the pony itself would enter into his considerations. lightly touching the saddle, he bounded into it, at the same time shoving both feet forward. fortunately his shoes slipped into the big, boxed stirrups, and the rein which lay over the pommel ready for him was quickly gathered up. stallings leaped from the animal's head and the cowpunchers made a quick sprint to remove themselves from the danger zone. they were none too soon. the broncho at last realized that his head was free. his sides, however, were being gripped by a muscular pair of legs, and his head was suddenly jerked up by a sharp tug at the rein. "y-e-e-e-o-w!" greeted the cowboys in their long-drawn, piercing cry. "yip!" answered tad, though more to the pony than in answer to them. down went the pony's head between his forward legs, his hind hoofs beating a tattoo in the air. the feet came down as suddenly as they had gone up. instantly the little animal began a series of stiff-legged leaps into the air, his curving back making it a very uncomfortable place to sit on. tad's head was jerked back and forth until it seemed as though his neck would be broken. "look out for the side jump!" warned the foreman. it came almost instantly, and with a quickness that nearly unhorsed the plucky lad. as it was, the swift leap to the right threw tad half way over on the beast's left side. fortunately, the lad gripped the pommel with his right hand as he felt himself going, and little by little he pulled himself once more to an upright posture. all at once the animal took a leap into the air, coming down headed in the opposite direction. tad's head swam. he no longer heard the shouts of encouragement from the cowpunchers. he was clinging desperately to his insecure seat, with legs pressed tightly against the pony's sides. as yet he had not seen fit to use the rowels. there came a pause which was almost as disconcerting as had been the previous rapid movements. "he's going to throw himself! don't get caught under him!" bellowed big-foot. tad was thankful for the suggestion, for he was not looking for that move at the moment. the pony struck the ground on its left side with a bump that made the animal grunt. tad, however, forewarned, had freed his left foot from the stirrup and was standing easily over his fallen mount, eyes fixed on the beast's ears, ready to resume his position at the first sign of a quiver of those ears. like a flash the animal was on its feet again, but with tad riding in the saddle, a satisfied smile on his face. once more the awful, nerve-racking bucking began. it did not seem as if a human being could survive that series of violent antics, and least of all a mere boy. all at once the animal came up on its hind legs. tad knew instinctively what it meant. he did not need the warning cry of the cowpunchers to tell him what the pony was about to do. over went the broncho on its back, rolling to its side quickly. tad was on the ground beside it, standing in a half-crouching position, with one foot on the saddle horn. he had jerked the broncho's head clear of the ground with a strong tug on the reins, making the animal helpless to rise until the lad was ready for him to do so. the cowboys uttered a yell of triumph. "great! great!" approved bob stallings. "tenderfoot, eh?" jeered big-foot sanders. "hooray for the pinto!" tad's companions gave a shrill cheer. "wait. he ain't out of the woods yet," growled lumpy bates. "think you could do it better, hey?" snapped curley adams. "why, that cayuse would shake the blooming neck off you if you were in that saddle. i never did see such a whirlwind." "got springs in his feet, i reckon," grinned big-foot. "don't let his head down till you're ready for the get-away," cautioned the foreman. tad suddenly allowed the head to touch the ground, after the pony had lain pinned at his feet, breathing hard for a full minute. boy and mount were in the air in a twinkling. as they went up, ted brought down his quirt with all his strength. it was time the ugly animal was taught that its enemy could strike a blow for himself. with a quick pause, as if in surprise, the beast shot its head back to fasten its teeth in the leg of the rider. tad had jerked his leg away as he saw the movement, with the result that only part of his leggin came away between the teeth of the savage animal. crack! down came the quirt again. the broncho's head straightened out before him with amazing quickness. he was beginning to fear as well as hate the human being who so persistently sat his back and tortured him. the pony sprang into the air. "they're off!" shouted the cowboys. with amazing quickness the animal lunged ahead, paused suddenly, then shot across the plain in a series of leaps and twists. tad shook out the rein, at the same time giving a gentle pressure to the rowels of his spurs. maddened almost beyond endurance, the pony started at a furious pace, not pausing until more than a mile had been covered. when he did bring up it was with disconcerting suddenness. "whoa, boy!" soothed tad, patting the little animal on the neck. again the wide-open mouth reached for the lad's left leg. but this time tad pressed in the spurs on the right side. the pony tried to bite that way, whereat its rider spurred it on the left side. this was continued until, at least, in sheer desperation, the animal started again to run. he found that he was not interfered with in this effort. however, when he sought to unseat his rider by brushing against the trunk of a large tree, he again felt the sting of the quirt on his flank. gradually tad now began to work the animal around. after a time he succeeded in doing this, and was soon headed for camp. they bore down, at great speed, to where the cowboys were swinging their hats and setting up a shout that carried far over the plain. tad's face was flushed with pride. yet he did not allow himself for an instant to forget his work. the lad's whole attention was centered on the pony under him. he was determined to make a grand finish that, while exhibiting his horsemanship, would at the same time give the pony a lesson not soon to be forgotten. "you've got him!" cried ned rector as tad approached, now at a gallop, the animal's ears lying back angrily. "don't be too sure," answered big-foot. "see them ears? that means more trouble." it came almost before the words were out of the cowpuncher's mouth. the broncho stiffened, its hoofs ploughing little trails in the soft dirt of the plain as it skidded to a stop. the jolt might have unhorsed tad butler had he not been expecting it from some indications that he read in the animal's actions. suddenly settling back on its haunches, the broncho rolled over on its side. tad, with a grin, stepped off a few paces, taking with him, however, the coil of rope, one end of which was still fastened around the beast's neck. with a snort and a bound, realizing that it was free at last, the little animal leaped to its feet and darted away. tad moved swiftly to the right, so as not to get a tug on the rope over the back of the pony. the coil was running out over his hands like a thing of life. grasping the end firmly, the lad shook out the rest of the rope, leaning back until it was almost taut. by this time the animal was running almost at right angles to him. tad gave the rope a quick rolling motion just as it was being drawn taut. the result was as surprising as it was sudden. the animal's four feet were snipped from under it neatly, sending the broncho to earth with a disheartening bump. [illustration: tad gave the rope a quick, rolling motion.] without giving it a chance to rise, tad sprang upon it, and, when the pony rose, tad butler was sitting proudly in the saddle. the little beast's head went down. its proud spirit had been broken by a boy who knew the ways of the stubborn animal. a great shout of approval went up from cowpunchers and pony riders. they had never seen a breaking done more skillfully. tad's gloved hand patted the neck of the subdued animal affectionately. "i'm sorry i had to be rough with you, old boy, but you shall have a lump of sugar. we're going to be great friends, now, i know." chapter xx dinner at the ox bow "welcome to the ox bow, young gentlemen," greeted colonel mcclure. the rancher and his wife were waiting at the lower end of the lawn as the pony rider boys, accompanied by professor zepplin, rode up on the following afternoon. the lads wore their regulation plainsman's clothes, but for this occasion coats had been put on and hair combed, each desiring to look his best, as they were to meet the young ladies of the ranch. "we owe you an apology, sir, for appearing in this condition," announced the professor. "master butler and myself have already settled that question," answered the rancher. "as henry ward beecher once said, 'clothes don't make the man, but when he is made he looks very well dressed up.' i must say, however, that these young men are about as likely a lot of lads as i have ever seen." clear-eyed, their faces tanned almost to a copper color, figures erect and shoulders well back, the pony rider boys were indeed wholesome to look upon. perhaps sadie and margaret mcclure were not blind to this, for they blushed very prettily, the boys thought, upon being presented to their guests. ruth brayton was in a sunny mood, laughing gayly as she chatted with the boys. tad glanced at her inquiringly. she was not the same girl that he had met the day before. there was a difference in the eyes, too. tad could not understand the change. it perplexed him. colonel mcclure took the professor off to his study, the boys being left with mrs. mcclure and the young ladies to wander through the grounds and chat. each of the young women was an accomplished horsewoman, and therefore evinced a keen interest in the experiences of the boys since they had been in saddle. "i had so often wanted to take a trip through the rockies on horseback," announced miss margaret. "i am afraid you would find it rather rough going," said ned rector. "no worse than the plains," replied walter. "we have had more hardships in texas during the short time we have been here than we ever experienced in the mountains." "yes; but you were driving cattle," objected mrs. mcclure. "there probably is no harder work in the world. we, down here, know something about that." "i--i killed a bobcat up in the mountains," stacy brown informed them, with enthusiasm. "indeed," smiled mrs. mcclure indulgently. "he did. and i fell off a mountain," laughed walter perkins. "you see we have had quite a series of experiences." "indeed you have. how long do you expect to remain with the herd? are you going through with them?" "i believe not," answered tad butler. "i think we shall be leaving very soon now. we have a lot of traveling to do yet, as it has been planned that we shall see a good deal of the country before it is time to return to school this fall." "and you are to remain out in the open--in the saddle all summer?" asked miss brayton, her eyes sparkling almost enviously. "yes; i believe so." "i should love it." "we are getting to love it ourselves. it will be hard to have to sleep indoors again." shortly afterwards all were summoned in to supper. stacy brown's eyes sparkled with anticipation as he surveyed the table resplendent with silver and cut glass--loaded, too, with good things to eat. ned rector observed the look in his companion's eyes. "now, don't forget that we are not eating off the tail board of the chuck wagon, chunky," he whispered in passing. "be as near human as you can and satisfy your appetite." chunky's face flushed. "take your advice to yourself," he muttered. colonel mcclure proved an entertaining host, and the boys were led on to talk about themselves during most of the meal. especially were their hosts interested in the story of the discovery of the lost claim, which the boys had found on their trip in the rockies. "i have wanted to ask you about the old church between here and camp, mr. mcclure," said tad at the first opportunity. "very interesting old ruin, sir," answered the host. "built by the mexicans more than a hundred years ago." "yes, so i understand." "is it true that there's spooks in that place?" interrupted stacy. everybody laughed. tad glanced sharply at ruth brayton. he noticed a curious flush on her face, and the strained look that he had observed in her eyes on the previous day was again there. almost the instant he caught it it was gone. "i'm afraid you have been misinformed, master stacy," answered colonel mcclure. "how about the trouble that the cattle men experience when near the place?" spoke up ned rector. "the cowmen are sure there is something in the story." "nothing at all--nothing at all. just a mere coincidence. we live here and we have no more than the usual run of ill luck with our stock." "stampedes?" asked tad. "seldom anything of that sort. you see our stock is held by wire fences. if they want to stampede we let them--let them run until they are tired of it." "i should like to explore the old church," said tad, again referring to the subject uppermost in his mind. "nothing to hinder. ruth, why can't you and the girls take the young men over there to-morrow if the day is fine? you know the place and its history. i am sure they would enjoy having you do so." "we should be delighted," answered ned rector promptly. "we might make it a picnic," suggested margaret mcclure. "and have things to eat?" asked stacy, evincing a keen interest in the proposal. "of course," smiled mrs. mcclure. "a picnic would not be a picnic without a spread on the ground. i will send some of the servants over to serve the picnic lunch." "thank you," smiled tad gratefully. "it will be a happy afternoon for all of us if miss brayton can find the time to take us." "of course ruth will go," nodded mrs. mcclure. "yes," answered the young woman. "what time shall we arrange to start, auntie?" "say eleven o'clock, if that will suit the young men." "perfectly," answered tad. "you might first take a gallop to the springs. that will give you all an appetite." "where are the springs?" asked ned. "about seven miles to the eastward of the ranch. a most picturesque place," answered colonel mcclure. "professor, while the young people are enjoying themselves, suppose you ride over here and spend the afternoon with me? we can ride about the ranch if it would please you." "i should be delighted." "i was going to suggest, too, that it might be a pleasant relief for all of you to accept the hospitality of the ox bow ranch and remain here while you are in the vicinity. we have room to spare and would be glad to have you." "i am afraid the young men would prefer to remain in camp, thank you. they will get enough of sleeping in beds upon their return home, discourteous as the statement may seem," answered professor zepplin. "not at all--not at all. i understand you perfectly. i shall not press the point. but spend all the time you can with us. the place is yours. make yourselves at home." "no; mr. stallings would not like it if we were to remain away over night. you see, he expects us to do our share of night guard duty," explained tad. "we are earning our keep as it were." the boys laughed. "that is, some of us are," corrected ned, with a sly glance at stacy, who was eating industriously. "others are eating for their keep." the pony rider boys caught the hidden meaning in his words, but they tried not to let their hosts observe that it was a joke at the expense of one of them. "stallings," murmured miss brayton, her eyes staring vacantly at tad butler. tad flushed at the memory of what he had heard on his first visit to the ranch. miss brayton excused herself rather abruptly and left the room. they did not see her again that evening. "my niece has been ailing of late," explained mrs. mcclure. "perhaps she had better not try to accompany us to-morrow, then," suggested tad. "oh, yes, i wish her to. it will do her good--it will take her mind from herself." tad butler noted the last half of the sentence particularly. for him it held a deeper meaning than it did for his companions. "i wonder if she knows mr. stallings," mused tad. "i'm going to find out. no, i won't. it's none of my business. still, it will do no harm to ask him, or to mention the name to him. that surely would not be wrong." under the charm of the evening his mind soon drifted into other channels. after supper games were brought out and a happy evening followed. ten o'clock came, and professor zepplin, glancing at his watch, was about to propose a return to camp, when one of colonel mcclure's cowboys appeared in the doorway, hat in hand. "beg pardon; may i speak with you a moment?" asked the man. "certainly," replied the colonel, with the same gracious manner, tad observed, that he used toward his guests. "excuse me a moment." after a little their host returned, but rather hurriedly, it seemed, and tad's keen eyes noticed that he seemed disturbed. mr. mcclure caught the lad's inquiring gaze fixed upon him. he nodded. "is anything wrong?" asked the rancher's wife. "yes; i am afraid there is," he answered quietly. "what is it?" "i am not sure. perhaps i should not alarm you young gentlemen, but i think you should know." "at the camp, you mean?" asked tad. "yes." "what's that?" demanded professor zepplin sharply. "something wrong at the camp?" "my men think so. they say they hear shooting off in that direction, and want to know if they shall ride out." "you think it is a--a----" began tad. "a stampede? yes; i should not be surprised." "we must go," announced the lad, rising promptly. "why go?" asked margaret. "we may be needed." "but my men have started already," replied the rancher. "they surely will be help enough." "mr. stallings will expect us. we may be able to be of some assistance." "well, if you must. yes; you are right. business is business, even when one is out on a pleasure trip. it's a good sign in a young man. tell your foreman that he may call upon us to any extent." "thank you, i will," replied tad. bidding their hosts a hasty good night, and promising to be on hand at the appointed hour on the following day if the condition of the herd permitted, the pony rider boys ran for their ponies. in a few moments they were racing toward camp. they, too, were now able to hear the short, spiteful bark of the six-shooters. it was a significant sound. they had heard it too many times before not to understand it. in their minds they could see the hardy cowboys riding in front of the unreasoning animals, shooting into the ground in front of them, seeking to check the rush. "what do you think about this business?" asked tad butler, drawing up beside ned rector. "i think there is more in this spook story than colonel mcclure knows of, or, at least, will admit." "so do i," answered tad. "we'll know when we hear how it happened." tad remembered, at that moment, the hasty departure of ruth brayton. "i wonder--i wonder," muttered the boy to himself. chapter xxi a call for help "i told you so." "you have told me so many things, big-foot, that i can't remember them all," laughed tad. "what is it this time?" "trouble." "oh, you mean the stampede last night?" "yes." "tell me about it. you know i was not here when it started." after a hard night's work, in which the pony rider boys had toiled heroically, the cattle once more had been rounded up and big-foot and tad butler were riding into camp for breakfast. it was the first opportunity they had found to talk over the incident. "not much to tell. it happened so quick----" "what time?" interrupted tad. "'bout half-past nine, i reckon." "half-past nine," muttered the lad thoughtfully. "yes; go on." "we were sitting by the camp fire, and curley adams was telling about the time he was mixed up with the rustlers on the colorado." "yes." "well, them ponies came down on us a-whooping." "the ponies? did they get away, too?" asked the lad in surprise. "did they? you ought to have seen the varmints. nearly run over us when they smashed through the camp. one jumped clean over the fire." "yes, i understand; but did you have any idea why the cattle stampeded?" "sure. the ponies put them on the run." "the ponies started it?" "yes. no telling how it happened. the cows come a-running after the ponies had broke through them, and the whole outfit piled over the camp." "do any damage?" "i reckon. knocked over the chuck wagon, and near killed the heathen chinee. the men on guard roped the runaway ponies, and, by the time you got on the job, we had just about got straightened around ready to go after the cows." "i suppose you lay it to----" "adobe church," answered the cowman conclusively. "i am going over there to-day, big-foot. i am going to try to find out if there is anything in all this. candidly, i don't believe it. even colonel mcclure says it's all foolishness. that is, i do not believe it is anything that cannot be explained." the foreman was looking worried that morning. it had been a succession of disasters ever since they had neared the locality. this time it had been the ponies which were hobbled some little distance from the herd, but which had become so frightened at what they saw that they bolted, hobbles and all. "i want those cows from the mcclure ranch brought over to-day," stallings directed. "at least, bring over half of them. get them over right after breakfast. if we are going to have any more disturbances let's try to have them in the daytime." "do you need us?" asked tad. "no. go on and enjoy yourselves. you all have earned a holiday." the lads were in their saddles early. professor zepplin went with them, intending to spend the day at the ranch as arranged on the previous evening. the young ladies of the household were waiting, dressed in short skirts and wearing broad-brimmed straw hats. to the boys they were most attractive. their fresh young faces lighted with anticipation of the day's pleasure as, assisted by the pony riders, they swung into their saddles. it fell to tad butler to ride beside miss brayton. "we had a stampede at the camp last night," he told her after they had headed off to the east for the springs, which was to be their first objective point. "yes; so uncle told me. i'm sorry. did you lose any stock?" "i believe not, unless it was some of the new ponies. i did not think to ask." "at what time did the trouble occur?" she asked absently. "i think it was shortly after you left us at dinner, last night," answered tad, in a matter-of-fact tone. "it was, perhaps, half an hour after that when your uncle told us." miss brayton flushed painfully, and quickly changed the subject. tad noticed her confusion and marveled at it. arriving at the springs, which proved to be a group of rocks rising out of the plain, and from which several springs of pure sparkling water bubbled, all dismounted and drank of the refreshing fluid. after a few moments spent in chatting, they remounted their ponies and set off for the adobe church, the real object of the day's journey. reaching the historic place, they tethered their ponies among the mesquite bushes in the rear of it, after which all entered through a crumbling doorway. the interior, they found, was in an excellent state of preservation. many surprising little alcoves and odd, cell-like rooms were distributed all through the church. it was dark and cool in there. chunky shivered, and said he didn't wonder people said there were spooks there. "is there any cellar beneath the church?" asked tad. "it has been said that there were once underground passages," answered miss brayton. "no one in our time has ever discovered them." "that sounds interesting. i think i should like to find the way into them." "so should i," added stacy brown. "look out that you don't fall in," cautioned ned. "remember that's your failing." "not much chance of that," laughed margaret. "these stone floors are too thick for anyone to fall through." "does anyone ever come here?" asked tad. "not that i know of," answered miss brayton. "but i saw a path when i came in. somebody has been hitching a pony out there in the bushes, too," said the boy. "perhaps some of the cowmen may come in here out of the heat, now and then," replied the young woman carelessly. "why ruth, you could not induce one of papa's men to enter the door of the old place. you know they are half scared to death of it," said margaret. chunky's eyes were growing large. "wow!" he said. "let's go out doors and eat." "the lunch has not yet arrived. it will be here soon," miss brayton informed him. "we will spread it in the main room here, if you have no objections. it will be cool and pleasant; and, besides, there are no flies in here." "for goodness' sake, forget your appetite," growled ned in stacy's ear. "can't a fellow talk about his appetite without being found fault with?" chunky sulkily retorted. "not the kind of an appetite you have. it's a positive disgrace to the outfit." "huh!" grunted chunky, walking away. the lad wandered off by himself, and the rest forgot all about him in their investigation of the old church. miss brayton told them as much of its history as she knew. "some of the former priests are said to have been buried somewhere in the edifice," she said. "i don't see any signs of it," said tad. "no. no one ever has in our time. and it has even been hinted that treasure has been buried here, too, or secreted in some of the mysterious recesses of the church." "where are they" asked walter. "i am beginning to get curious." "i am sure i do not know," laughed the young woman. "there is a sort of garret, if you can get to it, above the gallery there. maybe you might find something there. i have an idea that it is inhabited by bats." "i guess we will leave them undisturbed," decided tad. "i don't like bats." "there come the servants," announced miss brayton. "now your friend will be able to satisfy his appetite." at her direction the servants brought in the baskets of food. a cloth was spread over a stone table that they found at the far end of the church in the balcony. what its use had been, in those other days, they did not know, but it served their purpose very well now. "i am afraid we shall have to eat standing," said miss sadie. "we have no chairs." "that will suit chunky," replied ned rector. "he always likes to eat standing." "why?" asked margaret, glancing up at him inquiringly. "for some reasons of his own," answered ned mischievously. as the good things were spread before them the eyes of the lads lighted appreciatively, and all helped themselves gratefully. it was a jolly party, untouched by the air of mystery that was supposed to surround the place. "why, where is master stacy?" asked ruth brayton in surprise, after they had been eating a few moments. "chunky? that's so, where is he?" demanded walter, glancing over the railing into the auditorium below. no one seemed to know. "he's prowling around the place somewhere," said ned. "but what surprises me is that he doesn't scent the food and come running. it's not like him to hang back when there is anything good to eat." "call him," suggested margaret. "i will. o-h-h chunky!" there was no reply. "i will go after him," said walter, running lightly to the other end of the balcony and down the stone steps. the lad returned in a few moments, a perplexed frown on his face. "find him?" asked ned. "no." "maybe he's gone back to camp. he's a queer chap." "i think not. i saw his pony there with the others." "oh, well, never mind. he'll get so hungry that he will have to come out, wherever he is," decided tad. "i imagine he is hiding somewhere to make us think he has gone away. hark! what was that?" a far away call for help echoed faintly through the church. they looked at each other with growing uneasiness on their faces. "it's chunky," breathed walter. "wh--where is he?" stammered margaret. "i don't know. excuse me; i must go," exclaimed tad. "the boy is in trouble again. i knew it--i knew he couldn't keep out of it," he added, hurrying away from them. ned sprang down the steps after tad and together they disappeared through a rear door in the auditorium. chapter xxii lost in the adobe church those up in the gallery could hear the two boys calling to their companion. there was no answer to their hails, and one by one the little party left the gallery. "i tell you he is playing tricks on us," said ned, after they had searched all over the place without finding any trace of stacy. "no; i don't agree with you," answered tad. "something has happened to him." "what shall we do?" asked walter. "keep on looking. that is all we can do just now." once more they began their search, but with no better results than before. "have you looked outside?" asked miss brayton. "yes; we looked out. no use in hunting there, for we can see all around the place from the side door here," answered tad. "he has gotten into some place that we know nothing about. we've got to find it, that's all." "i would suggest that one of us ride to camp and get some of the men to come out and help us," advised walter. "i'll ride home, and have father send some of his own men," suggested margaret. "yes; that would be best," agreed miss brayton. "i wish you wouldn't," replied tad. "it would alarm them, and professor zepplin would be frightened. ned, suppose you hustle for camp and tell mr. stallings the fix we are in. we shall need some help, that's sure." "all right. i'm off." big-foot sanders and curley adams responded to the call on the run, the foreman being out with the herd at the time. "i knew it," was big-foot's first words as he rode up and threw himself from his pony where tad was standing. "now tell me all about it." tad did so, the cowman nodding his head vigorously as tad told him all he knew about chunky's mysterious disappearance. "which way did he go?" asked curley. "that we do not know," answered miss brayton. "his cry seemed to come from the back of the church somewhere," spoke up ned. "we'll go in and look around, then," decided big-foot, striding into the church. "whew! smells pretty musty in here. what's that up there?" "that's where we were eating our lunch when we heard chunky call," walter informed him. "how long since you had seen him--was he up there with you?" "no; he had left us twenty minutes before we began eating lunch," answered ned. "humph!" grunted the cowman, gazing about him in perplexity. "sure it isn't a trick?" tad shook his head. "no. he was in trouble. i knew that from his tone." "then he must have fallen in some place," announced big-foot. "he couldn't fall up, so there's no use looking anywhere but on the ground floor here," he decided, wisely. "anybody know of any holes that he might drop into?" "not that i have seen," answered ned. "the floor is as solid as stone." "well, that beats all. you boys scout around outside, while curley and i are looking things over in here. besides, i want to be alone and think this thing over." "what do you make of it, big-foot?" asked curley adams, after the others had gone outside. "i ain't making. when it comes to putting my wits against a spook place, i'm beyond roping distance. we'll look into these holes in the wall around here, first," he said, referring to the niches and cell-like rooms that they saw leading off from the auditorium. "you make it your business to sound the floor. we may find some kind of trap door." curley went about bringing down the heels of his heavy boots on the hard floor, but it all sounded solid enough. there was no belief in the mind of either that the lad could have disappeared in any of the places they had examined--that is, that he could have done so through any ordinary accident. like most cowboys, both curley and big-foot possessed a strong vein of superstition in their natures. to them there was something uncanny in stacy brown's mysterious and sudden disappearance. "here's a door, but it's closed," called curley. "that's so," agreed big-foot, hurrying over to him. "the thing is sealed up with mortar. hasn't been used in fifty cats' lives. wonder what's behind it." "not the boy; that's certain." "nope. he didn't fall through there." "find any other doors open or closed?" "nary a one." "well, that seems to settle this part of the ranch; we've got to look somewhere else. what bothers me is that we don't hear him call. if he was anywhere near, and had his voice, he'd be yelling for help," decided the big cowboy. "don't think he's dead, do you?" "i don't think at all. i don't know," answered big-foot. "it's my idea that the gopher isn't in here at all," announced curley, with emphasis. his companion eyed him thoughtfully. "you're almost human at times, curley. i reckon you've said the only true words that's been spoke by us this afternoon. we look for the gopher and don't find him. you say he ain't here, and he isn't. great head! but that don't find him. the question is, where is he?" "we'll have to look outside," answered curley. "right you are. come on." but their search outside was as fruitless as had been their quest within the old adobe church. not a trace of stacy brown did they find. "ned, i think you had better take the young ladies home," said tad finally. "want me to tell professor zepplin?" "not right away. you can tell him on the way out here. he will not have quite so long to worry, but i think he should know about it. the matter is serious. where did you say mr. stallings was, big-foot?" "out with the new herd. the cattle are pretty restless." "walt, you go in and tell the foreman the difficulty we are in. i'll wait here and go on with the search. if he can get away i wish he would come." "i'll tell him," answered walter, hurrying away. "i am sorry we have spoiled your afternoon, miss brayton," said tad. "it's too bad. but i'm afraid something serious has happened to our friend." "shall we see you again, mr. butler?" "of course. i don't know when the herd will start on. we certainly shall not do so until we have found stacy. anyway, we will ride over some time to-morrow and bid you all good-bye." assisting the young women into their saddles, tad bade their friends good afternoon and turned sadly back to the church, while ned rector rode back to the ox bow ranch with the young women. "well, what do you think?" demanded the lad, as he faced the big cowboy. "i don't think. my thinker's all twisted out of shape," answered big-foot. "i can't tell you what to do. wait till the boss gets here." "i guess that will be best," replied tad. "we have done all we know how to do." the two men and the boy wandered about the church aimlessly, saying little, but thinking a great deal, impatiently awaiting the arrival of bob stallings, to whom they now looked to show them the way out of their difficulty. the foreman arrived, in the course of half an hour, with his pony on a sharp run. they had heard him approach, and were outside waiting for him. "well, this is a nice kettle of fish!" exclaimed stallings, leaping to the ground, tossing his reins to curley adams. "tell me about it." once more tad butler related all the facts in his possession regarding stacy brown's mysterious disappearance. "big-foot thinks it's spooks," added tad. "that's all bosh," exploded the foreman. "it's getting late in the afternoon, and i've no time to waste. i'll find him for you. what ails you, big-foot? getting weak in the knees?" "not as i knows of. this funny business is kinder getting on my nerves, though." "humph!" grunted the foreman, starting for the church in long strides. "nerves in a cowboy! humph!" they watched the tall figure of stallings charging through the adobe house, peering here and there, asking questions in short, snappy sentences, going down on his knees in search of footprints. finally he rose from his task with a puzzled look in his eyes. "tell me that story again," he demanded. tad did so. the foreman went outside and surveyed the building from all sides. "there's some secret room or passage in there somewhere. the gopher has stumbled into it. we are going to discover the mystery of the church of san miguel before we have done here--that is, we are if we're lucky," he added. bob stallings' words were prophetic, though he did not know it. the discovery was to be one that would give the big foreman the surprise of his life, and that would affect all his after life as well. chapter xxiii solving the mystery "we can't do much of anything more until daylight," announced the foreman finally. "you see, it's getting dark now." "you--you are going to leave him here?" asked tad hesitatingly. "that's all we can do, so far as i see. but we'll put one of the men on guard to watch the place. to-morrow morning we'll take it upon ourselves to tear down that door that's sealed up. it may lead into the place where the boy fell in. yes; we'll bring down the whole miserable shack if necessary." "you--you think he is here, then?" "of course. where else could he be? he walked away and disappeared right before your eyes. he could not get away if he had gone outside. so where is he? in the church, of course." "then i will remain here and watch the place," decided tad firmly. stallings glanced at him hesitatingly. "all right. i guess you have got the nerve to do it. i can't say as much for the rest of the bunch. you come along with me, now, and get your supper. after that you may return if you want to. big-foot, you and curley stay here until the pinto gets back. better keep busy. you may stumble upon something before you know it." the two cowboys did not appear to be any too well pleased with the task assigned to them, but they obeyed orders without protest. the evening had grown quite dark by the time the cowmen had finished their supper. all had been discussing the strange disappearance of stacy brown. it did not seem to surprise them. they had expected trouble when they reached the vicinity of the adobe church. they had had little else during the time they had been in the camp. "send curley and big-foot in," directed the foreman after tad had announced his readiness to return to the church. "we'll all go," spoke up ned rector. "it's not at all necessary," answered tad. "no; i have decided to let big-foot go back after he has eaten. he can remain with you until ten-thirty, when he takes his trick on guard. then the rest of you may go out if you wish. it isn't fair to leave the pinto there alone all night. if i change my plans i'll send out master ned or walter. run along now, tad." the lad mounted his pony and galloped slowly out for his long vigil. he was greatly disturbed over the loss of chunky. yet he could not bring himself to believe that great harm had come to the boy. "anything new?" he called as he rode up. "nary a thing. plenty of funny noises inside the shack. kinder gives a fellow the creeps; that's all." "you are to come back and remain with me until your watch, i believe, big-foot." "nice job you've cut out for me," answered the cowman. "i had nothing to do with it. it's the foreman's order," answered tad. "better bring a lantern with you. we may need it before the night is over." "all right," answered big-foot, swinging into his saddle. after the cowmen had left, tad walked out a little way from the church and sat down in the sand. he was within easy hearing of the place in case anyone should call out. it was a lonely spot. tad had not sat there long before the noises that the cowmen had spoken of began again. the lad listened intently for a moment. "bats," he said. "i can hear them flying about me. i hope none of them hit me in the face. i've heard they do that sometimes." the pony, which had been staked down well out on the plain, was now moving about restlessly. "i wonder if the noises are getting on the broncho's nerves, too? there's nothing here to be afraid of. i'm not afraid," declared tad firmly, rising and pacing back and forth. he was relieved, just the same, when the big cowman rode back, an hour later, and took up the vigil with him. the two talked in subdued tones as they walked back and forth, the lad expressing the opinion that they would find stacy unharmed when they once discovered the mysterious place into which he had unwittingly stumbled. "you see, those walls are so thick that we couldn't hear him even if he did call out. he may even have gotten in where they buried those monks we've heard about. i hope not, though." "he wouldn't know it," said big-foot. "no, probably not in the darkness. did you bring that lantern?" "pshaw! i forgot it. mebby i'd better go back and get it." "no; never mind, big-foot. the moon will be up after a time. then we shall not need it. you are going in for the ten-thirty trick, are you not?" "that's what the boss said," replied big-foot. the right section of the herd was now bedded within a short distance of the church. they could hear the singing of the cowboys as they circled slowly around the sleeping cattle. "guess we are not going to have any more trouble with them," said tad, nodding toward the herd. "don't be too sure. i feel it coming. i have a feeling that trouble ain't more'n a million miles away at this very minute." "i wish you wouldn't talk that way. you'll get me feeling creepy, first thing you know. i've got to stay here all night," said tad. big-foot laughed. they passed the time as best they could until the hour for the departure of the cowboy arrived. then tad was left alone once more. he circled about the church, listening. once he thought he heard the hoof-beats of a pony. but the sound died away instantly, and he believed he must have been wrong. after half an hour big-foot returned. the foreman had decided, so long as the cattle were quiet, to have him remain with tad. if the cowboy should be needed in a hurry the foreman was to fire a shot in the air as a signal. tad was intensely pleased at this arrangement. after chatting a while they lay down on the ground, speaking only occasionally, and then in low tones. the mystery of the night seemed to have awed them into silent thought. they had lain there for some time, when tad suddenly rose on one elbow. "did you hear that?" he whispered. "yes," breathed the cowman. "what--what do you think it was?" "sounded as if some one had jumped to the ground. we'd better crawl up there. it was by the church. i told you it was coming." "do you suppose it was chunky?" "no. he'd be afraid of the dark. you'd hear him yelling for help." tad had his doubts of that; but, just the same, he, too, felt that the noise they had heard had not been made by stacy brown. a silence of several minutes followed. the two had crawled only a few feet toward the church, when, with one common impulse, they flattened themselves on the ground and listened. now they could distinctly hear some one cautiously moving about in front of the church. it seemed to tad as if the mysterious intruder were standing on the broad stone flagging at the top of the steps leading into the adobe church. tad slowly rose to his feet. "who's there?" he cried in a voice that trembled a little. a sudden commotion followed the question, and the listeners distinctly caught the sound of footsteps on the flagging. a flash lighted the scene momentarily. big-foot had fired a shot toward the church. a slight scream followed almost instantly. "i winged it!" shouted the cowman, lifting his weapon for another shot. tad struck the gun up. the lad was excited now. "stop!" he commanded. "don't do that again. do you want to kill somebody?" with that tad ran, his feet fairly flying over the ground, in the direction of the church steps. in the flash of the gun he had caught a glimpse of a figure standing there. the sight thrilled him through and through. as the plucky lad reached the steps some one started to run down them. tripping, the unknown plunged headlong to the ground. the boy was beside the figure in an instant. "big-foot!" he shouted. the cowman came tearing up to him. "what is it?" he bellowed in his excitement. "it's a woman, big-foot! it's a woman! oh, i hope you did not hit her!" "it's no woman; it's a spook. i know it's a spook!" fairly shouted the cowboy. "i tell you it's a woman!" cried tad. he was down on his knees by her side now, raising her head. "get help--_quick_!" sanders took the shortest way of doing this. he, too, was alarmed now. raising his gun above his head, he pulled the trigger three times in quick succession. as many sharp flashes leaped into the air, and as many quick reports followed. "sure she ain't a spirit?" demanded the cowman, peering down suspiciously, fearfully. he could make out the form on the ground but dimly. "don't be foolish. run out there and meet them. i hear the ponies coming. don't let any of them use their guns, in the excitement, or some one may get hurt," warned tad butler, with rare judgment. big-foot hurried out into the open. in the meantime tad stroked the face and head of the woman. she was unconscious, but her flesh seemed warm to his touch. "i wonder what it means," the perplexed boy asked himself. tad could feel his own pulses beating against his temples. it seemed to him as if all the blood in his body were hurling itself against them. cowboys on their ponies came thundering up from different directions. in the lead was bob stallings, the foreman of the outfit. "you idiots!" he shouted. "do you want to stampede the herd again? what do you mean?" "i've winged a spook!" yelled big-foot sanders. "she's over there by the steps now. the kid's got her." "spook--nonsense!" snapped the foreman, leaping from his pony and rushing to the spot indicated by big-foot. "what----" chorused the cowboys. "is it the boy--have they found him?" "if you all don't insist on talking at once, mebby we can find out what the row's about," snarled curley adams. the foreman stopped suddenly as he observed tad sitting at the foot of the church steps. he saw, too, another form there, but it was so dimly outlined in the deep shadows that he was unable to make it out. "what does this mean?" he demanded sternly. "i don't know. it's a woman. i'm afraid big-foot's bullet hit her. we must have a light." "bring matches!" roared the foreman. no one had any. "rustle for the camp, and fetch a lantern--and be quick about it! i've had enough of this fooling. what was she doing--how did it happen?" tad explained as clearly as he could how they had been disturbed by the strange noises, resulting finally in a shot from big-foot's gun. "the idiot! it'll be a sorry day for him if he's done any damage," growled the foreman. he stooped over and ran his hand over the unconscious woman's face. then he applied his ear to the region of the heart. "huh!" he snapped, rising. "find anything!" asked tad in a half whisper. "she's alive. heart weak, but i don't think she's seriously hurt. i don't understand it at all." "no more do i. i'm getting dizzy over all this rapid-fire business," added the lad. "there they come with a light." stallings strode to the cowman who had brought the lantern. jerking it from the man's hand the foreman ran back. "we'll straighten her up against the steps, and try to find out how badly she is hurt," he said, placing the lantern on the ground. tad had partially raised her, when he let the girl drop with a sudden, startled exclamation. "what is it?" demanded stallings incisively. "it's miss ruth!" "who?" "miss ruth----" by the dim lantern light the foreman saw her face outlined against the dark background of green. his eyes were fixed upon her, and bob stallings seemed scarcely to breathe. "ruth brayton!" he gasped. "yes," answered tad in a low voice, not fully comprehending the meaning of the scene that was being enacted before him. "ruth brayton," repeated stallings, slowly passing a hand across his forehead. "ruth!" he cried, throwing himself to his knees beside her. "i tell ye i winged a spook," insisted big-foot sanders to a companion as they came up. tad raised a warning hand for silence. chapter xxiv conclusion "get back to that herd!" commanded the foreman sharply. "all of you! tad, you stay with me. the girl has fallen and struck her head on the flagging. i don't think she is seriously hurt." not understanding the meaning of it all, the cowmen drew back and slouched to their ponies. most of them were off duty at the time, so they took their way back to camp to be ready for whatever emergency might arise. not a man of them spoke until they had staked their ponies and seated themselves around the camp-fire. such a silence was unusual among the cowboys. ned and walter, who had followed them in, were standing aside, equally silent and thoughtful. shorty savage was the first to speak. "what's it all about? that's what i'd like to know," he asked. "you won't find out from me," answered curley. "big-foot thinks he winged a spook," said a voice. "allee samee," chuckled pong, who had been taking in the scene with mouth and eyes agape. big-foot fixed him with a baneful eye. "i said i'd forget you were the cook some day," said he. "i'm forgetting it, now, faster'n a broncho can run!" pong's pigtail bobbed up and down like the streaming neckkerchief of a cowboy in saddle as he dived for the protection of the trail wagon. "i reckon he can understand king's english when he wants to," laughed shorty. "now how about that spook, big-foot?" sanders stood up, hitched his trousers and tightened his belt a notch. "reckon we've all gone plumb daffy, fellows. i'm the champeen dummy of the bunch." the cowpunchers laughed heartily. "but was she a spook?" persisted shorty. "she were not. she were a woman--a friend of the boss." shorty whistled. "lucky for me i missed her. i was rattled, or i'd never taken that shot." "who is she?" asked curley. "one of the young women from the ox bow. it gets me what she was doing in that spook place alone at night. i----" "w-o-w!" the exclamation was uttered by a familiar voice, at the sound of which the cowmen sprang to their feet. "it's the gopher!" they cried. "chunky!" shouted ned and walter, running forward with a yell. "i fell in," wailed the fat boy. at sight of him the cowboys yelled with merriment. chunky's clothes were torn. he was covered with dirt from head to foot, and his face was so grimy as to be scarcely recognizable. big-foot was staring at him in amazement. striding forward, he grasped the lad roughly by the shoulder, jerking him into the full light of the camp-fire. "where you been, gopher?" he demanded sternly. "i fell in," stammered the boy. "where?" "some kind of a well. it was in the bushes just outside the back door. i went there to hide. i fell down to the bottom and went to sleep." "just like him. have anything to eat down there?" jeered ned rector. "when i woke up it was dark. then i found another hole--a passage. it went both ways. guess one end went under the church. i followed it the other way, and came out near where the steers are bedded down." "hold on a minute. let's get this straight," interrupted curley. "you mean you found an underground passage at the bottom of the old well? is that it?" chunky nodded. "and the opening was near the spring at the point of rocks just above the herd?" "yes. but i had to dig out through a brush heap." "huh! not such a terrible mystery, after all," sniffed curley contemptuously. "how came that underground passage there? what's it for?" asked big-foot. "probably dug out in indian times. i'll bet it has saved the scalp of more than one old fellow. there's an opening into it from the church somewhere, you can depend upon that. i'm thinking, too, that the well was a bluff--that it wasn't intended for water at all. we'll smash the mystery of the adobe church before we pull out of here to-morrow, see if we don't." "i come mighty near doing for one of them," added big-foot sanders ruefully. "got anything to eat?" interrupted stacy brown. "for goodness' sake, boys, take your fat friend over to the chuck wagon and fill him up. he's like a mexican steer--he'll bed down safer when he's full of supper." * * * * * in the meantime, another scene was being enacted off at the ox bow ranch--a scene that was to add still another chapter to the romance of the trail. tad butler was sitting alone in the darkness on the steps of the mcclure mansion. the boy, chin in hands, was lost in thought. stallings had carried ruth brayton in his arms all the way to the ranch where she had soon revived. after leaving her, the foreman and colonel mcclure had locked themselves in the library, where they remained in consultation for more than an hour. "how is miss ruth?" asked the boy eagerly, when stallings finally came out. "better than in many months," answered the foreman. there was a new note in his voice. "i'm so glad," breathed tad. "old man," began stallings, slapping tad on the shoulder, "come along with me. we'll lead our ponies back to camp and talk. i presume you are aching to know what all this mystery means?" laughed the foreman. "naturally, i am a bit curious," admitted tad. "it means, pinto, that not only have you rendered a great service to mr. miller and his herd, but you have done other things as well." "i've mixed things up pretty well, i guess." "no. you have solved a riddle, and made me the happiest man in the lone star state. miss brayton and i have known each other almost since childhood. when i was in yale----" "you a college man!" exclaimed tad in surprise. "yes. we were engaged. my people were quite wealthy; but, in a panic, some years ago, father lost everything, dying soon after. miss brayton's family then refused their consent to our marriage. i determined to seek my fortune in the growing west. my full name is robert stallings hamilton, though i never had used the middle name until i adopted it when i became a cowboy. but to return to miss brayton. ruth was taken to europe, and then sent to her uncle here. her trouble preyed on her mind to such an extent that she grew 'queer.' she had heard that i was a cattle man, somewhere in the west. strangely enough, when in her moods, she developed a strong antipathy to herds of cattle. whenever a herd was near, ruth would slip from the house and steal away to them in the night, a stampede usually followed. it's a wonder she wasn't shot. whether or not she caused these intentionally, ruth does not know----" "and that is the mystery?" asked tad. "yes." "it is the strangest story i ever heard," said the boy quietly. "what i was about to say, is that the herd will go on without me. colonel mcclure is sending his own foreman through with it instead. ruth and i are to be married at once, and we shall go to my little ranch in montana." in view of the fact that stallings was severing his connection with the herd, professor zepplin decided to do likewise. next morning, at sunrise, bob stallings, with miss ruth, by his side, both radiantly happy, rode out to the camp. the pony rider boys had packed their kits and loaded their belongings on their ponies. regretfully they bade good-bye to the cowmen. tad's parting with big-foot was most trying. in the short time they had been together, a strong affection had grown up between the two. the plainsman had been quick to perceive tad's manly qualities, and the boy, in his turn, had been won by the big, generous nature of the man. they parted, each vowing that they must see each other again. as the great herd moved slowly northward, three cheers were proposed for bob stallings and miss brayton. this the cowboys gave with a will, adding a tiger for the pony rider boys. the trail wagon, pulling out at the same time, held a grinning chinaman, huddled in the rear. "good-bye, pong!" shouted the lads. "allee samee," chuckled the cook, shaking hands with himself enthusiastically. and here for a time we will take leave of the pony rider boys, whose further exciting experiences will be chronicled in the next volume, entitled: "the pony rider boys in montana; or, the mystery of the old custer trail." this will be a story of adventure, full of absorbing interest and thrilling incidents. the reader will then go over the same trails that general custer rode in the wilder days. the end. * * * * * henry altemus company's catalogue of the best and least expensive books for real boys and girls these fascinating volumes will interest boys and girls of every age under sixty sold by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price henry altemus company - cherry street philadelphia the motor boat club series by h. irving hancock the keynote of these books is manliness. the stories are wonderfully entertaining, and they are at the same time sound and wholesome. the plots are ingenious, the action swift, and the moral tone wholly healthful. no boy will willingly lay down an unfinished book in this series, at the same time he will form a taste for good literature and the glory of right living. the motor boat club of the kennebec; or, the secret of smugglers' island. the motor boat club at nantucket; or, the mystery of the dunstan heir. the motor boat club off long island; or, a daring marine game at racing speed. the motor boat club and the wireless; or, the dot, dash and dare cruise. the motor boat club in florida; or, laying the ghost of alligator swamp. the motor boat club at the golden gate; or, a thrilling capture in the great fog. submarine boys series by victor g. durham these splendid books for boys and girls deal with life aboard submarine torpedo boats, and with the adventures of the young crew, who, by degrees, become most expert in this most wonderful and awe-inspiring field of modern naval practice. the books are written by an expert and possess, in addition to the author's surpassing knack of story-telling, a great educational value for all young readers. the submarine boys on duty; or, life on a diving torpedo boat. the submarine boys' trial trip; or, "making good" as young experts. the submarine boys and the middies; or, the prize detail at annapolis. the submarine boys and the spies; or, dodging the sharks of the deep. the submarine boys' lightning cruise; or, the young kings of the deep. the submarine boys for the flag; or, deeding their lives to uncle sam. pony rider boys series by frank gee patchin these tales may be aptly described as those of a new cooper. as the earlier novelist depicted the first days of the advancing frontier, so does mr. patchin deal charmingly and realistically with what is left of the strenuous outdoor west of the twentieth century. in every sense they belong to the best class of books for boys. the pony rider boys in the rockies; or, the secret of the lost claim. the pony rider boys in texas; or, the veiled riddle of the plains. the pony rider boys in montana; or, the mystery of the old custer trail. the pony rider boys in the ozarks; or, the secret of ruby mountain. the pony rider boys on the alkali; or, finding a key to the desert maze. the pony rider boys in new mexico; or, the end of the silver trail. high school boys series by h. irving hancock in this series of bright, crisp books a new note has been struck. boys of every age under sixty will be interested in these fascinating volumes. the high school freshmen; or, dick & co's first year pranks and sports. the high school pitcher; or, dick & co. on the gridley diamond. the high school left end; or, dick & co. grilling on the football gridiron. the high school captain of the team; or, dick & co. leading the athletic vanguard. grammar school boys series by h. irving hancock this series of stories, based on the actual doings of grammar school boys comes near to the heart of the average american boy. the grammar school boys of gridley; or, dick & co. start things moving. the grammar school boys snowbound; or, dick & co. at winter sports. the grammar school boys in the woods; or, dick & co. trail fun and knowledge. the grammar school boys in summer athletics; or, dick & co. make their fame secure. west point series by h. irving hancock the principal characters in these narratives are two sound, wholesome, manly young americans who go strenuously through their four years of cadetship. their doings will prove an inspiration to all american boys. dick prescott's first year at west point; or, two chums in the cadet gray. dick prescott's second year at west point; or, finding the glory of the soldier's life. dick prescott's third year at west point; or, standing firm for flag and honor. dick prescott's fourth year at west point; or, ready to drop the gray for shoulder straps. annapolis series by h. irving hancock the spirit of the new navy is delightfully and truthfully depicted in these volumes. dave darrin's first year at annapolis; or, two plebe midshipmen at the u. s. naval academy. dave darrin's second year at annapolis; or, two midshipmen as naval academy "youngsters." dave darrin's third year at annapolis; or, leaders of the second class midshipmen. dave darrin's fourth year at annapolis; or headed for graduation and the big cruise. boys of the army series by h. irving hancock these books breathe the life and spirit of the united states army of to-day, and the life, just as it is, is described by a master-pen. uncle sam's boys in the ranks; or, two recruits in the united states army. uncle sam's boys on field duty; or, winning corporal's chevrons. uncle sam's boys as sergeants; or, handling their first real commands. battleship boys series by frank gee patchin these stories throb with the life of young americans on today's huge drab dreadnaughts. the battleship boys at sea; or, two apprentices in uncle sam's navy. the battleship boys' first step upward; or, winning their grades as petty officers. the battleship boys in foreign service; or, earning new ratings in european seas. the circus boys series by edgar b. p. darlington mr. darlington is known to all real circus people along every route that big and little shows travel. his books breathe forth every phase of an intensely interesting and exciting life. the circus boys on the flying rings; or, making the start in the sawdust life. the circus boys across the continent; or, winning new laurels on the tanbark. the circus boys in dixie land; or, winning the plaudits of the sunny south. the high school girls series by jessie graham flower, a.m. these breezy stories of the american high school girl take the reader fairly by storm. grace harlowe's plebe year at high school; or the merry doings of the oakdale freshmen girls. grace harlowe's sophomore year at high school; or, the record of the girl chums in work and athletics. grace harlowe's junior year at high school; or, fast friends in the sororities. grace harlowe's senior year at high school; or, the parting of the ways. the automobile girls series by laura dent crane no girl's library--no family book-case can be considered at all complete unless it contains these sparkling twentieth-century books, written for present-day girls. the automobile girls at newport; or, watching the summer parade. the automobile girls in the berkshires; or, the ghost of lost man's trail. the automobile girls along the hudson; or, fighting fire in sleepy hollow. [illustration: the big powerful black acted as though he had gone wild.] the saddle boys of the rockies or lost on thunder mountain by captain james carson author of "the saddle boys in the grand canyon," "the saddle boys on the plains," "the saddle boys at circle ranch," etc. illustrated new york cupples & leon company publishers copyrighted , by cupples & leon company the saddle boys of the rockies contents chapter i. accepting a challenge ii. the strange actions of domino iii. old hank coombs bears a message iv. a note of warning at the spring hole v. the voice of the mountain vi. a second alarm vii. the "rustlers" viii. a startling discovery ix. what happened to peg x. threats of trouble xi. the black night xii. losing their bearings xiii. the smoke trail xiv. a call for help xv. spanish joe drops a hint xvi. the vent hole in the wall xvii. frank holds the hot stick xviii. a guess that hits the bullseye xix. the working of the gold lode xx. trapped in the canyon xxi. a close call xxii. once more at circle ranch--conclusion the saddle boys of the rockies chapter i accepting a challenge "hello! what brought you here, frank haywood, i'd like to know?" "well, i reckon my horse, buckskin, did, peg." "and who's this with you--your new chum; the boy from kentucky?" "that's who it is, peg--bob archer; and he's come out west to see how life on the plains suits him." "oh! a greenhorn, eh?" "perhaps some people might call him that, though he knows a heap about horses. but seems to me, peg, 'twasn't so very long ago that you yourself dropped in on us here. since when did you climb up out of the tenderfoot class, tell me?" the boy who answered to the name of frank haywood was a rather chunky, well set-up lad of about sixteen. he had blue eyes, that were usually sparkling with mirth; and a mop of yellow hair; while his skin was darkened by long exposure to sun and wind. frank was the son of a rancher, who not only owned a large tract of land with many herds, but had interests in paying mines located among the mountains of the southwest. of course he knew more or less concerning such things as cowboys practice; though never a day passed on which frank could not pick up new ideas connected with life in the open. his companion, bob archer, was considerably taller than frank, straight as an indian, though rather inclined to be slender; but with a suppleness that indicated such strength and agility as the panther displays. coming from kentucky, bob could at least boast of long familiarity with horses; and his cleverness in this line promised to make him a crack horseman when he had picked up a few more of the tricks known to range riders. both of the boys were especially fond of roaming the country, mounted on their favorite steeds; and indeed, they were becoming known far and near as the "saddle boys" because of their being seen so frequently, dashing over the prairies at top-notch speed. peg was the nick-name which had followed percy egbert grant all the way from the chicago suburb, where, for some years, he had played the part of both dude and bully. his father was very wealthy, and peg always had more money than was good for him. when he came to the great x-bar-x ranch, not so very far distant from the haywood home place, peg had adopted the same tactics that had carried the day for him in the past. the cowboys belonging to his father's estate seemed to knuckle under to him from the first. however much they might ridicule peg behind his back, they cringed when he gave orders; because he was a liberal paymaster, and no one wished to incur his enmity. so it came to pass that peg actually began to believe himself of great importance in the community. he assumed airs that ill became one who was really ignorant of many things connected with ranch life. he and frank had never become friends. there was something about the fellow that the saddle boy could not tolerate. more than once they had almost come to blows; and, only for the peace-loving nature of frank, this must have occurred long ago. the two chums had taken the long gallop to the town on the railroad on this particular day to do a little important business for mr. haywood, who was associated with bob's uncle in certain large mining enterprises. and it was while entering the town that they met peg, who, with his customary assurance, had halted them with the question that begins this chapter. when frank give him this little cut, the face of peg grant showed signs of anger. he knew very well that he was making wretched progress along the line of becoming an accomplished rider and cowboy. and the easy manner in which the other boys sat their saddles irritated him greatly. "what does it matter to you, frank haywood, when i left the greenhorn class and moved up a pace? all the boys of the x-bar-x outfit say i'm full-fledged now, and able to hold my own with nearly any fellow. it'll be some time, i reckon, before your new friend can say the same. but i will own that he's got a horse that takes my eye, for a fact." "that's where you show good judgment, peg," said frank, laughing. "he brought that black horse with him from kentucky. and he can ride some, you'd better believe me. when he gets on to the ways we have out here, bob will hold his own against heaps of boys that were born and brought up on the plains." "say, i don't suppose, now, you'd care to sell that animal, archer?" asked peg, as he eyed the handsome mount of the kentucky boy enviously. "because i fancy i'd like to own him more than i ever did that frisky buckskin frank rides. if you'd put a fairly decent price on him now--" "i raised domino from a colt, i broke him to the saddle, and we have been together five years now. money couldn't buy him from me," replied the tall boy, curtly. it was not bob archer's habit to speak in this strain to anyone; but there seemed to be a something connected with peg grant that irritated him. the manner of the other was so overbearing as to appear almost rude. he had had his own way a long time now; and thus far no one connected with the big ranch owned by his father had arisen to take him down. "oh! well, there are plenty of horses just as good, i guess," peg went on; "and some people don't appreciate the value of money, anyway. but see here, frank, you let your eyebrows travel up when i mentioned the fact that i'd graduated from the tenderfoot class. i could see that you doubted my words. now, i'm going to tell you something that will surprise you a heap. are you ready for a shock?" "oh; i can brace myself for nearly anything, peg," replied frank, easily; "so suppose you tell us your great news. have you entered for the endurance race at the annual cowboy meet next month; or do you expect to take the medal for riding bucking broncos?" "any ordinary range rider might do that, even if he lost out," peg went on; "but my game is along different lines; see? i'm on my way right now to run down the mystery of thunder mountain! i understand that for years it's puzzled the whole country to know what makes that roaring sound every now and then. many cowboys couldn't be hired to spend a single night on that mountain. as for the indians, they claim it is the voice of great manitou; and steer clear of thunder mountain, every time. get that, frank?" "well, peg, you have given me a jolt, for a fact," answered the saddle boy, as his face expressed his surprise. "i allow that you show a lot of nerve in laying out such a big plan; and if you only find out what makes that trembling, roaring sound, you'll get the blessing of many a range rider who believes all the stories told about thunder mountain." peg stiffened up in his saddle, as though he realized that he was engineering a tremendously important thing; and had a right to be looked up to as a hero, even before the accomplishment of the deed. "well, that's always the way with you fellows out here, i find," he remarked, loftily; "you leave all the big things to be done by fellows with real backbone. but then, i don't mind; in fact i'm obliged to you for neglecting your opportunities so long. just you wait, and you'll hear something drop. couldn't i induce you to name a price on that black beauty, archer?" "domino is not for sale at any price," replied the other, quietly. "oh! all right then. so long, frank. go back home, and wait till i send you word about what i've found out!" and with a careless wave of his arm peg whirled his horse around, and galloped off. "now, i wonder did he mean that; or was he just bluffing?" said frank, as he turned to his chum. "he looked as if he might be in dead earnest," replied bob; "but you know him better than i do, and ought to be able to say whether he'd have the sand to take up such a job as that." "oh! nobody doubts his grit, when it comes to that," frank went on, as though trying to figure the matter out. "and he seems to want to do something everybody else lets alone. you know what i told you about thunder mountain, bob; and how it has been a mystery ever since the country hereabout was settled by people from the east?" "yes," the kentucky boy replied, "and somehow, what you told me seemed to shake me up as i don't ever remember being stirred before. it was like a direct challenge--just like somebody had dared me to look into this queer old mountain, and find out what it all meant." "that's just it," said frank, watching the face of his chum with a show of eagerness. "it struck me the same way long ago, and i can remember often thinking what a great time a few of the right kind of fellows might have if they took a notion to go nosing around that old pile of rock, to see what does make all that row every little while." "and you tell me nobody knows what it is?" demanded bob. "why, don't you understand, the cowboys all keep away from thunder mountain as much as they can. they're worse than the injuns about it, because while the reds say that is the voice of manitou talking, these fellows just up and declare the mountain is haunted. lots of 'em couldn't be hired to spend a night on the side of that big uplift." "but frank, we don't believe in any such thing, do we?" pursued bob, as if he had begun to suspect what all this talk was leading up to, and wished to draw his chum on. "we sure don't, and that's a fact," declared frank. "twice, now, one of our boys has made out that he saw a ghost, but both times i managed to turn the laugh on him. all the same, if you offered a lump sum for any fellow to go and camp out half-way up the side of thunder mountain for a week, i don't believe he could be found, not at circle ranch, anyhow." "i've seen the same kind of men myself; and the coons around our old kentucky home always carried a foot of a graveyard rabbit, shot in the full of the moon, as a sure talisman against ghosts. i've seen many a rabbit's foot. no use talking to any of them; it's in the blood and can't be cured. but about that offering a sum for any fellow to go and camp on the side of that old fraud of a haunted mountain, if you happen to hear about such a snap you might just think of me, frank." the other saddle boy smiled broadly. he believed he knew bob pretty well by this time, and could no longer doubt what the kentucky lad was hinting at. "say, look here, would you take me up if i proposed something right now?" asked frank, his face filled with sudden animation. "if you mean that we try and beat peg grant at his own game, and learn what the secret of thunder mountain is, i say yes!" answered bob, steadily. "shake on that!" he exclaimed. "i'm just primed for something that's out of the common run; and what could be finer than such a game? i saw billy dixon in town; and we can send back word to father that we've gone off for a big gallop; so he won't worry if we don't turn up for a few days. is it a go, bob?" "count on me," replied the other. "i don't know how it is, frank; but it strikes me that i'd like to cut in on that boaster in this thing. if we managed to find out what makes that fearful booming in the mountain, and told about it before he got a chance to blow his horn, he'd feel cheap, wouldn't he?" "he sure would, now," frank said. "and when you look at it, he just the same as gave us the challenge direct, because he hinted that we didn't have the nerve to attempt such a big thing as this. bob, we'll call it a go! wonder what peg will say when he runs across us out there in that lonely place? wow! i reckon he'll be some mad." "let him," remarked bob, carelessly. "he has no claim on thunder mountain; has he? and we want to call his bluff, if it was one. so just make up your mind we're in for a new experience. it may pan out a heap of fun for us. and it will be worth while if we can settle the question that has been giving these superstitious cowmen the creeps all these years." "then let's get through with our business, send word by billy, though not telling what we've got in the wind, and then pick up a few things we might need on a trip like this. after that we can drop out of town, and take our time heading for the mountain; because i think i'd like peg to get there first, so that he couldn't say we'd stolen his thunder." half an hour later the saddle boys, having finished their business, and sent the circle ranch cowboy galloping homeward bearing the message to mr. haywood, were moving slowly through the main street of the town, heading toward a store where they could pick up a couple of blankets, a simple cooking outfit, and some of the substantials in the way of bacon, coffee and the like, when they came upon a scene that instantly attracted their attention. it was a terrified cry that reached their ears at first, and caused both boys to pull in their horses. glancing in the direction whence the sound of distress seemed to spring, they saw a small mexican girl struggling with an over-grown fellow, garbed in the customary range habit, even to the "chaps" of leather covering his trousers. both frank and bob jumped from their saddles, for the little affair was taking place in the courtyard of an inn that fronted on the street. whether the brute was simply playing the bully, and trying to kiss the girl; or meant to strike her for getting in his way, bob archer did not stop to inquire. his warm kentucky blood on fire, he made a swoop for the fellow, and managed to give him a tremendous blow that toppled him over in a heap. "lie there, you coward!" he exclaimed. and then, as the fellow whom he had knocked down struggled to his knees, to stare up at him, bob discovered, not a little to his surprise, and satisfaction as well, that he was looking into a familiar face. it was peg grant! chapter ii the strange actions of domino "well, i declare!" exclaimed frank; which remark showed how much surprised he was to recognize the youth whom his chum had sent to the ground. "what do you mean by hitting me like that?" snarled the rich man's son, as he managed to scramble to his feet again, though he seemed a bit "groggy," and one of his eyes was already turning dark, as if it had come in violent contact with a stone when he struck the ground. "what do _you_ mean, hurting that poor little mexican girl?" demanded bob, who stood on his guard, as though he might not be averse to trying conclusions with the bully, if so be the other felt like seeking satisfaction for his upset. "she sassed me when i ordered her to get out of my way, that's what she did;" declared peg, wrathfully, "and i'd look nice now, wouldn't i, letting a little greaser kid talk back to me? so i was just giving her a good shaking when you broke in. guess you didn't know who you were hitting when you did that, bob archer!" "perhaps i didn't," replied the kentucky lad, calmly; "though that wouldn't have made any particular difference. any cur who would lay his hands on a child like that ought to get knocked down every time. i'd do it again if you gave me the chance!" peg stared at him. perhaps he had never been treated in this manner before. all his life his acquaintances had truckled to him on account of the great wealth of his father, and the liberal way he himself, as a boy, rewarded those who were allowed the privilege of being his cronies or mates. "you--would, eh?" he gasped, as if hardly daring to believe his ears. "even if you knew it was peg grant you'd treat me that way; would you? i'll remember that! i'm not the one to forget in a hurry. some day, perhaps, you'll wish you'd never tried to play the hero part, and hit me when my back was turned. i've got a good notion to teach you a lesson right now; that's what!" "all right," remarked bob, coolly. "suppose you begin. i was never in a better humor for trouble. somehow i seemed to just know we'd hit it up sooner or later if our trails crossed. i give you my word, my friend here won't put a finger on you, if so be you get the better of the row; will you frank?" "i should say not," declared the lad, instantly, adding: "and unless i miss my guess there won't be any need of it, either." "are you coming on, peg?" asked the kentucky lad, temptingly. from under his drooping eyebrows peg observed how easily the other had assumed a position of self-defense. somehow peg did not fancy the athletic build of his antagonist; for, while bob was rather slender, he had the marks of one accustomed to exercise; possessing at least ordinary ability to take care of himself. "it'll keep, and be all the better for the delay," peg grumbled, as he clenched one fist furiously, and used the other hand to feel of his injured optic. "besides, i don't feel fit to fight right now, with this bunged-up eye. but just wait till the right time comes, and see what you get then for doing this." "oh! well, suit yourself," returned bob, with a laugh. "if the little brown-faced girl hadn't vamoosed i declare if i wouldn't feel like making you get down on your knees, and asking her to excuse you. bah! you're not worth bothering about, peg. get out!" the other moved away. he did not like the manner in which bob said this; and he seemed to be afraid that perhaps the other might yet decide to press some further indignity on him. when, however, he had reached the door of the inn, so that he could have a way of escape open to him in case of need, he stopped and shook his fist threateningly toward the saddle boys. "you're both going to pay dear for this little fun, hear that?" he called, his voice trembling with passion. "i'll find a way to get even, see if i don't! and when peg grant says that he means it, too! just you wait till i----" and then, as bob started to advance toward the hostelery peg retreated in a panic, slamming the door after him. "well, what d'ye think of that?" asked frank, who had been an amused observer of this curious scene. "he's turned out just what i thought he would," remarked bob, as he once more gained the side of his comrade, a grim smile on his face. "whenever you run across a fellow who likes to boast of the way he does things, make up your mind he's a rank coward, every time. no matter what he claims he will do, there's a yellow streak in him _somewhere_, and sooner or later it's bound to show." "i believe you're just about right, bob," said frank; "and it agrees with my own opinion exactly. still, that fellow can be dangerous if he wants." "so can a rattlesnake; but at any rate the reptile is honest, for he gives plenty of warning before he tries to strike; and that's more'n peg would do, if i read him straight." "you must keep an eye out for him after this, bob. he'll never forgive you that crack. my! but didn't it drop him, though! just like a steer would go down when the loop of a lariat closes on his foreleg. that fellow will lie awake nights trying to get even with you." "let him," remarked bob, carelessly; "next time perhaps i'll put a little more steam back of my fist, if he pushes me too hard. that's the way they treat cowards back where i was brought up; and they call anybody by that name who will put his hand in anger on girl or woman. but see here, frank, is this little affair going to force us to change our plans?" "whew! i forgot all about that," said the other, with a whistle, and an uplifting of his eyebrows. "if we go poking around thunder mountain, and peg is there, with a couple of the tough cowboys he has trailing after him most of the time, spanish joe and nick jennings, perhaps we'll run up against a peck of trouble." "well, how about it?" asked bob, with a shade of annoyance on his face. "what do you say?" asked frank, in turn. "go, by all means," came the quick response. "you don't think so mean of me as to believe i'd be frightened off by the bare chance of running across that fellow's trail out there; do you, frank?" "all right, call it a bargain, then. i'm with you through thick and thin, bob. let peg have a care how he meddles with us. we're going to pay attention to our own business, and he'd better do the same. but what became of the little mex? i thought i'd seen her face before, somewhere, but she skipped out before i could take a second look. some cowboy, or cattle rustler's child from beyond the rio grande, i reckon. well, come along, let's get in the saddle again, and finish our shopping. then we'll go out to the country along the river, and put in a day waiting for peg to have his chance at finding out what makes thunder mountain groan and shake just so often, and scare the injuns out of their seven senses." as the two chums swung themselves into their saddles, and cantered away, a head was thrust cautiously out from behind a pile of boxes near by; and then, finding the coast clear, the small girl who had been the cause of all the trouble darted across the courtyard, vanishing beyond the gate. frank and bob went about making their purchases, first fastening their horses to a rail in front of the general store, where everything they needed could be bought. more than one cattleman in passing would cast an envious eye toward those two splendid mounts, for they could not fail to catch the attention of anyone accustomed to judging horseflesh, as these western men were. still, it would be a bold man indeed, white or indian, who would dare attempt to steal a horse in broad daylight, in a country where such a thief was treated to a rope when caught. frank had had considerable experience in roughing it, while his comrade was, in a measure, new to such a life. consequently it was frank whose judgment was called into play when making a selection of the things that would be essential to their comfort when on this new campaign. many articles they could do without; but a blanket apiece was absolutely necessary, as was a frying pan and coffee pot, two cups, as many platters, as well as common knives, forks and spoons such as prospectors and cattlemen use. for food they took some bacon, coffee, dried meat, hard-tack in place of bread, a can of condensed milk, and several other things which would carry well. "we must make them up in two packs," frank went on; "so that each of us can fasten one to his horse, back of the saddle. and, as i'm an old hand at this business, just watch me get a hustle on. next time you'll know how to go about it for yourself, bob." the kentucky boy always studied everything his comrade showed him, for it was his ambition to excel in the many little tricks connected with the free life of the plains. things were done so differently here from what he had been accustomed to in his old kentucky home, before his father died, that they often puzzled him; but bob was a persistent boy, and would never rest content until frank could teach him no more. neither of them suspected what was going on outside, while they busied themselves in purchasing the supplies needed for the little campaign in the neighborhood of the mysterious mountain. and yet all was not as quiet as it might be. the saddle boys had hardly been inside the general store ten minutes before a slinking figure might have been observed drawing nearer and nearer to the horses ranged along the bar. there were several besides the animals of our two young friends; but, somehow, the handsome black seemed to attract the entire attention of this shadowy form. twice he stopped, and assumed an attitude that would indicate his utter indifference to such commonplace things as horses. then, finding that it must have been a false alarm, he would edge closer. finally he was beside the black horse, uttering low words such as cowboys make use of to soothe a restive steed when they mean to throw a saddle across his back, and cinch the girth. two men came out from the store, and drew near. the slim figure, finding it out of the question to flit hurriedly away, without attracting attention, which was just the thing he wished to avoid, commenced stroking the sleek side of the big black kentucky thoroughbred, as though he might be a cowboy connected with the far famed circle ranch of frank's father. casting just one casual glance toward him, the men threw themselves into their saddles with the rapidity and grace of true plainsmen, and went galloping off. two minutes later the shadowy figure of the man flitted away from the line of horses that remained. if his purpose had been to steal the black he must have changed his mind, for there was no break in the chain of horses that stood there, impatiently scraping the ground with their forefeet. a little later out came frank and bob, each bearing a compact bundle which they quickly fastened back of their saddles. bob was the first to mount, and this action was hurried because he hardly knew what to make of the restless actions of domino. the animal seemed to be dancing up and down as though he had stirred up a hornet's nest, and the little insects were charging his exposed legs. no sooner was bob in the saddle than the horse gave a shrill neigh, and dashed off like a crazy creature. indeed, a less experienced rider than bob would have been instantly thrown by the sudden and unexpected move, something that domino had never been known to attempt before. frank looked up in astonishment. his practiced eye told him in an instant that the sudden violent dash had not been engineered in the least by his chum; but was altogether the result of fright on the part of domino. why, the big and powerful black acted as though he had gone wild, jumping madly about, now fairly flying off to one side, only to whirl and dance and leap high in the air, until every one within seeing distance was staring at the strange spectacle. and this, too, in a town where bucking broncos were a common sight. frank had gained his saddle, and was chasing after his friend, but just then the black had taken a notion to run, and apparently nothing in that country could overtake him while his present savage mood held out. "what ails the beast?" frank asked himself, as he drew rein and watched the other passing beyond range of his vision among the stunted mesquites outside of the edge of the town. "he acts like a locoed horse; but there isn't a bit of the poison weed growing within twenty miles of here. and why was peg grant standing on the stoop of the tavern grinning as i rode past? can he have had a hand in this sudden crazy spell of the black? spanish joe knows all the tricks of putting a thorn under a saddle, that will stab the horse when the rider mounts. is that the trouble now? if it is then it's lucky my chum knows as much as he does about managing a horse, or he would never come back alive from that mad ride. and all i can do is to sit here, wait for his return, and watch peg grant and his cronies!" chapter iii old hank coombs bears a message if there was one thing bob could do well, it was to ride. born in kentucky, where horses take a leading part in the education of most boys, bob had always spent a good part of his time in the saddle. hence, when he came out here to the plains, the cowboys of the ranch found that, in his own way, he was well versed in managing the fine black horse he brought along with him. of course there were dozens of tricks which these daring riders of the plains could show the tenderfoot from the south; but when it came down to hard riding bob was able to hold his own. when his powerful horse bolted in such a strange fashion bob simply kept his seat, and tried to soothe domino by soft words. for once the remedy failed to produce any immediate effect. the animal seemed fairly wild, and tore along over the open country like mad. "he never acted like this before in all his life," thought bob, as he found considerable difficulty in keeping his saddle, such were the sudden whirls the black made in his erratic course. but although he had by no means learned all the things known to old cowmen, bob had picked up quite a few points since arriving at the ranch. he had even heard of a mean trick practiced by revengeful mexicans, and others, when they wished to place a rival's life in danger. "something has happened to him since we went into that store," bob said again and again, as he puzzled his wits to hit upon an explanation for the animal's remarkable antics. "now, what could it have been? would any fellow be so mean as to fasten some of those prickly sand burrs under his tail? or perhaps it's a poison thorn under the saddle!" this last idea seemed to strike him as pretty near the truth. he began to investigate as well as he was able during the rushing of the runaway horse. when, in pursuing his investigations, he ran his hand under the flap of the saddle, he could feel the horse start afresh, and his queer actions seemed worse than ever. "that's just what it is, as sure as anything!" bob declared, his whole frame quivering with indignation at the thought of anyone being so cruel and treacherous; "but how in the wide world am i going to get at the thing?" his first impulse was to ease the strain all he could by removing his weight from the point where he believed the thorn to have been hidden. this he did by leaning forward after the manner of a clever jockey in a race, throwing pretty much all his body upon the shoulders and neck of the horse. then he again began to speak soothingly in the ear of domino. by degrees the horse seemed to slacken his wild pace. encouraged by this fact, bob continued the treatment. it appeared as though the intelligent animal must comprehend what was wanted, for, although evidently still in more or less pain, he gradually ceased his runaway gait, until, finally, at the command of "whoa!" domino came to a complete stop. bob was on the ground immediately. his horse was trembling with excitement and other causes. bob continued to pat him gently, and speak soothing words. all the time he was working toward the buckle of the band by means of which the saddle was held firmly on the beast's back. once he had a grip on this he made a sudden pull. domino squirmed, and for the moment bob feared the animal would break away. "easy now, old fellow; take it quiet! i'll have that saddle off in a jiffy; and see what is wrong. softly, domino! good old domino!" while he was talking in this manner bob was releasing the band; and, with a sudden jerk, he threw the saddle to the ground. his quick eye detected signs of blood on the glossy back of the kentucky horse. "that's what it was!" he exclaimed, angrily. "a thorn of some kind, put there so that when i jumped into my seat my weight would drive it in. and i reckon, too, it would be just like the cowardly sneak to pick out one that had a poison tip! oh! what a skunk! and how i'd like to see some of the boys at the ranch round him up! but i wonder, now could i find it? i'd like to get frank's opinion on it." the horse had by now ceased his mad prancing. this proved that the cause for his strange actions had been removed when bob cast the saddle off. and it did not require a hunt of more than two minutes to discover some little object clinging to the cloth under the saddle. it was, just as bob had suspected, a thorn with several points that were as sharp as needles, and very tough. bob put it away in one of his pockets. then he once more replaced the saddle, carefully adjusting the girth so as to avoid any more pressure on the painful back of domino than was absolutely necessary. the horse seemed to understand his master's actions, and, although still restive, allowed bob to mount. cantering along over the back trail, in half an hour bob came in sight of his chum heading toward him. "well," said frank, as they finally met, "i was beginning to get worried about you, even though i knew you could manage a horse all right. it was a lively run, i should say," as he glanced at the foam-streaked flanks of the gloss black. "as fierce a dash as i ever want to take," answered bob, patting his horse gently. "did you find out what ailed him?" asked the other. "after i'd spent some time trying to keep from being thrown, i did." as he said this bob drew the thorn from his pocket, and held it before frank, who took the vicious little thing in his hand. "i thought so," he muttered. "that's peg's idea of getting even with us; the coward!" "but you don't mean to say peg did that?" exclaimed bob, astonished. "well, not with his own hand. he wouldn't know how, you see; but he had a mexican cowboy along with him who is up to all these tricks--spanish joe. when we were busy in that store, he crept up and fixed this thorn under your saddle. of course, as soon as you sprang into your seat, your weight just drove one of these tough little points in deeper. and, as the horse jumped, every movement was so much more torture. get onto it, bob?" "sure i do; and i guessed all that while riding back. but tell me, why did he pick out _my_ horse, instead of your buckskin?" asked the kentucky boy. "look back a little. who was it gave peg his little tumble when he was striking that child? why, of course it was nobody but bob archer. i saw peg standing on the porch of the tavern as i galloped after you; and give you my word, bob, he had a grin on his face that looked as if it would never come off. peg was happy--why? because he had just seen you being carried like the wind out of town on a bolting nag. and i guess he wouldn't care very much if you got thrown, with some of your ribs broken in the bargain." bob proceeded to tell how he had figured on what caused the queer antics of his horse, and then what his method for relieving the pressure had been. "just what you should have done!" exclaimed frank, enthusiastically. "say, you're getting on to all the little wrinkles pretty fast. and it worked too, did it?" "thanks to the smartness of domino, it did," replied bob, proudly. "some other horses might have broken away as soon as their rider dismounted; but he's mighty near human, frank, i tell you. he just stood there, quivering with excitement, and pain, till i got the thing off. but do you know what kind of thorn this is?" "i know it as well as you would a persimmon growing on a tree in old kentucky; or a pawpaw in the thicket. it's rank poison, too, and will breed trouble if the wound isn't taken care of in time. "that's bad news, old fellow. i'd sure hate to lose my horse," remarked bob, dejectedly, as he threw an arm lovingly over the neck of the black. "oh! i don't think it'll be as bad as that; especially since i happen to have along with me in my pack some ointment old hank coombs gave me at a time i fell down on one of the same kind of stickers, and got it in my arm," and frank opened the smaller of the two packs he had fastened behind his saddle. when the ointment was being thoroughly rubbed into the spot where the barb of the thorn had pierced the flesh of the animal, domino seemed to understand what their object was. he gave several little whinnies, even as he moved uneasily when his master's hand touched the painful spot. "now what's the programme?" asked bob, after he had replaced the saddle. "just what we decided on before," replied his chum; "a little rest before we make a start. twenty-four hours will do domino considerable good, too. how did you come out about the duffle you were carrying; any of it get lost?" "none that i've noticed. i'll make a round-up and see, before we go any further," bob remarked, examining the packages secured behind his saddle. "how?" queried frank, in the terse, indian style, as he saw that the other had gone carefully over the entire outfit. "everything here, right side up with care. and now i'll have to mount again, a thing that may not appeal very much to domino. but it's lucky i long ago learned the jockey way of riding, with most of the weight upon the withers of the horse. in that manner you see, frank, i can relieve the poor beast more than a little." together they rode off slowly. really, for one day it seemed that the big black must have had all the running his fancy could wish. besides, neither of the boys knew of any reason for haste. as frank had suggested, it would perhaps be just as well to allow a certain amount of time to elapse, before pushing their intended investigation of the mysteries supposed to hover around thunder mountain. the afternoon had almost half passed when frank's sharp eyes discovered a single horseman riding on a course that would likely bring him across their trail soon. "seems to me there's something familiar about that fellow's way of sitting in the saddle," he observed; and then, reaching for the field glasses which he carried swung in a case over his shoulder, he quickly adjusted them to his eyes. "thought so," he muttered, and bob could see him smile as he said it. "recognize the rider, then? don't tell me now that it's peg, or one of those slippery cowboy friends he has trailing after him," remarked bob. "here, take the glasses, and see what you think," replied the other, laughingly. no sooner had the kentucky lad taken a single good look than he called out: "who but old hank coombs, the veteran cow puncher of the southwest! i suppose your father has sent him on an errand, frank." "just as likely as not, because he trusts old hank more than any man on the entire ranch. you can see he's headed in a line that will fetch up at the circle ranch by midnight, if he keeps galloping on. look there, he sees us, and is waving his arm. yes, he's changed his course so as to meet us, bob." "but if we needed the glass to find out who he was, how does it come that an old man like hank could tell that we were friends, at such a distance?" asked the young tenderfoot, always eager to learn. "because his eyes are as good as ever they were. some of these fellows who have lived in the open all their lives have eyes like an eagle's, and can tell objects that would look like moving dots to you. let's swing around a bit, so as to keep old hank from doing all the going." as he spoke frank veered more to the left, and in this fashion they speedily drew near the advancing horseman. he proved to be a cowman in greasy chaps, and with many wrinkles on his weather-beaten face. but hank coombs was as spry as most men of half his age. he could still hold his place in a round-up; swing the rope in a dexterous manner; bring down his steer as cleverly as the next man; ride the most dangerous of bucking broncos; and fulfill his duties with exactness. few men grow old on the plains. most of them die in the harness; and a cowboy who has outlived his usefulness is difficult to find. the veteran eyed the additional packs back of the saddles of the two boys with suspicion in his eyes. he knew the venturesome nature of his employer's son; and doubtless immediately suspected that frank might have some new, daring scheme in view, looking to showing his friend from the east the wonders of this grand country, where the distances were so great, the deserts so furiously hot, the mountains so lofty, and the prairies so picturesque. "ain't headin' toward home, are ye, frank?" was the first question hank asked, as they all merged together, and rode slowly onward in company. "oh! not thinking of such a thing, hank," replied the boy. "why, we only left the ranch yesterday, you know, and meant to be away several days, perhaps a week. but i'm glad we ran across your trail right now, hank, because you can take a message to dad for me." "glad to do that same, frank," the veteran cowman replied, and then added: "but jest why are ye headin' this way, might i ask? it's a wild kentry ahead of ye, and thar be some people as don't think it's jest the safest place goin', what with the pesky cattle-rustler crowd as comes up over the mexican border to give the ranchers trouble; and sometimes the injuns off their reservation, with the young bucks primed for a scrap." "is that all, hank?" asked frank, turning a smiling face upon the old rider. hank moved uneasily, seeming to squirm in his saddle. "no, it ain't," he finally admitted, with a half grin; "that's thunder mounting about twenty mile ahead o' ye. none o' us fellers keers a heap 'bout headin' that-a-way. twice i've been 'bliged to explore the canyons thar, arter lost cattle; but i never did hanker 'bout the job. it's a good place to keep away from, frank." "you don't say, hank!" chuckled the boy. "too bad; but you see that's just the very place we expect to head for to-morrow--thunder mountain!" the old man looked closely at him, and shook his head. "i don't like to hear ye say that, frank," he muttered, uneasily; "an' i kinder reckons as how yer father'll feel oneasy when i tell him what yer up to. 'cause, i opine, ye wants me to carry thet same news back home; don't ye?" "sure," answered the other, laughing. "that's what i meant when i said i was glad we'd met up with you, hank." "but ye didn't expect to take a turn thar when ye left home, did ye?" the veteran cowman went on. "never entered my head, hank. fact is, we weren't thinking of thunder mountain up to an hour or two ago, when we ran across peg grant, who was in town with his two followers, spanish joe and nick jennings." "the wust as ever throwed a leg over leather," muttered hank, between his teeth. "we been talkin' it over, some o' us boys, an' 'bout kim to the conclusion as how them fellers must be in touch with the mendoza crowd o' rustlers as draps over the rio grande every leetle while, to grab a bunch o' long horns." "my opinion exactly, hank," went on frank. "but listen till i tell you what they are thinking of doing about finding out the secret of thunder mountain." quickly he related the incident of their meeting peg, and of his boast. "they'll never do it, mark me," declared hank, after he had been put in possession of the main facts. "thet noise ain't human! i been a-hearin' it for the last forty years, an' i give ye my word it's gittin' wuss right along. the reds believe as how it's the voice of the great spirit talkin' to 'em. an' honest now, frank, thems my sentiments to a dot." "in other words, hank, you believe the mountain is haunted, and that anyone bold enough to wander into the unknown country that lies back there is going to get into a peck of trouble?" frank asked, seriously. "reckon as how that kivers the ground purty well," replied the cowman, grimly. "well," frank went on, "we happen to believe something different, and we mean to look into the thing a bit. it wouldn't surprise me to find that some sharp crowd has been taking advantage of the bad name thunder mountain has always had, to hide among those canyons. and, hank, i'm going to look for the trail of some cattle while i'm there!" "which i take it to mean," hank continued thoughtfully, "that you kinder think them rustlers might be usin' the ha'nted mounting for a hiding place to keep the cows which they run away with? um! wa'al now, i never thort o' that afore. but stands to reason no mexicans'd ever have the nerve to go whar white cowmen kept away from." "not unless they had solved the strange mystery of the mountain, and no longer saw any reason to be afraid of the thunder. but listen while i tell you something else that happened to my friend here." frank then described the sudden bolt of domino. at his first words the experienced western man looked wise. he had immediately guessed what caused the unexpected action of the usually tractable black horse. "as low down a trick as was ever carried out," he remarked, finally, as he looked at the thorn. "and jest sech as thet sneakin' coyote, spanish joe, would be guilty of tryin'. i've seen it done more'n a few times; and twict the critter was rounded up, and treated like he'd been a hoss thief; 'case ye see, in each case 'twar a woman as rid the animile as got the thorn. but ye must let me rub somethin' on thet wound right away, bob." "don't bother," sang out frank, cheerfully; "because we happened to have with us that ointment you gave me, and i used it a while ago. i'll put on more to-night when we get the saddles off, and once again in the morning." "then ye mean to go into camp soon?" inquired hank. "see that timber over yonder, where a stream runs? we'll settle down for the night there. better hold over with us, hank, unless you're in a terrible hurry to get back home," frank observed. "i'd like to fust rate, frank; and p'raps thar aint no sech great need o' gittin' back to the ranch to-night. yes, i'll hang over. p'raps i kin coax ye to give up that crazy ijee 'bout thunder mounting." and when they had settled down under the trees, with the westering sun sinking toward the horizon where, in the far distance, frank pointed out to his chum the towering peak toward which they were bound, old hank did try to influence his employer's son into giving up his intended trip. it was useless, however. frank had made up his mind, and obstacles only served to cause him to shut his teeth more firmly together and stick to his resolution. and so they spent the night very comfortably, under the twinkling stars. "tell dad not to worry about us at all, hank," frank said to the veteran, on the following morning, as they were bidding him good-bye. "we'll turn up all right in the course of a few days. and perhaps, who knows, we might be able to tell you all about the queer noise that shakes the earth every little while around the big uplift. so-long, hank!" the old cowman sat in his saddle, and looked after the two boys as their horses went prancing away, each of the riders turning once or twice to wave a jolly farewell, with uplifted hats. "as fine a pair o' happy-go-lucky boys as ever drawed breath," hank muttered, as his eyes followed their vanishing forms beyond the mesquite thicket. "but i sure feel bad 'bout them goin' into that 'ere thunder mounting territory. i hopes mr. haywood'll start out with a bunch o' cowmen to round 'em up. but he thinks that frank kin hold his own, no matter what comes along. if he don't show signs o' bein' worried, i'm goin' to see if the overseer, bart heminway, won't take the chances of sendin' several of us out to hunt for strays; an' it'll be funny now, how them mavericks all run toward thunder mounting." chuckling, as if the new idea that had appealed to him gave him considerable satisfaction, the old cow-puncher stirred his little bronco into action, and was soon galloping away. but, more than a few times, he might have been observed to turn in his saddle and cast a look of curiosity, bordering on apprehension, toward the dimly-seen mountain that arose far away on the southwestern horizon. for to hank coombs that peak stood for everything in the line of mystery and unexplained doings. chapter iv a note of warning at the spring hole "pull up, bob; i sure glimpsed something moving, out there in the sage brush!" both horses came to an immediate stop as the bridles were drawn taut. "which way, frank?" asked the kentucky lad, eagerly, as he threw back his shock of black hair, and waited to see where the finger of his companion would point. "whatever it was disappeared behind that spur of the low foot hills yonder. i just caught a peep of the last of it. here, bob, take the glasses, and wait to see if it shows up again on the other side of the rise," and frank thrust the binoculars into the hand of his chum. "think it could have been a prowling coyote; or perhaps a bunch of antelope feeding on the sweet grass around some spring hole, as you were telling me they do?" asked bob, holding himself in readiness. "well," returned frank, quickly, "the sun was in my eyes some, you see, and so i wouldn't like to be too sure; but somehow, bob, i just have a notion that it was a horse." "with a rider on it, of course!" exclaimed the other lad, as he raised the glasses to his eyes, training them on the further end of the squat elevation that stood up in the midst of the sage level like a great hump on a camel. "there, looks like i was right, bob!" ejaculated frank, a minute or so later, as something came out from behind the low hill, moving steadily onward. "indians! as sure as anything!" fell from the lips of the one who held the field glasses to his eyes. "one--two--three--a heap of the reds in that bunch, i reckon," muttered frank, watching with his naked eye; although the distance, separating them from the spot where the figures were passing steadily into view, was considerable. "say, these glasses are jim-dandy ones, all right!" remarked bob, presently, as he turned to offer them to his chum, who immediately clapped them to his own eyes. "huh!" grunted frank a moment later, "squaws along; each cayuse dragging poles on which they heap their lodges, blankets and such; reckon there's no war party about that, bob." "i should think not, if what you've told me about the indians is a fact, frank. but look here, what d'ye suppose they're doing so far away from their reservation?" and bob gripped his quirt, which hung, as usual, from his wrist, in cowboy fashion; and with a nervous slash cut off the tops of the rattlesnake weed within reach. "that's where you've got me, bob," replied the one who had been brought up on a ranch, and who was supposed to know considerable about the life of the plains; "unless they've just got desperate for a good old hunt, and broke loose. pretty soon the pony soldiers will come galloping along, round 'em up, and chase the lot back to their quarters. uncle sam is kind, and winks at a heap; but he won't stand for the injuns skipping out just when the notion takes 'em." they sat there in their saddles a while longer, watching the long procession pass out beyond the low hill, and track along the plain through the scented purple sage. "navajos, ain't they?" asked bob, who, of course, depended on his comrade for all such information, since one indian was as much like another as two peas to him. "sure thing," replied the other, carelessly. "tell 'em as far as i can glimpse the beggars. and i just reckon now that's old wolf killer himself, ridin' at the head of the line, with his gay blanket wrapped around him. wonder what he'd say if he knew frank haywood was here, so far away from the home ranch?" and frank chuckled as though amused. "do you know the old chief, then?" asked bob. "say, do i?" replied frank, with a laugh. "remember me telling you how the boys on our place caught a navajo trying to run away with one of our saddle herds about three years ago, when i was hardly more'n a kid? well, i chased him with the rest of the outfit, and saw old hank throw his rope over his shoulders. he snaked the fellow over the ground and through the short buffalo grass like a coyote, 'till he was punished enough; and then my dad made 'em let him go. but you just ought to have seen the way he folded his arms, stared at each of us, and, never saying a single word, walked away. i've often wondered if he didn't mean to come back some day, and try to get his revenge." "and that was the chief himself?" asked bob. "just who it was," frank went on. "he'd left the reservation, and got too much fire-water aboard, they said; so he thought the good old days had come back, when a navajo always tried to get away with any horses he ran across. they say wolf killer used to rustle cattle long ago, till uncle sam put his hand down heavy on his tribe, and shut the lot up." "then, if he has reason to remember everybody connected with circle ranch in that way, i reckon it's just as well we don't try to let him know we're here," remarked bob, uneasily. "we didn't come out on this little picnic for trouble with the reds. there they go, pushing through the sage brush, frank. so-long, navajo, and good luck to you on your hunt," waving a hand after the departing string of distant figures. "our way lies yonder, along the foot of the mountains," said frank, as he turned his head to look toward the grim range that stood out boldly against the skyline. "yes," observed his companion, as he allowed his black horse his head, once more advancing in a southerly direction, "and, unless all signs fail, that's thunder mountain towering above the rest of the peaks." "you're right, bob, that's what it is; and we're going to camp at its foot unless something goes wrong," and as he spoke frank urged buckskin on again. the yellow bronco was a true range pony. he had been taught many of the clever tricks for which his kind are noted. a stranger would have had a hard time keeping his seat on the back of the animal, such was his dislike for unknown parties. he could dance almost as well as a circus horse; and when frank had tended the saddle herd at night, as horse-wrangler, he was accustomed to depend on buckskin to give ample warning of trouble, whether in the shape of a storm, a threatened stampede, or the presence of cattle-rustlers. both boys were, of course, dressed pretty much as cowboys are when on the ranch; leather "chaps" covering their corduroy trousers; with boots that mounted spurs; flannel shirts; red handkerchiefs knotted around their necks; and with their heads topped by felt hats, such as the men of the range delight in. slung to their saddles were a couple of up-to-date guns of the repeating type, which both lads knew how to use at least fairly well. of course both carried lariats slung from the pommels of their high mexican saddles. frank was accustomed to throwing a rope; while bob, naturally, had much to learn in this particular. "say," remarked the latter, who had fallen a trifle behind his comrade, "to see the way we're just loaded down with stuff makes me think of moving day in the old kentucky mountains. but no use talking, if a fellow wants to be half way comfortable, he's just got to lug all sorts of traps along." "that's right, bob," assented the other, laughing. "and that applies in an extra way when he means to be out in the rockies for perhaps a week." "no telling what he may run up against there, eh?" queried bob. "well, if it isn't a grizzly, it may be an avalanche, or a cloud-burst," remarked the boy who had spent his whole life in the open. "not to speak of indians, or mexican rustlers looking for a chance to drop down on some peaceful ranch, and carry off a bunch of long horns; eh, frank?" "sure; and a lot more besides, bob," was the reply. "but the sun's getting kind of low, you notice." "in other words, we'd better be looking around for a place to camp, frank?" "you've hit the nail on the head," the other replied. "suppose we hold up here for a bit, and let me take another squint up yonder through the glass." "meaning at old thunder mountain?" observed bob, as his eye traveled upward toward the bare crown of the great uplift, that had so long remained a source of mystery to the entire community. "yes. just look at the pinons growing up the sides like tufts, along with the funny looking clumps of stunted cedars. then you can see the aspens and silver spruce next. and over the whole outfit is a silence that beats the desert itself. whew! the closer you examine the place the more it impresses you." bob accepted the glasses after frank had used them and focussed them on the slope. "so that's old thunder mountain, is it?" he remarked. "well, i must say it shows up right well. i've tried to picture the place from all we've heard." "but you don't feel disappointed, do you?" asked frank. "not a bit, frank," his companion continued. "i've seen some mountains, even before i came out here to your rockies; but there's something about this thing that just staggers a fellow. wow! but we'll sure have our troubles climbing that wild slope." "never could make it if it wasn't for the canyons," frank added. "they all tell me that. here, let me put the field-glasses away. half an hour's gallop, and we'll jump off. that ought to bring us to the foot of the slope. here you go, buckskin; show us you're not tired after your day's run. whoop-la!" frank brought his hat down on the flank of the horse, accompanying the action with a real cowboy yell. instantly the spirited steed bounded off, with bob's domino close behind, snorting, and giving signs of astonishing animation. so they sped along, with clanking sounds from the various packages fastened behind the saddles; but after a few minutes both boys gradually drew upon the lines, knowing full well that their mounts had done a fair day's work already; and, besides, there was no possible need of haste. "how's this for a camping place?" asked frank, as he suddenly brought buckskin upon his haunches in a quick stop. "suits me first rate," replied his chum, after giving a glance around. "let's see if i remember all you told me about what a fellow has to look for when he expects to go into camp. water handy, grass for the horses, wood for a fire, and shelter from a hidden mountain storm. what better could we ask, i'd like to know? is it a go, frank?" for answer the shorter lad jumped from his seat. his first act was to remove the saddle, and then, with a handful of dead grass, rub the sweaty back of the mettlesome animal, as every true son of the plains always does before he thinks of his own comfort. next he hobbled the animal, and drove the stake pin, to which the lariat was attached, deeply into the ground. after that the bridle came off; and buckskin's first natural act was to drop to the ground, and roll over several times. bob was following this procedure with domino. the intelligent animals seemed to understand just what the programme was to be; for after rolling, they walked down to the little watercourse to slake their thirst; and then set about eagerly nibbling the sweet grass that grew all around. the two chums went about preparing to spend a night under the bright stars, with a readiness that told of long practice. bob, of course, knew less than his companion about such things, but frank had often accompanied the cowboys on his father's ranch on their expeditions, and had even spent nights in the company of old hank, when off on a hunt for fresh meat; so that he knew pretty well what ought to be done to add to their comfort. it pleased him to show bob some of the things he had learned. there might be no real reason why he should start a cooking fire in a hole he dug, rather than make a roaring blaze that could be seen a mile away; but bob was tremendously interested, and would never forget all that he learned. "besides," frank explained, after he had the small fire started, "it is easier for cooking, once you get a bed of red ashes; because in this warm country a fellow doesn't much like to get all heated up, standing over a big blaze." bob had, meanwhile, opened some of the bundles. one of these contained a small coffee pot, as well as the frying pan without which camping would be a failure in the minds of most western boys. "look out for rattlers," advised frank, as his chum went to the spring hole to fill the coffee pot. "they often come to such places in dry season we haven't had rain for so long now, that, when it does come, i expect a regular cloud-burst. that's often the way in this queer country, along the foothills of the rockies." hardly had he spoken than there sounded a sudden and angry whirr, similar to the noise made by a locust, and which frank knew only too well meant a rattlesnake! chapter v the voice of the mountain "hey! take care there, bob!" shouted frank, starting up from beside his little cooking fire in something of a panic; for that alarm signal is apt to send the blood bounding through the veins like mad, whenever heard. "don't bother!" came the reassuring reply of the unseen bob, from a point near by; "i think i've got the beggar located, all right. say, don't he sing though, to beat all creation? he's mad clean through, all right. i'm looking for a stick, so as to knock him on the head." "go slow, and keep your eye out for a second one," advised frank, uneasily; "because they generally hunt in couples. that isn't a measly little prairie rattler either; but a fellow that's come down from thunder mountain." "nice warm reception for visitors, i should remark," laughed bob, immediately adding: "there, i've found just the stick i want. now, old chap, look out for yourself! i'm going to have that rattle of yours to take home, unless you give me the slip." "no danger of that," remarked frank; "because a rattler seldom runs away, once he shakes his old box, and gives warning. hit him just back of the head, and let it be a good smart blow too, so that you break his neck." then came a swishing sound, twice repeated. the thrilling rattle immediately subsided. "get him?" demanded frank, ready to take up his task once more, upon receiving a favorable reply from his friend. "he's squirming some, but helpless," returned bob, composedly. "i'll cut his head off, so that he can't turn around and jab me while i'm getting that rattle box of his." two minutes later he came back into camp, carrying the coffee pot, which he proceeded to place upon the fire frank had started. the latter noticed that his chum was trembling a little, and could give a shrewd guess that bob had been more startled than he had thus far admitted. "perhaps i'll get used to it in time," bob remarked, presently; "but it sure does give a fellow a nasty shock to hear that sound burst out close by your feet, knowing as you do what a bite from those fangs means." "then it was a narrow squeak, was it?" asked frank. "i guess i never want to be closer to a diamond-back than that," bob admitted, with a shake of his head. soon a delightful aroma began to steal through the air in the immediate vicinity of the little camp near the foot of the towering, mysterious mountain; as some bacon sizzled in the pan, and the crushed berry from java boiled and bubbled most cheerily. besides, upon some splinters of wood frank had thrust small pieces of venison, the last fresh meat they had brought from the ranch. as the heat from the red coals began to turn these to a crisp brown, bob sniffed the added fragrance in the air after the manner of a hungry range-rider, or a boy with a healthy appetite. "seems to be plenty of game around here," he remarked. "i jumped two rabbits near the spring, and they went up the rise, as usual." "yes," remarked the cook, "the place looks good for game, and you'd wonder why those injuns passed it by, only i happen to know. ten to one there's a deer in that thicket of wild plum over there. and you can just believe an old grizzly wouldn't want a better hang-out than up yonder among the cliffs and crags of the mountain side." "but to return to our mutton, which after all is antelope meat, when do we start operations? i'm nearly wild, with all these smells, and never a bite. the water just drips from my tongue, i give you my word, frank." for answer the other picked up the coffee pot, and set it aside for a minute, to let the contents settle. "grub's ready, bob," he said, laughingly; "and i reckon we'll not bother banging on the frying pan with a big spoon to-night, range fashion. sit down, and get your pannikin ready for some of this bacon and meat. how does that coffee look?" "say, it's got the color, all right, and if it only tastes half as fine as it looks you'll hear no kick coming from me," replied bob, as he poured his tin cup full of the liquid. as the boys ate they chatted on various topics, most of which talk had of course some connection with the big cattle ranch they had so recently left. "i'd give a heap to know if peg grant meant business when he said we were riding to a fall if we thought we were the only pebbles on the beach," bob remarked. "oh!" replied frank, "i reckon he's going to make a try to solve that thunder mountain puzzle. but just think of a tenderfoot like peg let loose on that fierce slope up yonder; will you?" "perhaps he's here already," suggested bob. "wouldn't be one bit surprised," frank continued, readily enough, as though he considered that a foregone conclusion anyway. "he and his cronies had time enough, unless peg changed his mind. he might be wondering what happened to you, and thinking how the x-bar-x ranch would be safer, in case some of our boys chased after him to give him the tar and feathers he deserves for playing such a mean trick." "but supposing they did come," said bob; "peg and spanish joe, and that other treacherous cowboy you told me about; we're pretty apt to meet up with them if we go prowling around here for the next few days." "just so, and we'll try to mind our business all the time," remarked frank; and then his eyes flashed a little as he continued: "but if they try any of their ugly little tricks on us, bob, they're likely to get hurt." "i'm with you there, frank," the other added, shutting his teeth in a determined way. "i can stand a certain amount of fun, and, i hope, take it the right way. your cow punchers said that when they hazed me, you know. but i certainly do object to any such rough-house business as fastening a poisoned thorn under a fellow's saddle." "that game has cost more than a few people their lives," frank declared vehemently. "cowmen draw the line at it. you noticed how angry old hank became when he heard about that same thing. but your horse seems to be getting on all right, bob." "sure he does. that ointment made by old hank's like magic. domino won't suffer much from that jab. but that was a bully good supper all right, and i don't care how soon we repeat it," he concluded with a laugh. finally both lads lay down to secure such rest as they needed after a long and tiresome day. the drowsy chirp of crickets, and shrill voices of katydids in the lush grass near by, told of the summer night. many times had frank listened to this same chorus as he lay in his blanket on the open prairie, playing the part of night-wrangler to the herd of saddle horses belonging to the round-up party of cow-punchers. he could hear some lurking rabbit slinking through the hazel bushes over at one side. somewhere off on the level, where the sage grew so heavily, there must have been a prairie dog village; for the sound of the peculiar barking of these queer little animals frequently floated to his ears as the breeze changed. the two horses were still feeding at the time frank dropped off into a sound and refreshing sleep, but doubtless they would soon lie down. bob was already breathing heavily, which would indicate that he had passed beyond the open door to slumber-land. the minutes passed, and several hours must have gone. frank was dreaming of the excitement attending some of the many dashing gallops he had lately enjoyed in company with his chum, looking up stray cattle, helping to brand mavericks, watching the cowmen mill stampeding herds, or chasing fleet-footed antelopes just to give the horses a run. he was suddenly aroused by a strange sound that seemed to cause the very earth under him to tremble. the trample of a thousand hoofs would make such a noise; if one of those old-time mighty herds of bison could have come back to earth again; or a stampede of an immense herd of long-horns might cause a similar vibration. but frank haywood knew that neither of these explanations could be the true one, even as he thus sat upright on his blanket to listen. the ominous, growling, grumbling noise was more in the nature of approaching thunder, just as though one of those furious summer storms, tropical in their nature, and often encountered in this country where plains and mountains sharply meet, had crept upon them as they calmly slept. and yet, strange to say, neither of the two boys jumped quickly to their feet in wild dismay, seeking to prepare for the rain that might soon burst upon them. on the contrary they continued to sit there, straining their ears to catch the rumbling reverberations that kept coming, with little respites between. "say, now, what d'ye think of that, bob?" asked frank, when silence again held sway for a brief period. "nary a cloud as big as your hand in the sky; and yet all that grumbling oozing out of old thunder mountain! looks like we might have the biggest job of our lives finding out the secret of that pile of rocks. there she starts in again, harder than ever. listen, bob, for all you're worth!" chapter vi a second alarm "it's stopped again!" remarked bob, after possibly five minutes had passed, during which time the ominous rumbling, accompanied by earth tremors, had kept up, now rising to a furious stage, and then almost dying away. frank gave a big sigh. "it sure has," he admitted; "and i don't wonder now, after i've heard the racket with my own ears, that the reds for a hundred years back have always declared the great manitou lived in thunder mountain, and every little while let them hear his awful voice." "then this thing has been going on forever, has it?" asked bob. "the navajos say so; though even they admit that, of late, it's got a brand new kink to the growl," frank answered. "they believe it's sure unlucky for any brave to be caught near the mountain after dark, and especially when manitou scolds. you see, that accounts for the hurry of that hunting party to climb out before sunset." "yes," bob went on. "and now i understand what you said about the indians never hunting near thunder mountain. perhaps they believe all the game that hides along the slopes, and in the deep gullies, belongs to the great spirit, and that he'll punish any warrior bold enough to try and get a line on it. but see here, frank, do white men--cowboys, prospectors, and the like--believe this mountain is haunted?" "heaps of 'em do, and that's a fact," replied the other, chuckling. "i've heard some of our cowpunchers talking about it more'n a few times; and you remember how old hank took it when we told him what we had in mind?" "they're a superstitious lot, as a whole, i take it," bob ventured. "now, as for me, i never could believe in ghosts and all that sort of thing. if there ever came a time when something faced me that i couldn't understand, i just set my teeth together and vowed i'd never rest easy till i had found out what it meant." "same here, bob; and that's why i just jumped at the chance to beat peg out in his game. the funny part about it is why i never thought of this racket before. but perhaps that was because i didn't have a chum to stand back of me." "none of the boys on the ranch would go with you, then?" asked bob. "i should say not! even old hank would balk at that, and he's never been afraid of thing that flies, runs or crawls. it was old hank who taught me all i know about range life. he showed me how to shoot, throw a rope, and do heaps of other things a prairie boy ought to know. hank thinks lots of me, and honest now, bob, that gruff old fellow would willingly lay down his life for me." "i reckon he would," assented the other, readily enough. "but hank's a rank believer in the injun story of the mountain, and would never come here of his own accord; but to keep an eye on me, and, stand between me and danger, he'd just crawl down the crater of a live volcano." "seems like the show might be over for tonight," bob suggested. "the row has stopped, sure enough," frank remarked, looking up at the dimly-seen outlines of the far-away crest of the rocky elevation, where it stood out against the starry heavens. "you don't believe, then, that there could have been some kind of storm up there; do you?" questioned bob. "well, it's sure a great puzzle," replied his chum, with a long breath. "my eyes are reckoned prime, but i can't glimpse any sign of a cloud that would bring out all that noise. a mystery it's been these many years; and if so be we can learn the cause for all that queer roaring that shakes the earth, we'll be doing more'n anyone else has ever done in the past." "that's what we're here for, if peg gives us half a chance," remarked bob, with the healthy assurance of youth. "and as neither of us takes any stock in the fairy story about the manitou's anger, we ought to stand some chance of locating the thing; or 'bust the b'iler trying' as old hank would say." frank had crawled out of his blanket, and stood erect. "what's on?" asked his camp-mate, presently, noticing that he was holding up his hand, after wetting his finger, a method much in vogue when one wished to learn the direction of the passing air currents. "southeast; and blowing strong a bit ago up there on the mountain, i reckon," frank remarked. "you notice we happen to be sheltered more or less down here, when she comes out of that same quarter?" "meaning the wind," bob remarked. "yes, you're right, frank. but what has that got to do with the measly old grumble of the mountain, tell me?" "huh! i don't know that it's going to have anything to do with it," came the answer; "but we want to know every little point as we go on. and bob, just remember that the wind was coming out of the southeast; and a clear sky overhead!" "but look here, frank, you've heard your dad talk about this thunder mountain business, i take it?" "well, now, i reckon i have, heaps of times; but then you know, he isn't much on bothering about things that don't concern him. thinks he's got his hands full, looking after the stock, keeping tabs on the doings of those rascally mexican rustlers, that have been running off batches of cattle every little while; and fighting that big syndicate of eastern capitalists, headed by the millionaire, mr. grant, peg's father, that wants to throw all the southwestern ranches into a close trust." "but what i wanted to remark is this: you must have heard him give an opinion about this thunder sound?" bob persisted in saying. "oh! he thinks the same as several gentlemen did who came out here a few years ago on some business. they declared that once, hundreds of years ago, perhaps, old thunder mountain must have been a volcano; and that it still grumbles now and then, as the fires away down in the earth begin to kick up some of their old monkeyshines." "yes, i heard one man say that," laughed bob. "he declared that there's going to be the biggest rumpus some fine day, when the fires inside get to going out of bounds. then the whole cap of the mountain will go flying into a million pieces; and good-bye to any unlucky cow-puncher caught napping near this place." "well," remarked frank, as he prepared to settle down again into his snug blanket, "i reckon we're not going to be scared away by a little thing like that growl. unless we hit a snag, or peg grant and his guides break up our game, a few days ought to see us heading back to circle ranch with a story calculated to make the boys sit up and take notice; or else----" "just pull up right there, frank," interrupted his chum, with a laugh. "there's nothing going to happen to knock us out. if that same peg comes around, making a nuisance of himself, why, he's due for a nice little surprise, mark me. besides that; what could there be to make trouble?" "oh, i'm not bothering my head over it, bob," declared the other, as he dropped into the nest he had made in his blanket. "but say, did you take notice of the way our horses acted while that thing was going on?" "just what i did," the other replied. "they must have been trembling all over. i could hear your buckskin snorting to beat the band, and pawing just like he does when he's worried. reckon they didn't know what to make of it, either, seeing that there's nary a sign of a storm cloud around. but both horses have quieted down again. they think all danger of a howler has passed away." frank made no reply. he was already getting ready to resume his interrupted nap; and bob lost no time in following his example, both confident that in the alert buckskin they had a sentry capable of giving ample warning should peril threaten. once more frank composed himself for sleep. the many noises of the night, which had seemed to cease while that mysterious rumbling was going on in the heart of the lofty mountain, had again resumed sway. the hum of insects; the melancholy hooting of the lonely owl, in some willow or cottonwood tree near the base of the mountain; the far-off howl of the prairie wolf; or the more discordant voice of the skulking coyote--all these things were as familiar music in the ears of the boy whose cradle had been the rich black earth of the grazing country ever since he was old enough to remember anything. they all did their share in lulling him to sleep. and, no doubt in dreams, he was once more galloping across the wide prairie on the back of his mount, his nostrils filled with the life-giving air of the sage-covered level. frank slept, he never knew just how long. this time it was not the rumbling sound and the fearful vibration of the ground that aroused the two saddle boys; but a far different cause. when bob sat up he found his comrade already erect, and apparently listening as though keenly alive to some approaching peril. "buckskin's uneasy, you see," remarked frank in a whisper; "he's pawing the ground and snorting as he always does when he scents danger." as he said this, frank dropped back again, and seemed to place his ear to the ground, a trick known and practiced among the indians from the days of the early pioneers along the ohio down to the present time; since sound travels much better along the earth than through the air--at least, in so far as the human ear, unaided by wireless telegraph apparatus, is concerned. "a bunch of horses coming out of the northwest!" announced the prairie boy, almost immediately; "and we can't get our nags muzzled any too soon, bob." apparently the other lad had been coached as to what this meant. he sprang to his feet, snatching up his blanket as he did so. together they were off on the jump toward the spot where their animals had been staked out at the end of the lariats. arriving at the pins which had been driven into the ground each boy sought to clutch the rope that held his restlessly moving horse; and hand over hand, they moved up on the animals, the blankets thrown over their shoulders meanwhile. a few low-spoken words served to partly soothe buckskin and his black mate; then the blankets were arranged about their heads, and secured in such fashion that no unlucky snort or whinny might betray their presence to those who passed by. chapter vii the rustlers at a word from his master the well trained buckskin doubled up, and lay down on the ground. most cowboy ponies are taught to do this trick by their masters, and it is in common use; so that the punchers believe it is a poor animal that has not learned to roll over and play dead on occasion. bob, too, managed to induce his mount to do the same thing; but to make it absolutely certain that no unwise flounder on the part of domino might betray them, he sat upon the horse's head, soothing him by little pats on his glossy hide. "i hear 'em coming," announced frank, presently. the sounds reached him against the wind, so that it was quite natural to believe the approaching horses must by now be very close. there was a confused pounding that could only spring from a large body of animals. the trained ear of frank caught a significance in the clash of hoofs that told him much more than bob was able to make out. "all horses, bob," he whispered across the little gap that separated him from his chum; "and two thirds of 'em running free, without saddles or riders. lie low, now, and see if you can glimpse 'em as they go past." "won't they be apt to run over us?" asked bob, a bit nervously. "nixy. i looked out to pick a place they'd be apt to avoid. they'll brush past a little further to the south," and frank ended his words with a hiss of warning. the pounding of many hoofs continued. frank, straining his eyes, believed he was now able to make out a confused moving mass at some little distance away, heading directly toward the foot of thunder mountain. as the starlight was so vague he could not make out more than that here and there a figure was mounted on a galloping horse, with several unridden animals trailing along behind, as though led by ropes. the little caravan passed quickly. already they were vanishing in the deeper shadows lying closer to the base of the mountain that towered aloft several thousand feet. still the two boys continued to sit there, guarding their horses; although all danger of discovery seemed absolutely past. "whew!" exclaimed bob, presently, as the sound of retreating hoofs began to die away; "what d'ye think of that, eh, frank?" "indians?" queried the kentucky boy, eagerly. "well," replied his chum, "not so's you could notice. say, now, you didn't see any feathers on their heads, did you? and i sure heard the fellow nearest us say something that only a white man would remark, when his horse stepped into a hole, and almost threw him over its head." "cow punchers; or perhaps rustlers?" continued bob, anxious to know. "what would cowmen be doing away off here, tell me that, bob? and lugging along a bunch of extra mounts, too, in the bargain? no, i rather think, bob, that those fellows must have some of mendoza's cattle rustlers. and they've been making a dandy raid on some ranch's saddle herd; or i miss my guess." "perhaps the circle outfit had gotten careless," suggested bob. "i sure hope not, for the boys have had plenty of warning; and i reckon bart heminway is some too good an overseer to permit such a raid. i'd rather believe it was the x-bar-x outfit that has gone and got nipped this time. but stop and think bob; what d'ye expect takes these cattle-rustlers over this way right now, headed straight for the canyons of thunder mountain?" "oh, i see what you mean!" exclaimed the taller lad, immediately. "perhaps the secret hiding place of mendoza and his crowd of cattle thieves may be somewhere around this same old rock pile. it'd be just like the tricky rustler to have a hide-out where nobody else ever came!" "now, why didn't somebody ever think of that before?" ejaculated frank, in a tone of mingled surprise and disgust. "looks easy, doesn't it, after we've run across a clue?" admitted bob, laughing softly. "you remember what they said about discovering america, after columbus did it. but supposing this thing _does_ turn out to be true; how's it going to affect our little business, frank? oh! say, i wonder if that crowd can have anything to do with the rumbling of the mountain?" frank laughed heartily at the suggestion. "well," he remarked, "they're a pretty tough lot, all right; but even such a bad bunch could hardly get enough hot air together to make a mountain shake and groan like that. besides, don't you see, bob, they must have been out yonder, riding this way with their stolen horses, when that little circus came off." "but one thing is sure," the other went on, sturdily; "they don't seem to take any stock in that notion about a volcano, because, as we saw, they headed straight for thunder mountain. that gives it away; they're so used to the row that they don't pay any attention to it any longer." "correct!" echoed frank, as though his mind was made up. "do we need to hold the horses down any longer?" asked bob, who could feel that domino was becoming very restless under his enforced silence. "i reckon not," replied the other, at the same time taking the blanket from buckskin's head; whereupon the animal, recognizing this as a sign to rise, quickly gained his feet and shook himself. "it's back to the blankets again for another nap," remarked bob, when he, too, had seen his animal regain an upright position. "wonder what's next on the programme for us. twice, now, we've been waked up; and i don't know whether it's really worth while trying to get any more sleep to-night. it isn't a great ways from dawn, is it, frank?" the other cast a quick look up at the stars. accustomed to reading these heavenly sign posts of the night, he was able, from their positions, to give a pretty fair guess as to the hour; just as the sun served him in place of a watch during the day. "three hours yet to dawn, bob; no use staying up all that time," he said, presently. "we expect to be on the move again at peep of day; because, after what's happened, it'll be wise for us to get off the level here before broad daylight comes along. there might be curious eyes on the watch up yonder, on thunder mountain; and that, you see, would just spell trouble for our crowd." "whew! things are thickening, for a fact!" exclaimed bob. "i was only thinking," frank continued, "whether we ought to try and get word back to the ranch about our discovery. if they knew mendoza and his rustlers were hiding somewhere about this place they'd comb the whole mountain range so they could run him to earth. he's been the pest of the border too long now, and something's just got to be done to chase him back where he belongs, south of the rio grande." "but you don't want to go back just yet, do you, frank?" asked bob, uneasily. "i'm ready to do what you say, though i'd like to stay," came the prompt answer. "then i say, let's stick it out," declared bob, with animation. "it might turn out to be a false alarm, after all; and we'd feel pretty cheap to bring all the boys along, and then not be able to show 'em any game. no, i say it'll be time enough to go after 'em, when we make dead sure!" "that settles it, then," remarked frank, with a little laugh, as though pleased to learn that his saddle chum looked at the matter in such a sensible light. this time, after they had lain down in their blankets, there was no further alarm. frank, from long habits of early rising on the range, awakened just as the first faint streaks of dawn began to show in the eastern horizon. it required but a touch to arouse bob; and saddling up, with packs in place, the boys soon left the scene of their night bivouac, heading toward the heavy growth of timber directly at the foot of the mountain. the early morning mists concealed their movements until they had entered among the timber; when they left they were safe from any suspicious eye, should the bold mexican rustler have posted any watcher upon the side of the mountain. again did the saddle boys build a small fire in a hole, over which they proceeded to cook their breakfast; while the horses cropped the grass near by, secured by the ever useful lariats, or riatas. "there's where this leads into a big gully," remarked bob, later on, pointing as he spoke to where the ground became broken. "yes," frank went on, thoughtfully, "and the chances are ten to one that it changes into a regular canyon, where the water rushes down whenever they have one of those gushers, or cloud bursts, that come along once in a while around here. now, i wonder if those riders hit it up this way?" he jumped to his feet as he said this. passing back and forth, frank seemed to be examining the ground, marking the stepping stones of the mountain. "signs aplenty around here," he remarked. "wish old hank was along to read 'em. i reckon i can tell what they stand for, though." "then they went on up that canyon, you believe?" asked bob. "reckon there isn't any doubt about that part of it," chuckled frank; "though just where that same canyon leads i can't say. p'raps it may be a short-cut across the big range here, leading to the prairie on the other side. p'raps it doesn't go anywhere, but just leads to a blind hole that i've heard prospectors call a _cul de sac_. anyhow, we ought to find out, bob." "_they_ knew all right," remarked the other, positively. "wouldn't get any riders going up there in the dark, unless they were mighty familiar with every foot of the way. that's my idea, frank." "and i reckon it's the true one," asserted the other. "they know this place as well as i do all around old circle ranch." "there's the sun coming up; and perhaps we'd better be getting a move on about now?" suggested bob. "wait!" something in the tone which his saddle chum used caused bob to turn his head, and look out toward the plain. "huh! what does that mean?" he ejaculated. "a single rider heading this way; and he seems to be leading a burro loaded with supplies. must be a bold prospector, bound to look into the secrets of thunder mountain as we're bent on doing; only he hunts for gold, while we're just bent on finding things out." "but look now," frank said a little later, as the other came closer. "don't you see that it's only a little mexican boy on that bag of bones of a horse? tell you what, bob, he must have been sent to town for fresh supplies by some party of gold hunters located right now over the range." "yes, and how do we know but what this mexican boy is hooked up with that mendoza crowd?" asked the other, seriously. "they might send him off for grub, and such things as they happen to need. and he pays for it with money they get from selling stolen cattle and horses! nobody would suspect him, frank, and try to follow. i hope our horses don't give us away now. i'd like to see what that little fellow does." the boy indeed looked weary as he drew closer, leading his tired burro, upon which a fair-sized load was strapped and roped. "get down, bob," said frank. "he hasn't glimpsed us, and, luckily enough, our horses are feeding out of sight just now. doesn't he look sleepy and tuckered out though? see him nodding in his saddle, poor little runt! oh! what's that moving there among those rocks just ahead?" "perhaps it may be one of the rustlers coming down to interview him," said bob. "hist!" frank uttered almost in his chum's ear as he craned his own neck in order to see better. the small boy on the tired broncho, and leading the patient burro, kept on steadily advancing, apparently allowing his animal to follow its nose, as though it knew the way fairly well from having passed along it before. "look! look!" ejaculated frank suddenly, jumping to his feet. "great guns! bob, would you see what is coming out from among those loose rocks there? a great big grizzly bear; and making straight for the pack mule, sniffing the air as if he smelled grub! there, the horse has scented him. see him rear up, will you? oh! he's gone and done it, as sure as you live--thrown the boy over his head! and the poor burro is caught fast, with his leading rope held in a crotch of the rocks. the boy will be killed if ever he meets up with that monster! quick! we must do something to save him, bob, but whatever shall it be?" and frank leaped to his feet. chapter viii a startling discovery the mexican boy had apparently escaped serious injury at the time the frightened cayuse made a sudden bolt upon sighting the bear, and threw him over his head onto the rocks. the lad was already sitting up, and rubbing his knee in a dazed way, as if not fully understanding what had happened. the pony rushed wildly away, heading up the wide gully, as though with a full knowledge of where it was going. and the poor little burro would doubtless have been only too glad of a chance to follow, if only it could break loose from the detaining rope. meantime the ugly monster, that had been the cause of all this commotion, was shuffling closer with each passing second, eager to strike down the burro with one savage blow from his mighty paw with its long claws, after which he could proceed to help himself to what those various packages contained. all this frank haywood saw in that one glance he shot toward the scene of action. the boy was apparently directly in the path of the hungry bear. and when his pony had fled in such a panic he must have also carried off the rifle, if the boy possessed so valuable a weapon. thus the little fellow was at the mercy of the most feared wild beast to be found in all the territory between the atlantic and the pacific. a wild inclination to hurl himself between that brute and his prospective victim surged over frank. with but a knife, or even a revolver to back him up, such a rash act would have been little short of madness. fortunately it was not needed. "let me try for him, frank!" said a trembling voice at his side. and then, all at once, frank haywood discovered his chum was crouching close by, and that he was clutching a rifle in his shaking hands. how he had managed to get hold of the weapon frank could not even guess, because his own was a dozen feet away just then. now bob archer had certainly never before set eyes on a ferocious bear outside of the circus or museum. and doubtless that brownish-colored beast looked as big as a house to him, for he was very much excited. but he had true kentucky pluck, and even that circumstance did not make him quail. if the monster had seemed to equal two houses, still would bob have tried to do his duty. and just then it was to save that poor little mexican boy. the grizzly had advanced so rapidly that he was already almost upon the crouching boy, who stared at him as if in dire dismay, as well he might. it was not too late, even then, for the boy to have escaped, could he have understood the real situation, and that it was the food in the packs the bear craved, rather than his life; but he did not seem to realize the fact. they had seen him fumbling about his sash, and now he drew something forth that glistened in the early morning sun. why, the little chap had actually drawn his knife, as though that trifling bit of steel could avail anything more than the prick of a pin against that shaggy monster. the boy was shivering as with terror, but all the same he showed himself game. frank was amazed by the sight, and not apt to forget it in a hurry. but by now bob had stepped forward, uttering a sharp "hello" as he did so. his object, of course, was to attract the attention of the bear toward himself. this might cause the grizzly to change his course, and allow of a few more seconds' delay. it would also divert the attack from the helpless boy to one who was at least better armed, even though not professing to be a bear-hunter. frank aroused himself. he remembered that he, too, had a repeating rifle, leaning against the trunk of a tree not far off. he sprang to secure the firearm, in the belief that possibly his assistance would be needed in order to finish the dreaded animal. however good bob's intentions were, when he sought to draw the attention of the grizzly toward himself, they did not succeed as he had hoped. bruin seemed to know that a feast awaited him as soon as he could clear a way to that frantic little burro with the big load. and he declined to be turned aside on any account. seeing this, the kentucky boy dropped on one knee. he felt that he must find some sort of rest for his gun, since his shaking hands could hardly be expected to hold the weapon steady when it came time to pull the trigger. even as frank swept up his gun he heard the weapon of his chum speak sharply. the report was instantly drowned in a tremendous roar. looking, even as he drew back the hammer of his rifle, frank saw that the bear had finally turned away from temptation in the way of meat and supplies. he had started to rush bob, whom he evidently recognized as the cause of that sudden pain which had shot through his bulky body. bob was pumping another cartridge into the firing chamber of his repeater. he seemed cool, although perhaps only he himself knew how his heart was pounding away like mad against his ribs. both guns spoke together, it seemed. the grizzly gave another roar, even more furious than before. at the same time, however, he stumbled, and fell over sideways. then he tried desperately to scramble back to his four feet, still full of fight. both the boys again put their guns in a firing condition. even if tremendously excited at the moment, they seemed to remember what was necessary to do in order to accomplish this result. but the bear was apparently unable to get up again. one of the bullets must have most luckily reached a vital point in the region of his heart. he was floundering about unevenly, while the little mexican boy sat and stared, still gripping that ridiculously small blade in his hand. "we got him that time, frank!" exclaimed bob just then, though he could hardly believe his eyes at seeing the monster growing weaker. "he's a goner, as sure as shooting! look at him wobble! wow! there he goes over, to make his last kick! frank, just think of me having a hand in the killing of such royal game! a real grizzly! oh! i can hardly believe it!" they now approached the spot where the little mexican boy was getting on his feet again. he was no longer white. the threatening monster had been placed where he could do no more harm; but the little chap stared uneasily at the two saddle boys. evidently he was possessed of a new cause for alarm in the mere fact of their unexpected presence. the burro, meanwhile, had somehow managed to effect his release from the rope that had become fast in the crevice of the rock. still in a panic because of the wild animal odor so close at hand, the laden animal hurried off after the cayuse that had fled along the gully, heading for where frank had declared the canyon must undoubtedly lie. and the boy really looked very much as though he, too, would like to depart with equally scant ceremony. "hi! there goes the burro!" called out bob. "head him off, frank; or shall i jump on my horse and try to rope him?" to the astonishment of both the saddle chums the mexican boy threw out a detaining hand, crying earnestly: "senors, all, there is no need to chase them. they know where to go, believe me, and surely i must soon overtake them. you have saved my life, senors. lopez, he thanks you both. before now have i seen such a bear; but this time i was caught dreaming. he would surely have killed me if it had not been for the brave americanos." frank was struck with the soft tones of the small chap, who did not look as if he could be much more than twelve years of age. his features were regular, if thin, and the big black eyes seemed to be filled with a courage beyond the ordinary. indeed, they could not doubt this, having seen how he had drawn that small knife on finding himself confronted by the rocky mountain terror. "well, we were only too glad to have been of help to you, lopez," frank remarked, as he advanced with outstretched hand. the boy looked embarrassed, as though hardly knowing what to do. it seemed to frank that he had been staring very hard at bob, and he wondered why. then again he imagined that the boy must be keeping something back. this would account for the worried look on his small, pinched, but good-looking face. but undoubtedly lopez realized that it ill became him to decline to take the hand that had helped save his life. "you understand that we are your friends, lopez, don't you?" asked frank, as he held the small palm of the mexican in his own strong one for a moment, and looked with a puzzled expression into the big black eyes that quickly fell under his gaze. "oh, yes, senor, surely you have proved it more than enough," the little fellow hastened to say; and frank was astonished to hear what good language he used. "you go across mountains, eh?" asked bob, indifferently; truth to tell he was just then more interested in the size of the great grizzly that had fallen before the guns of himself and his saddle chum, than the mere fact of this stripling being entrusted with such a task as bringing supplies to prospectors, or rustlers, as the case might prove. a flash crossed the face of the boy, just as though he saw a sudden opening whereby his presence here might be explained without entering into details. "oh! yes, across the range. i get supplies for prospectors in camp," he replied, with an intake of his breath, while he watched bob narrowly, as if, somehow, he believed he had more to fear from that source than from the tawny-haired prairie lad. "that's kind of queer, seems to me," remarked bob, slowly, turning to again survey the boy; "for them to send so small a chap on so long a trail. i should think it was more of a man's work, toting supplies across these mountains, through the canyons. and with the chances of running foul of such dangers as bears, not to speak of rustlers." at that lopez drew his diminutive figure up, and tried to assume a bold look. the spanish blood was proud, bob could see. "this have i done a long while, senors, believe me," he said, calmly; "and until to-day never have i met with trouble. had i not been so tired and sleepy, perhaps even i might have shot the bear, who knows? it would not be the first i have seen, no, nor yet the second; but the horse ran away with my gun. but senors, i must go on after my animals; they will be waiting for me farther along." "then you won't wait for us?" asked frank. "my friend, he would like to get the claws of this fellow, to remember him by. it will not take very long, lopez." "thank you, senors, but i must not delay. perhaps you may overtake me farther along the trail. there is no more danger; and my pack burro might scrape off his load if i am not there to watch. again i thank you, senors." the boy bowed to each of them in turn, just as though he might have been an actor in some old-time play. frank believed he had never seen such remarkable grace in any half-grown lad. generally, at that age, boys are apt to be about as clumsy as bear cubs at play. he looked after lopez with a frown on his face. "what's the matter, frank?" demanded bob, as he noticed this expression. "are you huffed just because the independent little rascal wouldn't let us mother him? say, look at his strut, will you? if he was heir to the throne of alfonso he couldn't walk finer. give me a whack between the shoulders, won't you, frank? perhaps i've been asleep, and dreamed all this." "oh, rats! take a look at the bear, and that'll show you what's what. there, he's disappeared behind that clump of mesquite yonder," and frank turned to look at his saddle mate with an expression of bewilderment on his face, as though he might be trying to clutch some idea that kept eluding him. "suppose you help me cut these awful claws off, frank. you see i don't know the first thing about how it's done; and i think your idea about keeping 'em for trophies is just immense." "well, for that matter," replied frank, "i don't know as i ever did a job like that, myself; but i've watched old hank do it, so i reckon we'll get along." for a few minutes they worked away in silence. then bob looked up to remark: "he said it was prospectors he was taking those supplies to, didn't he; and that he'd been doing the same a long while?" "that was about the size of it, bob," returned his chum, thoughtfully. "well," bob went on, "between you and me, frank, i'd rather believe little lopez was in touch with the rustlers. i mentioned that word just on purpose to see if he would turn red, or give himself away." "and did he?" asked the other, quickly. "well," replied bob, "not so you could notice; but then he seemed such a smart chap, like as not he knew how to hide his feelings. he looked frightened when we talked of wanting him to stay with us. mark me, there's a heap of mystery bound up in that little fellow." "he sure puzzles me, all right," remarked frank. "did you notice how he had a silk handkerchief bound around his head, regular mex fashion?" "sure i did," laughed bob, without glancing up, as he used his knife industriously after the fashion set by his chum. "and i also took notice that he had a fine, glossy bunch of hair under that same colored silk bandana." "great governor!" ejaculated frank, suddenly. "what's the matter--you didn't cut yourself, i hope?" demanded his comrade, uneasily, starting up. "shucks! no. something just struck me, that's all," replied frank, with an air of disgust, and a quick look up the gully where the little mexican had last been seen. "oh! is that so?" mocked bob. "must have hurt right bad then, to make you peep like that. now, i reckon it might have been something about lopez?" for he had noted that hasty glance, and the disappointed frown. "that's just what it was, bob," frank continued, in an even tone. "fact is, i just remembered who lopez put me in mind of. only perhaps you'll laugh when i tell you. remember that poor little girl peg grant was cuffing when you knocked him down? well, if you took that colored handkerchief off lopez, and let his black hair fall down, i give you my word he'd be a ringer for that mexican child!" bob stared as if dazed, and then the light of a great discovery dawned upon him. "say, frank!" he exclaimed presently. "honest indian, now, i believe you've sure struck pay dirt, and that's what!" chapter ix what happened to peg "then you think the same as i do, eh, bob?" asked the saddle boy, as if pleased. "well, now a heap of things seem to point that way, frank," replied the other, slowly. "only for the life of me i can't get it through my poor old head just why a girl like that would want to carry on in such a queer way." "nor me, either," laughed his chum. "that's something else for us to lie awake nights puzzling our wits over. everything around this thunder mountain just seems to be plastered with mystery--who little lopez is; what he, or she may be doing away off here in the canyons of the rockies; and more particularly the mystery of the mountain that the reds look on as sacred; where mendoza and his band of rustlers have gone with those stolen horses; and also who the prospectors can be that this pile of grub was meant for--it's all a blank, that's what!" "say, i guess that's pretty near the way it sizes up," grumbled bob. "i don't like to run against a stone wall like this. if i was alone now, d'ye know what i'd likely be doing, frank?" "well, say, perhaps i might hit close to the bull's-eye, since i've come to know you pretty well these days, bob," replied the other. "i wouldn't be surprised one bit but what you'd go rushing after lopez, and demand to know all about it. but bob, i look at it in another light. that's his own private business." "i suppose so; and i was brought up to mind my own affairs, too," said bob. "wouldn't you put up a great howl now," continued frank, "if somebody grabbed hold of you, and insisted on your giving him the whole story of your life, where you were born, what your dad did for a living, when you cut your first tooth, how much it cost your father to let you gallop around the country in the saddle with me, and all that? say, honest now, would you knuckle down like a meek kid; or give the questioner to understand that he was poking his nose into affairs that didn't concern him one whit?" thereupon bob laughed heartily. "i give up, frank," he admitted. "you go at a fellow, and put him in a hole as a lawyer might. we'll just let little lopez alone, no matter whether he's girl or boy; the grub-getter of prospectors; or agent for that sly mendoza, the cattle-rustler. and, on the whole, i reckon we've got about all the business we can attend to right now on our hands." "that sure sounds good to me, bob," said frank, turning once more to get his horse, the task of securing the grizzly's claws having been completed. naturally enough, while the excitement was on, both horses had exhibited the greatest alarm, even though they were out of sight behind some trees. the near presence of that terrible monster had caused them to strain at their ropes, prance wildly, and try in every way possible to break loose; but those lariats had been selected with a view to wonderful strength. after the death of the grizzly the animals had gradually quieted down. ten minutes later, and the two saddle boys were slowly picking their way along the gully, heading upward. frank, as one born to the country, and familiar with many of its peculiarities, amused himself by pointing out to his comrade the various positive signs that as a rule marked these strange water-courses. "you see, bob," he remarked, "this is really what might be called a _barranca_." "yes, i've heard you tell about them before," observed the other. "most of the year it's only a dry ravine, with high walls; but once in a while there happens to be a tremendous downpour of rain in the mountains, when a heavy cloud breaks against the wall above. when that comes about, this gully is going to be bank-full of roaring, rushing water; and anything caught by the flood is apt to be battered and bruised and drowned before it's swept out below." "whew!" observed bob, with a shrug of the shoulders. "let's hope then, that the next cloud-burst will have the kindness to hold off till we get out of this hole. if it caught us here, frank, i reckon we'd just have to let our nags shift for themselves, and take to climbing the sides. and wouldn't i hate to lose domino the worst way; even if he does give me a raft of trouble at times?" frank patted the satiny flank of buckskin affectionately, as he said: "and it would just about break me up if anything happened to this fellow, bob. i've tried heaps of mounts, seeing that we always have hundreds on the ranch; but i never threw a leg over one i fancied like my buckskin. why, there are times, bob, when the game little fellow seems next door to human to me. we understand each other right well. he knows what i'm saying now; listen to him whinny, soft-like, at me." possibly bob, knowing considerable about horses himself, may have had a strong suspicion that the animal understood the touch of his young master's hand much more readily than he did spoken words; but this was a subject which he never debated with frank. the latter had a habit of talking confidentially with his horse, and seemed satisfied to believe the animal understood. slowly they made their way along. now and then frank would dismount to examine the rocks and scanty earth that formed the trail over which they were passing. "always plenty of signs to tell that horses have been going along here off'n on, both ways--stacks of 'em," he announced, when perhaps an hour had elapsed since they left the scene of the encounter with the grizzly. the ravine, or gully, which he called a _barranca_, had gradually changed its character. it was now more in the nature of a canyon; though there were still places where the walls, instead of towering high above their heads, sloped gradually upwards. "smart horses could easy climb out of here up that rise," remarked frank, thoughtfully eyeing one of these places. "are you thinking that perhaps we'd better get out with our nags, while we have the chance, and leave them, while we keep up the game on foot?" asked bob, suspecting that his chum might be considering such a move. "well," remarked the other, "it stands to reason that our horses aren't going to be of much use in the mountains. if we shook 'em now, we'd be able to climb almost anywhere, and peek into places we'd never be able to find as long as we stuck to our mounts. so, if you're of the same mind, bob, we'll try and find a place where we might rope 'em out, an' take the chances of finding 'em again when we're done poking around." "i hope then, none of the rustlers will run across them while we're away," said bob, as he looked across a deep little pool that lay just at the foot of a very high slope; and then fastened his gaze on a peculiarly twisted cedar that seemed to cling to the bank, half way up. "leave that to me, my boy," returned his chum, confidently. "i'll make sure they leave no trail behind to catch the eye of a horseman riding past. besides, we're not dead sure, you know, that the rustlers have really got a camp around these diggings. p'raps now, they just push through the canyon to get to some other point across the divide. or it may be a favorite trail for them to carry off the cattle they rustle. in some hidden valley, you see, they can change the brands; and then openly drive the steers to a shipping station on the railroad." "all right, then," agreed his companion, who was ready to put the utmost faith in any plan proposed by his saddle chum. "we'll keep our eyes peeled for a chance to get the horses out of this place. here's a slope they might climb, as you say; but it looks as if they'd have to swim that pool first." "no use trying it," remarked frank, casting a rapid glance upward to where, at a distance of possibly a hundred feet, he could see little bushes growing on the edge of the top of the rise, which slope formed an angle of something like forty-five degrees; "sure to be better places further on, where the holding is firmer." "and yet," remarked bob, suddenly, "horses have made this climb only a short time ago, frank!" "what makes you say that?" asked the other, interested at once. "why, there are tracks going up slantingly, you see; and even if i am next door to a greenhorn i can tell that the marks look fresh," bob declared, pointing. "say, i take a back seat, bob," frank remarked, laughingly. "that's the time you saw my lead, and went me one better. sure there have been horses climbing that slope--one, two, three of 'em. and lopez, he had only two; so it can hardly be him. i wonder now if that measly tenderfoot, peg----" "look up yonder!" interrupted bob, suddenly pointing again. "i saw the bushes moving along the edge of the top there. somebody's got an eye on us right now, frank. d'ye reckon it could be one of those rustlers; and would they try to hold us up so as to get our mounts?" bob instinctively snatched his rifle, and began to make a demonstration, as though half tempted to shoot. his action looked so decidedly hostile that it naturally created something of a panic in the breast of the unknown who was lying concealed behind the fringe of bushes. they saw a sudden hasty movement, as though, in alarm, the hidden one had started to change his position. then something not down on the bills occurred. the loose earth at the edge of the top of the long slope seemed to give way in a treacherous manner. immediately a human figure came into view, struggling, clawing desperately, and trying in every way possible to clutch at something firm in order to halt his downward progress. but it was all of no avail. a second figure attempted to grasp the imperiled one in time, but evidently failed to secure a firm hold. and so the fellow started to roll down the slope. he came much after the manner in which a bag of corn might turn over and over. sometimes he was head-first; and then again resuming the side motion, he whirled around in a way that was enough to make anyone dizzy. all the while he kept letting out shrill squeals of real alarm; as though the prospect of a final plunge into that deep dark pool at the base filled him with dread. by some rare chance the rolling man struck the twisted little cedar that tried to keep its dying hold on the scanty soil half way up the rise. caught by the seat of his stout trousers on one of the scrubby tree's broken branches, the unfortunate one was suspended in midair, kicking, floundering and yelling at a tremendous rate. "say!" exclaimed frank, when he was able to catch his breath again, "what d'ye think of that, now? our friend peg is so glad to see us he couldn't wait to walk down, but tried to skate. and see what's happened to him! next thing he wants is a bath; and i sure reckon he's due for one when that cedar pulls out its last root. wow!" chapter x threats of trouble "splash!" hardly had frank ventured upon his prediction before it came true. the stout cloth of which peg's garments were composed might have sustained his weight indefinitely, and had it depended on his trousers giving way, his friends above must have been compelled to use their ropes in order to release him from so unfortunate a predicament. but the roots of the little stunted cedar were soon torn from their hold. and when this came about, of course the unfortunate peg continued his roll down the balance of that steep slope, clawing at every object which he thought might stay his progress. he certainly did drop into the pool with a tremendous splash that sent the water flying in every direction. at first he vanished entirely from view. then his head emerged, and it could be seen that he was swimming furiously to keep afloat. somehow his awkward movements made bob archer think of a hippopotamus he had once seen in a tank. peg must have had his mouth open when he struck. perhaps he was trying to shout for somebody to stop him, and in this manner he swallowed a quantity of water. at any rate he spouted forth quite a little fluid as he floundered about, kicking and beating with feet and hands, as though he were being run by an engine that had gone wild. both of the saddle boys grinned. they could not help it, the thing looked so laughable. had it been a dear friend, instead of an enemy, they must have enjoyed the sight just the same. twice peg bobbed under, to come up again, paddling for all the world like a puppy that was having its first swim. his face had taken on a look of terror. "help! can't keep up much longer! something pulling me down!" he spluttered. frank and bob exchanged a quick glance. of course this put quite another face on the matter. if peg was really in danger they had no business to stand there, laughing. it might seem funny to them, but to peg the matter was not at all comical. "i don't believe the critter knows how to swim, bob!" exclaimed frank. "that's what," answered the other, seriously. "he's just keeping up because he's crazy with fright. we've got to get him out of there, frank." "we sure have; come along," echoed the western boy. fortunately frank was possessed of a quick mind. he never wasted any time in wondering what methods he should use in order to accomplish things. the pool was of considerable width, and even though he bent over its border he would not be able to come within five feet of the struggling peg. without hesitation he stepped into the water, holding his gun. two feet from the bank and it was to his knees. but he believed he had now reached a point where he could hold out his rifle and touch peg. "take hold, and i'll pull you out!" he called, as he extended the gun. it was laughable to see how eagerly the other seized upon the chance. and, when peg had fastened himself to the other end of the rifle frank easily drew him shoreward. the bully came out, dripping wet, and in anything but an angelic temper. it was bad enough, in his eyes, to have fallen into the pool; but to be rescued by a fellow he hated, as he did frank haywood, added to the aggravation. after spluttering for a minute or two, so that he could get rid of the balance of the water he had swallowed, peg faced the two chums. strange to say he did not seem to consider that frank had placed him under any obligations in the least when he dragged him out of the water. "see what you did," peg exclaimed, now spluttering with burning anger. "what d'ye mean pointing your old gun up at me, and making as if you meant to shoot?" "oh!" remarked bob, elevating his eyebrows; "was that what forced you to take that header down the slope? well, now, we had an idea you were so glad to see us that you just couldn't wait to walk down, but wanted to fly! but, if i was to blame at all for your trouble, i'm sure i'm sorry. but you see, we didn't know whether we were going to be held up by rustlers or indians. that's what comes from hiding, peg." "bah! guess i'll do just whatever i want," spluttered the other, wiping his dripping face on his sleeve without doing either much good, however. "and do you know what i think?" "well, no, i must say i don't happen to be a mind reader, peg. suppose you tell me," replied the unruffled bob, who had taken the measure of the other, and knew he might be set down as a great boaster, but one not particularly dangerous when it came to a show-down. "i believe you just did that on purpose, that's what," peg went on, hotly. "you've got it in for me ever since that time we had our little affair, when i laid a hand on the mexican girl who sassed me. you just knew i'd jump up in a hurry if you made out you was going to shoot; and i bet you even remembered this lake at the bottom of the slope. oh! it worked all right; but don't you forget; my time will come. i'm going to pay you back in full! i've got friends who'll stick by me, all right. bah! what're you two fellers doing here on thunder mountain, anyhow?" a new suspicion had apparently seized upon peg. he viewed their presence as a personal insult; just as though they might have plotted to forestall him in the glorious adventure he had planned to carry out. "well, if the old mountain belongs to you," spoke up frank, thinking it time he took a hand in the talk, "we'll ask you to excuse us, and back out. but i don't think you have any claim on it; so we'll hang around as long as we see fit. and remember this, peg, we're going to mind our own business; but we don't stand for any bother from you, or those with you. understand that?" peg looked at him long and steadily. the eyes of frank never wavered in the slightest degree. "all right," said peg, finally, as his own eyes dropped. "you wait and see; that's what! this thing's been hanging fire a long time now; and some day we're bound to have it out, frank haywood. my dad's after yours with a sharp stick; and perhaps the trouble is going to come down to the next generation. you'll get yours good and plenty when the right time comes!" he turned away, and, limping to where the slope could be reached by skirting the edge of the pool, laboriously commenced to climb, following the tracks of the three horses. "there's one of his guides up yonder, frank," remarked bob; "sitting on the top of the bank. looks to me like he was grinning to beat the band." "yes, that's nick jennings," replied frank. "used to work on the circle ranch, but he got his walking papers because he was caught stealing from the other men. he's got a grudge against me because i'm a haywood. but nick likes a joke as well as any cowboy; and who could keep a straight face after seeing what happened here? look a little farther on, and you'll just glimpse the colored handkerchief spanish joe wears on his head." "i see him peeping at us from behind the bushes," returned bob. "and say, he's handling that gun of his just like he'd be glad to use it if anybody gave him the dare. i reckon spanish joe is some ugly customer, frank." "that's just what he is; but let's be moving on. if peg takes another flop and splashes in this puddle again, he'll have to swim for it, or else depend on his own guides to yank him out. no more for me. i'm wet to the knees; and did you hear him thank me for it? he's sure the limit." so the two boys went on. they were not interfered with, which pleased frank not a little. knowing the nature of spanish joe, and the revengeful character of nick jennings, he would not have been much surprised had they attacked him and bob, and carried things with a high hand. presently a turn in the canyon shut out the scene of their late adventure. the last glimpse they had of peg grant, he had nearly arrived at the top of the slope, and it seemed possible that he would not make a slip that might cause him to repeat his recent circus act. "why do you think they left the trail, and made their horses climb up?" asked bob, presently. "well, they might have talked it over just as we did, and chosen to leave the horses so they could look around on foot," frank replied. "but you suspect they might have another reason, too?" bob insisted. "that's a fact," replied his chum, seriously. "for all we know they may have run across some sign of the rustlers, and thought it best to get out of the beaten rut here before they got caught." "then you don't believe that little lopez had anything to do with it, frank?" "what, that mex boy? oh! he's out of the business long ago," replied the other. "in what way? didn't he come along this trail ahead of us?" asked bob. "sure thing," frank went on. "but you see i've missed the marks of that burro's little hoofs for nearly twenty minutes. i made up my mind lopez had some slick way of climbing out of the _barranca_ a ways back, without leaving much of any trail. i told you he was a sly one, and i say the same now, no matter whether he's a brother to the girl you defended against peg, or the girl herself." "all right, frank. get us out of this as soon as you can," bob remarked, looking ahead, as though he did not much fancy the appearance of things there. ten minutes later frank drew rein sharply. "what's doing?" asked bob, nervously, as he half raised his rifle, which he had insisted on holding in his hand all the time since that meeting with peg. "think you see signs of trouble from peg and his bunch; or is it something else?" "something else this time," remarked frank. "fact is, our chance has come to get up out of here with the nags!" chapter xi the black night "how does this suit you, bob?" frank asked this question as he and his comrade sat there in their saddles, and glanced around at the peaceful scene. they had climbed the bank of the _barranca_, and reached a spot where the grass was growing under a cluster of mesquite trees. "it looks good enough for me," replied the young kentuckian. "plenty of forage for the horses," frank went on, nodding his head as he looked; "and do you see that little trickling stream of water that crawls along? all we have to do is to hide the horses here. when we want 'em, the chances are we'll find 'em safe." "i hope so," remarked bob, as he alighted. in a short time they had removed saddles and bridles, hiding these among the neighboring rocks, together with their supplies, and had picketed the horses by means of the lariats. "now what?" asked bob. "you sit down here, and wait till i come back," frank remarked. "what are you going to do?" the kentucky lad inquired; "something that i might lend a hand at?" "no, i reckon you're a little shy on knowing how to hide a trail, bob. old hank showed me, and i've practiced it often. this promises to be a chance to see whether i learned my lesson half-way decent." "oh! all right, frank. but some day i expect you to show me all about that sort of thing. you know i want to be in the swim, and learn how to do everything there is. i'll wait here by the water," and bob dropped down to rest. "i won't be gone long," frank observed. "pretty much all the slope was made up of stone; and what a great time the horses did have, trying to hang on. once i thought your nag was going to take a nasty plunge, because he isn't as used to the work as a western pony would be. but he recovered, thanks to the help you gave him, and made the top all right. so-long, bob." "i notice you're taking your gun along," remarked the one who was to stay. "well, when you're in the mountains it's just as well to be prepared all the time. you never can tell when you'll run slap into something. it might be a big grizzly like the one we met; then perhaps a hungry panther might take a notion to tackle you. i knew a cowman who had that happen to him. yes, and perhaps you heard him tell the story." "you must mean ike lasker," bob replied, quickly. "yes, i remember how he said he was lying down, waiting for some feeding deer off to windward to work closer, when, all of a sudden, something struck him on the back, and nearly knocked the wind out of him for keeps. he managed to get his knife out, and they had it there, good and hard." "ike said he nearly cashed in his checks that time," frank added. "some of his mates found him, after they discovered his horse feeding near by. the panther was dead as a stone, and ike was clawed and bit till he looked like a map of the delta of the mississippi--anyhow, that's the way he told it. keep your shooter handy, too, bob." "i will that," returned the kentucky boy, impressed by his chum's earnestness. after a little while frank came back again. his manner told that he was quite satisfied with what he had done. "a sharp-eyed trailer might find where we left the canyon," he admitted; "but i don't believe any ordinary fellow would notice the marks. so i think our horses stand a first class chance of being here when we come back for 'em." bob got on his feet. "i've fixed up some grub, just as you told me," he remarked. "it isn't much, but ought to serve in a pinch." "and as it's nearly noon now," observed frank. "why not take a snack before we leave our base of supplies? let's get the stuff out of the cache again, and have a round of bites." "i don't see the use of hurrying away from here right now, anyhow," bob remarked, while they were eating. "you mean," said frank, "that we only came here to see what we could find out about the secret of old thunder mountain, and why it kicks up such a rumpus every little while?" "yes, and seems to me that since we're right on the ground now, we might just as well start business, here," bob asserted. "that is, hang around until night, and wait to see if the grinding begins again, as it did when we were in camp below?" "we'd be in a position to guess what it was, better than before," bob went on. "that's a fact," laughed frank. "and if, as lots of people think, this old mountain is a played-out volcano, perhaps we might even smell the sulphur cooking, by sticking our noses down into some of these crevices in the rocks." "now you're joshing me, frank!" declared the kentucky lad, reprovingly. "i am not," replied the other, immediately. "suppose there was any truth in that fairy story about the fires away down in the earth here; don't you think a fellow might get a whiff of the brimstone if he was johnny on the spot? why, honest now, bob, it was on my mind to find some sort of cave up here, and go in just as far as we could. don't you see the point?" "oh! i reckon i do, frank. you take little stock in that yarn; but, all the same, you think we ought to look into it, now we're on the ground?" "that's it, bob. why, even my dad kind of favors that idea, and i want to either prove it a fake, or learn that there's something to it." so they lay there, lazily enough, instead of climbing farther up the side of the mountain. it was very pleasant to keep in the cool shade of the trees, with that trickling little stream so near, for, as the afternoon advanced, it seemed as though the air became very oppressive. frank was looking up at the sky many times, and finally his companion asked him what was on his mind. "i don't pretend to be a weather sharp," frank replied; "but, all the same, there are signs up there that've got me guessing." "well, it _is_ clouding up some," replied bob, as he swept a look around at what they could see of the arch overhead. "perhaps the long drought is going to be broken at last, frank. your father will be tickled, if it turns out that way. he's been complaining of late about the stock having to hunt twice as far away from the ranch for forage. a rain would make things green again." "sure it would," replied frank; "but, as i said to you before, a rain storm up in the rockies is sometimes no joke. we may have to do some tall climbing if it gets a whack at us when we're in the canyon." the day was passing. they had seen nothing more of peg grant and his two guides, but could easily believe the others were not a great way off. perhaps they, too, were only waiting for night to come in order to start their investigation. "i don't think either spanish joe, or nick, could be depended on, if the thing began to look too spooky," frank had said more than once, showing that his thoughts must be running in the direction of the rival party. "oh! this is easy," chuckled bob. "if all we've got to do is to squat here and take notes when the menagerie begins to wake up, it's going to be a snap." frank did not want to make his chum nervous by confessing that he had another reason for agreeing to remain there idle the balance of the day, besides the fact of there being no hurry, and that they could take notes just as easy there as farther up the mountain. the fact was, he had concluded, it would be safer for them to remain in hiding while daylight lasted, and do what searching they expected to accomplish in the darkness of night. it was too easy, for anyone who had no scruples, and wished to do them injury, to drop a rock down from the wall of the canyon. against this sort of attack their rifles would be useless; and terrible damage might result. as to who would be guilty of such an outrage, frank only remembered that peg was in a white heat of indignation, and fully capable of doing some madcap prank in order to frighten off the two saddle boys. he was also not a little worried about the rustlers, supposed to be lurking somewhere not far distant. last, but not least, there were the prospectors to whom little lopez had admitted he was carrying the supplies that were secured on the pack burro. frank had not heard of any treasure-hunters having invaded the slopes and valleys around thunder mountain; but this did not mean it could not be true. if these men were secretly taking out possibly large quantities of precious ore, and did not wish to be discovered, or disturbed in their operations, even they might try to alarm the invaders by hostile demonstrations. "it's as pretty a mixup as ever i heard tell of," frank had said several times that afternoon, while they were exchanging confidences in connection with the remarkable possibilities around them. "what with the rustlers, peg and his crowd of thunder investigators, the little mex. boy and his unknown prospector bunch; and last but not least, bob, ourselves, it sure has me going some." "yes," the other had returned, "but i hope we'll keep clear of the whole lot, and be able to find out something worth while. i wish the next night was over, and we were galloping along over the plains headed for good old circle ranch." "me too, bob, always provided we carried with us an explanation for those deep grumblings that shake the earth, and seem to come out of the heart of thunder mountain. i'm a stubborn fellow, as i reckon you know; and when i throw my hat into the ring i like to stick it through till they carry me out." "the same here," bob had declared, after which the chums had to shake hands on it again, thus sealing the compact to stick. and so the day went, and night came on apace. the air did not seem to cool off to any extent as darkness approached. frank took pains to call the attention of his comrade to this fact. "you can guess what that means, bob," he remarked. "it's sure going to bring on a whopper before a great while. all the signs point that way right now. so we can expect to get ready for a ducking." "oh! that doesn't bother me," declared bob. "i've been through many a one. all i hope is that we don't happen to be in the old canyon when that cloudburst you mentioned comes along. i'm not hankering after a ride on a forty foot wave, and down that crooked old canyon, too. excuse me, if you please!" "of course if we only stick it out here, there's going to be no danger," frank remarked, indifferently. "i see that you're just itching to be on the move, old fellow," ventured bob, who knew the restless nature of his chum. "do you? well, bob, to tell the truth, if i was alone now, i suppose i'd be making for the top of the old hill, bent on finding out whether there was any sign of smoke oozing from the cracks and crevices at just the time the rumblings came on." "then what's to hinder both of us going at it?" demanded the proud kentucky lad, fearful that frank might think him timid because he had suggested their remaining out of the danger zone. "we may, later on. just now it's our business to get some supper; and hot or not, i'm going to make a cooking fire back of this big boulder, where nobody could ever glimpse the blaze." "did you say coffee?" remarked bob. "all right, i'll go you, old fellow. i feel a little that way myself, and that's no yarn." so frank got things started, and it was not a great while before the coffee pot was bubbling as merrily as ever, with that appetizing odor wafting from it. the darkness kept on increasing while they ate. an hour later it was very black all around them, and bob viewed the possibility of their venturing into the unknown perils around them with anything but a comfortable feeling. it was just when he was wondering whether frank would not conclude to remain in the safe position they occupied that he heard his comrade give a sharp cry. "what have you discovered, frank?" asked bob, starting to get up. "a light up the side of the mountain yonder," replied the other, "and, bob, perhaps if we could only manage to climb up there, we'd learn something worth while. the question is, have we the nerve to try it?" chapter xii losing their bearings bob chose to consider this a direct challenge. "i expect that it would be queer if we didn't make some sort of effort to find out what the light means. where is it, frank?" he remarked, with perfect coolness. "well, it must have gone out while you were speaking, bob, as sure as anything," the other replied. "but i saw it, i give you my word i did. huh! there she comes again, just like it was before. step over here; the spur of the rock is in your way there. now look straight up. get it?" "easy, frank. a fellow might think it was a star, if he didn't know the mountain was there. now it's getting bigger right along." "that's so, bob. and yet it doesn't seem to be a fire, does it?" "more like a lantern to me," declared the kentucky boy. "say, what d'ye reckon anybody could want a lantern up there for? can you see any swinging motion to the light frank?" "it does seem to move, now and then, for a fact," admitted the other, after watching the gleam for a short time. "about like a brakeman might swing his lantern if he was on a freight train in a black night, eh?" continued bob. "hello! i see now what you're aiming at, bob; you've just got a notion in your head that the lantern is being used for signalling purposes." "well, does that strike you as silly?" demanded bob archer. "silly? hum! well, perhaps not, because it may be the right explanation of the thing. but whatever would anybody up there be signalling for, and who to, bob?" "there you've got me," laughed the other. "i'm not so far along as that yet. p'raps it might be one of the rustlers, telling something to another of the same stripe, who is located in camp out yonder on the plain. then, again, how do we know but what it might be that peg grant lot? and lopez. don't forget little lopez, frank. prospectors could have a lantern; in fact, i understand they often do carry such a thing along with 'em when they go into the mountains to pan for dust in the creek beds." "so," said frank, who evidently was doing considerable thinking. they stood there for some little time, looking up at the light. bob was merely indulging in various speculations regarding its source. on the other hand frank busied himself in locating the strange glow, so that he might be able to know when he reached the spot, in case it was invisible at the time they arrived. "do we go?" asked bob, when he, too, found his impatience getting the better of him; whereupon frank, who had evidently been waiting for some sign, immediately took him up on it. "if you're ready, we'll start right away," he said, quietly. "luckily i've been studying the face of thunder mountain at times during the afternoon, and i reckon i can pilot the expedition all right." but when frank said this so confidently he failed to consider the intense darkness that might baffle all his plans of campaign. still, bob had the utmost confidence in his chum's ability to pull out of any ordinary difficulty. and, since his kentucky spirit had been fully aroused, he was ready to accompany frank anywhere, at any time. before they had been ten minutes on the way each of the boys sincerely wished that the idea to investigate had never appealed to them, for they began to have a rough time of it. but both were too proud to admit the fact, and so they kept crawling along over the rocks with their rifles slung on their backs, at times finding it necessary to clutch hold of bushes or saplings in order to save themselves from some tumble into holes, the actual depth of which they had no means of even guessing in the darkness. the light was gone. of course that might not mean it had vanished entirely; but at least it could no longer be seen by the boys who were climbing upward. bob was hoping his comrade would propose that they call it off, and proceed to spend the balance of the night in the first comfortable nook they ran across. but frank himself was loath to give the first sign of a backdown. consequently they continued the laborious task which was likely to bring no reward in its train, only the satisfaction of knowing they had accomplished the duty which they had in mind at the time of the start. an hour must surely have gone since they first left the little green glade where the horses were staked out, and their supplies cached. bob found himself blown, and trembling all over with fatigue, because of the unusual exertion. the heat, too, was troublesome. but not for worlds would he be the first to complain. frank was setting the pace, and he must be the one to call a halt. "phew! this is rough sledding," remarked frank, finally, as he stopped to wipe his streaming face. of course bob also came to a halt. "well, it is for a fact," he admitted with a little dry chuckle; for he felt really pleased to think that he had held out so long, and forced frank to "show his hand." "seems to me we ought to have struck something," suggested frank. "do you really mean you think we've come far enough for that?" questioned bob. "i reckon we have, though it's so dark i can't be dead sure. you don't happen to glimpse anything queer around here, do you, bob?" and while speaking frank, perhaps unconsciously, lowered his voice more or less. "nary a thing," replied the other, breathing fast, as if to make up for lost time. "and i don't get any whiff of smoke, do you?" continued frank. "oh! you're thinking about that volcano business again, eh?" chuckled bob. "nothing doing, frank. gee! we must be up pretty high here!" "feels like it," returned the prairie boy, accustomed to the heavier air of the lower levels at all times. "makes me breathe faster, you know. but that was a hot old climb, bob." "all black up yonder in the sky, with never a star showing," observed the boy from kentucky. "oh! we're going to get it, sooner or later," declared frank, cheerfully. "can't escape a ducking, i take it. but here we are, half way up old thunder mountain, and not a thing to show for our work. that's what i call tough!" "got enough?" asked his chum, invitingly. "you mean of course for to-night only, because you'd never think of such a thing as giving up the game so early, bob?" "well, i was only going to make a little suggestion," returned the other. "hit her up, then; though perhaps i could guess what it's like, bob." "all right then. you know what i mean--and that since we're away up here, we might as well make up our minds to hunt an overhanging ledge, and take a nap. but say, what're you sniffing that way for, frank?" "just imagined that i got a faint whiff of smoke; but of course it was all in my eye," replied the other. "was it? i tell you i had a scent of it myself right then," declared the taller lad, showing signs of considerable excitement. "seems to come and go, then, for i don't get it any more. what was it like, bob? did you ever smell sulphur burning?" "lots of times, and helped to use it too, disinfecting," replied bob, readily. "spent months with my uncle, who is a doctor in cincinnati, during an epidemic, and he often had to clean out rookeries just to stamp out the disease. but this wasn't any sulphur odor i caught, frank." "then you could recognize it; eh?" asked his chum. "it was burning wood, i give you my word for that," replied bob, firmly. "hum. that sounds more like it. we'll let the volcano matter sizzle for a little while, and look around for something smaller. burning wood must mean a fire, bob!" "that's what they say, always; where there's smoke there must be fire. but it seems to me we ought to see such a thing on this black night, frank." "unless it's hidden, as we make our cooking fire; or else the blaze is at the last gasp. then, after all, we may have been a little off about that light we saw," frank continued. "the one we said was a lantern? then you think, now, it might have been a fire?" questioned the kentucky lad. "well, i just don't know what to think. but let's look around a bit, and see if we can locate this fire," frank suggested. after moving around for a short time as well as the darkness allowed the two boys came together again. "no luck, eh?" questioned frank. "didn't find a thing; but i stumbled over a creek and came near taking a header down-grade that would have made that plunge of peg's take a back seat. just in the nick of time i managed to grab a little tree. phew! it shook me up, though," and bob rubbed one of his shins as though he might have "barked" it at the time of the encounter. "same here; only i didn't happen to fall," replied frank. "so it seems as if we were no better off than before," remarked bob, dejectedly. "we've learned where the fire isn't, if that's any satisfaction to us," chuckled his chum, trying to make the best of a bad bargain. "and that smoke smells so meaning-like, it's sure a shame we can't just get a line on where it comes from," bob went on to say. frank seemed to catch a significance in his words, for he turned sharply on his companion, saying: "look here, have you been getting a whiff of it again, bob?" "why, yes, several of 'em in fact, frank," replied the other, in what seemed to be a surprised tone. "but what does that matter, when neither of us can find any fire around? i sniffed and sniffed, but although i just turned my eyes in every direction not even a tiny spark could i see. and that happened just three times, frank." "what! do you mean you smelled smoke three separate times since you left me?" demanded the saddle boy. "i'm sure it must have been three, because it was between the first and second times that i tripped. yes, and always in just the same place too, which was queer enough." "that sounds kind of encouraging, bob," declared frank. "do you think so?" asked the other, puzzled to account for frank's newly awakened interest. "tell me why, won't you, please, frank?" "sure, after you have answered me a question," frank promptly remarked. "all right, let's have it, then," his chum returned. "do you think you could find that exact spot again?" asked frank. "meaning where i sniffed that smoke each time? why, i guess i can, because i went back there twice, all right. couldn't be quite satisfied that there wasn't _something_ around there i ought to discover. but it turned out a fizzle, frank." "perhaps it wouldn't be so unkind to me, though," the western boy declared. "take me to that place, bob, and right away. it strikes me i'd just like to get another little whiff of that same wood smell, myself. it wouldn't be the first time i'd followed up a smoke trail." "gracious! that sounds interesting, and i hope you can do it, frank!" breathed bob, his admiration for his chum awakening once more. "first of all, get me to that place. lead off, and i'll be close at your heels. and, bob, don't forget that spot where you came near having your tumble. keep your level head about you." "i'll sure try to, frank. come on then." bob led the way through the darkness. although he had been out west for so short a time bob archer was rapidly learning the ways practiced by those who live close to nature. he began to observe always all that he saw, and in such a way that he could describe it again, in every detail. and so it chanced that, having marked his course when coming back after his unsuccessful search for the fire, he was able, not only to lead his comrade thither, but to warn him every time they approached a dangerous slide, where a trip might hurl one some hundreds of feet down the face of thunder mountain. "here is the place, frank," bob suddenly said, in a cautious whisper. chapter xiii the smoke trail "are you sure of it?" asked frank, in the same low voice. "why, try for yourself, and see if you can't get a whiff of smoke right now," bob replied. "you're right, because i caught it just then; but i reckon the wind must be changing some, for it's gone again," frank remarked. "you never spoke truer words, frank, because i can hear the breeze beginning to shake the leaves in the trees up yonder, and it wasn't doing that before." bob pointed upwards as he said this cautiously. and frank, always watchful, noticed a certain fact. the trees were so situated that they could be said to lie almost in a direct southeast line from where he and bob stood! this might appear to be a very small matter, and hardly worthy of notice; but according to frank's view it was apt to prove of considerable moment, in view of what was likely to follow. "well, as the smoke's gone again, let's see if we can locate it by moving a little this way," and frank led off as he spoke, with bob following. both lads were very cautious now. even bob, greenhorn as he was, so far as western ways were concerned, understood the need of care when approaching a camp that might be occupied by enemies. and as for frank, he had not been in the company of an old ranger like hank coombs many times without learning considerable. they had not been moving in the new direction more than five minutes when bob reached out his hand and clutched the sleeve of his chum's jacket. "what is it?" asked the leader, stopping short, and crouching there. "i got it again, frank," whispered the kentucky boy, eagerly. "sure," replied his comrade, immediately. "why, i've been smelling smoke for more'n a whole minute now. and i'm following it up, foot by foot." "oh!" murmured bob, taken aback by this intelligence. "don't say a word above your breath, bob. whoever it is can't be far away now. we may run in on 'em any minute, you know," and as if to emphasize the need of caution frank drew his chum close while he whispered these words directly in his ear. bob did not make any verbal reply; but he gave the other's sleeve a jerk that was intended to tell frank he understood, and would be careful. then they moved along again. it was no easy task making progress through the darkness, and over such rough grounds, without causing any sound. bob found that he had almost to get down on his hands and knees and creep, in order to accomplish it. but his chum had not forgotten that he was new to this sort of business, and hence he gave bob plenty of time. then bob in turn began sniffing, and frank knew that now he, too, had caught the trail-odor, which was constantly becoming stronger. thus they were positive that while they moved forward they must be gradually drawing nearer the source of the smoke. another tug came at frank's sleeve, at which signal he bent his head low so that his chum might say what he wanted in his ear. "sounds like voices!" whispered the excited kentucky lad. frank gave a little affirmative grunt. "rustlers, maybe?" bob went on. the other made a low sound that somehow bob seemed to interpret as meaning a negative to his question. "then prospectors--lopez and his bunch?" "uh!" frank replied; and then himself lowering his lips to the ear of bob he went on: "what's the matter with peg and his crowd? they might have got up here ahead of us. quiet now!" bob did not attempt to say another word. he had new food for thought. yes, to be sure, peg and his two cowboy guides had had plenty of time to climb that far up the side of thunder mountain. if they had taken daylight for the task of course they avoided the danger of getting lost, such as had overtaken the saddle boys. and if the nerve of spanish joe and nick jennings continued to hold out, when strange things began to happen, the boastful tenderfoot from the east stood a chance of making a discovery. as the two crept closer, on hands and knees, they could hear the murmur of voices grow louder, even though the speakers were evidently talking in low tones. while the experience was altogether new to bob, he enjoyed it immensely. why, after all, it was not so very hard to place his hands and knees in such fashion that he felt able to move along almost as silently as a snake might have done. now he was even able to locate the spot from which the murmur of voices came. yes, and when he looked closer he saw a tiny spark that glowed regularly, just as a firefly might sparkle every ten seconds or so. bob solved that little mystery easily. of course it was spanish joe, smoking one of the little cigarettes which he was so frequently rolling between his fingers. to be sure, the odor of tobacco smoke mingled with that of burning wood. and if spanish joe, why not the other cowboy who was in bad repute among the ranches; yes, and peg himself? bob began to wonder what the programme of his chum might be. surely they would not take the chances of crawling up much closer now. if discovered they would run the risk of being fired upon; and besides, there was no necessity for such rashness. then bob discovered that when the wind veered a little, as it seemed to be doing right along, he could actually catch what was being said. peg was talking at the time, and grumbling after his usual manner about something or other. "ten to one the fellow's gone and deserted us, nick!" he remarked, suspicion in every word. apparently the lounging cowboy did not share in his opinion, for he laughed in a careless way as he drawled out: "oh! i reckon not, peg. me and joe has hit up the pace fur some years in company, and i knows him too well to b'lieve he'd break loose from a soft snap like this here one. jest lie low, an' he'll be back. let's hope joe's found out somethin' wuth knowin'." "but he's been gone nearly an hour now," complained peg. "what of that? it ain't the easiest thing gettin' around on this rocky ole mounting in the pitch dark, let me tell ye, peg," nick remarked; and by the way he seemed to puff between each few words, bob understood that it must be nick who was using the cigarette, and not spanish joe. "say, that's so," admitted peg, as if a new idea had come to him. "perhaps he's slipped, and fallen down into one of those holes you showed me when we were coming up!" this also amused the cowboy, for he chuckled again. "too easy an end for spanish joe," he said, carelessly. "born fur the rope, and he can't cheat his fate. same thing's been said 'bout me. don't bother me none, though, and sometimes it's a real comfort; 'specially when a landslide carries ye down the side of a mounting like a railroad train, like i had happen to me. nawthin' ain't agoin' to hurt ye if so be yer end's got to come by the rope." "a landslide! do they often have that sort of thing out here?" asked peg, showing some anxiety, as though he had read about such terrible happenings, and did not care to make a close acquaintance with one. "sure we does, every little while," remarked nick, cheerfully. "why, jest last year the hull side of a peak 'bout forty mile north of here broke away, and a injun village was wiped out. never did hear anything from a single critter after that slip bore down on 'em." "it might happen here on thunder mountain, too, couldn't it, nick?" pursued peg, as if the subject, with all it pictured to his active mind, held his interest gripped in such a fashion that he could not shake himself free. "easiest thing goin', peg. and let me tell ye, if it ever do happen here, thar's agoin' to be a slide to beat the band!" nick asserted, positively. "but what makes you say that, nick?" demanded the boy. "oh! lots of people says the same thing," replied the other, as if carelessly. "that a landslide is going to start things going on thunder mountain any time--is that what you mean?" peg insisted on repeating. "any day, er night. things have been lookin' that way for some time now. i reckon she's due with the next big cloud-burst that sails this way." it was evident that, for some reason, nick was trying to frighten his young employer. perhaps he himself really wished to get away from the mountain with the bad name; and took this means of accomplishing his end without showing his hand. if that were true, then he was gaining his end, for peg certainly gave evidence of increasing uneasiness. "but why didn't you tell me all this before?" he demanded, indignantly. "what was the use, boss? ye was sot on comin' here, and ye made joe and me a rattlin' good offer. 'sides, it didn't matter much to me. i had my life insured. a rope might have skeered me; but say, i don't keer that for landslips," and nick snapped his fingers contemptuously. but frank, who knew the sly cow puncher so well, believed that more or less of his indifference was assumed. "well, i do!" declared peg, with emphasis; "and if i'd only known about that sort of thing before, blessed if i'd a come. i've heard what happens when the side of a mountain tears away, and how everything in the path goes along. they showed me the bare wall where one broke loose up in colorado. say, it was the worst sight ever. you'll have to excuse me from nosing around here another day, if that sort of thing is hanging over this place. me for the ranch on the jump. get that, nick?" "oh! now, what's the use botherin'? chances are three to one they ain't agoin' to be any sech upsets as that yet awhile," the cowboy said. "only three to one!" burst out peg. "all right, you can stick it out if you want, and i'll pay you all i agreed; but just you understand, nick jennings, when to-morrow comes, i want you to get me down on the prairie, where i can make a blue streak for the x-bar-x ranch house." "but ye sed as how ye was detarmined to find out what made them roarin' n'ises, up here on old thunder mountain!" protested the guide, although he evidently expressed himself in this way only to further arouse the obstinate boy. "i've changed my plans, that's all," peg announced. "any fellow can do that. it's always the privilege of a gentleman to alter his mind. i'd like to crow over frank haywood and that greenhorn chum of his mighty well; but i ain't going to run the chance of being carried down in a landslip just for that. huh! i guess not! what i said, stands, nick. and i hope the old slide comes while those two chaps are on the mountain; yes, and gives them a dandy free ride, to boot!" "oh! jest as ye say, peg! i'm willin' to do anythin' to please ye. but p'raps we ain't goin' to git off so easy arter all," remarked nick, suggestively. "now, what do you mean by hinting in that way? and i've noticed you twisting your neck to look up at the sky more'n a few times. think it's going to rain, do you?" demanded peg. "don't _think_ nawthin' 'bout it; i _know_ it be." and, nick added, with emphasis, "i reckons as how it'll be jest a _screamer_ when she comes." "a storm, you mean?" "a howler. allers does when the wind backs up that way into the sou'east. 'sides, if so be ye air still sot on findin' out what makes that thunder up this ways, p'raps ye'll have the chanct to look into the same afore long, peg." "oh! was that what i felt just now?" cried the boy, scrambling to his knees. "it seemed to me the old mountain was trembling just like i did once, when i had the ague. and nick, i believe you're more'n half right, because i sure heard a low grumble just then, like far-away thunder. i wish i hadn't been such a fool as to come up here. never get me doing such a silly thing again as long as i live. listen! it's coming again, nick, and louder than before. don't you feel how the ground shivers? perhaps there's going to be a terrible landslip right now! do you think so, nick?" frank and bob, crouching close by, had also felt that quiver under them. it gave the saddle boys a queer feeling. when the solid earth moves it always affects human kind and animals in a way to induce fear; because of the confidence they put in the stability of the ground. and then there arose gradually but with increasing force a deep terrible rumble. thunder mountain was speaking! chapter xiv a call for help "oh! what shall we do, nick?" cried peg. his voice was now quivering with fear. evidently whatever little courage the fellow possessed, or the grit which had caused him to start upon this mission of attempting to discover the cause of the mystery connected with thunder mountain, had suddenly disappeared. "nawthin' 'cept stick it out, i reckons," replied nick jennings. the superstitious cowboy was more or less anxious, himself. frank, eagerly listening, could tell this from the way in which the fellow spoke. but nick did not mean to fall into a panic. to try and rush down the precipitous side of that mountain in the dark would be madness. and with all his faults nick was at least smart enough to understand what it meant by "jumping from the frying pan into the fire." another roar, louder than any that had yet broken forth, interrupted the excited conversation between the son of the mining millionaire and his guide. the whole mountain quivered. bob himself was much impressed, and began to wonder more than ever what it could mean. the noise died away, just as thunder generally does, growing fainter, until silence once more brooded over that wonderful mountain. then again the two crouching lads caught the complaining voice of peg. bully that he was under ordinary conditions, he now showed his true colors. that awful sound, coming from the heart of the rocky mountain, as it seemed, had terrified peg. but frank was not surprised, for he had all along believed that a fellow who could lift his hand to strike a small girl must be a coward at heart, no matter how much he might bluster and brag. "this is terrible, nick!" exclaimed peg. "can't you think of some way we might get out of this? oh! i'd give a thousand dollars right now if only i was safe down on the plains again! what a fool i was to come here!" "well," drawled nick, possibly with a touch of real envy in his voice, "i'd like right smart to 'arn that thousand, sure i would, peg. but hang me if i kin see how it's agoin' to be done. we can't slide down; walkin's a risky business, and likely to take hours; an' right now i don't feel any wings asproutin' out of my shoulders, even if you do." "oh stop joking, nick, and talk sense," complained peg. "we've just got to do something. why, the old mountain might take a notion to slide, and carry us along with it." "i sure hopes not, at least right now," replied nick, uneasily. "but i do reckons as how we're agoin' to git that storm afore mornin'." "but see here, nick," peg went on, anxiously; "didn't you notice anything when you were leading me up here like a lamb to the slaughter? i mean, you ought to have seen whether this side of the old mountain was more likely to drop off than any other." "ye never kin tell nawthin' about such things," returned the cowboy. "reckons all we kin do is to root around, an' see if we might find some sorter cave, where we'd be safe from the rain, if so be she comes arter a while." "a cave!" echoed the other, as though startled. "what under the sun do we want to get inside the mountain for? don't you understand that all that noise is coming _out_ of this old thing? i tell you, i believe it is a volcano, just as they told me, and perhaps she's going to break loose this very night!" "hey! what ye a sayin' that for?" demanded nick. "supposin' she is what ye tell, that ain't any reason the explosion's got to come this particular night, is it? she's kept on a growling for a hundred year now, an' nawthin's happened. reckons it ain't agoin' to come off jest acause we pilgrims happens to be up here." "but you said we ought to find a cave, and go in, nick," continued the youth. "suppose we do, and the sulphur fumes suffocate us? they must be just awful inside the mountain. this is a nice pickle for me to get into! if i stay out here i'm in danger of being drowned, or swept away by a landslide; if i go inside there's all the chance in the world that i'll be soaking in poisonous sulphur gas till i keel over. i'm up against it good and hard." "we're all in the same boat, remember, peg," declared the cowboy. "but you knew more about this thing than i did, nick. why'd you let me come? it was all a fool business, and you're most to blame," protested peg. "aw! let up on that kind of talk, will ye?" growled the cowboy, who was himself losing his respect for his employer, owing to the presence of those things which he did not understand, and the nearness of which aroused his own fears. "i will, nick; only get me out of this hole safe and sound, and i give you my word i'll pay you that thousand dollars. but where do you suppose joe can be all this time? has he run away, or dropped over into one of those pits we saw on the way up here? i wish he'd show up. three would be better than two; and perhaps joe might have a plan for us to get out of this." again did the low grumbling sound begin again, and silenced the conversation between peg grant and his cowboy guide, every word of which had come distinctly to the ears of the crouching saddle boys near by. the rumble grew rapidly in volume, until once more the whole great mountain seemed to tremble. bob was shivering partly from the excitement, and because he felt a touch of alarm. but he could not help noticing the actions of his chum. when the thunderous roar was about at its height frank had thrown himself flat on the ground. bob could not see what he was doing, but his groping hand came in contact with the head of his comrade; and he discovered that it rested on the ground, with one ear pressed to the rock. frank was listening! he knew how the ground carried sounds more distinctly than the air, and evidently he hoped to discover something concerning the thunder by this method of wireless telegraphy. then, as the volume of sound gradually decreased, just as a lion's roar dies away, bob discovered that peg and nick were undoubtedly moving off. he supposed that nick had made up his mind to hunt for an outcropping ledge, or some friendly opening, where he could be sheltered from the storm; and as peg dared not stay alone, he was compelled to accompany his guide. the complaining voice of the rich man's son could be heard for a minute or so. then even that ceased. "they're gone, frank!" exclaimed bob. "yes, i know it," replied the other, as he arose from his position flat on the rocks. "and peg is badly rattled, too. say, i always told you he lacked real grit, and this proves it. he's scared at that noise. think of him wanting to fly down to the plain! i reckon he's had about all of the exploring he wants. it's 'take me back to my daddy!' now with peg." "well," remarked bob, with a sigh, "i don't blame him so very much, frank. i tell you what, that noise is enough to give anybody fits. i'm all of a tremble myself, and i'm honest enough to admit it." "that's all right, bob," replied his chum, quickly; "but are you ready to give the game up here and now?" "who, me?" answered the kentucky boy, instantly; "well, i should say not--not by a long sight! no matter what comes, i'm ready to stick it out on this line if it takes all summer!" "just what i thought," chuckled frank. "that's what makes all the difference between a brave fellow and a coward. why, to tell you the truth, bob, i'm shaking all over right now myself; but it isn't with fear. i'm excited, curious, and worked up; so are you. when you say you don't want to back out it tells the story that you're not afraid." "but it wouldn't make any difference, frank, seeing that we couldn't get away from here, even if we wanted to just now," remarked bob. "that's so," returned his chum; "just as nick said; we're here, and we've just got to stick it out, no matter what comes." "but do you take any stock in what peg said about an avalanche?" asked bob. "mighty little," frank replied. "this mountain is made up mostly of solid rock. that's what makes lots of people believe in the volcano idea. a slide would be hard to start here, and it just couldn't carry much along with it. where mountains have sides made up of earth and loose rocks, that happens sometimes." "i'm glad to hear that," remarked the other. "but there comes another shake. whew! feel how she trembles, frank! whatever sort of power can it be that makes this noise and shivering sensation?" frank waited until the convulsion had passed before replying. "i've got a strong suspicion, bob," he said, finally; "and it's something that came into my mind since _feeling_ the sound, for that's the only way i can express it. now, what does it make you think of, most of all?" "i did think it was thunder," declared bob; "but now it seems to me the only thing i can compare it to is the beating of the terrible billows against the coast away up in maine, when a fierce northeast storm is blowing. they seemed to make the rocks quiver just as this does now." if frank had intended to reply to this remark he was prevented by something unexpected that happened just then. this time it was not the furious roar of the unknown force within the mountain that disturbed him; but a cry that rang out shrilly. "help! help!" bob clutched his companion's arm. "something has happened to peg!" he exclaimed. "perhaps the guide has thrown him over, and he's lost, and scared nearly to death!" but frank was more accustomed to reading voices in the open than was his chum. "no, you're wrong there!" he cried, "that's spanish joe yelping; and he must be in a bad hole to call for his companions. come on, bob, we've just got to see what we can do to help him. rascal that he is, he's human. follow me!" chapter xv spanish joe drops a clue "where can he be, frank?" cried bob, after they had been climbing for several minutes up the side of the rough mountain, almost groping their way, such was the darkness around them. "listen!" "help! nick, this way, quick, or i'll go under!" came a shrill shout, only a little way above them. they started for the spot; but before they had taken half a dozen steps once more the thunderous sound was heard; and under them the mountain quivered. as the boys were not more than human, it was only natural that they should halt until the convulsion had passed. bob could not help clutching a spur of rock as though he feared that something dreadful was about to happen. as the roaring noise began to die out the boys caught the cries of spanish joe once again. he seemed to be nearly frantic with fear, and was calling upon his cowboy crony not to forsake him in his extremity. "it's going to tumble on me the next shake! hurry, nick, or i'm a goner!" they heard him pleading. "whatever can have happened to him?" asked bob, awed by the exciting incidents by which they seemed to be surrounded. "i reckon he's caught in some sort of trap, judging from his talk," frank sent back over his shoulder; for both of them were climbing upward as rapidly as the conditions allowed. it was no wonderful feat for frank to make straight for the spot where the loud voice came from. he had located it; and even when joe ceased calling for a minute or two, frank was able to continue right on. apparently the cowman had heard some sound that told him of their coming. that accounted for his silence, since he was listening eagerly. and of course he fully expected that it must be nick jennings hastening to his assistance, perhaps with peg at his heels. at least his words would indicate as much, when he cried again. "hurry, boys! there ain't any too much time. this way, right straight ahead! oh! i'm in a hole, i tell ye. ye ain't stopping, are ye? come on! come on!" they were now close to where the speaker must be located. frank was already straining his eyes to make out his figure, so as to get some idea as to the nature of the new task that confronted them. he presently could make out some object that squirmed and tugged between groans. then he knew that his first guess was probably correct. spanish joe, in making his way along over the rocks, had in some way managed to catch his foot in a crack, and was unable to get it out again. perhaps the more he struggled the firmer it became fastened. and, considering the surroundings, his fright could hardly be wondered at. so frank crept up alongside the prisoner of the rock. "it's my leg, nick," cried the man, eagerly. "i can't get it loose and i've twisted and pulled till it's near jerked out of the socket. see if ye can't do somethin'. every time she shakes, that rock up there just starts to drop down on me! if it comes i'll be smashed." frank knew spanish joe. the man from across the rio grande had worked on the circle ranch for many months, until he was discharged after being caught in the suspicious business of conveying information to the cattle rustlers. "wait 'till i strike a match, so i can see what things look like," frank said. and as the match suddenly flared up the dark-faced spanish-american stared with astonishment into the countenance of the one who had come in answer to his frantic calls for assistance. "you, senor frank?" he exclaimed. "sure," replied the rancher's son, as he bent over to examine the way in which the prisoner's foot had become caught. although the match only shone for a few seconds, frank's quick eyes had sized up the situation. "how is it, senor frank; can you get me out, _camerado_?" asked joe, with a quiver in his voice. something of a desperado the man might be under ordinary conditions; but just then, when facing death, he proved very tame indeed. "i reckon i can, joe, if that tottering rock up there only holds off long enough. let's hope it will. now, do just what i tell you; and when i say pull, again, get busy for all you're worth!" while frank was talking he had been manipulating the foot of the mexican, who had worked so long on american ranches that he had lost much of his national ways, though retaining a few of the characteristics of dress that always distinguish his kind. frank himself was not wasting time. he did not like the looks of that over-hanging rock any too well. it seemed to be about ready to crash down, and when it did come the result would be disastrous to anything human caught underneath; for it surely weighed many tons. "now, draw easily at first, and then increase gradually," frank said. "i'll hold onto the foot, and keep it in this position. i think that's the way it first slipped into the crack!" spanish joe eagerly obeyed. he groaned several times as he felt his leg hurt, but desperation lent him new determination; for if this attempt failed, as others had done, he believed that he was doomed. suddenly the foot came free. joe fell over on the ground, but his last groan turned into a cry of delight. it was almost comical to see how quickly he rolled over several times, so as to get away from the danger zone. frank, turning, clutched his companion, and also drew him back. it was none too soon, it seemed. as if the release of spanish joe might have been the signal for the groaning mountain to once again take up its strange action, they felt the quiver with which all the performances. seemed to begin. then the grumble commenced, rapidly advancing into a fearful stage, until bob could feel himself trembling violently because the rocks under him were moving. "there she comes!" cried frank. his words were drowned in a deafening crash close by. had peg grant been there he must have believed that the top of the mountain had blown off, and that fire and boiling lava would immediately begin to pour down the sides. but bob had not forgotten about that swaying rock. and he understood that it had fallen with a crash just at the spot where the three of them stood a minute before. "what a narrow escape!" exclaimed frank, after the clamor had in some measure died away again. "oh! i should say it was," echoed bob, feeling quite weak as he realized what must have happened to them had they not gotten away in time. "how about your leg, joe; can you walk?" asked frank, turning to the cowman, who was scrambling to his feet close by. "seems like i can, senor frank. but it was a close call for spanish joe. only for you coming, where would i be right now? let us get away from here!" exclaimed the man, limping around as he tried his crippled limb. "you are free to go, if you want, joe," remarked frank; "but bob and myself mean to stick it out. we came here to learn the cause of all this racket, and we'll do it, or know the reason why." "excuse me, _companero_, i know when i have had enough. this mountain is surely bewitched. there must be an evil spirit living inside. do i not know it? and even the door is guarded by demons that spring at a man and tear him. my clothes, once so handsome, senors, are torn into tatters, just because joe, he was fool enough to step into that black opening above!" frank started as he heard the mexican say this. it seemed to him that possibly here was a clue worth following up. "tell us what you mean, joe," he asked, quickly. "what black opening did you try to enter; and what happened to you, _amigo_? we have done you a service, saved your life, perhaps. in return, tell us this." "it is little enough, senor frank. up above, not more than seventy feet from here, lies a hole in the ground. i was looking for shelter from the storm, because senor peg wished it. i entered. hardly had i taken ten steps than something flew at me. i think it was a demon, for it had sharp claws, and i thought i could smell brimstone and sulphur. just then the mountain yawned, and what with the terrible noise, and having to fight off that unseen enemy, i climbed out of there fast, but with all my fine clothes ruined. that was why i came down the side of the mountain in such haste that i caught my foot. i thought that fury was chasing me. nothing in this wide world could tempt spanish joe to go back there. the storm, it is a joke besides that terror of the darkness!" if he expected to alarm frank, the mexican cowman mistook the character of the boy. frank believed that the fellow's fears had made him imagine more than half of what he declared had happened to him. "well, we leave you here, then, joe," the boy remarked, sturdily; "because we're going to find that cave, and see what lies inside it. if you want to come along, all right; if not _adios_!" he turned and started to climb, bob tagging at his heels. but spanish joe could not bring himself to accept the invitation. he looked after the disappearing figures of the two saddle boys, and shook his head. "no, not for joe," he muttered. "he knows when he has had enough. money could not drive him to enter there again, and meet that unseen thing. out here the danger can be understood, but joe he takes off his hat to the young senors; for grit they surely possess. _adios_, senor frank; but i doubt much whether we ever meet again." but staunch of heart, frank was leading the way upward, determined to accept of the challenge which the cowboy's due seemed to throw at his feet. chapter xvi the vent hole in the wall the way grew rougher with every yard they traversed. how spanish joe had come dashing down over this ground at headlong speed without breaking his neck was a puzzle. frank was feeling his way along carefully when he heard bob call his name. the rattle of falling shale at the same time gave him a pretty strong suspicion as to what had happened. "hello! what's the matter bob?" he cried. "i slipped, and fell over the edge of some sort of place here," came back the answer. "luckily i've managed to get hold of a rock and stopped my tumble. but don't waste any time lending me a hand, frank, because it seems to me i feel the thing move. if another quake comes it'll let me drop; and perhaps the ground may be a full dozen feet below." by this time frank had reached the edge of the drop. he remembered skirting it in climbing upward just a minute before; but had been more successful about doing so than bob, who was less accustomed to this kind of work. frank again had recourse to his handy match-safe. leaning over he struck a match on the face of the rock. immediately he drew a quick breath. it was not because he could see the face of his chum only a couple of feet away, as the latter clung to a spur of rocks; it was something else that thrilled him. as far down as his eyes could see there was only a black void! instead of the simple dozen feet mentioned by bob, the yawning precipice extended perhaps a full hundred feet downward! but there was no need of telling bob that it might alarm the boy and cause him to weaken, so that his grip would give way. frank was quick to understand what must be done. he could just touch the hand of his chum by bending far down; but that was not enough. instantly he wrapped one leg about a sturdy, if dwarfed, little cedar that chanced to grow at that very spot, as if designed for the very purpose to which he was putting it. then he was able to thrust himself still further down the face of the wall. "take hold, and grip like iron, bob," he managed to say. he felt the other obeying him, and thus they caught hold of hands. "now, try and dig your toes into the face of the wall if you can," frank went on, calmly, so far as bob could know. "it'll help me get you up. climb over me. i've got a leg around a cedar, and nothing can break away. now!" "say, perhaps you'd better let me drop down." said bob, thinking his comrade was going to unnecessary trouble in order to save him from a little jolt. "climb, i tell you!" snapped frank. "oh! all right, frank, if you say so," and bob started to obey. fortunately he was an agile lad, and a very fair climber, for the task which he had set himself was no ordinary one. but, by wriggling more or less, bob managed to finally get a grip on the cedar. after that it was easy work; and having succeeded in reaching solid ground himself, he aided the almost exhausted frank to draw back. "whew! that was some work, now, and all because i was so silly as to slip over the edge of that little hole!" remarked bob, as though disgusted with himself. "look here," said his chum; "lean over carefully, while i drop this match down." as he struck the match, and then cast it from him it went downward twenty, thirty, forty feet before it was extinguished. "ugh!" shuddered bob, "why, it must be all of a thousand feet down to the bottom, frank! it scares me just to think of the narrow escape i had." "well, i reckon it's all of one hundred feet," replied frank; "and that's enough to settle a fellow. but let's lie back here, and get our breath a bit before going on up. the cave can't be far off now, if what joe said is so." both of the boys were panting after their unusual exertion, and bob was glad of a chance to rest for even a brief time. besides, another burst of thunder was starting in, and he fancied that it was louder than any that had gone before; just as if they might be drawing closer to the place from whence all this clamor came. the cave that spanish joe had found and entered--could it have anything to do with the mystery of the mountain? frank seemed to think so, and was bent upon ascertaining the facts. "listen to that, frank?" shouted the kentucky lad in the ear of his mate, while the racket was at its height. "i can hear rocks dropping all around, just like the one did where joe was grabbed by the leg. do you think this always happens when the old mountain breaks loose; or is this an extra big celebration?" "i was trying to get that myself, bob," admitted frank; "but we can only guess at it, because you see, nobody's ever been up here when the thunder was rocking the whole range, and so we don't know. but, honest, now, i'm of the opinion this happens only once in a great while; else the mountain would have been racked to pieces long ago." "and just to think, we had the nerve to come here at a time when it was bound to do its worst," said bob. "glad of it," frank immediately returned. "it gives us a better chance to learn a few things worth while. i always did like to be in where the roping was fastest. are you feeling better, bob?" "oh! yes, i reckon i'm all right now," returned the other, rising. "ready to go on, then?" continued frank. "try me, that's all. if i turn tail and run, don't ever speak to me again," came the steady, but not boastful, answer. "good boy! all right, let's be off again; and be mighty careful how you move. there may be more of those drops lying around loose. and next time you mightn't be so lucky about grabbing a spur of rock." "that's so, frank. wow! but it makes me shiver to even think of it. talk about joe's narrow squeak, it wasn't any worse than mine," and bob started to crawl after his better-trained chum. two more evidences came to them of the violence of the unseen force that was making thunder mountain shake, before frank stopped to let his chum reach his side, so that he might exchange a few sentences. "looks like that might be the hole ahead," he ventured. "i can see something that seems blacker than the night itself; is that what you mean, frank?" asked bob. "yes," his chum continued. "when joe pointed up this way i took note of just the line, and followed it closely. that was why we came so near the precipice. and if that is the opening to the cave, we want to lie here and listen." "why, do you really believe the racket comes out of that hole?" demanded bob, astonished at the very idea of such a thing. "wait and see," replied the other, confidently. "in the meantime, here's our opportunity to pick up a few candles that will come in handy." they had come to a halt directly under a tree; and bob had already discovered that the ground was thickly strewn with broken branches. some of these were apt to be fat with the inflammable gum that exudes from certain species of cedar, and would, as frank said, make splendid torches. frank was already on his hands and knees searching for suitable ones; and as bob grasped the idea he, too, set to work. "i have four already; how do you stand?" asked frank, presently. "just as many--no, here's the fifth one, and the best of the lot," came the reply from the kentucky lad, who went into everything with ardor and enthusiasm. "that ought to do for us," frank went on. "and now, listen for all you're worth, because the war is on again!" lying there, bob heard what seemed to be the first signal. it was as though some giant hand had tapped the solid rock with his club. then faster came the blows, and more and more did the din increase, until it was fairly deafening. only for his intense eagerness to hear every sound bob might have been tempted to thrust his fingers into his ears in order to shut out the awful clamor. to him it seemed as though a thousand anvils were being beaten in chorus, with a few other minor chords thrown in for good measure. and what interested bob most of all, as he crouched there listening, was the fact that all this dreadful noise seemed to be coming directly from the spot where his comrade had pointed out as the opening of a cave. there was not the faintest trace of lightning accompanying the manifestation; and this proved, beyond all question of dispute, that the mystery connected with thunder mountain had nothing to do with an electrical storm. possibly the observing indians had many years ago discovered this same thing; and it had strengthened their belief that the great manitou spoke to his red children through the voice of the wonderful mountain. it took longer, this time, for the noise to die away; just as though, whatever its cause, there was increasing reluctance to subside again. "that was a screamer, sure enough!" said frank, when he could make himself heard above the declining roar. "and bob, you noticed, didn't you, that it seemed to come right out of that hole? all right, it begins to look now as if we were johnny on the spot, if we've got the nerve to push things. somewhere in there, bob, lies the explanation of the mystery. do we take the dare; or stay out here and wait till the fuss is over before entering?" bob possibly swallowed hard before replying. it was no easy thing for him to say the words that would thrust them up against so terrible a thing as this unknown peril awaiting them in the gloom of that crack of the great mountain. but his hesitation was brief. in fact, he only wanted to catch his breath, shut his teeth hard together, and summon his kentucky blood. "it's a go, frank!" he said, with determination in his voice; "the chance may never come to us again. let's go in, and discover for ourselves the secrets of the indian god they say is guarding thunder mountain. i'm ready, so lead on!" chapter xvii frank holds the hot stick "no hurry," said frank, who realized that his comrade was worked up to a high pitch of excitement, and thought it the part of wisdom to do something in order to quiet bob's nerves. "but if we've got to try it, frank, what's the use of waiting?" demanded the impetuous one. "well, for one thing, we don't want to be carrying these candles without making use of one, you see," replied frank, who was again getting out his handy matchsafe. "what a silly i am, to be sure," laughed bob; "why of course we want a light, if we're going to invade that den of the demon joe told us about. what do you think about that yarn, frank; did he meet up with anything; or was he just scared out of his seven senses? perhaps there's a strong current of air in that place, along with the noise, and that took hold of joe." "well, i wouldn't like to say," replied the other, cautiously. "this i do know, and i saw it with my own eyes. joe's fancy mexican jacket was torn nearly into ribbons; and i could see marks of blood, too." "whew! you don't say?" ejaculated bob. "then something _did_ get hold of him; didn't it, frank?" "looked like it," admitted the other. "his jacket was torn into ribbons, you said--then i reckon whatever tackled joe had pretty sharp claws, frank!" bob continued. "i thought as much myself. in other words, bob, the man was attacked by some wild beast that has its den in yonder. in the dark, with all that terrible noise going on, joe thought it was a monster from the underworld. if he keeps on telling that story, ten to one, after a while, he'll vow it had eyes of fire, and a tongue of blue flame. joe was frightened half to death, and a man in that condition gets to seeing things that never did exist. now, how's that?" while speaking frank had managed to light one of the cedar torches he carried. the wood burned readily, and with persistence. it would make a good substitute for a lantern. indeed, bob was enthusiastic over the success attending his chum's effort. "couldn't be beat, that's what!" he cried. "well, there's nothing to keep us now," declared frank. "but what can i do?" asked the other. "want me to light a torch too, frank?" "no, one ought to be enough. you fall in just behind me, and bob, perhaps you'd better keep your gun handy." "oh! you're thinking now of that demon joe told about, eh, frank?" "perhaps. if it jumps out at us give a center shot, if you can," the saddle boy advised, as he led the way forward toward the black spot which they had guessed must be the cave entrance spoken of by spanish joe. they were quickly at the wall, and had no difficulty in learning that, just as they had guessed, the yawning hole was there. frank, without the slightest hesitation, stepped through the opening. bob did likewise, holding his gun in readiness for immediate use. the light of the blazing torch lighted up the interior. they could see that, so far, there was nothing remarkable about the cave, save that it seemed to stretch away into dim distance, with various twists and curves. "what are you sniffing about, frank?" demanded bob, who, in the silence, heard what his comrade was doing. "i think i scent something, that's all," replied the other. "not brimstone and sulphur, i hope?" cried bob. "well, hardly," chuckled the other. "in fact, it seemed to me that it was only such an odor as you can always detect around the den of a wild beast!" "glory! then joe didn't dream it, after all; and there may be an old grizzly in this cave!" ejaculated bob. "not a grizzly," declared frank, quickly. "if anything, i think it must be a panther. but he may have left after attacking joe, so that we'll have no trouble with the beast." "i hope so," bob remarked, as he strove to look seven ways at once, keeping his finger on the trigger of his repeating rifle all the while. they were now advancing into the cave. "do you think joe had a torch?" asked bob, as a new idea came to him. "well, he isn't the man to take chances, and he couldn't help but see the good torch material at the door yonder. but the beast may have jumped on his back, so he lost his torch before he could see. and then he fought in the dark. joe has always been known as a hard fighter, and with his knife i reckon he could give a good account of himself. hello! see here!" bob started when his chum gave this sudden exclamation. "oh! i thought you had sighted the panther!" he gasped as he lowered the gun, which had, perhaps through mere instinct, gone up to his shoulder. frank was bending down. he held his torch in such a fashion that he could see better; and he appeared to be examining something on the rock. "what is it?" asked bob, eagerly; "footprints?" "no, just a little spot of blood," came the reply. "fresh, too, i can see," declared the tenderfoot, as he looked. "does that mean this is the exact place where joe had his little circus, frank?" "i reckon it is," replied the other. "then if that beast hasn't cleared out we might run across him before long!" remarked bob. "oh!" frank gave utterance to this cry. he had seen some object flash through the air, and knew it could be nothing else than the lithe body of a panther making a leap. the animal must have had a place of hiding close by, from which it had probably jumped upon the shoulders of spanish joe, and now sought to repeat that act. bob was struck by the descending body of the animal; and while he did not suffer serious injury from the blow, it jarred his arm, and caused him to drop his rifle. he instantly leaped forward to recover the weapon, but through chance picked it up by the end of the barrel. the panther had recovered, and was crouching as though to repeat its jump. only a yard lay between the fierce beast and the boy who held the gun. perhaps a veteran hunter would have proceeded to reverse the weapon, and discharge it without taking the trouble to throw the stock to his shoulder. but bob did not dream that he would be given enough time for all this. he saw the beast there close to him, and his first thought was to poke the butt of the rifle directly at its head, striking with all his force. the blow landed heavily, but as the beast gave way, bob lost his balance, and fell directly toward the panther. it looked as though the boy might be in for a terrible clawing, and so it must have turned out had he been alone. but he had a comrade close at hand who did not hesitate an instant about taking part in the affair. frank could not get at his gun, which was slung across his back; but he knew he had a better weapon than that in hand. wild animals dread fire above all things; and every lad brought up on the prairie knows this fact. suddenly frank brought down his torch upon the beast with all the force he was capable of using. there was a snarl and the animal jumped aside, evidently not fancying the closeness of the stick that burned. the lad again raised his torch, but evidently the panther had already endured quite enough of the conflict. it was bad enough fighting two human beings at a time; but when one of them persisted in belaboring him with such a hot weapon he drew the line. and so with a parting snarl, that was full of defiance and venom, the panther sprang back out of sight, departing just as silently as he had come. "that's just like the luck," grumbled bob. "what's the matter now?" asked frank, looking sharply to make sure that the treacherous beast did not sneak back in order to attack them from another quarter. "why, i'd just got my gun slewed around, and was ready to fire when he skipped out. i'd liked to have bagged him, i reckon. a grizzly and a panther, all on one trip, would be worth talking about." "oh! i don't know that you'd have been so very proud over it," observed frank. bob looked at him as he said this. "now, you've got some reason for making such a remark as that," he observed. "perhaps i have," answered his chum, nodding wisely. "then out with it, frank, and don't keep me wondering. besides, i reckon that we'll have another bellow from the old mountain at any time now." "i guess you didn't notice something queer about that animal, then, bob?" "about the panther, you mean?" came the reply. "well, to tell the honest truth i was knocked all in a heap when i missed hitting him, and didn't have time to bother looking at him close enough to see anything. but what was so funny about him, frank? did he have only one eye; or was he three-legged?" "oh! nothing of that sort," declared the other; "so far as i know he is in possession of all his members. it was about his neck." "what about it? did he have a rubber neck, you mean?" demanded bob, trying to be a little humorous so as to conceal the fact of his excitement. "the beast had a collar on!" frank remarked, positively; "and that means he must be the pet of somebody who has a hiding place in this cave!" chapter xviii a guess that hit the bullseye as frank made this astonishing declaration his chum looked blankly at him, the information having evidently surprised him not a little. "a tame panther, you mean, frank?" he exclaimed, weakly. "that's just what i'm hinting at," replied the other, positively. "with a collar around his neck, too?" murmured bob. "yes. i saw it as plain as i see you now," frank went on. "it was when i jumped forward, and gave him the first crack that made him fall away in a hurry. a collar that was broad and stout. why, bob, when he threw back his head to avoid punishment i could even see where a chain could be fastened, and the animal kept in confinement." "whew! but he acted like a wild one, all right," protested bob. "he sure did, bob; but that was because he had already been stirred up by the fight with spanish joe. i reckon the cowboy must have give him a few jabs with that handy knife he owns. anyhow, the panther was spoiling for a scrap, and didn't care a cent how many there were." "that was before you gave him his finish with that fire-stick, frank. didn't that knock the old chap silly, though? why, it took all the fight out of him, for a fact. he was the tame panther all right when he ran away, with his tail between his legs. think he'll tackle us again?" "no telling; but i don't believe the beast cares much for running against my torch again. it might pay for both of us, though, to keep on the watch," frank replied, always on the side of caution. "but i say, frank, is the fact that he's private property going to make any difference; that is, do i shoot straight if i get the chance again?" "well, i say yes," answered the other. "given half a chance and he'd maul us the worst way. no matter who's property he may be, i'd advise him to keep clear of haywood and archer. they're marked, dangerous--hands and claws off, but come along, bob; let's be moving." "wait, there it comes again, frank. don't you think we'd better lie down till the worst is over?" ventured bob, as he caught the opening notes of the mighty anvil chorus that would soon be in full blast. "well, now, perhaps that wouldn't be a bad idea, bob. suppose we do stretch out here, you facing one way and i another." the two crouched there. frank had thrust the torch into a crevice, for he wanted the use of both hands in gripping his rifle. if the wild beast guardian of the cave tried to attack them again, he felt that he would like to be in a position to shoot. "feel the wind, will you?" called bob, as the sounds mounted higher and higher. "i'm afraid our torch is going to be blown out," frank replied, pointing to the flaring light, which was being hard pressed by the suction that seemed to rush through the cave, heading always toward the mouth. "say, frank, the air feels wet!" shouted bob, while the racket was at its height. of course this was no special news to frank. he, too, had noticed the same thing, and mentally commented on it. and as it was in line with certain suspicions which he already entertained, he had felt amply repaid for taking such hazards in plunging into that black cave. then suddenly an extra strong blast put the torch out. "wow! there she goes, frank! what will we do now?" yelled bob, of course feeling a new uneasiness because of the intense darkness, the presence of an angry animal near by, and the general air of mystery that hung over the scene. "nothing. just wait till the storm blows by; and then we'll light up again," was what frank shouted back at him. already it was diminishing. like the receding waves of the great ocean the uproar died down, growing fainter with each pulsation. and finally there came again the silence that in one way was almost as dreadful as the clamor; during which frank proceeded to light the torch again, though not without some difficulty. "frank, you felt that wet sensation, like fine spray, didn't you?" demanded bob, as soon as he could speak with comfort. "why, touch your face right now; and you'll find it moist. whatever can it mean?" "i think i know," frank said, slowly. "i suspected it before, and this seems to make it look more than ever that way." "do you mean that you've guessed what makes all that frightful noise?" asked bob, astonished. "i believe i have," came the reply. "and it has to do with this misty feeling in the air; has it?" continued the kentucky boy. "if my idea proves the right one, and i'm bound to find out before i go away from this place, it's got everything to do with it, bob." "where there's smoke you'll find fire; and where there's mist i reckon water can be looked for," remarked bob, quickly. "just so. now bob, have you ever been up in the yellowstone park region?" "i can't say that i have, frank." "then you see i've got the advantage over you; and that's what gave me a point in the game. because i've stood and watched old faithful and the other great geysers play every half hour or so," frank went on, as they slowly advanced into the passage which seemed possibly to act as one of many funnels through which the tremendous roaring sound was carried to the outside world. "geysers!" cried bob. "oh! now i get onto what you mean. you think, then, that in the heart of thunder mountain a giant geyser spouts every once in a while; and that as the water is dashed against the rocky walls it makes the ground shake. is that it, frank?" "yes," replied the other, "and the noise is so like thunder that when it is forced out through several queer, funnel-shaped openings like this one, it has puzzled the indians for hundreds of years. bob, more than that, i believe that every once in so many years, when an extra convulsion shakes things up here, the water bursts out through some passage, and rushes down that _barranca_ in a wave perhaps twenty feet high." "but they call it a cloud burst, frank," suggested bob. "i know they do, but still i stick to my idea," frank went on. "and this promises to be an extra strong outburst. nick said so anyhow; didn't he, frank?" bob queried, a new anxiety in his tone. "just what he did. you're wondering now, that if what i said is true, whether this passage right here is one of those through which all that water dashes, on its way to the rocky _barranca_?" "yes, that's the truth. how about it? could you see any signs here to tell about that?" "i suppose i could if they were here, but i don't discover any. besides, i thought of that before we entered, and i give you my word that i don't believe any big volume of water ever went out through here. it couldn't do it and not leave some sign behind." bob heaved a big sigh. "well, i'm right glad to hear you say that, frank, seeing that we're so far in now, we wouldn't have any chance to escape if it came along. whew! i wouldn't like being carried through here, and shot out of the muzzle like a bullet. but seems to me the place is getting bigger right along, frank." "just what it is. now you can see how like the neck of a bottle the cave is; and i think that has had a heap to do with the way that thunder noise gets loose. why, they say that some days, or nights, it can be heard more than twelve miles away. i've seen navajo injuns drop flat on their faces, and lie there all the time we could hear the distant thunder in a clear sky over our way." "but is it possible that some hermit is living in this cave?" asked bob, thinking that it must be a queer sort of person who would remain where he must listen to such fearful sounds every once in a while. "i told you to notice when we heard the noise the first time," frank went on; "while we were in camp on the plain, that the night was clear, and the wind almost in the southeast. well, i made sure that it was in exactly the same quarter tonight when we were climbing the mountain. that means something, bob." "to you; but to me it's only a blank," admitted the tenderfoot, regretfully. "i fancy that the direction of the wind has something to do with the working of this queer old geyser in the heart of thunder mountain. it only rears up when the wind is in the southeast, as it is now. but say, you said something about a hermit just now?" "i only said i thought it strange a fellow could live here through all the racket, year in and year out, just to get away from his kind," bob remarked. at that frank laughed. "but what if he had a big object in it, bob? what if some daring prospector, taking his life in his hands, had plunged into one of these caves of the winds, this one right here, for instance, and struck it rich. gold will make men do nearly anything. i've seen 'em go crazy over finding a nugget, or yellow sand in their pan. don't you see what i mean, bob? have you forgotten little lopez, and how frightened he looked when we spoke about keeping him company?" bob uttered a cry that might stand for either astonishment or delight, perhaps both. "frank, it just takes you to see through the mill stone, even if it hasn't got any hole in it," he declared. "i understand what you mean now. little lopez has been coming here for a year or more, always bringing supplies. perhaps he carries away the gold dust the miner has gathered in that time, and no one the wiser. it has all been a dead secret. and the terror of the indians for this haunted mountain, as well as the way the cowboys leave it alone, has helped this bold miner. frank, your shot hit the bull's eye, and who knows but what we may be on the way to find out the truth right now?" chapter xix the working of the gold lode "now you know what i think, bob; but after all i may be on the wrong track," said frank, after his companion had expressed himself so freely. "of course," bob went on saying; "but all the same i don't think you are. after you've shown me, it's just like that egg columbus stood up on end, after cracking the shell a bit--as easy as jumping off a log, once you know how. but now we're in here, i hope we find out the truth soon, don't you, frank?" "honest now, bob, i don't care how quick it comes," replied his chum, frankly. "this is a terrible place, with panthers hanging around, and that thunder banging to beat the band every minute or so. i'm only wondering, frank, what would become of us if that old geyser should take a notion to explode suddenly, and flush every avenue out of the heart of the mountain." "don't mention it, please," frank answered, with a shrug of his shoulders. "if such a thing happened we wouldn't know what hurt us, i'm afraid." "huh! some consolation in that, anyhow," grunted bob. "if a fellow has to go up against the buzz-saw, the sooner it's over the better." "but nothing of the kind is going to happen," frank insisted; "and you want to get the idea clean out of your head. we're making fine progress, and any minute, now, i expect we'll run across the party who occupies this cave." "but every time the blowout comes, away goes our light; and another spouting is about due now, i reckon," ventured bob. "i've got an idea i may be able to save the torch," frank remarked. "i don't know just how it's going to work; but anyhow the thing's worth trying." "then here comes your chance," his chum called. as before, the grumbling began with an earth tremor. it was as though some giant, whose mighty limbs were shackled, was trying to break loose; and in so doing made things near him tremble. rapidly the noise increased, until it became terrifying. bob had dropped flat, and cowered there, almost holding his breath with awe. not so frank, in whose care was the burning torch. he had whipped off his coat at the first sign of the disturbance. this he hastily arranged so as to partially protect the burning brand. of course in such a violent draught the suction was enough to make the flame flare and flicker until at one time frank feared it could not stand the struggle. but just as he was ready to give up the attempt, the furious wind seemed to slacken. bob raised his head to see the torch still burning, and it soon recovered its full capacity for illumination. "bully!" he exclaimed, beginning to rise from his position of hugging the rocky floor of the cave; "you did it that time, frank. but hurry up, and get your coat on. gee! but this air feels chilly in here, and damp too!" frank had found that out for himself. he was even shivering; and made haste to don his jacket. "now let's be moving while we have the chance," he said. "i hope that before the next rush comes we'll sight what we're looking for." perhaps his sharp eyes had discovered certain signs that told him they were near the working part of the cave. men cannot mine a lode of precious ore without leaving many traces behind to tell of their presence. and the stream of clear water that passed across the place seemed to offer a splendid chance for panning any golden treasure that might be found in the shape of soft quartz. now and again frank would place the torch behind him. bob wondered what he did this for until he saw his chum bending his head forward as though endeavoring to discover what lay ahead. then he realized that the light blinded him while it was before his eyes, and he sought to avoid the trouble in this way. "there's another bend ahead, bob," frank remarked, presently. "yes?" said the kentucky lad, eagerly, suspecting what was coming. "and i can see signs of light at the curve," frank went on. "hurrah! everything seems to be coming out just as you figured, frank. when i get back to the ranch i'm going to write to the president, proposing that he put you in charge of the weather bureau. every old farmer will know then when to look out for storms." "well, we may be in for one now," observed frank, dryly. "look here, you mean something by that remark," bob cried. "do you expect we're going to have a peck of trouble with these miners?" "i don't know. it all depends on what sort of men they are," frank replied. "but we wont let 'em drive us out of here until we know all about that geyser, if there is such a thing; will we, frank?" "well, i reckon it won't take a great deal of driving to get both of us out; but of course i do hope we'll learn something about the real cause of all this awful racket. are you ready to turn the bend, bob?" "sure," and the kentucky boy ranged alongside his chum, by this movement plainly indicating that he did not mean to let frank take any more risk than he himself was ready and willing to assume. no sooner had the two saddle boys turned the bend in the passage than they saw a singular spectacle. a couple of lanterns were hung from wooden pins driven in the wall. these lights, being protected by glass, could safely resist the tremendous suction that accompanied each successive convulsion, as the rocks trembled, and the air swept through toward the outer exit. only two figures were in sight--a man and a boy. in the latter they recognized little lopez, the hero of the adventure with the grizzly; and if their suspicions proved true also, the little girl whom bob had rescued from the anger of the bully, peg grant. the man was a rugged specimen, with long, iron-gray hair. frank recognized him as lemuel smith, whom he remembered to have met several years ago when in a border town with his father. smith had always been a rolling stone, a prospector who spent his time in hunting new strikes, and who lived year in and year out in the wild hope of sometime or other hitting it rich. frank suddenly remembered that smith had had one daughter, who, he believed, had married a mexican. and that would make the little girl his grand-daughter. "they're packing up," remarked frank, whose quick eye had noticed the fact. "perhaps he's done his work here, and means to vamoose the ranch," bob suggested. "then again," he added, as another thought raced through his brain, "maybe he doesn't altogether like the looks of things, and wants to get out of this rat-hole before it all goes to smash. he must have been here a long time, and ought to know something about that geyser, frank." "there, they have discovered us!" the other exclaimed, as he waved his torch in what he meant to be a friendly way, and kept on advancing. "whew! i just hope he doesn't try to fire on us," muttered bob, who was nervously fingering his rifle, and wondering how dreadful it would feel to be compelled, even in self-defense, to shoot at a fellow human being. but the old miner held up both hands. it was the indian peace sign, understood by every savage tribe on the face of the globe. quickly the two boys hurried forward, for the first symptoms of another burst of thunder and furious wind began to make themselves felt. this time frank did not take off any of his outer clothing in order to protect the torch. he had noted that the old miner had _two_ lanterns, and he expected to borrow one, if necessary. of course his torch was snuffed out while the furious blast swept by. bob noted that each successive outbreak tried to beat the record, and he was wondering just when the limit of endurance might be reached. the old miner, after the roar had subsided, offered the two boys his hand. "how are ye, young haywood?" he asked, recognizing frank. "i heard about what you done for my little gal here, inez lopez, whose father was once a cowboy on the circle ranch, and lost his life in a fight with some of his countrymen when they quarreled. i'm glad to see you. found a nice little pocket here a year or so back. kept it on the quiet; and the gal, playing the part of a boy, has been fetchin' me supplies once in two months, an' takin' away the dust i winnowed. pocket's played out now, but i reckons as how i've got plenty. 'sides, i just don't like the way things is agoin' here. that spoutin' geyser that rises up inside the old mountain every once in a while acts like it meant to break loose. never saw it carry on that bad before; and we're just ready to cut and run, leavin' most of the truck behind. what brings ye here, frank?" so frank had to explain in a few words, while the old miner looked admiringly at the boys, and grinned. "i admire your nerve, young fellers," he declared, at the conclusion of the explanation. "and, frank, ye guessed the true facts, blessed if ye didn't! i got onto the same by accident. fell in through a hole, and just had to creep along this passage to the end. then havin' guessed what made the roar, i wondered if so be i could find any stuff in here. so i took a lot of wood along, and made my discovery." "and you say you're bound out now?" asked frank. "that's what we are, little lopez and me; and we can't get to the open any too soon, either, to please both of us," smith replied, shouldering his pack. "oh! say, mr. smith," cried bob, "have you lost a pet that wears a collar?" "meanin' my pet painter, nero, i take it," replied the miner. "i raised him up from a cub, and he's as fond of me as my dog. but he's gone somewhar. we ain't seen him for hours, and like as not the critter knowed it was gettin' dangerous in here. trust animal sense for that. but wait till this next whoop gets by, and then we'll make for the door. here's hopin' we'll all be smart enough to get to the open. bend your backs to the wind, boys; ye wont feel it so much then," and all of them carried out his instructions as, with a rapidly rising roar, the spouting geyser that played in the heart of thunder mountain again started to break loose. chapter xx trapped in a canyon once the little party started toward the opening, they made rapid progress. the turmoil was at their backs, for one thing. then, again, each time the noise broke forth it seemed so much worse than before, that every one felt anxious to get beyond the portal of the cave before the climax came. and when finally this opened before them, bob drew a long sigh of relief. "glory!" he burst out. "maybe i'm not glad we've arrived! but i reckon your pet, nero, has skipped, mr. smith, or he would have come out when you and the little lopez passed. sorry for you; but perhaps it's just as well for the rest of us; because you see the fellow might have had it in for us." so they passed into the outer air. "seems pretty much the same as when we left," remarked bob, as he stared up at the dark sky against which they could see the rocky crown of thunder mountain dimly outlined. "why, what did you expect?" asked frank. "i didn't know but what some of that thunder might be the genuine article, and we'd find the rain coming down to beat the band. glad it isn't, because we want to get down from this to where our horses are." "little lopez has our burro and bronco quartered in a small ravine where they can't escape," remarked the old miner, as he handed frank the lantern he had been carrying, the girl taking the other. "but would they be in danger in case of a storm-burst?" asked bob. "we counted on that when we arranged the exit by piling up stones," came the ready reply. "there is little danger, for the ravine has high banks, where they are able to go in case of hard luck. but now we have a tough job ahead, boys. mind your steps all the time. a slip might cost you dear." "reckon i know that, mr. smith," remarked bob. "i've had experience, you see. and only for the helping hand of my trusty chum here, i'm afraid i wouldn't be alive right now. oh! i'll be careful, i give you my word." and he was, seldom putting a foot forward without first making certain how the land lay below, and that the stone he expected to step upon was firmly planted. they were making fair progress when the old miner called out: "we've reached the parting of the ways, boys. little lopez and me have to turn to the left here, so as to hit the place whar our animals are cached. you keep right on. wish you the best of luck, frank. hope to see you some time at my shack. and i tell ye, son, thar's agoin' to be a ranch soon, with hosses for the gal, an' an ottermobile for the old couple. i struck it rich in this here lode and pocket. so-long, boys!" he shook hands with each of them, as did also the girl, whose astonishing nerve, when facing that terrible grizzly, bob would never forget. then they separated. and a minute afterward there came another of those fearful shocks that seemed to make the very rocks of the mountain quiver, as the pent-up force of that great geyser beat against its prison walls. "we must be getting down somewhere near the canyon, aren't we, frank?" asked bob, after they had been a long while descending the side of the rough mountain. "that's right, we are," replied his chum. "and i've been wondering whether we ought to take the chances of going along that _barranca_ just now." "it's the shortest way to where we left our horses, i reckon," remarked bob. "and the only way we happen to know of," frank went on; "but if that flood just happened to break loose while we were between those high walls we'd have an experience that would be fierce, let me tell you!" "but then, it may not come for hours yet?" remonstrated the kentucky boy, who was anxious to be once again in the saddle, and leaving the haunted mountain well in the rear. "oh! for that matter, it may not come at all," frank went on. "although smith did say he really believed that this was going to finish the old geyser, which he believed empties into one of those queer underground rivers we know are to be found all through the southwest. and smith ought to know something about it, for he's been watching this business a whole year now, from close quarters." "i'm willing to take the chances, if you are," declared bob. frank was not at all surprised when he heard his chum say this. he knew that the kentucky boy was apt to be rash; and that meant more caution on his part, in order to counteract this spirit, that might border on recklessness. a quick decision had to be made, for delay could do them no good. he cast one last look up at the dark heavens, as though questioning how long they might remain mute. "all right, we'll risk it, bob," he declared, suddenly; for even if the worst came frank believed he knew how to avoid a calamity. "good for you, frank!" exclaimed the other; but bob understood the nature of the risk they were taking, and he was not quite so buoyant as usual. the canyon was just below them now, and fortunately there seemed a narrow bit of slope down which they might make their way. this they did with considerable difficulty. indeed, bob was secretly sorry, after they had started, that he had urged his companion to take this step; but there could be no going back now. finally, after several slips, and more or less excitement, they managed to gain the bottom of the canyon. "say, i don't remember this place any, frank!" declared bob, as he stared about him as well as he could by the flickering light of the lantern which his companion still carried, and which had served them well through all their descent. "for a mighty good reason," replied frank. "we were never here before." "but this is the same old turtle crawl, isn't it; the _barranca_ we followed up to the time we climbed the slope with our horses?" bob asked. "it sure is, only a lot farther along, bob. notice how the walls tower upon each side. i knew something about this, and that was why i held back when you wanted to come down here. but let's hurry. we've got to make that slope as soon as we can." "supposing the thing broke loose before we could find any place to climb out?" suggested bob, looking up again with awe, as he stumbled along after his chum, who was already hurrying down the canyon. "we might try to outrun it first," frank replied, over his shoulder. "and if that didn't work, what then?" the other continued. "nothing left but to climb the walls, bob." "whew! then perhaps i'd better be keeping an eye out as we go along, and see how the land lies?" suggested the boy from kentucky. "a good idea, bob. just notice where the chances look half-way decent for a climb. and remember, at the same time, that the wave may be all of thirty feet deep when it sweeps through here." "you don't say? that would mean some hustling then to get up out of reach, frank." "i reckon it would. look out for that nasty rock; it nearly tripped me, bob." "what was that flash, frank? don't tell me it was lightning, real lightning, and that the long delayed storm is going to break right now, when it's got us cooped up in this hole?" "it was lightning, all right. there, that proves it!" frank's words were drowned in a crash of genuine thunder that made the foundations of the mountain shake just as much as the mad efforts of the imprisoned geyser had ever done. "no mistake about that sort of thing," cried bob, as he stumbled along after his chum. "there it comes again, frank. i guess i'd better be picking out a good way up the wall somewhere, for it looks like we'd have to climb!" frank was doubtless sizing up the situation in his mind. he was also listening for some sound which he expected to hear, but which was going to prove a very unwelcome one. "no use going any further, bob, if so be you've seen anything that looks promising here," he declared, when the reverberations of the thunder had ceased to echo through the canyon. "then you think we're going to get caught here, frank?" questioned the other. "i'm afraid to take the chances of keeping on any further. it may be a long run to the next broken wall, that offers us a chance to climb. some places the sides go up as smooth as glass. have you see an opening here, bob?" "yes, yes, right on the left, frank!" exclaimed bob, eagerly. "i couldn't see so very far up, but it looks good to me." frank turned his gaze up to where his comrade pointed. "i think it's rough as far as that ledge," he said; "and let us hope that will be out of the reach of the water. come on, bob; let's see how you can climb; but be careful, boy, be mighty careful!" "frank, that roaring sound didn't seem like the others we've been hearing; d'ye think it means anything has happened?" bob called, as he started to clamber up the rough face of the wall, taking advantage of every jutting rock, and showing a nimbleness a mountain goat might almost have envied. "i reckon it does, bob," replied the other. "get along as fast as you can with all caution." "has the cloudburst arrived?" demanded bob, who was already ten feet from the floor of the canyon. "either that, or else with that last shock the geyser burst its bonds, and the flood smith expected is rushing out from all the passages into this same channel! perhaps both things have happened at the same time," frank replied. "wow! then we'd better be climbing some, i reckon, if that's the case!" cried the kentucky boy, as he increased his efforts to ascend to the ledge. chapter xxi a close call "it's sure coming down on us, frank!" cried bob, shortly, as he caught a strange mixture of terrifying sounds. "climb!" shouted back the other; for he knew they would have about all they could do to reach the shelf of rock before the mighty wave swept through that narrow channel between the high walls of the canyon, with a force utterly irresistible. bob was doing his best. he realized that the ledge was just above his head now, and also how necessary it was that they reach it before the rushing flood arrived to fill the gap. now his eager fingers clutched the edge, and he strove to pull himself up higher. but his breath was exhausted from his violent efforts, and the excitement attending the occasion. bob realized that the torrent was very close at hand. its roar dinned in his ears so that he could hear nothing else. the rocks seemed to be quivering under the impact of the released forces. he felt a cold shiver pass over him as he was seized with a dreadful fear that the rock to which he clung was giving way. then something seized him by the back of the neck, and bob found himself being helped up to a firm foundation. frank had succeeded in gaining the ledge ahead of his chum; and naturally enough his first thought was to assist bob. panting, and completely exhausted, bob lay there on the shelf of rock. he could look down, and when the lightning played, see the oncoming of that foam-crested bank of mad waters that rushed pell mell down the canyon. now it was speeding past them, rising higher and higher with each second, until a new fear began to grip at bob's anxious heart. he dreaded lest the wave might attain such a height that he and his chum would be swept from their perch, to be carried away, helpless victims on the crest of the flood. it was raining now, in sheets. the boys were quickly soaked to the skin; but neither of them paid the least attention to this fact, which, after all, was of minor importance. "frank, do you think it's going to reach up here?" called bob, as he watched the rising line of water come within three feet of the ledge. "i hope not," came the reply, and then bob saw that his chum was moving along the ledge looking carefully above as though in hopes of finding it possible to climb higher, in case of necessity. "any chance of getting up the rocks, frank?" he asked again, a minute later. "mighty little, bob," replied the other, dropping beside him; "how's the water coming along?" "less'n two feet from us now, and still rising," reported bob, disconsolately. "but it comes slowly, you notice," frank declared, with hope in his voice. "i could just touch it the last time the lightning played; now i can put my hand clear in it!" bob called, uneasily. another minute passed. the lightning was of considerable assistance to the trapped saddle boys, for it enabled them to see. frank had lost his lantern during the climb, as it was torn from his belt by a rock he struck; so that only for this heavenly illumination they must have been in utter darkness. and when peril threatens it is some satisfaction at least to see the worst. "now it's only one foot down, frank!" cried bob. "that's so," replied the other, instantly; "but i reckon it's about reached its limit. you see, the higher it rises the broader the channel becomes, and that takes a heap of the water. bob, cheer up, i'm nearly sure it won't reach the ledge!" "oh! don't i hope it won't!" cried the kentucky boy, a little hysterically; for his nerves had indeed been sorely tried during this night. five minutes more passed, during which the torrent continued to rush downward through the gorge with all the attendant clamor. "it's at a stand!" shouted frank, who had himself been making soundings with his hand. "and only six inches from the shelf!" echoed bob. "that's what you could call a close call; eh, frank?" "it sure is, old fellow," replied the prairie boy, himself more relieved than his words would indicate; for he had discovered, during his brief search, that there was absolutely no hope of ascending any farther up that blank wall. "shake hands, frank! we're as lucky as ever, i tell you!" said bob; and when their hands clasped neither of them thought it strange that he could feel the other trembling. "well, what are we going to do about it?" asked bob, when some time had passed, and the flood still rushed through the canyon, although in diminished fury. "i don't know that we can do anything except camp out right here on this rock-shelf, and wait for the storm to pass by," replied frank. "even if it takes till morning?" bob went on. "nothing else left to us; and morning won't be so very long coming, perhaps, bob. you notice, don't you, that the thunder now is about all natural?" "well, that's a fact," declared bob. "the geyser has stopped beating against the inside of the mountain, hasn't it? got tired of the job, and quit for another rest, perhaps." "i've got my idea about that," frank said "you can see how the water is still rushing along down there. it must be nearly ten feet deep, and for some time, now, i don't believe it's varied. don't you understand what that means, bob?" "good gracious! do you mean that the old geyser has turned into a river, and will keep on running like this right along?" cried the other. "looks that way to me," frank replied. "it is a great big syphon, and once started, the water that has for centuries been wasting in some underground stream is now flowing down this canyon. perhaps long ago it did this same thing, till some upheaval--an earthquake it might have been--turned things around." "but i say, frank!" bob exclaimed; "if what you tell me turns out to be true, it looks as if we were bottled up in a nice hole, doesn't it? we can't get up any farther; and if we go down we'll just have to swim in a torrent that'll knock us silly. this is what i call tough!" "oh! don't look a gift horse in the mouth, bob. this is a pretty good sort of a shelf after all; and we'll be glad to stick to it till morning comes. time enough then to plan what we're going to do to get away." "that's right, and i'm ashamed of complaining," the taller lad burst out. "it is a grand old shelf; and if i wasn't afraid of rolling off i believe i could even snatch a few winks of sleep, wet clothes or not." "oh! i'll prop you up with some loose rocks if you want to try it," declared frank; "but the chances are you'll get to shivering. better sit up, and whack your arms around as i'm doing every little while. it makes the blood circulate, you see, and keeps you from going to pieces." bob saw the wisdom of this advice. he was beginning to shudder every minute or so. they were up the side of the mountain a considerable distance; and after the electrical storm the air had changed from hot to cold. time passed very slowly. every now and then the boys would go through that motion of slapping their arms across their chests; and it never failed to start the chilled blood into new life. "was there ever such a long night?" groaned bob, as he stretched his neck for the thirtieth time to look up at the narrow strip of sky that could be seen between the overhanging walls of the canyon, in hopes of discovering signs of the coming dawn. "it won't be long now," said frank, who carried a little watch along with him, and had several times struck a match to consult its face. "one good thing, bob; it has cleared up. you can see the stars overhead." "yes, and how bright they look from here in this black hole. how long did you say now, frank?" asked the anxious and weary bob, yawning. "half an hour ought to see us through, and bring daylight." "but frank, that river is still running below us. however in the wide world will we get out of this?" asked bob. "no use crossing till you get to the bridge," laughed frank. "just you make up your mind there's going to be some way open for us to get out of this. and if the worst comes, i'm a boss swimmer, remember, bob." after another spell of waiting the kentucky lad cried out: "i believe it's getting light! yes, you can see things now that were hid before!" the morning came. overhead the sun shone, for they could see that the sky was clear. and looking down they saw the rushing torrent that had not filled the bed of the canyon for perhaps centuries back. when another hour had elapsed bob began to grow impatient, and suggested various wild schemes for getting out of the difficulty. to all of these frank shook his head. he himself was considering something, when he suddenly lifted his head as though listening. "some one shouting up yonder!" exclaimed bob, pointing upward to the top of the canyon wall; whereupon frank seized upon his gun, and fired several shots in rapid succession. then came answering shouts, upon which frank repeated his signal for help. "they hear you; they're coming closer! oh! frank, i believe that's old hank coombs hollering!" exclaimed the excited bob. "hello! down there, air ye all safe?" came a hail; and looking up the two boys on the shelf saw the grizzled head of the old cowman thrust into view. chapter xxii once more at circle ranch--conclusion after all, it was not a very great task, getting the two saddle boys up from the friendly shelf. old hank lowered his lariat; and after bob had slipped the loop under his arms, he was pulled to safety. then frank followed. they found that hank had half a dozen cowboys with him, some of the most daring connected with circle ranch. overtaken by the storm while at the base of the mountain, they had waited for daylight, and then started afoot to make the ascent. the presence of the new river in the bed of the long empty _barranca_ astonished these cowmen exceedingly. and when they heard all that the boys had to tell they were almost of the opinion that they must have been dreaming. but there was the evidence before their very eyes, and nobody could deny that the old-time river, that had been bottled up underground for so long, had finally found a way to break forth once more, aided by the geyser that for a century had beaten that tremendous tattoo every little while against the inner walls of the rocky mountain. "then there won't be no more racket, will there?" old hank asked, as he lay there, looking down at the rushing current of the new stream that would no doubt readily follow its long abandoned course, until it reached the distant colorado, somewhere along the grand canyon. "the chances are against it," replied frank. "but let's try and find our horses," bob suggested, after he had finished eating what food the newcomers had taken the pains to prepare for the lost ones. "yes, i'm anxious myself to find out how buckskin's weathered the gale," frank put in. the two horses were found in good shape, but glad to once more see their masters, if the whinnies that greeted the coming of frank and bob might be looked upon as evidence of this. and then another difficult task awaited them. to get the animals down to the level plain, now that the canyon was out of commission, taxed the ingenuity of even so expert a plainsman as hank coombs; but it was finally accomplished. then the horses of the cowboys were found, and the entire party started for the distant ranch, expecting to complete their jaunt before sundown. old hank was deeply interested in what the boys had to tell about the band of rustlers passing, with all the led horses. "didn't git 'em from our ranch," he declared; "an' i reckons the x-bar-x must 'a suffered; or it might be the arrowhead, over on the creek, was the one. but if so be pedro mendoza has been usin' that canyon to cross over the range with his stolen cattle an' horses, he'll hev to go further away now to do the same, 'cause his road's a rushin' river." "we sure have had a great time of it," declared bob, as they came in sight of the buildings of the ranch, and heard the loud calls of the cowboys who were driving some of the stock in from the range, to get it ready for shipment later. "yes, and think what we found out," frank pursued. "first of all the mystery of thunder mountain is known, and from this time on those roaring sounds will never again be heard." "and the indians will be wondering why the great spirit is angry with his red children, so that he refuses to speak to them," bob continued. "and then there is that little affair about lopez," frank remarked, smiling at the recollection. "we have learned who lopez is, and what his grandfather, lemuel smith, was doing in that cave. think of peg and his two guides getting out of the region without finding out a thing!" "say won't they be just as mad as hops, though, when they learn about what we saw and heard," chuckled bob. "it's been a great time, all right. and frank, we'll never again have anything like the fun we had in that old _barranca_. it makes my blood just jump through my veins to think of it." "you're right," said frank, "i don't believe we ever will!" but like many other persons who cannot look ahead even one hour, and know what the future holds for them, both the saddle boys were very much mistaken. there were plenty of stirring adventures awaiting them ere many weeks had passed, some of which will be related in the next volume of this series, called "the saddle boys in the grand canyon; or, the hermit of the cave." and those of our boy friends who have found more or less interest in the present story of life in the far southwest, will doubtless be glad to read more of the doings of frank haywood and his brave kentucky chum, bob archer. that peg and his guides reached home safely frank knew shortly, when he happened to meet the bully on the trail. peg was eager to hear at first hand all that had happened, and made friendly overtures with that design in view; but this did not deceive frank in the least. he realized that peg was more bitter than ever, and believed that if the opportunity ever came the bully would not hesitate to do anything that he thought would annoy the chums. frank had also found that the prospector, smith, and his little mexican granddaughter, had reached home in safety. the successful lode hunter purchased a ranch; and when frank met him some time later he was riding around the country in a fine automobile, buying stock. inez was with him, and never again would the brave little girl have to dress as a boy in order to carry supplies up into the canyons of the mountains. thunder mountain never again uttered a sound of warning. the indians marveled much, and consulted their greatest medicine men as to why the voice of manitou called no more. but the whites knew; and a load was thereby taken from the mind of many a superstitious cowboy, who, when watching his charges through the vigils of the night, could look toward the rocky height without that feeling of uneasiness that had always been present when he believed the mountain to be haunted. the end transcriber's note obvious typographical errors have been corrected. a list of corrections is found at the end of the text. inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been maintained. a list of inconsistently spelled and hyphenated words is found at the end of the text. oe ligatures have been expanded. [illustration: zebra strapped up.] horse-taming--horsemanship--hunting. a new illustrated edition of j. s. rarey's art of taming horses; with the substance of the lectures at the round house, and additional chapters on horsemanship and hunting, for the young and timid. by the secretary to the first subscription of five thousand guineas, author of "gallops and gossips," and hunting correspondent of the "illustrated london news." london: routledge, warnes, and routledge, farringdon street. . [_the right of translation is reserved._] contents. chapter i. page mr. rarey's pamphlet first published in ohio.--experience of old system.--compiled and invented new.--tying up the fore-leg known many years ago, _see_ stamford almanack.--forgotten and not valued.--reference to captain nolan's and colonel greenwood's works on horsemanship.--dick christian missed the discovery.--baucher's plan of laying down a horse explained.--mademoiselle isabel's whip-and-spur plan.--account of the irish whisperer dan sullivan.--usual modes of taming vicious horses.--starving.--physic.--sleepless nights.--bleeding.--biting the ear.--story of kentish coachman.--the ellis system.--value of the rarey system as compared with that of ordinary horse-tamers.--systems of australia and arabia compared.--the south american plan explained.--a french plan.--grisoné the neapolitan's advice.--the discovery of mr. rarey by mr. goodenough.--visit to canada.--to england.--lord alfred paget.--sir richard airey.--system made known to them.--to mr. jos. anderson.--messrs. tattersall.--sir matthew ridley's black horse tamed.--subscription list of opened.--stafford tamed.--description of.--teaching commenced with lords palmerston, granville, &c.--cruiser tamed.--history of.--enthusiastic crowd at cruiser exhibition.--system approved by the earl of jersey and sir tatton sykes.--close of first subscription list.--anecdote of mr. gurney's colt--personal sketch of mr. rarey chapter ii. mr. rarey's introduction.--remarks on chapter iii. the three fundamental principles of the rarey theory.--heads of the rarey lectures.--editor's paraphrase.--that any horse may be taught docility.--that a horse should be so handled and tied as to feel inferior to man.--that a horse should be allowed to see, smell, and feel all fearful objects.--key note of the rarey system chapter iv. how to drive a colt from pasture.--how to drive into a stable.--the kind of halter.--experiment with a robe or cloak.--horse-taming drugs.--the editor's remarks.--importance of patience.--best kind of head-stall.--danger of approaching some colts.--hints from a colonel of the life guards chapter v. powell's system of approaching a colt.--rarey's remarks on.--lively high-spirited horses tamed easily.--stubborn sulky ones more difficult.--motto, "fear, love and obey."--use of a whalebone gig-whip.--how to frighten and then approach.--use kind words.--how to halter and lead a colt.--by the side of a horse.--to lead into a stable.--to tie up to a manger.--editor's remarks.--longeing.--use and abuse of.--on bitting.--sort of bit for a colt.--dick christian's bit.--the wooden gag bit chapter vi. taming a colt or horse.--rarey's directions for strapping up and laying down detailed.--explanations by editor.--to approach a vicious horse with half door.--cartwheel.--no. strap applied.--no. strap applied.--woodcuts of.--how to hop about.--knot up bridle.--struggle described.--lord b.'s improved no. strap.--not much danger.--how to steer a horse.--laid down, how to gentle.--to mount, tied up.--place and preparations for training described chapter vii. the drum.--the umbrella.--riding-habit.--how to bit a colt.--how to saddle.--to mount.--to ride.--to break.--to harness.--to make a horse follow and stand without holding.--baucher's plan.--nolan's plan chapter viii. value of good horsemanship to both sexes.--on teaching children.--anecdote.--havelock's opinion.--rarey's plan to train ponies.--the use of books.--necessity of regular teaching for girls; boys can be self-taught.--commence without a bridle.--ride with one pair of reins and two hands.--advantage of hunting-horn on side-saddle.--on the best plan for mounting.--rarey's plan.--on a man's seat.--nolan's opinion.--military style.--hunting style.--two examples in lord cardigan.--the prussian style.--anecdote by mr. gould, blucher, and the prince regent.--hints for men learning to ride.--how to use the reins.--pull right for right, and left for left.--how to collect your horse chapter ix. on bits.--the snaffle.--the use of the curb.--the pelham.--the hanoverian bit described.--martingales.--the gentleman's saddle to be large enough.--spurs.--not to be too sharp.--the somerset saddle for the timid and aged.--the nolan saddle without flaps.--ladies' saddle described.--advantages of the hunting-horn crutch.--ladies' stirrup.--ladies' dress.--hints on.--habit.--boots.--whips.--hunting-whips.--use of the lash.--gentleman's riding costume.--hunting dress.--poole, the great authority.--advantage of cap over hat in hunting.--boot-tops and napoleons.--quotation from warburton's ballads chapter x. advantage of hunting.--libels on.--great men who have hunted.--popular notion unlike reality.--dick christian and the marquis of hastings.--fallacy of "lifting" a horse refuted.--hints on riding at fences.--harriers discussed.--stag-hunting a necessity and use where time an object.--hints for novices.--"tally-ho!" expounded.--to feed a horse after a hard ride.--expenses of horse-keep.--song by squire warburton, "a word ere we start" chapter xi. the fitzwilliam.--brocklesby.--a day on the wolds.--brighton harriers.--prince albert's harriers chapter xii. hunting terms chapter xiii. the origin of fox-hunting chapter xiv. the wild ponies of exmoor postscript list of illustrations. to face . zebra strapped up drawn by louis huard, esq. title-page . horse with strap no. ditto " . horse with straps nos. and ditto " . the horse struggling ditto " . the horse exhausted ditto " . the horse tamed ditto " . second lesson in harness ditto " . rails and double ditch ditto " vignettes. page wild horse's head halter or bridle wooden gag bit strap no. strap no. lord b.'s improved no. surcingle strap for no. side saddle, and lady's seat on side saddle, offside view of curb, or hard and sharp plain snaffle pelham hanoverian sitz, or huntsman's bath hot-air or indian bath the art of taming horses. chapter i. mr. rarey's pamphlet first published in ohio.--experience of old system.--compiled and invented new.--tying up the fore-leg known many years ago, _see_ stamford almanack.--forgotten and not valued.--reference to captain nolan's and colonel greenwood's works on horsemanship.--dick christian missed the discovery.--baucher's plan of laying down a horse explained.--mademoiselle isabel's whip-and-spur plan.--account of the irish whisperer dan sullivan.--usual modes of taming vicious horses.--starving.--physic.--sleepless nights.--bleeding.--biting the ear.--story of kentish coachman.--the ellis system.--value of the rarey system as compared with that of ordinary horse-tamers.--systems of australia and arabia compared.--the south american plan explained.--a french plan.--grisoné the neapolitan's advice.--the discovery of mr. rarey by mr. goodenough.--visit to canada.--to england.--lord alfred paget.--sir richard airey.--system made known to them.--to mr. jos. anderson.--messrs. tattersall.--sir matthew ridley's black horse tamed.--subscription list of opened.--stafford tamed.--description of.--teaching commenced with lords palmerston, granville, &c.--cruiser tamed.--history of.--enthusiastic crowd at cruiser exhibition.--system approved by the earl of jersey and sir tatton sykes.--close of first subscription list.--anecdote of mr. gurney's colt.--personal sketch of mr. rarey. mr. rarey is a farmer from ohio, in the united states. five years ago he wrote the little book which forms the _text_ of the following complete account of his system, with pictorial illustrations, which are essential for explaining the means he now employs for subduing the most refractory animals. without these explanations, it would be extremely difficult for any one who had not enjoyed the advantage of hearing mr. rarey's explanations, to practise his system successfully, or even safely. the original work contains a mere outline of the art, since perfected by five years' further study and practice. the author did not revise his first sketch, for very obvious reasons. he was living in obscurity, teaching his system for a few dollars in ohio and texas. he never taught in the great cities or seabord states of the united states. when he had imparted his art to a pupil, he bound him to secrecy, and presented him with a copy of his pamphlet. he did not dream, then, of becoming the great lion of the london season, and realising from english subscribers nearly , _l._ it will be observed, that in the original american edition, the operation of tying up the foot is described in one chapter, and, at an interval of some pages, that of laying a horse down, in another; and that neither the difficulties nor the necessary precautions, nor the extraordinary results, are described with the clearness their importance requires. mr. rarey has now very properly released his subscribers from the contract which bound them to secrecy; and it is now in every point of view important that this valuable system of rendering horses docile and affectionate, fit for hacks or chargers, ladies' pads or harness, or the safe conveyance of the aged, crippled, and sick, should be placed within the reach of the thousands whose business it is to deal with horses, as well as of that large class of gentlemen who are obliged to observe economy while keeping up their equestrian tastes. after all, it is to the horse-breeding farmers and grooms to whom mr. rarey's art will be of the most practical use. as it is, enough of the system has oozed out to suggest to the ignorant new means of cruelty. a horse's leg is strapped up, and then the unlearned proceed to bully the crippled animal, instead of--to borrow an expressive americanism--"to gentle him." before entering into the details for practising the rarey system, it may be interesting to give a sketch of the "facts" that have placed mr. rarey in his present well-deserved position, as an invincible horse-tamer, as well as a reformer of the whole modern system of training horses--a position unanimously assigned to him by all the first horsemen of the day. mr. rarey has been a horse-breaker in the united states from his earliest youth, and had frequently to break in horses five or six years old, that had run wild until that mature undocile age. at first he employed the old english rough-rider method, and in the course of his adventures broke almost every bone in his body, for his pluck was greater than his science. but he was not satisfied with following old routine; he inquired from the wandering horsemen and circus trainers into their methods (it may be that he was at one time attached to a circus himself), and read every book he could lay his hands on. by inquiry and by study--as he says in one of his advertisements--"he thought out" the plan and the principles of his present system. the methods he uses for placing a colt or horse completely in his power are not absolutely new, although it is possible that he has re-invented and has certainly much improved them. the russian (_i. e._ courland) circus riders have long known how, single-handed, to make a horse lie down by fastening up one fore-leg, and then with a rope suddenly pulling the other leg from under him. the trick was practised in england more than forty years ago, and forgotten. that no importance was attached to this method of throwing a horse is proved by the fact, that in the works on horsemanship, published during the last twenty years, no reference is made to it. when mr. starkey, of wiltshire, a breeder and runner of race-horses,[ -*] saw mr. rarey operate for the first time, he said, "why i knew how to throw a horse in that way years ago, but i did not know the use of it, and was always in too great a hurry!" lord berners made nearly the same remark to me. nimrod, cecil, harry hieover, scrutator--do not appear to have ever heard of it. the best modern authority on such subjects (british rural sports), describes a number of difficulties in breaking colts which altogether disappear under the rarey system--especially the difficulty of shoeing. captain nolan, who was killed at balaklava, served in an hungarian regiment, in the austrian service, afterwards in our own service in india, and visited russia, france, denmark, and south germany, to collect materials for his work on the "history of cavalry and on the training of horses," although he set out with the golden rule laid down by the great greek horseman, xenophon, more than a thousand years ago--"horses are taught, not by harshness, but by gentleness," only refers incidentally to a plan for throwing a horse down, in an extract from baucher's great work, which will presently be quoted, but attaches no importance to it, and was evidently totally ignorant of the foundation of the rarey system. the accomplished colonel greenwood, who was equally learned in the _manége_ of the _haute ecole_, and skilled in the style of the english hunting-fields, gives no hint of a method which reduces the time for taming colts from months to hours, and makes the docility of five horses out of six merely a matter of a few weeks' patience. the sporting newspapers of england and america were so completely off the true scent when guessing at the rarey method, that they put faith in recipes of oils and scents for taming horses. dick christian--a genius in his way--when on horseback unmatched for patience and pluck, but with no taste for reading and no talent for generalizing, used to conquer savages for temporary use by tying up one fore-foot, and made good water-jumpers of horses afraid of water by making them smell it and wade through it; so that he came very near the rarey methods, but missed the chain of reasoning that would have led him to go further with these expedients.[ -*] mons. baucher, of paris (misprinted faucher in the american edition), the great modern authority in horse-training and elaborate school equitation, under whom our principal english cavalry generals have studied--amongst others, two enthusiastic disciples of mr. rarey, lord vivian and general laurenson, commanding the cavalry at aldershott--admitted mr. rarey's system was not only "most valuable," but "quite new to him." after mr. rarey had taught five or six hundred subscribers, some of whom of course had wives, mr. cooke, of astley's, began to exhibit a way of making a horse lie down, which bore as much resemblance to mr. rarey's system, as buckstone's or keeley's travestie of othello would to a serious performance by a first-rate tragedian. mr. cooke pulling at a strap over the horse's back, was, until he grew, by practice, skilful, more than once thrown down by the extension of the off fore-leg. indeed, the proof that the circus people knew neither the rarey plan, nor the results to be obtained from it, is to be found in the fact, that they continually failed in subduing unruly horses sent to them for that purpose. a friend of mine, an eminent engineer, sent to astley's, about two years ago, a horse which had cost him two hundred pounds, and was useless from a habit of standing still and rearing at the corner of streets; he was returned worse rather than better, and sold for forty pounds. six lessons from mr. rarey would have produced, at least, temporary docility. monsieur baucher, in his _méthode d'equitation_, says, _speaking of the surprise created by the feats_ he performed with trained horses,--"according to some, i was a new 'carter,'[ -*] taming my horses by depriving them of rest and nourishment: others would have it, that i tied ropes to their legs, and suspended them in the air; some again supposed that i fascinated them by the power of the eye; and part of the audience, seeing my horses (partisan, capitaine, neptune, and baridan) work in time to my friend monsieur paul cuzent's charming music, seriously argued that the horses had a capital ear for music, and that they stopped when the clarionets and trombones ceased to play, and that the music had more power over the horse than i had. that the beast obeyed an '_ut_' or a '_sol_' or '_staccato_,' but my hands and legs went for nothing. "could any one imagine that such nonsense could emanate from people who passed for horsemen? "now from this, although in some respects the same class of nonsense that was talked about mr. rarey, it does not seem that any parisian veterinary surgeon staked his reputation on the efficacy of oils and scents." m. baucher then proceeds to give what he calls sixteen "_airs de manége_," which reflect the highest credit on his skill as a rational horseman, using his hands and legs. but he proceeds to say--"it is with regret i publish the means of making a horse kneel, limp, lie down, and sit on his haunches in the position called the '_cheval gastronomie_,' or 'the horse at dinner.' this work is degrading to the poor horse, and painful to the trainer, who no longer sees in the poor trembling beast the proud courser, full of spirit and energy, he took such pleasure in training. "to make a horse kneel, tie his pastern-joint to his elbow, make fast a longer line to the other pastern-joint, have this held tight, and strike the leg with the whip; the instant he raises it from the ground, pull at the longeing line to bend the leg. he cannot help it--he must fall on his knees. make much of the horse in this position, and let him get up free of all hindrance. "as soon as he does this without difficulty, leave off the use of the longeing line, and next leave both legs at liberty: by striking him on the shins with the whip, he will understand that he is to kneel down. "when on his knees, send his head well to the off-side, and, supporting him with the left rein, pull the right rein down against his neck till he falls to the near side; when down at full length, you cannot make too much of him; _have his head held that he may not get up too suddenly_, or before you wish him. you can do this by placing your right foot on the right reins; this keeps the horse's nose raised from the ground, and thus deprives him of the power of struggling successfully against you. profit by his present position to make him sit up on his haunches, and in the position of the 'cheval gastronomie.'" the difference between this and rarey's plan of laying down a horse is as great as between franklin's kite and wheatstone's electrical telegraph; and foremost to acknowledge the american's merits was m. baucher. so little idea had cavalry authorities that a horse could be trained without severity, that, during the crimean war, a mademoiselle isabel came over to this country with strong recommendations from the french war minister, and was employed at considerable cost at maidstone for some months in spoiling a number of horses by _her system_, the principal features of which consisted in a new dumb jockey, and a severe spur attached to a whip! it is true that mademoiselle isabel's experiment was made contrary to the wishes and plans of the head of the cavalry training department, the late general griffiths; but it is not less true that within the last two years influential cavalry officers were looking for an improvement in training horses from an adroit use of the whip and spur. from the time of alexander the great down to the northumberland horse-breaker, there have been instances of courageous men who have been able to do extraordinary things with horses. but they may be divided into two classes, neither of which have been able to originate or impart a system for the use of ordinary horsemen. the one class relied and relies on personal influence over lower animals. they terrify, subdue, or conciliate by eye, voice, and touch, just as some wicked women, not endowed with any extraordinary external charms, bewitch and betray the wisest men. the other class rely on the infliction of acute pain, or, stupefaction by drugs, or other similar expedients for acquiring a temporary ascendancy. in a work printed in , quoted by nolan, we have a melancholy account of the fate of an ingenious horse-tamer. "a neapolitan, called pietro, had a little horse, named mauroço, doubtless a barb or arab, which he had taught to perform many tricks. he would, at a sign from his master, lie down, kneel, and make as many courvettes (springs on his hind-legs forward, like rearing), as his master told him. he jumped over a stick, and through hoops, carried a glove to the person pietro pointed out, and performed a thousand pretty antics. he travelled through the greater part of the continent, but unfortunately passing through arles, the people in that 'age of faith,' took him for a sorcerer, and burned him and poor mauroço in the market-place." it was probably from this incident that victor hugo took the catastrophe of la esmeralda and her goat. dan sullivan, who flourished about fifty years ago, was the greatest horse-tamer of whom there is any record in modern times. his triumph commenced by his purchasing for an old song a dragoon's horse at mallow, who was so savage "that he was obliged to be fed through a hole in the wall." after one of sullivan's lessons the trooper drew a car quietly through mallow, and remained a very proverb of gentleness for years after. in fact, with mule or horse, one half-hour's lesson from sullivan was enough; but they relapsed in other hands. sullivan's own account of the secret was, that he originally acquired it from a wearied soldier who had not money to pay for a pint of porter he had drunk. the landlord was retaining part of his kit as a pledge, when sullivan, who sat in the bar, vowed he would never see a hungry man want, and gave the soldier so good a luncheon, that, in his gratitude, he drew him aside at parting, and revealed what he believed to be an indian charm. sullivan never took any pupils, and, as far as i can learn, never attempted to train colts by his method, although that is a more profitable and useful branch of business than training vicious horses. it is stated in an article in "household words" on horse-tamers, that he was so jealous of his gift that even the priest of ballyclough could not wring it from him at the confessional. his son used to boast how his reverence met his sire as they both rode towards mallow, and charged him with being a confederate of the wicked one, and how the "whisperer" laid the priest's horse under a spell, and forthwith led him a weary chase among the cross roads, till he promised in despair to let sullivan alone for ever. sullivan left three sons: one only practised his art, with imperfect success till his death; neither of the others pretended to any knowledge of it. one of them is to this day a horse-breaker at mallow. the reputation of mr. rarey brought to light a number of provincial horse-tamers, and, amongst others, a grandson of sullivan has opened a list under the auspices of the marquis of waterford, for teaching his grandfather's art of horse-taming. it is impossible not to ask, why, if the art is of any value, it has not been taught long ago? in ireland as in england, the accepted modes of taming a determined colt, or vicious horse, are either by a resolute rider with whip and spur, and violent longeings, or by starving, physic, and sleepless nights. it was by these means combined that the well-known horseman, bartley the bootmaker, twenty years ago, tamed a splendid thorough-bred horse, that had defied all the efforts of all the rough-riders of the household cavalry regiments. bleeding a vicious horse has been recommended in german books on equitation. in the family robinson crusoe, paterfamilias conquers the quagga by biting its ear, and every farrier knows how to apply a twitch to a horse's ear or nose to secure his quietness under an operation. a mr. king, some years since, exhibited a learned horse, which he said he subdued by pinching a nerve of its mouth, called "_the nerve of susceptibility_." the writer in the "household words" article, to which i have already referred, tells how "a coachman in kent, who had been quite mastered by horses, called in the assistance of a professed whisperer. after his ghostly course the horses had the worst of it for two months, when their ill-humour returned, and the coachman himself immediately darkened his stable, and held what he termed a little conversation with them, which kept them placid till two more months had passed. he did not seem altogether to approve of the system, and plainly confessed that it was cruel." putting shot in the ear is an old stupid and fatal trick of ignorant carters to cure a gibbing horse--it cures and kills him too. the latest instantaneous system which acquired a certain degree of temporary popularity was that introduced from the western prairies, by mr. ellis, of trinity college, cambridge, which consisted in breathing into the nostrils of a colt, or buffalo colt, while its eyes were covered. but although on some animals this seemed to produce a soothing effect, on others it totally failed. there can be very little doubt that most of the mysterious "horse-whisperers" relied for their power of subduing a vicious horse partly on the special personal influence already referred to, and partly on some one of those cruel modes of intimidating the animal. it has been observed that idiots can sometimes manage the most savage horses and bulls, and conciliate the most savage dogs at first sight. the value of mr. rarey's system consists in the fact that it may be taught to, and successfully practised by, a ploughboy of thirteen or fourteen for use on all except extremely vicious and powerful horses. it requires patience--it requires the habit of dealing with horses as well as coolness; but the real work is rather a matter of skill than strength. not only have boys of five or six stone become successful horse-tamers, but ladies of high rank have in the course of ten minutes perfectly subdued and reduced to death-like calmness fiery blood-horses. therefore, in dealing with mr. rarey's plan we are not wasting our time about a trick for conquering these rare exceptions--incurably-savage horses--but considering the principles of a universally applicable system for taming and training horses for man's use, with a perfection of docility rarely found except in aged pet horses, and with a rapidity heretofore quite unknown. the system of arabia and australia are the two extremes. in australia, where the people are always in a hurry, the usual mode of breaking in the bush horses is _to ride them quiet_; that is, to let the man fight it out with the horse until the latter gives in; for the time, at any rate. the result is, that nine-tenths of the australian horses are vicious, and especially given to the trick of "buck-jumping." this vile vice consists in a succession of leaps from all-fours, the beast descending with the back arched, the limbs rigid, and the head as low down between the legs as possible. not one horseman in a hundred can sit three jumps of a confirmed buck-jumper. charles barter, who was one of the hardest riders in the heythrope hunt, in his "six months in natal," says, "when my horse began buck-jumping i dismounted, and i recommend every one under the same circumstances to do the same." the guachos on the south american pampas lasso a wild horse, throw him down, cover his head with one of their ponchos, or cloaks, and, having girthed on him one of their heavy demi-piqued saddles, from which it is almost impossible to be dislodged, thrust a curb-bit, capable of breaking the jaw with one tug, into the poor wretch's mouth, mount him with a pair of spurs with rowels six inches long, and ride him over the treeless plains until he sinks exhausted _in a fainting state_. but horses thus broken are almost invariably either vicious or stupid; in fact, idiotic. there is another milder method sometimes adopted by these pampas horsemen, on which, no doubt, mr. rarey partly founded his system. after lassoing a horse, they blind his eyes with a poncho, tie him fast to a post, and girth a heavy saddle on him. the animal sometimes dies at once of fright and anger: if not, he trembles, sweats, and would, after a time, fall down from terror and weakness. the guacho then goes up to him, caresses him, removes the poncho from his eyes, continues to caress him; so that, according to the notion of the country, the horse becomes grateful and attached to the man for delivering him from something frightful; and from that moment the process of training becomes easy, and, with the help of the long spurs, is completed in a few days. this plan must spoil as many horses as it makes quiet, and fail utterly with the more nervous and high-spirited; for the very qualities that render a horse most useful and beautiful, when properly trained, lead him, when unbroken, to resist more obstinately rough violent usage. in a french newspaper article on mr. rarey's system, it is related that a french horse-breaker, in , made a good speculation by purchasing vicious horses, which are more common in france than in england, and selling them, after a few days' discipline, perfectly quiet. his remedy lay in a loaded whip, freely applied between the ears when any symptom of vice was displayed. this expedient was only a revival of the method of grisoné, the neapolitan, called, in the fifteenth century, the regenerator of horsemanship, predecessor of the french school, who says--"in breaking young horses, put them into a circular pit; be very severe with those that are sensitive, and of high courage; beat them between the ears with a stick." his followers tied their horses to the pillars in riding-schools, and beat them to make them raise their fore-legs. we do not approve of grisoné's maxims at the present day in print, but we leave our horses too much to ignorant colt-breakers, who practise them. the arabs alone, who have no need to hurry the education of their horses, and who live with them as we do with our pet dogs, train their colts by degrees, with patient gentleness, and only resort to severe measures to teach them to gallop and stop short. for this reason arabs are most docile until they fall into the hands of cruel grooms. it was from considering the docility of the high-bred arab horse and intractableness of the quibly, roughly broken prairie or pampas horse, that mr. rarey was led to think over and perfect the system which he has repeatedly explained and illustrated by living examples in his lectures, and very imperfectly explained in his valuable, original, but crude little book. it is very fortunate that this book did not find its way to england before mr. rarey himself came and conquered cruiser, and in face-to-face interviews gained the confidence and co-operation of all our horse-loving aristocracy. for had the book appeared unsupported by lectures (or such explanations written and pictorial as this edition will supply), there would have been so many accidents and so many failures, that mr. rarey would have had great difficulty in obtaining a hearing, and for many years our splendid colts would have been left to the empirical treatment of ignorant rough-riders. an accident withdrew the great reformer of horse-training from obscurity. in the course of his travels as a teacher of horse-taming he met with mr. goodenough, a sharp, hard-fisted new englander, of the true "yankee" breed, so well-described by sam slick, settled in the city of toronto, canada, as a general dealer. in fact, a "sort of barnum." mr. goodenough saw that there was money to be made out of the rarey system--formed a partnership with the ohio farmer--conducted him to canada--obtained an opportunity of exhibiting his talents before major robertson, aide-de-camp to general sir william eyre, k.c.b., commander of the forces, and, through the major, before sir william himself, who is (as i can say from having seen him with hounds) an accomplished horseman and enthusiastic fox-hunter. from these high authorities the partners obtained letters of introduction to the horse guards in england, and to several gentlemen attached to the court; in one of the letters of introduction, general eyre said, "that the system was new to him, and valuable for military purposes." on arriving in england, mr. rarey made known his system, and was fortunate enough to convert and obtain the active assistance of sir richard airey, quarter-master general, lord alfred paget,[ -*] and colonel hood, the two first being noted for their skill as horsemen, and the two latter being attached to the court. from these gentlemen of high degree, mr. rarey proceeded, under good advice, to make known his art to mr. joseph anderson of piccadilly, and his prime minister, the well-known george rice--tamed for them a black horse that had been returned by sir matthew white ridley, as unridable from vice and nervousness. the next step was an introduction to messrs. tattersall of hyde park, whose reputation for honour and integrity in most difficult transactions is world wide and nearly a century old. introduced at hyde park corner with the strongest recommendations and certificates from such authorities as lord alfred paget, sir richard airey, colonel hood, &c., &c., messrs. tattersall investigated mr. rarey's system, and became convinced that its general adoption would confer an invaluable benefit on what may be called "the great horse interest," and do away with a great deal of cruelty and unnecessary severity now practised on the best-bred and most high-spirited animals through ignorance of colt-breakers and grooms. they, therefore, decided, with that liberality which has always distinguished the firm, to lend mr. rarey all the assistance in their power, without taking any commission, or remuneration of any kind. as the methods used by mr. rarey are so exceedingly simple, the question next arose of how mr. rarey was to be remunerated when teaching in a city where hundreds live by collecting and retailing news. his previous lessons had been given to the thinly-populated districts of ohio and texas, where each pupil was a dealer in horses, and kept his secret for his own sake. had he been the inventor of an improved corkscrew or stirrup-iron, a patent would have secured him that limited monopoly which very imperfectly rewards many invaluable mechanical inventions. had his countrymen chosen to agree to a reciprocity treaty for copyright of books, he might have secured some certain remuneration by a printed publication of his lectures. but they prefer the liberty of borrowing our copyrights without consulting the author, and we occasionally return the compliment. in this instance the author cannot say that the british nation has not paid him handsomely. after a consultation with mr. rarey's noble patrons, it was decided that a list should be opened at hyde park corner for subscribers at £ _s._ each, paid in advance, the teaching to commence as soon as five hundred subscriptions had been paid, each subscriber signing an engagement, under a penalty of £ , not to teach or divulge mr. rarey's method, and messrs. tattersall undertaking to hold the subscriptions in trust until mr. rarey had performed his part of the agreement.[ -*] to this fund, at the request of my friends messrs. tattersall, i agreed to act as secretary. my duties ceased when the list was filled, and the management of the business passed from those gentlemen to mr. rarey's partner, mr. goodenough, on the rd of may, . this list was opened the first day at mr. jos. anderson's, after mr. rarey had exhibited, not his method, but the results of his method on the celebrated black, or rather iron-gray, horse already mentioned. leaving the list to fill, mr. rarey went to paris, and there tamed the vicious and probably half-mad coaching stallion, stafford.[ -*] it is not generally known that having omitted the precautions of gagging this wild beast with the wooden bit, which forms one of the vignettes of this book, he turned round suddenly, while the tamer was soothing his legs, caught his shoulder in his mouth, and would have made an end of the rarey system if assistance had not been at hand in the shape of mr. goodenough and a pitchfork. intense enthusiasm was created in paris by the conquest of stafford, but francs was too large a sum to found a long subscription list in a city so little given to private horsemanship, and a french experiment did not produce much effect in england. in fact, the english list, which started so bravely under distinguished patronage, after touching some names, languished, and in spite of testimonials from great names, only reached , when mr. rarey, at the pressing recommendation of his english friends, returned from paris, and fixed the day for commencing his lessons in the private riding-school of the duke of wellington, the use of which had been in the kindest manner offered by his grace as a testimony of his high opinion of the value of the new system. the course was commenced on the th march, by inviting to a private lesson a select party of noblemen and gentlemen, twenty-one in all, including, amongst other accomplished horsemen and horse-breeders, lord palmerston, the two ex-masters of the royal buckhounds, earls granville and bessborough, the marquis of stafford, vice-president of the four-horse driving club, and the honourable admiral rous, the leading authority of the jockey club on all racing matters. the favourable report of these, perhaps, among the most competent judges of anything appertaining to horses in the world, settled the value of mr. rarey's lessons, and the list began to fill speedily; many of the subscribers, no doubt, being more influenced by the prevailing fashion and curiosity, than by an inclination to turn horse-tamers. but early in april, when it became known that mr. rarey had tamed cruiser,[ -*] the most vicious stallion in england, "who could do more fighting in less time than any horse in the world," and that he had brought him to london on the very day after, that he first backed him and had ridden him within three hours after the first interview, slow conviction swelled to enthusiasm. the list filled up rapidly. the school in kinnerton street, to which mr. rarey was obliged to remove, was crowded, the excitement increasing with each lesson. on the day that cruiser was exhibited for the first time, long before the doors were open, the little back street was filled with a fashionable mob, including ladies of the highest rank. an admission by noble non-subscribers with notes, gold, and cheques in hands, was begged for with a polite insinuating humility that was quite edifying. a hatful of ten-guinea subscriptions was thrust upon the unwilling secretary at the door with as much eagerness as if he had been the allotter of shares in a ten per cent railway in the day of hudsonian guarantees. and it must be observed that this crowd included among the mere fashion-mongers almost every distinguished horseman and hunting-man in the three kingdoms. it is quite too late now to attempt to depreciate a system the value of which has been repeatedly and openly acknowledged by authorities above question. as to the "secret," the subscribers must have known that it was impossible that a system that required so much space, and involved so much noise, could long remain a secret. the earl of jersey, so celebrated in this century as a breeder of race-horses, in the last century as a rider to hounds, _stood_ through a long lesson, and was as much delighted as his son the honourable frederick villiers, master of the pytchley hounds. sir tatton sykes of sledmere, perhaps the finest amateur horseman that ever rode a race, whose equestrian performances on the course and in the hunting-field date back more than sixty years, was as enthusiastic in his approval as the young guardsman who, fortified by mr. rarey's lessons, mastered a mare that had defied the efforts of all the farriers of the household cavalry. in a word, the five-hundred list was filled, and overflowed, the subscribers were satisfied, and the responsibility of messrs. tattersall as stakeholders for the public ceased, and the secretary and treasurer to the fund, having wound up the accounts and retired, the connection between mr. rarey and the messrs. tattersall resolved itself into the use of an office at hyde park corner. the london subscription list had passed eleven hundred names, and, in conjunction with the subscription received in yorkshire, liverpool, manchester, dublin, and paris, besides private lessons at £ each, had realised upwards of £ , for mr. rarey and his partner, when the five-hundred secrecy agreement was extinguished by the re-publication of the little american pamphlet already mentioned. it was high time that it should, for, while mr. rarey had been handsomely paid for his instruction, the more scrupulous of his subscribers were unable to practise his lessons for want of a place where they could work in secrecy. but although the re-publication of mr. rarey's american pamphlet virtually absolved his subscribers from the agreement which he gave up formally a few days later in his letter to the _times_, it is quite absurd to assert that the little pamphlet teaches the art of horse-taming as now practised by mr. rarey. certainly no one but a horseman skilled in the equitation of schools could do much with a horse without great danger of injuring the animal and himself, if he had no other instruction than that contained in mr. rarey's clever, original, but vague chapters. in the following work i shall endeavour to fill up the blanks in mr. rarey's sketch, and with the help of pictures and diagrams, show how a cool determined man or boy may break in any colt, and make him a docile hack, harness horse, or hunter; stand still, follow, and obey the voice almost as much as the reins. to say that written or oral instructions will teach every man how to grapple with savages like stafford, cruiser, phlegon, or mr. gurney's gray colt, would be sheer humbug--that must depend on the man; but we have an instance of what can be done that is encouraging. when mr. rarey was so ill that he was unable to sit mr. gurney's gray colt, the boasting mr. goodenough tried his hand, and was beaten pale and trembling out of the circus by that equine tiger; but mr. thomas rice, the jobmaster of motcombe street, who had had the charge of cruiser in mr. rarey's absence up to that time, although he had never before tried his hand at rareyfying a horse, stuck to the gray colt, laid down, made him fast, and completely conquered him in one evening, so that he was fit to be exhibited the next day, when mr. goodenough, _more suo_, claimed the benefit of the victory. several ladies have succeeded famously in horse-taming; but they have been ladies accustomed to horses and to exercise, and always with gentlemen by, in case a customer proved too tough. before concluding this desultory but necessary introductory sketch of the rise, progress, and success of the rarey system, it will be as well, perhaps, for the benefit of lady readers, to give a personal sketch of mr. rarey, who is by no means the athletic giant that many imagine. mr. rarey is about thirty years of age, of middle height, and well-proportioned figure, wiry and active rather than muscular--his complexion is almost effeminately fair, with more colour than is usually found in those of his countrymen who live in the cities of the sea-coast. and his fair hair, large gray eyes, which only light up and flash fire when he has an awkward customer to tackle, give him altogether the appearance of a saxon englishman. his walk is remarkably light and springy, yet regular, as he turns round his horse; something between the set-up of a soldier and the light step of a sportsman. altogether his appearance and manners are eminently gentlemanly. although a self-educated and not a book-educated man, his conversation, when he cares to talk, for he is rather reserved, always displays a good deal of thoughtful originality, relieved by flashes of playful humour. this may be seen in his writing. it may easily be imagined that he is extremely popular with all those with whom he has been brought in contact, and has acquired the personal friendship of some of the most accomplished noblemen and gentlemen of the day. mr. rarey's system of horse-training will infallibly supersede all others for both civil and military purposes, and his name will take rank among the great social reformers of the nineteenth century. may we have many more such importations from america! [illustration] footnotes: [ -*] owner of fisherman. [ -*] see "the post and the paddock," by "the druid." [ -*] carter, one of the van amburgh showmen. [ -*] son of the late marquis of anglesea, one of the finest horsemen of his day, even with one leg, after he left the other at waterloo. [ -*] the list itself is one of the most extraordinary documents ever printed, in regard to the rank and equestrian accomplishments of the subscribers. [ -*] "stafford is a half-bred carriage stallion, six years old. for three years he has formed one of the breeding-stud at cluny, where he has acquired the character of being a most dangerous animal. he was about to be withdrawn from the stud and destroyed, in consequence of the protests of the breeders--for a whole year he had obstinately refused to be dressed, and was obliged to be closely confined in his box. he rushed at every one who appeared with both fore-feet, and open mouthed. every means of subduing and restraining him was adopted; he was muzzled, blindfolded, and hobbled. in order to give mr. rarey's method a trial, stafford was sent to paris, and there a great number of persons, including the principal members of the jockey club, had an opportunity of judging of his vicious disposition. "after being alone with stafford for an hour and a half, mr. rarey rode on him into the riding school, guiding him with a common snaffle-bridle. the appearance of the horse was completely altered: he was calm and docile. his docility did not seem to be produced by fear or constraint, but the result of perfect confidence. the astonishment of the spectators was increased when mr. rarey unbridled him, and guided the late savage animal, with a mere motion of his hands or indication with his leg, as easily as a trained circus-horse. then, dashing into a gallop, he stopped him short with a single word. "mr. rarey concluded his first exhibition by beating a drum on stafford's back, and passing his hand over his head and mouth. stafford was afterwards ridden by a groom, and showed the same docility in his hands as in those of mr. rarey. "mr. rarey succeeded on the first attempt in putting him in harness with a mare, although he had never had his head through a collar before; and he went as quietly as the best-broken carriage-horse in paris. mr rarey concluded by firing a six-chambered revolver from his back."--_paris illustrated journal._ [ -*] "cruiser was the property of lord dorchester, and was a good favourite for the derby in wild dayrell's year, but broke down before the race. like all venison horses, his temper was not of the mildest kind, and john day was delighted to get rid of him. when started for rawcliffe, he told the man who led him on no account to put him into a stable, as he would never get him out. this injunction was of course disregarded, for when the man wanted some refreshment, he put him into a country public-house stable, and left him, and to get him out, the roof of the building had to be pulled off. at rawcliffe, he was always exhibited by a groom with a ticket-of-leave bludgeon in his hand, and few were bold enough to venture into his yard. this animal, whose temper has depreciated him perhaps a thousand pounds in value, i think would be 'the right horse in the right place' for mr. rarey. phlegon and vatican would also be good patients. i am sorry to hear that the latter has been blinded: if leathern blinds had been put on his eyes, the same effect would have been produced."--_morning post_, march , . "mr. rarey, when here, first subjugated a two-year old filly, perfectly unbroken. this he accomplished under half an hour, riding on her, opening an umbrella, beating a drum upon her, &c. he then took cruiser in hand, and in three hours mr. rarey and myself mounted him. he had not been ridden for nearly three years, and was so vicious that it was impossible even to dress him, and it was necessary to keep him muzzled constantly. the following morning mr. rarey led him behind an open carriage, on his road to london. this horse was returned to me by the rawcliffe and stud company on account of his vice, it being considered as much as a man's life was worth to attend to him. "greywell, april ." "dorchester." chapter ii. mr. rarey's pamphlet.--introduction. mr. rarey's american pamphlet would make about fifty pages of this type, if given in full; but, in revising my illustrated edition, i have decided on omitting six pages of introduction, which, copied from mr. rollo springfield, an american author, do not contain any reliable facts or useful inferences. the speculations of the american author, as to the early history of the horse, are written without sufficient information. so far from the "polished greeks" having, as he states, "ridden without bridles," we have the best authority in the frieze of the parthenon for knowing that, although they rode barebacked on their compact cobby ponies, they used reins and handled them skilfully and elegantly. to go still further back, the bas-reliefs in the british museum, discovered by mr. layard in the assyrian palace of nimroud, contain spirited representation of horses with bridles, ridden in hunting and in pursuit of enemies, as well as driven in war-chariots. these horses are arabs, while those of the elgin marbles more resemble the cream-coloured hanoverians which draw the state carriage of our sovereigns. in one of the nimroud bas-reliefs, we have cavalry soldiers standing with the bridles of their horses in their hands, "waiting," as mr. bonomi tells us, "for the orders to mount;" but, as they stand on the left side, with the bridles in their left hands, it is difficult to understand how they could obey such an order with reasonable celerity. the arabian stories, as to the performances of arab horses and their owners, must be received with considerable hesitation, for the horse is one of the subjects on which orientals love to found their poetical fireside stories. this is certain, that the arab horse being highly bred, is very intelligent, being reared from its birth in the family of its master, extremely docile, and, being always in the open air and fed on a moderate quantity of dry food, very hardy. if we lived with our horses, as we do with our dogs, they would be equally affectionate and tractable. in norway, in consequence of the severity of the climate, the ponies are all housed during the winter, and thus become so familiar with their owner that there is scarcely any difficulty in putting them into harness, even the first time. english thoroughbred horses, when once acclimatized and bred in the open air on the dry pastures of australia and south africa, are found, if not put to work too early, as enduring as the arab. experiments in the indian artillery have proved that the australian horse and the cape[ -*] horse, which has also been improved by judicious crosses with english blood, are superior for strength and endurance to the eastern horses bred in the stud establishments of the east india company. the exaggerated idea that long prevailed of the value of the arab horse, as compared with the english thorough-bred, which is an eastern horse improved by long years of care and ample food, has been to a great extent dissipated by the large importation of arabs that took place after the crimean war--in fact, they are on the average pretty ponies of great endurance, but of very little use in this country, where size is indispensable for profit. in the east they are of great value for cavalry; they are hardy and full of fire and spirit. "but," says captain nolan, "no horse can compare with the english--no horse is more easily broken in to anything and everything--there is no quality in which the english horse does not excel--no performance in which he cannot beat all competition;" and nolan was as familiar with the eastern, hungarian, and german crosses with the arab as with the english thorough-bred. we spoil our horses, first by pampering them in hot stables under warm clothing; next, by working them too young; and, lastly, by entrusting their training to rude, ignorant men, who rely for leading colt the way he should go on mere force, harsh words, a sharp whip, and the worrying use of the longeing rein. rarey has shown how easily, quietly, and safely horses may be tamed; but we must also train men before we can obtain full benefit from our admirable breeds of horses. proof that our horses have become feeble from pampering may be found in devonshire. there the common hacks of the county breed on the moors, and, crossed with native ponies, are usually undersized and coarse and heavy about the shoulders, like most wild horses, and all the inferior breeds of arabs, but they are hardy and enduring to a degree that a yorkshire breeder would scarcely believe. mean-looking galloways will draw a heavy dog-cart over the devonshire hills fifty miles a-day for many days in succession. a little common sense has been introduced into the management of our cavalry, since the real experience of the crimean war. general sir charles napier was not noticed when, nearly ten years ago, he wrote, "the cavalry charger, on a hounslow heath parade, well fed, well groomed, goes through a field-day without injury, although carrying more than twenty stone weight; he and his rider presenting together, a kind of alderman centaur. but if in the field, half starved, they have, at the end of a forced march, to charge an enemy! the biped full of fire and courage, transformed by war-work to a wiry muscular dragoon, is able and willing, but the overloaded quadruped cannot gallop--he staggers." our poor horses thus loaded, are expected to bound to hand and spur, while the riders wield their swords worthily. they cannot; and both man and horse appear inferior to their indian opponents. the eastern warrior's eye is quick, but not quicker than the european's; his heart is big, yet not bigger than the european's; his arm is strong, but not so strong as the european's; the swing of his razor-like scimitar is terrible, but an english trooper's downright blow splits the skull. why then does the latter fail? the light-weighted horse of the dark swordsman carries him round his foe with elastic bounds, and the strong european, unable to deal the cleaving blow, falls under the activity of an inferior adversary! since the war, light men with broad chests have been enlisted for indian service. the next step, originally suggested by nolan, that every cavalry soldier should train his own horse, will be made easy by the introduction of the rarey system. country horse-breakers are too ignorant, too prejudiced, and too much interested in keeping up a mystery that gives them three months employment, instead of three weeks, to adopt it. the reform will probably commence in the army and in racing stables. * * * * * in the following pages, i have given the text of the american edition of mr. rarey's pamphlet, and added the information i have derived from hearing his lectures, seeing his operations on "cruiser," and other difficult horses, and from the experience of my friends and self in taming horses. thus, in chap. vi. to mr. rarey's five pages i have added sixteen, and nine woodcut illustrations. in chap. vii. the directions for the drum, umbrella, and riding habit are in print for the first time, as well as the directions for mounting with slack girths. chaps. viii. to xiv. have been added, in order to make this little work a complete manual for those who wish to benefit in riding as well as training horses from the experience of others. in my opinion, the rarey system is invaluable for training colts, breaking horses into harness, and curing kickers and jibbers. i do not profess to be a horse-tamer, my pursuits are too sedentary during the greater part of the year, but i have succeeded with even colts. i tried my hand on two of them wild from the devonshire moors, in august last, and succeeded perfectly in an hour. i made them as affectionate as pet ponies, ready to follow me everywhere, as well as to submit to be mounted and ridden. as to curing vicious horses, all that can be safely said is, that it puts it into the power of a _courageous, calm-tempered horseman_ to conquer any horse. "cruiser" was quiet in the hands of mr. rarey and mr. rice, but when insulted in the circus of leicester square by a violent jerk, he rushed at his tormentor with such ferocity that he cleared the ring of all the spangled troupe, yet, in the midst of his rage, he halted and ran up on being called by rarey. from this we learn that such a horse won't be bullied and must not be feared. but such vicious horses are rare exceptions. it is curious, that mr. rarey should have made his reputation by the least useful exercise of his art. footnotes: [ -*] the cape horse has recently come into notice, in consequence of the publication of "papers relating to the purchase of horses at the cape for the army of india." it seems that not less than have been purchased for that purpose; that cape horses purchased by colonel havelock arrived from india in the crimea in better condition than any other horses in the regiment; and that in the caffre war cape horses condemned by the martinets of a remount committee, carried the th dragoons, averaging, in marching order, over nineteen stone, and no privation or fatigue could make general cathcart's horses succumb. these horses are bred between the arabs introduced by the dutch and the english thoroughbred. i confess i see with, surprise that colonel apperley, the remount agent, recommends crosses with norfolk trotting and cleveland stallions. no such cross has ever answered in this country. had he recommended thoroughbred weight-carrying stallions in preference to arabs, i could have understood his condemnation of the latter. i should have hesitated to set my opinion against colonel apperley, had i not found that he differs entirely from the late general sir walter gilbert, the greatest horseman, take him for all in all, as a cavalry officer, as a flat and steeple-chase rider, and rider to hounds of his day.--_see napier's indian misgovernment_, p. _et seq._ chapter iii. the three fundamental principles of the rarey theory.--heads of the rarey lectures.--editor's paraphrase.--that any horse may be taught docility.--that a horse should be so handled and tied as to feel inferior to man.--that a horse should be allowed to see, smell, and feel all fearful objects.--key note of the rarey system. first.--that he is so constituted by nature that he will not offer resistance to any demand made of him which he fully comprehends, if made in a way consistent with the laws of his nature. second.--that he has no consciousness of his strength beyond his experience, and can be handled according to our will without force. third.--that we can, in compliance with the laws of his nature, by which he examines all things new to him, take any object, however frightful, around, over, or on him, that does not inflict pain--without causing him to fear. to take these assertions in order, i will first give you some of the reasons why i think he is naturally obedient, and will not offer resistance to anything fully comprehended. the horse, though possessed of some faculties superior to man's, being deficient in reasoning powers, has no knowledge of right or wrong, of free will and independent government, and knows not of any imposition practised upon him, however unreasonable these impositions may be. consequently, he cannot come to any decision as to what he should or should not do, because he has not the reasoning faculties of man to argue the justice of the thing demanded of him. if he had, taking into consideration his superior strength, he would be useless to man as a servant. give him _mind_ in proportion to his strength, and he will demand of us the green fields for his inheritance, where he will roam at leisure, denying the right of servitude at all. god has wisely formed his nature so that it can be operated upon by the knowledge of man according to the dictates of his will; and he might well be termed an unconscious, submissive servant. this truth we can see verified in every day's experience by the abuses practised upon him. any one who chooses to be so cruel can mount the noble steed and run him till he drops with fatigue, or, as is often the case with the more spirited, falls dead beneath his rider. if he had the power to reason, would he not rear and pitch his rider, rather than suffer him to run him to death? or would he condescend to carry at all the vain impostor, who, with but equal intellect, was trying to impose on his equal rights and equally independent spirit? but, happily for us, he has no consciousness of imposition, no thought of disobedience except by impulse caused by the violation of the law of his nature. consequently, when disobedient, it is the fault of man. then, we can but come to the conclusion that, if a horse is not taken in a way at variance with the laws of his nature, he will do anything that he fully comprehends, without making any offer of resistance. second--the fact of the horse being unconscious of the amount of his strength can be proven to the satisfaction of any one. for instance, such remarks as these are common, and perhaps familiar to your recollection. one person says to another, "if that wild horse there was conscious of the amount of his strength, his owner would have no business with him in that vehicle: such light reins and harness, too--if he knew, he could snap them asunder in a minute, and be as free as the air we breathe;" and, "that horse yonder, that is pawing and fretting to follow the company that is fast leaving him--if he knew his strength, he would not remain long fastened to that hitching post so much against his will, by a strap that would no more resist his powerful weight and strength than a cotton thread would bind a strong man." yet these facts, made common by every-day occurrence, are not thought of as anything wonderful. like the ignorant man who looks at the different phases of the moon, you look at these things as he looks at her different changes, without troubling your mind with the question, "why are these things so?" what would be the condition of the world if all our minds lay dormant? if men did not think, reason, and act, our undisturbed, slumbering intellects would not excel the imbecility of the brute; we should live in chaos, hardly aware of our existence. and yet, with all our activity of mind, we daily pass by unobserved that which would be wonderful if philosophized and reasoned upon; and with the same inconsistency wonder at that which a little consideration, reason, and philosophy, would make but a simple affair. third--he will allow any object, however frightful in appearance, to come around, over, or on him, that does not inflict pain. we know, from a natural course of reasoning, that there has never been an effect without a cause; and we infer from this that there can be no action, either in animate or inanimate matter, without there first being some cause to produce it. and from this self-evident fact we know that there is some cause for every impulse or movement of either mind or matter, and that this law governs every action or movement of the animal kingdom. then, according to this theory, there must be some cause before fear can exist; and if fear exists from the effect of imagination, and not from the infliction of real pain, it can be removed by complying with those laws of nature by which the horse examines an object, and determines upon its innocence or harm. a log or stump by the road-side may be, in the imagination of the horse, some great beast about to pounce upon him; but after you take him up to it, and let him stand by it a little while, and touch it with his nose, and go through his process of examination, he will not care anything more about it. and the same principle and process will have the same effect with any other object, however frightful in appearance, in which there is no harm. take a boy that has been frightened by a false face, or any other object that he could not comprehend at once; but let him take that face or object in his hands and examine it, and he will not care anything more about it. this is a demonstration of the same principle. with this introduction to the principles of my theory, i shall next attempt to teach you how to put it into practice; and whatever instructions may follow, you can rely on as having been proven practically by my own experiments. and knowing, from experience, just what obstacles i have met with in handling bad horses, i shall try to anticipate them for you, and assist you in surmounting them, by commencing with the first steps to be taken with the colt, and accompanying you through the whole task of breaking. these three principles have been enlarged upon and explained in a fuller and more familiar manner by mr. rarey in his lectures, of which the following are the heads. "principles on which horses should be treated and educated--not by fear or force--by an intelligent application of skill with firmness and patience--how to approach a colt--how to halter--how teach to lead in twenty minutes--how to subdue and cause to lie down in fifteen minutes--how to tame and cure fear and nervousness--how to saddle and bridle--how to accustom to be mounted and ridden--how to accustom to a drum--to an umbrella--to a lady's habit, or any other object, in a few minutes--how to harness a horse for the first time--how to drive a horse unbroken to harness, and make go steady, single or double, in a couple of hours--how to make any horse stand still until called--how to make a horse follow his owner." * * * * * in plain language, mr. rarey means, that-- st. that any horse may be taught to do anything that a horse can do if taught in a proper manner. nd. that a horse is not conscious of his own strength until he has resisted and conquered a man, and that by taking advantage of man's reasoning powers a horse can be handled in such a manner that he shall not find out his strength. rd. that by enabling a horse to examine every object with which we desire to make him familiar, with the organs naturally used for that purpose, viz. _seeing_, _smelling_, and _feeling_, you may take any object around, over, and on him that does not actually hurt him. thus, for example, the objects which affright horses are the feel of saddles, riding-habits, harness, and wheeled carriages; the sight of umbrellas and flags; loaded waggons, troops, or a crowd; the sound of wheels, of drums, of musketry. there are thousands of horses that by degrees learn to bear all these things; others, under our old imperfect system, never improve, and continue nervous or vicious to the end of their lives. every year good sound horses are drafted from the cavalry, or from hunters' barbs and carriage-horses, into omnibuses and hansom cabs, because they cannot be made to bear the sound of drums and firearms, or will not submit to be shod, and be safe and steady in crowded cities, or at covert side. nothing is more common than to hear that such a horse would be invaluable if he would go in harness, or carry a lady, or that a racehorse of great swiftness is almost valueless because his temper is so bad, or his nervousness in a crowd so great that he cannot be depended on to start or to run his best. all these varieties of nervous and vicious animals are deteriorated in value, because they have not been educated to confide in and implicitly obey man. the whole object of the rarey system is, to give the horse full confidence in his rider, to make him obedient to his voice and gestures, and to impress the animal with the belief that he could not successfully resist him. lord pembroke, in his treatise on horsemanship, says, "his hand is the best whose indications are so clear that his horse cannot mistake them, _and whose gentleness and fearlessness_ alike induce obedience to them." "the noblest animal," says colonel greenwood, "will obey such a rider; and it is ever the noblest, most intelligent horses, that rebel the most. in riding a colt or a restive horse we should never forget that he has the right to resist, and that as far as he can judge we have not the right to insist. the great thing in horsemanship is to get the horse to be your party, not to obey only, but to obey willingly. for this reason the lessons cannot be begun too early, or be too progressive." the key-note to the rarey system is to be found in the opening sentence of his early lectures in england: "man has reason in addition to his senses. a horse judges everything by seeing, smelling, and feeling." it must be the business of every one who undertakes to train colts that they shall _see_, _smell_, and _feel_ everything that they are to wear or to bear. [illustration: halter or bridle for colts.] chapter iv. how to drive a colt from pasture.--how to drive into a stable.--the kind of halter.--experiment with a robe or cloak.--horse-taming drugs.--the editor's remarks.--importance of patience.--best kind of head-stall.--danger of approaching some colts.--hints from a colonel of the life guards. how to drive a colt from pasture. go to the pasture and walk around the whole herd quietly, and at such a distance as not to cause them to scare and run. then approach them very slowly, and if they stick up their heads and seem to be frightened, stand still until they become quiet, so as not to make them run before you are close enough to drive them in the direction you want them to go. and when you begin to drive, do not flourish your arms or halloo, but gently follow them off, leaving the direction open that you wish them to take. thus taking advantage of their ignorance, you will be able to get them into the pound as easily as the hunter drives the quails into his net. for, if they have always run in the pasture uncared for (as many horses do in prairie countries and on large plantations), there is no reason why they should not be as wild as the sportsman's birds, and require the same gentle treatment, if you want to get them without trouble; for the horse, in his natural state, is as wild as a stag, or any of the undomesticated animals, though more easily tamed. how to stable a colt without trouble. the next step will be, to get the horse into a stable or shed. this should be done as quietly as possible, so as not to excite any suspicion in the horse of any danger befalling him. the best way to do this, is to lead a broken horse into the stable first and hitch (tie) him, then quietly walk around the colt and let him go in of his own accord. it is almost impossible to get men who have never practised on this principle to go slowly and considerately enough about it. they do not know that in handling a wild horse, above all other things, is that good old adage true, that "haste makes waste;" that is, waste of time--for the gain of trouble and perplexity. one wrong move may frighten your horse, and make him think it necessary to escape at all hazards for the safety of his life--and thus make two hours' work of a ten minutes' job; and this would be all your own fault, and entirely unnecessary--_for he will not run unless you run after him, and that would not be good policy unless you knew that you could outrun him, for you will have to let him stop of his own accord after all_. but he will not try to break away unless you attempt to force him into measures. if he does not see the way at once, and is a little fretful about going in, do not undertake to drive him, but give him a little less room outside, by gently closing in around him. do not raise your arms, but let them hang at your side, for you might as well raise a club: _the horse has never studied anatomy, and does not know but that they will unhinge themselves and fly at him_. if he attempts to turn back, walk before him, but do not run; and if he gets past you, encircle him again in the same quiet manner, and he will soon find that you are not going to hurt him; and then you can walk so close around him that he will go into the stable for more room, and to get farther from you. as soon as he is in, remove the quiet horse and shut the door. this will be his first notion of confinement--not knowing how he got into such a place, nor how to get out of it. that he may take it as quietly at possible, see that the shed is entirely free from dogs, chickens, or anything that would annoy him. then give him a few ears of corn, and let him remain alone fifteen or twenty minutes, until he has examined his apartment, and has become reconciled to his confinement. time to reflect. and now, while your horse is eating those few ears of corn, is the proper time to see that your halter is ready and all right, and to reflect on the best mode of operations; for in horse-breaking it is highly important that you should be governed by some system. and you should know, before you attempt to do anything, just what you are going to do, and how you are going to do it. and, if you are experienced in the art of taming wild horses, you ought to be able to tell, within a few minutes, the length of time it would take you to halter the colt, and teach him to lead. the kind of halter. always use a leather halter, and be sure to have it made so that it will not draw tight around his nose if he pulls on it. it should be of the right size to fit his head easily and nicely; so that the nose-band will not be too tight or too low. never put a rope halter on an unbroken colt, under any circumstances whatever. rope halters have caused more horses to hurt or kill themselves than would pay for twice the cost of all the leather halters that have ever been needed for the purpose of haltering colts. it is almost impossible to break a colt that is very wild with a rope halter, without having him pull, rear, and throw himself, and thus endanger his life; and i will tell you why. it is just as natural for a horse to try to get his head out of anything that hurts it, or feels unpleasant, at it would be for you to try to get your hand out of a fire. the cords of the rope are hard and cutting; this makes him raise his head and draw on it, and as soon as he pulls, the slip noose (the way rope-halters are always made) tightens, and pinches his nose, and then he will struggle for life, until, perchance, he throws himself; and who would have his horse throw himself, and run the risk of breaking his neck, rather than pay the price of a leather halter? but this is not the worst. _a horse that has once pulled on his halter can never be as well broken as one that has never pulled at all._ but before we attempt to do anything more with the colt, i will give you some of the characteristics of his nature, that you may better understand his motions. every one that has ever paid any attention to the horse, has noticed his natural inclination to smell everything which to him looks new and frightful. this is their strange mode of examining everything. and when they are frightened at anything, though they look at it sharply, they seem to have no confidence in their eyesight alone, but must touch it with their nose before they are entirely satisfied; and, as soon as they have done that, all seems right. experiment with the robe. if you want to satisfy yourself of this characteristic of the horse, and to learn something of importance concerning the peculiarities of his nature, &c., turn him into the barn-yard, or a large stable will do, and then gather up something that you know will frighten him--a red blanket, buffalo robe, or something of that kind. hold it up so that he can see it, he will stick up his head and snort. then throw it down somewhere in the centre of the lot or barn, and walk off to one side. watch his motions, and study his nature. if he is frightened at the object, he will not rest until he has touched it with his nose. you will see him begin to walk around the robe and snort, all the time getting a little closer, as if drawn up by some magic spell, until he finally gets within reach of it. he will then very cautiously stretch out his neck as far as he can reach, merely touching it with his nose, as though he thought it was ready to fly at him. but after he has repeated these touches a few times, for the first time (though he has been looking at it all the while) he seems to have an idea what it is. but now he has found, by the sense of feeling, that it is nothing that will do him any harm, and he is ready to play with it. and if you watch him closely, you will see him take hold of it with his teeth, and raise it up and pull at it. and in a few minutes you can see that he has not that same wild look about his eye, but stands like a horse biting at some familiar stump. yet the horse is never so well satisfied when he is about anything that has frightened him, as when he is standing with his nose to it. and, in nine cases out of ten, you will see some of that same wild look about him again, as he turns to walk from it. and you will, probably, see him looking back very suspiciously as he walks away, as though he thought it might come after him yet. and in all probability, he will have to go back and make another examination before he is satisfied. but he will familiarize himself with it, and, if he should run in that field a few days, the robe that frightened him so much at first will be no more to him than a familiar stump. we might very naturally suppose from the fact of the horse's applying his nose to everything new to him, that he always does so for the purpose of smelling these objects. but i believe that it is as much or more for the purpose of feeling, and that he makes use of his nose, or muzzle (as it is sometimes called), as we would of our hands; because it is the only organ by which he can touch or feel anything with much susceptibility. i believe that he invariably makes use of the four senses, seeing, hearing, smelling, and feeling, in all of his examinations, of which the sense of feeling is, perhaps, the most important. and i think that in the experiment with the robe, his gradual approach and final touch with his nose was as much for the purpose of feeling as anything else, his sense of smell being so keen that it would not be necessary for him to touch his nose against anything in order to get the proper scent; for it is said that a horse can smell a man at a distance of a mile. and if the scent of the robe was all that was necessary he could get that several rods off. but we know from experience, that if a horse sees and smells a robe a short distance from him he is very much frightened (unless he is used to it) until he touches or feels it with his nose; which is a positive proof that feeling is the controlling sense in this case. horse-taming drugs (?). it is a prevailing opinion among horsemen generally that the sense of smell is the governing sense of the horse. and baucher, as well as others, has with that view got up receipts of strong smelling oils, &c., to tame the horse, sometimes using the chestnut of his leg, which they dry, grind into powder, and blow into his nostrils, sometimes using the oils of rhodium, origanum, &c., that are noted for their strong smell; and sometimes they scent the hand with the sweat from under the arm, or blow their breath into his nostrils, &c., &c. all of which, as far as the scent goes, have no effect whatever in gentling the horse, or conveying any idea to his mind; _though the acts that accompany these efforts--handling him, touching him about the nose and head, and patting him, as they direct you should, after administering the articles, may have a very great effect, which they mistake for the effect of the ingredients used_. and baucher, in his work, entitled "the arabian art of taming horses," page , tells us how to accustom a horse to a robe, by administering certain articles to his nose; and goes on to say that these articles must first be applied to the horse's nose, before you attempt to break him, in order to operate successfully. now, reader, can you, or any one else, give one single reason how scent can convey any idea to the horse's mind of what we want him to do? if not, then of course strong scents of any kind can be of no use in taming the unbroken horse. for, everything that we get him to do of his own accord, without force, must be accomplished by conveying our ideas to his mind. i say to my horse, "go-'long!" and he goes; "ho!" and he stops, because these two words, of which he has learned the meaning by the tap of the whip and the pull of the rein that first accompanied them, convey the two ideas to his mind of _go_ and _stop_. it is impossible to teach the horse a single thing by the means of scent alone; and as for affection, that can be better created by other means. how long do you suppose a horse would have to stand and smell a bottle of oil, before he would learn to bend his knee and make a bow at your bidding, "go yonder and bring my hat," or "come here and lie down?" the absurdity of trying to break or tame the horse by the means of receipts for articles to smell at, or of medicine to swallow, is self-evident. the only science that has ever existed in the world, relative to the breaking of horses, that has been of any value, is that method which, taking them in their native state, improves their intelligence. editor's remarks. the directions for driving colts from the pasture are of less importance in this country where fields are enclosed, and the most valuable colts wear headstalls, and are handled, or ought to be, from their earliest infancy; but in wales, and on wastes like exmoor[ -*] or dartmoor, the advice may be found useful. under all circumstances it is important that the whole training of a colt (and training of the boy who is to manage horses) should be conducted from first to last on consistent principles; for, in the mere process of driving a colt from the field to the fold-yard, ideas of terror may be instilled into the timid animal, for instance, by idle drumming on a hat, which it will take weeks or months to eradicate. the next step is to get the colt into a stable, barn, or other building sufficiently large for the early operations, and secluded from those sights and sounds so common in a farm-yard, which would be likely to distract his attention. in training a colt the squeaking of a litter of pigs has lost me the work of three hours. an outfield, empty barn, or bullock-shed, is better than any place near the homestead. it is a good plan to keep an intelligent old horse expressly for the purpose of helping to train and lead the young colts. i have known horses that seemed to take a positive pleasure in helping to subdue a wild colt when first put in double harness. the great point is not to force or frighten a colt into the stable, but to edge him into it quietly, and cause him to glide in of his own accord. in this simple operation, the horse-trainer will test himself the indispensable quality of a horse trainer--_patience_. a word i shall have to repeat until my readers are almost heartily sick of the "_damnable iteration_." there is a world of equestrian wisdom in two sentences of the chapter just quoted, "he will not run unless you run after him," and "the horse has not studied anatomy." the observations about rope halters are very sound, and in addition i may add, that the mouths of hundreds of horses are spoiled by the practice of passing a looped rope round the lower jaw of a fiery horse, which the rider often makes the stay for keeping himself in his seat. the best kind of head-stall for training colts is that delineated at the head of this chapter,[ -*] called the bush bridle, to which any kind of bit may be attached, and by unbuckling the bit it is converted into a capital halter, with a rope for leading a colt or picketing a horse at night. the long rope is exactly what mr. rarey recommends for teaching a colt to lead. every one of any experience will agree that "a horse that has once pulled on his halter can never be so well broken as one that has never pulled at all." the directions for stroking and patting the body and limbs of a colt are curious, as proving that an operation which we have been in the habit of performing as a matter of course without attaching any particular virtue to it, has really a sort of mesmeric effect in soothing and conciliating a nervous animal. the directions in chapter v. for approaching a colt deserve to be studied very minutely, remembering always the maxim printed at p. --_fear and anger, a good horseman should never feel._ it took mr. rarey himself two hours to halter a savage half-broken colt in liverpool, but then he had the disadvantage of being surrounded by an impatient whispering circle of spectators. at lord poltimore's seat in devonshire, in february last ( ), lord rivers was two hours alone with a very sulky biting colt, but finally succeeded in haltering and saddling him. yet his lordship had only seen one lesson illustrated on a very difficult horse at the duke of wellington's school. but this operation is much more easily described than executed, because some colts will smell at your hand one moment, and turn round as quick as lightning, and plant their heels in your ribs if you are not very active, and don't stand very close to them. on the directions for using the whip, p. , with colts of a stubborn disposition, i can say nothing, never having seen it so employed; but it is evident, that it must be employed with very great discretion. the directions for haltering are very complete, but to execute them with a colt or horse that paws violently, even in play, with his fore-feet, requires no common agility. but i may mention that i saw mr. rarey alone put a bridle on a horse seventeen bands high that was notoriously difficult to bridle even with two men assisting in the operation. in reference to the hints for treating a colt in a little work from which i have already quoted, a colonel in the life guards says, "the great thing in horsemanship is to get your horse to be of your party; not only to obey, but to obey willingly. for this reason, a young horse cannot be begun with too early, and his lessons cannot be too gradually progressive. he should wear a head-stall from the beginning, be accustomed to be held and made fast by the head, to give up all four feet, to bear the girthing of a roller, to be led, &c." but if all this useful preliminary education, in which climbing through gaps after an old hunter, and taking little jumps, be omitted, then the rarey system comes in to shorten your domesticating labours. "a wild horse, until tamed, is just as wild and fearful as a wild stag taken for the first time in the toils. "when a horse hangs back and leads unwillingly, the common error is to get in front of him and pull him. this may answer when the man is stronger than the horse, but not otherwise. "in leading you should never be further forward than your horse's shoulder: with your right-hand hold his head in front of you by the bridle close to his mouth or the head-stall, and with your left hand touch him with a whip as far back as you can; if you have not a whip you can use a stirrup-leather." footnotes: [ -*] see page --"the wild ponies of exmoor." [ -*] made by stokey, north street, little moorfields, london. chapter v. powell's system of approaching a colt.--haley's remarks on.--lively high-spirited horses tamed easily.--stubborn sulky ones more difficult.--motto, "fear, love and obey."--use of a whalebone gig-whip.--how to frighten and then approach.--use kind words.--how to halter and lead a colt.--by the side of a horse.--to lead into a stable.--to tie up to a manger.--editor's remarks.--longeing.--use and abuse of.--on bitting.--sort of bit for a colt.--dick christian's bit.--the wooden gag bit. but, before we go further, i will give you willis j. powell's system of approaching a wild colt, as given by him in a work published in europe, about the year , on the "art of taming wild horses."[ -*] he says, "a horse is gentled by my secret in from two to sixteen hours." the time i have most commonly employed has been from four to six hours. he goes on to say, "cause your horse to be put in a small yard, stable, or room. if in a stable or room, it ought to be large, in order to give him some exercise with the halter before you lead him out. if the horse belongs to that class which appears only to fear man, you must introduce yourself gently into the stable, room, or yard, where the horse is. he will naturally run from you, and frequently turn his head from you; for you must walk about extremely slow and softly, so that he can see you whenever he turns his head towards you, which he never fails to do in a short time, say in a quarter or half an hour. i never knew one to be much longer without turning towards me. "at the very moment he turns his head, hold out your left hand towards him, and stand perfectly still, keeping your eyes upon the horse, watching his motions, if he makes any. if the horse does not stir for ten or fifteen minutes, advance as slowly as possible, and without making the least noise, always holding out your left hand, without any other ingredient in it than what nature put in it." he says, "i have made use of certain ingredients before people, such as the sweat under my arm, &c., to disguise the real secret, and many believed that the docility to which the horse arrived in so short a time was owing to these ingredients: but you see from this explanation that they were of no use whatever. the implicit faith placed in these ingredients, though innocent of themselves, becomes 'faith without works.' and thus men remained always in doubt concerning the secret. if the horse makes the least motion when you advance towards him, stop, and remain perfectly still until he is quiet. remain a few moments in this condition, and then advance again in the same slow and almost imperceptible manner. take notice--if the horse stirs, stop, without changing your position. it is very uncommon for the horse to stir more than once after you begin to advance, yet there are exceptions. he generally keeps his eyes steadfast on you, until you get near enough to touch him on the forehead. when you are thus near to him, raise slowly and by degrees your hand, and let it come in contact with that part just above the nostrils, as lightly as possible. if the horse flinches (as many will), repeat with great rapidity these light strokes upon the forehead, going a little farther up towards his ears by degrees, and descending with the same rapidity until he will let you handle his forehead all over. now let the strokes be repeated with more force over all his forehead, descending by lighter strokes to each side of his head, until you can handle that part with equal facility. then touch in the same light manner, making your hands and fingers play around, the lower part of the horse's ears, coming down now and then to his forehead, which may be looked upon as the helm that governs all the rest. "having succeeded in handling his ears, advance towards the neck, with the same precautions, and in the same manner; observing always to augment the force of the strokes whenever the horse will permit it. perform the same on both sides of the neck, until he lets you take it in your arms without flinching. "proceed in the same progressive manner to the sides, and then to the back of the horse. every time the horse shows any nervousness, return immediately to the forehead, as the true standard, patting him with your hands, and thence rapidly to where you had already arrived, always gaining ground a considerable distance farther on every time this happens. the head, ears, neck, and body being thus gentled, proceed from the back to the root of the tail. "this must be managed with dexterity, as a horse is never to be depended on that is skittish about the tail. let your hand fall lightly and rapidly on that part next to the body a minute or two, and then you will begin to give it a slight pull upwards every quarter of a minute. at the same time you continue this handling of him, augment the force of the strokes as well as the raising of the tail, until you can raise it and handle it with the greatest ease, which commonly happens in a quarter of an hour in most horses, in others almost immediately, and in some much longer. it now remains to handle all his legs; from the tail come back again to the head, handle it well, as likewise the ears, breast, neck, &c., speaking now and then to the horse. begin by degrees to descend to the legs, always ascending and descending, gaming ground every time you descend, until you get to his feet. "talk to the horse in latin, greek, french, english, or spanish, or in any other language you please; but let him hear the sound of your voice, which at the beginning of the operation is not quite so necessary, but which i have always done in making him lift up his feet. 'hold up your foot'--'lève le pied'--'alza el pié'--'aron ton poda,' &c.; at the same time lift his foot with your hand. he soon becomes familiar with the sounds, and will hold up his foot at command. then proceed to the hind feet, and go on in the same manner; and in a short time the horse will let you lift them, and even take them up in your arms. "all this operation is no magnetism, no galvanism; it is merely taking away the fear a horse generally has of a man, and familiarizing the animal with his master. as the horse doubtless experiences a certain pleasure from this handling, he will soon become gentle under it, and show a very marked attachment to his keeper." rarey's remarks on powell's treatment. these instructions are very good, but not quite sufficient for horses of all kinds, and for haltering and leading the colt; but i have inserted them here because they give some of the true philosophy of approaching the horse, and of establishing confidence between man and horse. he speaks only of the kind that fear man. to those who understand the philosophy of horsemanship, these are the easiest trained; for when we have a horse that is wild and lively, we can train him to our will in a very short time--for they are generally quick to learn, and always ready to obey. but there is another kind that are of a stubborn or vicious disposition; and although they are not wild, and do not require taming, in the sense it is generally understood, they are just as ignorant as a wild horse, if not more so, and need to be taught just as much: and in order to have them obey quickly, it is very necessary that they should be made to fear their master; for, in order to obtain perfect obedience from any horse, we must first have him fear us, for our motto is, "_fear, love and obey_;" and we must have the fulfilment of the first two before we can expect the latter; for it is by our philosophy of creating fear, love, and confidence, that we govern to our will every kind of horse whatever. then, in order to take horses as we find them, of all kinds, and to train them to our liking, we should always take with us, when we go into a stable to train a colt, a long switch whip (whalebone buggy-whips are the best), with a good silk cracker, so as to cut keenly and make a sharp report. this, if handled with dexterity, and rightly applied, accompanied with a sharp, fierce word, will be sufficient to enliven the spirits of any horse. with this whip in your right hand, with the lash pointing backward, enter the stable alone. it is a great disadvantage, in training a horse, to have any one in the stable with you; you should be entirely alone, so as to have nothing but yourself to attract his attention. if he is wild, you will soon see him on the opposite side of the stable from you; and now is the time to use a little judgment. i should not require, myself, more than half or three-quarters of an hour to handle any kind of colt, and have him running about in the stable after me; though i would advise a new beginner to take more time, and not be in too much of a hurry. if you have but one colt to gentle, and are not particular about the length of time you spend, and have not had any experience in handling colts, i would advise you to take mr. powell's method at first, till you gentle him, which, he says, takes from two to six hours. but as i want to accomplish the same, and, what is more, teach the horse to lead, in less than one hour, i shall give you a much quicker process of accomplishing the same end. accordingly, when you have entered the stable, stand still, and let your horse look at you a minute or two, and as soon as he is settled in one place, approach him slowly, with both arms stationary, your right hanging by your side, holding the whip as directed, and the left bent at the elbow, with your hand projecting. as you approach him, go not too much towards his head or croup, so as not to make him move either forward or backward, thus keeping your horse stationary; if he does move a little either forward or backward, step a little to the right or left very cautiously; this will keep him in one place. as you get very near him, draw a little to his shoulder, and stop a few seconds. if you are in his reach he will turn his head and smell your hand, not that he has any preference for your hand, but because that is projecting, and is the nearest portion of your body to the horse. this all colts will do, and they will smell your naked hand just as quickly as they will of anything that you can put in it, and with just as good an effect, however much some men have preached the doctrine of taming horses by giving them the scent of articles from the hand. i have already proved that to be a mistake. as soon as he touches your hand with his nose, caress him as before directed, always using a very light, soft hand, merely touching the horse, always rubbing the way the hair lies, so that your hand will pass along as smoothly as possible. as you stand by his side, you may find it more convenient to rub his neck or the side of his head, which will answer the same purpose as rubbing his forehead. favour every inclination of the horse to smell or touch you with his nose. _always follow each touch or communication of this kind with the most tender and affectionate caresses, accompanied, with a kind look, and pleasant word of some sort_, such as, "ho! my little boy--ho! my little boy!" "pretty boy!" "nice lady!" or something of that kind, constantly repeating the same words, with the same kind, steady tone of voice; for the horse soon learns to read the expression of the face and voice, and will know as well when fear, love, or anger prevails, as you know your own feelings; two of which, fear and anger, a good horseman should never feel. if your horse is of a stubborn disposition. if your horse, instead of being wild, seems to be of a stubborn or _mulish_ disposition; if he lays back his ears as you approach him, or turns his heels to kick you, he has not that regard or fear of man that he should have, to enable you to handle him quickly and easily; and it might be well to give him a few sharp cuts with the whip, about the legs, pretty close to the body. it will crack keenly as it plies around his legs, and the crack of the whip will affect him as much as the stroke; besides, one sharp cut about his legs will affect him more than two or three over his back, the skin on the inner part of his legs or about his flank being thinner, more tender, than on his back. but do not whip him much--just enough to frighten him; _it is not because we want to hurt the horse that we whip him_--we only do it to frighten vice and stubbornness out of him. but whatever you do, do quickly, sharply, and with a good deal of fire, but always without anger. if you are going to frighten him at all, you must do it at once. never go into a pitched battle with your horse, and whip him until he is mad and will fight you; it would be better not to touch him at all, for you will establish, instead of fear and respect, feelings of resentment, hatred, and ill-will. it will do him no good, but harm, to strike him, unless you can frighten him; but if you can succeed in frightening him, you can whip him without making him mad; _for fear and anger never exist together in the horse_, and as soon as one is visible, you will find that the other has disappeared. as soon as you have frightened him, so that he will stand up straight and pay some attention to you, approach him again, and caress him a good deal more than you whipped him; thus you will excite the two controlling passions of his nature, love and fear; he will love and fear you, too; and, as soon as he learns what you require, will obey quickly. how to halter and lead a colt. as soon as you have gentled the colt a little, take the halter in your left hand, and approach him as before, and on the same side that you have gentled him. if he is very timid about your approaching closely to him, you can get up to him quicker by making the whip a part of your arm, and reaching out very gently with the butt end of it, rubbing him lightly on the neck, all the time getting a little closer, shortening the whip by taking it up in your hand, until you finally get close enough to put your hands on him. if he is inclined to hold his head from you, put the end of the halter-strap around his neck, drop your whip, and draw very gently; he will let his neck give, and you can pull his head to you. then take hold of that part of the halter which buckles over the top of his head, and pass the long side, or that part which goes into the buckle, under his neck, grasping it on the opposite side with your right hand, letting the first strap loose--the latter will be sufficient to hold his head to you. lower the halter a little, just enough to get his nose into that part which goes around it; then raise it somewhat, and fasten the top buckle, and you will have it all right. the first time you halter a colt you should stand on the left side, pretty well back to his shoulder, only taking hold of that part of the halter that goes around his neck; then with your two hands about his neck you can hold his head to you, and raise the halter on it without making him dodge by putting your hands about his nose. you should have a long rope or strap ready, and as soon as you have the halter on, attach this to it, so that you can let him walk the length of the stable without letting go of the strap, or without making him pull on the halter, for if you only let him feel the weight of your hand on the halter, and give him rope when he runs from you, he will never rear, pull, or throw himself, yet you will be holding him all the time, and doing more towards gentling him than if you had the power to snub him right up, and hold him to one spot; because he does not know anything about his strength, and if you don't do anything to make him pull, he will never know that he can. in a few minutes you can begin to control him with the halter, then shorten the distance between yourself and the horse by taking up the strap in your hand. as soon as he will allow you to hold him by a tolerably short strap, and to step up to him without flying back, you can begin to give him some idea about leading. but to do this, do not go before and attempt to pull him after you, but commence by pulling him very quietly to one side. he has nothing to brace either side of his neck, and will soon yield to a steady, gradual pull of the halter; and as soon as you have pulled him a step or two to one side, step up to him and caress him, and then pull him again, repeating this operation until you can pull him around in every direction, and walk about the stable with him, which you can do in a few minutes, for he will soon think when you have made him step to the right or left a few times, that he is compelled to follow the pull of the halter, not knowing that he has the power to resist your pulling; besides, you have handled him so gently that he is not afraid of you, and you always caress him when he comes up to you, and he likes that, and would just as lief follow you as not. and after he has had a few lessons of that kind, if you turn him out in a field, he will come up to you every opportunity he gets. you should lead him about in the stable some time before you take him out, opening the door, so that he can see out, leading him up to it and back again, and past it. see that there is nothing on the outside to make him jump when you take him out, and as you go out with him, try to make him go very slowly, catching hold of the halter close to the jaw with your left hand, while the right is resting on the top of the neck, holding to his mane. after you are out with him a little while, you can lead him about as you please. don't let any second person come up to you when you first take him out; a stranger taking hold of the halter would frighten him, and make him run. there should not even be any one standing near him, to attract his attention or scare him. if you are alone, and manage him rightly, it will not require any more force to lead or hold him than it would to manage a broken horse. how to lead a colt by the side of a broken horse. if you should want to lead your colt by the side of another horse, as is often the case, i would advise you to take your horse into the stable, attach a second strap to the colt's halter, and lead your horse up alongside of him. then get on the broken horse and take one strap around his breast, under his martingale (if he has any on), holding it in your left hand. this will prevent the colt from getting back too far; besides, you will have more power to hold him with the strap pulling against the horse's breast. the other strap take up in your right hand to prevent him from running ahead; then turn him about a few times in the stable, and if the door is wide enough, ride out with him in that position; if not, take the broken horse out first, and stand his breast up against the door, then lead the colt to the same spot, and take the straps as before directed, one on each side of his neck, then let some one start the colt out, and as he comes out, turn your horse to the left, and you will have them all right. this is the best way to lead a colt; you can manage any kind of colt in this way, without any trouble; for if he tries to run ahead, or pull back, the two straps will bring the horses facing each other, so that you can very easily follow up his movements without doing much holding, and as soon as he stops running backward you are right with him, and all ready to go ahead; and if he gets stubborn and does not want to go, you can remove all his stubbornness by riding your horse against his neck, thus compelling him to turn to the right; and as soon as you have turned him about a few times, he will be willing to go along. the next thing after you have got through leading him, will be to take him into a stable, and hitch him in such a way as not to have him pull on the halter; and as they are often troublesome to get into a stable the first few times, i will give you some instructions about getting him in. to lead into a stable. you should lead the broken horse into the stable first, and get the colt, if you can, to follow in after him. if he refuses to go, step unto him, taking a little stick or switch in your right hand; then take hold of the halter close to his head with your left hand, at the same time reaching over his back with your right arm so that you can tap him on the opposite side with your switch; bring him up facing the door, tap him slightly with your switch, reaching as far back with it as you can. this tapping, by being pretty well back, and on the opposite side, will drive him ahead, and keep him close to you; then by giving him the right direction with your left hand you can walk into the stable with him. i have walked colts into the stable this way in less than a minute, after men had worked at them half an hour, trying to pull them in. if you cannot walk him in at once in this way, turn him about and walk him around in every direction, until you can get him up to the door without pulling at him. then let him stand a few minutes, keeping his head in the right direction with the halter, and he will walk in in less than ten minutes. never attempt to pull the colt into the stable; that would make him think at once that it was a dangerous place, and if he was not afraid of it before he would be then. besides, we do not want him to know anything about pulling on the halter. colts are often hurt and sometimes killed, by trying to force them into the stable; and those who attempt to do it in that way go into an up-hill business, when a plain smooth road is before them. if you want to tie up your colt, put him in a tolerably wide stall, which should not be too long, and should be connected by a bar or something of that kind to the partition behind it; so that, after the colt is in he cannot go far enough back to take a straight, backward pull on the halter; then by tying him in the centre of the stall, it would be impossible for him to pull on the halter, the partition behind preventing him from going back, and the halter in the centre checking him every time he turns to the right or left. in a stall of this kind you can break any horse to stand tied with a light strap, anywhere, without his ever knowing anything about pulling. for if you have broken your horse to lead, and have taught him the use of the halter (which you should always do before you hitch him to anything), you can hitch him in any kind of a stall, and if you give him something to eat to keep him up to his place for a few minutes at first, there is not one colt in fifty that will pull on his halter. editors remarks. mr. rarey says nothing about "longeing," which is the first step of european and eastern training. perhaps he considers his plan of pulling up the leg to be sufficient; but be that as it may, we think it well to give the common sense of a much-abused practice. ignorant horse-breakers will tell you that they _longe_ a colt to supple him. that is ridiculous nonsense. a colt unbroken will bend himself with most extraordinary flexibility. look at a lot of two-years before starting for a run; observe the agility of their antics: or watch a colt scratching his head with his hind foot, and you will never believe that such animals can require suppling. but it is an easy way of teaching a horse simple acts of obedience--of getting him to go and stop at your orders: but in brutal hands more horses are spoiled and lamed by the longe than any other horse-breaking operation. a stupid fellow drags a horse's head and shoulders into the circle with the cord, while his hind-quarters are driven out by the whip. "_a colt should be longed at a walk only, until he circles without force._ "he should never be compelled to canter in the longe, though he may be permitted to do it of himself. "he must not be stopped by pulling the cord, which would pull him across, but by meeting him, so that he stops himself straight. a skilful person will, single-handed, longe, and, by heading him with the whip, change him without stopping, and longe him in the figure of . no man is fit to be trusted with such powerful implements as the longe-cord and whip who cannot do this. "the snaffle may be added when he goes freely in the head-stall." a colt should never be buckled to the pillar reins by his bit, but by the head-stall; for if tightly buckled to the bit, he will bear heavily--even go to sleep: raw lip, which, when cured, becomes callous, is the result. yet nothing is more common than to see colts standing for hours on the bit, with reins tightly buckled to the demi-jockey, under the ignorant notion of giving him a mouth, or setting up his head in the right place. the latter, if not done by nature, can only be done, if ever, by delicate, skilful hands. a colt's bit should be large and smooth snaffle, with players to keep his mouth moist. dick christian liked a bit for young horses as thick as his thumb--we don't know how thick that was--and four and a half inches between the cheeks; and there was no better judge than dick. the germans use a wooden bit to make a horse's mouth, and good judges think they are right, as it may not be so unpleasant as metal to begin with; but wood or iron, the bridle should be properly put on, a point often neglected, and a fertile source of restiveness. there is as much need to fit a bridle to the length of a horse's head, as to buckle the girths of the saddle. for conquering a vicious, biting horse, there is nothing equal to the large wooden gag-bit, which mr. rarey first exhibited in public on the zebra. a muzzle only prevents a horse from biting; a gag, properly used, cures; for when he finds he cannot bite, and that you caress him and rub his ears kindly with perfect confidence, he by degrees abandons this most dangerous vice. stafford was driven in a wooden gag the first time. colts inclined to crib-bite, should be dressed with one on. [illustration: wooden gag bit.] our woodcut is taken from the improved model produced by mr. stokey; no doubt mr. rarey took the idea of his gag-bit from the wooden gag, which has been in use among country farriers from time immemorial, to keep a horse's mouth while they are performing the cruel and useless operation of firing for lampas. [illustration: leg strapped up.] footnotes: [ -*] is there such a work? i cannot find it in any english catalogue.--editor. chapter vi. taming a colt or horse.--rarey's directions for strapping up and laying down detailed.--explanations by editor.--to approach a vicious horse with half door.--cartwheel.--no. strap applied.--no. strap applied.--woodcuts of.--how to hop about.--knot up bridle.--struggle described.--lord b.'s improved no. strap.--not much danger.--how to steer a horse.--laid down, how to gentle.--to mount, tied up.--place and preparations for training described. in this chapter i change the arrangement of the original work, and unite two sections which mr. rarey has divided, either because when he wrote them he was not aware of the importance of what is really the cardinal point, the mainstay, the foundation of his system, or because he wished to conceal it from the uninitiated. the rarey system substitutes for severe longeing, for whipping and spurring, blinkers, physic, starving, the twitch, tying the tail down, sewing the ears together, putting shot in the ears, and all the cruelties hitherto resorted to for subduing high-spirited and vicious animals (and very often the high-spirited become, from injudicious treatment, the most vicious), a method of laying a horse down, tying up his limbs, and gagging, if necessary, his mouth, which makes him soon feel that man is his superior, and yet neither excites his terror or his hatred. these two sections are to be found at pp. and and at pp. and , _orig. edit._, under the titles of "how to drive a horse that is very wild, and has any vicious habits," and "how to make a horse lie down." it is essential to unite these sections, because, if you put a well-bred horse in harness with his leg up, without first putting him down, it is ten to one but that he throws himself down violently, breaks the shafts of the vehicle, and his own knees. the following are the sections verbatim, of which i shall afterwards give a paraphrase, with illustrative woodcuts:-- "take up one fore-foot and bend his knee till his hoof is bottom upwards, and nearly touching his body; then slip a loop over his knee, and up until it comes above the pastern-joint, to keep it up, being careful to draw the loop together between the hoof and pastern-joint with a second strap of some kind to prevent the loop from slipping down and coming off. this will leave the horse standing on three legs; you can now handle him as you wish, for it is utterly impossible for him to kick in this position. there is something in this operation of taking up one foot, that conquers a horse quicker and better than anything else you can do to him. there is no process in the world equal to it to break a kicking horse, for several reasons. first, there is a principle of this kind in the nature of the horse; that by conquering one member, you conquer, to a great extent, the whole horse. "you have perhaps seen men operate upon this principle, by sewing a horse's ears together to prevent him from kicking. i once saw a plan given in a newspaper to make a bad horse stand to be shod, which was to fasten down one ear. there were no reasons given why you should do so; but i tried it several times, and thought that it had a good effect--though i would not recommend its use, especially stitching his ears together. the only benefit arising from this process is, that by disarranging his ears we draw his attention to them, and he is not so apt to resist the shoeing. by tying up one foot we operate on the same principle to a much better effect. when you first fasten up a horse's foot, he will sometimes get very mad, and strike with his knee, and try every possible way to get it down; but he cannot do that, and will soon give up. "this will conquer him better than anything you could do, and without any possible danger of hurting himself or you either, for you can tie up his foot and sit down and look at him until he gives up. when you find that he is conquered, go to him, let down his foot, rub his leg with your hand, caress him, and let him rest a little; then put it up again. repeat this a few times, always putting up the same foot, and he will soon learn to travel on three legs, so that you can drive him some distance. as soon as he gets a little used to this way of travelling, put on your harness, and hitch him to a sulky. if he is the worst kicking horse that ever raised a foot, you need not be fearful of his doing any damage while he has one foot up, for he cannot kick, neither can he run fast enough to do any harm. and if he is the wildest horse that ever had harness on, and has run away every time he has been hitched, you can now hitch him in a sulky, and drive him as you please. if he wants to run, you can let him have the lines, and the whip too, with perfect safety, for he can go but a slow gait on three legs, and will soon be tired, and willing to stop; only hold him enough to guide him in the right direction, and he will soon be tired and willing to stop at the word. thus you will effectually cure him at once of any further notion of running off. kicking horses have always been the dread of everybody; you always hear men say, when they speak about a bad horse, 'i don't care what he does, so he don't kick.' this new method is an effectual cure for this worst of all habits. there are plenty of ways by which you can hitch a kicking horse, and force him to go, though he kicks all the time; but this doesn't have any good effect towards breaking him, for we know that horses kick because they are afraid of what is behind them, and when they kick against it and it hurts them, they will only kick the harder; and this will hurt them still more and make them remember the scrape much longer, and make it still more difficult to persuade them to have any confidence in anything dragging behind them ever after. "but by this new method you can harness them to a rattling sulky, plough, waggon, or anything else in its worst shape. they may be frightened at first, but cannot kick or do anything to hurt themselves, and will soon find that you do not intend to hurt them, and then they will not care anything more about it. you can then let down the leg and drive along gently without any further trouble. by this new process a bad kicking horse can be learned to go gentle in harness in a few hours' time."[ -*] "how to make a horse lie down. "everything that we want to teach the horse must be commenced in such a way as to give him an idea of what you want him to do, and then be repeated till he learns it perfectly. to make a horse lie down, bend his left fore-leg and slip a loop over it, so that he cannot get it down. then put a surcingle around his body, and fasten one end of a long strap around the other fore-leg, just above the hoof. place the other end under the before-described surcingle, so as to keep the strap in the right direction; take a short hold of it with your right hand; stand on the left side of the horse, grasp the bit in your left hand, pull steadily on the strap with your right; bear against his shoulder till you cause him to move. as soon as he lifts his weight, your pulling will raise the other foot, and he will have to come on his knees. keep the strap tight in your hand, so that he cannot straighten his leg if he rises up. hold him in this position, and turn his head towards you; bear against his side with your shoulder, not hard, but with a steady, equal pressure, and in about ten minutes he will lie down. as soon as he lies down, he will be completely conquered, and you can handle him as you please. take off the straps, and straighten out his legs; rub him lightly about the face and neck with your hand the way the hair lies; handle all his legs, and after he has lain ten or twenty minutes, let him get up again. after resting him a short time, make him lie down as before. repeat the operation three or four times, which will be sufficient for one lesson. give him two lessons a day, and when you have given him four lessons, he will lie down by taking hold of one foot. as soon as he is well broken to lie down in this way, tap him on the opposite leg with a stick when you take hold of his foot, and in a few days he will lie down from the mere motion of the stick." editors detailed explanations. although, as i before observed, the tying up of the fore-leg is not a new expedient, or even the putting a horse down single-handed, the two operations, as taught and performed by mr. rarey, not only subdue and render docile the most violent horses, but, most strange of all, inspire them with a positive confidence and affection after two or three lessons from the horse-tamer. "how this is or why this is," mr. langworthy, the veterinary surgeon to her majesty's stables, observed, "i cannot say or explain, but i am convinced, by repeated observation on many horses, that it is a fact." if, however, a man, however clever with horses, were to attempt to perform the operations without other instruction than that contained in the american pamphlet, he would infallibly break his horse's knees, and probably get his toes trodden on, his eyes blacked, and his arm dislocated--for all these accidents have happened within my own knowledge to rash experimentalists; while under proper instructions, not only have stout and gouty noblemen succeeded perfectly, but the slight-built, professional horsewoman, miss gilbert, has conquered thorough-bred colts and fighting arabs, and a young and beautiful peeress has taken off her bonnet before going to a morning _féte_, and in ten minutes laid a full-sized horse prostrate and helpless as a sheep in the hands of the shearer. having, then, in your mind mr. rarey's maxim that a horseman should know neither fear nor anger, and having laid in a good stock of patience, you must make your approach to the colt or stallion in the mode prescribed in the preceding chapters. in dealing with a colt, except upon an emergency, he should be first accustomed to be handled and taught to lead; this, first-rate horse-tamers will accomplish with the wildest colt in three hours, but it is better to give at least one day up to these first important steps in education. it will also be as well to have a colt cleaned and his hoof trimmed by the blacksmith. if this cannot be done the operation will be found very dirty and disagreeable. in approaching a spiteful stallion you had better make your first advances with a half-door between you and him, as mr. rarey did in his first interview with cruiser: gradually make his acquaintance, and teach him that you do not care for his open mouth; but a regular biter must be gagged in the manner which will presently be described. of course there is no difficulty in handling the leg of a quiet horse or colt, and by constantly working from the neck down to the fetlock you may do what you please. but many horses and even colts have a most dangerous trick of striking out with their fore-legs. there is no better protection against this than a cart-wheel. the wheel may either be used loose, or the animal may be led up to a cart loaded with hay, when the horse-tamer can work under the cart through one of the wheels, while the colt is nibbling the load. having, then, so far soothed a colt that he will permit you to take up his legs without resistance, take the strap no. [ -*]--pass the tongue through the loop under the buckle so as to form a noose, slip it over the near fore-leg and draw it close up to the pastern-joint, then take up the leg as if you were going to shoe him, and passing the strap over the fore-arm, put it through the buckle, and buckle the lower limb as close as you can to the arm without hurting the animal. [illustration: strap no. .] take care that your buckle is of the very best quality, and the leather sound. it is a good plan to stretch it before using it. the tongues of buckles used for this purpose, if not of the very best quality, are very likely to come out, when all your labour will have to be gone over again. sometimes you may find it better to lay the loop open on the ground, and let the horse step into it. it is better the buckle should be inside the leg if you mean the horse to fall toward you, because then it is easier to unbuckle when he is on the ground. in those instances in which you have had no opportunity of previously taming and soothing a colt, it will frequently take you an hour of quiet, patient, silent perseverance before he will allow you to buckle up his leg--if he resists you have nothing for it but _patience_. you must stroke him, you must fondle him, until he lets you enthral him. mr. rarey always works alone, and disdains assistance, and so do some of his best pupils, lord b., the marquis of s., and captain s. in travelling in foreign countries you may have occasion to tame a colt or wild horse alone, but there is no reason why you should not have assistance if you can get it, and in that case the process is of course much easier. but it must never be forgotten that to tame a horse properly no unnecessary force must be employed; it is better that he should put down his foot six times that he may yield it willingly at last, and under no circumstances must the trainer lose patience, or give way to temper. the near fore-leg being securely strapped, and the horse, if so inclined, secured from biting by a wooden bit, the next step is to make him hop about on three legs. this is comparatively easy if the animal has been taught to lead, but it is difficult with one which has not. the trainer must take care to keep behind his horse's shoulder and walk in a circle, or he will be likely to be struck by the horse's head or strapped-up leg. mr. rarey is so skilful that he seldom considers it necessary to make his horses hop about; but there is no doubt that it saves much after-trouble by fatiguing the animal; and that it is a useful preparation before putting a colt or kicking horse into harness. like every other operation it must be done very gently, and accompanied by soothing words--"come along"--"come along, old fellow," &c. a horse can hop on three legs, if not severely pressed, for two or three miles; and no plan is more successful for curing a kicker or jibber. when the horse has hopped for as long as you think necessary to tire him, buckle a common single strap roller or surcingle on his body tolerably tight. a single strap surcingle is the best. it is as well, if possible, to teach colts from a very early age to bear a surcingle. at any rate it will require a little management the first time. you have now advanced your colt so far that he is not afraid of a man, he likes being patted and caressed, he will lead when you take hold of the bridle, and you have buckled up his leg so that he cannot hop faster than you can run. [illustration: no. strap, for off fore-leg.] shorten the bridle (the bit should be a thick plain snaffle) so that the reins, when laid loose on his withers, come nearly straight. this is best done by twisting the reins twice round two fore-fingers and passing the ends through in a loop, because this knot can be easily untied. next take strap no. , and, making a loop, put it round the off fore-leg. with a very quiet horse this can easily be done; with a wild or vicious horse you may have to make him step into it; at any rate, when once the off fore-leg is caught in the noose it must be drawn tight round the pastern-joint. then put a stout glove or mitten on your right hand, having taken care that your nails have been cut short, pass the strap through the belly part of the surcingle, take a firm short hold of it with your gloved right hand, standing close to the horse behind his shoulders, and with your left hand take hold of the near rein; by pulling the horse gently to the near side he will be almost sure to hop; if he will not he must be led, but mr. rarey always makes him hop alone. the moment he lifts up his off fore-foot you must draw up strap no. tightly and steadily. the motion will draw up the off leg into the same position as the near leg, and the horse will go down on his knees. your object is to hold the strap so firmly that he will not be able to stretch his foot out again. those who are very confident in their skill are content to hold the strap only with a twist round their hand, but others take the opportunity of the horse's first surprise to give the strap a double turn round the surcingle. [illustration: horse with straps nos. and .] another way of performing this operation is to use with difficult violent horses the strap invented by lord b----h, which consists first of the loop for the off fore-leg shown in our cut. a surcingle strap, at least seven feet long, with a buckle, is thrown across the horse's back; the buckle end is passed through the ring; the tongue is passed through the buckle, and the moment the horse moves the tamer draws the strap tight round the body of the horse, and in buckling it makes the leg so safe that he has no need to use any force in holding it up. [illustration: lord b.'s improved strap no. .] as soon as a horse recovers from his astonishment at being brought to his knees, he begins to resist; that is, he rears up on his hind-legs, and springs about in a manner that is truly alarming for the spectators to behold, and which in the case of a well-bred horse in good condition requires a certain degree of activity in the trainer. (see page of horse struggling.) [illustration: surcingle for lord b.'s strap no. .] you must remember that your business is not to set your strength against the horse's strength, but merely to follow him about, holding the strap just tight enough to prevent him from putting out his off fore-leg. as long as you keep _close to him_ and _behind his shoulders_ you are in very little danger. the bridle in the left hand must be used like steering lines: by pulling to the right or left as occasion requires, the horse, turning on his hind-legs, maybe guided just as a boat is steered by the rudder lines; or pulling straight, the horse may be fatigued by being forced to walk backwards. the strap passing through the surcingle keeps, or ought to keep, the trainer in his right place--he is not to pull or in any way fatigue himself more than he can help, but, standing upright, simply follow the horse about, guiding him with the bridle away from the walls of the training school when needful. it must be admitted that to do this well requires considerable nerve, coolness, patience, and at times agility; for although a grass-fed colt will soon give in, a corn-fed colt, and, above all, a high-couraged hunter in condition, will make a very stout fight; and i have known one instance in which a horse with both fore-legs fast has jumped sideways. [illustration: the horse struggling.] the proof that the danger is more apparent than real lies in the fact that no serious accidents have as yet happened; and that, as i before observed, many noblemen, and some noble ladies, and some boys, have succeeded perfectly. but it would be untrue to assert that there is no danger. when held and guided properly, few horses resist more than ten minutes; and it is believed that a quarter of an hour is the utmost time that any horse has ever fought before sinking exhausted to the earth. but the time seems extremely long to an inexperienced performer; and it is a great comfort to get your assistant to be tune-keeper, if there is no clock in a conspicuous situation, and tell you how you are getting on. usually at the end of eight minutes' violent struggles, the animal sinks forward on his knees, sweating profusely, with heaving flanks and shaking tail, as if at the end of a thirty minutes' burst with fox-hounds over a stiff country. then is the time to get him into a comfortable position for lying down; if he is still stout, he may be forced by the bit to walk backwards. then, too, by pushing gently at his shoulder, or by pulling steadily the off-rein, you can get him to fall, in the one case on the near side, on the other on the off side; but this assistance should be so slight that the horse must not be able to resist it. the horse will often make a final spring when you think he is quite beaten; but, at any rate, at length he slides over, and lies down, panting and exhausted, on his side. if he is full of corn and well bred, take advantage of the moment to tie up the off fore-leg to the surcingle, as securely as the other, in a slip loop knot. now let your horse recover his wind, and then encourage him to make a second fight. it will often be more stubborn and more fierce than the first. the object of this tying-up operation is, that he shall thoroughly exhaust without hurting himself, and that he shall come to the conclusion that it is you who, by your superior strength, have conquered him, and that you are always able to conquer him. under the old rough-riding system, the most vicious horses were occasionally conquered by daring men with firm seats and strong arms, who rode and flogged them into subjection; but these conquests were temporary, and usually _personal_; with every stranger, the animal would begin his game again. one advantage of this rarey system is, that the horse is allowed to exhaust himself under circumstances that render it impossible for him to struggle long enough to do himself any harm. it has been suggested that a blood-vessel would be likely to be broken, or apoplexy produced by the exertion of leaping from the hind legs; but, up to the present time, no accident of any kind has been reported. when the horse lies down for the second or third time thoroughly beaten, the time has arrived for teaching him a few more of the practical parts of horse-training. [illustration: the horse exhausted.] when you have done all you desire to the horse tied up,--smoothed his ears, if fidgety about the ears--the hind-legs, if a kicker--shown him a saddle, and allowed him to smell it, and then placed it on his back--mounted him yourself, and pulled him all over--take off all the straps. in moving round him for the purpose of gentling him, walk slowly always from the head round the tail, and again to the head: scrape the sweat off him with a scraper; rub him down with a wisp; smooth the hair of his legs, and draw the fore one straight out. if he has fought hard, he will lie like a dead horse, and scarcely stir. you must now again go over him as conscientiously as if you were a mesmeric doctor or shampooer: every limb must be "_gentled_," to use mr. rarey's expressive phrase; and with that operation you have completed your _first_ and _most_ important lesson. you may now mount on the back of an unbroken colt, and teach him that you do not hurt him in that attitude: if he were standing upright he might resist, and throw you from fright; but as he is exhausted and powerless, he has time to find out that you mean him no harm. you can lay a saddle or harness on him, if he has previously shown aversion to them, or any part of them: his head and his tail and his legs are all safe for your friendly caresses; don't spare them, and speak to him all the time. if he has hitherto resisted shoeing, now is the time for handling his fore and hind legs; kindly, yet, if he attempts to resist, with a voice of authority. if he is a violent, savage, confirmed kicker, like cruiser, or mr. gurney's gray colt, or the zebra, as soon as he is down put a pair of hobbles on his hind-legs, like those used for mares during covering. (frontispiece of zebra.) these must be held by an assistant on whom you can depend; and passed through the rings of the surcingle. with his fore-legs tied, you may usefully spend an hour, in handling his legs, tapping the hoofs with your hand or hammer--all this to be done in a firm, measured, soothing manner; only now and then, if he resist, crying, as you paralyze him with the ropes, "_wo ho!_" in a determined manner. it is by this continual soothing and handling that you establish confidence between the horse and yourself. after patting him as much as you deem needful, say for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, you may encourage him to rise. some horses will require a good deal of helping, and their fore-legs drawing out before them. it may be as well to remark, that the handling the limbs, of colts particularly, requires caution. a cart colt, tormented by flies, will kick forward nearly up to the fore-legs. if a horse, unstrapped, attempts to rise, you may easily stop him by taking hold of a fore-leg and doubling it back to the strapped position. if by chance he should be too quick, don't resist; it is an essential principle in the rarey system, never to enter into a contest with a horse unless you are certain to be victorious. in all these operations, you must be calm, and not in a hurry. thus, under the rarey system, all indications are so direct, that the horse must understand them. you place him in a position, and under such restraint, that he cannot resist anything that you chose to do to him; and then you proceed to caress him when he assents, to reprove him when he _thinks_ of resisting--resist, with all his legs tied, he cannot--repeated lessons end by persuading the most vicious horse that it is useless to try to resist, and that acquiescence will be followed by the caresses that horses evidently like. [illustration: the horse tamed.] the last instance of mr. rarey's power was a beautiful gray mare, which had been fourteen years in the band of one of the life guards regiments, and consequently at least seventeen years old; during all that time she would never submit quietly to have her hind-legs shod; the farriers had to put a twitch on her nose and ears, and tie her tail down: even then she resisted violently. in three days mr. rarey was able to shoe her with her head loose. and this was not done by a trick, but by proving to her that she could not resist even to the extent of an inch, and that no harm was meant her; her lessons were repeated many times a day for three days. such continual impressive perseverance is an essential part of the system. when you have to deal with a horse as savage a kicker as cruiser, or the zebra, a horse that can kick from one leg as fiercely as others can from two, in that case, to subdue and compel him to lie down, have a leather surcingle with a ring sewed on the belly part, and when the hobbles are buckled on the hind-legs, pass the ropes through the rings, and when the horse rises again, by buckling up one fore-leg, and pulling steadily, when needful, at the hind-legs, or tying the hobble-ropes to a collar, you reduce him to perfect helplessness; he finds that he cannot rear, for you pull his hind-legs--or kick, for you can pull at all three legs, and after a few lessons he gives in in despair. these were the methods by which cruiser and the zebra were subdued. they seem, and are, very simple; properly carried out they are effective for subduing the most spirited colt, and curing the most vicious horse. but still in difficult and exceptional cases it cannot be too often repeated that a man is required, as well as a method. without nerve nothing can be attempted; without patience and perseverance mere nerve will be of little use; all the quackery and nonsense that has been talked and written under the inspiration of the barnum who has had an interest in the success of the silent, reserved, practical rarey, must be dismissed. horse-training is not a conjuror's trick. the principles may certainly be learned by once reading this book; a few persons specially organised, accustomed to horses all their lives, may succeed in their first attempts with even difficult horses. the success of lord burghersh, after one lesson from rarey, with a very difficult mare; of lord elvers, lord vivian, the hon. frederick villiers, and the marquess of stafford, with colts, is well known in the sporting world. mr. thomas rice, of motcombe street, who has studied everything connected with the horse, on the continent as well as in england, and who is thoroughly acquainted with the spanish school, as well as the english cross-country style of horsemanship, succeeded, as i have already mentioned, the very first time he took the straps in hand in subduing mr. gurney's gray colt--the most vicious animal, next to cruiser, that mr. rarey tackled in england. this brute tore off the flaps of the saddle with his teeth. but it is sheer humbug to pretend that a person who knows no more of horses than is to be learned by riding a perfectly-trained animal now and then for an hour or two, can acquire the whole art of horse-taming, or can even safely tackle a violent horse, without a previous preparation and practice. as you must not be nervous or angry, so you must not be in a hurry. many ladies have attended mr. rarey's lessons, and studied his art, but very few have tried, and still fewer have succeeded. it is just one of those things that all ladies fond of horses should know, as well as those who are likely to visit india, or the colonies, although it is not exactly a feminine occupation; crinoline would be sadly in the way-- "those little hands were never made to hold a leather strap." but it may be useful as an emergency, as it will enable any lady to instruct a friend, or groom, or sailor, or peasant, how to do what she is not able to do herself, and to argue effectively that straps will do more than whips and spurs. at the practice club of noblemen and gentlemen held at miss gilbert's stables, it has been observed that every week some horse more determined than the average has been too much for the wind, or the patience, of most of the subscribers. one only has never been beaten, the marquess of s----, but then he was always in condition; a dab hand at every athletic sport, extremely active, and gifted with a "calmness," as well as a nerve, which few men of his position enjoy. in a word, the average horse may be subdued by the average horseman, and colts usually come within the average; but a fierce, determined, vicious horse requires a man above the average in temper, courage, and activity; activity and skill in _steering_ being of more importance than strength. it is seldom necessary to lay a colt down more than twice. perhaps the best way is to begin practising the strap movements with a donkey, or a quiet horse full of grass or water, and so go on from day to day with as much perseverance as if you were practising skating or walking on a tight rope; until you can approach, halter, lead, strap up, and lay down a colt with as much calmness as a huntsman takes his fences with his eye on his hounds, you are not perfect. remember you must not hurry, and you must _not chatter_. when you feel impatient you had better leave off, and begin again another day. and the same with your horse: you must not tire him with one lesson, but you must give him at least one lesson every day, and two or three to a nervous customer; we have a striking example of patience and perseverance in mr. rarey's first evening with cruiser. he had gone through the labour of securing him, and bringing him up forty miles behind a dog-cart, yet he did not lose a moment, but set to work the same night to tame him limb by limb, and inch by inch, and from that day until he produced him in public, he never missed a day without spending twice a day from two to three hours with him, first rendering him helpless by gag-bit, straps and hobbles, then caressing him, then forcing him to lie down, then caressing him again, stroking every limb, talking to him in soothing tones, and now and then, if he turned vicious, taking up his helpless head, giving it a good shake, while scolding him as you would a naughty boy. and then again taking off the gag and rewarding submission with a lock of sweet hay and a drink of water, most grateful after a tempest of passion, then making him rise, and riding him--making him stop at a word. i mention these facts, because an idea has gone abroad that any man with mr. rarey's straps can manage any horse. it would be just as sensible to assert that any boy could learn to steer a yacht by taking the tiller for an hour under the care of an "old salt." the most curious and important fact of all in connection with this strapping up and laying down process, is, that the moment the horse rises _he seems to have contracted a personal friendship for the operator_, and with a very little encouragement will generally follow him round the box or circus; this feeling may as well be encouraged by a little bit of carrot or bread and sugar. place and preparations for training a colt. it is almost impossible to train or tame a horse quickly in an open space. as his falls are violent, the floor must be very soft. the best place is a space boarded off with partitions six or seven feet high, and on the floor a deep layer of tan or sand or saw-dust, on which, a thick layer of straw has been spread; but the floor must not be too soft; if it is, the horse will sink on his knees without fighting, and without the lesson of exhaustion, which is so important. to throw a horse for a surgical operation, the floor cannot be too soft: the enclosure should be about thirty feet from side to side, of a square or octagonal shape; but not round if possible, because it is of great advantage to have a corner into which a colt may turn when you are teaching him the first haltering lesson. a barn may be converted into a training-school, if the floor be made soft enough with straw. but in every case, it is extremely dangerous to have pillars, posts, or any projections against which the horse in rearing might strike; as when the legs are tied, a horse is apt to miscalculate his distance. and if the space is too narrow, the trainer, in dealing with a violent horse, may get crushed or kicked. it is of great advantage that the training-school should be roofed, and if possible, every living thing, that might distract the horse's attention by sight or sound, should be removed. other horses, cattle, pigs, and even dogs or fowls moving about or making a noise, will spoil the effect of a good lesson. in an emergency, the first lesson may be given in an open straw-yard. lord burghersh trained his first pupil on a small space in the middle of a thick wood; cruiser was laid down the first time in a bullock-yard. but if you have many colts to train, it is well worth while to dig out a pit two feet deep, fill it with tan and straw, and build round it a shed of rough poles, filled in with gorse plastered with clay, on the same plan as a bullock feeding-box. the floor should not be too deep or soft, because if it is, the colt will sink at once without fighting, and a good lesson in obedience is lost. this may be done for from _s._ to _l._ on a farm. in a riding-school it is very easy to have lofty temporary partitions. it is probable that in future every riding-school will have a rarey box for training hacks, as well as to enable pupils to practise the art. it is quite out of the question to attempt to do anything with a difficult horse while other horses can be seen or heard, or while a party of lookers-on are chattering and laughing. as to the costume of the trainer, i recommend a close cap, a stout pair of boots, short trousers or breeches of stout tweed or corduroy, a short jacket with pockets outside, one to hold the straps and gloves, the other a few pieces of carrot to reward the pupil. a pocket-handkerchief should be handy to wipe your perspiring brow. a trainer should not be without a knife and a piece of string, for emergencies. spare straps, bridles, a surcingle, a long whalebone whip, and a saddle, should be hung up outside the training inclosure, where they can be handed, when required, to the operator as quickly and with as little delay and fuss as possible. a sort of dumb-waiter, with hooks instead of trays, could be contrived for a man who worked alone. if a lady determines to become a horse-trainer, she had better adopt a bloomer costume, without any stiff petticoats, as long robes would be sure to bring her to grief. to hold the long strap no. , it is necessary to wear a stout glove, which will be all the more useful if the tips of the fingers are cut off at the first joint, so as to make it a sort of mitten. footnotes: [ -*] i should not recommend this plan with a well-bred horse without first laying him down, as he would be likely to throw himself down.--editor. [ -*] all these straps may be obtained from mr. stokey, saddler, north street, little moorfields, who supplied mr. rarey, and has patterns of the improvements by lord b---- and colonel r----. chapter vii. the drum.--the umbrella.--riding-habit.--how to bit a colt.--how to saddle.--to mount.--to ride.--to break.--to harness.--to make a horse follow and stand without holding.--baucher's plan.--nolan's plan. it is an excellent practice to accustom all horses to strange sounds and sights, and of very great importance to young horses which are to be ridden or driven in large towns, or used as chargers. although some horses are very much more timid and nervous than others, the very worst can be very much improved by acting on the first principles laid down in the introduction to this book--that is, by proving that the strange sights and sounds will do them no harm. when a railway is first opened, the sheep, the cattle, and especially the horses, grazing in the neighbouring fields, are terribly alarmed at the sight of the swift, dark, moving trains, and the terrible snorting and hissing of the steam-engines. they start away--they gallop in circles--and when they stop, gaze with head and tail erect, until the monsters have disappeared. but from day to day the live stock become more accustomed to the sight and sound of the steam horse, and after a while they do not even cease grazing when the train passes. they have learned that it will do them no harm. the same result may be observed with respect to young horses when first they are brought to a large town, and have to meet great loads of hay, omnibuses crowded with passengers, and other strange or noisy objects--if judiciously treated, not flogged and ill-used, they lose their fears without losing their high courage. nothing is more astonishing in london than the steadiness of the high-bred and highly-fed horses in the streets and in hyde park. but until mr. rarey went to first principles, and taught "the reason why" there were horses that could not be brought to bear the beating of a drum, the rustling of an umbrella, or the flapping of a riding-habit against their legs--and all attempts to compel them by force to submit to these objects of their terror failed and made them furious. mr. rarey, in his lectures, often told a story of a horse which shied at buffalo-robes--the owner tied him up fast and laid a robe on him--the poor animal died instantly with fright. and yet nothing can be more simple. _to accustom a horse to a drum._--place it near him on the ground, and, without forcing him, induce him to smell it again and again until he is thoroughly accustomed to it. then lift it up, and slowly place it on the side of his neck, where he can see it, and tap it gently with a stick or your finger. if he starts, pause, and let him carefully examine it. then re-commence, gradually moving it backwards until it rests upon his withers, by degrees playing louder and louder, pausing always when he seems alarmed, to let him look at it and smell, if needful. in a very few minutes you may play with all your force, without his taking any notice. when this practice has been repeated a few times, your horse, however spirited, will rest his nose unmoved on the big drum while the most thundering piece is played. _to teach a horse to bear an umbrella_, go through the same cautious forms, let him see it, and smell it, open it by degrees--gain your point inch by inch, passing it always from his eyes to his neck, and from his neck to his back and tail; and so with a riding-habit, in half an hour any horse may be taught that it will not hurt him, and then the difficulty is over. _to fire off a horse's back._--begin with caps, and, by degrees, as with the drum, instead of lengthening the reins, stretch the bridle hand to the front, and raise it for the carbine to rest on, with the muzzle clear of the horse's head, a little to one side. lean the body forward without rising in the stirrups. _avoid interfering with the horse's mouth, or exciting his fears by suddenly closing your legs either before or after firing--be quiet yourself and your horse will be quiet._ the colt can learn, as i have already observed, to bear a rider on his bare back during his first lessons, when prostrate and powerless, fast bound by straps. the surcingle has accustomed him to girths--he leads well, and has learned that when the right rein is pulled he must go to the right, and when the left rein to the left. you may now teach him to bear the bit and the saddle--if you have not placed it upon his back while on the ground, and for this operation i cannot do better than return, and quote literally from mr. rarey. "how to accustom a horse to a bit. "you should use a large, smooth, snaffle bit, so as not to hurt his mouth, with a bar to each side, to prevent the bit from pulling through either way. this you should attach to the head-stall of your bridle, and put it on your colt without any reins to it, and let him run loose in a large stable or shed some time, until he becomes a little used to the bit, and will bear it without trying to get it out of his mouth. it would be well, if convenient, to repeat this several times, before you do anything more with the colt; as soon as he will bear the bit, attach a single rein to it. you should also have a halter on your colt, or a bridle made after the fashion of a halter, with a strap to it, so that you can hold or lead him about without pulling on the bit much. (see woodcut, p. .) he is now ready for the saddle. "the proper way to bit a colt. "farmers often put bitting harness on a colt the first thing they do to him, buckling up the bitting as tight as they can draw it, to make him carry his head high, and then turn him out in a field to run a half-day at a time. this is one of the worst of punishments that they could inflict on the colt, and very injurious to a young horse that has been used to running in pasture with his head down. i have seen colts so injured in this way that they never got over it. "a horse should be well accustomed to the bit before you put on the bitting harness, and when you first bit him you should only rein his head up to that point where he naturally holds it, let that be high or low; he will soon learn that he cannot lower his head, and that raising it a little will loosen the bit in his mouth. this will give him the idea of raising his head to loosen the bit, and then you can draw the bitting a little tighter every time you put it on, and he will still raise his head to loosen it; by this means you will gradually get his head and neck in the position you want him to carry it, and give him a nice and graceful carriage without hurting him, making him mad, or causing his mouth to get sore. "if you put the bitting on very tight the first time, he cannot raise his head enough to loosen it, but will bear on it all the time, and paw, sweat, and throw himself. many horses have been killed by falling backward with the bitting on; their heads being drawn up strike the ground with the whole weight of the body. horses that have their heads drawn up tightly should not have the bitting on more than fifteen or twenty minutes at a time. "how to saddle a colt. "the first thing will be to tie each stirrup-strap into a loose knot to make them short, and prevent the stirrups from flying about and hitting him. then double up the skirts and take the saddle under your right arm, so as not to frighten him with it as you approach. when you get to him rub him gently a few times with your hand, and then raise the saddle very slowly, until he can see it, and smell and feel it with his nose. then let the skirt loose, and rub it very gently against his neck the way the hair lies, letting him hear the rattle of the skirts as he feels them against him; each time getting a little farther backward, and finally slipping it over his shoulders on his back. shake it a little with your hand, and in less than five minutes you can rattle it about over his back as much as you please, and pull it off and throw it on again, without his paying much attention to it. "as soon as you have accustomed him to the saddle, fasten the girth. be careful how you do this. it often frightens the colt when he feels the girth binding him, and making the saddle fit tight on his back. you should bring up the girth very gently, and not draw it too tight at first, just enough to hold the saddle on. move him a little, and then girth it as tight as you choose, and he will not mind it. "you should see that the pad of your saddle is all right before you put it on, and that there is nothing to make it hurt him, or feel unpleasant to his back. it should not have any loose straps on the back part of it, to flap about and scare him. after you have saddled him in this way, take a switch in your right hand to tap him up with, and walk about in the stable a few times with your right arm over your saddle, taking hold of the reins on each side of his neck with your right and left hands, thus marching him about in the stable until you teach him the use of the bridle and can turn him about in any direction, and stop him by a gentle pull of the rein. always caress him, and loose the reins a little every time you stop him. "you should always be alone, and have your colt in some light stable or shed, the first time you ride him; the loft should be high, so that you can sit on his back without endangering your head. you can teach him more in two hours' time in a stable of this kind, than you could in two weeks in the common way of breaking colts, out in an open place. if you follow my course of treatment, you need not run any risk, or have any trouble in riding the worst kind of horse. you take him a step at a time, until you get up a mutual confidence and trust between yourself and horse. first teach him to lead and stand hitched; next acquaint him with the saddle, and the use of the bit; and then all that remains is to get on him without scaring him, and you can ride him as well as any horse. "how to mount the colt. "first gentle him well on both sides, about the saddle, and all over until he will stand still without holding, and is not afraid to see you anywhere about him. "as soon as you have him thus gentled, get a small block, about one foot or eighteen inches in height, and set it down by the side of him, about where you want to stand to mount him; step up on this, raising yourself very gently: horses notice every change of position very closely, and, if you were to step up suddenly on the block, it would be very apt to scare him; but, by raising yourself gradually on it, he will see you, without being frightened, in a position very nearly the same as when you are on his back. "as soon as he will bear this without alarm, untie the stirrup-strap next to you, and put your left foot into the stirrup, and stand square over it, holding your knee against the horse, and your toe out, so as not to touch him under the shoulder with the toe of your boot. place your right hand on the front of the saddle, and on the opposite side of you, taking hold of a portion of the mane and the reins, as they hang loosely over his neck, with your left hand; then gradually bear your weight on the stirrup, and on your right hand, until the horse feels your whole weight on the saddle: repeat this several times, each time raising yourself a little higher from the block, until he will allow you to raise your leg over his croup and place yourself in the saddle. "there are three great advantages in having a block to mount from. first, a sudden change of position is very apt to frighten a young horse who has never been handled: he will allow you to walk up to him, and stand by his side without scaring at you, because you have gentled him to that position; but if you get down on your hands and knees and crawl towards him, he will be very much frightened; and upon the same principle, he would be frightened at your new position if you had the power to hold yourself over his back without touching him. then the first great advantage of the block is to gradually gentle him to that new position in which he will see you when you ride him. "secondly, by the process of leaning your weight in the stirrups, and on your hand, you can gradually accustom him to your weight, so as not to frighten him by having him feel it all at once. and, in the third place, the block elevates you so that you will not have to make a spring in order to get on the horse's back, but from it you can gradually raise yourself into the saddle. when you take these precautions, there is no horse so wild but what you can mount him without making him jump. i have tried it on the worst horses that could be found, and have never failed in any case. when mounting, your horse should always stand without being held. _a horse is never well broken when he has to be held with a tight rein when mounting_; and a colt is never so safe to mount as when you see that assurance of confidence, and absence of fear, which cause him to stand without holding." [mr. rarey's improved plan is to press the palm of the right hand on the off-side of the saddle, and as you rise lean your weight on it; by this means you can mount with the girths loose, or without any girths at all.--editor.] "how to ride the colt. "when you want him to start do not touch him on the side with your heel, or do anything to frighten him and make him jump. but speak to him kindly, and if he does not start pull him a little to the left until he starts, and then let him walk off slowly with the reins loose. walk him around in the stable a few times until he gets used to the bit, and you can turn him about in every direction and stop him as you please. it would be well to get on and off a good many times until he gets perfectly used to it before you take him out of the stable. "after you have trained him in this way, which should not take you more than one or two hours, you can ride him anywhere you choose without ever having him jump or make any effort to throw you. "when you first take him out of the stable be very gentle with him, as he will feel a little more at liberty to jump or run, and be a little easier frightened than he was while in the stable. but after handling him so much in the stable he will be pretty well broken, and you will be able to manage him without trouble or danger. "when you first mount him take a little the shortest hold on the left rein, so that if anything frightens him you can prevent him from jumping by pulling his head round to you. this operation of pulling a horse's head round against his side will prevent any horse from jumping ahead, rearing up, or running away. if he is stubborn and will not go, you can make him move by pulling his head round to one side, when whipping would have no effect. and turning him round a few times will make him dizzy, and then by letting him have his head straight, and giving him a little touch with the whip, he will go along without any trouble. "never use martingales on a colt when you first ride him; every movement of the hand should go right to the bit in the direction in which it is applied to the reins, without a martingale to change the direction of the force applied. you can guide the colt much better without it, and teach him the use of the bit in much less time. besides, martingales would prevent you from pulling his head round if he should try to jump. "after your colt has been ridden until he is gentle and well accustomed to the bit, you may find it an advantage, if he carries his head too high or his nose too far out, to put martingales on him. "_you should be careful not to ride your colt so far at first as to heat, worry, or tire him._ get off as soon as you see he is a little fatigued; gentle him and let him rest; this will make him kind to you, and prevent him from getting stubborn or mad. "to break a horse to harness. "take him in a light stable, as you did to ride him; take the harness and go through the same process that you did with the saddle, until you get him familiar with it, so that you can put it on him, and rattle it about without his caring for it. as soon as he will bear this, put on the lines, caress him as you draw them over him, and drive him about in the stable till he will bear them over his hips. the _lines_ are a great aggravation to some colts, and often frighten them as much as if you were to raise a whip over them. as soon as he is familiar with the harness and lines, take him out and put him by the side of a gentle horse, and go through the same process that you did with the balking horse. _always use a bridle without blinkers when you are breaking a horse to harness._ "lead him to and around a light gig or phaeton; let him look at it, touch it with his nose, and stand by it till he does not care for it; then pull the shafts a little to the left, and stand your horse in front of the off-wheel. let some one stand on the right side of the horse, and hold him by the bit, while you stand on the left side, facing the sulky. this will keep him straight. run your left hand back, and let it rest on his hip, and lay hold of the shafts with your right, bringing them up very gently to the left hand, which still remains stationary. do not let anything but your arm touch his back, and as soon as you have the shafts square over him, let the person on the opposite side take hold of one of them, and lower them very gently to the shaft-bearers. be very slow and deliberate about hitching; the longer time you take the better, as a general thing. when you have the shafts placed, shake them slightly, so that he will feel them against each side. as soon as he will bear them without scaring, fasten your braces, &c., and start him along very slowly. let one man lead the horse, to keep him gentle, while the other gradually works back with the lines till he can get behind and drive him. after you have driven him in this way a short distance, you can get into the sulky, and all will go right. it is very important to have your horse go gently when you first hitch him. after you have walked him awhile, there is not half so much danger of his scaring. men do very wrong to jump up behind a horse to drive him as soon as they have him hitched. there are too many things for him to comprehend all at once. the shifts, the lines, the harness, and the rattling of the sulky, all tend to scare him, and he must be made familiar with them by degrees. if your horse is very wild, i would advise you to put up one foot the first time you drive him." [illustration: second lesson in harness.] with the leg strapped up, the lighter the break or gig the better, and four wheels are better than two. to make a horse follow you. the directions make simple what have hitherto been among the mysteries of the circus. i can assert from personal observation that by the means described by mr. rarey a very nervous thorough-bred mare, the property of the earl of derby, was taught to stand, answer to her name, and follow one of his pupils in less than a week. no hack, and certainly no lady's horse, is perfect until he has been taught to stand still, and no hunter is complete until he has learned to follow his master. huntsmen may spend a few hours in the summer very usefully in teaching their old favourites to wait outside cover until wanted. turn him into a large stable or shed, where there is no chance to get out, with a halter or bridal on. go to him and gentle him a little, take hold of his halter, and turn him towards you, at the same time touching him lightly over the hips with a long whip. lead him the length of the stable, rubbing him on the neck, saying in a steady tone of voice as you lead him, "come along, boy!" or use his name instead of "boy," if you choose. every time you turn, touch him slightly with the whip, to make him step up close to you, and then caress him with your hand. he will soon learn to hurry up to escape the whip and be caressed, and you can make him follow you around without taking hold of the halter. if he should stop and turn from you, give him a few sharp cuts about the hind legs, and he will soon turn his head towards you, when you must always caress him. a few lessons of this kind will make him run after you, when he sees the motion of the whip--in twenty or thirty minutes he will follow you about the stable. after you have given him two or three lessons in the stable, take him out into a small field and train him; and from thence you can take him into the road and make him follow you anywhere, and run after you. to make a horse stand without holding, after you have him well broken to follow you, place him in the centre of the stable--begin at his head to caress him, gradually working backwards. if he move, give him a cut with the whip, and put him back to the same spot from which he started. if he stands, caress him as before, and continue gentling him in this way until you can get round him without making him move. keep walking around him, increasing your pace, and only touch him occasionally. enlarge your circle as you walk around, and if he then moves, give him another cut with the whip, and put him back to his place. if he stands, go to him frequently and caress him, and then walk around him again. do not keep him in one position too long at a time, but make him come to you occasionally, and follow you around the stable. then make him stand in another place, and proceed as before. you should not train your horse more than half an hour at a time. the following is baucher's method of making a horse stand to be mounted, which, he says, may be taught in two lessons, of half an hour each. i do not know any one who has tried, but it is worth trying. "go up to him, pat him on the neck (_i. e._ gentle him), and speak to him; then taking the curb reins a few inches from the rings with the left hand, place yourself so as to offer as much resistance as possible to him when he tries to break away. take the whip in the right hand with the point down, raise it quietly and tap the horse on the chest; he will rein back to avoid punishment; resist and follow him, continuing the tapping of the whip, but without anger or haste. the horse, soon tired of running back, will endeavour to avoid the infliction by rushing forward; then stop and make much of him. this repeated once or twice will teach the horse that, to stand still, is to avoid punishment, and will move up to you on a slight motion of the whip." i doubt whether high-spirited horses would stand this treatment. _to teach a horse to stand in the field._--nolan's plan was, to draw the reins over the horse's head and fasten them to the ground with a peg, walk away, return in a few minutes and reward him with bread, salt, or carrot; in a short time the horse will fancy himself fast whenever the reins are drawn over his head. it may be doubted whether, in the excitement of the hunting-field, either rarey's or nolan's plan would avail to make a huntsman's horse stand while hounds were running. scrutator gives another method which is not within everyone's means to execute. "in my father's time we had a large field, enclosed by a high wall, round which the lads used to exercise their horses, with a thick rug only, doubled, to sit upon. a single snaffle and a sharp curb-bit were placed in the horse's mouth; the former to ride and guide by. to the curb was attached a long single rein, which was placed in the boy's hand, or attached to his wrist. when the horse was in motion, either walking, trotting, or cantering, the lad would throw himself off, holding only the long rein attached to the curb, the sudden pull upon which, when the lad was on the ground, would cause the horse's head to be turned round, and stop him in his career. the boy would then gradually shorten the rein, until the horse was brought up to him, then patting and caressing him, he would again mount. after a very few lessons of this kind, the horse would always stop the instant the boy fell, and remain stationary beside him. the lads, as well as the horses, were rewarded by my father for their proper performance of this rather singular manoeuvre, but i never saw or knew any accident occur. the horses thus trained proved excellent hunters, and would never run away from their riders when thrown, always standing by them until re-mounted. from the lads constantly rubbing and pulling their legs about, we had no kickers. when a boy of only fifteen, i was allowed to ride a fine mare which has been thus broken in, in company with the hounds. being nearly sixteen hands high, i had some difficulty in clambering up and down; but when dislodged from my seat, she would stand quietly by until re-mounted, and appeared as anxious for me to get up again as i was myself. "it may be said that all this was time and trouble thrown away, and that the present plan of riding a young four-year-old, straight across country at once, will answer the same purpose. my reply is, that a good education, either upon man, horse, or dog, will never be thrown away; and, notwithstanding the number of horses now brought into the hunting-field, there are still few well-trained hunters to be met with. the horse, the most beautiful and useful of animals to man, is seldom sufficiently instructed or familiarised, although certainly capable of the greatest attachment to his master when well used, and deserving to be treated more as a friend than a slave. it is a general remark how quiet some high-spirited horses will become when ridden by ladies. the cause of this is, that they are more quietly handled, patted, and caressed by them, and become soon sensible of this difference of treatment, from the rough whip-and-spur system, too generally adopted by men." on baulking or jibbing horses. horses are taught the dangerous vice of baulking, or jibbing, as it is called in england, by improper management. when a horse jibs in harness, it is generally from some mismanagement, excitement, confusion, or from not knowing how to pull, but seldom from any unwillingness to perform all that he understands. high-spirited free-going horses are the most subject to baulking, and only so because drivers do not properly understand how to manage this kind. a free horse in a team may be so anxious to go, that when he hears the word he will start with a jump, which will not move the load, but give him such a severe jerk on the shoulders that he will fly back and stop the other horse. the teamster will continue his driving without any cessation, and by the time he has the slow horse started again, he will find that the free horse has made another jump, and again flown back. and now he has them both badly baulked, and so confused that neither of them knows what is the matter, or how to start the load. next will come the slashing and cracking of the whip, and hallooing of the driver, till something is broken, or he is through with his course of treatment. but what a mistake the driver commits by whipping his horse for this act! reason and common sense should teach him that the horse was willing and anxious to go, but did not know how to start the load. and should he whip him for that? if so, he should whip him again for not knowing how to talk. a man that wants to act with reason should not fly into a passion, but should always think before he strikes. it takes a steady pressure against the collar to move a load, and you cannot expect him to act with a steady, determined purpose while you are whipping him. there is hardly one baulking horse in five hundred that will pull truly from whipping: it is only adding fuel to fire, and will make him more liable to baulk another time. you always see horses that have been baulked a few times turn their heads and look back as soon as they are a little frustrated. this is because they have been whipped, and are afraid of what is behind them. this is an invariable rule with baulked horses, just as much as it is for them to look around at their sides when they have the bots.[ -*] in either case they are deserving of the same sympathy and the same kind, rational treatment. when your horse baulks, or is a little excited, if he wants to start quickly, or looks around and doesn't want to go, there is something wrong, and he needs kind treatment immediately. caress him kindly, and if he doesn't understand at once what you want him to do, he will not be so much excited as to jump and break things, and do everything wrong through fear. as long as you are calm, and keep down the excitement of the horse, there are ten chances that you will make him understand you, where there would not be one under harsh treatment; and then the little _flare up_ will not carry with it any unfavourable recollections, and he will soon forget all about it, and learn to pull truly. almost every wrong act the horse commits is from mismanagement, fear, or excitement: one harsh word will so excite a nervous horse as to increase his pulse ten beats in a minute. when we remember that we are dealing with dumb brutes, and reflect how difficult it must be for them to understand our motions, signs, and language, we should never get out of patience with them because they don't understand us, or wonder at their doing things wrong. with all our intellect, if we were placed in the horse's situation, it would be difficult for us to understand the driving of some foreigner, of foreign ways and foreign language. we should always recollect that our ways and language are just as foreign and unknown to the horse as any language in the world is to us, and should try to practise what we could understand were we the horse, endeavouring by some simple means to work on his understanding rather than on the different parts of his body. all baulked horses can be started true and steady in a few minutes' time: they are all willing to pull as soon as they know how, and i never yet found a baulked horse that i could not teach to start his load in fifteen, and often less than three, minutes' time. almost any team, when first baulked, will start kindly if you let them stand five or ten minutes as though there was nothing wrong, and then speak to them with a steady voice, and turn them a little to the right or left, so as to get them both in motion before they feel the pinch of the load. but if you want to start a team that you are not driving yourself, that has been baulked, fooled, and whipped for some time, go to them and hang the lines on their hames, or fasten them to the waggon, so that they will be perfectly loose; make the driver and spectators (if there are any) stand off some distance to one side, so as not to attract the attention of the horses; unloose their check-reins, so that they can get their heads down if they choose; let them stand a few minutes in this condition until you can see that they are a little composed. while they are standing, you should be about their heads, gentling them: it will make them a little more kind, and the spectators will think that you are doing something that they do not understand, and will not learn the secret. when you have them ready to start, stand before them, and, as you seldom have but one baulky horse in a team, get as near in front of him as you can, and, if he is too fast for the other horse, let his nose come against your breast: this will keep him steady, for he will go slow rather than run on you. turn them gently to the right, without letting them pull on the traces as far as the tongue will let them go: stop them with a kind word, gentle them a little, and then turn them back to the left, by the same process. you will then have them under your control by this time; and as you turn them again to the right, steady them in the collar, and you can take them where you please. there is a quicker process that will generally start a baulky horse, but not so sure. stand him a little ahead, so that his shoulders will be against the collar; and then take up one of his fore feet in your hand, and let the driver start them, and when the weight comes against his shoulders he will try to step: then let him have his foot, and he will go right along. if you want to break a horse from baulking that has long been in that habit, you ought to set apart a half-day for that purpose. put him by the side of some steady horse; have driving reins on them; tie up all the traces and straps, so that there will be nothing to excite them; do not rein them up, but let them have their heads loose. walk them about together for some time as slowly and lazily as possible; stop often, and go up to your baulky horse and gentle him. do not take any whip about him, or do anything to excite him, but keep him just as quiet as you can. he will soon learn to start off at the word, and stop whenever you tell him. as soon as he performs rightly, hitch him in an empty waggon; have it standing in a favourable position for starting. it would be well to shorten the trace-chain behind the steady horse, so that, if it is necessary, he can take the weight of the waggon the first time you start them. do not drive more than a few rods at first; watch your jibbing horse closely, and if you see that he is getting excited, stop him before he stops of his own accord, caress him a little, and start again. as soon as they go well, drive them over a small hill a few times, and then over a larger one, occasionally adding a little load. this process will make any horse true to pull. the following anecdote from scrutator's "horses and hounds," illustrates the soundness of mr. rarey's system:--"a gentleman in our neighbourhood having purchased a very fine carriage horse, at a high price, was not a little annoyed, upon trial, to find that he would not pull an ounce, and when the whip was applied he began plunging and kicking. after one or two trials the coachman declared he could do nothing with him, and our neighbour, meeting my father, expressed his grievances at being thus taken in, and asked what he had better do. the reply was 'send the horse to me tomorrow morning, and i will return him a good puller within a week.' the horse being brought, was put into the shafts of a wagon, in a field, with the hind wheels tied, and being reined up so that he could not get his head between his legs, was there left, with a man to watch him for five or six hours, and, of course, without any food. when my father thought he had enough of standing still, he went up to him with a handful of sweet hay, let down the bearing rein, and had the wheels of the wagon released. after patting the horse on the neck, when he had taken a mouthful or two of hay, he took hold of the bridle and led him away--the wagon followed--thus proving stratagem to be better than force. another lesson was scarcely required, but, to make sure, it was repeated, and, after that, the horse was sent back to the owner. there was no complaint ever made of his jibbing again. the wagon to which he was attached was both light and empty, and the ground inclined rather towards the stable." footnotes: [ -*] a much more severe disease in america than in england.--edit. [illustration: lady's seat, with hunting-horn pommel.] chapter viii. value of good horsemanship to both sexes.--on teaching children.--anecdote.--havelock's opinion.--rarey's plan to train ponies.--the use of books.--necessity of regular teaching for girls, boys can be self-taught.--commence without a bridle.--ride with one pair of reins and two hands.--advantage of hunting-horn on side-saddle.--on the best plan for mounting.--rarey's plan.--on a man's seat.--nolan's opinion.--military style.--hunting style.--two examples in lord cardigan.--the prussian style.--anecdote by mr. gould, blucher, and the prince regent.--hints for men learning to ride.--how to use the reins.--pull right for right, and left for left.--how to collect your horse. you cannot learn to ride from a book, but you may learn how to do some things and how to avoid many things of importance. those who know all about horses and horsemanship, or fancy they do, will not read this chapter. but as there are riding-schools in the city of london, where an excellent business is done in teaching well-grown men how to ride for health or fashion, and as papas who know their own bump-bump style very well often desire to teach their daughters, i have collected the following instructions from my own experience, now extending over full thirty years, on horses of all kinds, including the worst, and from the best books on the subject, some of the best being anonymous contributions by distinguished horsemen, printed for private circulation. every man and woman, girl and boy, who has the opportunity, should learn to ride on horseback. it is almost an additional sense--it is one of the healthiest exercises--it affords amusement when other amusements fail--relaxation from the most severe toil, and often, in colonies or wild countries, the only means of travelling or trading. a man feels twice a man on horseback. the student and the farmer meet, when mounted, the cabinet minister and the landlord on even terms--good horsemanship is a passport to acquaintances in all ranks of life, and to make acquaintances is one of the arts of civilised life; to ripen them into use or friendship is another art. on horseback you can call with less ceremony, and meet or leave a superior with less form than on foot. rotten row is the ride of idleness and pleasure, but there is a great deal of business done in sober walks and slow canters, commercial, political, and matrimonial. for a young lady not to be able to ride with a lover is a great loss; not to be able to ride with a young husband a serious privation. the first element for enjoying horse exercise is good horsemanship. colonel greenwood says very truly:--"_good_ riding is worth acquiring by those whose pleasure or business it is to ride, because it is soon and easily acquired, and, when acquired, it becomes habitual; and it is as easy, nay, much more easy, and infinitely more safe, than bad riding." "good riding will last through age, sickness, and decrepitude, but bad riding will last only as long as youth, health, and strength supply courage; _for good riding is an affair of skill, but bad riding is an affair of courage_." a bold bad rider must not be merely brave; he must be fool-hardy; for he is perpetually in as much danger as a blind man among precipices. in riding, as in most other things, danger is for the timid and the unskilful. the skilful rider, when apparently courting danger in the field, deserves no more credit for courage than for sitting in an arm-chair, and the unskilful no more the imputation of timidity for backwardness than if without practice he declined to perform on the tight-rope. depend upon it, the bold bad rider is the hero. there is nothing heroic in good riding, when dissected. the whole thing is a matter of detail--a collection of trifles--and its principles are so simple in theory and so easy in practice that they are despised. it is an accomplishment that may, to a certain extent, be acquired late in life. i know instances in both sexes of a fair firm seat having been acquired under the pressure of necessity after forty years of age (i could name lawyers, sculptors, architects, and sailors), but it may be acquired with ease and perfection in youth, and it is most important that no awkward habits should be acquired. children who have courage may be taught to ride almost as soon as they can walk. on the pampas of south america you may see a boy seven years old on horseback, driving a herd of horses, and carrying a baby in his arms! i began my own lessons at four, when i sat upon an old mare in the stall while the groom polished harness or blacked his boots. mr. nathaniel gould, who, at upwards of seventy years, and sixteen stone weight, can still ride hunting for seven or eight hours at a stretch, mentions, in his observations on horses and hunting,[ -*] that a nephew of his followed the cheshire fox-hounds at seven years of age. "his manner of gathering up his reins was most singular, and his power of keeping his seat, with his little legs stretched horizontally along the saddle, quite surprising." the hero havelock, writing to his little boy, says, "you are now seven years old, and ought to learn to ride. i hope to hear soon that you have made progress in that important part of your education. your uncle william (a boy-hero in the peninsula) rode well before he was seven years old." the proper commencement for a boy is a pony in which he can interest himself, and on which he may learn to sit as a horseman should. i particularly warn parents against those broad-backed animals which, however suitable for carrying heavy old gentlemen, or sacks to market, are certainly very uncomfortable for the short legs of little boys, and likely to induce rupture. on a narrow, well-bred pony, of or hands high, a boy of six can sit like a little man. it is cruel to make children ride with bare legs. before rarey introduced his system, there was no satisfactory mode of training those ponies that were too small for a man to mount, unless the owner happened to live near some racing stable, where he could obtain the services of a "feather-weight doll," and then the pony often learned tricks more comic than satisfactory. by patiently applying the practices explained in the preceding chapters, the smallest and most highly-bred pony may be reduced to perfect docility without impairing its spirit, and taught a number of amusing tricks. young ladies may learn on full-sized horses quite as well as on ponies, if they are provided with suitable side-saddles. a man, or rather a boy, may learn to ride by practice and imitation, and go on tumbling about until he has acquired a firm and even elegant seat, but no lady can ever learn to ride as a lady should ride, without a good deal of instruction; because her seat on horseback is so thoroughly artificial, that without some competent person to tell her of her faults, she is sure to fall into a number of awkward ungraceful tricks. besides, a riding-school, with its enclosed walls and trained horses, affords an opportunity of going through the preliminary lessons without any of those accidents which on the road, or in a field, are very likely to occur with a raw pupil on a fresh horse. for a young lad to fall on the grass, is not a serious affair, but a lady should never be allowed to run the chance of a fall, because it is likely to destroy the nerve, without which no lessons can be taught successfully. all who have noticed the performances of amazones in london, or at brighton, must have in remembrance the many examples of ladies who, with great courage, sit in a manner that is at once fearful and ridiculous to behold; entirely dependent on the good behaviour of horses, which they, in reality, have no power of turning, and scarcely of stopping. little girls who learn their first lessons by riding with papa, who is either absorbed in other business, or himself a novice in the art of horsemanship, get into poky habits, which it is extremely difficult to eradicate when they reach the age when every real woman wishes to be admired. therefore, let everyone interested in the horsemanship of a young lady commence by placing her, as early as possible, under the tuition of a competent professional riding-master, unless he knows enough to teach her himself. there are many riding-schools where a fair seat is acquired by the lady pupils, but in london, at any rate, only two or three where they learn to use the reins, so as to control an unruly horse. both sexes are apt to acquire the habit of holding on by the bridle. to avoid this grave error, the first lessons in walking and cantering should be given to the pupil on a led horse, without taking hold of the bridle; and this should be repeated in learning to leap. the horsemanship of a lady is not complete until she has learned to leap, whether she intends to ride farming or hunting, or to confine herself to rotten row canters; for horses will leap and bound at times without permission. i have high authority for recommending lessons without holding the bridle. lady mildred h----, one of the most accomplished horsewomen of the day, taught her daughter to walk, trot, canter, gallop, and leap, without the steadying assistance of the reins. a second point is, that every pupil in horsemanship should begin by holding the rein or reins (one is enough to begin with) in both hands, pulling to the right when they want to go to the right, and to the left when they wish to go to the left, that is the proper way of riding every strange horse, every colt, and every hunter, that does not perfectly know his business, for it is the only way in which you have any real command over your horse. but almost all our riding-school rules are military. soldiers are obliged to carry a sword in one hand, and to rely, to a great extent, on the training of their horses for turning right or left. ladies and gentlemen have no swords to carry, and neither possess, nor can desire to possess, such machines as troop-horses. besides other more important advantages which will presently be described by commencing with two-handed riding, a lady is more likely to continue to sit squarely, than when holding the reins with one hand, and pretending to guide a horse who really guides himself. a man has the power of turning a horse, to a certain extent, with his legs and spurs; a woman must depend on her reins, whip, and left leg. as only one rein and the whip can be well held in one hand, double reins, except for hunting, are to a lady merely a perplexing puzzle. the best way for a lady is to knot up the snaffle, and hang it over the pommel, and ride with a light hand on the curb. in order to give those ladies who may not have instruction at hand an idea of a safe, firm, and elegant seat, i have placed at the head of this chapter a woodcut, which shows how the legs should be placed. the third or hunting-horn pommel must be fitted to the rider, as its situation in the saddle will differ, to some extent, according to the length of the lady's legs. i hope my plain speaking will not offend american friends. the first step is to sit well down on the saddle, then pass the right leg over the upstanding pommel, and let it hang straight down,--a little back, if leaping; if the foot pokes out, the lady has no firm hold. the stirrup must then be shortened, so as to bring the bent thigh next to the knee of the left leg firmly against the under side of the hunting-horn pommel. if, when this is done, an imaginary line were drawn from the rider's backbone, which would go through the centre of the saddle, close to the cantle, she is in her proper place, and leaning rather back than forward, firm and close from the hips downwards, flexible from her hips upwards, with her hands holding the reins apart, a little above the level of her knee, she is in a position at once powerful and graceful. this is a very imperfect description of a very elegant picture. the originals, few and far between, are to be found for nine months of the year daily in rotten row. a lady in mounting, should hold the reins in her left hand, and place it on the pommel, the right hand as far over the cantle as she can comfortably reach. if there is no skilful man present to take her foot, make any man kneel down and put out his right knee as a step, and let down the stirrup to be shortened afterwards. practise on a high chest of drawers! after all the rules of horsemanship have been perfectly learned, nothing but practice can give the instinct which prepares a rider for the most sudden starts, leaps, and "kickings up behind and before." the style of a man's seat must, to a certain extent, be settled by his height and shape. a man with short round legs and thighs cannot sit down on his horse like tall thin men, such as jim mason, or tom oliver, but men of the most unlikely shapes, by dint of practice and pluck, go well in the hunting-field, and don't look ridiculous on the road. there are certain rules laid down as to the length of a man's stirrup-leathers, but the only good rule is that they should be short enough to give the rider full confidence in his seat, and full power over a pulling horse. for hunting it is generally well to take them up one hole shorter than on the road. the military directions for mounting are absurd for civilians; in the first place, there ought to be no right side or wrong side in mounting; in both the street and hunting-field it is often most convenient to mount on what is called the wrong side. in the next place horses trained on the rarey plan (and very soon all horses will be), will stand without thinking of moving when placed by the rider, so that the military direction to stand before the stirrup becomes unnecessary. the following is mr. rarey's plan of mounting for men, which is excellent, but is not described in his book, and indeed is difficult to describe at all. _to mount with the girths slack without bearing on the stirrup._--take up the reins and a lock of the mane, stand behind the withers looking at your horse's head, put your foot in the stirrup, and while holding the reins in one hand on the neck, place the other open and flat on the other side of the saddle as far down as the edge of the little flap, turn your toe out, so as not to touch the horse's belly, and rise by leaning on your flat hand, thus pressing hard on the side of the saddle opposite to that on which you are mounting. the pressure of your hands will counterbalance your weight, and you will be able to mount without straining the girths, or even without any girths at all. if you are not tall enough to put your foot fairly in the stirrup, use a horse-block, or, better still, a piece of solid wood about eighteen inches high, that can be moved about anywhere. young men should learn to leap into the saddle by placing both hands on the cantle, as the horse moves. i have seen daly, the steeplechaser, who was a little man, do this often in the hunting-field, before he broke his thigh. with respect to the best model for a seat, i recommend the very large class who form the best customers of riding-school masters in the great towns of england, i mean the gentlemen from eighteen to eight-and-twenty, who begin to ride as soon as they have the means and the opportunity, to study the style of the first-class steeplechase jockeys and gentlemen riders in the hunting-field whenever they have the opportunity. almost all riding-masters are old dragoons, and what they teach is good as far as it goes, as to general appearance and carriage of the body, but generally the military notions about the use of a rider's arms and legs are utterly wrong. on this point we cannot have a better authority then that of the late captain nolan, who served in the austrian, hungarian, and in the english cavalry in india, and who studied horsemanship in russia, and all other european countries celebrated for their cavalry. he says-- "the difference between a school (viz. an ordinary military horseman) and a real horseman is this, the first depends upon guiding and managing his horse for maintaining his seat; the second depends upon his seat for controlling and guiding his horse. at a _trot_ the school rider, instead of lightly rising to the action of the horse, bumps up and down, falling heavily on the horse's loins, and hanging on the reins to prevent the animal slipping from under him, whilst he is thrown up in his seat." it is a curious circumstance that the english alone have two styles of horsemanship. the one, natural and useful, formed in the hunting-field; the other, artificial and military, imported from the continent. if you go into rotten row in the season you may see general the earl of cardigan riding a trained charger in the most approved military style--the toes in the stirrups, long stirrup-leathers, heels down, legs from the knee carefully clear of the horse's sides--in fact, the balance seat, handed down by tradition from the time when knights wore complete armour and could ride in no other way, for the weight of the armour rendered a fall certain if once the balance was lost; a very grand and graceful style it is when performed by a master of the art of the length of limb of the earl, or his more brilliant predecessor, the late marquess of anglesea. but if you go into northamptonshire in the hunting season, you may see the same earl of cardigan in his scarlet coat, looking twice as thick in the waist, sailing away in the first flight, sitting down on the part intended by nature for a seat, with his knees well bent, and his calves employed in distributing his weight over the horse's back and sides. in the one case the earl is a real, in the other a show, horseman. therefore, when a riding-master tells you that you must ride by balance, "with your body upright, knee drawn back, and the feet in a perpendicular line with the shoulder, and your legs from the knee downward brought away to prevent what is called _clinging_," listen to him, learn all you can--do not argue, that would be useless--and then take the first opportunity of studying those who are noted for combining an easy, natural seat with grace--that is, if you are built for gracefulness--some people are not. in nolan's words, "let a man have a roomy saddle, and sit close to the horse's back; let the leg be supported by the stirrup in a natural position, without being so short as to throw back the thigh, and the nearer the whole leg is brought to the horse the better, so long as the foot is not bent below the ankle-joint." soon after the battle of waterloo, by influence of the prince regent, who fancied he knew something about cavalry, a prussian was introduced to teach our cavalry a new style of equitation, which consisted in entirely abandoning the use of that part of the person in which his royal highness was so highly gifted, and riding on the fork like a pair of compasses on a rolling pin, with perfectly straight legs. for a considerable period this ridiculous drill, which deprived the soldiers of all power over their horses, was carried on in the fields where belgrave square now stands, and was not abandoned until the number of men who suffered by it was the cause of a serious remonstrance from commanding officers. it is a pity that the reverse system has never been tried, and a regiment of cavalry taught riding on english fox-hunting principles, using the snaffle on the road, and rising in the trot. but it must be admitted that since the war there has been a great improvement in this respect, and there will probably be more as the martinets of the old school die off. it was not for want of examples of a better style that the continental military style was forced upon our cavalry. mr. nathaniel gould relates in his little book as an instance of what determined hunting-men can do, that-- "when, in the year , blucher arrived in london and drove at once to carlton house, i was one of a few out of an immense concourse of horsemen who accompanied his carriage from shooter's hill, riding on each side; spite of all obstacles we forced ourselves through the horse guards gate and the troop of guardsmen, in like manner through the light cavalry and gate at carlton house, as well as the posse of constables in the court-yard, and drove our horses up the flight of stone steps into the salon, though the guards, beefeaters, and constables arrayed themselves against this irruption of cossacks, and actually came to the charge. the prince, however, in the noblest manner waved his hand, and we were allowed to form a circle round the regent while blucher had the blue ribbon placed on his shoulders, and was assisted to rise by the prince in the most dignified manner. his royal highness then slightly acknowledged our presence, we backed to the door, and got down the steps again with only one accident, that arising from a horse, which, on being urged forward, took a leap down the whole flight of stairs." but to return to the subject of a man's seat on horseback. nolan, quoting baucher, says, "when first put on horseback, devote a few lessons to making his limbs supple, in the same way that you begin drill on foot with extension motions. show him how to close up the thigh and leg to the saddle, and then work the leg backwards and forwards, up and down, _without stirrups_; _make him swing a weight round in a circle from the shoulder as centre_; the other hand placed on the thigh, thence to the rear, change the weight to the opposite hand, and same." "_placing one hand on the horse's mane_, make him lean down to each side in succession, till he reaches to within a short distance of the ground." "these exercises give a man a firm hold with his legs, on a horse, and teach him to move his limbs without quitting his seat. then take him in the circle in the longe, and, by walking and trotting alternately, teach him the necessity of leaning with the body to the side the horse is turning to. this is the necessary balance. then put him with others, and give him plenty of trotting, to shake him into his seat. by degrees teach him how to use the reins, then the leg." these directions for training a full-grown trooper may be of use to civilians. hands and reins. presuming that you are in a fair way to obtain a secure seat, the next point is the use of the reins and the employment of your legs, for it is by these that a horseman holds, urges, and turns his horse. to handle a horse in perfection, you must have, besides instruction, "good hands." good or light hands, like the touch of a first-rate violinist, are a gift, not always to be acquired even by thought and practice. the perfection of riding is to make your horse understand and obey your directions, as conveyed through the reins--to halt, or go fast or slow; to walk, trot, canter, or gallop; to lead off with right or left leg, to change leg, to turn either way, and to rise in leaping at the exact point you select. no one but a perfect horseman, with naturally fine hands, can do this perfectly, but every young horseman should try. the golden rule of horsemanship is laid down by colonel greenwood, in a sentence that noodles will despise for its "trite simplicity:"--"when you wish to turn to the right, pull the right rein stronger than the left." this is common sense. no horse becomes restive in the colt-breaker's hands. the reason is, that they ride with one bridle and two hands, instead of two bridles and one hand. "when they wish to go to the left, they pull the left rein stronger than the right. when they wish to go to the right, they pull the right rein stronger than the left. if the colt does not obey these indications, at least he understands them, even the first time he is mounted, and the most obstinate will not long resist them. acting on these plain principles, i saw, in august last, a three-year-old colt which, placed absolutely raw and unbridled in mr. rarey's hands, within seven days answered every indication of the reins like an old horse--turned right or left, brought his nose to the rider's knee, and backed like an old trooper. "but it takes a long time to make a colt understand that he is to turn to the right when the left rein is pulled;" and if any horse resists, the rider has no power one-handed, as the reins are usually held, to compel him. the practice of one-handed riding originated in military schools; for a soldier has to carry a sword or lance, and depends chiefly on his well-trained horse and the pressure of his legs. no one ever attempts to turn a horse in harness with one hand, although there the driver has the assistance of the terrets, and it is equally absurd to attempt it with a colt or horse with a delicate mouth. of course, with an old-trained hack even the reins are a mere form; any hint is enough. the advantage of double-handed riding is, that, in a few hours, any colt and any pupil in horsemanship may learn it. to make the most of a horse, the reins must be held with a smooth, even bearing, not hauling at a horse's mouth, as if it were made of indian rubber, nor yet leaving the reins slack, but so feeling him that you can instantaneously direct his course in any direction, "as if," to use old chifney's phrase, "your rein was a worsted thread." your legs are to be used to force your horse forward up to the bit, and also to guide him. that is, when you turn to the right pull the right rein sharpest and press with the left leg; when to the left, _vice versâ_. unless a horse rides up to the bit you have no control over him. a good horseman chooses his horse's ground and his pace for him. "to avoid a falling leaf a horse will put his foot over a precipice. when a horse has made a stumble, or is in difficulties at a fence, you cannot leave him too much at liberty, or be too quiet with him." don't believe the nonsense people talk about holding a horse up _after_ he has stumbled. the pupil horseman should remember to drop his hands as low as he can on each side the withers, without stooping, when a horse becomes restive, plunging or attempting to run away. the instinct of a novice is to do exactly what he ought not to do--raise his hands. by a skilful use of the reins and your own legs, with or without spurs, you collect, or, as colonel greenwood well expresses it, you condense your horse, at a stand, that is, you make him stand square, yet ready to move in any direction at any pace that you require; this is one use of the curb bit. it is on the same principle that fashionable coachmen "hit and hold" their high-bred horses while they thread the crowded streets of the west end in season, or that you see a hard rider, when starting with three hundred companions at the joyful sound of tally-ho, pricking and holding his horse, to have him ready for a great effort the moment he is clear of the crowd. by a judicious use of the curb rein, you collect a tired horse; tired horses are inclined to sprawl about. you draw his hind-legs under him, throw him upon his haunches, and render him less liable to fall even on his weary or weak fore-legs. but a pull at the reins when a horse is falling may make him hold up his head, but cannot make him hold up his legs. "when a horse is in movement there should be a constant touch or feeling or play between his mouth and the rider's hands." not the hold by which riders of the foreign school retain their horses at an artificial parade pace, which is inconceivably fatiguing to the animal, and quite contrary to our english notions of natural riding; but a gradual, delicate firm feeling of the mouth and steady indications of the legs, which keep a fiery well-broken horse always, to use a school phrase, "between your hands and legs." you cannot take too much pains to acquire this art, for although it is not exercised on an old hack, that you ride with reins held any how, and your legs dangling anywhere, it is called into action and gives additional enjoyment to be striding the finest class of high-couraged delicate-mouthed horses--beautiful creatures that seem to enjoy being ridden by a real horseman or light-handed amazone, but which become frantic in ignorant or brutal hands. "a horse should never be turned without being made to collect himself, without being retained by the hands and urged by the legs, as well as guided by both; that is, in turning to the right both hands should retain him, and the right hand guide him, by being used the strongest; in turning to the left, both legs should urge him, and the left guide him by being pressed the strongest. don't turn into the contrary extreme, slackening the left rein, and hauling the horse's head round to the right." the same rules should be observed for making a horse canter with the right leg, but the right rein should be only drawn enough to develop his right nostril. _reining back._--you must collect a horse with your legs before you rein him back, because if you press him back first with the reins he may throw all his weight on his hind legs under him, stick out his nose, hug his tail, and then he cannot stir--you must recover him to his balance, and give him power to step back. this rule is often neglected by carters in trying to make the shaft-horse back. _rearing._--knot the snaffle rein--loose it when the horse rears--put your right arm round the horse's neck, with the hand well up and close under the horse's gullet; press your left shoulder forward so as to bring your chest to the horse's near side, for, if the horse falls, you will fall clear; the moment he is descending, press him forward, take up the rein, which, being knotted, is short to your hands, and ply the spurs. but a horse, after being laid down and made walk, tied up like the zebra a few times, will seldom persist, because the moment he attempts to rise you pull his off hind leg under him and he is powerless. _leaping._--the riding-school is a bad place to teach a horse to leap. the bar, with its posts, is very apt to frighten him; if a colt has not been trained to leap as it should be by following its dam before it is mounted, take it into the fields and let it follow well-trained horses over easy low fences and little ditches, slowly without fuss, and, as part of the ride, not backwards and forwards--always leap on the snaffle. our cavalry officers learn to leap, not in the school, but "across country." nolan tells a story that, during some manoeuvres in italy, an austrian general, with his staff, got amongst some enclosures and sent some of his aide-de-camps to find an outlet. they peered over the stone walls, rode about, but could find no gap. the general turned to one of his staff, a yorkshireman, and said, "see if you can find a way out of this place." mr. w----k, mounted on a good english horse, went straight at the wall, cleared it, and, while doing so, turned in his saddle and touched his cap and said, "this way, general;" but his way did not suit the rest of the party. there is a good deal taught in the best military schools, well worth time and study, which, with practice in horse-taming, would fill up the idle time of that numerous class who never read, and find time heavy on their hands, when out of town life. "but a military riding-school," says colonel greenwood, "is too apt to teach you to sit on your horse as stiff as a statue, to let your right hand hang down as useless as if god had never gifted you with one, to stick your left hand out, with a stiff straight wrist like a boltsprit, and to turn your horse invariably on the wrong rein." i should not venture to say so much on my own authority, but captain nolan says further, speaking of the effect of the foreign school (not baucher's), on horses and men, "the result of this long monotonous course of study is, that on the uninitiated the school rider makes a pleasing impression, his horse turns, prances, and caracoles without any visible aid, or without any motion in the horseman's upright, imposing attitude. but i have lived and served with them. i have myself been a riding-master, and know, from experience, the disadvantages of this foreign seat and system." there is nothing that requires more patience and firmness than a shying horse. shying arises from three causes--defective eyesight, skittishness, and fear. if a horse always shies from the same side you may be sure the eye on that side is defective. you may know that a horse shies from skittishness if he flies one day snorting from what he meets the next with indifference; dark stables also produce this irregular shying. nervousness, which is often increased by brutality, as the horse is not only afraid of the object, but of the whipping and spurring he has been accustomed to receive, can be alleviated, to some extent, by the treatment already described in the horse-training chapter. but horses first brought from the country to a large town are likely to be alarmed at a number of objects. you must take time to make them acquainted with each. for instance, i brought a mare from the country that everything moving seemed to frighten. i am convinced she had been ill-used, or had had an accident in harness. the first time a railway train passed in her sight over a bridge spanning the road she was travelling, she would turn round and would have run away had i not been able to restrain her; i could feel her heart beat between my legs. acting on the principles of xenophon and mr. rarey, i allowed her to turn, but compelled her to stand, twenty yards off, while the train passed. she looked back with a fearful eye all the time--it was a very slow luggage train--while i soothed her. after once or twice she consented to face the train, watching it with crested neck and ears erect; by degrees she walked slowly forwards, and in the course of a few days passed under the bridge in the midst of the thunder of a train with perfect indifference. if you can distinctly ascertain that a horse shies and turns round from mere skittishness, correct him when he turns, not as long as he faces the object: he will soon learn that it is for turning that he is visited with whip and spurs. a few days' practice and patience essentially alter the character of the most nervous horses. books contain very elaborate descriptions of what a hack or a hunter should be in form, &c. to most persons these descriptions convey no practical ideas. the better plan is to take lessons on the proportions and anatomy of a horse from some intelligent judge or veterinary surgeon. you must study, and buy, and lose your money on many horses before you can safely, if ever, depend on your own judgment in choosing a horse. and, after all, a natural talent for comparison and eye for proportion are only the gift of a few. some men have horses all their lives, and yet scarcely know a good animal from a bad one, although they may know what they like to drive, or ride or hunt. the safe plan is to distrust your own judgment until you feel you have had experience enough to choose for yourself. hacks for long distances are seldom required in england in these railway days. a town hack should be good-looking, sure-footed, not too tall, and active, for you are always in sight, you have to ride over slippery pavement, to turn sharp corners, and to mount and dismount often. rarey's system of making the horse obey the voice, stand until called, and follow the rider, may easily be taught, and is of great practical value thus applied. a cover or country hack must be fast, but need not be so showy in action or handsome as a town hack--his merit is to get over the ground. teach your hack to walk well with the reins loose--no pace is more gentlemanly and useful than a good steady walk. any well-bred screw can gallop; it is the slow paces that show a gentleman's hack. if on a long journey, walk a quarter of a mile for every four you trot or canter, choosing the softest bits of road or turf. do not permit the saddle to be removed for at least half an hour after arriving with your horse hot. a neglect of this precaution will give a sore back. a lady's horse, beside other well-known qualifications of beauty and pace, should be up to the lady's weight. it is one of the fictions of society that all ladies eat little and weigh little. now, a saddle and habit weigh nearly three stone, a very slim lady will weigh nine, so there you reach twelve stone, which, considering how fond young girls are of riding fast and long over hard roads, is no mean weight. the best plan is to put the dear creatures into the scales with their saddles, register the result, and choose a horse calculated to be a good stone over the gross weight. how few ladies remember, as for hours they canter up and down rotten row, that that famous promenade is a mile and a quarter in length, so ten turns make twelve miles and a half. the qualifications of a hunter need not be described, because all those who need these hints will, if they have common sense, only take hunters like servants, with established characters of at least one season. remember that a horse for driving requires "courage," for he is always going fast--he never walks. people who only keep one or two horses often make the same mistake, as if they engaged lord gourmet's cook for a servant of all work. they see a fiery caprioling animal, sleek as a mole, gentle, but full of fire, come out of a nobleman's stud, where he was nursed like a child, and only ridden or driven in his turn, with half-a-dozen others. seduced by his lively appearance, they purchase him, and place him under the care of a gardener-groom, or at livery, work him every day, early and late, and are surprised to find his flesh melt, his coat lose its bloom, and his lively pace exchanged for a dull shamble. this is a common case. the wise course is to select for a horse of all work an animal that has been always accustomed to work hard; he will then improve with care and regular exercise. horses under six years' old are seldom equal to very hard work: they are not, full-grown, of much use, where only one or two are kept. make a point of caressing your horse, and giving him a carrot or apple whenever he is brought to you, at the same time carefully examine him all over, see to his legs, his shoes, and feet; notice if he is well groomed; see to the condition of his furniture, and see always that he is properly bitted. grooms are often careless and ignorant. as to _shoeing_. in large towns there are always veterinary surgeons' forges, where the art is well understood, and so, too, in hunting districts; but where you have to rely on ignorant blacksmiths you cannot do better than rely on the rather exaggerated instructions contained in "miles on the horse's foot," issued at a low price by the royal agricultural society. good shoeing prolongs the use of a horse for years. _stables._--most elaborate directions are given for the construction of stables; but most people are obliged to put up with what they find on their premises. stables should be so ventilated that they never stink, and are never decidedly warm in cold weather, if you wish your horses to be healthy. grooms will almost always stop up ventilation if they can. loose boxes are to be preferred to stalls, because in them a tired horse can place himself in the position most easy to him. sloping stalls are chambers of torture. hunters should be placed away from other horses, where, after a fatiguing day, they can lie at length, undisturbed by men or other horses in use. stables should be as light as living rooms, but with louvers to darken them in summer, in order to keep out the flies. an ample supply of cold and hot water without troubling the cook is essential in a well-managed stable. large stables are magnificent, but a mistake. four or five horses are quite as many as can be comfortably lodged together. i have seen hunters in an old barn in better condition than in the grandest temples of fashionable architects. it takes an hour to dress a horse well in the morning, and more on return hot from work. from this hint you may calculate what time your servant must devote to his horses if they are to be well dressed. if you are in the middle class, with a small stud, never take a swell groom from a great stable--he will despise you and your horses. hunting farmers and hunting country surgeons train the best class of grooms. when you find an honest, sober man, who thoroughly knows his business, you cannot treat him too well, for half the goodness of a horse depends, like a french dish, on the treatment. footnotes: [ -*] "hints on horses and hunting," by senex. [illustration: side saddle.] chapter ix. on horseman's and horsewoman's dress, and horse furniture. on bits.--the snaffle.--the use of the curb.--the pelham.--the hanoverian bit described.--martingales.--the gentleman's saddle to be large enough.--spurs.--not to be too sharp.--the somerset saddle for the timid and aged.--the nolan saddle without flaps.--ladies' saddle described.--advantages of the hunting-horn crutch.--ladies' stirrup.--ladies' dress.--hints on.--habit.--boots.--whips.--hunting whips.--use of the lash.--gentleman's riding costume.--hunting dress.--poole, the great authority.--advantage of cap over hat in hunting.--boot-tops and napoleons.--quotation from warburton's ballads. if you wish to ride comfortably, you must look as carefully to see that your horse's furniture fits and suits him as to your own boots and breeches. [illustration: curb-bit.] when a farmer buys a team of oxen, if he knows his business he asks their names, because oxen answer to their names. on the same principle it is well to inquire what bit a horse has been accustomed to, and if you cannot learn, try several until you find out what suits him. there are rare horses, "that carry their own heads," in dealers' phrase, safely and elegantly with a plain snaffle bridle; but except in the hands of a steeple-chase jock, few are to be so trusted. besides, as reins, as well as snaffles, break, it is not safe to hunt much with one bit and one bridle-rein. the average of horses go best on a double bridle, that is to say, the common hard and sharp or curb, with a snaffle. the best way is to ride on the snaffle, and use the curb only when it is required to stop your horse suddenly, to moderate his speed when he is pulling too hard, or when he is tired or lazy to collect him, by drawing his nose down and his hind-legs more under him, for that is the first effect of taking hold of the curb-rein. there are many horses with good mouths, so far that they can be stopped easily with a plain snaffle, and yet require a curb-bit, to make them carry their heads in the right place, and this they often seem to do from the mere hint of the curb-chain dangling against their chins, without the rider being obliged to pull at the reins with any perceptible force. [illustration: plain snaffle.] the pelham-bit (see cut), which is a sort of snaffle-bit with cheeks and a curb-chain, is a convenient style for this class of horse. a powerful variation of the pelham, called the hanoverian, has within the last few years come very much into use. it requires the light hands of a practised horseman to use the curb-reins of the hanoverian on a delicate-mouthed horse; but when properly used no bit makes a horse bend and display himself more handsomely, and in the hunting-field it will hold a horse when nothing else will, for this bit is a very powerful snaffle, as well as curb, with rollers or rings, that keep the horse's mouth moist, and prevent it from becoming dead (see cut). for hunting, use the first; if the hanoverian it should not be too narrow. [illustration: pelham-bit.] the chifney is a curb with, a very powerful leverage, and one of the best for a pulling horse, or a lady's use. a perfect horseman will make shift with any bit. sir tatton sykes and sir charles knightley, in their prime, could hold any horse with a plain snaffle; but a lady, or a weak-wristed horseman, should be provided with a bit that can stop the horse on an emergency; and many horses, perfectly quiet on the road, pull hard in the field at the beginning of a run. but it should be remembered, that when a horse runs away, it is useless to rely on the curb, as, when once he has fully resisted it, the longer he runs the less he cares for it. the better plan is to keep the snaffle moving and sawing in his mouth, and from time to time take a sharp pull at the curb. [illustration: hanoverian-bit.] it is of great importance, especially with a high-spirited horse, that the headpiece should fit him, that it is neither too tight nor too low down in his mouth. i have known a violently restive horse to become perfectly calm and docile when his bridle had been altered so as to fit him comfortably. the curb-bit should be placed so low as only just to clear the tushes in a horse's mouth, and one inch above the corner teeth in a mare's. there should be room for at least one finger between the curb-chain and the chin. if the horse is tender-skinned, the chain may be covered with leather. when you are learning to ride, you should take pains to learn everything concerning the horse and his equipments. in this country we are so well waited upon, that we often forget that we may at some time or other be obliged to become our own grooms and farriers. for the colonies, the best bridle is that described in the chapter on training colts, which is a halter, a bridle, and a gag combined. bridle reins should be soft, yet tough; so long, and no longer, so that by extending your arms you can shorten them to any desired length; then, if your horse pokes out his head, or extends himself in leaping, you can, if you hold the reins in each hand, as you ought, let them slip through your fingers, and shorten them in an instant by extending your arms. a very good sportsman of my acquaintance has tabs sewn on the curb-reins, which prevents them from slipping. this is a useful plan for ladies who ride or drive; but, as before observed, in hunting the snaffle-reins should slip through the fingers. some horses require martingales to keep their heads down, and in the right place. but imperfect horsemen are not to be trusted with running martingales. running martingales require tabs on the reins, to prevent the rings getting fixed close to the mouth. for hacks and ladies' horses on the road, a standing martingale, buckled to the nose-band of the bridle, is the best. it should be fixed, as mr. rarey directs, not so short as to bring the horse's head exactly where you want it--your hands must do that--but just short enough to keep his nose down, and prevent him from flinging his poll into your teeth. if his neck is rightly shaped, he will by degrees lower his head, and get into the habit of so arching his neck that the martingale may be dispensed with; this is very desirable, because you cannot leap with a standing martingale, and a running one requires the hands of a steeplechase jock. the saddle of a gentleman should be large enough. in racing, a few pounds are of consequence; but in carrying a heavy man on the road or in the field, to have the weight evenly distributed over the horse's back is of more consequence than three or four pounds. the common general fitting saddle will fit nine horses out of ten. colonial horses usually have low shoulders; therefore colonial saddles should be narrow, thickly stuffed, and provided with cruppers, although they have gone out of fashion in this country, because it is presumed that gentlemen will only ride horses that have a place for carrying a saddle properly. on a journey, see to the stuffing of your saddle, and have it put in a draft, or to the fire, to dry, when saturated with sweat; the neglect of either precaution may give your horse a sore back, one of the most troublesome of horse maladies. before hunting, look to the spring bars of the stirrup-leathers, and see that they will work: if they are tight, pull them down and leave them open. of all accidents, that of being caught, after your horses fall, in the stirrup, is the most dangerous, and not uncommon. i have seen at least six instances of it. when raw to the hunting-field, and of course liable to falls, it is well to use the spring-bar stirrups which open, not at the side, but at the eye holding the stirrup-leather; the same that i recommend for the use of ladies. spurs are only to be used by those who have the habit of riding, and will not use them at the wrong time. in most instances, the sharp points of the rowels should be filed or rubbed off, for they are seldom required for more than to rouse a horse at a fence, or turn him suddenly away from a vehicle in the street. sharp spurs may be left to jockeys. long-legged men can squeeze their horses so hard, that they can dispense with spurs; but short-legged men need them at the close of a run, when a horse begins to lumber carelessly over his fences, or with a horse inclined to refuse. dick christian broke difficult horses to leaping without the spur; and when he did, only used one on the left heel. having myself had falls with horses at the close of a run, which rushed and pulled at the beginning, for want of spurs, i have found the advantage of carrying one in my sandwich-bag, and buckling it on, if needed, at a check. of course, first-rate horsemen need none of these hints; but i write for novices only, of whom, i trust, every prosperous year of old england will produce a plentiful crop from the fortunate and the sons of the fortunate. a great many persons in this country learn, or relearn, to ride after they have reached manhood, either because they can then for the first time afford the dignity and luxury, or because the doctor prescribes horse exercise as the only remedy for weak digestion, disordered liver, trembling nerves--the result of overwork or over-feeding. thus the lawyer, overwhelmed with briefs; the artist, maintaining his position as a royal academician; the philosopher, deep in laborious historical researches; and the young alderman, exhausted by his first year's apprenticeship to city feeding, come under the hands of the riding-master. now although for the man "to the manner bred," there is no saddle for hard work and long work, whether in the hunting-field or indian campaign, like a broad seated english hunting saddle, there is no doubt that its smooth slippery surface offers additional difficulties to the middle-aged, the timid, and those crippled by gout, rheumatism or pounds. there can be very little benefit derived from horse exercise as long as the patient travels in mortal fear. foreigners teach riding on a buff leather demi-pique saddle,--a bad plan for the young, as the english saddle becomes a separate difficulty. but to those who merely aspire to constitutional canters, and who ride only for health, or as a matter of dignity, i strongly recommend the somerset saddle, invented for one of that family of cavaliers who had lost a leg below the knee. this saddle is padded before the knee and behind the thigh to fit the seat of the purchaser, and if provided with a stuffed seat of brown buckskin will give the quartogenarian pupil the comfort and the confidence of an arm-chair. they are, it may be encouraging to mention, fashionable among the more aristocratic middle-aged, and the front roll of stuffing is much used among those who ride and break their own colts, as it affords a fulcrum against a puller, and a protection against a kicker. australians use a rolled blanket, strapped over the pommel of the saddle, for the same purpose. to bad horsemen who are too conceited to use a somerset, i say, in the words of the old proverb, "pride must have a fall." the late captain nolan had a military saddle improved from an hungarian model, made for him by gibson, of coventry street, london, without flaps, and with a felt saddle cloth, which had the advantage of being light, while affording the rider a close seat and more complete control over his horse, in consequence of the more direct pressure of the legs on the horse's flanks. it would be worth while to try a saddle of this kind for hunting purposes, and for breaking in colts. of course it could only be worn with boots, to protect the rider's legs from the sweat of the horse's flanks. with the hunting-horn crutch the seat of a woman is stronger than that of a man, for she presses her right leg down over the upright pommel, and the left leg up against the hunting-horn, and thus grasps the two pommels between her legs at that angle which gives her the most power. ladies' saddles ought invariably to be made with what is called the hunting-horn, or crutch, at the left side. the right-hand pommel has not yet gone out of fashion, but it is of no use, and is injurious to the security of a lady's seat, by preventing the right hand from being put down as low as it ought to be with a restive horse, and by encouraging the bad habit of leaning the right hand on it. a flat projection is quite sufficient. the security of the hunting-horn saddle will be quite clear to you, if, when sitting in your chair, you put a cylinder three or four inches in diameter between your legs, press your two knees together by crossing them, in the position of a woman on a side-saddle; when a man clasps his horse, however firmly, it has a tendency, to raise the seat from the saddle. this is not the case with the side-saddle seat: if a man wishes to use a lance and ride at a ring, he will find that he has a firmer seat with this kind of side-saddle than with his own. there is no danger in this side-pommel, since you cannot be thrown on it, and it renders it next to impossible that the rider should be thrown upon the other pommel. in case of a horse leaping suddenly into the air and coming down on all four feet, technically, "_bucking_," without the leaping-horn there is nothing to prevent a lady from being thrown up. but the leaping-horn holds down the left knee, and makes it a fulcrum to keep the right knee down in its proper place. if the horse in violent action throws himself suddenly to the left, the upper part of the rider's body will tend downwards, to the right, and the lower limbs to the left: nothing can prevent this but the support of the leaping-horn. the fear of over-balancing to the right causes many ladies to get into the bad habit of leaning over their saddles to the left. this fear disappears when the hunting-horn pommel is used. the leaping-horn is also of great use with a hard puller, or in riding down a steep place, for it prevents the lady from sliding forward. but these advantages render the right-hand pommel quite useless, a slight projection being all sufficient (see woodcut); while this arrangement gives the habit and figure a much better appearance. every lady ought to be measured for this part of the saddle, as the distance between the two pommels will depend partly on the length of her legs. when a timid inexperienced lady has to ride a fiery horse it is not a bad plan to attach a strap to the outside girth on the right hand, so that she may hold it and the right hand rein at the same time without disturbing her seat. this little expedient gives confidence, and is particularly useful if a fresh horse should begin to kick a little. of course it is not to be continued, but only used to give a timid rider temporary assistance. i have also used for the same purpose a broad tape passed across the knees, and so fastened that in a fall of the horse it would give way. colonel greenwood recommends that for fastening a ladies' saddle-flaps an elastic webbing girth, and not a leather girth, should be used, and this attached, not, as is usually the case, to the small, but to the _large flap_ on the near side. this will leave the near side small flap loose, as in a man's saddle, and allow a spring bar to be used. but i have never seen, either in use or in a saddler's shop, although i have constantly sought, a lady's saddle so arranged with a spring bar for the stirrup-leather. this mode of attaching a web girth to the large flap will render the near side perfectly smooth, with the exception of the stirrup-leather, which he recommends to be a single thin strap as broad as a gentleman's, fastened to the stirrup-leg by a loop or slipknot, and fixed over the spring bar of the saddle by a buckle like that on a man's stirrup-leather. this arrangement, which the colonel also recommends to gentlemen, presumes that the length of the stirrup-leather never requires altering more than an inch or two. it is a good plan for short men when travelling, and likely to ride strange horses, to carry their stirrup-leathers with them, as nothing is more annoying than to have to alter them in a hurry with the help of a blunt pen-knife. "the stirrup for ladies should be in all respects like a man's, large and heavy, and open at the side, or the eyelet hole, with a spring." the stirrups made small and padded out of compliment to ladies' small feet are very dangerous. if any padding be required to protect the front of the ankle-joint, it had better be a fixture on the boot. it is a mistake to imagine that people are dragged owing to the stirrup being too large, and the foot passing through it; such accidents arise from the stirrup being too small, and the foot clasped by the pressure of the upper part on the toe and the lower part on the sole. few ladies know how to dress for horse exercise, although there has been a great improvement, so far as taste is concerned, of late years. as to the head-dress, it may be whatever is in fashion, provided it so fits the head as not to require continual adjustment, often needed when the hands would be better employed with the reins and whip. it should shade from the sun, and if used in hunting protect the nape of the neck from rain. the recent fashions of wearing the plumes or feathers of the ostrich, the cock, the capercailzie, the pheasant, the peacock, and the kingfisher, in the riding-hats of young ladies, in my humble opinion, are highly to be commended. as to the riding-habit, it may be of any colour and material suitable to the wearer and the season of year, but the sleeves must fit rather closely; nothing can be more out of place, inconvenient, and ridiculous, than the wide, hanging sleeves which look so well in a drawing-room. for country use the skirt of a habit may be short, and bordered at the bottom a foot deep with leather. the fashion of a waistcoat of light material for summer, revived from the fashion of last century, is a decided improvement, and so is the over-jacket of cloth, or sealskin, for rough weather. there is no reason why pretty young girls should not indulge in picturesque riding costume so long as it is appropriate. many ladies entirely spoil the sit of the skirts by retaining the usual _impedimenta_ of petticoats[ -*]. the best-dressed horsewomen wear nothing more than a flannel chemise with long coloured sleeves, under their trousers. ladies' trousers should be of the same material and colour as the habit, and if full flowing like a turk's, and fastened with an elastic band round the ankle, they will not be distinguished from the skirt. in this costume, which may be made amply warm by the folds of the trousers, plaited like a highlander's kilt (fastened with an elastic band at the waist), a lady can sit down in a manner impossible for one encumbered by two or three short petticoats. it is the chest and back which require double folds of protection during, and after, strong exercise. there is a prejudice against ladies wearing long wellington boots; but it is quite absurd, for they need never be seen, and are a great comfort and protection in riding long distances, when worn with the trousers tucked inside. they should, for obvious reasons, be large enough for warm woollen stockings, and easy to get on and off. it would not look well to see a lady struggling out of a pair of wet boots with the help of a bootjack and a couple of chambermaids. the heels of riding-boots, whether for ladies or gentlemen, should be low, but _long_, to keep the stirrup in its place. the yellow patent leather recently introduced seems a suitable thing for the "napoleons" of hunting ladies. and i have often thought that the long leather gaiters of the zouave would suit them. whips require consideration. by gentlemen on the road or in the park they are rather for ornament than use. a jockey whip is the most punishing, but on the rarey system it is seldom necessary to use the whip except to a slug, and then spurs are more effective. a lady's whip is intended to supply the place of a man's right leg and spur; it should therefore, however ornamental and thin, be stiff and real. messrs. callow, of park lane, make some very pretty ones, pink, green and amber, from the skin of the hippopotamus, light but severe. a loop to hang it from the wrist may be made ornamental in colours and gold, and is useful, for a lady may require all the power of her little hand to grasp the right rein without the encumbrance of the whip, which on this plan will still be ready if required at a moment's notice. hunting-whips must vary according to the country. in some districts the formidable metal hammers are still required to break intractable horses, but such whips and jobs should be left to the servants and hard-riding farmers. as a general rule the hunting-whip of a man who has nothing to do with the hounds may be light, but it should have a good crook and be stiff enough to stop a gate. a small steel stud outside the crook prevents the gate from slipping; flat lashes of a brown colour have recently come into fashion, but they are mere matters of fashion like the colour of top boots, points to which only snobs pay any attention--that is, those asses who pin their faith in externals, and who, in the days of pigtails, were ready to die in defence of those absurd excrescences. the stock of a whip made by callow for a hunting nobleman to present to a steeple-chasing and fox-hunting professional, was of oak, a yard long, with a buck-horn crook, and a steel stud; but then the presentee is six feet high. every hunting-whip should have a lash, but it need not be long. the lash may be required to rouse a hound under your horse's feet, or turn the pack; as for whipping off the pack from the fox in the absence of the huntsman, the whips and the master, that is an event that happens to one per cent of the field once in a lifetime, although it is a common and favourite anecdote after dinner. but then saint munchausen presides over the mahogany where fox-hunting feats are discussed. one use of a lash is to lead a horse by putting it through the rings of the snaffle, and to flip him up as you stand on the bank when he gets stuck fast, or dead beat in a ditch or brook. i once owed the extrication of my horse from a brook with a deep clay bottom entirely to having a long lash to my whip; for when he had plumped in close enough to the opposite bank for me to escape over his head, i was able first to guide him to a shelving spot, and then make him try one effort more by adroit flicks on his rump at a moment when he seemed prepared to give in and be drowned. in leading a horse, always pass the reins through the ring of the snaffle, so that if he pulls he is held by the mouth, not by the top of his head. the riding costume of a gentleman should be suitable without being groomish. it is a fact that does not seem universally known, that a man does not ride any better for dressing like a groom. it has lately been the fashion to discard straps. this is all very well if the horse and the rider can keep the trousers down, which can only be done by keeping the legs away from the horse's sides; but when the trousers rise to the top of the boot, and the stocking or bare leg appears, the sooner straps or knee-breeches are adopted the better. for hunting, nothing will do but boots and breeches, unless you condescend to gaiters--for trousers wet, draggled and torn, are uncomfortable and expensive wear. leathers are pleasant, except in wet weather, and economical wear if you have a man who can clean them; but if they have to go weekly to the breeches-maker they become expensive, and are not to be had when wanted; besides, wet leather breeches are troublesome things to travel with. white cord breeches have one great convenience; they wash well, although not so elastic, warm, and comfortable as woollen cords. it is essential for comfort that hunting-breeches should be built by a tailor who knows that particular branch of business, _and tried on sitting down_ if not on horseback, for half your comfort depends on their fit. many schneiders who are first-rate at ordinary garments, have no idea of riding clothes. poole, of saville row, makes hunting-dress a special study, and supplies more hunting-men and masters of hounds than any tailor in london, but his customers must be prepared to pay for perfection. in the coats, since the modern shooting jacket fashion came in, there is great scope for variety. the fashion does not much matter so long as it is fit for riding--ample enough to cover the chest and stomach in wet weather, easy enough to allow full play for the arms and shoulders, and not so long as to catch in hedgerows and brambles. our forefathers in some counties rode in coats like scarlet dressing-gowns. there is one still to be seen in surrey. for appearance, for wear, and as a universal passport to civility in a strange country, there is nothing like scarlet, provided the horseman can afford to wear it without offending the prejudices of valuable patrons, friends or landlords. in lincolnshire, farmers are expected to appear in pink. in northamptonshire a yeoman farming his own acres would be thought presumptuous if he followed the lincolnshire example. near london you may see the "pals" of fighting men and hell-keepers in pink and velvet. a scarlet coat should never be assumed until the rider's experience in the field is such that he is in no danger of becoming at once conspicuous and ridiculous. a cap is to be preferred to a hat because it fits closer, is less in the way when riding through cover, protects the head better from a bough or a fall, and will wear out two or three hats. it should be ventilated by a good hole at the top. top-boots are very pretty wear for men of the right height and right sort of leg when they fit perfectly--that is difficult on fat calves--and are cleaned to perfection, which is also difficult unless you have a more than ordinarily clever groom. for men of moderate means, the patent black leather napoleon, which costs from _l._ _s._ to _l._ _s._, and can be cleaned with a wet sponge in five minutes, is the neatest and most economical boot--one in which travelling does not put you under any obligation to your host's servants. i have often found the convenience of patent leather boots when staying with a party at the house of a master of hounds, while others, as the hounds were coming out of the kennel, were in an agony for tops entrusted two or three days previously to a not-to-be-found servant. in this point of the boots i differ from the author of "a word ere we start;" but then, squires of ten thousand a-year are not supposed to understand the shifts of those who on a twentieth part of that income manage to enjoy a good deal of sport with all sorts of hounds and all sorts of horses. there is a certain class of sporting snobs who endeavour to enhance their own consequence or indulge their cynical humour by talking with the utmost contempt of any variation from the kind of hunting-dress in use, in their own particular district. the best commentary on the supercilious tailoring criticism of these gents is to be found in the fact that within a century every variety of hunting clothes has been in and out of fashion, and that the dress in fashion with the quorn hunt in its most palmy days was not only the exact reverse of the present fashion in that flying country, but, if comfort and convenience are to be regarded, as ridiculous as brass helmets, tight stocks, and buttoned-up red jackets for indian warfare. it consisted, as may be seen in old alken's and sir john dean paul's hunting sketches, of a high-crowned hat, a high tight stock, a tight dress coat, with narrow skirts that could protect neither the chest, stomach, or thighs, long tight white cord breeches, and pale top-boots thrust low down the leg, the tops being supposed to be cleaned with champagne. leather breeches, caps, and brown top-boots were voted slow in those days. but the men went well as they do in every dress. "old wiseheads, complacently smoothing the brim, may jeer at my velvet, and call it a whim; they may think in a cap little wisdom there dwells; they may say he who wears it should wear it with bells; but when broadbrim lies flat, i will answer him pat, oh! who but a crackskull would ride in a hat!" squire warburton. [illustration: rails and double ditch.] footnotes: [ -*] at an inquest on a young lady killed at totnes in september last, it appeared that she lost her seat and hung by a _crinoline petticoat_ from the right hand _pommel_! chapter x. on hunting. "the sailor who rides on the ocean, delights when the stormy winds blow: wind and steam, what are they to horse motion? sea cheers to a land tally-ho? the canvas, the screw, and the paddle, the stride of the thorough-bred hack, when, fastened like glue to the saddle, we gallop astern of the pack." tarporley hunt song, . advantage of hunting.--libels on.--great men who have hunted.--popular notion unlike reality.--dick christian and the marquis of hastings.--fallacy of "lifting" a horse refuted.--hints on riding at fences.--harriers discussed.--stag-hunting a necessity and use where time an object.--hints for novices.--tally-ho! expounded.--to feed a horse after a hard ride.--expenses of horse keep.--song by squire warburton, "a word ere we start." every man who can ride, and, living within a couple of hours' distance of a pack of hounds, can spare a day now and then, should hunt. it will improve his horsemanship, enlarge his circle of acquaintance, as well as his tastes and sympathies, and make, as shakspeare hath it-- "good digestion wait on appetite, and health on both." not that i mean that every horseman should attempt to follow the hounds in the first flight, or even the second; because age, nerves, weight, or other good reasons may forbid: but every man who keeps a good hack may meet his friends at cover side, enjoy the morning air, with a little pleasant chat, and follow the hounds, if not in the front, in the rear, galloping across pastures, trotting through bridle gates, creeping through gaps, and cantering along the green rides of a wood, thus causing a healthy excitement, with no painful reaction: and if, unhappily, soured or overpressed by work and anxious thoughts, drinking in such draughts of lethe as can no otherwise be drained. hunting has suffered as much from overpraise as from the traditionary libels of the fribbles and fops of the time of the first georges, when a fool, a sot, and a fox-hunter were considered synonymous terms. of late years it has pleased a sportsman, with a wonderful talent for picturesquely describing the events of a fox-hunt, to write two sporting novels, in which all the leading characters are either fools or rogues. "in england all conditions of men, except bishops, from ratcatchers to royalty, are to be found in the hunting-field--equalised by horsemanship, and fraternising under the influence of a genial sport. among fox-hunters we can trace a long line of statesmen, from william of orange to pitt and fox. lord althorp was a master of hounds; and lord palmerston we have seen, within the last few years, going--as he goes everywhere--in the first flight." this was before the french fall of the late premier. cromwell's ironsides were hunting men; pope, the poet, writes in raptures of a gallop with the wiltshire harriers; and gladstone, theologian, politician, and editor of homer, bestrides his celebrated white mare in nottinghamshire, and scurries along by the side of the ex-war minister, the duke of newcastle. "the progress of agriculture is indelibly associated with fox-hunting; for the three great landlords, who did more to turn sand and heath into corn and wool, and make popular the best breeds of stock and best course of cultivation--francis, duke of bedford; coke, earl of leicester; and the first lord yarborough--were all masters of hounds. "when indecency formed the staple of our plays, and a drunken debauch formed the inevitable sequence of every dinner-party, a fool and a fox-hunter were synonymous. squire western was the representative of a class, which, however, was not more ridiculous than the patched, perfumed sir plumes, whom hogarth painted, and pope satirised. fox-hunters are not a class now--roads, newspapers, and manufacturing emigration have equalised the condition of the whole kingdom; and fox-hunters are just like any other people, who wear clean shirts, and can afford to keep one or more horses. "it is safe to assert that hunting-men, as a class, are temperate. no man can ride well across a difficult country who is not. we must, however, admit that the birds who have most fouled their own nest have been broken-down sportsmen, chiefly racing men, who have turned writers to turn a penny. these unfortunate people, with the fatal example of 'noctes ambrosianæ' before them, fill up a page, whenever their memory or their industry fails them, in describing in detail a breakfast, a luncheon, a dinner, and a supper. and this has been repeated so often, that the uninitiated are led to believe that every fox-hunter must, as a matter of course, keep a french cook, and consume an immense cellar of port, sherry, madeira, hock, champagne, with gallons of strong ale, and all manner of liqueurs. "the popular notion of a fox-hunt is as unlike the reality as a girl's notion of war--a grand charge and a splendid victory. "pictures always represent exciting scenes--hounds flying away with a burning scent; horses taking at a bound, or tumbling neck and crop over, frightful fences. such lucky days, such bruising horsemen, such burning scents and flying foxes are the exception. "at least two-thirds of those who go out, even in the most fashionable counties, never attempt brooks or five-barred gates, or anything difficult or dangerous; but, by help of open gates and bridle-roads, which are plentiful, parallel lanes, and gaps, which are conveniently made by the first rush of the straight riders and the dealers with horses to sell, helped by the curves that hounds generally make, and a fair knowledge of the country, manage to be as near the hounds as the most thrusting horseman. among this crowd of skirters and road-riders are to be found some very good sportsmen, who, from some cause or other, have lost their nerve; others, who live in the county, like the excitement and society, but never took a jump in their lives; young ladies with their papas; boys on ponies; farmers educating four-year-olds; surgeons and lawyers, who are looking for professional practice as well as sport. on cold scenting days, with a ringing fox, this crowd keeps on until nearly dark, and heads many a fox. many a beginner, in his first season, has been cheated by a succession of these easy days over an easy part of the county into the idea that there was no difficulty in riding to hounds. but a straight fox and a burning scent over a grass country has undeceived him, and left him in the third or fourth field with his horse half on a hedge and half in a ditch, or pounded before a 'bulfinch,' feeling very ridiculous. there are men who cut a very respectable figure in the hunting-field who never saw a pack of hounds until they were past thirty. the city of london turns out many such; so does every great town where money is made by men of pluck, bred, perhaps, as ploughboys in the country. we could name three--one an m.p.--under these conditions, who would pass muster in leicestershire, if necessary. but a good seat on horseback, pluck, and a love of the sport, are essential. a few years ago a scientific manufacturer, a very moderate horseman, was ordered horse exercise as a remedy for mind and body prostrated by over-anxiety. he found that, riding along the road, his mind was as busy and wretched as ever. a friend prescribed hunting, purchased for him a couple of made hunters, and gave him the needful elementary instruction. the first result was, that he obtained such sound, refreshing sleep as he had not enjoyed since boyhood; the next, that in less than two seasons he made himself quite at home with a provincial pack, and now rides so as to enjoy himself without attracting any more notice than one who had been a fox-hunter from his youth upwards." the illustration at the commencement of this chapter gives a very fair idea of the seat of good horsemen going at a fence and broad ditch, where pace is essential. a novice may advantageously study the seats of the riders in herring's "steeplechase cracks," painted by an artist who was a sportsman in his day. a few invaluable hints on riding to hounds are to be found in the druid's account of dick christian. the late marquis of hastings, father of the present marquis, was one of the best and keenest fox-hunters of his day; he died young, and here is dick's account of his "first fence," for which all fox-hunters are under deep obligations to the druid. "the marquis of hastings was one of my pupils. i was two months at his place before he came of age. he sent for me to donnington, and i broke all his horses. i had never seen him before. he had seven rare nice horses, and very handy i got them. the first meet i went out with him was wartnaby stone pits. i rode by his side, and i says, 'my lord, we'll save a bit of distance if we take this fence.' so he looked at me and he laughed, and says, 'why, christian, i was never over a fence in my life.' 'god bless me, my lord! you don't say so?' and i seemed quite took aback at hearing him say it. 'its true enough, christian, i really mean it.' 'well, my lord,' says i, 'you're on a beautiful fencer, he'll walk up to it and jump it. now i'll go over the fence first. _put your hands well down on his withers and let him come._' it was a bit of a low-staked hedge and a ditch; he got over as nice as possible, and he gave quite a hurrah like. he says, 'there, i'm over my first fence--that's a blessing!' then i got him over a great many little places, and he quite took to it and went on uncommonly well. _he was a nice gentleman to teach--he'd just do anything you told him. that's the way to get on!_" in another place dick says, "a quick and safe jumper always goes from hind-legs to fore-legs. i never rode a steeple-chase yet but i steadied my horse on to his hind-legs twenty yards from his fence, and i was always over and away before the rushers. lots of the young riders think horses can jump anything if they can only drive them at it fast enough. they force them too much at their fences. if you don't feel your horse's mouth, you can tell nothing about him. you hold him, he can make a second effort; if you drop him, he won't." now, dick does not mean by this that you are to go slowly at every kind of fence. he tells you that he "sent him with some powder at a bullfinch;" but whatever the pace, you so hold your horse in the last fifty yards up to the taking-off point, that instead of spreading himself out all abroad at every stroke, he feels the bit and gets his hind-legs well under him. if you stand to see jim mason or tom oliver in the hunting-field going at water, even at what they call "forty miles an hour," you will find the stride of their horses a measured beat, and while they spur and urge them they collect them. this is the art no book can teach; _but it can teach that it ought to be learned_. thousands of falls have been caused by a common and most absurd phrase, which is constantly repeated in every description of the leaps of a great race or run. "_he took his horse by the head and lifted him_," &c. no man in the world ever lifted a horse over anything--it is a mechanical impossibility--but a horseman of the first order can at a critical moment so rouse a horse, and so accurately place his head and hind-legs in the right position, that he can make an extraordinary effort and achieve a miraculous leap. this in metaphorical language is called lifting a horse, because, to a bye-stander, it looks like it. but when a novice, or even an average horseman, attempts this sort of _tour de force_, he only worries his horse, and, ten to one, throws him into the fence. those who are wise will content themselves with keeping a horse well in hand until he is about to rise for his effort, and to collecting him the moment he lands. the right hold brings his hind legs under him; too hard a pull brings him into the ditch, if there is one. by holding your hands with the reins in each rather wide apart as you come towards your fence, and closing them and dropping them near his withers as he rises, you give him room to extend himself; and if you stretch your arms as he descends, you have him in hand. but the perfect hunter, as long as he is fresh, does his work perfectly, so the less you meddle with him when he is rising the better. young sportsmen generally err by being too bold and too fast. instead of studying the art in the way the best men out perform, they are hiding their nervousness by going full speed at everything, or trying to rival the whips in daring. any hard-headed fool can ride boldly. to go well when hounds are running hard--to save your horse as much as possible while keeping well forward, for the end, the difficult part of a long run--these are the acts a good sportsman seeks to acquire by observation and experience. for this reason young sportsmen should commence their studies with harriers, where the runs are usually circling and a good deal of hunting is done slowly. if a young fellow can ride well in a close, enclosed hedge, bank, and ditch country, with occasional practice at stiles and gates, pluck will carry him through a flying country, if properly mounted. any horse that is formed for jumping, with good loins, hocks, and thighs, can be taught to jump timber; but it is madness to ride at a gate or a stile with a doubtful horse. a deer always slacks his pace to a trot to jump a wall or park rails, and it is better to slacken to a trot or canter where there is no ditch on either side to be cleared, unless you expect a fall, and then go fast, that your horse may not tumble on you. a rushing horse is generally a dangerous fencer; but it is a trick that can only be cured in private lessons, and it is more dangerous to try to make a rusher go slowly than to let him have his own way. the great error of young beginners is to select young horses under their weight. it was the saying of a judge of the old school, that all kinds of wine were good, but the best wine of all was "two bottles of port!" in the same style, one may venture to say that all kinds of hunting are good, but that the best of all is fox-hunting, in a grass scent-holding country, divided into large fields, with fences that may be taken in the stride of a thorough-bred, and coverts that comprise good gorse and open woods--that is, for men of the weight, with the nerve, and with the horses that can shine in such a country. but it is not given to all to have or retain the nerve or to afford a stud of the style of horses required for going across the best part of leicestershire and northamptonshire. in this world, the way to be happy is to put up with what you can get. the majority of my readers will be obliged to ride with the hounds that happen to live nearest their dwelling; it is only given to the few to be able to choose their hunting country and change their stud whenever the maggot bites them. after hard brain-work and gray hairs have told on the pulse, or when the opening of the nursery-door has almost shut the stable, a couple of hours or so once a week may be made pleasant and profitable on a thirty-pound hack for the quartogenarian, whom time has not handicapped with weight for age. i can say, from the experience of many years, that as long as you are under twelve stone, you may enjoy very good sport with such packs as the bramham moor in yorkshire, the brocklesby in lincolnshire, the heythrope in oxfordshire, the berkley or the beaufort in gloucestershire, without any enormous outlay for horses, for the simple reason that the average runs do not present the difficulties of grass countries, where farmers are obliged to make strong fences and deep ditches to keep the bullocks they fatten within bounds. good-looking little horses, clever jumpers, equal to moderate weights, are to be had, by a man who has not too much money, at moderate prices; but the sixteen hands, well-bred flyer, that can gallop and go straight in such countries as the vale of aylesbury, is an expensive luxury. of course i am speaking of sound horses. there is scarcely ever a remarkable run in which some well-ridden screw does not figure in the first flight among the two hundred guinea nags. when an old sportsman of my acquaintance heard any of the thousand-and-one tales of extraordinary runs with fox-hounds, "after dinner," he used to ask--"were any of the boys or ponies up at the kill?" if the answer was "yes," he would say, "then it was not a severe thing;" and he was generally right. men of moderate means had better choose a hunting county where the boys can live with the hounds. "as to harriers, the people who sneer at them are ludicrously ignorant of the history of modern fox-hunting, which is altogether founded on the experience and maxims of hare-hunters. the two oldest fox-hound packs in england--the brocklesby and the cheshire--were originally formed for hare-hunting. the best book ever written on hounds and hunting, a text-book to every master of hounds to this day, is by beckford, who learned all he knew as master of a pack of harriers. "the great meynell and warwickshire corbett both entered their young hounds to hare, a practice which cannot, however, be approved. the late parson froude, in north devon, than whom a keener sportsman never holloaed to hounds, and the breeder of one of the best packs for showing sport ever seen, hunted hare, fox, deer, and even polecats, sooner than not keep his darlings doing something; and, while his hounds would puzzle out the faintest scent, there were among the leaders several that, with admirable dash, jumped every gate, disdaining to creep. some of this stock are still hunting on exmoor. there are at present several very good m.f.h. who began with hare-hounds. "the intense pretentious snobbishness of the age has something to do with the mysterious manner in which many men, blushing, own that they have been out with harriers. in the first place, as a rule, harriers are slow; although there are days when, with a stout, well-fed, straight-running hare, the best men will have enough to do to keep their place in the field: over the dinner-table that is always an easy task; but in this fast, competitive age, the man who can contrive to stick on a good horse can show in front without having the least idea of the meaning of hunting. to such, harriers afford no amusement. then again, harrier packs are of all degrees, from the perfection of the blackmoor vale, the brookside, and some devon or welsh packs with unpronounceable names, down to the little scratch packs of six or seven couple kept among jovial farmers in out-of-the-way places, or for the amusement of sheffield cutlers running afoot. the same failing that makes a considerable class reverently worship an alderman or a city baronet until they can get on speaking terms with a peer, leads others to boast of fox-hunting when the brighton harriers are more than they can comfortably manage." the greater number of what are called harriers now-a-days are dwarf fox-hounds, or partake largely of fox-hound blood. if leicestershire is the county for "swells," devonshire is the county of sportsmen; for although there is very little riding to hounds as compared with the midland counties, there is a great deal of hunting. every village has its little pack; every man, woman, and child, from the highest to the humblest, takes an interest in the sport; and the science of hunting is better understood than in the hard-riding, horse-dealing counties. to produce a finished fox-hunter, i would have him commence his studies in devonshire, and finish his practice in northamptonshire. on the whole, i should say that a student of the noble science, whose early education has been neglected, cannot do better than go through a course of fox-hunting near oxford, in the winter vacation, where plenty of perfect hunters are to be hired, and hounds meet within easy reach of the university city, six days in the week, hunting over a country where you may usually be with them at the finish without doing anything desperate, if content to come in with the ruck, the ponies, and the old farmers; or where, if so inclined, you may have more than an average number of fast and furious runs, and study the admirable style of some of the best horsemen in the world among the oxfordshire and berkshire squires. stag-hunting from a cart is a pursuit very generally contemned in print, and very ardently followed by many hundred hard-riding gentlemen every hunting day in the year. a man who can ride up to stag-hounds on a straight running day must have a perfect hunter, in first-rate condition, and be, in the strongest sense of the term, "a horseman." but it wants the uncertainties which give so great a charm to fox-hunting, where there are any foxes. there is no find, and no finish; and the checks generally consist in whipping off the too eager hounds. as a compensation, when the deer does not run cunning, or along roads, the pace is tremendous. the surrey stag-hounds, in the season of , had some runs with the ketton hind equal in every respect to the best fox-hunts on record; for she repeatedly beat them, was loose in the woods for days, was drawn for like a wild deer, and then, with a burning scent, ran clear away from the hounds, while the hounds ran away from the horsemen. but, according to the usual order of the day, the deer begins in a cart, and ends in a barn. but stag-hunting may be defended as the very best mode of obtaining a constitutional gallop for those whose time is too valuable to be expended in looking for a fox. it is suited to punctual, commercial, military, or political duties. you may read your letters, dictate replies, breakfast deliberately, order your dinner, and invite a party to discuss it, and set off to hunt with the queen's, the baron's, or any other stag-hound pack within reach of rail, almost certain of two hours' galloping, and a return by the train you fixed in the morning. * * * * * there are a few hints to which pupils in the art of hunting may do well to attend. "don't go into the field until you can sit a horse over any reasonable fence. but practice at real fences, for at the leaping-bar only the rudiments of fencing are to be learned by either man or horse. the hunting-field is not the place for practising the rudiments of the art. buy a perfect hunter; no matter how blemished or how ugly, so that he has legs, eyes, and wind to carry him and his rider across the country. it is essential that one of the two should perfectly understand the business in hand. have nothing to say to a puller, a rusher, or a kicker, even if you fancy you are competent; a colt should only be ridden by a man who is paid to risk his bones. an amateur endangers himself, his neighbours, and the pack, by attempting rough-riding. the best plan for a man of moderate means--those who can afford to spend hundreds on experiments can pick and choose in the best stables--is to hire a hack hunter; and, if he suits, buy him, to teach you how to go. "never take a jump when an open gate or gap is handy, unless the hounds are going fast. don't attempt to show in front, unless you feel you can keep there. beginners, who try to make a display, even if lucky at first, are sure to make some horrid blunder. go slowly at your fences, except water and wide ditches, and don't pull at the curb when your horse is rising. in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, the horse will be better without your assistance than with it. don't wear spurs until you are quite sure that you won't spur at the wrong time. never lose your temper with your horse, and never strike him with the whip when going at a fence; it is almost sure to make him swerve. pick out the firmest ground; hold your horse together across ploughed land; if you want a pilot, choose not a scarlet and cap, but some well-mounted old farmer, who has not got a horse to sell: if he has, ten to one but he leads you into grief. "in going from cover to cover, keep in the same field as the hounds, unless you know the country--then you can't be left behind without a struggle. to keep in the same field as the hounds when they are running, is more than any man can undertake to do. make your commencement in an easy country, and defer trying the pasture counties until you are sure of yourself and your horse. "if you should have a cold-scenting day, and any first-rate steeplechase rider be in the field, breaking in a young one, watch him; you may learn more from seeing what he does, than from hours of advice, or pages of reading. "above all, hold your tongue until you have learnt your lesson; and talk neither of your triumphs nor your failures. any fool can boast; and though to ride boldly and with judgment is very pleasant, there is nothing for a gentleman to be specially proud of, considering that two hundred huntsmen, or whips, do it better than most gentlemen every hunting day in the season." when you meet the pack with a strange horse, don't go near it until sure that he will not kick at hounds, as some ill-educated horses will do. before the hounds begin to draw, you may get some useful information as to a strange country from a talkative farmer. when hounds are drawing a large cover, and when you cannot see them, keep down wind, so as to hear the huntsman, who, in large woodlands, must keep on cheering his hounds. when a fox breaks cover near you, or you think he does, don't be in a hurry to give the "tally-a-e-o!" for, in the first place, if you are not experienced and quick-eyed, it may not be a fox at all, but a dog, or a hare. the mistake is common to people who are always in a hurry, and equally annoying to the huntsman and the blunderer; and, in the next place, if you halloo too soon, ten to one the fox heads back into cover. when he is well away through the hedge of a good-sized field, halloo, at the same time raising your cap, "tally-o aw-ay-o-o!" giving each syllable very slowly, and with your mouth well open; for this is the way to be heard a long distance. do this once or twice, and then be quiet for a short spell, and be ready to tell the huntsman, when he comes up, in a few sentences, exactly which way the fox is gone. if the fox makes a short bolt, and returns, it is "tally-o _back_!" with the "_back_" loud and clear. if the fox crosses the side of a wood when the hounds are at check, the cry should be "tally-o over!" _foxes._--study the change in the appearance of the fox between the beginning and the end of a run; a fresh fox slips away with his brush straight, whisking it with an air of defiance now and then; a beaten fox looks dark, hangs his brush, and arches his back as he labours along. with the hounds well away, it is a great point to get a good start; so while they are running in cover, cast your eyes over the boundary-fence, and make up your mind where you will take it: a big jump at starting is better than thrusting with a crowd in a gap or gateway--always presuming that you can depend on your horse. dismiss the moment you start two ideas which are the bane of sport, jealousy of what others are doing, and conceit of what you are doing yourself; keep your eyes on the pack, on your horse's ears, and the next fence, instead of burning to beat thompson, or hoping that brown saw how cleverly you got over that rasper! acquire an eye to hounds, that is, learn to detect the moment when the leading hound turns right or left, or, losing the scent, checks, or, catching it breast high, races away mute, "dropping his stem as straight as a tobacco-pipe." by thus studying the leading hounds instead of racing against your neighbours' horses, you see how they turn, save many an angle, and are ready to pull up the moment the hounds throw up their heads. never let your anxiety to be forward induce you to press upon the hounds when they are hunting; nothing makes a huntsman more angry, or spoils sport more. set the example of getting out of the way when the huntsman, all anxious, comes trotting back through a narrow road to make his cast after a check. attention to these hints, which are familiar to every old sportsman, will tend to make a young one successful and popular. when you are well up, and hounds come to a check, instead of beginning to relate how wonderfully the bay horse or the gray mare carried you, notice every point that may help the huntsman to make his cast--sheep, cattle, magpies, and the exact point where the scent began to fail. it is observation that makes a true sportsman. as soon as the run has ended, begin to pay attention to the condition of your horse, whose spirit may have carried him further than his strength warranted; it is to be presumed, that you have eased him at every check by turning his nose to the wind, and if a heavy man, by dismounting on every safe opportunity. the first thing is to let him have just enough water to wash his mouth out without chilling him. the next to feed him--the horse has a small stomach, and requires food often. at the first roadside inn or cottage get a quart of oatmeal or wheat-flour _boiled_ in half a pail of water--mere soaking the raw oatmeal is not sufficient. i have found the water of boiled linseed used for cattle answer well with a tired horse. in cases of serious distress a pint of wine or glass of spirits mixed with water may be administered advantageously; to decide on the propriety of bleeding requires some veterinary experience; quite as many horses as men have been killed by bleeding when stimulants would have answered better. with respect to the treatment of hunters on their return, i can do nothing better than quote the directions of that capital sportsman and horseman, scrutator, in "horses and hounds." "when a horse returns to the stable, either after hunting or a journey, the first thing to be done to him is to take off the bridle, but to let the saddle _remain on_ for some time at least, merely loosening the girths. the head and ears are first to be rubbed dry, either with a wisp of hay or a cloth, and then by the hand, until the ears are warm and comfortable; this will occupy only a few minutes, and the horse can then have his bit of hay or feed of corn, having previously, if returned from hunting, or from a long journey, despatched his bucket of thick gruel: the process of washing his legs may now be going on, whilst he is discussing his feed of corn in peace; as each leg is washed, it should be wrapped round with a flannel or serge bandage, and by the time the four legs are done with, the horse will have finished his feed of corn. a little hay may then be given, which will occupy his attention while the rubbing his body is proceeded with. i am a great advocate for plenty of dry clean wheat straw for this purpose; and a good groom, with a large wisp in each hand, will in a very short space of time make a clean sweep of all outward dirt and wet. it cannot, however, be properly done without a great deal of _elbow grease_ as well, of which the present generation are inclined to be very chary. when the body of the horse is dry, a large loose rug should be thrown over him, and the legs then attended to, and rubbed thoroughly dry by the hand; i know the usual practice with idle and knowing grooms is to let the bandages remain on until the legs become dry of themselves, but i also know that there cannot be a worse practice; for horses' legs, after hunting, the large knee-bucket should be used, with plenty of warm water, which will sooth the sinews after such violent exertion, and allay any irritation proceeding from cuts and thorns. the system of bandaging horses' legs, and letting them remain in this state for hours, must tend to relax the sinews; such practices have never gained favour with me, but i have heard salt and water and vinegar highly extolled by some, with which the bandages are to be kept constantly wet, as tending to strengthen the sinews and keep them cool; if, however, used too long or allowed to become dry, i conceive more injury likely to result from their use than benefit. it is generally known that those who have recourse to belts for support in riding, cannot do well without them afterwards, and although often advised to try these extra aids, i never availed myself of them; cold water is the best strengthener either to man or horse, and a thorough good dry rubbing afterwards. after severe walking exercise, the benefit of immersing the feet in warm water for a short time must be fully appreciated by all who have tried it; but i very much question if any man would feel himself stronger upon his legs the next morning, by having them bandaged with hot flannels during the night. very much may be done by the judicious use of hot and cold water--in fact, more than by half the prescriptions in general use; but the proper time must be attended to as well, for its application. when a horse has had a long and severe day's work, he should not be harassed more than is absolutely necessary, by grooming and dressing; the chief business should be to get him dry and comfortable as quickly as possible, and when that has been effected, a slight wisping over with a dry cloth will be sufficient for that night." the expenses of horse-keep vary according to the knowledge of the master and the honesty of his groom; but what the expense ought to be may be calculated from the fact that horses in first-rate condition cannot consume more than thirteen quarters of oats and two and a half tons of hay in a year; that is, as to oats, from three to six quarterns a day, according to the work they are doing. but in some stables, horses are supposed to eat a bushel a day every day in the year: there is no doubt that the surplus is converted into beer or gin. "upon our return from hunting, every horse had his bucket of thick gruel directly he came into the stable, and a little hay to eat whilst he was being cleaned. we never gave any corn until just before littering down, the last thing at night. the horse's legs were plunged into a high bucket of warm water, and if dirty, soft soap was used. the first leg being washed, was sponged as dry as possible, and then bandaged with thick woollen bandages until the others were washed; the bandages were then _removed entirely_, and the legs rubbed by hand until quite dry. we used the best old white potato oats, weighing usually lbs. per bushel, but so _few beans_ that a quarter lasted us _a season_. the oats were bruised, and a little sweet hay chaff mixed with them. we also gave our horses a few carrots the day after hunting, to cool their bodies, or a bran mash or two. they were never coddled up in hoods or half a dozen rugs at night, but a single blanket sufficed, which was never so tight but that you might thrust your hand easily under it. this was a thing i always looked to myself, when paying a visit to the stable the last thing at night. a tried horse should have everything comfortable about him, but carefully avoid any tight bandage round the body. in over-reaches or wounds, warm water was our first application, and plenty of it, to clean all dirt or grit from the wound; then fryer's balsam and brandy with a clean linen bandage. our usual allowance of corn to each horse per diem was four quarterns, but more if they required it, and from lbs. to lbs. of hay, eight of which were given at night, at racking-up time, about eight o'clock. our hours of feeding were about five in the morning, a feed of corn, bruised, with a little hay chaff; the horse then went to exercise. at eight o'clock, lbs. of hay; twelve o'clock, feed of corn; two o'clock, lbs. of hay; four o'clock, corn; at six o'clock, another feed of corn, with chaff; and at eight o'clock, lbs. of hay; water they could always drink when they wanted it." i cannot conclude these hints on hunting more appropriately than by quoting another of the songs of the squire of arley hall, honorary laureate of the tarporley hunt club:-- "a word ere we start. "the order of march and due regulation that guide us in warfare we need in the chase; huntsman and whips, each his own proper station-- horse, hound, and fox, each his own proper place. "the fox takes precedence of all from the cover; the horse is the animal purposely bred, _after_ the pack to be ridden, not _over_-- good hounds are not reared to be knocked on the head. "buckskin's the only wear fit for the saddle; hats for hyde park, but a cap for the chase; in tops of black leather let fishermen paddle, the calves of a fox-hunter white ones encase. "if your horse be well bred and in blooming condition, both up to the country and up to your weight, oh! then give the reins to your youthful ambition, sit down in the saddle and keep his head straight. "eager and emulous only, not spiteful, grudging no friend, though ourselves he may beat; just enough danger to make sport delightful, toil just sufficient to make slumbers sweet!" chapter xi. sketches of hunting with fox-hounds and harriers. the fitzwilliam.--brocklesby.--a day on the wolds.--brighton harriers.--prince albert's harriers. the following descriptions of my own sport with fox-hounds and harriers will give the uninitiated some idea of the average adventures of a hunting-day:-- a day with the late earl fitzwilliam's hounds.[ -*] "loo in, little dearies. loo in." how eagerly forward they rush; in a moment how widely they spread; have at him there, hotspur. hush, hush! 'tis a find, or i'll forfeit my head. now fast flies the fox, and still faster the hounds from the cover are freed, the horn to the mouth of the master, the spur to the flank of his steed. with chorister, concord, and chorus, now chantress commences her song; now bellman goes jingling before us, and sinbad is sailing along. the fitzwilliam pack was established by the grandfather of the present earl between seventy and eighty years ago; they hunt four days a week over a north-east strip of northamptonshire and huntingdonshire--a wide, wild, thinly-populated district, with some fine woodlands; country that was almost all grass, until deep draining turned some cold clay pastures into arable. it holds a rare scent, and the woodland country can be hunted, when a hot sun does not bake the ground too hard, up to the first week in may, when, in most other countries, horns are silenced. the country is wide enough, with foxes enough, to bear hunting six days a week. "bless your heart, sir," said an old farmer, "there be foxes as tall as donkeys, as fat as pigs, in these woods, that go and die of old age." the fitzwilliam are supposed to be the biggest-boned hounds now bred, and exquisitely handsome. if they have a fault, they are, for want of work, or excess of numbers, rather too full of flesh; so that at the end of the year, when the days grow warm, they seem to tire and tail in a long run. many of the pasture fences are big enough to keep out a bullock; the ditches wide and full of water; bulfinches are to be met with, stiff rails, gates not always unlocked; so, although a pytchley flyer is not indispensable, on a going day, nothing less than a hunter can get along. tom sebright, as a huntsman and breeder of hounds, has been a celebrity ever since he hunted the quorn, under squire osbaldeston, six-and-thirty years ago. sebright looks the huntsman, and the huntsman of an hereditary pack, to perfection; rather under than over the middle height; stout without being unwieldy; with a fine, full, intelligent, and fresh-complexioned oval countenance; keen gray eyes; and the decided nose of a cromwellian ironside. a fringe of white hair below his cap, and a broad bald forehead, when he lifts his cap to cheer his hounds, tell the tale of time on this accomplished veteran of the chase. "the field," with the fitzwilliam, is more aristocratic than fashionable; it includes a few peers and their friends from neighbouring noble mansions, a good many squires, now and then undergraduates from cambridge, a very few strangers by rail, and a great many first-class yeoman farmers and graziers. thus it is equally unlike the fashionable "cut-me-down" multitude to be met at coverside in the "shires" _par excellence_, and the scarlet mob who rush, and race, and lark from and back to leamington and cheltenham. for seeing a good deal of sport in a short time, the fitzwilliam is certainly the best, within a hundred miles of london. you have a first-rate pack, first-rate huntsman, a good scenting country, plenty of foxes, fair fences to ride over, and though last not least, very courteous reception, if you know how to ride and when to hold your tongue and your horse. my fortunate day with the fitzwilliam was in their open pasture, huntingdon country. my head-quarters were at the celebrated "haycock," which is known, or ought to be known, to every wandering fox-hunter, standing as it does in the middle of the fitzwilliam hunt, within reach of some of the best meets of the pytchley and the warwickshire, and not out of reach of the cottesmore and belvoir. it is much more like a lincolnshire wolds farmhouse than an inn. the guests are regular _habitués_; you find yourself in a sort of fox-hunting clubhouse, in a large, snug dining-room; not the least like albert smith's favourite aversion, a coffee-room; you have a first-rate english dinner, undeniable wine, real cream with your tea, in a word, all the comforts and most of the luxuries of town and country life combined. if needful, tom percival will provide you with a flyer for every day in the week, and you will be sure to meet with one or two guests, able and willing, ready to canter with you to cover, explain the chart of the country, and, if you are in the first year of boots and breeches, show you as squire warburton sings, how "to sit down in your saddle and put his head straight." the meet, within four miles of the inn, was in a park by the side of a small firwood plantation. punctual to a minute, up trotted sebright on a compact, well-bred chestnut in blooming condition, the whips equally well mounted on thoroughbreds, all dressed in ample scarlet coats and dark cord breeches--a style of dress in much better taste than the tight, short dandified costume of the fashionable hunt, where the huntsman can scarcely be distinguished from the "swell." of the earl's family there were present a son and daughter, and three grandsons, beautiful boys, in lincoln green loose jackets, brown cord breeches, black boots, and caps; of these, the youngest, a fair, rosy child of about eight or nine years old, on a thorough-bred chestnut pony, was all day the admiration of the field; he dashed along full of genuine enthusiasm, stopping at nothing practicable. amongst others present was a tall, lithe, white-haired, white-moustached, dignified old gentleman, in scarlet and velvet cap, riding forward on a magnificent gray horse, who realised completely the poetical idea of a nobleman. this was the marquess of h----, known well forty years ago in fashionable circles, when george iv. was prince, now popular and much esteemed as a country gentleman and improving landlord. there was also mr. h----, an m.p., celebrated, before he settled into place and "ceased his hum," as a hunter of bishops--a handsome, dark man, in leathers and patent napoleons; with his wife on a fine bay horse, who rode boldly throughout the day. in strange countries i usually pick out a leader in some well-knowing farmer; but this day i made a grand mistake, by selecting for my guide a slim, quiet-looking, young fellow, in a black hat and coat, white cords, and boots, on a young chestnut--never dreaming that my quiet man was alec ----, a farmer truly, but also a provincial celebrity as a steeplechaser. the day was mild, cloudy, with a gentle wind. we drew several covers blank, and found a fox, about one o'clock, in a small spinney, from which he bolted at the first summons. a beautiful picture it was to see gallant old sebright get his hounds away, the ladies racing down a convenient green lane, and the little fitzwilliam, in lincoln green, charging a double flight of hurdles. in half-an-hour's strong running i had good reason to rejoice that percival had, with due respect for the fourth estate, put me on an unmistakable hunter. our line took us over big undulating fields (almost hills), with, on the flats or valleys, a large share of willow-bordered ditches (they would call them brooks in some counties), with thick undeniable hedges between the pollards. at the beginning of the run, my black-coated friend led me--much as a dog in a string leads a blind man--at a great pace, into a farm-yard, thus artfully cutting off a great angle, over a most respectable stone wall into a home paddock, over a stile into a deep lane, and then up a bank as steep as a gothic roof, and almost as long; into a fifty-acre pasture, where, racing at best pace, we got close to the hounds just before they checked, between a broad unjumpable drain and a willow bed--two fine resources for a cunning fox. there i thought it well, having so far escaped grief, to look out for a leader who was less of a bruiser, while i took breath. in the meantime sebright, well up, hit our friend off with a short cast forward, and after five minutes' slow hunting, we began to race again over a flat country of grass, with a few big ploughed fields, fences easier, ladies and ponies well up again. after brushing through two small coverts without hanging, we came out on a series of very large level grass fields, where i could see the gray horse of the marquis, and the black hat of my first leader sailing in front; a couple of stiff hedges and ditches were got over comfortably; the third was a regular bulfinch, six or seven feet high, with a gate so far away to the right that to make for it was to lose too much time, as the hounds were running breast high. ten yards ahead of me was mr. frank g----, on a stormer colt, evidently with no notion of turning; so i hardened my heart, felt my bay nag full of going, and kept my eye on mr. frank, who made for the only practicable place beside an oak-tree with low branches, and, stooping his head, popped through a place where the hedge showed daylight, with his hand over his eyes, in the neatest possible style. without hesitating a moment i followed, rather too fast and too much afraid of the tree, and pulled too much into the hedge. in an instant i found myself torn out of the saddle, balanced on a blackthorn bough (fortunately i wore leathers), and deposited on the right side of the hedge on my back; whence i rose just in time to see bay middleton disappear over the next fence. so there i was alone in a big grass field, with strong notions that i should have to walk an unknown number of miles home. judge of my delight as i paced slowly along--running was of no use--at seeing frank g---- returning with my truant in hand. such an action in the middle of a run deserves a humane society's medal. to struggle breathless into my seat; to go off at score, to find a lucky string of open gates, to come upon the hounds at a check, was my good fortune. but our fox was doomed--in another quarter of an hour at a hand gallop we hunted him into a shrubbery, across a home field into an ornamental clump of laurels, back again to the plantation, where a couple and a half of leading hounds pulled him down, and he was brought out by the first whip dead and almost stiff, without a mark--regularly run down by an hour and twenty minutes with two very short checks. had the latter part of the run been as fast as the first, there would have been very few of us there to see the finish. on the lincolnshire wolds. i started to meet lord yarborough's hounds, from the house of a friend, on a capital wold pony for cover hack. it used to be said, before non-riding masters of hounds had broadcasted bridle-gates over the quorn country, that a leicestershire hack was a pretty good hunter for other counties. we may say the same of a lincolnshire wolds pony--his master, farming not less than three hundred and more likely fifteen hundred acres, has no time to lose in crawling about on a punchy half-bred cart-horse, like a smock-frocked tenant--the farm must be visited before hunting, and the market-towns lie too far off for five miles an hour jog-trot to suit. it is the wold fashion to ride farming at a pretty good pace, and take the fences in a fly where the gate stands at the wrong corner of the field. broad strips of turf fringe the road, offering every excuse for a gallop, and our guide continually turned through a gate or over a hurdle, and through half a dozen fields, to save two sides of an angle. these fields contrast strangely with the ancient counties--large, and square, and clean, with little ground lost in hedgerows. the great cop banks of essex, devon, and cheshire are almost unknown--villages you scarcely see, farmhouses rarely from the roadside, for they mostly stand well back in the midst of their acres. gradually creeping up the wold--passing through, here vast turnip-fields, fed over by armies of long-woolled lincoln sheep; there, stubble yielding before from a dozen to a score of pair-horse ploughs, silent witnesses of the scale of lincolnshire farming--at length we see descending and winding along a bridle-road before us, the pied pack and the gleam of the huntsman's scarlet. around, from every point of the compass the "field" come ambling, trotting, cantering, galloping, on hacks, on hunters, through gates or over fences, practising their yorkshire four-year-olds. there are squires of every degree, lincolnshire m.p.'s, parsons in black, in number beyond average; tenant-farmers, in quantity and quality such as no other county we have ever seen can boast, velvet-capped and scarlet-coated, many with the brocklesby hunt button, mounted on first-class hunters, whom it was a pleasure to see them handle; and these were not young bloods, outrunning the constable, astonishing their landlords and alarming their fathers; but amongst the ruck were respectable grandfathers who had begun hunting on ponies when stubbs was painting great-grandfather smith, and who had as a matter of course brought up their sons to follow the line in which they had been cheered on by arthur young's lord yarborough. there they were, of all ages, from the white-haired veteran who could tell you when every field had been inclosed, to the little petticoated orphan boy on a pony, "whose father's farm had been put in trust for him by the good earl." of the ordinary mob that crowd fox-hound meets from great cities and fashionable watering-places, there were none. the swell who comes out to show his clothes and his horse; the nondescript, who may be a fast life-guardsman or a fishmonger; the lot of horse-dealers; and, above all, those _blasé_ gentlemen who, bored with everything, openly express their preference for a carted deer or red-herring drag, if a straight running fox is not found in a quarter of an hour after the hounds are thrown into cover. the men who ride on the lincolnshire wolds are all sportsmen, who know the whole country as well as their own gardens, and are not unfrequently personally acquainted with the peculiar appearance and habits of each fox on foot. altogether they are as formidable critics as any professional huntsman would care to encounter. there is another pleasant thing. in consequence, perhaps, of the rarity, strangers are not snubbed as in some counties; and you have no difficulty in getting information to any extent on subjects agricultural and fox-hunting (even without that excellent passport which i enjoyed of a hunter from the stables of the noble master of the hounds), and may be pretty sure of more than one hospitable and really-meant invitation in the course of the return ride when the sport is ended. but time is up, and away we trot--leaving the woods of limber for the present--to one of the regular wolds, artificial coverts, a square of gorse of several acres, surrounded by a turf bank and ditch, and outside again by fields of the ancient turf of the moorlands. in go the hounds at a word, without a straggler; and while they make the gorse alive with their lashing sterns, there is no fear of our being left behind for want of seeing which way they go, for there is neither plantation nor hedge, nor hill of any account to screen us. and there is no fear either of the fox being stupidly headed, for the field all know their business, and are fully agreed, as old friends should be, on the probable line. a very faint tally-away, and cap held up, by a fresh complexioned, iron-gray, bullet-headed old gentleman, of sixteen stone, mounted on a four-year-old, brought the pack out in a minute from the far end of the covert, and we were soon going, holding hard, over a newly-ploughed field, looking out sharp for the next open gate; but it is at the wrong corner, and by the time we have reached the middle of fifty acres, a young farmer in scarlet, sitting upright as a dart, showed the way over a new rail in the middle of a six-foot quickset. our nag, "leicestershire," needs no spurring, but takes it pleasantly, with a hop, skip, and jump; and by the time we had settled into the pace on the other side, the senior on the four-year-old was alongside, crying, "push along, sir; push along, or they'll run clean away from you. the fences are all fair on the line we're going." and so they were--hedges thick, but jumpable enough, yet needing a hunter nevertheless, especially as the big fields warmed up the pace amazingly; and, as the majority of the farmers out were riding young ones destined for finished hunters in the pasture counties, there was above an average of resolution in the style of going at the fences. the ground almost all plough, naturally drained by chalk sub-subsoil, fortunately rode light; but presently we passed the edge of the wolds, held on through some thin plantations over the demesne grass of a squire's house, then on a bit of unreclaimed heath, where a flock of sheep brought us to a few minutes' check. with the help of a veteran of the hunt, who had been riding well up, a cast forward set us agoing again, and brought us, still running hard, away from the wolds to low ground of new inclosures, all grass, fenced in by ditch and new double undeniable rails. as we had a good view of the style of country from a distance, we thought it wisest, as a stranger, on a strange horse, with personally a special distaste to double fences, to pull gently, and let half-a-dozen young fellows on half-made, heavy-weight four or five years old, go first. the results of this prudent and unplucky step were most satisfactory; while two or three, with a skill we admired, without venturing to imitate, went the "in and out" clever, the rest, some down and some blundering well over, smashed at least one rail out of every two, and let the "stranger" through comfortably at a fair flying jump. after three or four of these tremendous fields, each about the size of mr. mechi's farm, a shepherd riding after his flock on a pony opened a gate just as the hounds, after throwing up their heads for a minute, turned to the right, and began to run back to the wolds at a slower rate than we started, for the fox was no doubt blown by the pace; and so up what are called hills there (they would scarcely be felt in devonshire or surrey), we followed at a hand gallop right up to the plantations of brocklesby park, and for a good hour the hounds worked him round and round the woods, while we kept as near them as we could, racing along green rides as magnificent in their broad spread verdures and overhanging evergreen walls of holly and laurel as any watteau ever painted. the lincolnshire gentry and yeomanry, scarlet coated and velvet capped, on their great blood horses sweeping down one of the grand evergreen avenues of brocklesby park, say toward the pelham pillar, is a capital untried subject, in colour, contrast, and living interest, for an artist who can paint men as well as horses. at length when every dodge had been tried, master reynard made a bolt in despair. we raced him down a line of fields of very pretty fencing to a small lake, where wild ducks squatted up, and there ran into him, after a fair although not a very fast day's sport: a more honest hunting, yet courageous dashing pack we never rode to. the scarcity of villages, the general sparseness of the population, the few roads, and those almost all turf-bordered, and on a level with the fields, the great size of the enclosures, the prevalence of light arable land, the nuisance of flocks of sheep, and yet a good scenting country, are the special features of the wolds. when you leave them and descend, there is a country of water, drains, and deep ditches, that require a real water-jumper. two points specially strike a stranger--the complete hereditary air of the pack, and the attendants, so different from the piebald, new-varnished appearance of fashionable subscription packs. smith, the huntsman, is fourth in descent of a line of brocklesby huntsmen; robinson, the head groom, had just completed his half century of service at brocklesby; and barnetby, who rode lord yarborough's second horse, was many years in the same capacity with the first earl. but, after all, the brocklesby tenants--the nainbys, the brookes, the skipwiths, and other woldsmen, names "whom to mention would take up too much room," as the "eton grammar" says--tenants who, from generation to generation, have lived, and flourished, and hunted under the pelham family--a spirited, intelligent, hospitable race of men--these alone are worth travelling from land's end to see, to hear, to dine with; to learn from their sayings and doings what a wise, liberal, resident landlord--a lover of field sports, a promoter of improved agriculture--can do in the course of generations toward "breeding" a first-class tenantry, and feeding thousands of townsfolk from acres that a hundred years ago only fed rabbits. we should recommend those m.p.'s who think fox-hunting folly, to leave their books and debates for a day's hunting on the wolds. we think it will be hard to obtain such happy results from the mere pen-and-ink regulations of chamber legislators and haters of field sports. three generations of the pelhams turned thousands of acres of waste in heaths and wolds into rich farm-land; the fourth did his part by giving the same district railways and seaport communication. when we find learned mole-eyed pedants sneering at fox-hunters, we may call the brocklesby kennels and the pelham pillar as witnesses on the side of the common sense of english field sports. it was hunting that settled the pelhams in a remote country and led them to colonise a waste. there is one excellent custom at the hunting-dinners at brocklesby park which we may mention, without being guilty of intrusion on private hospitality. at a certain hour the stud-groom enters and says, "my lord, the horses are bedded up;" then the whole party rise, make a procession through the stables, and return to coffee in the drawing-room. this custom was introduced by the first lord yarborough some half-century ago, in order to break through the habit of late sitting over wine that then was too prevalent. harriers--on the brighton downs. long before hunting sounds are to be heard, except the early morning cub-hunters routing woodlands, and the autumn stag-hunters of exmoor, harrier packs are hard at work racing down and up the steep hillside and along the chalky valleys of brighton downs, preparing old sportsmen for the more earnest work of november--training young ones into the meaning of pace, the habit of riding fast down, and the art of climbing quickly, yet not too quickly, up hill--giving constitutional gallops to wheezy aldermen, or enterprizing adults fresh from the riding-school--affording fun for fast young ladies and pleasant sights for a crowd of foot-folks and fly-loads, halting on the brows of the steep combs, content with the living panorama. the downs and the sea are the redeeming features of brighton, considered as a place of change and recreation for the over-worked of london. without these advantages one might quite as well migrate from the city to regent street, varying the exercise by a stroll along the serpentine. to a man who needs rest there is something at first sight truly frightful in the townish gregariousness of brighton proper, with its pretentious common-place architecture, and its ceaseless bustle and rolling of wheels. but then comes into view first the sea, stretching away into infinite silence and solitude, dotted over on sunny days with pleasure-boats; and next, perpetually dashing along the league of sea-borded highway, group after group of gay riding-parties of all ages and both sexes--spanish hats, feathers, and riding-habits--_amazones_, according to the french classic title, in the majority. first comes papa briggs, with all his progeny, down to the little bare-legged imitation highlander on a shaggy shetland pony; then a riding-master in mustachios, boots, and breeches, with a dozen pupils in divers stages of timidity and full-blown temerity; and then again loving pairs in the process of courtship or the ecstasies of the honeymoon, pacing or racing along, indifferent to the interest and admiration that such pairs always excite. besides the groups there are single figures, military and civil, on prancing thorough-bred hacks and solid weight-carrying cobs, contrasted with a great army of hard-worked animals, at half-a-crown an hour which compose the bulk of the brighton cavalry, for horse-hiring at brighton is the rule, private possession the exception; nowhere else, except, perhaps, at oxford, is the custom so universal, and nowhere do such odd, strange people venture to exhibit themselves "a-horseback." as dublin is said to be the car-drivingest, so is brighton the horse-ridingest city in creation; and it is this most healthy, mental and physical exercise, with the summer-sea yacht excursions, which constitute the difference and establishes the superiority of this marine offshoot of london over any foreign bathing-place. under french auspices we should have had something infinitely more magnificent, gay, gilded, and luxurious in architecture, in shops, in restaurants, cafés, theatres, and ball-rooms; but pleasure-boat sails would have been utterly unknown, and the horse-exercise confined to a few daring cavaliers and theatrical ladies. it is doubtless the open downs that originally gave the visitors of brighton (when it was brighthelmstone, the little village patronised by the prince, by "the burney," and mrs. thrale) the habit of constitutional canters to a degree unknown in other pleasure towns; and the traditional custom has been preserved in the face of miles of brick and stucco. with horses in legions, and downs at hand, a pack of hounds follows naturally; hares of a rare stout breed are plentiful; and the tradesmen have been acute enough to discover that a plentiful and varied supply of hunting facilities is one of the most safe, certain, and profitable attractions they can provide. cheltenham and bath has each its stag-hounds; brighton does better, less expensively, and pleases more people, with two packs of harriers, hunting four days (and, by recent arrangements, a pack of fox-hounds filling up the other two days) of the week; so that now it may be considered about the best place in the country for making sure of a daily constitutional gallop from october to march at short notice, and with no particular attention to costume and a very moderate stud, or no stud at all. with these and a few other floating notions of air, exercise, and change of scene in my head--having decided that, however tempting to the caricaturist, the amusement of hundreds was not to be despised--i took my place at eight o'clock, at london-bridge station, in a railway carriage--the best of hacks for a long distance--on a bright october morning, with no other change from ordinary road-riding costume than one of callow's long-lashed, instead of a straight-cutting, whips, so saving all the impediments of baggage. by ten o'clock i was wondering what the "sad sea waves" were saying to the strange costumes in which it pleases the fair denizens of brighton to deck themselves. my horse, a little, wiry, well-bred chestnut, had been secured beforehand at a dealer's, well known in the surrey country. the meet was the race-course, a good three miles from the parade. the brighton meets are stereotyped. the race-course, telscombe tye, the devil's dyke, and thunders barrow are repeated weekly. but of the way along the green-topped chalk cliffs, beside the far-spreading sea, or up and down the moorland hills and valleys, who can ever weary? who can weary of hill and dale and the eternal sea? to those accustomed to an inclosed country there is something extremely curious in mile after mile of open undulating downs lost in the distant horizon. my day was bright. about eleven o'clock the horsemen and _amazones_ arrived in rapidly-succeeding parties, and gathered on the high ground. pleasure visitors, out for the first time--distinguished by their correct costume and unmistakably hired animals--caps and white breeches, spotless tops and shining napoleons--were mounted on hacks battered about the legs, and rather rough in the coat, though hard and full of go; but trousers were the prevailing order of the day. medical men were evident, in correct white ties, on neat ponies and superior cobs; military in mufti, on pulling steeplechasers; some farmers in leggings on good young nags for sale, and good old ones for use. london lawyers in heather mixture shooting-suits and park hacks; lots of little boys and girls on ponies--white or cream-coloured being the favourites; at least one master of far distant fox-hounds pack, on a blood-colt, master and horse alike new to the country and to the sport. riding-masters, with their lady pupils tittupping about on the live rocking-horses that form the essential stock of every riding-master's establishment, with one or two papas of the pupils--"worthy" aldermen, or authorities of the stock exchange, expensively mounted, gravely looking on, with an expression of doubt as to whether they ought to have been there or not; and then a crowd of the nondescripts, bankers and brewers trying to look like squires, neat and grim, among the well and ill dressed, well and ill mounted, who form the staple of every watering-place,--with this satisfactory feature pervading the whole gathering, that with the exception of a few whose first appearance it was in saddle on any turf, and the before-mentioned grim brewers, all seemed decidedly jolly and determined to enjoy themselves. the hounds drew up; to criticise them elaborately would be as unfair, under the circumstances, as to criticise a pot-luck dinner of beans and bacon put before a hungry man. they are not particularly handsome--white patches being the prevailing colour; and they certainly do not keep very close; but they are fast enough, persevering, and, killing a fair share of hares, show very good sport to both lookers-on and hard riders. the huntsman willard, who has no "whip" to help him, and often more assistance than he requires, is a heavy man, but contrives, in spite of his weight, to get his hounds in the fastest runs. the country, it may be as well to say for the benefit of the thousands who have never been on these famous mutton-producing "south downs," is composed of a series of table-lands divided by basin-like valleys, for the most part covered with short turf, with large patches of gorse and heather, in which the hares, when beaten, take refuge. of late years, high prices and brighton demand, with the new system of artificial agriculture, have pushed root crops and corn crops into sheltered valleys and far over the hills, much to the disgust of the ancient race of shepherds. it is scarcely necessary to observe, that on brighton downs there are no blank days, but the drawing is a real operation performed seriously until such a time as the company having all assembled, say at half-past seven o'clock, when, if the unaided faculties of the pack have not brought them up to a form, a shepherd appears as the _deus ex machinâ_. in spite of all manner of precautions, the hounds will generally rush up to the point without hunting; loud rises the joyful cry; and, if it is level ground, the whole meet--hacks, hobbie-horses, and hunters--look as if their riders meant to go off in a whirlwind of trampling feet. there is usually a circle or two with the stoutest hare before making a long stretch; but, on lucky days like that of our first and last visit, the pace mends the hounds settle, the riding-masters check their more dashing pupils, the crowd gets dispersed, and rides round, or halts on the edges, or crawls slowly down the steep-sided valleys; while the hard riders catch their nags by the head, in with the spurs, and go down straight and furious, as if they were away for ever and a day; but the pedestrians and constitutional cob-owners are comforted by assurances that the hare is sure to run a ring back. but, on our day, pussy, having lain _perdu_ during a few minutes' check, started up suddenly amid a full cry, and rather too much hallooing. a gentleman in large mustachios and a velvet cap rode at her as if he meant to catch her himself. away we all dashed, losing sight of the dignity of fox-hunters--all mad as hatters (though why hatters should be madder than cappers it would be difficult to say). the pace becomes tremendous; the pack tails by twos and threes; the valleys grow steeper; the field lingers and halts more and more at each steeper comb; the lads who have hurried straight up the hillsides, instead of creeping up by degrees blow their horses and come to a full stop; while old hands at devonshire combs and surrey steeps take their nags by the head, rush down like thunder, and slily zigzag up the opposite face at a trot; and so, for ten minutes, so straight, that a stranger, one of three in front, cried, "by jove, it must be a fox!" but at that moment the leading hounds turned sharp to the right and then to the left--a shrill squeak, a cry of hounds, and all was over. the sun shone out bright and clear; looking up from the valley on the hills, nine-tenths of the field were to be seen a mile in the distance, galloping, trotting, walking, or standing still, scattered like a pulk of pursuing cossacks. the sight reminded me that, putting aside the delicious excitement of a mad rush down hill at full-speed, the lookers-on, the young ladies on ponies, and old gentlemen on cobs, see the most of the sport in such a country as the brighton downs; while in a flat inclosed, or wooded country, those who do not ride are left alone quite deserted, five minutes after the hounds get well away. we killed two more hares before retiring for the day, but as they ran rings in the approved style, continually coming back to the slow, prudent, and constitutional riders, there was nothing to distinguish them from all other hare-hunts. after killing the last hare there was ample time to get back to brighton, take a warm bath, dress, and stroll on the esplanade for an hour in the midst of as gay and brilliant crowd, vehicular, equestrian, and pedestrian, as can be found in europe, before sitting down to a quiet dinner, in which the delicious southdown haunch was not forgotten. so ended a day of glorious weather and pleasant sport, jolly--if not in the highest degree genteel. tempted to stay another day, i went the next morning six miles through rottingdean to telscombe tye, to meet the brookside; and, after seeing them, have no hesitation in saying that every one who cares to look at a first-rate pack of harriers would find it worth his while to travel a hundred miles to meet the brookside, for the whole turnout is perfection. royalty cannot excel it. a delicious ride over turf all the way, after passing rottingdean, under a blue sky and a june-like sun, in sight of the sea, calm as a lake, brought us to the top of a hill of rich close turf, enveloped in a cloud of mist, which rendered horses and horsemen alike invisible at the distance of a few yards; and when we came upon three tall shepherds, leaning on their iron-_hooked_ crooks, in the midst of a gorse covert, it was almost impossible to believe that we were not in some remote highland district instead of within half an hour of a town of , inhabitants. the costumes of the field, more exact than the previous day, showed that the master was considered worthy of the compliment; and when, the mist clearing, the beautiful black-and-tan pack, all of a size, and as like as peas, came clustering up with mr. saxby, a white-haired, healthy, fresh-coloured, neat-figured, upright squire, riding in the midst on a rare black horse, it was a picture that, taking in the wild heathland scenery, the deep valleys below, bright in sun, the dark hills beyond it, was indeed a bright page in the poetry of field sports. the brookside are as good and honest as they are handsome; hunting, all together, almost entirely without assistance. if they have a fault they are a little too fast for hare-hounds. after killing the second hare, we were able to leave brighton by the . p.m. train. thus, under modern advantages, a man troubled with indigestion has only to order a horse by post the previous day, leave town at eight in the morning, have a day's gallop, with excitement more valuable than gallons of physic, and be back in town by half-past five o'clock. can eight hours be passed more pleasantly or profitably? prince albert's harriers. the south-western rail made a very good hack up to the castle station. that prince albert should never have taken to the royal stag-hounds is not at all surprising. it requires to be "to the manner born" to endure the vast jostling, shouting, thrusting mob of gentlemen and horse dealers, "legs" and horse-breakers, that whirl away after the uncarted deer. without the revival of the old court etiquette, which forbade any one to ride before royalty, his royal highness might have been ridden down by some ambitious butcher or experimental cockney horseman on a runaway. if the etiquette of the time of george iii had been revived, then only leech could have done justice to the appearance of the field, following impatiently at a respectful distance--not the stag, as they do now very often, or the hounds, as they ought to do--but the prince's horse's tail. prince albert's harriers are in the strictest sense of the term a private pack, kept by his royal highness for his own amusement, under the management of colonel hood. the meets are not advertised. the fields consist, in addition to the royal and official party from the castle, of a few neighbouring gentlemen and farmers, the hunting establishment of a huntsman and one whip, both splendidly mounted, and a boy on foot. the costume of the hunt is a very dark green cloth double-breasted coat, with the prince's gilt button, brown cords, and velvet cap. the hounds were about fifteen couple, of medium size, with considerable variety of true colours, inclining to the fox-hound stamp, yet very honest hunters. in each run the lead was taken by a hound of peculiar and uncommon marking--black and tan, but the tan so far spreading that the black was reduced to merely a saddle. the day was rather too bright, perhaps, for the scent to lie well; but there was the better opportunity for seeing the hounds work, which they did most admirably, without any assistance. it is one of the advantages of a pack like this that no one presumes to interfere and do the business of either the huntsman or hounds. the first hare was found on land apparently recently inclosed near eton; but, after two hours' perseverance, it was impossible to make anything of the scent over ploughed land. we then crossed the railway into some fields, partly in grass, divided by broad ditches full of water, with plenty of willow stumps on the banks, and partly arable on higher, sloping ground, divided by fair growing fences into large square inclosures. here we soon found a stout hare that gave us an opportunity of seeing and admiring the qualities of the pack. after the first short burst there was a quarter of an hour of slow hunting, when the hounds, left entirely to themselves, did their work beautifully. at length, as the sun went behind clouds, the scent improved; the hounds got on good terms with puss, and rattled away at a pace, and over a line of big fields and undeniable fences, that soon found out the slows and the nags that dared not face shining water. short checks of a few minutes gave puss a short respite; then followed a full cry, and soon a view. over a score of big fields the pack raced within a dozen yards of pussy's scent, without gaining a yard, the black-tanned leading hound almost coursing his game; but this was too fast to last, and, just as we were squaring our shoulders and settling down to take a very uncompromising hedge with evident signs of a broad ditch of running water on the other side, the hounds threw up their heads; poor puss had shuffled through the fence into the brook, and sunk like a stone. there is something painful about the helpless finish with a hare. a fox dies snarling and fighting. footnotes: [ -*] this sketch was written in . chapter xii. hunting terms. hunting terms are difficult to write, because they are often rather sung than said. i shall take as my authority one of the best sportsmen of his day, mr. thomas smith, author of the "diary of a huntsman," a book which has only one fault, it is too short; and give some explanations of my own. huntsman's language. on throwing off.--_cover hoick!_ i. e. _hark into cover!_ also--_eloo in!_ over the fence.--_yoi over!_ to make hounds draw.--_edawick!_ also--_yoi, wind him! yoi, rouse him, my boys!_ and to a particular hound--_hoick, rector! hoick, bonny lass!_ the variety of tally-ho's i have given in another place. to call the rest when some hounds have gone away.--_elope forward, aw-ay-woy!_ if they have hit off the scent.--_forrid, hoick!_ when hounds have overrun the scent, or he wants them to come back to him.--_yo-geote!_ when the hounds are near their fox.--_eloo, at him!_ hunting terms _billet._--the excrement of a fox. _burst._--the first part of a run. _burning scent._--when hounds go so fast, from the goodness of the scent, they have no breath to spare, and run almost mute. _breast high._--when hounds do not stoop their heads, but go a racing pace. _capping._--to wave your cap to bring on the hounds. also to subscribe for the huntsman, by dropping into a cap after a good run with fox-hounds. at watering places, before a run with harriers. _carry a good head._--when hounds run well together, owing to the scent being good, and spreading so wide that the whole pack can feel it. but it usually happens that the scent is good only on the line for one hound to get it, so that the rest follow him; hence the necessity of keeping your eyes on the leading hounds, if you wish to be forward. _challenge._--when drawing a fox, the first hound that gives tongue, "challenges." _changed._--when the pack changed from the hunted fox to a fresh one. _check._--when hounds stop for want of scent in running, or over-run it. _chopped a fox._--when a fox is killed in cover without running. _crash._--when in cover, every hound seems giving tongue at the same moment: that is a crash of hounds. _cub._--until november, a young fox is a cub. _drawing._--the act of hunting to find a fox in a cover, or covert, as some term it. _drag._--the scent left by the footsteps of the fox on his way from his rural rambles to his earth, or kennel. our forefathers rose early; and instead of drawing, hunted the fox by "dragging" up to him. _dwelling._--when hounds do not come up to the huntsman's halloo till moved by the whipper-in, they are said to dwell. _drafted._--hounds drawn from the pack to be disposed of, or _hung_, are drafted. "_earths are drawn._"--when a vixen fox has drawn out fresh earth, it is a proof she intends to lay up her cubs there. _eye to hounds._--a man has a good eye to hounds who turns his horse's head with the leading hounds. _flighty._--a hound that is not a steady hunter. _feeling a scent._--you say, if scent is bad, "the hounds could scarcely feel the scent." _foil._--when a fox runs the ground over which he has been before, he is running his foil. _headed._--when a fox is going away, and is met and driven back to cover. jealous riders, anxious for a start, are very apt to head the fox. it is one of the greatest crimes in the hunting-field. _heel._--when hounds get on the scent of a fox, and run it back the way he came, they are said to be running heel. _hold hard._--a cry that speaks for itself, which every one who wishes for sport will at once attend to when uttered by the huntsman. _holding scent._--when the scent is just good enough for hounds to hunt a fox a fair pace, but not enough to press him. _kennel._--where a fox lays all day in cover. _line holders._--hounds which will not go a yard beyond the scent. _left-handed._--a hunting pun on hounds that are not always _right_. _lifting._--when a huntsman carries the pack forward from an indifferent, or no scent, to a place the fox is hoped to have more recently passed, or to a view halloo. it is an expedient found needful where the field is large, and unruly, and impatient, oftener than good sportsmen approve.[ -*] _laid up._--when a vixen fox has had cubs she is said to have laid up. _metal._--when hounds fly for a short distance on a wrong scent, or without one, it is said to be "all metal." _moving scent._--when hounds get on a scent that is fresher than a drag, it is called a moving scent; that is, the scent of a fox which has been disturbed by travelling. _mobbing a fox._--is when foot passengers, or foolish jealous horsemen so surround a cover, that the fox is driven into the teeth of the hounds, instead of being allowed to break away and show sport. _mute._--when the pace is great hounds are mute, they have no breath to spare; but a hound that is always mute is as useless as a rich epicure who has capital dinners and eats them alone. hounds that do not help each other are worthless. _noisy._--to throw the tongue without scent is an opposite and equal fault to muteness. _open._--when a hound throws his tongue, or gives tongue, he is said to open. _owning a scent._--when hounds throw their tongues on the scent. _pad._--the foot of a fox. _riot._--when the hounds hunt anything beside fox, the word is "ware riot." _skirter._--a hound which is wide of the pack, or a man riding wide of the hounds, is called a skirter. _stroke of a fox._--is when hounds are drawing. it is evident, from their manner, that they feel the scent of a fox, slashing their stern significantly, although they do not speak to it. _sinking._--a fox nearly beaten is said to be sinking. _sinking the wind._--is going down wind, usually done by knowing sportsmen to catch the cry of the hounds. _stained._--when the scent is lost by cattle or sheep having passed over the line. _stooping._--hounds stoop to the scent. _slack._--indifferent. a succession of bad days, or a slack huntsman, will make hounds slack. _streaming._--an expressive word applied to hounds in full cry, or breast high and mute, "streaming away." _speaks._--when a hound throws his tongue he is said to speak; and one word from a sure hound makes the presence of a fox certain. _throw up._--when hounds lose the scent they "throw up their heads." a good sportsman always takes note of the exact spot and cause, if he can, to tell the huntsman. _tailing._--the reverse of streaming. the result of bad scent, tired hounds, or an uneven pack. _throw off._--after reaching the "meet," at the master's word the pack is "thrown into cover," hence "throw off." there are many other terms in common use too plain to need explanation, and there are a good many slang phrases to be found in newspaper descriptions of runs, which are both vulgar and unnecessary. one of the finest descriptions of a fox-hunt ever written is to be found in the account of jorrocks' day with the "old customer," disfigured, unfortunately, by an overload of impossible cockneyisms, put in the mouth of the impossible grocer. another capitally-told story of a fox-hunt is to be found in whyte melville's "kate coventry." but the rev. charles kingsley has, in his opening chapter of "yeast," and his papers in fraser on north devon, shown that if he chose he could throw all writers on hunting into the shade. would that he would give us some hunting-songs, for he is a true poet, as well as a true sportsman! another clergyman, under the pseudonym of "uncle scribble," contributed to the pages of the _sporting magazine_ an admirable series of photographs--to adopt a modern word--of hunting and hunting men, as remarkable for dry wit and common sense, as a thorough knowledge of sport. but "uncle scribble," as the head of a most successful boarding school, writes no more. i may perhaps be pardoned for concluding my hints on hunting, by re-quoting from _household words_ an "apology for fox-hunting," which, at the time i wrote it, received the approbation, by quotation, of almost every sporting journal in the country. it will be seen that it contains a sentence very similar to one to be found in mr. rarey's "horse training"--"a bad-tempered man cannot be a good horseman." "tally-ho! "fox-hunting, i maintain, is entitled to be considered one of the fine arts, standing somewhere between music and dancing. for 'tally-ho!' like the favourite evening gun of colonising orators, has been 'carried round the world.' the plump mole-fed foxes of the neutral ground of gibraltar have fled from the jolly cry; it has been echoed back from the rocky hills of our island possessions in the mediterranean; it has startled the jackal on the mountains of the cape, and his red brother on the burning plains of bengal; the wolf of the pine forests of canada has heard it, cheering on fox-hounds to an unequal contest; and even the wretched dingoe and the bounding kangaroo of 'australia have learned to dread the sound. "in our native land 'tally-ho!' is shouted and welcomed in due season by all conditions of men; by the ploughman, holding hard his startled colt; by the woodman, leaning on his axe before the half-felled oak; by bird-boys from the tops of leafless trees; even dolly dumpling, as she sees the white-tipped brush flash before her market-cart in a deep-banked lane, stops, points her whip and in shrill treble screams 'tally-ho!' "and when at full speed the pink, green, brown, and black-coated followers of any of the ninety packs which our england maintains, sweep through a village, with what intense delight the whole population turn out! young mothers stand at the doors, holding up their crowing babies; the shopkeeper, with his customers, adjourns to the street; the windows of the school are covered with flattened noses; the parson, if of the right sort, smiles blandly, and waves his hand from the porch of the vicarage to half-a-dozen friends; while the surgeon pushes on his galloway and joins for half-an-hour; all the little boys holla in chorus, and run on to open gates without expecting sixpence. as for the farmers, those who do not join the hunt criticise the horseflesh, speculate on the probable price of oats, and tell 'missis' to set out the big round of beef, the bread, the cheese, and get ready to draw some strong ale,--'in case of a check, some of the gentlemen might like a bit as they come back. "it is true, among the five thousand who follow the hounds daily in the hunting season, there are to be found, as among most medleys of five thousand, a certain number of fools and brutes--mere animals, deaf to the music, blind to the living poetry of nature. to such men hunting is a piece of fashion or vulgar excitement, but bring hunting in comparison with other amusements, and it will stand a severe test. are you an admirer of scenery, an amateur or artist? have you traversed greece and italy, switzerland and norway, in search of the picturesque? you do not know the beauties of your own country, until, having hunted from northumberland to cornwall, you have viewed the various counties under the three aspects of a fox-hunter's day--the 'morning ride,' 'the run,' and 'the return home.' "the morning ride, slowly pacing, full of expectation, your horse as pleased as yourself; sharp and clear in the gray atmosphere the leafless trees and white farmhouses stand out, backed by a curtain of mist hanging on the hills in the horizon. with eager eyes you take all in; nothing escapes you; you have cast off care for the day. how pleasant and cheerful everything and everyone looks! even the cocks and hens, scratching by the road-side, have a friendly air. the turnpike-man relaxes, in favour of your 'pink,' his usual grimness. a tramping woman, with one child at her back and two running beside her, asks charity; you suspect she is an impostor, but she looks cold and pitiful; you give her a shilling, and the next day you don't regret your foolish benevolence. to your mind the well-cultivated land looks beautiful. in the monotony of ten acres of turnips, you see a hundred pictures of english farming life, well-fed cattle, good wheat crops, and a little barley for beer. not less beautiful is the wild gorse-covered moor--never to be reclaimed, i hope--where the wiry, white-headed, bright-eyed huntsman sits motionless on his old white horse, surrounded by the pied pack--a study for landseer. "but if the morning ride creates unexecuted cabinet pictures and unwritten sonnets, how delightful 'the find,' 'the run' along brook-intersected vales, up steep hills, through woodlands, parks, and villages, showing you in byways little gothic churches, ivy-covered cottages, and nooks of beauty you never dreamed of, alive with startled cattle and hilarious rustics. "talk of epic poems, read in bowers or at firesides, what poet's description of a battle could make the blood boil in delirious excitement, like a seat on a long-striding hunter, clearing every obstacle with firm elastic bounds, holding in sight without gaining a yard on the flying pack, while the tip of reynard's tail disappears over the wall at the top of the hill! "and, lastly,--tired, successful, hungry, happy,--the return home, when the shades of evening, closing round, give a fantastic, curious, mysterious aspect to familiar road-side objects! loosely lounging on your saddle, with half-closed eyes, you almost dream--the gnarled trees grow into giants, cottages into castles, ponds into lakes. the maid of the inn is a lovely princess, and the bread and cheese she brings (while, without dismounting, you let your thirsty horse drink his gruel), tastes more delicious than the finest supper of champagne, with a _pâté_ of tortured goose's liver, that ever tempted the appetite of a humane, anti-fox hunting, poet-critic, exhausted by a long night of opera, ballet, and roman punch. "are you fond of agriculture?--you may survey all the progress and ignorance of an agricultural district in rides across country; you may sound the depth of the average agricultural mind while trotting from cover to cover. are you of a social disposition?--what a fund of information is to be gathered from the acquaintances made, returning home after a famous day, 'thirty-five minutes without a check.' in a word, fox-hunting affords exercise and healthy excitement without headaches, or heartaches, without late hours, without the 'terrible next morning' that follows so many town amusements. fox-hunting draws men from towns, promotes a love of country life, fosters skill, courage, temper; for a bad-tempered man can never be a good horseman. "to the right-minded, as many feelings of thankfulness and praise to the giver of all good will arise, sitting on a fiery horse, subdued to courageous obedience for the use of man, while surveying a pack of hounds ranging an autumnal thicket with fierce intelligence, or looking down on a late moorland, broken up to fertility by man's skill and industry, as in a solitary walk by the sea-shore or over a highland hill." oh, give me the man to whom nought comes amiss, one horse or another--that country or this; through falls and bad starts who undauntedly still bides up to this motto, "be with them i will!" and give me the man who can ride through a run, nor engross to himself all the glory when done; who calls not each horse that o'ertakes him a screw; who loves a run best when a friend sees it too. warburton of arley hall. footnotes: [ -*] the late sir richard sutton, master of the quorn, used to say that he liked "to stick to the band and keep hold of the bridle," that is to say, make his pack hold to the line of the fox as long as they could; but there were times when he could not resist the temptation of a sure "holloa," and off he would start at a tremendous pace, for he was always a bruising rider, with a blast or two upon his "little merry-toned horn" which he had the art of blowing better than other people. to his intimate friends he used to excuse himself for these occasional outbreaks by quoting a saying of his old huntsman goosey (late the duke of rutland's)--for whose opinion on hunting matters he had a great respect--"i take leave to say, sir, a fox is a very quick animal, and you must make haste after him during some part of the day, or you will not catch him."--_letter from captain percy williams, master of the rufford hounds, to the editor._ chapter xiii. the origin of fox-hunting. the origin of modern fox-hunting is involved in a degree of obscurity which can only be attributed to the illiterate character of the originators, the squire westerns, who rode all day, and drank all the evening. we need the assistance of the ingenious correspondent of _notes and queries_:-- "it is quite certain that the fox was not accounted a noble beast of chase before the revolution of ; for gervase markham classes the fox with the badger in his 'cavalrie, or that part of arte wherein is contained the choice trayning and dyeting of hunting horses whether for pleasure or for wager. the third booke. printed by edw. allde, for edward white; and are to be sold at his shop, neare the little north door of st. paule's church, at the signe of the gun. .' he says:-- "'the chase of the foxe or badger, although it be a chase of much more swiftness (than the otter), and is ever kept upon firm ground, yet i cannot allow it for training horses, because for the most part it continues in woody rough grounds, where a horse can neither conveniently make foorth his way nor can heed without danger of stubbing. the chase, much better than any of these, is hunting of the bucke or stag, especially if they be not confined within a park or pale, but having liberty to chuse their waies, which some huntsmen call "hunting at force." when he is at liberty he will break forth his chase into the winde, sometimes four, five, and six miles foorth right: nay, i have myself followed a stag better than ten miles foorth right from the place of his rousing to the place of his death, besides all his windings, turnings, and cross passages. the time of the year for these chases is from the middle of may to middle of september.' he goes on to say, 'which being of all chases the worthiest, and belonging only princes and men of best quality, there is no horse too good to be employed in such a service; yet the horses which are aptest and best to be employed in this chase is the barbary jennet, or a light-made english gelding, being of a middle stature.' 'but to conclude and come to the chase which is of all chases the best for the purpose whereof we are now entreating; it is the chase of the hare, which is a chase both swift and pleasant, and of long endurance; it is a sport ever readie, equally distributed, as well to the wealthie farmer as the great gentleman. it hath its beginning contrary to the stag and bucke; for it begins at michaelmas, when they end, and is out of date after april, when they first come into season.' "this low estimate of the fox, at that period, is borne out by a speech of oliver st. john, to the long parliament, against strafford, quoted by macaulay, in which he declares--'strafford was to be regarded not as a stag or hare, but as a fox, who was to be snared by any means and knocked on the head without pity.' the same historian relates that red deer were as plentiful on the hills of hampshire and gloucestershire, in the reign of queen anne, as they are now in the preserved deer-forests of the highlands of scotland. "when wild deer became scarce, the attention of sportsmen was probably turned to the sporting qualities of the fox by the accident of harriers getting upon the scent of some wanderer in the clicketing season, and being led a straight long run. we have more than once met with such accidents on the devonshire moors, and have known well-bred harriers run clear away from the huntsmen, after an on-lying fox, over an unrideable country. "fox-hunting rose into favour with the increase of population attendant on improved agriculture. in a wild woodland country, with earths unstopped, no pack of hounds could fairly run down a fox. "i have found in private records two instances in which packs of hounds, since celebrated, were turned from hare-hounds to fox-hounds. there are, no doubt, many more. the tarporley, or cheshire hunt, was established in for hare-hunting, and held its first meeting on the th november in that year. 'those who kept harriers brought them in turn.' it is ordered by the th rule, 'that if no member of the society kept hounds, or that it were inconvenient for masters to bring them, a pack be borrowed at the expense of the society.' "the uniform was ordered to be 'a blue frock with plain yellow mettled buttons, scarlet velvet cape, and double-breasted flannel waistcoat. the coat sleeve to be cut and turned. a scarlet saddle-cloth, bound singly with blue, and the front of the bridle lapt with scarlet.' the third rule contrasts oddly with our modern meets at half-past ten and half-past eleven o'clock:--'the harriers shall not wait for any member after eight o'clock in the morning.' "as to drinking, it was ordered 'that three collar bumpers be drunk after dinner, and the same after supper; after that every member might do as he pleased in regard to drinking.' "by another rule every member was 'to present on his marriage to each member of the hunt, a pair of well-stitched leather breeches,'[ -*] then costing a guinea a pair. "in , the club commenced fox-hunting. the uniform was ordered to be changed to 'a red coat, unbound, with small frock sleeve, a green velvet cape, and green waistcoat, and that the sleeve have no buttons; in every other form to be like the old uniform; and the red saddle-cloth to be bound with green instead of blue, the fronts of the saddles to remain the same.' "at the same time there was an alteration in regard to drinking orders--'that instead of three collar bumpers, only one shall be drunk, except a fox be killed above ground, and then one other collar glass shall be drunk to "fox-hunting." among the names of the original members in , we recognise many whose descendants have maintained in this generation their ancestral reputation as sportsmen. for instance, crewe, mainwaring, wilbraham, smith, barry, cholmondeley, stanley, grosvenor, townley, watkin williams wynne, stanford. but, although the tarporley hunt club has been maintained and thriven through the reigns of george iii., george iv., william iv., and victoria, the pack of hounds, destroyed or removed by various accidents, have been more than once renewed. but the brocklesby pack has been maintained in the family of the present earl of yarborough more than years without break or change of blood; and a written pedigree of the pack has been kept for upwards of years; and it is now the oldest pack in the kingdom. the cottesmore, which was established before the brocklesby, has been repeatedly dispersed and has long passed out of the hands of the family of the noels--by whom it was first established years ago." by the kindness of lord yarborough, i was permitted to examine all the papers connected with his hounds. among them is a memorandum dated april , : it is agreed "between sir john tyrwhitt, charles pelham, esq., and robert vyner, esq. (another name well known in modern hunting annals), that the foxhounds now kept by the said sir john tyrwhitt and mr. pelham shall be joyned in one pack, and the three have a joint interest in the said hounds for five years, each for one-third of the year." and it was agreed that the establishment should consist of "sixteen couple of hounds, three horses, and a huntsman and a boy." so apparently they only hunted one day a week. it would seem that, under the terms of the agreement, the united pack soon passed into the hands of mr. pelham, and down to the present day the hounds have been branded with a p. i also found at brocklesby a rough memoranda of the kennel from to ; after that date the stud book has been distinctly kept up without a break. from the first lord yarborough kept journals of the pedigree of hounds in his own handwriting; and since his time by the father, the grandfather, and great-grandfather of the present huntsman. in the time of the first lord yarborough, his country extended over the whole of the south wold country, part of the now burton hunt, and part of north nottinghamshire; and he used to go down into both those districts for a month at a time to hunt the woodlands. there were, as he told his grandson when he began hunting, only three or four fences between horncastle and brigg, a distance of at least thirty miles. sir thomas tyrwhitt kept harriers at his manor house of aylsby, at the foot of the lincolnshire wolds, before he turned them into fox-hounds. a barn at aylsby was formerly known as the "kennels." the aylsby estate has passed, in the female line, into the oxfordshire family of the tyrwhitt drakes, who are so well known as masters of hounds, and first-rate sportsmen; while a descendant of squire vyner, of lincolnshire, has, within the last twenty years, been a master of fox-hounds in warwickshire and worcestershire. mr. meynell, the father of modern fox-hunting, and founder of the quorn hunt, formed his pack chiefly of drafts from the brocklesby. between the period that fox-hunting superseded hare-hunting in the estimation of country squires, and that when the celebrated mr. meynell reduced it to a science, and prepared the way for making hunting in leicestershire almost an aristocratic institution, a great change took place in the breed of the hounds and horses, and in the style of horsemanship. under the old system, the hounds were taken out before light to hunt back by his drag the fox who had been foraging all night, and set on him as he lay above his stopped-earth, before he had digested his meal of rats or rabbits. the breed of hounds partook more of the long-eared, dew-lapped, heavy, crock-kneed southern hound, or of the bloodhound. well-bred horses, too, were less plentiful than they are now. but the change to fast hounds, fast horses, and fast men, took place at a much more distant date than some of our hard-riding young swells of seem to imagine. a portrait of a celebrated hound, ringwood, at brocklesby park, painted by stubbs, the well-known animal painter in , presents in an extraordinary manner the type and character of some of the best hounds remotely descended from him, although the cheshire song says:-- "when each horse wore a crupper, each squire a pigtail, ere blue cap and wanton taught greyhounds to scurry, with music in plenty--oh, where was the hurry?" but it is more than eighty years since blue cap and wanton ran their race over newmarket heath, which for speed has never been excelled by any modern hounds. and it is a curious fact, that although somerville, the author of the chase, died in , his poem contains as clear and correct directions for fox-hunting, with few exceptions, as if it were written yesterday. so that the art must have arrived at perfection within sixty or seventy years. in the long reign of george iii. the distinction between town and country was much broken down, and the isolation in which country squires lived destroyed. packs of hounds, kept for the amusement of a small district, became, as it were, public property. at length the meets of hounds began to be regularly given in the country newspapers. with every change sportsmen of the old school have prophesied the total ruin of fox-hunting. roads and canals excited great alarm to our fathers. in our time every one expected to see sport entirely destroyed by railroads; but we were mistaken, and have lived to consider them almost an essential auxiliary of a good hunting district. looking back at the manner in which fox-hunting has grown up with our habits and customs, and increased in the number of packs, number of hunting days, and number of horsemen, in full proportion with wealth and population, one cannot help being amused at the simplicity with which mrs. beecher stowe, who comes from a country where people seldom amuse themselves out of doors (except in making money), tells in her "sunny memories," how, when she dined with lord john russell, at richmond, the conversation turned on hunting; and she expressed her astonishment "that, in the height of english civilisation, this vestige of the savage state should remain." "thereupon they only laughed, and told stories about fox-hunters." they might have answered with old gervase markham, "of all the field pleasures wherewith old time and man's inventions hath blessed the hours of our recreations, there is none so excellent as the delight of hunting, being compounded like an harmonious concert of all the best partes of most refined pleasures, as music, dancing, running and ryding." mrs. stowe's distinguished countryman, washington irving, took a sounder view of our rural pleasures; for he says in his charming "sketch book:"-- "the fondness for rural life among the higher classes of the english has had a great and salutary effect upon national character. i do not know a finer race of men than the english gentlemen. instead of the softness and effeminacy which characterizes the men of rank of most countries, they exhibit a union of elegance and strength, of robustness of frame and freshness of complexion, which i am inclined to attribute to their living so much in the open air, pursuing so eagerly the invigorating recreations of the country." footnotes: [ -*] i think this is a mistake. in a copy of the rules forwarded to me by a cheshire squire, one of the hereditary members of the club, it is a pair of _gloves_. but in the notes, the songs and ballads by r. egerton warburton, esq., of arley hall, it is printed "breeches." chapter xiv. the wild ponies of exmoor. in england there are so few wild horses, that the following description of a visit i made to exmoor a few years ago in the month of september, may be doubly interesting, since mr. rarey has shown a short and easy method of dealing with the principal produce of that truly wild region. the road from south molton to exmoor is a gradual ascent over a succession of hills, of which each descent, however steep, leads to a still longer ascent, until you reach the high level of exmoor. the first six miles are through real devonshire lanes; on each side high banks, all covered with fern and grass, and topped with shrubs and trees; for miles we were hedged in with hazels, bearing nuts with a luxuriance wonderful to the eyes of those accustomed to see them sold at the corners of streets for a penny the dozen. in spring and summer, wild flowers give all the charms of colour to these game-preserving hedgerows; but a rainy autumn had left no colour among the rich green foliage, except here and there a pyramid of the bright red berries of the mountain ash. so, up hill and down dale, over water-courses--now merrily trotting, anon descending, and not less merrily trudging up, steep ascents--we proceed by a track as sound as if it had been under the care of a model board of trustees--for the simple reason that it rested on natural rock. we pushed along at an average rate of some six miles an hour, allowing for the slow crawling up hills; passing many rich fields wherein fat oxen of the devon breed calmly grazed, with sheep that had certainly not been bred on mountains. once we passed a deserted copper-mine; which, after having been worked for many years, had at length failed, or grown unprofitable, under the competition of the richer mines of cuba and south australia. a long chimney, peering above deserted cottages, and a plentiful crop of weeds, was the sole monument of departed glories--in shares and dividends--and mine-captain's promises. at length the hedges began to grow thinner; beeches succeeded the hazels; the road, more rugged and bare showed the marks where winter's rains had ploughed deep channels; and, at the turn of a steep hill, we saw, on the one hand, the brown and blue moor stretching before and above us; and on the other hand, below, like a map, the fertile vale lay unrolled, various in colour, according to the crops, divided by enclosures into every angle from most acute to most obtuse. below was the cultivation of centuries; above, the turnip--the greatest improvement of modern agriculture--flourished, a deep green, under the protection of fences of very recent date. one turnpike, and cottages at rare intervals, had so far kept up the idea of population; but now, far as the horizon extended, not a place of habitation was to be seen; until, just in a hollow bend out of the ascending road, we came upon a low white farm-house, of humble pretensions, flanked by a great turf-stack (but no signs of corn; no fold-yard full of cattle), which bore, on a board of great size, in long letters, this imposing announcement, "the poltimore arms." our driver not being of the usual thirsty disposition of his tribe, we did not test the capabilities of the one hostelry and habitation on lord poltimore's moorland estate, but, pushing on, took the reins while our conductor descended to open a gate in a large turf and stone wall. we passed through--left devon--entered somerset; and the famous exmoor estate of , acres, bounded by a wall forty miles in length, the object of our journey, lay before us. very dreary was this part of our journey, although, contrary to the custom of the country, the day was bright and clear, and the september sun defeated the fogs, and kept at a distance the drizzling rains which in winter sweep over exmoor. we had now left the smooth, rocky-floored road, and were travelling along what most resembled the dry bed of a torrent: turf banks on each side seemed rather intended to define than to divide the property. as far as the eye could reach, the rushy tufted moorland extended, bounded in the distance by lofty, round-backed hills. thinly scattered about were horned sheep and devon red oxen. for about two miles we jolted gently on, until, beginning to descend a hill, our driver pointed in the valley below to a spot where stacks of hay and turf guarded a series of stone buildings, saying, "there's the grange." the first glance was not encouraging--no sheep-station in australia could seem more utterly desolate; but it improved on closer examination. the effects of cultivation were to be seen in the different colours of the fields round the house, where the number of stock grazing showed that more than ordinary means must have been taken to improve the pasture. we started on exmoor ponies to ride to simon's bath. exmoor, previous to , was the property of the crown, and leased to sir thomas dyke acland, who has an estate of a similar character close adjoining. he used its wild pasture (at that time it was without roads) for breeding ponies and feeding exmoor sheep. there are no traces of any population having ever existed on this forest since roman times. the romans are believed to have worked iron-mines on the moor, which have recently been re-opened. exmoor consists of , acres, on an elevation varying from to feet above the sea, of undulating table-land, divided by valleys, or "combes," through which the river exe--which rises in one of its valleys--with its tributary, the barle, forces a devious way, in the form of pleasant trout-streams, rattling over and among huge stones, and creeping through deep pools--a very angler's paradise. like many similar districts in the scotch highlands, the resort of the red deer, it is called a forest, although trees--with the exception of some very insignificant plantations--are as rare as men. after riding all day with a party of explorers, one of them suddenly exclaimed, "look, there is a man!" a similar expression escaped me when we came in sight of the first tree--a gnarled thorn, standing alone on the side of a valley. the sides of the steep valleys, of which some include an acre, and others extend for miles, are usually covered with coarse herbage, heather, and bilberry plants, springing from a deep black or red soil: at certain spots a greener hue marks the site of the bogs which impede, and at times almost engulph, the incautious horseman. these bogs are formed by springs, which, having been intercepted by a pan of sediment, and prevented from percolating through the soil, stagnate, and cause, at the same time, decay and vicious vegetation. they are seldom deep, and can usually be reclaimed by subsoiling or otherwise breaking the pan, and so drying the upper layers of bog. bog-turf is largely employed on exmoor as fuel. on other precipitous descents, winter torrents have washed away all the earth, and left avalanches of bare loose stones, called, in the western dialect, "crees." to descend these crees at a slapping pace in the course of a stag-hunt, requires no slight degree of nerve; but it is done, and is not so dangerous as it looks. exmoor may be nothing strange to those accustomed to the wild, barren scenery. to one who has known country scenes only in the best-cultivated regions of england, and who has but recently quitted the perpetual roar of london, there is something strangely solemn and impressive in the deep silence of a ride across the forest. horses bred on the moors, if left to themselves, rapidly pick their way through pools and bogs, and canter smoothly over dry flats of natural meadow; creep safely down the precipitous descents, and climb with scarcely a puff of distress these steep ascents; splash through fords in the trout-streams, swelled by rain, without a moment's hesitation, and trot along sheep-paths, bestrewed with rolling stones, without a stumble: so that you are perfectly at liberty to enjoy the luxury of excitement, and follow out the winding valleys, and study the rich brown and purple herbage. it was while advancing over a great brown plain in the centre of the moor, with a deep valley on our left, that our young quick-eyed guide suddenly held up his hand, whispering, "ride on without seeming to take notice; there are the deer." a great red stag, lying on the brown grass, had sprung up, and was gazing on our party--too numerous and too brightly attired to be herdsmen, whom he would have allowed to pass without notice. behind him were clustered four hinds and a calf. they stood still for some minutes watching our every movement, as we tried to approach them in a narrowing circle. then the stag moved off slowly, with stately, easy, gliding steps, constantly looking back. the hinds preceded him: they reached the edge of the valley, and disappeared. we galloped up, and found that they had exchanged the slow retreat for a rapid flight, clearing every slight or suspicious obstacle with a grace, ease, and swiftness it was delightful to witness. in an incredibly short time they had disappeared, hidden by undulations in the apparently flat moor. these were one of the few herds still remaining on the forest. in a short time the wild deer of exmoor will be a matter of tradition; and the hunt, which may be traced back to the time of queen elizabeth, will, if continued, descend to the "cart and calf" business. a sight scarcely less interesting than the deer was afforded by a white pony mare, with her young stock--consisting of a foal still sucking, a yearling, and a two-year-old--which we met in a valley of the barle. the two-year-old had strayed away feeding, until alarmed by the cracking of our whips and the neighing of its dam, when it came galloping down a steep combe, neighing loudly, at headlong speed. it is thus these ponies learn their action and sure-footedness. it was a district such as we had traversed--entirely wild, without inclosures, or roads, or fences--that came into the hands of the father of the present proprietor. he built a fence of forty miles around it, made roads, reclaimed a farm for his own use at simon's bath, introduced highland cattle on the hills, and set up a considerable stud for improving the indigenous race of ponies, and for rearing full-sized horses. these improvements, on which some three hundred thousand pounds were sunk, were not profitable; and it is very doubtful whether any considerable improvements could have been prosecuted successfully, if railways had not brought better markets within reach of the district. coming from a part of the country where ponies are the perquisites of old ladies and little children, and where the nearer a well-shaped horse can be got to sixteen hands the better, the first feeling on mounting a rough little unkemped brute, fresh from the moor, barely twelve hands (four feet) in height, was intensely ridiculous. it seemed as if the slightest mistake would send the rider clean over the animal's head. but we learned soon that the indigenous pony, in certain useful qualities, is not to be surpassed by animals of greater size and pretensions. from the grange to simon's bath (about three miles), the road, which runs through the heart of exmoor proper, was constructed, with all the other roads in this vast extra-parochial estate, by the father of the present proprietor, f. knight, esq., of wolverly house, worcestershire, m.p. for east worcestershire (parliamentary secretary of the poor law board, under lord derby's government). in the course of a considerable part of the route, the contrast of wild moorland and high cultivation may be found only divided by the carriage-way. at length, descending a steep hill, we came in sight of a view--of which exmoor and its kindred district in north devon affords many--a deep gorge, at whose precipitous base a trout-stream rolled along, gurgling and plashing, and winding round huge masses of white spar. the far bank sometimes extended out into natural meadows, where red cattle and wild ponies grazed, and sometimes rose precipitously. at one point, where both banks were equally steep and lofty, the far side was covered by a plantation with a cover of under-wood; but no trees of sufficient magnitude to deserve the name of a wood. this is a spot famous in the annals of a grand sport that soon will be among things of the past--wild stag hunting. in this wood more than once the red monarch of exmoor has been roused, and bounded over the rolling plains beyond, amid the shouts of excited hunters and the deep cry of the hounds, as with a burring scent they dashed up the steep breast of the hill. but there was no defiant stag there that day; so on we trotted on our shaggy sure-footed nags, beneath a burning sun--a sun that sparkled on the flowing waters as they gleamed between far distant hills, and threw a golden glow upon the fading tints of foliage and herbage, and cast deep shadows from the white overhanging rocks. next we came to the deep pool that gives the name to simon's bath, where some unhappy man of that name, in times when deer were more plentiful than sheep, drowned himself for love, or in madness, or both--long before roads, farms, turnip crops, a school, and a church were dreamed of on exmoor. here fences give signs of habitation and cultivation. a rude, ancient bridge, with two arches of different curves, covered with turf, without side battlements or rails, stretches across the stream, and leads to a small house built for his own occupation by the father of mr. knight, pending the completion of a mansion of which the unfinished walls of one wing rise like a dismantled castle from the midst of a grove of trees and ornamented shrubs. a series of gentle declivities, plantations, a winding, full-flowing stream, seem only to require a suitable edifice and the hand of an artist gardener to make, at comparatively trifling expense, an abode unequalled in luxuriant and romantic beauty. we crossed the stream--not by the narrow bridge, but by the ford; and, passing through the straggling stone village of simon's bath, arrived in sight of the field where the tattersall of the west was to sell the wild and tame horse stock bred on the moors. it was a field of some ten acres and a half, forming a very steep slope, with the upper path comparatively flat, the sloping side broken by a stone quarry, and dotted over with huge blocks of granite. at its base flowed an arm of the stream we had found margining our route. a substantial, but, as the event proved, not sufficiently high stone fence bounded the whole field. on the upper part, a sort of double pound, united by a narrow neck, with a gate at each end, had been constructed of rails, upwards of five feet in height. into the first of these pounds, by ingenious management, all the ponies, wild and tame, had been driven. when the sale commenced, it was the duty of the herdsmen to separate two at a time, and drive them through the narrow neck into the pound before the auctioneer. around a crowd of spectators of every degree were clustered--'squires and clergymen, horse-dealers and farmers, from northamptonshire and lincolnshire, as well as south devon, and the immediate neighbourhood. these ponies are the result of crosses made years ago with arab, dongola, and thorough-bred stallions, on the indigenous race of exmoors, since carefully culled from year to year for the purpose of securing the utmost amount of perfection among the stallions and mares reserved for breeding purposes. the real exmoor seldom exceeds twelve hands; has a well-shaped head, with very small ears; but the thick round shoulder peculiar to all breeds of wild horses, which seem specially adapted for inclemencies of the weather; indeed, the whole body is round, compact, and well ribbed. the exmoor has very good quarters and powerful hocks; legs straight, flat, and clean; the muscles well developed by early racing up and down steep mountain sides while following their dams. in about forty lots the prevailing colours were bay, brown, and gray; chestnuts and blacks were less frequent, and not in favour with the country people, many of whom seemed to consider that the indigenous race had been deteriorated by the sedulous efforts made and making to improve it--an opinion which we could not share after examining some of the best specimens, in which a clean blood-like head and increased size seemed to have been given, without any diminution of the enduring qualities of the exmoor. the sale was great fun. perched on convenient rails, we had the whole scene before us. the auctioneer rather hoarse and quite matter-of-fact; the ponies wildly rushing about the first enclosure, were with difficulty separated into pairs to be driven in the sale section; when fairly hemmed in through the open gate, they dashed and made a sort of circus circuit, with mane and tail erect, in a style that would draw great applause at astley's. then there was the difficulty of deciding whether the figures marked in white on the animal's hind-quarters were or or . instead of the regular trot up and down of tattersall's, a whisk of a cap was sufficient to produce a tremendous caper. a very pretty exhibition was made by a little mare, with a late foal about the size of a setter dog.[ -*] the sale over, a most amusing scene ensued: every man who had bought a pony wanted to catch it. in order to clear the way, each lot, as sold, as wild and nearly as active as deer, had been turned into the field. a joint-stock company of pony-catchers, headed by the champion wrestler of the district--a hawk-nosed, fresh-complexioned, rustic don juan--stood ready to be hired, at the moderate rate of sixpence per pony caught and delivered. one carried a bundle of new halters; the others, warmed by a liberal distribution of beer, seemed as much inspired by the fun as the sixpence. when the word was given, the first step was to drive a herd into the lowest corner of the field in as compact a mass as possible. the bay, gray, or chestnut, from that hour doomed to perpetual slavery and exile from his native hills, was pointed out by the nervous anxious purchaser. three wiry fellows crept cat-like among the mob, sheltering behind some tame cart-horses; on a mutual signal they rushed on the devoted animal; two--one bearing a halter--strove to fling each one arm round its neck, and with one hand to grasp its nostrils--while the insidious third, clinging to the flowing tail; tried to throw the poor quadruped off its balance. often they were baffled in the first effort, for with one wild spring the pony would clear the whole lot, and flying with streaming mane and tail across the brook up the field, leave the whole work to be recommenced. sometimes when the feat was cleverly performed, pony and pony-catchers were to be seen all rolling on the ground together; the pony yelling, snorting, and fighting with his fore feet, the men clinging on like the lapithæ and the centaurs, and how escaping crushed ribs or broken legs it is impossible to imagine. on one occasion a fine brown stallion dashed away, with two plucky fellows hanging on to his mane: rearing, plunging, fighting with his fore feet, away he bounded down a declivity among the huge rocks, amid the encouraging cheers of the spectators: for a moment the contest was doubtful, so tough were the sinews, and so determined the grip of davy, the champion; but the steep bank of the brook, down which the brown stallion recklessly plunged, was too much for human efforts (in a moment they all went together into the brook), but the pony, up first, leaped the opposite bank and galloped away, whinnying in short-lived triumph. after a series of such contests, well worth the study of artists not content with pale copies from marbles or casts, the difficulty of haltering these snorting steeds--equal in spirit and probably in size to those which drew the car of boadicea--was diminished by all those uncaught being driven back to the pound; and there, not without furious battles, one by one enslaved. yet even when haltered, the conquest was by no means concluded. some refused to stir, others started off at such a pace as speedily brought the holder of the halter on his nose. one respectable old gentleman, in gray stockings and knee-breeches, lost his animal in much less time than it took him to extract the sixpence from his knotted purse. yet in all these fights there was little display of vice; it was pure fright on the part of the ponies that made them struggle so. a few days' confinement in a shed, a few carrots, with a little salt, and gentle treatment, reduces the wildest of the three-year-olds to docility. when older they are more difficult to manage. it was a pretty sight to view them led away, splashing through the brook--conquered, but not yet subdued. in the course of the evening a little chestnut stallion, twelve hands, or four feet in height, jumped, at a standing jump, over the bars out of a pound upward of five feet from the ground, only just touching the top rail with his hind feet. we had hoped to have a day's wild stag hunting, but the hounds were out on the other side of the country. however, we had a few runs with a scratch pack of harriers after stout moorland hares. the dandy school, who revel in descriptions of coats and waistcoats, boots and breeches, and who pretend that there is no sport without an outfit which is only within the reach of a man with ten thousand a year, would no doubt have been extremely disgusted with the whole affair. we rose at five o'clock in the morning and hunted puss up to her form (instead of paying a shilling to a boy to turn her out) with six couples, giving tongue most melodiously. viewing her away we rattled across the crispy brown moor, and splattered through bogs with a loose rein, in lunatic enjoyment, until we checked at the edge of a deep "combe." then--when the old yellow southerner challenged, and our young host cheered him with "hark to reveller, hark!"--to hear the challenge and the cheer re-echoed again from the opposite cliff; and--as the little pack in full cry again took up the running, and scaled the steep ascent--to see our young huntsman, bred in these hills, go rattling down the valleys, and to follow by instinct, under a vague idea, not unmixed with nervous apprehensions of the consequences of a slip, that what one could do two could, was vastly exciting, and amusing, and, in a word, decidedly jolly. so with many facts, some new ideas, and a fine stock of health from a week of open air, i bade farewell to my hospitable hosts and to romantic exmoor. footnotes: [ -*] according to tradition, the exmoor ponies are descended from horses brought from the east by the phoenicians, who traded there with cornwall for metals. [illustration: sitz bath.] postscript. the hunting man's health. without health there can be no sport. a man at the commencement of the hunting often requires condition more than his horse, especially if engaged in sedentary occupations, and averse to summer riding or walking. of course the proper plan is to train by walking or riding. i remember, some years ago, when three months of severe mental occupation had kept me entirely out of the saddle, going out in northamptonshire, fortunately admirably mounted, when the hounds were no sooner in cover than they were out of it, "running breast high," five minutes after i had changed from my seat in a dog-cart to the saddle. we had thirty-five minutes' sharp run, without a check, and for the latter part of the run i was perfectly beaten, almost black in the face, and scarcely able to hold my horse together. i did not recover from this too sudden exertion for many days. those who are out of condition will do well to ride, instead of driving to cover. in changing from town to country life, between the different hours of rising and hearty meals--the result of fresh air and exercise--the stomach and bowels are very likely to get out of order. it is as well, therefore, to be provided with some mild digestive pills: violent purges are as injurious to men as to horses, and more inconvenient. the enema is a valuable instrument, which a hunting man should not be without, as its use, when you are in strong exercise, is often more advisable than medicine. but one of the most valuable aids to the health and spirits of a hard-riding man is the sitz bath, which, taken morning and evening, cold or tepid, according to individual taste, has even more advantageous effects on the system than a complete bath. it braces the muscles, strengthens the nerves, and tends to keep the bowels open. sitz baths are made in zinc, and are tolerably portable; but in a country place you may make shift with a tub half-filled with water. in taking this kind of bath, it is essential that the parts not in the water should be warm and comfortable. for this end, in cold weather, case your feet and legs in warm stockings, and cover your person and tub with a poncho, through the hole of which you can thrust your head. in default of a poncho, a plaid or blanket will do, and in warm weather a sheet. if you begin with tepid water, you will soon be able to bear cold, as after the first shock the cold disappears. the water must not reach higher than your hips, rather under than over. the time for a sitz bath varies from ten to twenty minutes, not longer, during which you may read or smoke; but then you will need sleeves, for it is essential that you should be covered all the time. i often take a cup of coffee in this bath, it saves time in breakfasting. in the illustration, the blanket has been turned back to show the right position. the hot-air or indian bath. in case of an attack of cold or influenza, or a necessity for sweating off a few pounds, or especially after a severe fall, there is no bath so effective and so simple as the hot-air or indian bath. this is made with a wooden-bottomed kitchen chair, a few blankets, a tin cup, and a claret-glass of spirits of wine. for want of spirits of wine you might use a dozen of price's night lights. take a wooden-bottomed chair, and place it in a convenient part of the bedroom, where a fire should be previously lighted. put under the chair a narrow metal cup or gallipot, if it will stand fire filled with spirits of wine. let the bather strip to his drawers, and sit down on the chair with a fold of flannel under him, for the seat will get extremely hot--put on his knees a slop-basin, with a sponge and a little cold water. then take four blankets or rugs, and lay them, one over his back, one over his front, and one on each side, so as to cover him closely in a woollen tent, and wrap his head up in flannel or silk--if he is cold or shivering put his feet in warm water, or on a hot brick wrapped in flannel. then light the spirits of wine, which will very soon make a famous hot-air bath. by giving the patient a little _cold water_ to drink, perspiration will be encouraged; if he finds the air inconveniently hot before he begins to perspire, he can use the sponge and slop-basin to bathe his chest, &c. [illustration: indian bath.] when the perspiration rolls like rain from his face, and you think he has had enough, have a blanket warmed at the fire, strip him, roll him in it, and tumble him into bed. in five or ten minutes, you can take away the blanket and put on his night shirt--give him a drink of white wine whey, and he will be ready to go to sleep comfortably. this bath can be administered when a patient is too ill to be put in a warm bath, and is more effective. i have seen admirable results from it on a gentleman after a horse had rolled over him. it can also be prepared in a few minutes, in places where to get a warm bath would be out of the question. in the illustration, the blanket is turned back, to show the proper position, and by error the head is not covered. woodfall and kinder printers, angel court, skinner street, london. "_if the steamboat and the railway have abridged time and space, and made a large addition to the available length of human existence, why may not our intellectual journey be also accelerated, our knowledge more cheaply and quickly acquired, its records rendered more accessible and portable, its cultivators increased in number, and its blessings more cheaply and widely diffused?_"--quarterly review. london: farringdon street. george routledge & co.'s new and cheap editions of standard and popular works in history, biography, fiction, travels & voyages, natural history, poetry & the drama, sporting, useful, religious, juvenile, and miscellaneous literature; with the addition of illustrated present books, and the popular cheap libraries. to be obtained by order of all booksellers, home or colonial. in ordering, specially mention "routledge's editions." history. in vol. price = =s. cloth lettered. russell's modern europe epitomized. for the use of students and schools, with an index, forming a complete text-book of modern history; a perfect treasury of facts, dates, and important events; the history of kingdoms and states, and lives of celebrated characters. by george townsend. in epitomizing this valuable book of reference, mr. townsend has endeavoured to give as fair a view of the leading details of modern history as was possible within the limits. the more interesting portions of the subjects that stand out in bold and full relief on the map of the past have been described at greater length, while less important matters have been abridged, without interrupting the thread of the narrative. every date has been verified, and the entire work submitted to the most careful revision. in fact, mr. townsend's aim has been to supply what has long been wanting in english literature--a handbook in which the chief events of modern history are set forth in a clear, concise, and intelligent form. all candidates for offices in her majesty's civil service are examined in "russell's modern europe." three editions of robertson and prescott's charles the fifth. prescott and robertson's history of charles the fifth, being robertson's history of his reign. with important original additions by w. h. prescott. new index, and steel portrait. uniform with the editions of mr. prescott's other works published by r. bentley. . library edition, vols. vo, cloth lettered, with a portrait, price s. . cabinet edition, vols. post vo, with a portrait, price s. . the vol. edition, in crown vo, price s. "in this edition mr. prescott has given a brilliant sketch and minute account of the latter days of charles the fifth."--_times._ "robertson's charles the fifth is only a history of that reign, less than three pages being devoted to charles's life subsequent to his abdication. yet this is the most curious and interesting portion of that monarch's existence. the result of mr. prescott's examination of the archives of simancas has been to exhibit, under a very different aspect, the monastic life of charles, from that in which it has hitherto been written, and to give great completeness to the original work of robertson." each in vols. boards, = =s.; or in cloth, = =s. prescott's (w. h.) historical works. cheap complete edition. viz.: ferdinand and isabella. vols. conquest of mexico. vols. conquest of peru. vols. philip the second. vols. also, uniform, charles the fifth. vols. by robertson, with a continuation by prescott. [asterism] _this issue of mr. prescott's historical works is the only cheap one that contains, without the slightest abridgment, all the notes of the original octavo american editions, with full indexes._ "to mr. prescott belongs the rare distinction of uniting solid merit with extensive popularity. he has been exalted to the first class of historians--both by the popular voice and the suffrages of the learned. his fame, also, is not merely local, or even national--it is as great in london, paris, and berlin, as at boston or new york. his works have been translated into spanish, german, french, and italian; and, into whatever region they have penetrated, they have met a cordial welcome, and done much to raise the character of american letters and scholarship."--_whipple's essay._ "prescott's works in point of style rank with the ablest english historians, and paragraphs may be found in which the grace and elegance of addison are combined with robertson's cadence and gibson's brilliancy."--_athenæum._ price = =s. boards, or = =s. = =d. cloth. prescott's essays, biographical and critical.--comprising: c. b. brown, the novelist. irving's conquest of granada. cervantes. sir walter scott. chateaubriand's eastern literature. bancroft's united states. molière. italian narrative poetry. scottish song. poetry and romance of the italians. in vols. fcap. vo, boards, = =s.; or in cloth, = =s. bancroft's history of america. the colonization and its results. with index. 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"in writing this life of julius cæsar, it has been the aim of the author to give as truthful a view of the thoughts, words, and deeds of this 'foremost man of all the world,' as well as the chief characters of his opponents and supporters; thus rendering it, as it were, a biography of the celebrated characters who lived in cæsar's time." standard biography.--cheap editions in vols. fcap. vo, price = =s. = =d. each, cloth extra. =life of nelson.= by joseph allen. =life of wellington.= by macfarlane. =peel (sir robert), life of.= with a portrait by w. harvey. =life of oliver goldsmith.= by washington irving. =lives of the successors of mahomet.= by washington irving. =monk and washington.= by f. guizot. =representative men.= by r. w. emerson. fiction. the standard edition of the novels and romances of sir edward bulwer lytton, bart., m.p. uniformly printed in crown vo, corrected and revised throughout, with new prefaces. vols. in , price =£ = = =s. cloth extra; or any volumes separately, in cloth binding, as under:-- _s._ _d._ rienzi: the last of the tribunes paul clifford pelham: or, the adventures of a gentleman eugene aram. a tale last of the barons last days of pompeii godolphin pilgrims of the rhine night and morning ernest maltravers alice; or the mysteries the disowned devereux zanoni leila; or the siege of granada harold lucretia the caxtons my novel ( vols.) or the set complete in vols. =£ = = = = = " " half-calf extra = = = = = = " " half-morocco = = = = = = "no collection of prose fictions, by any single author, contains the same variety of experience--the same amplitude of knowledge and thought--the same combination of opposite extremes, harmonized by an equal mastership of art; here, lively and sparkling fancies; there, vigorous passion or practical wisdom--these works abound in illustrations that teach benevolence to the rich, and courage to the poor; they glow with the love of freedom; they speak a sympathy with all high aspirations, and all manly struggle; and where, in their more tragic portraitures, they depict the dread images of guilt and woe, they so clear our judgment by profound analysis, while they move our hearts by terror or compassion, that we learn to detect and stifle in ourselves the evil thought which we see gradually unfolding itself into the guilty deed."--_extract from bulwer lytton and his works._ the above are printed on superior paper, bound in cloth. each volume is embellished with an illustration; and this standard edition is admirably suited for private, select, and public libraries. the odd numbers and parts to complete volumes may be obtained; and the complete series is now in course of issue in three-halfpenny weekly numbers, or in monthly parts, sevenpence each. uniform illustrated editions of mr. ainsworth's works. in vol. demy vo, price = =s. each, cloth, emblematically gilt. tower of london (the). with forty illustrations on steel; and numerous engravings on wood by george cruikshank. lancashire witches. illustrated by j. gilbert. jack sheppard. illustrated by george cruikshank. old st. paul's. illustrated by george cruikshank. guy fawkes. illustrated by george cruikshank. in vol. demy vo, price = =s. each, cloth gilt. crichton. with steel illustrations, from designs by h. k. browne. windsor castle. with steel engravings, and woodcuts by cruikshank. miser's daughter. illustrated by george cruikshank. rookwood. with illustrations by john gilbert. spendthrift. with illustrations by phiz. star chamber. with illustrations by phiz. "it is scarcely surprising that harrison ainsworth should have secured to himself a very wide popularity, when we consider how happily he has chosen his themes. sometimes, by the luckiest inspiration, he has chosen a romance of captivating and enthralling fascinations, such as 'crichton,' the 'admirable crichton.' surely no one ever hit upon a worthier hero of romance, not from the days of apuleius to those of le sage or of bulwer lytton. sometimes the scene and the very title of his romance have been some renowned structure, a palace, a prison, or a fortress. it is thus with the 'tower of london,' 'windsor castle,' 'old st. paul's.' scarcely less ability, or, rather, we should say, perhaps more correctly, scarcely less adroitness in the choice of a new theme, in the instance of one of his latest literary productions, viz., the 'star chamber.' but the readers of mr. ainsworth--and they now number thousands upon thousands--need hardly be informed of this: and now that a uniform illustrated edition of his works is published, we do not doubt but that this large number of readers even will be considerably increased."--_sun._ in vol. fcap. vo, price = =s. = =d. cloth gilt, or with gilt edges, = =s. flitch of bacon (the); or, the custom of dunmow. a tale of english home. by w. h. ainsworth, esq. with illustrations by john gilbert. the second edition. "certainly no custom was ever more popular; the fame of it is bruited throughout the length and breadth of the land. it is a subject that gives excellent scope to a writer of fiction; and mr. ainsworth, by skilful treatment, has rendered it most entertaining. the materials are put together with dramatic force."--_examiner._ "in our judgment, one of the best of mr. ainsworth's romances."--_scottish citizen._ in vol., price = =s. = =d. cloth gilt. count of monte cristo. by alexandre dumas. comprising the château d'if, with illustrations, drawn on wood by m. valentin, and executed by the best english engravers. "'monte cristo' is dumas' best production, and the work that will convey his name to the remembrance of future generations as a writer." in vo, cloth extra, price = =s. = =d. gilt back. fanny, the little milliner; or, the rich and the poor. by charles rowcroft, author of "tales of the colonies," &c. with illustrations by phiz. in vols. vo, reduced to = =s. = =d. cloth, emblematically gilt; or the vols. in , price = =s. = =d. cloth extra, gilt. carleton's traits and stories of the irish peasantry. a new pictorial edition, with an autobiographical introduction, explanatory notes, and numerous illustrations on wood and steel, by phiz, &c. the following tales and sketches are comprised in this edition:-- ned m'keown. the three tasks. shane fadh's wedding. larry m'farland's wake. the battle of the factions. the station. the party fight and funeral. the lough derg pilgrim. the hedge school. the midnight mass. the donah, or the horse stealers. phil purcell, the pig driver. geography of an irish oath. the llanham shee. going to maynooth. phelim o'toole's courtship. the poor scholar. wildgoose lodge. tubber derg, or the red well. neal malone. =also, a new cheap re-issue.= in vols. fcap. vo, fancy boards, with new illustrations, = =s. = =d.; or in cloth extra, gilt, with steel portrait, = =s. "unless another master-hand like carleton's should appear, it is in his pages, and his alone, that future generations must look for the truest and fullest picture of the irish peasantry, who will ere long have passed away from the troubled land, and from the records of history."--_edinburgh review_, oct. . "truly--intensely irish."--_blackwood._ in vo, cloth, full gilt, price = =s. the fortunes of torlogh o'brien: a tale of the wars of king james. with steel illustrations by phiz. "this stirring tale contains the best history of the battle of the boyne, and is written with a master hand. it is fully equal to any of lever's works."--_observer._ in fcap. mo, price = =s. sewed wrapper. the new tale of a tub. by f. w. n. bayley. illustrated by engravings reduced from the original drawing by aubrey. "fun and humour from beginning to end."--_athenæum._ routledge's standard novels. price = =s. = =d. each, cloth gilt. this collection now comprises the best novels of our more celebrated authors. the volumes are all printed on good paper, with an illustration, and form, without exception, the best and cheapest collection of light reading that is anywhere to be obtained. _the following are now ready_:-- = . romance of war.= by james grant. = . peter simple.= by captain marryat. = . adventures of an aide-de-camp.= by james grant. = . whitefriars.= by the author of "whitehall." = . stories of waterloo.= by w. h. maxwell. = . jasper lyle.= by mrs. ward. = . mothers and daughters.= by mrs. gore. = . scottish cavalier.= by james grant. = . the country curate.= by gleig. = . trevelyan.= by lady scott. = . captain blake; or, my life.= by w. h. maxwell. = . tylney hall.= by thomas hood. = . whitehall.= by the author of "whitefriars." = . clan albyn.= by mrs. johnstone. = . cæsar borgia.= by the author of "whitefriars." = . the scottish chiefs.= by miss porter. = . lancashire witches.= by w. h. ainsworth. = . tower of london.= by w. h. ainsworth. = . the family feud.= by the author of "alderman ralph." = . frank hilton; or, the queen's own.= by james grant. = . the yellow frigate.= by james grant. = . the three musketeers.= by alexandre dumas. = . the bivouac.= by w. h. maxwell. = . the soldier of lyons.= by mrs. gore. = . adventures of mr. ledbury.= by albert smith. = . jacob faithful.= by captain marryat. = . japhet in search of a father.= by captain marryat. = . the king's own.= by captain marryat. = . mr. midshipman easy.= by captain marryat. = . newton forster.= by captain marryat. = . the pacha of many tales.= by captain marryat. = . rattlin the reefer.= edited by captain marryat. = . the poacher.= by captain marryat. = . the phantom ship.= by captain marryat. = . the dog fiend.= by captain marryat. = . percival keene.= by captain marryat. = . hector o'halloran.= by w. h. maxwell. = . the pottleton legacy.= by albert smith. = . the pastor's fireside.= by miss porter. = . my cousin nicholas.= by ingoldsby. = . the black dragoons.= by james grant. transcriber's note the following typographical errors were corrected. page error iii mr. rarey's introduction changed to mr. rarey's introduction. v snaffle.--the changed to snaffle.--the vii struogling changed to struggling under the auspicies changed to under the auspices violent loungings changed to violent longeings fn -* april .' changed to april ." shere humbug changed to sheer humbug omiting changed to omitting scimetar changed to scimitar spangled troope changed to spangled troupe horse wont changed to horse won't suppleing changed to suppling long wholebone whip changed to long whalebone whip any horse changed to any horse. round to the right. changed to round to the right." (based on comparison to another edition of the book) gotamongst changed to got amongst aid-de-camps changed to aide-de-camps of my pupils changed to of my pupils. white potatoe oats changed to white potato oats lbs. changed to lbs. distance, we though changed to distance, we thought mobbing a fox changed to mobbing a fox. danger of stubbing changed to danger of stubbing. distinction bewteen changed to distinction between ads bancrofts changed to bancroft's bullfinch / bulfinch farm-house / farmhouse fox-hounds / foxhounds jibbing / gibbing off-side / offside over-run / overrun practice / practise (and other forms of the word also vary) road-side / roadside steeple-chase / steeplechase thorough-bred / thoroughbred [illustration: "i file the claim!" shouted tad. _frontispiece._] the pony rider boys in alaska or the gold diggers of taku pass by frank gee patchin author of the pony rider boys in the rockies, the pony rider boys in texas, the pony rider boys in montana, the pony rider boys in the ozarks, the pony rider boys in the alkali, the pony rider boys in new mexico, the pony rider boys in the grand canyon, the pony rider boys with the texas rangers, the pony rider boys on the blue ridge, the pony rider boys in new england, the pony rider boys in louisiana, etc., etc. illustrated the saalfield publishing company akron, ohio--new york made in u. s. a. copyright mcmxxiv by the saalfield publishing company printed in the united states of america contents page chapter i--through enchanting waters the mystery of the gold diggers. the story of an indian capture. the skipper gives himself a hunch. the lure of the yellow metal. the abode of an angry spirit. chapter ii--the boys scent a plot ned rector puts his foot in. the man with the combustible whiskers. tad overhears an exciting conversation. his duty not clear to him. attacked by a desperado. chapter iii--in desperate straits almost hurled overboard. help comes in the nick of time. tad accuses his assailant. whiskers as evidence. plotters are driven from the ship by young butler. chapter iv--on the overland trail "you have neglected your horse education." tad amazes a horse trader. chunky wants no "quick" mules. driving a keen bargain. the boys decide to guide themselves. chapter v--traveling a dangerous mountain pass the professor tells the boys about the "great country." when a fellow needs a bird's eye. a toboggan slide that might reach to asia. pony rider boys hear a terrifying sound. chapter vi--caught in a giant slide a pack mule swept from the ledge. tad fires a humane shot. taking desperate chances to rescue the pack. "i don't propose to lose my lasso." chapter vii--going to bed by daylight how the pack mule was buried. heavy obstacles are overcome. a cure for cold feet. the fat boy knows his own capacity. tents are swallowed up in the gloom of an alaskan night. chapter viii--an intruder in the camp the fat boy's singing brings disaster. professor zepplin wields his stick. a wild scrimmage in pajamas. the mystery of the lost ham. "there has been a prowler in this camp while we slept!" chapter ix--a mystery unsolved "it was an indian who did this job." stacy is roped out of bed. two fish on one hook. suspicion is directed toward tad. ned's head suffers the loss of some hair. chapter x--in the home of the thlinkits ned rector is full of fight. stacy makes tad butler dance. chunky plans revenge. the fat boy finds a food emporium. a mother squaw in a rage. chapter xi--the guide who made a hit "me heap big smart man." anvik refuses to "mush" because the spirits are abroad. "him kick like buck caribou." tad butler gets a new title. off for the wilds. chapter xii--in the heart of nature from trail to trackless wilderness. a grilling hike. tad, in a fine shot, bags an antelope. "hooray! maybe that was a chance shot!" a ducking in an icy mountain stream. chapter xiii--a pony rider boy's pluck tad carries the dead doe to camp. "him heap big little man." stacy knows how to "skin the cat." the antelope dressed by the indian guide. fresh meat in plenty now. chapter xiv--stacy bumps the bumps the difficulty of leading a mule. chunky and the animal go over the brink. tin cans rattle down the mountain side. the fat boy hung up by one foot. chapter xv--the story in the dead fire "white boy see almost like indian." campers had left in a hurry. stacy discovers something. eating ice cream with a pickle fork. surrounded by mysteries in the great mountains. chapter xvi--a sign from the mountain top "him white man smoke." the wonders of mountain signaling. friends or enemies? overwhelmed by an avalanche of ice. a roar and an even more terrifying silence. chapter xvii--an unexpected meeting "innua him mad." heap big ice nearly wipes out the pony rider boys' camp. tad makes a morning excursion and meets an unpleasant surprise. chapter xviii--an unfriendly reception tad boldly faces his accusers. threats from the prospectors. a man on butler's trail. tad takes a pot shot and gets immediate results. "stop that shooting, you fool!" the fat boy draws a bead. chapter xix--the professor in a rage "it's a lie!" thunders professor zepplin. ordered out of the hills on penalty of being shot. "if you are looking for trouble you may have all you want!" a threat to punch the prospector's nose. chapter xx--tad discovers something pony rider boys off for bear. the fat boy frightened by a totem pole. in a place of many mysteries. tad makes a great find. a discovery that led to sensational results. chapter xxi--conclusion rifle shots fired into the pony rider boys' camp. miners in a frenzy of joy. butler makes a new find. their boundary markings found destroyed. tad starts on a desperate ride. his claim must be filed ahead of that of the enemy at whatever cost. a race through ice-clogged waters. a fight to the finish before the clerk's desk. a triumph for the gold diggers of taku pass. the end of the long, long trail. the pony rider boys in alaska chapter i through enchanting waters "captain, who are the four silent men leaning over the rail on the other side of the boat?" asked tad butler. "i have been wondering about them almost ever since we left vancouver. they don't seem to speak to a person, and seldom to each other, though somehow they appear to be traveling in company. they act as if they were afraid someone would recognize them. i am sure they aren't bad characters." captain petersen, commander of the steamer "corsair," which for some days had been plowing its way through the ever-changing northern waters, stroked his grizzled beard reflectively. "bad characters, eh?" he twinkled. "well, no, i shouldn't say as they were. they're fair-weather lads. i'll vouch for them if necessary, and i guess i'm about the only person on board that knows who they are." tad waited expectantly until the skipper came to the point of the story he was telling. "they are the gold diggers of taku pass, lad." "the gold diggers of taku pass?" repeated tad butler. "i don't think i ever heard that name before. where is this pass, sir?" the skipper shook his head. "no one knows," he said. "that is strange," wondered butler. "does no one know where they dig for gold?" "no. they don't even know themselves," was the puzzling reply. tad fixed the weather-beaten face of the skipper with a questioning gaze. "i don't think i understand, sir." "i'll tell you what i know about it some other time, lad. i haven't the time to spin the yarn now. it's a long one. i've been sailing up and down these waters, fair weather and foul, for a good many years, and i've seen a fair cargo of strange things in my time, but this digger outfit is the most peculiar one i ever came across. they are a living example of what the lure of gold means when it gets into a man's system. gold is all right. i wish i had more of it; but, my boy, don't ever let the love of it get to the windward of you if you hope to enjoy peace of mind afterwards," concluded the skipper with emphasis. "what's that he says about gold?" interjected stacy brown, more commonly known to his companions as chunky, the fat boy. stacy, with ned rector and walter perkins, had been lounging against the starboard rail of the "corsair," observing tad and the captain as they talked. a few paces forward sat professor zepplin, their traveling companion, wholly absorbed in a scientific discussion with an engineer who was on his way to an alaskan mine, of which the latter was to assume control. many other passengers were strolling about the decks of the "corsair." there were seasoned miners with bearded faces; sharp-eyed, sharp-featured men with shifty eyes; pale-faced prospectors on their way to the land of promise, in quest of the yellow metal; capitalists going to alaska to look into this or that claim with a view to investment; and, more in evidence than all the rest, a large list of tourists bound up the coast on a merry holiday. the former, in most instances, were quiet, reserved men, the latter talkative and boisterous. "the captain was speaking of the lure that gold holds for the human race," replied tad butler in answer to stacy brown's question. "i guess the captain is right, too." "be warned in time, chunky," added rector. "i've never seen enough gold to become lured by it," retorted the fat boy. "i should like to see enough to excite me just once. i shouldn't mind being lured that way. would you, walt?" walter perkins shook his head and smiled. "i fear you will have to shake yourself--get over your natural laziness--before you can hope to," chuckled ned. "i doubt if you would know a lure if you met one on main street in chillicothe." "try me and see," grinned stacy. "there must be a lot of gold up here, judging from what i have read, and from the number of persons going after it," added tad, with a sweeping gesture that included the deckload of miners and prospectors. "but the hardships and the heart-breakings must be terrible. i have read a lot about the terrors that men have gone through in this country, especially in the awful winters they have in alaska." "i shouldn't mind them if i had a sledge and a pack of dogs to tote me around, the way they do up here," declared chunky. "that would be great fun," agreed young perkins. "you wouldn't have far to fall if you got bucked off from that kind of broncho, would you, stacy?" "not unless you fell off a mountain," answered ned, glancing at the distant towering cliffs of the coast range. "i was asking the captain about those four men yonder," said tad. "oh, the fellows who don't speak to anyone?" nodded rector. "yes." "who are they? i have wondered about them." "i don't know their names, but the skipper tells me they are known as the gold diggers of taku pass," replied butler. "the queer part of it is, he says, that no one, so far as he is aware, knows even that there is such a place as taku pass. they don't know themselves," added tad with a smile. "that's strange," wondered rector. "crazy?" "no, i think not. they are prospecting for an unknown claim," replied tad. "i--i don't know anything about that," spoke up stacy brown. "but i know who those fellows are." "you do?" exclaimed the boys in chorus. "yes. i asked them. that's the way to find out what you want to know, isn't it?" chuckled stacy. "who are they?" asked butler laughingly. "the minery-looking fellow is sam dawson. the one beside him is curtis darwood. the tall, slim chap nearest to us is dill bruce. they call him the pickle for short." "he looks sour enough to be one," laughed walter. "the other chap, the little one, is curley tinker. and there you have the whole outfit. i'll introduce you to them if you like," volunteered chunky. "no, thank you. i already have tried to talk with the men, but they don't seem inclined to open their mouths," replied butler. "it strikes me that you have made more progress that anyone else on this boat, so far as the four gold diggers are concerned," added rector, addressing chunky. "yes, i am convinced that chunky is rather forward," agreed tad. "oh, no one can resist me," averred the fat boy. "anything else you want to know, tad?" "yes, a great deal. but here is the captain. he will tell me." captain petersen had taken a fancy to the boys almost from the first. he had learned who they were early on that voyage, and in the meantime they had become very well acquainted with the commander of the "corsair." he had taken pains to explain to the lads many things about the country past which they were sailing--things that otherwise they would not have known, and the voyage was proving very interesting to them, as well as to professor zepplin himself. "come below now and i'll tell you the story," invited captain petersen, starting to descend the after companionway. "all of you come along. that will save your asking questions later on," he smiled. "you see, he invited you on my account," chuckled stacy brown, tapping his breast with the tips of his fingers. the lads filed down the companionway behind the captain, and when they had finally settled themselves in the skipper's cabin and he had lighted his pipe, he began to speak. "i always come below and put my feet on the table after we pass the shoal of seals," he explained. "that is the time i take my 'watch below,' as we call it, when we come down for a rest or a sleep. but you are eager to hear the story. very good. here goes. a good many years ago an expedition came up to this part of the world on an exploring mission. in that party was a dr. darwood from some place in the east. i don't believe i ever heard the name of the place, and if i knew the state i have forgotten it. well, to make a long story short, the party was ambushed by the kak-wan-tan indians. every man of the party was captured and all were put to death, with the exception of dr. darwood. somehow, the indians had learned that he was a big medicine man, so they made the doctor captive and took him over the mountains many miles from there. they probably killed the others so as to make sure of the doctor." "what did they want with a medicine man?" interjected the fat boy. "they wanted him professionally. their chief was a very sick man. i guess the old gentleman was about ready to die. at least he thought so. the chief bore the name of chief anna-hoots. nice name, eh? no wonder he got sick." "he must have belonged to the owl family," observed chunky. tad rebuked the fat boy with a look. the captain regarded stacy quizzically, then proceeded with his story. "their own medicine man had been killed by a bear. you see his medicine wasn't calculated to head off bears. the chief, therefore, was in a bad way. dr. darwood was commanded to make the chief well, and, so the story goes, after examining hoots, he at once saw what was the trouble with the old man. he set to work over the savage, not so much from a professional interest as that he knew very well his life would be forfeited did he not do something for the patient. it is a safe guess that the doctor never had worked more heroically over a patient. well, he saved the chief--had him on his feet and hopping around as lively as a jack-rabbit in less than twenty-four hours. there was great rejoicing among anna's people, and darwood was feasted and made much of. he was almost as big a man as old hoots himself. nothing was too good for him in that camp." "why didn't he poison the whole tribe while he had the chance?" questioned rector. "perhaps it wasn't professional," smiled the captain in reply. "but chief anna-hoots--precious old rascal that he was--was so grateful that he made the doctor chief medicine man over all the tribes and a tribal chief of one of the subordinate tribes. and now we are coming to the point of our story. old hoots, later on, let the doctor into a great secret. having driven the evil spirits out of anna and set him on his feet almost as good as new, the patient evidently was of the opinion that the medicine man was entitled to something more than the ordinary fee for such a service. he took the doctor to a place where a roaring glacial stream of icy water was tearing down through a narrow gash in the mountains on its way to the sea, and there he showed the doctor-chief gold in great quantities, so the story runs, the pass being guarded by the bear totem. it is not certain whether the vein from which this gold had been washed was then known. i think darwood must have found it later on and located a claim. he at least took from the mouth of the pass enough gold to make him a fairly rich man. this he hid away, awaiting a favorable opportunity to get away with it. such opportunity presented itself while his tribe was away on a hunt in the fall for meat for the winter, and made his escape. after some months of terrible hardships he succeeded in reaching civilization, fairly staggering under the weight of the gold he had brought away. he had the gold-madness badly, you see." "he was plucky," muttered butler. "yes. it was darwood's intention to return, at the head of a well-armed party, properly equipped, and work the pay dirt to its limit. but he died before he could do so. the hardships of that journey, loaded down with dust and nuggets, led to his ultimate death. you see what avarice will do to a fellow. it gets to windward of him every time." "i'd be willing to stagger under all i could carry and take my chances on the future," observed chunky reflectively. "so would we all," nodded the skipper. "that's the worst of us, our greed. i am glad i am at sea, where i _can't_ dig. nothing was done in the matter of locating and working the claim for some years after the doctor's death. then a grandson, curtis darwood, who is now aboard this boat, found a paper or map or something of the sort, on which was a description of the doctor's find. it couldn't have been very definite or they wouldn't have been so long in locating the place. of course, the younger man was fired with the desire to find this wonderful mine. the lure had him fast and hard. he came up here alone the first time and prospected all summer, but failed, and late that fall he went back home. when he returned the three other men, who are his companions now, were with him. they have been together ever since in their prospecting work. dawson is a pioneer prospector who knows the game thoroughly. the others, who have been up here three years, might now be placed in the same class, though dawson is the real miner. one can't help but admire their pluck and persistence, but i shouldn't want to be caught interfering with them. when a fellow gets the gold madness he is a dangerous customer to annoy." "have they found the gold?" asked walter perkins. captain petersen shook his head. "i think not. if they have, only they know it. they take no one into their confidence. they went home for the winter last fall, and what amazes me further is that they are getting up here so late this spring. here it is june. they should have been on the job six weeks ago, and in order to do so they ought to have wintered in the hills. to me that means something. it will be a wonder if this unusual move on their part doesn't attract attention. you may believe they are watched. there are, no doubt, those who are watching the diggers, and who do not miss any of their movements." the skipper hesitated, then brought a big fist down on his cabin table with a bang that set the glassware jingling. "by george, i begin to see a light!" he roared. "what do you mean?" cried chunky. "what is it, sir?" chorused tad and ned in one voice. "that accounts for red whiskers. that accounts for his presence on--" the skipper checked himself suddenly. "but no matter. it isn't for me to say." he lapsed into thoughtful silence. "well, what do you think of the story?" he asked a few moments later. "it is all very remarkable," answered butler. "where are they going--their destination, i mean?" "you never can tell. they have explored pretty much all of the country within a few hundred miles of here, and it wouldn't surprise me at all if they had stumbled over the right place dozens of times and didn't know it. but there is one significant fact. they have brought up a lot of equipment this time. it looks as if they thought they had the place pretty well located. it certainly does look that way. there's another thing i forgot to tell you. this place, this pass where the gold is supposed to lie, is the abode of a great and angry spirit." "a really, truly spirit?" questioned walter wonderingly. "i can't say about the really-truly business," replied captain petersen, with a grin. "i am telling you the story as i have heard it. had old hoots' tribe known that the doctor went in there and dug out gold which he salted away they would have put him to death. it's a sacred place. it was then, and i'll wager it is now. you may believe that the superstition has been handed down." "but the indians up here now are not at all savage, are they?" asked butler. "perhaps not where the white man has taken possession in force. but you get into the far interior--there is a great deal of alaska that the white man knows very little about yet--and you will find them savage enough, provided they think they have you in a pocket, and especially so if you interfere with any of their religious customs or beliefs. in these respects they are simply human." "i should call them inhuman," observed the fat boy. "i don't blame them," nodded tad. "now, that is the story of the gold diggers, so far as i know it," continued the captain. "as i have already said, not many persons up here do know it. a veil of mystery surrounds the four silent men. they make no other friends, confide in no one, and live in a little world all their own. the story, as i have repeated it to you, was told to me by a man from their part of the country who came up here to spend the summer last season. that is how i came to know the details. it is possible, though not probable, that you might get them to tell you something about the country." "i'll make them talk," answered stacy pompously. "what is their destination?" asked butler quickly. "skagway. however, that undoubtedly is a blind. they may be going on farther from that point, or they may be intending to work back along the coast after they leave the ship, then strike into the hills at some remote point. i can't say as to that, of course. they will disappear. you may depend upon that, and nothing may be heard of them again for a year." "what do they do for provisions?" questioned rector. "the same as you will have to do if you penetrate far into the interior. they hunt and fish, saving their canned supplies for the winter, for the winter months are long and drear up in this far northern country." "when does winter set in?" asked ned. "very early. it seems to be most always winter up here." "thank you very much," said tad. "this has been most interesting. i should like to ask them something about the country where we are going. of course i shouldn't presume to question them about their own affairs. that would be none of my business." "where are you going?" "we had planned to strike north from yakutat." "you will find rough country that way. i should say you would have tough traveling all the way. if you can get the gold diggers to open up, they will undoubtedly be able to give you some useful information that would enable you to lay your course to the best advantage. but i think i know the diggers. you may not be able to get a civil word out of them." "they'll talk to me," answered the fat boy confidently. "please don't permit yourself to be overcome," warned rector. "remember your most excellent opinion of yourself has been the cause of some mighty falls already." "well, i fell in soft spots anyhow," retorted stacy. "ordinarily on your head, i believe," answered ned quickly. again thanking the captain for his kindness, the lads returned to the deck. tad leaned against the rail thinking over the story related by the skipper. the romance of the quest of the diggers appealed to butler's adventure-loving nature. he declared to himself that he would draw them into conversation and satisfy his further curiosity. looking them over in the light of what he had heard, tad saw that the four were determined-looking men, were men who would do and dare, no matter how great the obstacles or the perils. he could not but feel a keen admiration for them. they were real men, even if they were surly and reticent. "tad, how would you like to belong to that party of prospectors?" asked ned, nodding toward the four. "i can't imagine anything more exciting. i wish we might. i wonder if they are going our way?" "why don't you ask them?" "i intend to," answered tad, rousing himself and starting towards the prospectors who were lounging apart from the other passengers on the deck of the steamer. "watch him get turned down," grinned stacy. "i shall have to break the ice for him. he never will be able to do it for himself." "better wait until you are asked," advised ned rector. as stacy had said, tad did not succeed in getting into conversation with the diggers that day. early on the following morning the boys were on deck, being unwilling to miss a single moment of the scenery. the "corsair" was swinging majestically into queen charlotte sound, a splendid sweep of purple water, where great waves from the pacific rolled in, sending the steamer plunging desperately. there was a scurry on the part of many of the early risers to get below decks, for the change from the quiet waters through which the boat had been sailing to this tumultuous sea was more than most of them were able to stand. stacy brown was already on his back in the shadow of a life boat, groaning miserably. walter perkins' face was pale, but he held himself together by a strong effort of will, but tad butler and ned rector appeared not in the least affected by the roll of the steamer. both were lost in admiration of the scene that was unfolding before them. "they roll along with the lightness of thistledown across a green field," declared tad enthusiastically, speaking to himself. "it is simply glorious." he heard someone come to the rail at his side, but the lad was too fully absorbed to look around. "that wasn't bad for a sentiment, young fellow," said a voice at his elbow. "if you stay up in this country long enough, however, you will get all the sentiment frozen out of you. i know, for i've been all through it. i'm lucky that my bones aren't up yonder somewhere." "yes, sir," answered butler. glancing around he found himself gazing into the face of curtis darwood. chapter ii the boys scent a plot "oh, how do you do, sir. did i say anything?" "well, there's a chance for a difference of opinion as to that," smiled the miner. "i have been enjoying the scenery, sir. isn't it beautiful?" "you should see it at sunrise," answered darwood. "these mists are well worth coming all the way up here to gaze upon. in the morning they take on all the delicate tints of the primrose. then at sunset of course the colors grow warmer--amber, orange, gold--almost everything that could be imagined in the way of wonderful colorings. all that sort of thing, you know. i never saw anything like it in any part of the world, and i've seen some," added the gold digger reflectively. "i should like to see it at sunset," answered tad. "is it ever like this in the interior, sir?" "interior of what?" "of the country? up there in the mountains?" darwood gave the boy a quick glance of inquiry. there was suspicion in his eyes. "in the far country?" added butler. "i can't say as to that; i can't say that i know," replied the prospector shortly. "what we wanted to ask you about was the yakutat trail from the coast up?" interjected ned. "you see, we are going that way and we want to get all the information we can about the trails and the country itself." tad gave his companion a warning look, but ned persisted in pressing his questioning. the miner's hands dropped from the rail. "i reckon you would better ask someone else. i can't tell you anything about the trail," replied darwood, turning on his heel and striding away. "there, you've done it now," complained butler ruefully. "of course you had to break in and spoil it all. now we shan't get another opportunity. mr. darwood is suspicious of us, and he won't talk with us again. it's too bad." "well, you wanted to know. what's the use in beating about the bush when you want to know a thing. i believe in asking for what you want," protested ned. "so do i, but it isn't always best to go at it bald-headed. however, never mind, ned. i am now convinced that there would be little use in asking mr. darwood questions in any circumstances. the instant you begin to talk alaska with that man he is going to shy off. he fears he might be trapped into an admission, or else he thinks we are trying to pump him for some other reason. you may be sure that others have tried to draw him out, believing they might obtain information that he is supposed to possess." "they are a queer lot," muttered ned. "didn't the captain say no one knew anything about this gold pass, or whatever you call it?" "taku pass? yes. that is, he said few persons knew of it, but you may be sure that the purpose of these men up here is known. there are plenty of gentlemen waiting to beat those four into the land of golden promise. i don't blame the diggers for having their suspicions of everyone about them. i wish i could convince them that we aren't that sort of people. i like that fellow. i'd like to help him, too," mused tad. "i shouldn't. however, i'm sorry i put my foot in it," nodded ned. "you needn't be. see! we are running out of the swell now." the steamer, soon coming under the lee of the islands, was steaming into fitzhugh sound, where dangerous shoals menace the navigators of these enchanting waters. captain petersen was now occupying the little bridge just forward of the pilot house. his face was grim and set. the good fellow was no longer present--it was now the master, bent upon attending to his duties. the sound is a slender waterway, extending directly northward fully thirty miles, more entrancing, it seemed to the boys, than any other water over which they had sailed. the pony rider boys were having a glorious passage into the far north where they were going in search of new adventure. they were bound for the wildest and most remote section of uncle sam's domain, where they hoped to spend the summer months. now that the waters had become more quiet, stacy brown slowly dragged himself from the shadow of the life-boat and stood gripping the gunwale. after getting his head leveled somewhat he walked unsteadily to his companions who were leaning on the steamer's rail regarding him with smiling faces. "sick?" questioned tad. "no; merely ailing," replied the fat boy. "i wouldn't be a landlubber," jeered rector. "you would, if you were in my place," muttered stacy. on through a panorama of changing scenes and colors sailed the "corsair." in finlayson channel, some distance farther on, the forest that lined the shores was a solid mountain of green on each side, the trees growing down to the water. here the reflections were so brilliant that the dividing line between shore and water was difficult for the untrained eye to make out. the boys seemed to be gazing upon an optical illusion. from the water's edge the mountains rose sheer to a great height, their distant peaks capped with snow glistening in the morning sunlight, while glacial streams flashed over the open spaces on the mountain sides. "is there no end to it?" wondered tad butler, gazing at the scenery until his eyes ached. "it is all very wonderful," agreed professor zepplin. "i call it tiresome," declared the fat boy wearily. "i prefer something exciting." ned suggested that he jump overboard. stacy replied that he would were it not that he didn't want to put his companions to the trouble of rescuing him. the entrancing scenery continued at intervals until the evening of the second day after their unsuccessful attempt to draw out curtis darwood. they were now passing through frederick sound, bordered by spire-shaped glaciers that towered in the sky, pale and chaste, more than two thousand feet above the sound. darkness fell, the sky being overcast, and the air chill, giving the passengers the shivers and sending them to their cabins below. tad butler and ned rector had clambered to the top of the deck-house and settled themselves between the two smokestacks. it was a nice warm berth and they appreciated it. they seemed far away from human habitation there. "you said you had something to tell me this evening," ned reminded his companion, after a few moments of contented silence. "yes. it was about last night. you remember that remark of the skipper's the other day, don't you?" "about what?" "what he said about 'red whiskers'?" "yes." "i have the gentleman located, ned. i am reasonably certain that i have. of course it's none of my business, but i have been curious ever since the captain said that. my man has red whiskers, regular combustible whiskers," added the freckle-faced boy with a grin. "there are several men on board this boat who wear red upholstery on their chins," averred rector. "i know that, but this one is the fellow, all right," declared tad in a confident tone. "you know something!" exclaimed ned. "i do. don't speak so loudly. someone might hear. i heard someone passing along the deck just below us a moment ago." "no one down there could distinguish what we were saying," answered ned, as the two drew back farther between the steel bases of the two funnels. "well?" urged ned. "the man referred to by captain petersen is sandy ketcham, the tall, lank fellow, with the squinty eyes and the stoop shoulders. he has a trick of peering up from under his eyelids when he looks at you." "oh! i know the one you mean, and i don't like his looks. how did you know?" "since the captain made that remark about 'red whiskers' i have been taking an interest in every man on the boat who wore red whiskers," said tad. "i tried to decide, in my own mind, which of them was the right one." "so did i," admitted ned. "but i got all mixed up. if you succeeded in picking out the right one you are mighty sharp. i wish i were as keen as you." "keen? not a bit of it! it was a pure accident that i found out. i just blundered on the truth last night. the man i had picked out wasn't the fellow at all. i had the wrong man, so you see i am not so smart as you thought. you remember you left stacy and myself sitting on a bale of freight at the rear end of the boat when you went down late last evening?" "yes. chunky was half asleep." "exactly. well, i shook him up a few moments later and he went below grumbling because i wouldn't let him sleep when he was so comfortable. he was liable to catch cold in the damp air. then i went to sleep myself," admitted butler. "i'm not much of an adviser, am i?" "go on," urged rector. "something awakened me. two men were talking nearby. i couldn't see them, but could hear every word they said. one of the two i recognized by his voice. the other i was unable to place. i got him placed right to-day though, when i heard him talking on deck. they are a precious pair of rascals, ned. perhaps it is considered fair enough up here to do those things, but i just can't hold myself when i see crookedness going on." "you haven't said what it was about yet," reminded ned. "they were plotting against darwood." "you don't say?" "yes, they were." "how?" "i am not going to tell you now. the question is, ought i to tell mr. darwood? would it be right to carry tales, even in a case like this?" "not knowing what the case is i can't very well advise you," answered ned rector. "what did they say?" "i'd rather not say a word about that until i have decided what to do." "you're a queer chap, tad. you arouse my curiosity; then you won't satisfy it." "you shall know all about it in good time. hark! was that you who kicked the collar of the stack?" "no. i didn't hear anything. who was the other man?" "his name is ainsworth. he is a prospector, too. they are together, he and the man sandy. there are some others in the plot, as i learned from the conversation, but i hardly think they are on board. i take it that the others are to meet this party at skagway, which proves to me that the plans of our friends, the four gold diggers, were learned by the plotters some time before the former set sail for the north country. oh, it is a fine game of grab they are planning! but i believe that, if mr. darwood be warned in time, he will be perfectly able to take care of himself. i am quite sure i shouldn't care to be the other fellow." "i don't know why we should get so excited over it," grumbled ned. "darwood and his companions are no friends of ours. i should say that quite the opposite is the case." "but they are real men, just the same," objected tad. "i don't care whether they are friendly to us or not. come on; let's get down." grasping awning spars the two lads swung down to the promenade of the upper deck. after they had cleared the deck-house a man dropped to the deck from the deck-house, on the opposite side. after a few moments' stroll, during which the boys continued their conversation, they went below. on reaching his cabin, butler discovered that he had lost his pocket knife. thinking that it had slipped from his pocket while the two were lounging on the deck-house, tad went back to look for it. he was the only person in sight on deck. that part of the deck was unlighted, save as a faint glow shone up through the engine room grating. the freckle-faced boy looked carefully about on top of the deck-house for several minutes, in search of his lost knife, lighting match after match to aid him in his quest. he failed to find it. with a grunt of disappointment he again swung himself to the deck. the instant his feet touched the deck, tad butler met with a violent surprise. he was suddenly grabbed from behind. a powerful arm gripped him like a vise, pinioning his own right arm to his side, while a big hand was clapped over his mouth, forcing the lad's head violently backwards with a jolt which for the moment he thought had dislocated his neck. tad struggled and fought with all his might, but to little purpose. the boy realized that he was in the hands of a man who was a giant for strength and who was slowly but surely forcing him toward the steamer's rail. the pony rider boy felt a bushy beard over his shoulder and against his neck. now he was against the rail, facing out over the water. butler knew that, despite his struggles, he was going to be dropped over the side. then a sudden idea came to him. tad shot up his free left hand, fastening his fingers in the long beard of the man behind him. he heard a smothered exclamation over his shoulder, and for the instant the hand over his mouth was withdrawn. "help!" shouted tad butler. then a blow on the head sent him limply to the deck. chapter iii in desperate straits tad's assailant hastily gathered the boy up. the man staggered slightly, as, after a hurried glance up and down the deck, he stepped toward the rail with his burden. just then footsteps were heard. "hey! what are you doing there?" bellowed a voice. a man came running from somewhere in the after part of the ship. butler's assailant dropped his burden, dodged into a passageway in the deck-house, closing the door behind him and disappearing before the newcomer reached the door and threw it open. then the rescuer turned to the unconscious tad butler. "well, here's trouble!" he muttered. taking up tad's limp form he carried it to where the light from the grating shone up. "it's that freckle-faced kid. somebody gave him a tough wallop," growled the man. tad's rescuer was sam dawson, one of the gold diggers. "i reckon i'll fetch him around if his neck isn't broken." laying the lad down on the deck where he would have plenty of air, the digger worked over the pony rider boy for fully five minutes before tad returned to consciousness. butler was too dazed to realize what had occurred. "i'll take you below now, my lad," said dawson. "no, no. not yet," protested tad. "wait. i want to think." "who was the fellow who hit you?" demanded dawson. "i--i don't know," stammered tad. "what did he do it for?" "i--i don't know. i--" "you aren't very strong on information, are you?" grinned the prospector. "i want--want to see mr. darwood." "you can see him to-morrow. you'd better get into your bunk right smart. i'll help you down." "thank you. i'll go alone--in a minute," said butler, pulling himself up by the rail to which he clung unsteadily. "i don't want anyone to know. i'll tell mr. darwood what i have to say." "have it your own way. i'm going to follow along behind, to see that you get down all right," answered the man. "thank you. i guess you saved me from getting a wetting," said the boy, extending an impulsive hand. "now i'll go to my cabin. please don't say anything about this. good-night." tad's progress below was slow and unsteady. dawson watched him until the door of the cabin had closed behind the pony rider boy. "that's a raw deal," muttered the miner. "i'd like to punch the head of the fellow who would do that to a kid!" butler got into his bunk without awakening his companions. his head ached terribly, and it was a long time before he fell asleep. the next morning his head felt twice its ordinary size. the boys joked him on his appearance, but tad merely smiled, refusing to say what had been the matter with him. ned was suspicious. he knew that butler had been engaged in a scuffle, but what it was he was unable to imagine. tad had been strolling about the decks all the morning, as if in search of someone. he found the man he was seeking late in the forenoon. the man was sitting on a keg of nails on the after part of the upper deck, his back to tad. "good morning, mr. ketcham," greeted the pony rider boy. the red-whiskered man whirled, letting the hand that had been caressing his beard fall limply to his side. "beard hurt you?" questioned tad sweetly. "none of yer business!" was the surly reply. "mr. ketcham, i know you and i know your game," began butler in a low, even tone. "i know, too, that you are the man who assaulted me and tried to put me overboard." "i don't know what ye're talking about," growled sandy. "oh, yes you do--and so do i! i've a handful of whiskers which match perfectly those you are wearing. shall i pull some more for comparison with those i already have?" questioned the boy aggravatingly. ketcham half rose, then settled back again, as if fearing to trust himself. "you may be thankful that you didn't do it. my companions would have taken care of you, had anything happened to me," tad went on composedly. "i want to say, now, that it would be good judgment on your part not to try any more strong-arm tactics on me or on my companions. if you do, you will instantly find yourself in more kinds of trouble than you have ever before experienced. now that we know you, we shall be able to take care of you as you deserve. i reckon you know what that means, red whiskers." "get out of here, before i do something to you!" roared sandy. "oh, no you won't! you don't dare raise your hand. i could turn you over to the captain and have you placed in irons till we get ashore. i have proof enough to send you to a jail, if they have such places up here. but i'm not going to do that. i am going to be fair with you and tell you exactly what i propose. i am going to tell curtis darwood about you. no, i shan't tell him who it is. i will tell him that someone is following and watching him--you and ainsworth. he will find you out, never fear. i will give you one chance. get off at the next stop, and i will tell him after we leave there. take your choice. take your friend with you. i don't want to be responsible for any shooting on this boat. what do you say, mr. sandy?" the fellow's fingers opened and closed nervously. he attempted to speak but failed three times. finally he blurted out his answer: "will you git out of here? i'll lose myself in a minit; then i won't answer for what i do." "never mind," answered tad laughingly. "i can take care of myself. _your_ kind never did scare me worth a cent." sandy sprang up. he hesitated for a few tense seconds, then strode forward with butler's soft chuckle in his ears. the two men did get off when the boat stopped late that afternoon. tad was at the rail watching them. sam dawson was also an observer of the scene. he saw the threatening scowl that ketcham gave the smiling tad, and drew his own conclusions, and at the same time decided that the freckle-faced boy was pretty well able to hold his own. dawson really suspected part of the reason for this hasty disembarking, though he thought it was because tad had threatened to expose the man ketcham. it was after supper when tad called ned rector aside. "i promised to tell you, ned. come with me and listen to what i am going to tell mr. darwood." ned went willingly. darwood was sitting on deck. tad halted before him, darwood glancing up at the boys with languid interest. "may i speak with you?" asked the lad politely. "i reckon there's nothing to prevent," was the careless answer. tad went direct to the point of his story. "a night or so ago i chanced to overhear two men who were passengers on this boat talking of you and the gentlemen who were with you. they were planning to follow and watch you. they thought you had discovered the claim for which you have been looking for so long." darwood shot an angry glance at the boy. "go on," he growled. "from their conversation i inferred that perhaps you already had discovered this claim and were on your way with equipment to work it. i further understood that they were to be met by others on shore and that the party was then to divide up and cover the movements of yourself and your friends. one of these fellows, i think, overheard me telling part of this story to my friend, ned, last night, and the man tried to throw me overboard, after nearly squeezing me to death and then punching my head. i merely wanted to warn you to be on the lookout, and at the same time to tell you that neither of the two men is on board now. you may draw your own conclusions, sir." ned rector's face had flushed when tad described the assault on himself. "is that all?" asked darwood indifferently. "yes; i think so." "thank you," said the gold digger, getting up slowly and strolling forward. ned laughed; tad flushed. "that's what you get for meddling with other folks' business," declared rector. "i reckon you are right at that," answered tad. then he laughed heartily. nor did he exchange another word with the gold diggers of taku pass during the rest of that journey on the "corsair." chapter iv on the overland trail it was the early morn of a week later when the "corsair" sailed into skagway harbor. exclamations of delight were heard from every person who had not been there before. this beautiful spot is located at the mouth of the skagway river, with mountains rising on all sides, from which countless cascades rush foaming and sparkling down to the sea, or drop sheer from such heights that one is forced to catch his breath. skagway itself the pony rider boys found gay with pretty cottages climbing over the foot-hills; well-worn, flower-strewn paths leading to the heights; the river's waters rippling over grassy flats; flower gardens beyond the power of their vocabularies to describe. added to this, there was a sweetness in the air, which, as stacy brown expressed it, "makes a fellow feel like sitting down and doing nothing for the rest of his life." there were many trips to be taken from the city, perhaps the most historic in all that wild country. the boys journeyed out into the interior on the famous white pass railway, climbed mount dewey to dewey lake, and took a look at the hunting grounds where mountain sheep were to be had providing one were quick enough on the trigger to get the little animals before they leaped away. the next morning they turned their attention to the task of purchasing such of their outfit as they had not yet procured. having been referred to a man who kept alaskan ponies for sale, they tramped out to the end of the long street on which the stores were located. there, sure enough, was a large herd of them in a paddock in a vacant lot. there were a good many vacant lots in skagway. the boys climbed the paddock fence and looked over the lot. "me for that black one over yonder," cried chunky. "why the black one?" asked ned. "i thought you liked the lighter colors, the delicate tints?" "i do when some other fellow has to groom the animals. for a labor-saving color give me black every time. with a black horse i can sleep half an hour longer than any fellow who has a white one and yet be ready for breakfast as soon as he is." "you're too lazy to change your mind," growled ned rector. "you want the black one, you say?" questioned tad. "that's what i said." "and you, ned?" "oh, i don't care. i'll stand by your choice." "so will i," spoke up walter. "the professor said you were to choose something in his class for him to ride, too." "buy him a mule!" yelled chunky. "yes, that reminds me. we shall have to take a couple of mules. i wonder if we can get them here. there comes the owner of this herd. we'll talk to him." the owner of the ponies had been expecting the visit of the boys. he had been told that they would require ponies and did not know that the pony rider boys had formed conclusions about them in advance. tad introduced himself and his companions. "i've got just what you want, boys," nodded the owner. "every one of those fellows is kind and gentle and will stand without hitching." "that isn't exactly what we are looking for. we are not particular about their being girls' horses. we want stock that has the gimp in it," tad informed him. "that's it, that's it. you've just hit it. gimp! that's the word, and there's another that fits--ginger! they're just full of ginger, every one of them. there ain't any more lively nags in alaska than these fellows." "they must have changed within the last minute, then," smiled the pony rider boy. "how so?" "why, you were just telling us how gentle they are, then almost in the same breath you try to convince us that they are regular whirlwinds. however, we'll let that go. what i do want to know is what sort of mountain ponies they are. if they turn out not to be good mountain climbers you may look for some trouble when we get back here." "boys, every one of those nags has been brought up in this country. they can follow a mountain trail like a deerhound, and that's straight. i wouldn't sell you anything else." "oh, no, certainly not," answered butler. "how much for the light-colored one?" "the buckskin?" "yes." "two hundred and fifty dollars." "i beg pardon?" asked tad politely. "two hundred and fifty." "i think you misunderstood me, sir. i didn't want to buy the whole herd." "you wanted five ponies?" "yes, sir." "well, there you are. the buckskin will cost you two-fifty and so will the black. you can have any of the rest for two hundred and they're cheap hosses at that." "lead them out." "then you'll take them at that?" "i haven't said anything about taking them, yet. i said lead them out. i want to look them over." the owner smiled, but nodded to his hostler to rope and show the animals to the young men. tad examined a dozen head, out of which he got three ponies, motioning to the hostler to tether them to one side where he could look them over again. "what's the matter with the others?" asked the man. "various things. some are wind-broken, two have the distemper, and if you don't watch out your whole herd will be getting it. i shall be rather afraid to buy any stock of you on that account. how long have they had the disease?" "i didn't know they had it at all," stammered the owner. "you had better watch them pretty carefully, then. how old is that buckskin?" "just coming four." "did somebody tell you that, or did you learn it from your own observation?" questioned tad butler sweetly. "i reckon i know a hoss's age when i look at his mouth," answered the man, but not quite with the same assurance that he had made his first statements. this clear-eyed, quiet young man, he began to understand, knew a little something about horses, or at least pretended to. "then, sir, you have neglected your horse education. the buckskin is twelve years old," declared butler firmly. "mebby i might have made a mistake in looking at his mouth when i got him," answered the owner apologetically. suppressed grins might have been observed on the faces of the other boys, who were still sitting on the paddock fence. they were leaving all matters pertaining to the stock in butler's hands, knowing full well that tad's judgment was better than theirs. in turn the lad once more examined the horses he had chosen, then added to them enough to make up their allotment. "stacy, you are quite sure you want the black?" he questioned. the fat boy nodded. "he has a slight ringbone," tad informed him. "all the better." "why do you say that? i never knew that a ringbone increased the value of a horse." "a horse that wears rings must be a pretty classy horse," replied the fat boy. "me for the horse with the jewelry. put a pair of natty boots on him and there you have an outfit that would make a mexican part with his spurs." "pshaw!" grunted ned. "very fancy, but not much good for real work." "stacy doesn't mean that," answered tad with a tolerant smile. "yes, i do mean it." "we need a pack mule," said butler, turning to the owner. "can you tell us where we may get one or two?" "why, i've got just the critters you want. they're in the yard just back of the stables. say, jim, drive out the mules." there were five mules in the pack driven out for their examination. these started slowly moving about in a circle with heads well down, trailing each other as if following a regular routine. "fine young stock, hardy and true and quick," said the owner, rubbing his palms together. "we don't want any quick one. we've had some experience with the quick kind," declared stacy brown. "they were so quick i couldn't get out of the way of their heels. no, siree, no quick mules for mine." "i don't think you need worry much about these," smiled tad. "how much do you ask for those fellows?" "how many?" "two. i to take my pick." "a hundred apiece." "i wouldn't give that for the lot of them," scoffed chunky. "keep still. you aren't making this bargain," rebuked ned, giving the fat boy a poke in the ribs. tad made a brief calculation on a slip of paper, then he looked up severely. "five ponies at seventy-five dollars would amount to three hundred and seventy-five dollars. two mules at forty each would be eighty more, making a total of four hundred and fifty-five dollars," said butler. "i'll tell you what i will do. i will give you an even four hundred for the five ponies i have picked out and the two mules that i shall choose." "outrageous!" exploded the owner. "why, those mules are worth half of the price you offer for the whole outfit." "nonsense! those mules have been used on crushers in the mines. any one could see that by watching them mill about in a circle--" "five hundred dollars," broke in the owner. "nothing doing, sir," answered tad. "four hundred even." "i'll make it four-fifty-five and not a cent less." "come along, fellows. i know where we can get a better lot for the money, anyway," declared tad with a note of finality in his tone. "don't i get my skate?" wailed chunky. "not at the price he asks. never mind, i'll find you something better for the money." tad had already started away. his companions got slowly down from the fence and followed, while the owner of the stock stood mopping his forehead. "here, take 'em!" he cried. "i might as well give them away, i suppose. i need the money, but you're getting them for nothing." "you are wrong. as it is we are paying you a hundred dollars more than the outfit is worth. here is your money. give me a receipt in full. we will get the stock out some time this afternoon." "you're the hardest driver of a bargain i ever come up with," protested the man. "you know you don't mean that. if we hadn't known something about horses you know you would have done us to a turn," answered tad, laughing. "yes, i do believe in driving a bargain, but i wouldn't ask a man to sell me a thing at a lower price than it was worth. just keep these animals cut out if you will, unless you want to go to the bother of cutting them out again." "i got my skate," grinned chunky as they were walking back towards the hotel where they were to meet the professor. the latter had given butler the money for the stock earlier in the day, knowing full well that tad could make a much better bargain than could he. tad had made a fair bargain. he had obtained a good lot of stock and he planned, furthermore, to sell the animals after finishing their journey, which would reduce the cost at least to a nominal sum. the rest of the day was devoted to gathering supplies and packing. the boys had brought their saddles, bridles and other equipment of this nature with them, including tents and lighter camp equipment. in the meantime they had looked about for a guide, but without success. they were told that no doubt they would be able to find a man for their purpose upon their arrival at yakutat, a hundred miles further on. the trail to that place, their informant told them, was a post trail which they would find no difficulty in following. the post rider would not be going through for another three days, and at any rate he undoubtedly would travel faster than they cared to do. it was decided, therefore, that they should start out without a guide on the morrow and make their way to yakutat as best they might. the start was made in the early morning, the great mountains and the waters beneath it bathed in wondrous tints such as one finds nowhere outside of these far northern regions. the boys were light-hearted, happy, and were looking forward eagerly to experiences in the wilds of alaska that should wholly satisfy their longings for activity and adventure. chapter v traveling a dangerous mountain pass to the right the well-known chilkoot pass extended up into the mountain fastness, the pass that had been traveled by so many in the early rush for the gold fields. chilkoot a long distance to the northeast intersects the white horse pass. it is a rugged trail, but an easier one to travel than the one chosen by the pony rider boys for the first stage of their journeyings. the object of professor zepplin in choosing the route to the northwest was to take the boys into territory that had been little explored, and to give them their fill of what is really the wildest and most rugged region of the united states. "by the way," called rector after they had gotten well started and had dropped the village behind them, "what became of our friends?" "the four gold diggers?" asked butler. "they must have gone on with the ship," said walter. "yes, they must have," agreed stacy. "no, they didn't," answered tad. "i saw dawson in town yesterday. funny thing, but he seemed not to see me. in fact he tried to avoid me." "did you let him?" questioned chunky. "yes. why should i wish to force myself on anyone who doesn't want to see me? not i. they are queer fellows. it isn't because they don't like us, but rather because they are suspicious. they are afraid someone will get a line on where they are going. wouldn't it be queer if we were to bump into them somewhere in the interior?" "no danger of that," spoke up the professor. "i heard mr. darwood say they were going out the chilkoot pass for a short distance, from which they might branch off." tad chuckled softly. "why do you laugh?" demanded the professor. "oh, i was just thinking of something funny." "let's hear it," begged stacy. "i rather think i'll keep it to myself," answered tad, smiling. "let stacy tell you one of his funny stories." "all right, i'll tell you one," agreed chunky readily. "leave the telling until you get to camp," advised the professor. "this is a rough trail, and you need to give it your undivided attention." "the professor is right. we would do well to watch out where we are going," agreed tad. "yes, i dread to think what would happen to our packs were one of those mules, in a moment of forgetfulness, to think he was traveling in a circle at the end of a sweep down in a mine," said ned. the trail they were now following was narrow. in fact, it was a mere gash in the side of the mountain, winding in and out with many a sharp turn, and there was barely room for the ponies to travel in single file. above them towered the mountains for thousands of feet. below them was a sheer precipice of fully two hundred feet, getting deeper all the time, as they continued on a gradual ascent. "i don't think i should like to be the post rider on this trail," decided ned, gazing wide-eyed at the abyss. "especially on a dark night," added tad. "or any other kind of a night," piped the fat boy. "oh, i don't know about that," answered walter. "on a dark night you couldn't see the gorge. what we don't know doesn't hurt us, eh?" "there is some logic in that," agreed the professor. professor zepplin was leading the way, dragging one mule after him at the end of a rope. then came ned with the second pack mule, followed by tad and the other two boys. butler wanted to follow behind the mules so as to keep watch of them, he not feeling any too great confidence in the worn-out old animals. the professor halted at a turning-out place, where the rocks had been worn out by the wash of a mountain stream sufficiently wide to enable two horses to meet and pass by a tight pinch. "young gentlemen, this is a wonderful country," he said. "it's kind of hilly," admitted stacy. "in the indian tongue, alaska means 'the great country,'" added the professor. "why, i didn't know you talked indian," cried ned. "i always suspected the professor was an indian. now i know it," chuckled stacy. "young men, if you will listen i shall be glad to enlighten you as to some of the marvels of the country we are now in. if my recollection serves me right, the country has an area of about six hundred thousand square miles." chunky uttered a long-drawn whistle of amazement. "some territory that, eh, fellows?" he said, nodding. "if my recollection serves me right, alaska is bigger than all the atlantic states combined from maine to louisiana." "that's where they have the 'gators," said chunky. "and with half of texas thrown in," continued the professor. "it has a coast line of about twenty-six thousand miles, a greater sea frontage than all the shores of the united states combined." "why one would travel as far as if he were to go around the world in going over all the coast line, then, wouldn't he, professor?" wondered tad. "exactly. furthermore, it extends so far towards asia that it carries the dominion of our great country as far west of san francisco as new york is east of it, making california really a central state." "oh, professor. will you please repeat that? i didn't get it," called the fat boy. "you must listen if you wish to hear what i am saying. your mind wanders." "i hope it doesn't do much wandering here. i'll surely be a dead one if it does," retorted stacy, peering down the sheer walls that dropped into the gloomy pass below him. "to give you another illustration, were you to combine england, ireland, scotland, france and italy, you still would lack considerable of having enough to make an alaska. then, added to this, are the great mountains, thousands of feet high, and one great river--not to speak of the smaller ones--that flows through more than two thousand miles of wonderful country. i have given you a bird's-eye-view of the country, a small part of which you have started to explore." "yes, a fellow needs a bird's-eye up here. he has to have or he's a goner," declared chunky. "and by the way, professor," said tad. "your pony is yawning with his left hind leg." "haw, haw, haw! that's a good one," laughed the fat boy. "what do you mean?" wondered the professor. "he is stretching himself. his left hind foot at this moment is suspended over several hundred feet of space. but don't startle him for goodness' sake," laughed tad. the professor glanced back. afterwards the boys declared he had gone pale at the sight of that foot held so carelessly over the yawning chasm, but the professor denied the accusation. he clucked very gently to the pony. the little animal lazily drew the foot in, and, after trying several places, at last found a spot that appeared to suit it and on which it placed the small foot. the boys drew a sigh of relief. "my, but that was a narrow escape," derided ned. "just think of it, professor." "gid ap," commanded professor zepplin. "look sharp that none of you does worse." now and then reaching a spot where they could get an unobstructed view of the distance the boys were fairly thrilled by the sight of the jagged peaks, sparkling in the sunlight, many hidden in the clouds and too high to be seen. it was an awesome sight and at such times stilled the merry voices of the pony rider boys as they gazed off over the array of wonderful heights. "what are they?" asked ned when he first caught sight of this vista of mountain peaks. "the first one should be mt. lituya and the next mt. fairweather," tad replied. "that is correct, according to the map," spoke up the professor. "the former is ten thousand feet high, the latter five thousand, five hundred." a series of low wondering whistles were heard from the lips of the boys. it did not seem possible that the distance to the tops of those mountains could be so great. "i should like to climb one of the highest," declared butler. "you can't," answered the professor sharply. "why not, professor?" "because i shall not allow it." "and there's another reason," announced stacy. "you can't because you can't. but if you did succeed in getting to the top think what sport you could have!" "how so?" asked butler. "you could do a toboggan slide two miles long. i reckon it would land you somewhere over in asia. wouldn't that be funny?" "i don't know about that," reflected butler. "you wouldn't know about it if you were to take the slide, either. but how it would surprise some of those asiatics to see a pony rider boy suddenly landing in their midst, coming from the nowhere," chuckled stacy. "i rather think it would surprise almost anyone to have a pony rider boy land in his midst," answered tad with a smiling nod. "is that some kind of joke?" demanded the fat boy. "no, that's an axiom," spoke up rector. "an axiom?" reflected chunky. "oh, i know what that is. it is something that something else revolves around, isn't it? that's the sort of thing the world is supposed to revolve about. i know, for i read it in my geography." the boys groaned. the suspicion of a smile played about the corners of professor zepplin's mouth. "you had better go back to school rather than be traveling with real men," advised ned. "isn't that an axiom, professor?" called stacy indignantly. "it is not." "then what is one?" "you are a living example of one yourself," was the whimsical reply. stacy pondered over the professor's retort all the rest of that day. but when noon came and passed and no stop was made for a noonday meal, the fat boy began to grow restive. "don't we stop for something to eat?" he demanded. "i should like to know where?" answered tad. "isn't there a place wide enough for us, tad?" "there is not." "but when are we going to find one?" "you know as much about that as i do. remember none of us ever has been over this trail. for aught i know we may have to sleep standing up to-night." "well, i reckon i'd just as soon fall off before dark as after. anyhow, i don't propose to sleep on this trail as it looks to me now--" "hark!" tad's voice was sharp and incisive. he was holding up one hand to impose silence on his companions. walter perkins' face grew pale, the fat boy's eyes were large and frightened. professor zepplin halted his pony sharply and turning in his saddle glanced anxiously back toward his charges. "what is it?" stammered rector. "i don't know," answered tad butler. "it's something awful, whatever it is." "have no fear, young men. i know what that sound is. there is no danger here where we are, for--" the professor did not complete his sentence. the distant rumbling that had at first attracted their attention suddenly merged into a deafening roar, and the trail quivered under their feet. the ponies snorted and threw up their heads, chafing at the bits. "hold fast to your horses!" shouted tad. his voice was lost in the great roar that now overwhelmed them, sending terror to the hearts of every pony rider boy on that narrow ledge of rock known as the yakutat trail. chapter vi caught in a giant slide tad knew the meaning of that rushing, roaring sound now. a few particles chipped from the rocks far above them had struck him sharply in the face. he knew that a landslide was sweeping down. his first impulse was to urge his companions forward, but upon second thought he realized that this might be the very worst thing they could do. his quick ears had told him that the center of the slide was ahead of them. that was his judgment, but he knew how easily it was to be mistaken in a moment like this. glancing up the boy could see nothing but a great cloud of dust that filled the air. his companions seemed powerless to stir, and it was fortunate for them that such was the case, else they might have done that which would have sent them to a quick death. tad unslung his rope with the intention of casting it over a sharp rock that extended some six feet up above the level of the trail and on the mountainside. in an emergency it would serve to anchor him. he motioned to the others to do the same, but either they did not understand or they were too frightened to act. a sudden dust cloud obliterated the trail for fully five rods ahead of professor zepplin, then went shooting out into the chasm beyond, and a great mass of earth seemed to leap from the mountainside just above them. it hovered right over the center of the line of ponies for an agonizing second, then swept down on them. the secondary slide, which this was, had but little width, perhaps a few feet. furthermore, it had fallen only a short distance, so that it had not had time to gain great velocity. the mass smote the pack mule just ahead of tad butler. tad saw the pack mule's hind feet go out from under him. for the smallest fraction of a moment the animal stood quivering, then his hind hoofs slipped over the edge of the trail. the little animal was making desperate efforts to cling to the trail with its fore feet, at the same time trying to get its hind feet back on solid ground. that effort was fatal. little by little the frightened beast slipped toward the great gulf. evidently realizing the fate that was in store for it, the mule brayed shrilly. the pony rider boys sat gazing on the scene with fascinated eyes. even professor zepplin was at a loss for words, and at a greater loss for a remedy for the disaster that was upon them. tad butler's brain was working, however. suddenly tad raised his rope above his head and gave it three sharp twirls. then he let go. the big loop dropped over the head of the unfortunate pack mule. "jump on him and hold him down," shouted tad. "be careful that you don't go over." the boys hesitated slightly. perhaps they could not have accomplished anything, but butler did not wait to see. he had slipped from his own pony with a sharp, commanding "whoa" to the little animal, which served in a measure to reassure it. the lad then sprang to the upright rock carrying the end of his rope with him. he did not make the mistake of making the end fast to his own body as he might have done in some circumstances. instead he threw the rope over the rock, taking one quick turn about it. he had no more than taken that turn when the slack on the rope was suddenly taken up and the rope was drawn taut. there was no need to look around to see what had happened. butler knew well enough without looking. the pack mule had slipped over the edge and was hanging there with the boy's lasso about its neck. the rope was tough rawhide, and tad felt sure it would hold. still, that would not save the mule, so he made fast and sprang to the other side of the trail. the mule, he found, was dying a terrible death. the freckle-faced tad comprehended the situation in a single glance. he knew now that it would not be possible to save the pack animal. drawing his revolver he placed the muzzle close to the head of the unfortunate beast and pulled the trigger. the report, in the walled-in pass, sounded like the discharge of a cannon. "n-n-n-now you've done it," chattered stacy brown. "tad, tad! what have you done?" cried the professor. "i have put the poor thing out of its agony, that's all," answered butler. his face was pale and his eyes troubled. "but you've killed him," protested professor zepplin. "didn't you see that he was choking to death, professor? don't you think it was better to end his sufferings with a bullet rather than let him slowly strangle?" the professor took off his sombrero, and, with an unsteady hand, wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "too bad, too bad!" he muttered. "yes, yes. you were right, tad. you did right. you thought more quickly and more clearly than i did. we had better cut the rope and let him go. there is nothing else to be done, i suppose." "there is something else to be done, sir. there is something quite important to be done." "what do you mean?" "the pack. surely we are not going to send that pack crashing to the bottom of the pass. we shall have to go all the way back for more supplies if we do that, provided we ever find a place where we can turn around." "that is so. still, lad, i am afraid it is hopeless. we never shall be able to get the pack." "i think it can be done, but how i don't know yet. what time is it?" "the afternoon is well along," answered the professor. "it'll be dark soon," spoke up ned. "we simply must get out of this before night or we are lost." "you forget about the length of the days up here at this time of the year," reminded tad with a faint smile. "that's so," agreed rector. "you know it doesn't get really dark until about eleven o'clock to-night. so you see we have plenty of time in which to get that pack and reach a camping place before the night gets too dark for us to see what we are about." tad stepped to the edge of the trail and looked over the dead mule and the pack lashed to him. he saw that the pack already had slipped dangerously, and that a sudden jolt might send it hurtling into the chasm. the lad measured the distance to the pack, with his eyes, and also saw that he could not lean over far enough to accomplish anything. then an idea occurred to him. "have you fellows got back your nerve so that you can help me?" he asked. "yes, sir," answered chunky promptly. "anything but jumping over. don't ask me to do that, please, or i shall be under the necessity of returning a polite refusal." "i shan't ask you," answered tad shortly. "how about you, ned?" "i think i have got over my panic." "good. pass over two strong ropes here. we'll have that pack in no time." "see here, tad. i am not going to permit you to take unnecessary risks. before you go farther in this matter i want to know what you propose to do," insisted the professor. "i am going to secure one of these ropes to me. the boys will lower me over the edge and i will fasten a second rope to the pack. i will tell you what to do after that." "i can't permit it!" answered the professor decisively. "listen to me, please. there can be no possible danger. it is perfectly simple. before i go over i'll secure the rope to that rock, and in case the boys let go, which they'd better not, i can't fall; the rope will hold me." after a moment's reflection professor zepplin concluded that the task would not be attended with a very great risk after all. besides, it was all-important that they get the pack and its contents, if this could be done without endangering any lives. "how about it, sir?" asked tad. "time is precious." "you may try it, but i shall see to the fastening of the rope myself. make your arrangements." tad lost no time in trying out his plan. he first secured one end of their strongest rope to the rock that already had played such an important part in their operations at that point. he next fashioned a non-slip loop about his body under the arms, then taking the second rope in his hands announced himself as ready. "take a turn about the rock so you will have a leverage. take up all the slack. that's it. now i'm all ready." the lad let himself over the edge of the precipice without hesitation. there really was no great danger, but it was not a pleasant position in which to be placed. he secured his rope to the pack lashings and tossed the free end up to his friends. "how are you going to free the pack from the mule?" asked the professor. "cut it." "but we can't manage both you and the pack at the same time," protested the boys. "you don't have to. can't you folks think of two things at the same time?" "i can when my thinking apparatus is working," returned stacy. "the whole plant is idle at the present moment." "listen! fasten the pack rope to that rock. do you get that?" "yes." "first take up all the slack or you may lose the pack after all. we don't want any great jolt when i cut loose the lashings. draw it up well. tighter! there, that's better. now, have you got it so that it will hold?" "it'll hold as long as the mountain holds together," answered ned. [illustration: tad freed the pack.] "then watch your rope. here goes." tad slit the cinch girth. he was obliged to make several efforts before he freed the pack, which then swung out and away from the dead mule, swaying back and forth for a moment or so, but safe. the boys uttered a cheer. "now shall we pull you up?" cried ned. "now, don't be in a hurry. i'm not done yet. i want to save my lasso. you don't think i'm going to throw that away, do you? pass me another rope, please." this was done, after which butler secured the third rope about the neck of the mule. he tossed the free end up as he had done with the other line. "make it fast. first see if you can't give me a little slack." "can't do it," called walter. "yes you can. try again. that's the idea. a little more. you're doing finely. you would make good sailors. whoa! make fast." grunting and perspiring, and with aching backs, the boys made fast the advantage they had gained. the weight of the dead mule was now resting on the new rope which butler had fastened about its neck. some time was occupied in getting his lasso loose, which had drawn very tight under the weight of the mule. "that's what comes from having a good rope," said tad. "well, are you coming up? you must like it down there," cried rector. "i'm almost ready. there, now see if you can get me up. take up all your advantage and hold it until i can get my hands on the ledge and help you a little." hauling tad butler up, a dead weight, was not the easiest thing in the world. they drew him up an inch or so at a time, until at last he fastened his hands on the edge of the trail and curled himself up. the boys took up the slack and made fast at his direction. "you needn't pull any more, but stand by the rope. if i slip it will give me a hard jolt." "i should say it would," muttered ned. "how are you going to get up the rest of the way if we don't haul you?" "this way." tad crawled up the rope hand over hand until he was able to swing one foot over on the trail. the rest was easy, and a moment later he was standing on the trail, his face red, his hair and shirt wet with perspiration. "hooray!" bellowed chunky. "wait until we get the pack up. don't waste your breath," grinned tad. "we are only half finished." the lad surveyed the situation critically. still he saw no other way than for them to haul the pack up by main strength. he told his companions to get ready for real work. the pack was heavier than tad. "i--i can't do another thing," wailed chunky. "why can't you?" demanded the professor. "my heart won't stand it." "oh, pooh!" scoffed professor zepplin. "did you ever have a thorough physical examination, chunky?" questioned ned. "i don't know. why?" "if you had you would no doubt have found that you hadn't any heart at all." "now, ned, that isn't fair," chided tad laughingly. "you know stacy has a heart. he has shown many times that he has. the only trouble with it is that it isn't as hard as it might be," added the freckle-faced boy with a twinkle. the fat boy wasn't quite sure whether this was a compliment or otherwise. he decided to think about it and make up his mind later. but he most emphatically refused to pull a single pound on the rope. they compromised by making him look out for the stock. hauling the pack up was a slow and tedious process, for it was continually catching on points of rock and threatening to drop into the depths. great patience was required to land it safely on the trail, but land it they did after working and perspiring over it for nearly half an hour. the professor proposed that they move on at once, after having divided the pack. tad shook his head. "not yet," he said. "i've something else to do first." chapter vii going to bed by daylight "something else to do?" repeated the professor. "i know of nothing more to be done except to get under way and try to find a safe portage." "i've got to bury the mule, sir." "oh! where?" "i'll show you. stand clear of the rope, fellows," ordered butler. stepping to the edge of the trail he glanced down at the body of the mule, swaying with a scarcely perceptible movement. looking back to see that the rope was clear, tad drew his hunting knife and stooped over, his companions drawing as near to the edge as they dared. butler cut the rope that held the dead mule. the rope suddenly sprang back as the unfortunate pack mule's body shot down into the shadowy pass. the other boys instinctively drew back. their nerve was not quite equal to standing on the brink to watch the sight. with tad it was different. he seemed not to be at all affected by great heights or great depths. he stood with the toes of his boots over the edge, gazing down until a faint sound from far below told him that the body had struck. "that's all, fellows," he said, turning back to them. "i reckon we had better do as the professor suggests, and get under way at once. i will confess that this bracing air is having some effect on my appetite." "don't speak of it," begged stacy. "i am trying to forget that i have an appetite, but it's awful hard work." "too bad about the mule, isn't it?" asked rector soberly. tad nodded. "yes, i should say it is," agreed stacy. "there's eight dollars of my good money gone down into that hole." "never mind. he was wind-broken and undoubtedly would have played out before we got through the mountains. i am glad it wasn't the other one," answered butler cheerfully. "how is the trail ahead, professor?" "i haven't looked." bidding them wait until he made an inspection, tad walked ahead. he found the narrow trail filled with dirt and shale rock; there were many tons of it heaped up on the trail. "oh, fudge!" laughed the boy. "fate is determined to make us turn back. but we won't! we are going through, even if we have to build a tunnel. get out the shovel, ned." this necessitated undoing the bundle that held all the tools of the outfit, and also entailed the unloading of the pack on the back of the remaining pack mule. ned soon came trotting up with the shovel. he uttered a long-drawn whistle when he saw the blocked trail. "we never shall be able to get through that," he groaned. "oh, yes we shall. i'll shovel until i am tired, then you take hold and make the dirt fly." "i'll do that all right," returned rector. "i am too keen for my dinner and supper to delay matters any more than i am obliged to. we ought to make chunky take a hand." "no, i wouldn't risk it. before he had finished he would have lost the shovel overboard. it is the only one we have. here goes!" tad did make the dirt fly. he was a sturdy young man, all muscle and grit. he shoveled for twenty minutes, working his way through the great heap of dirt. then he straightened up, his face flushed and perspiring. "go to it, ned!" ned did, with a will. an hour and a half was consumed in clearing the trail, and, when they finished, both boys were wet with perspiration. "i think we had better walk for the present," suggested tad. "we shall stiffen up if we ride in our present overheated condition." ned nodded. "i can't be much lamer than i am. i feel as if i had a broken hinge in my back," he declared. they started on, moving with extreme care that they might not meet with another such disaster. the remaining pack mule was a much better animal than the one they had lost. he was possessed of better sense, too, and seemed to understand that great responsibilities rested on his shoulders. as for the trail, it was the same rugged, narrow path that they had been following for hours. "what if we should meet someone here?" wondered walter apprehensively. "back up or jump over," answered ned. stacy shivered. "i don't like it at all," he muttered. the professor uttered a shout. "what is it?" cried the boys all together. "land ho!" was the answer. the boys craned their necks to see what the professor had discovered, but he was just rounding a bend beyond which they could not see. when they had made the turn the boys shouted, too. the trail, they saw, opened out into a broad pass. the ground there, though uneven, was fairly level, thickly wooded with slender alaskan cedar, its yellow, lacy foliage drooping gracefully from the branches. tall and straight, the cedars shot up into the air until it seemed as if their slender tops pierced the sky. "how beautiful!" cried tad. "wouldn't they make fish poles, though?" chuckled ned. "yes, we wouldn't have to leave home when we went fishing," answered stacy. "we could just sit on the back porch and drop a hook in the water at the back of the old pasture lot." "how high do you think those trees are, professor?" asked tad. "all of a hundred and fifty feet. a marvelous growth." "i think i can appreciate the beauty of it more after i get something inside of me," spoke up the fat boy. "do we get anything to eat or do we absorb landscape for our supper?" "i reckon we had better get busy," agreed tad laughingly. they began unloading the packs at once. by the time the boys came in with the wood the spot had assumed a really camp-like appearance. the pots were filled with water and tad began building a structure that was to be their campfire when he was ready to touch it off. "did you find any birch bark, ned?" he asked. "yes, there it is." "oh, thank you. the cedar will burn all right, but it is a good thing to have the birch. we shall have a supper worth while in a few minutes. stacy, get busy and prepare the coffee." for once the fat boy did not demur. he was too hungry, and was willing to do almost anything that would hurry the supper along. not a mouthful had any of them eaten since breakfast. the ponies were browsing contentedly, but the mule had lain down and gone to sleep. the day was still bright, though the air had grown cooler than when the sun was at its height. still, a warm glow suffused the faces of the pony rider boys because they had been exercising. they usually were busy, and not one of the lads, unless it were stacy brown, had a lazy streak in him. stacy was constitutionally opposed to doing anything that looked like real work. the cedar quickly blazed up into a crackling fire, consuming the foliage. tad took some of the brands and made a small cooking fire that soon was a glowing bed of coals. over this he broiled the bacon, toasted the bread, and cooked the coffee without the least apparent effort. stacy brown sat regarding the operations. ned said that stacy reminded him of a dog watching the preparation of its dinner, but the fat boy took no notice of ned's comparison. at last the meal was ready and the boys gathered around the spread that was laid near the campfire, and began to eat with good appetites. ned nearly choked on a biscuit, and tad swallowed a drink of water the wrong way, while walter accidentally kicked over the coffee pot, the contents spilling over the professor's ankle to the great damage of the professor's skin at that point. "here, here! is this a football scrimmage or are you young gentlemen at your meal?" demanded the professor. "i've seen nothing to indicate the latter." "oh, professor," begged tad laughingly. "aren't you pretty hard on us?" "you did perfectly right, professor," approved stacy. "their manners are bad and i am glad you have called them to account. why, their example is so bad that i have been fearful all the time of getting into bad habits myself." ned gave him a warning look. "wait!" warned rector. "i can't. i'm too hungry." "perhaps we have been rather rude, professor," admitted tad. "i beg your pardon." "show your repentance by making a fresh pot of coffee, as i have most of the first lot in my stocking," reminded professor zepplin. it seemed odd to be eating supper in broad daylight, whereas they ordinarily ate in the twilight or after dark. after supper, and when the remains were cleared away, the boys strolled about, talking. at ten o'clock the professor called that it was time to turn in. "but it isn't dark yet," protested ned. "the nights are short. unless you turn in early you will not want to get up in the morning," reminded professor zepplin. "he never does," averred walter. "i don't want to turn in at chicken hours," objected stacy. "little boys should be in bed early," said tad smilingly. "that's what they made me do when i was a baby. they'd tuck me in my little crib and give me a bottle and sing me to sleep. what time does it get daylight, professor?" questioned the fat boy. "as a matter of fact it hardly gets dark," answered the professor. "we shall have only about three hours of real night, i think. that is about the way it has been since we have been in this latitude. you will find it more difficult to sleep with the morning light in your eyes than with this light, so go to bed." "i am thinking the same. good-night, all. don't any of you boys dare snore to-night. remember we are sleeping in rather close quarters," reminded butler. "one of you may come in with me," offered the professor. "no, thank you, we shall do very well as it is," replied tad. stacy had the usual number of complaints to make. the cedar odor prevented his breathing properly, the sharp stickers on the cedar boughs poked through his pajamas and into his skin. he voiced all the complaints he could think of, after which he settled down to long, rhythmic snores that could be heard all around the place, inside and out. the purple twilight merged into blue shadows, then into black, impenetrable darkness that swallowed up the pass and the two little white tents of the pony rider boys. chapter viii an intruder in the camp "w'en de screech-owl light on de gable en' en holler, whoo-oo! oh-oh! den you bettah keep yo' eyeball peel, kase dey bring bad luck t' yo', oh-oh! oh-oh!" "stop that noise!" shouted an angry voice from the tent occupied by the boys. for a few moments silence reigned in the camp of the pony rider boys. then the voice of the singer from somewhere outside was raised again. "w'en de ole black cat widdee yella eyes slink round like she atter ah mouse, den yo' bettah take keer yo'self en frien's, kase dey's sho'ly a witch en de house." "who is making that unearthly noise?" demanded the professor in an irritated voice. "that's stacy singing," answered tad politely. "singing?" "yes, sir." "nonsense! does he think he can sing?" "yes, sir." "humph! i shall be obliged if some of you boys will remove that impression from his mind so that i may go back to sleep." "yes, sir." "w'en de puddle duck 'e leave de pon' en start to comb e fedder--" a stone struck the rock on which stacy brown was sitting. some small particles flew up and hit him in the neck. "hey, you fellows quit that!" "den yo' bettah take yo' umbrell, kase dey's gwine to be wet wedder." "yeow!" the fat boy left the rock, jumping right up into the air, for the wild yell had seemed to come out of the rock itself. at that juncture three pajama-clad figures rose from behind the rock and threw themselves upon him. "let go of my neck!" howled chunky, fighting desperately to free himself, not having caught a glance at his assailants, though he knew well enough who they were. stacy had calculated on aggravating them to the danger point, then slipping away and hiding until breakfast time. but he had gone a little too far with his so-called singing. the boys picked the fat boy up and carried him, kicking and yelling, to a point just beyond the camp where a glacial stream trickled down, forming in a pool some three feet deep near the trail. "i--i'll get even with you fellows for this. can't you let me alone?" he cried. reaching the spring they held him by the feet and soused him into the icy water head first, thrusting the fat boy in until his head struck the hard bottom. he was howling lustily, howling and choking, when his head was out of water. "you'll need your 'old ombrell' when we have done with you," cried ned. "you will wake us up at this hour with your unearthly screeching, will you?" demanded tad. "i reckon the professor will give you a spanking for disturbing his morning slumbers," added walter perkins. "that's enough, fellows. remember the water is cold," warned butler. "let him go." they took tad literally. they did let the fat boy go. he landed on his head on a hard rock when they let go of him, and stacy rolled on his back yelling lustily. "look out! there comes the professor stacy." walter shouted the warning just in time. professor zepplin, stern of face, gorgeous in a pair of new pajamas, a stick in one hand came stalking toward the group. stacy saw him coming. the fat boy bounded to his feet in a hurry. he was especially interested in the cedar limb with its sharp broken points, grasped so firmly in the right hand of the professor. "i reckon i'll see you all later," muttered chunky as he made a bolt for his tent. either some one tripped him or he tripped himself. at least, he measured his length on the ground just as the stick came in contact with his body. it was not a hard blow, but merely a tap of reminder. the professor was now smiling broadly. stacy leaped to his feet and ran, howling at the top of his voice, and threatening dire revenge on the professor. professor zepplin was plainly undismayed, for he pursued with strides that made the merry onlookers think of the seven-league boots. "say, can't we arbitrate, without an appeal to force?" bellowed back stacy as he reached the tent. "we cannot," boomed the professor's deep voice. "this is an instance in which the punitive expedition must go through." _whack! whack!_ that stick played a tattoo that made stacy sore in more senses than one. instead of burrowing deeper into the cedar boughs, he got up hastily. in his desperation he seized the professor's feet, giving a mighty tug at them. "here, stop that!" protested professor zepplin, laughing. he reached for the fat boy, but chunky, with a new exertion of his strength, brought the tutor down to a sitting position. "retreat in good order, while you have a chance!" called walter perkins. three grinning faces met the fugitive at the tent. but stacy bowled walter over, leaped the foot that rector extended to trip him, and then dashed for the shelter of the tall cedars, where he hid. there he shivered in his wet pajamas. it was three o'clock in the morning, but young brown cared not for time. his stomach told him only that it was high breakfast time. the gnawing under his belt-line continued. "i wish i hadn't been quite so fresh!" thought the boy, dismally. "it's all right to have fun, but there are times when a square meal is worth more." however, the professor, though he was really enjoying the situation, looked anything but amiable. "i'll try the crowd, anyway," thought stacy, ruefully. "i've got to get near the kitchen kit soon. hello, the camp!" there was no response. stacy emerged from his hiding place and began to sing the song he had learned from rastus rastus in kentucky. one end of the tent was suddenly raised. "do you want another ducking?" demanded the angry voice of ned rector. "if you're man enough to give it to me," returned the fat boy. ned came tumbling out, but by the time he had straightened up, stacy was nowhere in sight. the fat boy had stolen in among the trees whence he watched the progress of events. ned returned to his tent in disgust. no further objection was heard from the professor as to chunky's vocal exercises. "there's no use trying to sleep with that boy bawling away out there. what does he think he is, a bird?" demanded tad. "sounds more like a hoot owl, the bird he was telling us about," averred ned. "i guess i'll get up. so long as he is abroad there will be no more rest in this camp for the rest of the night." "won't he catch cold? he must be all wet," said walter solicitously. "i hope to goodness he does," retorted rector. "i hope he gets such a cold that he can't speak for a week. then we'll have some peace." "oh, i wouldn't put it quite so strongly as that," laughed tad. "however, i guess he will get the cold all right." tad dressed himself. after finishing, he thought to look at his watch and was disgusted to find it was only a few minutes after three o'clock. ned declared that he was going to sleep again if tad would keep the fat boy quiet. butler promised to do his best and went out. he looked about for stacy but failed to see him, so the freckle-faced boy sat down on the rock where chunky had sat singing. "hello, tad," piped a voice behind him, causing butler to jump a little. stacy had been hiding behind the rock, to which place he had crept from the cedar forest. "oh, it's you, is it?" "i guess so. i'm cold and--and hungry." "go back to the tent. you should put on some dry clothes." "you don't care whether i freeze or not. go get them for me, please." "i will not. you got yourself into this difficulty, now get out of it as best you may," answered butler. "there won't be any breakfast for three hours yet. tighten your belt." "i--i haven't any belt. i haven't my clothes on." "that's too bad," retorted tad unfeelingly. "what'd you soak me for?" "a cold bath in the morning is an excellent tonic. hadn't you ever heard that?" "if i had i'd know now that it isn't true. i didn't think you could be as mean as that, tad." "i didn't think you could be so mean as to wake us up at three o'clock in the morning with your screeching. why did you do it?" "i--i was exercising my voice." "i should say so. but take my advice. don't use it that way again, especially so early in the morning. you'll ruin it and then you won't be able to sing at all." "that would be a catastrophe," mumbled chunky. "a blessing to the pony rider boys community, you mean. hello!" "what is it?" cried stacy. tad was staring fixedly at a rope suspended between two small cedars near the tents. it was on this that some of the provisions had been hung the previous evening. "where is that ham?" he demanded, apparently not having heard his companion's question. "what ham?" "the one i hung up there last night?" "i--i don't know. i didn't eat it." tad got up and hastened to the "stores-line," as they called the rope that held their meats and other provisions. he discovered that several other articles besides the ham were missing. even the pieces of twine with which the provisions had been fastened to the line were missing. "well, if this doesn't beat everything!" wondered butler. "it does," agreed chunky, who had made bold to approach. "i hope the fellows won't blame me, but i reckon they will. they lay everything to me." tad did not reply. he was trying to make up his mind what had become of the missing provisions. he turned sharply to stacy. "see here, you aren't playing tricks on us, are you?" stacy indignantly protested that he was not. "i knew you'd try to put it on me," he grumbled. "i'm pretty bad, i know, but i don't steal." "stop it! i haven't accused you of stealing. of course i know you wouldn't do that, but if you have taken the stuff and hidden it for a joke, say so now before i call the others. they might not take kindly to your joke after your early morning vocal exercises." "i didn't. i don't know any more about it than you do." stacy's lips were blue with cold and he was chattering. tad suddenly observed these signs of cold and felt sorry for the boy. "when the others come out, you duck in and put on some dry clothes. you will have plenty of time. i don't think they will bother you. oh, ned! professor!" called tad. ned rector, professor zepplin and walter came hurrying out. "isn't there any rest at all in this camp?" protested ned. "that is what i was about to inquire," declared the professor. "what! _you_ here?" demanded rector, fixing a menacing eye on the fat boy. "has he been cutting up again?" "it's something else this time." "what is it?" questioned professor zepplin sharply. "did any of you folks remove the ham and the other stuff from the line last night?" asked butler. "no," replied ned. "of course not. you were the last one to attend to those things," said the professor. "i helped him tie them up," interjected "walter. "and--and i watched him--them--do it," added stacy. "yes, that's about all you ever do do," objected ned. "what's this you say?" questioned professor zepplin. "the ham missing?" "yes, sir. it is nowhere about," tad informed him. "then we must have had a visit from a bear or some other animal." "what would a bear want with a rope?" asked butler. "a rope?" "i left our quarter-inch reserve rope coiled at the foot of that tree last night. it isn't there now." "stacy brown, do you know anything about this?" demanded the professor sternly. "what'd i tell you, tad? i knew you'd be accusing me for the whole business. i told tad you would blame me." "go put on some dry garments," commanded the professor. stacy lost no time in getting to the tent. "what do you make of it, tad?" asked professor zepplin. "i can make only one thing out of it. there has been an intruder in the camp while we slept. that intruder must have been a man. bears do not carry away ropes. bears do not untie knots and take the strings away with them," replied tad butler in a convincing tone. stacy brown poked his head through the tent opening. "what we need in this camp is a watch dog," he shouted. ned rector shied a tin can at him, whereat the fat boy ducked in out of sight. chapter ix a mystery unsolved "but surely whoever was here must have left some trace," protested professor zepplin. "perhaps you may be able to find it. i can't," answered tad. "we'll all look," cried ned. tad nodded, and while they were scanning the ground he walked about the outskirts of the camp with his glances on the ground. there was not a footprint, not a thing to indicate that any person outside of themselves had been near the camp. tad was looking in particular for the strings with which the stuff had been tied to the rope. not finding these he was certain that some human being had been in the camp. "we shall have to make the best of it and let it go at that," he said, returning to his companions. "shall we go to sleep again?" "sleep!" shouted ned. stacy popped his head out to see what the shout was about. he ducked back again upon encountering rector's angry gaze. "if it isn't stacy brown raising a row it's tad butler, and if it isn't tad it's a midnight robber." "or else ned rector himself," added the professor. "if you young gentlemen will excuse me i think i shall put on some clothes. we might as well have our breakfast and get an early start, since we are all awake." "i was going to suggest that," replied tad. "i'll go rub down the ponies while the rest of you get the breakfast." "shall we dress before or after?" questioned walter. "before, of course," returned the professor. breakfast was not a very merry meal that morning. tad was chagrined to think a person could get into their camp and steal a ham without his having heard the intruder. either he had slept more soundly than usual, or else their late visitor had been unusually stealthy. "i'll tell you what i think," spoke up rector after a period of silence. "out with it," answered the professor. "i'll wager that some of these prospectors have ducked in here and taken our stuff. there must be plenty of them in the mountains hereabouts." tad shook his head. "i don't think so. i have an idea." "what is your idea?" questioned professor zepplin. "are there indians up here?" questioned tad. "many of them." "it was an indian who did this job. no white man could get away with it so skilfully. if it was, as i suspect, we might as well give it up," concluded butler. "oh, i kissed that ham good-by a long time ago," piped stacy solemnly. "i don't agree with any of you," said ned. "i think the ham, unable to endure chunky's singing, took wings and flew away. either that or it was afraid he would kiss it again. he said he had kissed it good-by." "you are wrong," declared walter. "if stacy had got that close to the ham he would have eaten it." "you're right," agreed the professor with an emphatic nod. "i've got a bone to pick with you, too, walt perkins," warned stacy. "a ham-bone?" twinkled tad. "no, a drumstick." "the probability is that we shall never know any more about the affair than we do now," decided the professor. "break camp as soon as we have finished breakfast and we will get under way. have you looked to see which way the trail leads from this point, tad?" "yes, sir. that way," replied tad, pointing. "northwest?" "yes, sir." camp was broken in short order and within an hour they were on their way. though the country was very rough and rugged and the going awful, they found the trail narrow and perilous only in spots. generally they found it perfectly safe. that night they camped in a pass through which flowed a rushing glacial stream. tall cottonwoods lined the stream and giant arborvitæ was thick and almost impassable a short distance back from the stream. the professor explained that this arborvitæ was ordinarily found about glaciers, and in cool, dim fiords. determined not to be robbed of their provisions again, tad led a string through the loops made in tying the meats to the provision line. he carried one end of the string into his tent and when he turned in he tied the end to his wrist. long after midnight he felt a jolt at his wrist that brought him to his feet in an instant. another jolt followed. the boy slipped the twine from his wrist and hurried out. the night was not so dark but that he could make out objects distinctly. there was nothing of an alarming nature in sight. he examined the provisions. none had been tampered with. considerably mystified, tad returned to his tent, after rearranging his burglar alarm, and lay down. he had just dozed off when there came another tug more violent than the others. "hang it! something is at those provisions," he muttered. tad once more slipped out. this time he remained out for a long time. he sat down behind the tent where he waited and watched. nothing of a disturbing nature occurred. he could not understand it. "there must be ghosts around here," he muttered. "if there are, i reckon i'll catch them before the night is over." he grew weary of waiting for the "ghosts," after a time, and returning to the tent went to bed. three times after that was the boy dragged out by a violent tug at the rope, and three times did he return without having discovered the cause. "i think i begin to smell a mouse," thought tad butler. he lay down. again came the tugs at the string. but tad apparently gave no heed to them. after a time he began snoring, but stopped suddenly, pinching himself to keep awake. a few moments later he got up quietly and went out. this time he ran the fingers of one hand along the provision line. the fingers stopped suddenly as they came in contact with a second string the size of the one he had used for a burglar alarm and evidently from the same ball of twine. "i thought so," chuckled the boy. "more of chunky brown's tricks. i reckon i'll teach him a lesson and give him a surprise at the same time. let's see. yes, i have it now." tad found a quarter inch rope. he made a slip noose at one end, working the honda or knot back and forth until it slipped easily. in reality it was a lasso. he tucked the loop under the rear of the tent, then crawled cautiously in after it. great caution was necessary in order not to disturb the other occupants of the tent, though the boys were sleeping soundly, stacy snoring thunderously. the fat boy's feet protruded from under his blanket. tad found them after a little careful groping. he wished to make certain that he had the right feet. satisfying himself on this point he slipped the noose over the feet and wriggled out. tad then drew the rope carefully about a slender tree, taking care that there might be no strain on the other end about the fat boy's feet. using the tree as a leverage butler gave the rope a quick jerk. a slight commotion in the tent followed. he now gave the rope a mighty tug. a wild yell from the interior of the tent told that his effort had been successful. the freckle-faced boy now began pulling with all his might, hand over hand. stacy brown's yells were loud and frightful. to his howls were added those of another voice. stacy was sliding out from under the rear of the tent feet first, being dragged along on his back as butler hauled in on the rope. but stacy was not alone. instead of one boy there were two. one of chunky's feet and one of ned rector's was fast in the loop. tad had made a mistake and selected a foot from each of the two boys. "something's got me!" bellowed chunky. "help, help!" "it's got me, too," yelled rector. "it's got me by the foot." "oh, wow, wow! help, help!" the two boys were fighting and clawing each other in their excitement. chunky fastened a hand in the hair of his companion fetching away a handful. ned retaliated by smiting chunky on the nose. then both grabbed hold of the tent wall as they slipped out from under it feet first. the tent swayed and threatened to collapse. walter perkins was struggling about in the dark, shouting to know what had happened. professor zepplin roared out a similar inquiry and sprang from his bed of boughs. he fell out into the open in his haste, but the night was so dark that he was unable to make out a single object. he could hear the two boys yelling at the rear of their tent, struggling and fighting to free themselves from the grip on their ankles. the hauling ceased suddenly. ned reached down and freed his foot, the same movement freeing that of the fat boy. at this juncture tad butler dashed out from the tent, to which he had run after having thrown the freed rope away. "here, here, what's going on here?" he shouted. "something got us. it was a snake," howled chunky. "oh, wow; oh, wow!" "a snake? nonsense!" exploded the professor. "there are no snakes in alaska." "there's one here and he's the biggest one you ever saw. why, he twisted right around my leg and dragged me out. i think he bit me, too," wailed chunky. "somebody make a light here," commanded the professor. "that's what i say," shouted ned. "you pulled half the hair out of my head, chunky. i'll be even with you for that." "did the thing get you, too?" questioned walter. "get me? i should say it did. i never had anything grip me like that." tad was busy starting the fire. the professor, by this time, realized that the boys were in earnest; that something really had happened to disturb them, though he had not the least idea that it had been as bad as they said. the fire began snapping briskly. tad was bending over it in his pajamas, standing as far back as possible to avoid the sparks. glancing at the others out of the corners of his eyes, he observed that stacy's face was pale; ned rector's was flushed and angry, and ned kept passing a hand over his head where the hair had come out. tad could barely keep back the laughter. "now, show me!" demanded the professor after the camp had been lighted up. stacy went into an elaborate explanation of what had occurred so far as he knew. he said something had grabbed them by the ankles and dragged them out under the tent. he showed where they had been dragged. the backs of their pajamas were evidence enough of this fact, the dirt being fairly ground into the cloth. the professor fixed his keen eyes on the freckled face of tad butler. the professor was plainly suspicious, but he did not voice his suspicion. instead, he smiled to himself. "i am going back to bed, young gentlemen, and i trust there will be no further disturbance in this camp to-night. if there is i shall be under the necessity of taking a hand in it myself." "if ned and chunky will behave themselves, i don't believe there will be any further trouble, sir," said tad. stacy fixed a glance of quick comprehension on butler, and tad saw in that one glance that the fat boy's suspicions were aroused, too. stacy was sharper than tad had given him credit for being. chapter x in the home of the thlinkits stacy did not speak of his suspicions that night, but on the following morning he was up earlier than the others, looking here and there about the camp. he was unusually silent at breakfast time, but ned rector on the contrary had a great deal to say. "somebody was in this camp again last night. i don't know what he was trying to do, but whatever it was, he made a good start," said ned. "perhaps it was the work of indians," suggested walter. "i shouldn't be surprised," replied the professor dryly. "perhaps," agreed tad, "the indian was after another ham and thought he had hold of one when he got chunky." "you keep on and i'll say something!" snorted the fat boy. "i have been looking at that red mark on my ankle," continued ned. "it was a rope that did the business. how do you suppose they ever managed to tie it to our ankles without waking us up?" "i thought you did wake up," answered tad with twinkling eyes. "we did afterwards, but i don't understand it at all. didn't you hear anything, tad?" "if i remember rightly i heard two boys yelling like frightened babies." once again chunky snorted, but held his peace. matters were rapidly nearing a crisis. chunky knew that he had played a mean trick on tad by tying a string to the provision line and giving it a jerk to wake his companion up, thus making him believe someone was at the provisions. he suspected that the trick had been turned on him, but he wasn't quite sure. stacy was covertly watching every expression on the face of tad butler, every word that was uttered, tad in the meantime continuing to worry his fat companion. the latter stood it as long as possible. then he arose rather hastily and strode around to the rear of the tent, returning a moment later with a rope in his hand. tad recognized it instantly. "here, if you want to know what got hold of us last night. look at this!" exclaimed chunky. "what is it?" questioned rector. "it's a rope. don't you know a rope when you see one? it is the same rope that dragged us from the tent by our ankles last night. oh, this is a fine outfit!" jeered chunky. no one spoke for a few seconds. "ah!" breathed the professor. "i begin to see a light." "so did we," returned stacy. "but it wasn't so very light that you could notice it particularly." ned started up, his face flushing violently. "do you mean to tell me that one of our outfit dragged you and me out by the heels last night?" he demanded. "yes!" "who did it?" cried rector angrily. "i can thrash the fellow who did that. who is he, i say?" "well, i may be wrong, but from the look of his face, i should say that tad butler knows something about the affair. mind you, i'm not saying he did it, but i reckon he knows the man who did," observed stacy. "tad butler, did you do that?" demanded ned. "stacy seems to think i did." "then i've nothing more to say." "i--i thought you were going to whale the fellow who did it," reminded stacy. "i reckon i've changed my mind," muttered ned. "i'll have a talk with tad later, though." "no time like the present," laughed butler. "young gentlemen, enough of this. i am amazed at you, tad," rebuked professor zepplin. "tell them the rest, stacy," nodded tad. the fat boy hung his head. "maybe i was to blame, after all. i reckon tad was after me, not ned," admitted stacy. "what had you done?" questioned the professor with a poor attempt at sternness. "i--i tied a string to the provision line. you know tad had a line tied to it with one end around his wrist so that he would know if an intruder began to interfere with the provisions?" "yes. go on." "well, as i told you, i tied another string to the rope. after tad got to sleep i pulled the rope. he went out to see what had done it. i guess he didn't find it, for he went out several times after that. oh, i made him dance a merry dance," chuckled stacy. "by and by i went to sleep. that was the last i knew until i found myself sliding out of the tent on my back." everyone shouted. stacy's droll way of telling the story was too much for them. "so that was the way of it, eh?" questioned ned. "so stacy says," nodded butler. "and you didn't mean to drag me out?" "no; the fellow who did the dragging must have gotten hold of the wrong foot," replied butler. "then i forgive you. i would endure almost anything for the sake of seeing chunky get the worst of it." "well, i like that!" shouted the fat boy. "i'm glad that you, too, got some of the worst of it. why didn't you tie the rope around his neck while you were about it, tad, and make a thorough job of it?" nevertheless, stacy was set upon having his revenge on tad, even though he was himself to blame for the trick that had been played on him. the sun shone over the camp of the pony rider boys a few hours later, and the rough hike was again taken up. it was the middle of the fifth day after the roping experience when the boys first caught sight of yakutat bay. huge cakes of floating ice were being thrown up into the air by the strong gale that swept in from the pacific, the whitened ice in strong contrast with the black sands of the beach. towering above it all, nearly five miles in the air, stood mt. st. elias glistening in the mid-day sun. rushing streams roared down the sides of the mountain, thundering through deep gorges cut into the rocks through perhaps thousands of years of wear. it was a tremendous spectacle, exceeding in impressiveness anything the boys had ever looked upon. at their feet lay the wreck of the rude cabins of the early thlinkit indians. there was no sign of any other village. the masts of a few small schooners were visible on the southern side of the bay. it was in this part of the waters that ships came to anchor. here they were not exposed to the heavy swell from the pacific, being sheltered by islands on the southern side. an indian wrapped in a gaudy blanket went striding stolidly past the pony rider party. "will you tell us where the town is?" called tad. without looking at the questioner, the indian pointed up the hill to the right. "he means on top of the mountain," interpreted stacy. "no. there is a trail leading up through the trees," answered tad. "but it can't be much of a settlement." "there must be quite a town here," said the professor. "i have read that in the year the russians established a penal colony here, having erected quite a plant. a city was laid out at the time, though i think i have heard that the penal buildings were burned down. but we shall find out more when we get to it." the climb was a stiff one--almost straight up, it seemed to the boys. three miles of this through a forest-bordered trail brought them to the village. "this certainly is some town," laughed tad. they saw before them a general store, two or three shops that looked as if they were for the purpose of supplying miners' outfits, with a few scattering cottages here and there. to the left they could make out the smoke from the new thlinkit village. squaws from the latter were sitting about the village street weaving baskets. such beautiful baskets none of that party ever had seen before. the boys could hardly resist the temptation to buy, but knowing that every pound and every inch of bulk in their packs counted, they contented themselves with admiring the handicraft of the squaws. ponies or horses were seldom seen in the yakutat street, so those of the pony rider outfit attracted no little attention. a swarm of indian children gathered about them, chattering half in english and half in their native language. the keeper of the general store came out to greet the outfit, scenting some trade, and shook hands with the professor warmly. "anybody'd think the professor was his long-lost brother," chuckled stacy. a bevy of dark-eyed squaws surrounded the professor. in several instances papooses were strapped to their backs, the youngsters looking as if they did not enjoy it any too well. "why do they tie them up in splints?" asked stacy. "to keep them from getting broken," answered rector. a squaw offered stacy a pair of beaded moccasins that were gorgeous to his eyes. "how much?" "fife dolee." "eh? i don't hear very well?" "four dolee." "i'll give you a dollar and fifty cents." "two dolee. you take um?" "you bet i'll take um. it's like finding moccasins to get them for that price." "you will have to carry them yourself, you know," warned tad. "what do you think i'm going to do with those joy shoes?" demanded the fat boy. "i supposed you intended to wear them when sitting by the fireside." "like the squaw, you've got another guess coming. i'm going to send those moccasins to my aunt in chillicothe." this was an unusual thing to do. stacy usually thought of himself, but seldom of others. tad called to the other boys to tell them the news. they examined the moccasins gravely. at this juncture the professor beckoned to the boys to come into the store, which they did after hastily staking down their stock. "this gentleman says he thinks he can get us a guide," announced the professor. "i tell him we must have a reliable one, for we know absolutely nothing about the country from here on." "black or white?" questioned stacy. "oh, black, of course. there are no white guides up here. i think this one was out with a government surveying party once," said the store-keeper. "he should do very well, then," nodded the professor, well pleased. "what's good enough for our uncle sam surely should be good enough for us," agreed ned rector. "what do you say, chunky?" "i decline to commit myself. i've been taken in on guides before this. trot out your guide and, after i've tried him out, i'll tell you what i think of him. in buying guides i follow the same tactics that tad butler does in purchasing horses." "oh, you do, eh?" jeered ned. "always." "then be sure you examine this fellow's legs to make certain that they are sound. feel his ankles that there is neither spavin nor ringbone, then open his mouth and look at his teeth to be sure that he isn't lying to you," advised tad dryly. "after which, one stacy brown will be reduced to the condition that he deserves," laughed ned. "what condition?" demanded the fat boy. "use your imagination." "it isn't working to-day. i'm too hungry." "plenty of crackers and cheese and other things here," said tad. "i am going to have some. isn't that 'pop' up there, sir?" he asked the proprietor. "yes; have some?" "what flavors have you?" "sarsaparilla and ginger ale." "give me both," interjected stacy. "i'll have a pound of that cheese and about a peck of crackers. got anything else?" "ginger snaps?" "hooray! just like being in chillicothe, isn't it?" stacy filched a hard cracker and slipped it into the mouth of a papoose on its mother's back. the squaw did not observe the action, but one of her sister squaws muttered something, whereat the mother snatched the cracker from the mouth of her young hopeful, cast the cracker on the floor and put her moccasined foot on it. she launched into a volley in her own language, directed at chunky. "that's all right, madam. roast me all you wish. i don't care how much you insult me so long as i don't understand a word you are saying." "do you wish the cheese done up?" asked the proprietor. "done up? certainly not. i'll attend to the doing up myself." chunky took a large bite, then banged the end of the pop bottle against the counter to open the bottle. the stuff was highly charged, and a good quantity of it struck ned rector in the eye. stacy waved the bottle at arm's length before placing it to his mouth. the charge went over his shoulder and soaked the professor's whiskers before the fat boy succeeded in steering the mouth of the bottle safely to his lips. professor zepplin sputtered, ned rector threatened, but the fat boy ate and drank, regardless of the disturbance he had caused. "if you open any more of that stuff be good enough to go outdoors to do so," advised the professor. "i wuz thinking ob doig it in here and shooting a papoose with some ginger ale," answered stacy thickly. "you will keep on till you have those squaws pulling your hair, chunky," warned butler. the other boys were by this time eating cheese, crackers and ginger snaps. the proprietor had sent one of the indian children to fetch the man he had recommended as a guide, and by the time the pony rider boys had satisfied their appetites, the guide entered the store and stood waiting to be recognized. the boys laughed when they saw him. chapter xi the guide who made a hit the guide might have been anywhere from twenty to forty years of age. the boys were unable to say, though they decided that he was quite young. he was considerably shorter in stature than the indians they had seen, and tad wondered if he were not an eskimo. the guide's head was shaven except for a tuft of black coarse hair on the top, standing straight up, while a yellow bar of paint had been drawn perpendicularly on each cheek. he wore a shirt that had once been white, a pair of trousers, one leg of which extended some six inches below the knee, the other as far above the knee of the other leg. over his shoulders drooped a blanket of gaudy color. the guide's feet were clad in the mucklucks worn both in summer and winter. taking him all in all, the man was a smile-producing combination. "are you a guide?" asked the professor. "me guide." "how old are you?" "twenty year." "i think that is about it," said the store-keeper. "these natives never know their age exactly." "you look to me more like an eskimo than an indian," observed professor zepplin. "me innuit--siwash. you savvy me?" stacy scratched his head. "tell him to talk united states," suggested the fat boy. "what is your name?" asked tad. "anvik. me smart man, savvy? me educate jesuit mission. me pilot chilkoot, white horse, caribou; me savvy all over." "do you know how to cook?" questioned the professor. "heap cook all time. me savvy cook." "you don't savvy any cooking for me," declared stacy. "you will think differently about it when you are hungry. remember, you are full of cheese and crackers now," answered rector. "you have been out with the white men surveying, i am told," resumed the professor. anvik nodded solemnly. "big snow--no trail--big mountains. white men get lost. anvik find, anvik know trail. anvik big pilot. me take um to ikogimeut when yukon ice get hard so man can go safe with dog team. big feast, big feed, tell heap big stories, big dance. oh, heap big time. innuit go, plenty ingalik go. me got pony, too. buy um from ingalik man." "according to his story he seems to be the big noise up here," muttered ned rector. "he has a pony. that is one point in his favor," said tad. "wait till you see it before you call it a pony," advised stacy. "me got gun, too. me shoot. bang!" stacy staggered back, clapping a hand to his forehead. "i'm shot!" he cried dramatically. "stacy, do restrain yourself until we get out on the trail again," begged the professor. "me make snare. me catch big game in snare. me heap big pilot. me ingalik." "have some cheese," urged chunky, passing a chunk to the now squatting indian. without the least change of expression the indian thrust the chunk into his mouth and permitted it to lie there, bulging out the right cheek. "do you think this man will do, sir?" asked professor zepplin, turning to the store-keeper. "he will have to if you want a guide. he is the only fellow here who has ever acted in that capacity, so far as i know." "we would prefer to have a white man." the proprietor shook his head. "white men mostly are up in the gold country, dawson, nome, all over." "isn't there gold in this part, too?" questioned tad. "yes, there's gold everywhere. you can go down and pan out gold in the black sands on the beach here. but what's the use? there is more money to be made in other ways in this country, unless you are lucky enough to strike it rich before you have spent a fortune locating the claim." "where you go?" demanded anvik. "north. northwest from here. we want to get into the wildest of the country and we don't want to get lost." "me no lose. mebby me find gold, uh!" "we are not looking for gold," replied the professor. "we are always looking for gold," corrected stacy. "if you know where there is gold you just lead me to it and i'll be your brother for life." "me show." "i take back all i said about this gentleman," announced chunky. "if the half that he says is true, he is worth several times the price he asks." "how much does he ask?" inquired rector. "i don't know," replied the fat boy. "he's cheap at the price, anyway." "when you mush?" demanded anvik. "we don't have mush. we have bacon and beans, and tin biscuit and coffee, and plenty of other things, but no mush," answered the professor. the store-keeper laughed heartily. "he doesn't mean something to eat. mush means march or move, a corruption of the french-canadian 'marché.' he means when are you going to set out." "oh!" exclaimed the professor. "i thought you were an indian, professor?" said tad laughingly. "i guess if we depend upon you for interpreter we shall get left." "of course i don't understand this jargon." "of course you don't," agreed butler. "i doubt if any other persons do outside of the locality itself. you see this jargon is purely local and--" "that's what the doctor said about a pain i had once," interjected stacy. "but it hurt just the same." "anvik, we would like to start this afternoon, if you are ready," announced the professor. the indian shook his head. "no mush to-day. mush to-mollel." "why not to-day?" "innua him angry to-day." "who is innua?" demanded the professor, bristling. "we do not care who is angry. that has nothing to do with us." "he means the mountain spirits," explained the store-keeper. "eh?" questioned chunky. "mountain spirits?" "he means spirits in the air," explained butler. "we are not afraid of spirits, anvik." "anvik no like." "how do you know innua is abroad?" asked the professor, now curious to know more of the native superstitions. "see um." "where?" "on big mountain," indicating mt. st. elias with a sweeping gesture. "he won't go until to-morrow. if you want him you will have to wait," the store-keeper informed them. "then i suppose we shall have to wait," reflected professor zepplin. "it may be an excellent idea after all. we can pitch camp in the village and acquaint our guide with our methods of doing things, anvik, do you know how to put up tents and make camp?" "me make ighloo, fine ighloo. snow no get in, cold no get in, innua no get in." "how about rain?" put in stacy. "rain no get in." "that's all right, then. we don't care whether the snow gets in or not, but we don't want to have to swim out of our ighloos in the middle of the night. one is liable to get wet, you know," reminded brown. the professor arranged the wages with anvik, calling upon the store-keeper to witness the bargain and put it in writing. the professor then directed the boys to take the new guide out and begin his instruction in the ways of the pony rider boys. the professor remained to purchase necessary stores and supplies, consulting the proprietor as to what would be needed on the journey. the advice of the store-keeper was helpful in aiding the professor to take only such equipment and supplies as would be absolutely necessary. anvik went to the indian village to bring his pony, the boys in the meantime starting off to pick a camp site. "one thing, boys, we mustn't play tricks on anvik," reminded tad. "i have an idea that he hasn't much of a sense of humor. he might lose his temper and run away and leave us after we were deep in the interior of the country." "do you know, i don't believe he is an indian at all," asserted ned rector. "neither an indian nor a white man," suggested stacy wisely. "i think he is an esquimo," spoke up walter. "what's the odds? we don't care what his race is so long as he answers our purpose," declared butler. "he says he is an i-knew-it, and i believe him," said stacy brown with emphasis. "an innuit, you mean," corrected tad. "that's it, an i-knew-it, and that's what i did--" "there he comes," cried walter. the indian was leading a pony that looked as if it had not felt a brush or comb since its birth, but tad's discerning eye noted that the little animal was hardy and well-conditioned, though of evident temper. "does he kick?" asked the boy, as anvik tied his mount to a tree. "him kick like buck caribou. him kick all time, both ways." "we'll hopple him if he does," said tad. "be sure that you tie him so he doesn't kick our ponies, anvik. we can't have anything of that sort. if he persists in kicking i'll see if i can't break him of it." "you horse shaman?" asked anvik. "yes, he's ashamed of his horse, that's it," chuckled stacy. tad's face wore a puzzled look, which a few seconds later gave place to a smile of understanding. "oh! you mean, am i a horse doctor? is that it?" "uh." "that's what he is. anvik has got you properly located this time. ha, ha!" laughed chunky. "come, boys, unpack. we must give our guide his first lesson. you sit down and watch us, anvik, while we make camp." the guide did so, grunting with approval or disapproval from time to time as the work pleased or displeased him. under the now skillful hands of the pony rider boys the camp rapidly assumed shape and form. all the tents were erected on this occasion in order that the guide might observe the whole process. the tents up, the boys settled them. there were plenty of trees about from which to get boughs for their beds, and wood was brought and a campfire built up. this especially interested the guide. he uttered grunts and nods of approval as he watched tad build the fire in true woodsman-like manner. "white man no make fire like indian. you make fire like indian." "thank you," smiled butler. "you make cook fire. how you make sleep fire?" "a little fire close up to the tent," answered butler. "i make it so as to get all the heat into the tent instead of sending the heat up into the air where it will do no good." "heap good. you good indian." "that's what he is, anvil, he's an indian," cried stacy. "i seem to be a good many things in this camp," laughed tad. "any further compliments you can pay me, stacy?" "no, but if you don't chase that buck over yonder behind the professor's tent, i reckon you'll lose your rope," reminded the fat boy. tad sprang to his feet, leaping over the tent ropes to the rear. a native had reached under and was hauling out butler's lasso. tad grabbed the fellow by an arm and sent him spinning. "you get out of here or i'll wallop you!" threatened the freckle-faced boy. "don't you try that! it doesn't go in this outfit. anvik, tell your friend that someone will get knocked in the head if he steals anything in this camp." the guide uttered a volley of protest in innuit, which the assembled squaws, papooses and bucks received in stoical silence, and with impassive faces. "they don't seem to be particularly impressed by your lecture," said ned. "him no take. anvik tell um stick um with knife if take." "you will do nothing of the sort. we will do all the punishing. don't let me see you using your knife to stick anyone. now, i guess you had better show us around. take your pony and come along," rebuked rector. "where you want go?" "oh, anywhere. you lead the way. will anything here be taken while we are away?" questioned ned. "no take. anvik stick um if take." "you're a savage, that's what you are," declared chunky. the boys got on their ponies, while anvik, after letting his blanket slip to his waist, started away at a stride that the ponies had to trot to keep up with. chapter xii in the heart of nature that night the indian slept rolled in his blanket with feet close to the campfire in true indian style. he neither moved nor made a sound all night long so far as the boys knew, but just as the dawn, was graying the skies between the great white glaciers, he was up and striding, away on some pilgrimage of his own. he did not return until two hours later. when the boys awoke anvik was sitting before the fire with both hands clasped about his bunched knees. "good morning," greeted tad, who was the first to emerge from the tents. "huh!" answered the guide. "is the mountain spirit willing that we should make a start this morning?" "him gone," answered the indian. "where?" "not know. mebby yukon, mebby caribou," with a wave of his hand that encompassed all the territory to the north of them. "you mush bymeby?" "very soon. we will have breakfast now, then we will get under way." anvik nodded and grunted, then, straightening up, let fall his blanket and began preparing the things for breakfast. one by one the pony rider boys appeared, stretching themselves and yawning. a wash in an icy spring close at hand awakened them instantly. stacy was the last to emerge from his tent. he sniffed the air, then turned up his nose. "bacon!" he grumbled disgustedly. "don't you like it?" asked tad. "i was thinking last night that if i keep on eating bacon for many months more i'll be growing a pork rind in my stomach." "you don't have to eat the bacon unless you want to, chunky." "yes, i do. it's either that or starve, and stacy brown never will starve so long as there is anything to eat in the shop. where's the bath room? i want to wash." "over yonder, and don't you wash where we get our breakfast water if you know what's good for you." "all water looks alike to me," answered the fat boy, walking rather unsteadily toward the spring, rubbing his eyes. breakfast that morning was rather a hurried affair, for there was much to be done. the supplies had been brought up from the store the night before so there was no need to wait for the place to open, and anvik proved to be quite handy in striking camp, needing few instructions. he remembered well all that had been told him the previous day. they got away early. as before, the guide disdained to ride his pony. he trotted along ahead, leading the little animal until some five miles beyond the village when he leaped to the pony's back, and with a shrill "yip, yip!" sent it galloping ahead. this made the boys laugh. they did not laugh for long, however. a mile beyond this they swerved from the trail that led up parallel with the border between the united states and the canadian possessions and struck straight into the wilds. "say, where's the trail?" demanded the perspiring stacy when the going became so rough that the greater part of the time they were obliged to walk, leaving their ponies to get along as best they might. "there is no trail. this is the trackless wilderness," replied butler. "there is time to go back if you wish to." "no, i don't want to go back." ere that day was ended chunky almost wished he _had_ gone back while he had the opportunity. time and time again they were obliged to haul their ponies up the steep sides of rocks by main force. fortunately, the little animals, used to mountain climbing, were unaffected by dizzy heights or dangerous crossings, and picked their way almost daintily. the boys were perspiring and red of face, but happy. they thoroughly enjoyed this wild traveling. it went beyond anything they had ever experienced. "i hope you are satisfied," panted the professor when at noon they stopped on a little plateau from which gulches fell away on all sides, leaving them, as it were, on a magic island high in the air. "i sincerely hope it is wild enough for you young gentlemen." "not any too much so, professor," answered tad. "i could stand it a lot wilder." "at the present rate you will have it that way." they built a fire and cooked a light meal, after which all hands lay down for an hour, with the exception of anvik, who sat bunched in his now familiar brooding position, gazing off into space. as he sat thus, his far-seeing eyes discovered something, but he did not change countenance. he simply sat in dreamy-eyed silence. perhaps what he saw did not interest him. a column of white smoke had attracted his attention. promptly on the expiration of the hour that the boys had given themselves to sleep, anvik stepped briskly to them, shaking each one by the shoulder. "mush!" he grunted with each shake. "i wish you wouldn't say that," grumbled stacy. "it makes me think i'm going to have breakfast." "heap big mush. big snow, big mountain," grunted the innuit, with a sweeping gesture towards the towering peaks of the st. elias range which they were now entering. "have we got to go through that?" begged walter anxiously. "um," replied the guide. "but how shall we ever make it?" "mush." "yes, mush," jeered chunky. "you just spread the mush over the mountain side and slide. don't you understand, walt? my, but you are thick." all that afternoon they fought their way through the rugged mountains, making camp that night in a gloomy pass at the foot of vancouver mountain, a vast pile that towered nearly fourteen thousand feet high. it seemed to the pony rider boys that they were a long way from civilization, and tad admitted that he would soon be lost were he obliged to follow a trail up there. the camp was made about six o'clock, still with broad daylight, but the boys considered that they had done enough for one day. the ponies were weary and tad knew better than to press them too hard. after supper the freckle-faced boy shouldered his rifle. anvik gave him a glance of inquiry. "where are you going?" demanded the professor. "i'm going to 'mush' a little way up the pass to see if i can't get something worth while for our breakfast." "you will get lost." "no, that will not be possible. so long as i keep in the pass i shall be all right. don't worry; i'll keep in the pass all right." the boy plunged into the thick undergrowth, and no sooner had he done so than the giant mosquitoes and black gnats attacked him in force. tad fought them until he grew tired of it, then he trudged on grimly, permitting them to do their worst. after a time he decided that he would get no game if he remained down in the pass, so, after carefully taking his bearings, tad climbed the mountain until he was able to look over the tops of the trees. it was like a level green sea. he sat down in the sunlight, gazing out over the wonderful landscape. "a world of silence," he murmured. "if chunky were here he would say i was getting softening of the brain. hello!" tad froze himself. there was scarcely a perceptible flicker of the eyelids as his gaze became fixed on a point of rock just across the pass. there, poised with one foot in the air, stood an antelope. it was a young doe, as tad surmised it to be. his position was not a favorable one for shooting because he was in plain sight, and the least move on his part no doubt would be discovered by the antelope. "she must have scented me or else she has got a whiff from the camp. if i don't make any false moves she will be over in that camp within the next hour." tad raised his rifle slowly. yet slow and cautious as he was, the antelope's head went up sharply. so did butler's rifle. he took quick aim and pulled the trigger. the report of his shot went crashing from wall to wall, like a series of heavy shots. [illustration: he raised his rifle slowly.] the freckle-faced boy leaped to his feet, and to one side, with rifle ready for another shot in case he had missed. but he had not. the antelope had leaped into the air, turned a complete somersault, and went crashing down into the gulch out of sight. "hooray! maybe it was a chance shot, but it was a dandy just the same. now i wonder if i am going to be able to find her. i think i know how." the boy took out his compass and got a bearing on the point where he had last seen the antelope. noting the course he started down the mountain side, sliding and leaping in his haste. crossing over the pass was more difficult, for a broad glacial stream was rushing through the center of it. nothing daunted, tad plunged in, but was swept off his feet almost instantly and carried several rods down before he was able to check himself by grabbing a rock. the rifle had been held out of the water most of the way, though it got a pretty good wetting. the water was less swift from the rock on, and tad essayed another crossing. he fell only once on the way over. this time he went in all over, rifle and all, but he got up grinning. "it doesn't matter much now. i can't be any wetter, and i guess the gun isn't any the worse off, though i shall have to give it a pretty thorough cleaning and oiling when i get back to camp." having been thrown considerably off his course, butler found some difficulty in picking it up again, but he found it at last, then guided by the compass made his way straight to where the antelope lay amid a thick mass of undergrowth. he examined her and found that the bullet had entered just behind the left shoulder. "i couldn't have done any better than that at fifty yards," chuckled the boy. "the next question is, how am i going to get her to camp? i reckon i shall have to tote her." chapter xiii a pony rider boy's pluck "white boy him make shoot," grunted anvik. "he has shot?" questioned ned. "ugh." "how do you know?" "hear um." "you must have pretty good ears. i haven't heard anything," replied the fat boy. "how do you know it wasn't someone else?" "know um gun." "it is queer we didn't hear him," said the professor. "do you think he got some game?" the guide nodded. "we shall see how good a fortune-teller you are, but the joke will be on you if it should prove not to have been butler at all." to this the guide made no reply. in the meantime, tad butler was having his troubles. the problem of how to get the antelope back to camp was not so easily solved. but tad thought he knew a way. first he got a stick, which he sharpened at both ends. the stick, about six feet long, he thrust through slits he had made in the hocks of the animal, somewhat similar to what he would have done had he been going to string the carcass up. first strapping his rifle over his shoulder, the pony rider boy raised the stick to his shoulders also, and, stooping, lifted the animal. it was a heavy burden and he staggered. the head of the antelope was dragging on the ground, which made butler's labor still more trying. the lad started away, keeping close to the stream in his search of a fording place, but he failed to find anything that looked easier than the portage he had used before, so he finally decided to go back to that. by the time he reached the former point he was obliged to drop his burden and sink down on the rocks to rest. "whew, but it's hot. and the mosquitoes and the gnats! if it isn't one pest in the wilds, it is sure to be another and a worse one," he concluded somewhat illogically, measuring the width of the stream with his eyes. "i'll try it." the weight of his burden was a help rather than otherwise in crossing the glacial stream, for the weight kept the boy on his feet, except on one occasion when stepping on a flat, slippery rock, they were whipped out from under him. tad went in all over, with the antelope on top of him, and there he struggled and splashed, losing his foothold almost as fast as he gained it. "well, i am a muffer," gasped tad, finally getting to his feet. "i'm worse than chunky. i deserve a worse wetting, but i guess that's impossible." the journey to the other side was made without further mishap. then began a hard, grilling tramp down through the pass, the ends of the pole on which the animal was suspended continually catching on limbs and brush, frequently throwing butler down, tearing his clothes and scratching his face and neck. his dogged determination carried him through, however, but he was in the end considerably the worse for wear. the first his companions saw of him was when tad fell out into the open in plain sight of the camp, flat on his face, with the carcass on top of him. at first glance they thought it was a live animal they had seen. "get a gun, quick!" bellowed stacy. "him white boy," answered the indian. "him git um." "what, tad?" ned uttered a yell and started on a trot for his companion who, by this time, was getting up slowly and with evident effort. stacy and walter followed. "what have you got there? we came near letting go at you." "yes, yes, we thought you were a bear," chuckled stacy. "it's a deer," cried walter perkins. "him antelope," nodded the indian wisely. "white boy heap much big hunter." "i'm afraid i am a better hunter than i am a toter. stacy, i fell in." "ye-e-e-ow!" yelled the fat boy joyously. "here, let us take him in," offered ned, reaching for one end of the carrying stick. butler shook his head. "i said i was going to get him to camp alone and i shall." "but--" protested ned. "oh, let him carry the beast if he wants to. tad likes to work," laughed the fat boy. "which is a heap sight more than may be said of some persons we know of," returned ned. tad dragged the carcass into camp, casting it down a short distance from the tents. "him heap big little man," reiterated the indian. "how much does the animal weigh?" asked the professor. "a good ton, i should say," replied tad, sinking down by the fire. "i'm all tuckered out." "you had better get on some dry clothes." "these will dry in a few minutes by the fire," was the philosophical reply. "yes, that's right," bubbled stacy. "when one side gets dry i'll pry you over with the stick on which you brought in the carcass. you can't say i don't do my share of the work in this outfit." "i think i prefer to do my own rolling. i don't dare trust you," laughed tad. "that's it, you see. when i try to do anything you won't let me." "perhaps anvik will show you how to skin and cut up the antelope." "i don't want to know how to skin an antelope. we don't have that kind at home, so what's the use knowing about it? i know how to 'skin the cat,' and that's enough," chunky declared. anvik deftly strung up the carcass and in half an hour had it neatly dressed, the boys watching the operation with interest. "heap much good meat," he nodded. "yes, heap," admitted stacy solemnly. "what are you going to do with it all?" "eat um." "all of it?" "some of um. mebby wolf eat um rest. mebby bear eat um." "mebby they don't. mebby stacy brown will eat um if there is any left when my hungry friends get through with it to-morrow," jeered the fat boy. "i'll have mine rare, if you please." "huh!" grunted anvik with the suspicion of a grin on his usually stolid countenance. chapter xiv stacy bumps the bumps one by one the travelers were hauling the ponies up a steep mountain, over which their course lay, four days after tad had brought in the antelope. they had eaten their fill of the meat, hiding the rest in case they should by any chance come that way again. the going had been worse than before. it could not have been tougher for either man or beast. the mountain side up which they were struggling was rough and rugged. a short distance to the right of them the quartz rock was as smooth as polished marble save for a hummock here and there, some of the latter smooth, others rough. neither pony rider boy nor pony could have held his footing there for an instant. after two hours' toil they got the last of the stock up, which in this case was the pack mule. ned pulled on the rope while tad and anvik pushed. they were safe in doing so, for the mule could not kick without going down altogether. furthermore, it was as anxious as its helpers to get to the top and have the disagreeable job over with. the result was that all hands were pretty well fagged out by the time they got to a level space from which their way led around the base of the higher mountain. "now, stacy, you haven't done much except to give us the benefit of your advice, so take the mule over yonder and tether him where he can browse," directed butler. "walter, did you tether the others?" "i did." "come on, you lazy mule. i'm not going to tote you. you'll tote yourself if you want a feed," growled stacy, taking hold of the lead rope and slouching off to the right. the bushes where they had placed the ponies were about ten rods to the northward of the point at which the party had landed. stacy was apparently trying to see how near he could walk to the edge without himself or the mule slipping down that glassy side of granite-like rocks. "come along, you lazy cayuse," he yelled, giving the lead line a series of tugs. it was like pulling on a dead weight, the pack mule being too weary to hasten its lagging footsteps. chunky turned around and taking firm grip on the rope with both hands began to pull with all his might. the mule braced himself. he resented this sort of treatment. the halter suddenly slipped over the animal's head, and the pack mule sat down heavily. so did the fat boy. unfortunately for the mule it sat down with its haunches slightly over the edge of the slope, and down it went over the slippery surface. "there goes the other mule!" yelled walter perkins. "fat boy him go, too," grunted anvik. they had failed to observe stacy. what they were most interested in was the sight of their pack mule sliding down the slope backwards in a sitting posture. alarmed as they were to see their stores disappearing, the ludicrousness of the sight interested them. the mule came in contact with one of the high places--a rocky bump, which bounced him up into the air and turned him completely around. down to the next obstruction the animal traveled, principally on its nose. stacy brown was only a few seconds behind the mule. the two had sat down facing each other. the mule being the heavier had gone first and, when once under way, his momentum carried him along with greater force and speed. with a wild yell, the fat boy, sprawling and struggling to catch hold of something to stop his progress, began the descent. below him he could hear the rattle of tin cans, for the pack had broken open. it was raining canned goods down there, but stacy was not particularly interested in this phase of the situation. he hit the bump over which the pack mule had leaped, was hurled up into the air, where he did a dizzy spin, then sat down with a force that for the instant knocked all the breath out of him, and once more he shot towards the bottom. "they'll both be killed!" cried the professor in great alarm. tad, comprehending the scene in a twinkling, started on a run. choosing a point where there were no bumps in the way, he crept over and, sitting on his feet, supported on each side by his hands, began a downward shoot. but the freckle-faced boy did not long maintain that position. a few seconds after starting he was flat on his back, going down feet first at a speed that fairly took his breath away. ere he was half-way down, the mule had reached the end of its journey at the bottom of the slope. then stacy brown came along, but not much more gracefully than the mule, and landed feet first on the animal. what the slide and the bumps had failed to do for the unfortunate beast, stacy brown did. he was a human projectile and the mule, that had got to its fore feet, promptly lay down again under the impact. chunky did a graceful dive over the body of his prostrate enemy, landing on his shoulders in a thicket. "stacy! stacy!" yelled tad as he reached the end of his own slide and got to his feet. tad had not been in the least injured by the fall. "stacy!" "what do you want?" "are you hurt?" "no." "then come and help me get the mule up." "i can't." "why not?" "i'm strung up." tad did not know what the trouble was, but he lost no time in getting to his companion. butler gazed, then he burst out laughing. chunky lay on his back on the ground, his eyes rolling. one foot was elevated as high as it could reach and still permit the boy's body to remain on the ground. the foot was caught in the crotch of a dwarfed tree, and was wedged in tightly, too. "gracious! how did you ever manage to get into that scrape?" questioned tad between laughs. "hey, ned, is that you?" as a crashing in the bushes was heard near at hand. "yes. i'm coming. is stacy hurt?" "no, but come here quick. here's a sight for you!" ned threshed his way to them, then he, too, burst out into a roar of laughter. "ha, ha!" mocked chunky. "that's right. never mind me. i'm only the fat boy, taken along to do stunts to make the rest of you laugh. i'm quite comfortable, thank you. i can stand on my head here for any old length of time. have your laugh out, then shoot me! i don't want to die a lingering death." "i'll lift him up. you get the foot out, ned," directed tad. this was not so easily accomplished. butler tried different ways of doing this, but each time the fat boy's yells made him stop short. every attempt to lift stacy gave his foot a wrench, bringing forth a howl. "let me have your hatchet," demanded tad. ned passed it over. "what are you going to do? going to chop my leg off?" demanded stacy. "don't worry. it won't hurt but a moment." "pro-o-o-o-fessor!" "keep still, you ninny! we aren't going to hurt you," growled ned. tad was already hacking at the tree, which was small, but very tough. every blow brought a yell from the fat boy. he couldn't have made much more racket had his companions in reality been amputating the leg itself. at last butler had chopped through. he grabbed the tree, but stacy, jerking on his foot, pulled the tree right over on him, incidentally throwing tad down. then chunky let out a fresh series of howls as the sharp sprouts smote him on the face and body. the foot, however, had come free with the falling of the tree, but the boy still lay there groaning, making no effort to help himself. "get up! you're all right," commanded ned, jerking stacy out by the collar. "see what you've accomplished now. you have done for our last mule. had you not been along i don't believe the other one would have fallen off the trail." "that's right. save the donk, but never mind a stacy brown. he's a good joke, that's all," complained stacy. tad had run to the pack mule which had got up, and was standing with nose close to the ground. "he isn't hurt," cried tad. "he is all right, professor," he called. "both mules are all right. hooray!" "eh?" growled stacy, flushing hotly. anvik, who had been making his way down by a more roundabout way, now made his appearance. he grunted upon discovering the disheveled chunky, and shrugged his shoulders as he observed the display of tin cans strewn about. "much heap big fool!" ejaculated the indian. "are you addressing your remarks to me or to the mule?" demanded stacy calmly. "huh!" that was the only reply stacy got, and anvik began gathering up the stuff that had been lost from the battered pack. this was no small task, owing to the way the provisions had been scattered. butler, in the meantime, had gone over the pack mule carefully to see if there were any serious injuries. "he's a lucky mule," announced the lad. "there are no bones broken, but i'll warrant he aches all over from the shaking up he has had. i shall have to sew up that gash on his side when we get him up." "let's get started and boost him up, then," urged rector. "no, let the beggar rest. i haven't the heart to drag him up that mountain again until he recovers from the shock. we'll tether him and help anvik get the provisions up first. stacy, are you able to work?" "what you want me to do?" "carry some of these stores up." the fat boy shook his head. "my weak heart won't stand it," he answered. thrusting his hands in his pockets he strolled off. the two boys looked at each other and tad shook his head hopelessly. ned picked up a stone and savagely shied it at a tomato can. it hit the can and split it wide open. "if you must give vent to your emotions i wish you would throw stones at a tree, or at something that won't deplete our stores," suggested butler. "now see what you've done." stacy had promptly rescued the split tomato can and carefully holding it before him stepped gingerly over to a rock on which he sat down and began eating of the contents of the can. "i don't want to see. stacy riles me so that i want to thrash him. i'll do it some day, too!" threatened ned. stacy paid no attention to rector's threats, but having finally emptied the can, he threw it at ned, then began climbing the mountain to rejoin the outfit. it was all of two hours ere they finished their work of bringing the damaged supplies up the mountain side. then came a tug of war in getting the mule up once more, the brute hanging back, the boys pulling and pushing. the professor had a new pack cover all cut and sewed by the time they had finished. the boys decided to camp where they were for an hour longer, then go on, making a late camp that afternoon, the days being so long that this could be done without night traveling, which was very perilous in that rugged section. they finally took up their journey, making camp on a high plateau where tad was destined to make an important discovery before they set out on the following day. chapter xv the story in the dead fire it was an hour past daylight on the following morning when tad, who had got up early, shouldered his rifle and stalked out of camp, returned. the other boys were just out of their beds, heading for a spring to "wash their eyes open." tad did not show himself to them at once. there was no real reason for his caution, save that he was a woodsman and therefore always cautious as to the moves he made. anvik caught sight of him instantly, and tad beckoned. the guide did not appear to have observed the signal, but taking up his hatchet as if going out for wood, he strode from the camp also, and butler seeing that the guide was coming, turned and walked briskly away from the camp. the freckle-faced boy led for a short quarter of a mile straight over the plateau, a thickly wooded, rugged plain. then he halted, waiting for the guide to come up. tad pointed to a heap of ashes, the remains of a campfire. "huh!" grunted the indian. "someone has been here before us," nodded tad. "and not so very long ago, i should say. what do you make of it, anvik?" "you see um?" butler nodded. "what you see?" "a dead campfire." "huh. heap much. what else you see?" "i see a few things, anvik. of course i can't see as much as you do, but i should say this camp was not more than a day old. this fire was blazing yesterday. the ashes aren't the right color for a very old one." "one sun," grunted the indian. "it looks to me as if there had been two men here. am i right?" "heap good. two men. leave, big hurry. him go that way. stay here two hour. wonder why big hurry?" "perhaps they wanted to get somewhere, some place for which they had set out in a hurry. they had two ponies and pretty heavy packs." anvik nodded. "white boy much wise. him see almost like indian. my father him shaman. him teach anvik see many thing. white boy him see almost as much as anvik." "where do you think they are going?" "not know." "perhaps they are miners prospecting for a claim." anvik shook his head. "too much big hurry. no prospect. mebby go get claim. mebby see um again." "i hope we do. it would be pleasant to have some company in this wild place. they went in that direction when they broke camp. is that the way we go?" asked tad. "we follow um trail." "then let's go back and get ready to move." the pair strode back without another word, the indian's admiration for the freckle-faced boy having increased greatly since tad had beckoned him from the camp. shortly after noon as they were casting about for a favorable place in which to make their mid-day halt, ned rector, who was riding to the right of the others, uttered a shout. "what is it?" cried tad. "there has been a campfire here." "how did you find it?" wondered tad. "my pony walked through it and kicked up the ashes. who do you suppose it could have been?" "i am sure i don't know. see anything about the remains of the fire that tells you anything?" "no. what is there to see, tad?" "it takes a woodsman to see things," declared stacy brown, getting from his saddle and gravely strolling to the heap of ashes, into which he thrust one hand. "well?" grinned tad. "ashes warm. haven't been away from here very long." "great!" cried the boys. "you are a wonder," nodded butler approvingly. "but you all missed the other one." "the other what?" demanded ned. "the other campfire. there was another right near where we camped last night. in that case the ashes were cold. the travelers haven't made as much progress to-day as i should have thought they would, and it looks to me as though they thought they were moving rather too rapidly and had slowed down a little. what do you say, anvik?" "huh!" grunted the indian, which tad interpreted as meaning that he was right. the professor was much interested in the discovery, and asked tad and anvik many questions about the earlier discovery. still, there was not much to be learned. a stranger in this wild place was something to attract the attention and cause speculation and discussion, so during the rest hour they talked of little else. tad thought they would come up with the two strangers, but the guide shook his head. "him go north. anvik go northwest. no see." "we shall see by to-morrow. i have an idea that we are going to catch up with our friends before we get across the mountains," averred tad confidently. "lunch is ready," announced the professor. "and speaking of food, i'm a little hungry myself," said tad with a laugh. "i really am glad there is no one in our outfit with a delicate appetite. walt, do you remember what a dainty picker you were when we first went out together?" "yes. i have changed since then, haven't i?" "i should say you have. from a delicate little chap you've gotten to be a regular whopper." "yes, i reckon we've all grown some," agreed chunky. "but if this kind of going continues we'll all shrink away to nothing." "you will be able to lift a house after you have finished this journey," laughed tad. "i don't want to lift a house. i've got all i can do to lift myself." soon after, the party started on, to meet with a surprise ere they had gone far on their journey. chapter xvi a sign from the mountain top the surprise did not come until just before night closed in, shortly after ten o'clock that night. a hard, grilling day had been spent on the trail, with little relief from their labors, which were divided between hauling the ponies up dangerous slopes, down almost sheer walls, across glacial streams cold as ice, and last but not least the fighting of giant mosquitoes and black gnats. "there is only one thing lacking to make this country the limit," declared stacy after they had made camp and settled down to warm themselves while the guide was getting supper. "and what might that be?" questioned the professor. "snakes!" "thank goodness there aren't any such things here," exclaimed rector. "it is bad enough as it is. hark! what's that?" "him wolf," grunted the indian. "i should say there were several of 'him,'" laughed tad butler. "they seemed to be stirred up about something. are they timber wolves, anvik?" the guide nodded and grunted. "are you afraid of wolves?" demanded rector. "no 'fraid wolves. mebby 'fraid ingalik." tad drew from this that the indian had something in mind that he had not spoken to them about. the freckle-faced boy eyed the indian keenly, but anvik's impassive face told him nothing. the guide had discovered something else. tad was sure of that, but what that something was the boy had not the slightest idea. tad's gaze roved about over the landscape, traveling slowly from mountain to mountain, from peak to peak. twice he went over the rugged landscape spread out before them with his searching glances. suddenly his gaze halted and fixed on the peak of a low mountain off to the northwest of them. butler shaded his eyes, and anvik, observing the action, followed the direction of the boy's gaze. the guide made no move, nor did he change expression, but tad saw that anvik saw. a tiny ring of smoke was rising slowly from the low mountain peak, swaying lazily as it rose in the quiet air. it was almost white. one might have taken it for a cloud did he not know better, and only a mountaineer would have known better. a moment and a second ring ascended in the wake of the first one, then after another interval a third ring rose. "what are you looking at?" demanded the professor sharply. "smoke," answered tad. "where?" "on that low peak. where are the glasses?" ned hurriedly fetched the glasses. he took the first look, but saw no smoke. tad reached for them. by this time another ring was rising. it, like the first one he had seen, was followed by two others. "it's a signal!" announced butler quietly. "now what can it mean?" "it means trouble for us," spoke up stacy. "i can feel it in my bones." "who would desire to make trouble for us here?" demanded the professor. "i don't know," replied tad. "i don't believe that smoke has anything to do with us. it must be an indian signal." "no indian," grunted anvik. "him white man smoke." "how do you know?" questioned the professor sharply. "me know." "then perhaps you may be able to tell us whose smoke it is?" "him white man. mebby same man, mebby not. white man all same. him call other white man. him say some along, by jink." "let's make a smoke and answer him," suggested ned eagerly. "that would be a joke on him, whoever he is." tad said "no," and said it emphatically. "no make smoke," agreed the indian. "smoke want white man off yonder"--pointing to the southwest. "how do you know that?" asked butler. "smoke him go that way. want us, smoke him go this way." "i never knew that before," reflected tad. "you see, boys, they make these signal smokes by building a smudge, then holding a blanket over the smudge. by removing the blanket and replacing it they can make a definite number of smokes, long smokes or short smokes; in fact, they can almost make words, like the telegraph. it is a wonderful thing. i wouldn't be surprised if those signals could be made out twenty or thirty miles away, if one had eyes sharp enough to detect them." "but what are they signaling for?" demanded stacy. "i don't know. anvik says it is white men. i can't tell you anything about that. smoke is just smoke to me. they are communicating with someone. we shan't see them, as they must be all of ten miles away." "fifteen," corrected the guide. "that shows how poorly a novice judges distances in this country," nodded butler. "they may see our fire to-night. if they are friendly we shall no doubt meet them. if they are not, we may never see a sign of them again. that is the way i reason it out." anvik grunted and nodded. the indian understood a great deal more of what was being said than one would have supposed. in fact, to look at him one would not think he had even heard anything of what was being said about him. he was the silent, impassive-faced stoic of his race. after darkness had set in the boys scanned the mountains for the light of a campfire, but there was no light to be seen. the pony rider boys' campfire, however, was blazing up brightly, they having built up a large fire on purpose to attract the attention of the men who had made the smoke signals from the low mountain peak, low in comparison with the ten and fifteen thousand feet ranges about them. the boys turned in at midnight, a late hour for them, and were sound asleep within two minutes thereafter. they were aroused an hour later by the most terrifying roar they had ever listened to. "what's the matter?" cried tad, springing from his tent, trying to pierce the darkness with his gaze. "is--is the world coming to an end?" yelled ned. "i guess the mountain is falling down," shouted stacy. "guide, guide!" roared the professor. anvik, drawing his blanket still more closely about him, stepped over and threw some fresh sticks on the fire. the roaring by this time had become a thunderous, crashing noise that fairly deafened them. one had to shout to make himself heard. fine particles, like sharp stones, began raining down upon them, stinging the faces, causing the boys to shield their eyes with their arms. stacy, in alarm, ran and hid in the tent; the others stood their ground, yet not knowing what second they might be caught in what seemed to them to be a great upheaval of nature. "it's an earthquake," shouted ned rector. stacy heard the words in a brief lull. the fat boy burst from his tent yelling like a wild indian. "an earthquake! oh, wow, wow, wow! we'll all be shot to pieces. oh, help!" tad grabbed the boy by a shoulder, giving him a good shaking. "stop that noise!" he commanded. "don't yell until you are hurt." "i want to yell now. maybe i can't yell after i'm hurt," returned chunky. "guide! what is it?" roared the professor, the perspiration standing out over his face, as tad observed when the fire blazed up. anvik finished what he was doing before he answered. then he spoke without looking up. "him mountain fall down." "is it an ice slide?" shouted tad. "ugh!" "an avalanche, do you mean?" "yes; an ice-avalanche," explained the professor. "i have seen them in other parts of the world." "sun make him ice weak; ice fall down," explained anvik. "how about danger for us?" asked walter. for answer the indian shrugged his shoulders and went on poking the fire. then, of a sudden, there came a crash like a salvo of artillery. a crushing, grinding mass shot by them, snuffing out the fire as it passed. darkness and a terrifying silence followed. chapter xvii an unexpected meeting after the roar of the passing avalanche had ceased, and the awed silence became oppressive, stacy brown's voice was heard. "ow-wow!" he wailed. "are we all here, and safe?" called tad. "professor, ned, walter, anvik!" each answered to his name. "you didn't call for me," chunky protested indignantly. "don't i count in this outfit?" "that's easy," answered tad. "when you're not making a noise we know you're somewhere else. let's see what the ice did to our camp." "heap one piece ice fall," grunted the guide. "him sit on fire. innua him mad, by jink!" "is innua the scoundrel who has been throwing sections of mountains at us?" demanded walter. "he means the mountain spirit," explained tad. "don't you recall that anvik wouldn't start out with us the first day because he said the mountain spirit was in a blue funk, or something of the sort?" "oh, yes." "old innua must have been in a rage to-night then, and we are lucky that we weren't in range of his projectiles," chuckled tad. beyond destroying their fire, no damage had been done to the camp. however, after the excitement no one felt like sleep, so the boys sat about the fire discussing the ice avalanche for an hour or more. then, at the professor's urgent insistence, they turned in. anvik long since had wound himself up in his blanket and gone to sleep. just as the dawn was graying, tad got up, and shouldering his rifle slipped from the camp unobserved by anyone except the indian. anvik opened one eye, regarded the boy inquiringly, then closing the eye, dozed off. he was by this time too well used to tad's morning excursions to ask any questions. he knew the boy was well able to take care of himself. tad had a two-fold purpose in view in going out this morning. he wanted to get some fresh meat for the outfit and he also was curious to know what the smoke of the previous evening had meant. while he did not expect to come up with any strangers, he thought that, perhaps he might discover something. tad did. he had proceeded less than a mile from camp when he smelled smoke. at first he thought the odor must come from his own camp, then he saw that the slight breeze was from the opposite direction. "that means that someone isn't far ahead of me. it means i am going to find out who it is if i can." after floundering about for fully half an hour, with the odor of smoke becoming more pungent all the time, the boy was on the point of confessing that he was beaten, when all at once he caught the sound of a human voice. the voice was not loud enough to enable him to distinguish the words, but he was quite sure it was the voice of a white man and not far away at that. "they have masked their camp. that's why i haven't been able to find them," muttered the boy, starting ahead again. after creeping forward cautiously for some time, a wave of suffocating smoke from burning wood smote him full in the face. tad uttered a loud sneeze. two men suddenly appeared in the haze of smoke, and the boy heard the sound of hands slapping pistol holsters. he was able to make the men out faintly, but not with sufficient clearness to see who or what they were. "hold on, boys--don't shoot!" warned butler, as he stepped around the smudge to enable him to get a better view of the men whom he had come upon so unexpectedly, to them. before him stood curtis darwood and dill bruce, the latter known among his companions as the pickle. each man held his revolver ready for quick action. "why, how do you do?" smiled tad. "i hadn't the least idea i should find anyone i knew." "well, suffering blue jays, if it isn't old spotted face!" exclaimed bruce. "howdy?" "very good. how are you?" tad stepped forward. bruce shook hands cordially with the boy. tad turned to darwood, who had not said a word. the latter's face darkened, and he appeared not to have observed the hand that tad extended toward him. "aren't you going to shake hands with me, mr. darwood?" asked the lad. "i reckon you ought to know better than to ask it," returned the gold digger. "i reckon, further, that if you know what's good for you you'll be mushing out of this as fast as your legs will carry you, unless you are looking for trouble. git!" chapter xviii an unfriendly reception tad gazed at the gold digger in amazement. "i--i don't understand, mr. darwood." "don't you understand plain english? i said 'git.' we don't want anything to do with you, and if we find you fooling about our outfit after this we'll try something else to keep you away," warned the prospector. "i don't know why you appear to have taken such a dislike to me. i am sure i have done nothing to merit it. however, i am equally sure that i don't want anything to do with you. if you change your mind and can act like a man, instead of a kid, i shall be glad to see you. but don't get funny. we may be boys but we are quite able to take care of ourselves," answered tad, turning away. "stop!" darwood's voice was stern. tad halted and turned towards the two men. "you reckon you're mighty smart, i know, but you must think i'm a natural-born fool not to know that you have been following us all the way up here." "what?" "oh, you needn't play the innocent dodge. you know what i mean." "you--you think we have been following you?" questioned the boy, scarcely able to believe that the prospector was in earnest. "i don't think. i know. you're like all the rest of them. we have had this thing happen to us before. there are plenty more like you, and they've followed us, hoping they will be the first to discover the bear totem and the claim that we are in search of." "taku pass?" asked butler with a half smile on his face. darwood's face flushed angrily. "what did i tell you, bruce?" he snapped. "are you going?" he demanded, turning towards tad. "yes. i don't care to stay where i'm not wanted. but before going i am going to tell you something. we are not prospecting, nor following prospectors. we are taking our usual summer vacation on horseback. all i know about your affairs is what captain petersen of the 'corsair' told me, and what i overheard from sandy ketcham. if you will recall i told you about that. the captain gave me your history as far as he knew it, and i was much interested. how could i help being? i love adventure and so do my companions. we wanted to know more about it, but did not think it was any of our business until i overheard ketcham plotting against you. we hadn't the least idea we ever should see you again. my finding you this morning was a pure accident." "how'd you happen to do it?" interjected dill bruce. "i saw your smoke signs last night." "what!" darwood snapped the word out like the crack of a whip. "i saw your smoke signs. at least i suppose they were yours. this morning i started out, as i frequently do, in search of game. i smelled your smoke and out of curiosity hunted you up to see who our neighbors were. that's all there is to it. if you can get anything out of that you are welcome to it. i wish you luck in finding taku pass. if i should stumble on it, i'll look you up and let you know. we aren't looking for gold mines especially. 'bye." "well, what d'ye think of that?" grinned the pickle after tad had left them. "i think somebody will get hurt if they don't leave us alone," growled darwood, caressing the butt of his revolver. "i'm getting tired of this kind of nagging." "that outfit isn't nagging you," answered bruce. "how do you know?" "they are nothing but boys. at least one of them is the right sort. spotted face did us a favor. he isn't a crook." "i haven't said he was. but you don't know who is in their outfit now. besides, there isn't one chance in a thousand that they'd be so close on our trail unless they had followed us on purpose. no, this business must be stopped. we may be on the right track, and if we are we must protect ourselves, and we'll do it, even though we have to kill a few curious hounds who are following the trail. the boy business may be merely a mask for the operations of some other persons." "why don't you find out, then?" darwood bent a keen gaze on his companion. "what do you mean?" "hunt up their camp and see what is going on?" "i'll do it," answered the gold digger with emphasis. "what's more, i'll do it now." "that's the talk! if you hurry, you may be able to find the boy and follow him in. shall i go along?" "no. you stay here and look after things. i may be away for some time. i don't know where they are, but i'll find them if it takes all day. if our two comrades come in, you hold them here. needn't tell them where i am." darwood shouldered his rifle and strode from his camp without another word. bruce replenished the fire in order to make a smudge that could be smelled for some distance away, which was for the purpose of directing their companions to them, and also had served to call tad butler into their camp in advance of the other two gold diggers. tad was out of sight by the time curtis darwood got out, but darwood was able to follow the boy's trail, though it was not an easy one. tad had made no effort to mask his trail, but his natural instincts taught him to leave as few indications of his progress as possible. darwood saw this. instead of lessening his suspicions this fact served to increase them. the gold digger was using his nose more than his eyes, sniffing the air for the smoke from the camp of the pony rider boys' outfit. he caught the scent after half an hour or so of trudging over the hard trail. from this time on it was easy so far as finding his way was concerned. butler, knowing the way, had made much better time back to his own camp. breakfast was ready by the time he reached there. tad did not mention his experience, not having decided what he would do in this matter. "you find big smoke?" questioned the indian as tad stood over him by the fire. "yes," answered the lad carelessly. anvik shrewdly deduced that butler had made some sort of discovery, but he asked no further questions. perhaps the guide also had discovered that they had near neighbors. if so he kept that fact to himself. the boys sat down to breakfast. they discussed the day's ride and talked of their further journeyings, though tad had little to say that morning. he was thinking deeply on what had just occurred. the breakfast was about half finished when the lad flashed a quick, keen glance in the direction from which he had entered the camp. the others did not observe his sharp glance of inquiry. tad had seen something. a movement of the foliage had attracted his observant eyes. he glanced at anvik, who was sitting with his back to the party, gazing off over the mountains to the rear of them and through which they had worked their way to the present camping place. tad casually reached over for his rifle that was standing against a rock. "what's up?" demanded ned sharply. "i want to examine my gun," replied the boy. "funny time to examine it when eating your breakfast," spoke up walter. "i prefer to eat," said stacy. "we know that," chuckled ned. "no need for you to tell us." the professor was eyeing tad inquiringly, observing that the boy's face was slightly flushed. "what is it, tad?" he asked. "nothing, except that i am going to take a pot shot at an intruder," replied the boy calmly, suddenly leveling his rifle on the bushes where he had observed the movement a few moments before. he pulled the trigger. a deafening crash brought the boys to their feet, yelling. the shot was followed by a shout from the bushes. "stop that shooting, you fool!" roared a voice. tad put down his gun, grinning broadly, the others dancing about excitedly. [illustration: curtis darwood stepped out.] "come out of that or i'll give you something to yell at," commanded the pony rider boy. curtis darwood, his face stern and determined, stepped out into the open and walked straight towards the amazed group now standing near the campfire. the indian guide was the only person who had not gotten up when tad butler sent a bullet into the thicket fully six feet above the head of the gold digger who was spying on the camp. darwood was more angry at having been discovered than being shot at. he had heard the bullet rip through the foliage above his head, and knew that the shot had been intended to stir him up rather than to reach him. that the boy whom he had driven from his own camp should have thus turned the tables on him angered him almost beyond his control. darwood was so angry that he failed to see any humor in the situation. "it is mr. darwood, isn't it?" cried the professor with face aglow, striding forward with outstretched hand. as in butler's case, darwood professed not to see the proffered hand. he looked the professor squarely in the face. "won't you sit down and have a snack with us?" asked professor zepplin. "we were eating when tad fired that shot. that was very careless of you, young man. you might have killed someone." "i reckon he knew whom he was shooting at," answered the gold digger. "you see, this isn't the first time that young fellow and myself have met." "of course not. we all met on the 'corsair,'" spoke up rector. "he and i have met since then," answered darwood. "i reckon you know all about it. he came spying on our camp this morning just after daylight, and--" "you know that isn't true," interjected tad. "why don't you tell it straight if you are bound to tell it?" the miner let one hand fall to his holster. "up in this country they don't call men liars," answered darwood, looking butler coldly in the eyes. "then men shouldn't place themselves in a position to be called liars," retorted tad boldly. "you had better take your hand from your revolver. if you will take the time to glance at the rock to your right you may possibly see something to interest you." the miner cast a quick glance of inquiry in the direction indicated, and found himself looking into the muzzle of a rifle, laid over the top of the rock. behind the rifle was chunky, one eye peering over the sights. tad laughed. "stacy!" thundered the professor. "what does this mean?" "nothing, professor," answered tad. "chunky got a little excited, that is all. you may put the gun down, stacy. mr. darwood doesn't understand; that's all. sit down and have a snack with us, as the professor has asked you to do," urged butler. "i don't want to eat with you. you know it. don't you go to getting me riled or i won't answer for the consequences." "neither will i," answered tad smilingly. "we are easy to get along with unless someone treads on our toes; then it's a different story. sit down and we will talk this matter over." tad threw himself down beside the fire. stacy still sat behind the rock, gazing suspiciously at their early morning visitor. "i demand to know the meaning of this scene," said the professor sternly. "let mr. darwood tell you," replied butler. the gold digger made no answer. tad turned to the professor. "i will tell you what there is to it, sir. mr. darwood thinks we are like some others he has met. he thinks we are trying to steal his gold mine," declared tad in an impressive voice. professor zepplin flushed deeply. chapter xix the professor in a rage "what!" fairly exploded professor zepplin. "mr. darwood accuses us of having followed him to find out where this wonderful gold deposit is located. he thinks we want to steal it away from him." "preposterous!" "show me some gold," urged stacy, edging near. "i am looking for gold. i don't make any bones about saying so, either." "be silent," commanded the professor. "i smelled smoke when i was out this morning," continued butler. "i followed the scent until i stumbled into mr. darwood's camp. it was his signal smokes that we saw yesterday. mr. darwood did not give me a very cordial welcome; he ordered me out of his camp. not only that, but he threatened me in case we persisted in following him. i think he would have used his pistol on me if i had not gone away when i did." "is this true, darwood?" questioned the professor, who was restraining himself with an effort. "i reckon it's right, so far as it goes. i know what you fellows are up to. you may think you can fool me, but i've been in these parts too long to be an easy mark. it's nobody's business whether we are in search of gold or whether we are up here for our health. whatever our business is, we don't propose to have a lot of folks sticking their noses into it." "what do you propose that we shall do?" asked professor zepplin. "i don't care what you do," roared the gold digger. "then there is nothing more to be said." "oh, yes there is. there's a lot to be said. i am not going to say it all right here, but i reckon i'll say it in a different way later on. you are following us. don't deny it. i know you are. you pumped the captain and everybody else on the boat about us. then, when you thought you had got all the information you wanted, you followed us." "it's not true. you know it's a lie!" shouted the professor. "be careful how you nag me on," warned the miner. "you know you think nothing of the kind. what is it that you reckon to say at some other time?" "this," answered darwood, tapping his holster significantly. tad laughed softly to himself. this angered the gold digger more than ever. "you folks get out of these hills! go anywhere you want to, but get out and get out quick. some more of my men are coming along to-day. if you are here to-night it will be the worse for you," threatened the miner. "which direction would you suggest our taking?" asked tad in a soothing voice. "go back the way you came. i don't care where you go." "you are not consistent," laughed the freckle-faced boy. "you tell us you don't care where we go, then you order us to proceed in a definite direction. you are going too far, mr. darwood. when you have had a chance to cool down i think you will look at this matter in a different light. if you will use your head a little you will see it is not possible that we could have had any previous knowledge of your plans or of your gold mine. you had better make friends with us. we might be of some use to you. professor zepplin is a scientist. he could give you valuable help. shall we call quits and shake hands? come on." the words that he would utter seemed to stick in the gold digger's throat. he clutched twice at his holster, but the evident desire on his part to use his pistol appeared to have no effect at all on the pony rider outfit. darwood knew very well that drawing his weapon would practically be the end of himself, and this did not tend to make his situation any better. "i'll not shake hands with you. i am going back to my camp. if you thieves are here by to-night i promise you there will be something doing. i--" professor zepplin strode forward, his whiskers bristling, his fists clenched. the boys never had seen their guardian so angry. "that for your threats!" he roared, shaking a fist under the nose of curtis darwood. "your threats don't frighten us. your pistol doesn't frighten us. we're not that kind." the miner started to reply. "don't you open your mouth or i shall forget myself and slap your face. thieves!" professor zepplin struggled to master his emotions. "thieves! this is too much. you tell us that if we are here to-night you will make matters lively for us. if it will accommodate you any we will remain right here. but we should be on our way. we are going to follow a straight course as near as possible to the northwest. we shall, with reasonable luck, be about twenty miles from here by eleven o'clock to-night. if that is the direction you are going you will have no difficulty in finding us. but let me warn you, sir, we shall put up with no trifling. we have as good a right to be here as have you, and i am not sure but that we have a better right." "we'll see about that," retorted darwood angrily. "you let us alone! do you hear? you let us alone! if you are looking for trouble you may have all you want and then some more besides. we are peaceable travelers, but we know from long experience how to take care of ourselves. have you anything more to say to me?" demanded the professor. "i reckon not. i've said my say." "then get out before i forget myself and hit you on the nose!" roared professor zepplin. "don't you dare come fooling around our camp again, and thank your lucky stars that master tad didn't make a mistake and shoot lower. are you going, or are you waiting for me to throw you out?" fumed the professor. "i reckon i'm going. you'll hear from me again. next time the shoe will pinch the other foot." "it will be the foot that kicks you out of camp in that case," answered the professor. "hooray!" howled the fat boy. "three cheers for professor zip-zip!" "be silent!" thundered professor zepplin. "yes, you had better look out or he will take it out of you after mr. darwood has gone," warned tad. "the professor is all stirred up." the professor was. darwood turned and strode from the camp without trusting himself to utter another word. professor zepplin strode back and forth with clenched fists, muttering to himself for five minutes after the departure of their guest. "he called us thieves!" he exclaimed, halting and glaring angrily at stacy. "well, don't blame me for it," answered the fat boy. "professor, calm yourself," begged tad. "those men have met with a lot of crookedness. you can't blame them. i shouldn't be surprised if some other person had been trying to follow them since they have been out this time. they probably think we are in league with the others to get ahead of them in the discovery of this treasure." "i don't believe there is any treasure," raged the professor. "as to that, of course, i can't say, but i should think it quite probable that they had something definite. there must be something in what they have to go on. they are not fools, but intelligent men. what is more, they must think they are on the right track or they wouldn't fly off the handle as darwood has done to-day. what will you do?" asked tad. "do? do? what do you think i am going to do?" "knowing you as i do, i should say you would go on as we have planned," answered butler laughingly. "exactly! if that man thinks he can frighten us out of our course he will find that he has made a grave mistake." "why didn't you punch him when you had the chance?" demanded chunky. "you could have hit him an awful wallop when his chin was in the air that time." "stacy! you are a savage!" rebuked the professor. "maybe, maybe," reflected the fat boy. "but judging from some things that have occurred in this camp this morning, i'm not the only savage in the outfit." the boys laughed uproariously. "that's one for you, professor," chuckled ned. "anvik! we break camp at once," fairly snapped the professor. "gold man him heap fool," grunted the indian. "no, not that, anvik. he is gold-mad like all the rest of them," corrected butler. "i hope i never shall get that way." "it can't be such bad fun to be gold-mad," argued stacy, who usually wanted the other side of an argument. "i'd like to try it once, if i could find enough gold to make it interesting." camp was hastily broken that morning, for there was much lost time to be made up. everyone was eager to get started, anxious to find out what would be the outcome of the dispute with the gold diggers. "we don't know in what direction they're going to move, while they do know our route," said tad. "so it will be an easy matter for darwood to watch us as long as he wants to keep us in sight." at seven o'clock that morning professor zepplin gave the word to "mush." this morning the professor was extremely silent, but there was a grim look to the corners of his mouth. exciting experiences lay before them all. the boys felt it in the very air about them. the certainty made them feel buoyant and exhilarated. surely this wild old alaska was a great bit of country! "i don't care how soon somebody starts something," mused ned. "we have our heavy artillery well on ahead." as he spoke he gazed smilingly at the tight-jawed professor, who never looked to better advantage than when in warlike mood. chapter xx tad discovers something "i don't see our friends," said ned, an hour later. "they're not in their camp," answered tad. "we passed that an hour ago. they have no horses, so they're packing their outfits on their backs." "huh! that's one part of the gold-madness that i don't want," said chunky. "do all gold diggers have to pack their outfits?" "i guess few of them can afford to buy ponies," answered butler. "then, too, the places they go to are usually beyond the reach of anything except a wild animal. we are fortunate if we get through with our stock. even our own ponies that we left at home would never be able to make this rough trail. what's that, anvik?" the guide was pointing to a waving ribbon of white that appeared to reach from point to point on the rocks high above them and some distance ahead. "what is it?" demanded the boy. "him goat." "mountain goats? look, boys!" cried tad. stacy threw up his rifle and took a shot. of course he missed. a leaping mountain goat is not an easy mark even for the best shot, and the fat boy, while shooting very well, could hardly be called an expert. "those are the animals from which the beautiful blankets are made," the professor informed them. "do you know how the indians get the wool?" "they pull it out by the roots, i guess," suggested stacy. "hardly," laughed ned. "spring is the shedding time. the goats, in leaping from place to place, leave tufts of wool clinging to rocks and bushes, and this the lazy indians gather for their blankets, rather than take the trouble to hunt the goats." "squaw him get wool," spoke up anvik. "worse yet," laughed butler. "you are the laziest folks on earth." "squaw work, him no talk lies. him mouth keep shut." the boys laughed at this crude reasoning of the indian. "did they teach you at the mission to make your squaws work?" asked tad butler. anvik shook his head slowly. he did not answer in words, but hastened his pony's pace by his heavy pull at the halter. all that day the boys kept a lookout for smoke, but in vain. after they had made camp that night the professor said: "there are indications here of unusual formations. if you have no objections i should like to remain here for a day, perhaps two, and do research work." "right, professor," replied tad. "the ponies will be better for a rest, and maybe we can do some hunting. how about it, anvik?" "anvik not care," was the guide's reply. after breakfast the next morning the professor set off at once. "now, fellows," said tad, "i propose that stacy and i follow that ravine to the left and ned and walter go to the right. from the formation i should say that some time late in the day we ought to meet. it's wild in those passes, and we should get game." after arranging that three quick shots should announce the finding of game and that the distress signal of one shot, a pause, then two quick shots should be a call for help, the boys set off, each carrying biscuit, a drinking cup, and matches, besides their rifles. the boys tramped all morning without sighting game. after a short rest the two boys went on again, bearing more to the left. as they trudged on the sound of rushing water was borne to their ears. then they came out on a broad stream, a torrent that came from the top of three lofty, ice-covered mountains. "let's work up toward that pass," suggested tad, wishing to see the gulch from which the stream was flowing. they had worked their way upstream for half a mile when chunky yelled: "look there! what's that?" tad saw a hideous head projecting above the bushes. at first he was startled, then he laughed. "that's a totem pole, chunky. they're put up usually in behalf of the indian dead to drive the spirits away. let's go and look at it." the totem pole was standing at the entrance of a second narrow gulch. sand and shale rock were heaped up at the entrance. "a stream flowed through here at one time, stacy. i imagine that it was the same body of water we've just been looking at." "yeh," said stacy absently. "say, tad, let's see who can first hit that evil-looking thing with a stone." tad laughed and stooped to pick up a stone. as he did so, he noticed an arrow cut into the rock at one side of the gulch, the point of the arrow aimed up the gulch. "that's queer," muttered the boy. "i suppose it's an indian sign. this is a place of many mysteries." he stooped to pick up the rusty-looking stone that had caught his glance. it was worn full of holes as if by the action of water and when he took it in his hand its heaviness aroused his curiosity. opening his knife, he dug into the stone. tad's face flushed a vivid red, and he uttered a sharp exclamation. "what is it?" demanded stacy. "nothing much. maybe i've made a discovery. don't let's idle here. let's go on and see if we can't get our bear. this seems to be our lucky day," said the boy, pocketing the stone and once more shouldering his rifle. "come, mush, as anvik would say." chapter xxi conclusion professor zepplin had been closeted in his tent for an hour when he beckoned tad butler to enter. "boy, this rusty stone that you picked up is a gold nugget, worth, i should say, all of five hundred dollars!" cried the professor excitedly. "are there more of them, tad?" "i can't say. i found this one on a bar where it was probably washed down. the place was once a stream, but it changed its course and is now some distance to the west. i've an idea that there's gold in that sand-bar." "then we'd better go after it. it probably belongs to no one." "i'm not sure of that. others may have a juster claim than we have, professor." "you suspect something, tad, without knowing fully. we'll look at the place and decide what to do later." the others were in bed, but still awake when tad left the professor's tent, but to their questions he gave evasive answers. it seemed to tad that he had been asleep but a few minutes when he felt a touch on his shoulder. he sat up, instantly wide awake. anvik was bending over him. "somebody come," muttered the guide. "one, two, three, four, maybe more." day was just breaking. tad awakened his companions, giving each instructions as to what he was to do. then he hurried to the professor's tent to give anvik's news. "look out!" yelled stacy shrilly. a series of quick, sharp reports punctured the stillness of the morning. tad and professor zepplin dashed out, and so did walter perkins. ned rector and stacy brown were nowhere to be seen. anvik stood against a rock, his blanket drawn about him, the muzzle of a rifle protruding from the lower end of it. four men appeared in the open, each holding a rifle. the rifles were aimed at the members of the pony rider outfit. "it's darwood!" gasped the professor. it was darwood, accompanied by sam dawson, dill bruce and curley tinker. "what's the meaning of this outrage, gentlemen?" he demanded. "i gave you warning to mush back to where you came from," answered darwood. "and i told you we'd do nothing of the sort!" "you're going now, and in a hurry!" "what will you do if we refuse again?" "you'll find out what we'll do. we're north of fifty-three now. you know what that means. put down those guns, and do it quick." "suppose you set the example," said tad quietly. he had not spoken up to this point. "keep still!" commanded darwood. "put down those guns." "don't be in a hurry," advised tad. "before you do anything that you'll regret, let me say that every man of you is covered. the slightest hostile motion on your part is your death warrant." "the indian's got away!" cried dawson. darwood for the first time realized that all the pony rider outfit was not in sight. "either your friends will put down their guns and come out or we'll shoot," snarled darwood, fixing his gaze on tad butler. "are you so anxious to die, curtis darwood?" asked the lad calmly. darwood flushed, but the four men lowered their rifles to the ground. "mr. darwood, i have something to tell you. sit down," went on the boy. "i reckon we'll do nothing of the sort." "sit down, i say!" the men obeyed reluctantly. "keep them covered until they come to their senses, boys," directed tad. then he went on to the men: "we don't blame you for feeling that every man's hand is against you; but i'm going to prove to you that ours are not. see this?" and tad tossed to darwood the rusty stone that he had found in the sand-bar. "gold! a nugget of pure gold," breathed darwood. "where did you get it?" "perhaps we found the taku pass." "and we've lost it," groaned dawson. "we'll fight for it, then!" shouted darwood. "you might wait until there's need for fighting, mr. darwood," said tad contemptuously. he then went on to describe the totem pole, while his listeners became more and more excited. they got out an old map, and after studying it tad said: "it is the taku pass that stacy and i discovered. as it is undoubtedly yours, we relinquish all claim to the land." "how much do you want for the relinquishment?" asked dawson. "nothing. sit down and have breakfast with us and then we will lead you to the place." "i can't say much," said darwood falteringly. "we've been a bunch of driveling idiots." after breakfast anvik was sent to the men's camp for pans and implements and supplies, and the others set off in tad butler's wake to explore the gulch. at one point the party found a slender vein of pure gold, enough to give hope that the vein broadened out farther on. tad, in a cavelike niche, saw a gray streak of ore that reached for a long distance. a piece of this about the size of a goose egg lay at his feet. it was heavy, and he put it in his pocket to show to the others. anvik came in with the tools, surveying chains, and pans, and darwood and the others staked off their claims, taking in enough to give each boy a claim, putting up heaps of stones to mark the boundaries. "of course, if anyone else were to file a prior claim we'd have a hard time to substantiate ours. but there's not much danger." the claim staked, darwood proposed that they pan in the bar to see what they could find. to the delight of all, sparkling particles of rich yellow dust lay in the bottoms of the sieves, and they felt convinced that there was gold in paying quantities. once more back in the camp, the professor disappeared into his tent. when he emerged he looked excited. "boys!" he shouted. "tad! your sample is platinum! gentlemen, you have indeed a fortune! the platinum is worth about double its weight in gold!" such a hurrah as went up! such an evening of rejoicing and excitement! but early the next morning came the reaction. tad, up early, went out to the claim, too impatient to await breakfast. to his amazement instead of finding the markers they had set, he found that they had been removed, and in their places some one had cut off saplings and marked the stumps of them with deep-cut notches. "it's that rascal, sandy ketcham," declared darwood in a strained voice, when tad reported his discovery. "he's been on our trail for nearly three years, and now he's got us! he's on his way to skagway now to register the claim in the land office," the man groaned. "we'll get ahead of them, then," cried tad. "he hasn't much of a start. when does a steamer leave yakutat?" "this is the twenty-third. the 'corsair' will leave yakutat on the twenty-seventh. he will just about make it." "so will i," cried tad butler stoutly. tad won professor zepplin's consent to his plan, and after darwood had got the papers ready and the boys had gathered provisions together, tad was off, riding one pony and leading another, that he might change from one to the other, thus avoiding tiring either. with lather standing out all over his mount, tad pounded on, eyes and ears alight for sandy ketcham. he halted at noon to change horses and let each drink a little from a spring. then on once more for seemingly countless hours. there was a brief pause in the evening, to allow the ponies to rest and graze, then on again in the darkness. the second night a longer rest was imperative, while tad fretted, tired as he was, to be off again. on the third day he came across the still hot ashes of a campfire, and decided that he was not far behind ketcham. still twenty miles from yakutat, one of the ponies strained a tendon. the boy was forced regretfully to abandon the animal and to go forward on the second mount. it was about eleven o'clock in the morning of the fourth day that he caught sight of a column of black smoke through an opening between the mountains. "it's the 'corsair,'" he groaned. "she's getting ready to sail." on and on he rode. he swept through the village on the panting pony and down to the dock to see the 'corsair' weighing anchor. tad butler set up a yell, then drove his pony into the bay. no small boats were in sight, so, throwing himself in the icy water, he grasped the pony's mane and, swimming with the animal, headed for the ship. the anchor was up, but captain petersen had not yet signaled for slow speed ahead. he ordered a boat lowered and tad was hauled aboard in a semi-dazed condition. relieved of its burden, the pony rose and swam for shore. tad was confined to his cabin, worn out by the hard ride and the icy swim. but he learned that ketcham was on board, and ketcham, of course, knew of tad's presence. the morning of their arrival at skagway was gray and windy. the sea was rolling into the harbor in heavy, boisterous swells. the captain announced that he would not put off a boat until the sea subsided, as capsizing was certain in the heavy seas. tad, impatient, was standing at the rail when he saw sandy ketcham leap over the rail into the sea. the boy did not hesitate. he sprang to the rail and dived as far out as he could, striking a rod or so behind ketcham. then began a desperate race. but youth won, and tad staggered out of the water a few moments ahead of his adversary and ran for the land office, ketcham close behind him. "i file the claim to taku pass in the name of curtis darwood and others," shouted tad, slapping the oilskin parcel on the desk. "that man's an impostor. he destroyed our markers and erected his own on our claim." "it's a lie!" yelled sandy, making a leap for the boy. there was a furious fight, in which the interested bystanders did not interfere. but at last tad's fist shot up in a vicious uppercut on the man's chin, and sandy ketcham settled to the floor as the boy leaped out of the way. "have you filed the papers?" gasped tad. "sure, boy! you've won the first round. the rest will be up to the government, but i guess you've got it clinched for all time." when tad returned to yakutat three government surveyors went with him to run the lines and definitely establish the claim. sandy ketcham also filed a claim, but tad's being the prior one the case would have to be decided by the proper government officials; though there was really no doubt of the outcome. for a month after tad butler's return the pony rider boys stayed at taku pass, panning over a section allotted to them by the gold diggers, each filling a small sack with yellow dust and a few nuggets. in addition the gold diggers insisted that the boys and their tutor jointly should have a twentieth interest in the claims, which would undoubtedly give each a comfortable amount of wealth. it was their last night in the camp and the boys and the professor were talking over future plans. "i'm going home to rest and study after my strenuous life of the last few seasons," the professor stated. "how about you, walter?" "father has a job for me as messenger in a bank in st. joseph," answered walter perkins. "your turn, chunky. what's it to be?" "banking. i'm going into walter perkins' father's bank." "does father know about it?" "of course he does!" retorted stacy. "did you think i was going to break into the bank?" "can't tell about you," laughed tad. "as for ned and me--professor zepplin's friend, colonel van zandt, who has large timber interests, has used his influence to get us appointments in the united states forestry service. we'll go to work next spring. and now, fellows, i suggest that we give three cheers for the best fellow that ever lived, professor zepplin!" the cheers were given with a will, then all went to their tents for their last night in their camp in alaska. the end the pony rider boys in montana by frank gee patchin chapter i fitting out for the journey "forsythe!" announced the trainman in a loud voice. "that is where we get off, is it not!" asked tad butler. "yes, this is the place," answered professor zepplin. "i don't see any place," objected stacy brown, peering from the car window. "where is it?" "you'll see it in a minute," said walter perkins. "chunky, we are too busy to bother answering all your silly questions. why don't you get a railroad guide? town's on the other side. it's one of those one-sided towns. use your eyes more and your tongue less," added ned rector impatiently. with this injunction, ned rose and began pulling his belongings from the rack over his head, which action was followed by the three other boys in the party. professor zepplin had already risen and was walking toward the car door. the northern pacific train on which they were riding, came to a slow, noisy stop. from it, alighted the four boys, sun-burned, clear-eyed and springy of step. they were clad in the regulation suits of the cowboy, the faded garments giving evidence of long service on the open plains. accompanying the lads was a tall, athletic looking man, his face deeply bronzed from exposure to wind, sun and storm, his iron gray beard standing out in strong contrast, giving to his sun burned features a ferocious appearance that was not at all in keeping with the man's real nature. a man dressed in a neat business suit, but wearing a broad brimmed sombrero stepped up to the boys without the least hesitation, the moment they reached the platform. "are you the pony rider boys?" he asked smilingly. "we are, sir," replied tad, lifting his hat courteously. "glad to know you, young man. i am mr. simms the banker here. i was requested by banker perkins of chillicothe, missouri, to meet you young gentlemen. funds for your use while here are deposited in my bank ready for your order. where is professor--professor----" "zepplin?" "yes, that's the name." "this is he," tad informed him, introducing the professor. "if you and the young men will come up to the bank we will talk matters over. i would ask you to my house, but my family is spending the summer at my ranch out near gracy butte." "it is just as well," said the professor. "we are not exactly up here on a social mission. the boys are crowding all the time possible into their life during their vacation. i presume they are anxious to get started again." leaving their baggage at the railroad station, the party set off up the street with the banker, to make final arrangements for the journey to which they looked forward with keen anticipation. readers of this series will remember how, in "the pony rider boys in the rockies," the four lads set off on horseback to spend part of their summer vacation in the mountains. the readers will remember too, the many thrilling experiences that the boys passed through on that eventful trip, between hunting big game in hand to hand conflict, fighting a real battle with the bad men of the mountains, and how in the end they discovered and took possession of the lost claim. readers will also remember how the lads next joined in a cattle drive, and their adventures and exciting trip across the plains in "the pony rider boys in texas." it will be recalled that on this expedition they became cowboys in reality, living the life of the cattle men, sharing their duties and their hardships, participating in wild, daring night rides, facing appalling storms, battling with swollen torrents, bravely facing many perils, and tow eventually tad butler and his companions solved the veiled riddle of the plains, thus bringing great happiness to others as well as keen satisfaction to themselves. after having completed their eventful trip in texas, the boys had expressed a desire to next make a trip of exploration to the north country. arrangements had therefore been made by the father of walter perkins for a journey into the wilder parts of montana. none of the details, however, had been decided upon. the boys felt that they were now experienced enough to be allowed to make their own arrangements, always, of course, with the approval of their companion, professor zepplin. as a result they arrived in forsythe one hot july day, about noon. their ponies had been shipped home, the little fellows having become a bit too docile to suit the tastes of the lads, who had been riding bucking bronchos during their trip on a cattle drive in southern texas. they knew they would have little difficulty in finding animals to suit them up in the grazing country. "and now what are your plans, young men?" smiled the hanker, after all had taken seats in his office in the rear of the bank. the lads waited for professor zepplin to speak. "tell mr. simms what you have in mind," he urged. "we had thought of going over the old custer trail," spoke up walter. "where, down in the black hills?" "no, not so far down as that. we should like to go over the trail he followed and visit the scene of his last battle and get a little mountain trip as well----" "are there any mountains around here?" asked stacy innocently. mr. simms laughed, in which he was joined by the boys. "my lad, there's not much else up here. you'll find all the mountains you want and some that you will not want----" "any indians?" asked chunky. "state's full of them." "good indians, of course," nodded the professor. "well, you know the old saying that 'the only good indian is a dead indian.' they're good when they have to be. we have very little trouble with the crows, but sometimes the black feet and flat heads get off their reservations and cause us a little trouble." chunky was listening with wide open eyes. "i--i don't like indians," he stammered. "none of us are overfond of them, i guess. since you arrived i have been thinking of something that may interest you." "we are in your hands," smiled the professor. "as i said a short time ago, i have a ranch out near gracy butte." "cattle?" asked tad, with quickened interest. "no, sheep. i have another up on the missouri river. i am getting in five thousand more sheep that some of my men are bringing in on a drive. they should be along very shortly now." "you deal in large numbers in this country," smiled the professor. "yes, we have to if we expect to make a profit. i intend to send these five thousand new sheep to the missouri river ranch. it will be a long, hard drive and we shall need some extra men. how would you boys like to join the outfit and go through with them? i promise you you will get all the outdoor life you want." "well, i don't know," said tad doubtfully. "i don't just like sheep." mr. simms laughed. "you've been with a cattle outfit. i can see that. you have learned to hate sheep and for no reason--no good reason whatever. sheep are a real pleasure to manage. besides, they are wholesome, intelligent little animals. the cattle men resent their being on the range for the reason that the sheep crop down the grass so close that the cattle are unable to get enough. they try to drive us off." "by what right?" interrupted the professor. "right of strength, that's all. on free grass we have as much right as the cattle men. have you your own ponies?" "no; we expect to purchase some here. can you recommend us to a ranch where we can fit ourselves out? we have our saddles and camp outfit, of course," said tad. "yes; i'll take you out to my brother's ranch just outside the town. he has some lively little bronchos there. he won't ask you any fancy price, either. if you buy, why, you can give him an order on my bank and i will settle with him. you know you have funds here for your requirements. what do you say to the sheep idea?" "will you let us think it over, mr. simms!" asked walter. "why, certainly. you will have plenty of time to visit the rosebud mountains as well. i have arranged for a guide. you will find him at the edge of the foothills where he lives. you can't miss him. when do you plan to start?" asked the banker. "we thought we should like to get away today," replied tad. "i see you are not losing any time, young men. we may be able to fix you up so you can start this afternoon. you will want to camp out, i imagine, and not make the journey in one day." "oh, yes, we are used to that," interjected ned. "we have slept out of doors so long now that we should not feel comfortable in a real bed." "i understand. i have been a cowboy as well as sheepman, and have spent many weeks on the open range. it was different then," he added reminiscently. "we will drive out to my brother's ranch now, if you are ready." the boys rose instantly. they were looking forward to having their new ponies, with keen anticipation. after a short drive they reached the ranch, and a herd of half wild ponies was driven into a corral where the lads might look them over and make their choice. "i think that little bay there, with the pink eyes will suit me," decided tad. "is he saddle broken?" "after a fashion, yes. he's been out a few times. but he's full of ginger," announced the cowboy who was showing the horses to them. "that's what i want. don't like to have to use the spur to keep my mount from going to sleep," laughed the boy. "you won't need the irons to keep this pony awake or yerself either." "you may give me the most gentle beast on the premises," spoke up the professor. "i have had quite enough of wild horses and their pranks," a speech at which the boys all laughed heartily. "me too," agreed chunky. "you'll take what you get. you couldn't stay on any kind of horse for long at a time. why, you'd fall off one of those wooden horses that they have in harness shops," announced ned rector witheringly. "i can ride as well as you can," retorted the fat boy, looking his tormentor straight in the eyes. "chunky means business when he looks at you that way," laughed walter. "better keep away from him, ned." "think i'll take the pink-eyed one," decided tad. "pink-eye. that will be a good name for him. got a rope?" "yes, kin you rope him?" "i'll try if you will stir them up a bit," answered the freckle-faced boy. "you might as well pick out our ponies, too," observed the professor. "you are the only one of our party who is a competent judge of horse flesh." tad nodded. his rope was held loosely in his hand, the broad loop lying on the ground a few feet behind him, while the cowboy began milling the biting, kicking animals about the corral. now pink-eye's head was raised above the back of his fellows so that tad got a good roping sight. the lariat began curving in the air, then its great loop opened, shot out and dropped neatly over the head of the pink-eyed pony. tad drew it taut before it settled to the animal's shoulder, at the same time throwing his full weight on the rawhide. he would have been equally successful in trying to hold a steam engine. before the lad had time to swing the line and throw the pony from its feet, the muscular little animal had leaped to one side. the sudden jerk hurled the boy through the air. "look out!" warned the cowboy. his warning came too late. tad was thrown with great force full against the heels of another broncho. "he'll be killed!" cried professor zepplin. up went the pony's hind feet and with them tad butler. the pony came down as quickly as it had gone up, but tap kept on going. he had been near the wire corral when he was jerked against the animal's feet. the pony kicked a clean goal and tad was projected over the wire fence, landing in a heap several feet outside the corral. the lad was on his feet almost instantly. when they saw that he had not been seriously injured the boys set up a defiant yell. "hurt you any?" grinned the cowboy. "only my pride," answered tad, with a sheepish smile. "i never had that happen to me before." "other ponies got in your way so you couldn't throw your rope down on the pink-eyed one and trip him. i'll get him out for you." "you will do nothing of the sort. i can rope my own stock." after having obtained another lariat, tad, not deeming it wise to attempt to try to pick up the rope that the animal was dragging about the corral, once more took his station, while the cowman began milling them around the enclosure by sundry shouts and prods. there was much kicking and squealing. "now cut him out!" shouted tad. the cowboy did so. pink-eye was beating a tattoo in the air with his heels. he was occupying a little open space all by himself at that moment. the rope again curled through the air. tad gave it a quick undulating motion after feeling the pull on the pony's neck, and the next moment the little animal fell heavily to his side. "woof!" said the pony. "come out of here!" commanded the lad, jerking the animal to its feet and starting for the exit. the pink-eyed broncho followed its new master out as if he had been doing so every day for a long time. tad picked out a spotted roan for stacy brown, to which he gave the appropriate name of "painted-squaw". bad-eye, was considered an appropriate name for ned rector's broncho, while walter drew a dapple gray which he decided to call buster. after choosing a well broken animal for the professor, and picking out a suitable pack horse, the boys announced that they were ready for the start. an hour or so was spent in getting provisions enough to last them for a few days, all of which, together with their camp equipment, was strapped to the backs of the ponies. it was now three o'clock in the afternoon. ahead of them was a thirty mile journey over an unknown trail. "i think we had better have a guide to take us out to the foothills until we shall have found our permanent guide," said the professor. "no, please don't," urged tad. "we are plainsmen enough now to be able to find our own way," added ned. "it's a clear trail. we can see the rosebud range from here. that's it over there, isn't it, mr. simms?" "yes," replied the banker. "all you will have to do will be to get your direction by your compass before you start, and hold to it. you will not be able to see the mountains all the time, as the country is rolling and there are numerous buttes between here and there." "any indians?" asked stacy apprehensively. "you may see some, but they will not bother you," laughed the banker. "i shall hope to have you all spend next sunday with us at my ranch; then we can discuss our plans for your joining my outfit." "how far is it from where we are bound?" asked the professor. "not more than twenty miles. just a few hours' ride." filled with joyful anticipations the little party set out, headed for the mountain ranges that lay low in the southwest, some thirty miles distant. contrary to their usual practice, they had taken no cook with them, having decided to rely wholly on their own resources for a time at least, which they felt themselves safe in doing after their many experiences thus far on their summer vacation. the little western village was soon left behind them. turning in their saddles, they found that it had sunk out of sight. they could not tell behind which of the endless succession of high and low buttes the town was nestling. tad consulted his compass, after which the lads faced the southwest and pressed cheerfully on. the pony rider boys were fairly started now on what was to prove the most exciting and eventful journey of their lives. chapter ii yawns prove disastrous "yah-h-h hum." stacy brown yawned loudly. "yah-hum," breathed walter perkins, half rousing himself from his nap. "ho-ho-hum," added the deep bass voice of professor zepplin. "yah--see here, stop that!" commanded ned rector, suddenly raising himself to a sitting posture. "you've done nothing but stretch your mouth in yawns ever since we reached montana. see, you've waked up the whole camp." "ho-hum," said chunky. "say, what ails you?" demanded tad, putting down by supreme force of will, his own inclination to yawn. "i--i guess--yah--it must be the--the mountain air. yah-hum," yawned the fat boy. pink-eye coughed off among the cedars. "what means all this disturbance, young gentlemen?" demanded the professor. "it's chunky and the bronchos yawning," ned rector informed him. "so did you," observed stacy brown. "did what?" "yawned. see, see! your mouth's open now. you're going to yawn this very second you----" his taunts were lost in the shouts of the pony riders. ned rector's face was set determinedly, a vacant expression having taken full possession of his eyes. "he is going to yawn," announced walter solemnly. "stake down the camp." in spite of his determination not to yield to the impulse of the moment, ned's mouth slowly opened to its extreme capacity, accompanied by a deep intake of breath. "y-a-h-h-h-hum!" he exploded. "got you that time. he--he----" walter's words died away in a long-drawn, gaping yawn. ned waited to hear no more. with a yell he projected himself at the fat boy. stacy, however, observing the move, had quickly rolled to one side. ned struck the ground heavily. stacy was rolling over and over now as if his very life depended upon getting away. he could not spare the time to get up and run, so he continued to roll over and over, making no mean progress at that. "go it, chunky!" shouted walter in high glee. the scene, dimly lighted by the smouldering camp-fire, was so ludicrous as to send the boys into shouts of laughter. all were thoroughly awake now. they had made camp at sunset on the banks of the east fork, of what was known as fennell's creek, a broad, deep stream which, joining its companion fork some ten miles further down, flowed into the clear waters of the yellowstone. here they had cooked their supper after many attempts, made with varying degrees of success and much laughter. later they had rolled themselves into their blankets and gone to sleep. they had been awakened by stacy brown's yawns. in a moment each had taken his turn at yawning, but all took the interruption good-naturedly, save ned rector. by this time he had grown very much excited. no sooner would he pounce upon the spot where stacy appeared to be, than the fat boy by a few swift rolls would propel himself well beyond the reach of his irate companion. "it'll be the worse for you when i do get you," cried ned. at that moment ned tripped over a limb, and, plunging headlong, measured his length on the ground. the sympathy of the camp was with the rolling chunky. "get a net," shouted walter. "no, rope him, ned. that's the only way you ever will catch him," jeered tad. both boys were dancing about their companions, shivering in their pajamas and uttering shouts of glee. "he's a regular high roller," said tad. "no, not a high roller," answered walter. "here, here!" admonished the professor. "stop this nonsense. i want to go to sleep. i don't mind you young gentlemen enjoying yourselves, but midnight is rather late for such pranks, it strikes me. into your blankets, every one of you." it was doubtful that the boys even heard his voice. if they did, they failed entirely to catch the meaning of his words, so absorbed were they in the mad scramble of ned rector and stacy brown. "roll, chunky, roll!" urged walter, jumping up and down in his bare feet. "good thing he's fat. if he weren't so round he could never do it," mocked tad. "i'll bet he was a fast creeper when he was a baby." the ponies, disturbed by the noise and excitement, had scrambled to their feet and were moving about restlessly in the bushes where they were tethered. "master stacy, you will get up at once!" commanded the professor sternly. "i can't," wailed the fat boy. "then i'll help you," decided the professor firmly, striding toward the spot where he had last heard the lad's voice. "look out for the river!" warned tad, as the thought of what was below the boy suddenly occurred to him. "help, help! i'm rolling in," cried stacy. "there he goes, down the bank! grab him!" shouted walter. "where?" demanded ned, not fully grasping the import of the warning. "there, there! don't you see him? right in front of you. he's going to fall into the river!" stacy had forgotten that they were encamped on the east shore of the fork and that the broad stream was flowing rapidly along just below him. the banks at that point were high and precipitous, the water almost icy cold, being fresh from the clear mountain streams a few miles above. in spots it was deep and treacherous. frantically grasping at weeds and slender sprouts, as he rolled down the almost perpendicular bluff, stacy yelled lustily for help. from the soft, sandy soil the weeds came away in his hands, without in the slightest degree checking his progress. tad realized the danger perhaps more fully than did the others. in the darkness the lad might slip into one of the treacherous river pockets and drown before they could reach him. grasping his rope which lay beside his cot. tad sprang to the top of the bluff, swinging the loop of his lariat above his head as he ran. he could faintly make out the figure of his companion rolling down the steep bank. "hold up your hand so i can drop the rope over you," shouted tad, at the same time making a skillful cast. his aim was true. the rawhide reached the mark. chunky, however, feeling it slap him smartly on the cheek, brushed the rope aside in his excitement, not realizing what it was that had struck him. "grab it!" roared tad, observing that he had failed to rope the lad. with a mighty splash, stacy brown plunged into the stream broadside on. "he's in! i heard him strike!" cried walter. with a warning cry to the others to bring lights, tad, without an instant's hesitation, leaped over the bluff and went shooting down it in a sitting posture. "tad's gone in, too," shouted walter excitedly, as their ears caught a second splash. it was more clean cut than had been stacy's dive, and might have passed unnoticed had they not known the meaning of the sound. ned rector stood as if dazed. he knew that somehow he had thoughtlessly plunged his companions into dire peril. "wha--what is it?" he stammered. "they're in the river! don't you understand?" answered walter sharply, moving forward as if to follow over the bank in an effort to rescue his companion. "keep back!" commanded the professor. "you'll all drown if you go over that bank." the professor, with more presence of mind than the others, had sprung up and rushed for the camp-fire, from which he snatched a burning ember. at any other time the sight of his long, gaunt figure, clad in a full suit of pink pajamas, dashing madly about the camp, would have excited the lads to uproarious merriment. but laughter was far from their thoughts at that moment. "use your eyes! do you see him?" demanded professor zepplin, peering down anxiously into the shadows. "no. oh, tad!" shouted ned. there was no reply to the boy's hail. "thaddeus!" roared the professor. still no answer. down the stream a short distance they could hear the water roaring over the rocks, from where it dropped some twenty feet and continued on its course. the falls there were known as buttermilk falls, because of the churning the water received in its lively drop, and more than one mountaineer had been swept over them to his death in times of high water. between the camp and these falls there was a sharp bend in the river, and ere the boys had recovered from their surprise, their companions undoubtedly had been swept around the bend and on beyond their sight. "do--do you--do you think----" stammered walter. "they have gone down stream," answered the professor shortly. "run for it, boys! run as you never ran before!" ned dived for the thicket where the ponies were tethered. it was the work of a moment only to release bad-eye. without waiting to saddle him, ned threw himself upon the surprised animal's back, and with a wild yell sent the broncho plunging through the camp. he was nearly unseated when bad-eye suddenly veered to avoid stepping into the camp-fire, which ned rector in his haste had forgotten. the lad gripped the pony's mane and hung on desperately until he finally succeeded in righting himself, all the while kicking the pony's sides with his bare feet to urge him on faster. they were out of the camp, tearing through the thicket before the professor and walter had even gotten beyond the glow of the fire. ned was obliged to make a wide detour instead of taking a short cut across the bend made by the river. there were rocks in his way, so that a few moments of valuable time were lost before he reached the stream on the other side of the obstruction. "come, we must run," urged the professor. "i'm afraid both of them may have gone over the falls." "oh, i hope he is not too late!" answered walter, with a half sob, as they ran regardless of the fact that sharp sticks and jagged stones were cruelly cutting into their feet. chapter iii the boys rescue each other ned swung around the bend at a tremendous pace. he was able to see little about him, though as he once more reached the bank he could tell where the river lay, because the river gorge lay in a deeper shadow than did the rest of the landscape about him. "oh, tad! tad!" he shouted. a faint call answered him. he was not quite sure that it was not an echo of his own voice. "tad! t-a-d!" "hurry!" it seemed a long distance away--that faint reply to his hail. "that you, tad!" "y-e-s." "where are you!" "here." "where? i don't see you." "in the river. just below the bend." hurriedly dismounting and making a quick examination of the banks he discovered that they were so nearly straight up and down that it would be impossible to get his companions out at that point. "i can't get you out here. you'll have to wait a few moments. are you swimming?" "no, i am holding to a rock. it's awful slippery and i'm freezing too." "all right. is stacy with you?" "yes, i've got him." "good! have courage! i'll be with you," said ned encouragingly. "you'll have to hurry. i can't hold on much longer. the falls are just below here and if i have to let go it's all up with us." ned had no need to be told that. he could almost feel the spray from the falls on his face, so close were they to him and their roar was loud in his ears, so that he was obliged to raise his voice in calling to his companions. leaping to the back of bad-eye, ned was off like a shot, tearing through the brush, headed toward camp. on the way he passed professor zepplin and walter, nearly running them down in his mad haste. "got a rope?" he shouted in passing. "no," answered walter. "then get one and hurry around the bend. you'll be needed there in a minute. i'm going down into the stream from the camp." the professor, seeming to comprehend what ned had in mind, turned and ran back to the camp. without an instant's hesitation, ned rector, upon reaching their camping place, put his pony at the bank where the two boys had gone over. the little animal refused to take it. he bucked and the lad had a narrow escape from following where tad and chunky had gone a short time before. "i've got to have a saddle. that's the only way i can stick on to drive him in, and we'll need it to hold to as well," he decided. every moment was precious now. whirling the animal about, ned drove him into the thicket where the saddles lay folded against trees. it was the work of seconds for him to leap off and throw the heavy saddle on bad-eye's back. the boy worked with the speed and precision of a gattling gun. yet he groaned hopelessly when he realized that his delay might mean the death of two of his companions. professor zepplin arrived at the camp just as ned had finally cinched the girths and swung himself into the saddle. "where--where is he?" gasped the professor, now breathing hard. "below the bend. get back there with a rope and be ready to toss it to him if he lets go." ned and his pony crashed through the brush. he had no spur with which to urge on the animal, but ned had thoughtfully picked up a long, stout stick, and once more they drove straight at the high bank. "stop! i forbid it!" thundered the professor. ned paid no more attention to him than had he not spoken. it was a time when words were useless. what was necessary was action and quick action at that. "hurry with that rope!" commanded ned. the pony slowed up as they approached the bank of the river, but ned was in no mood for trifling now. he brought down the stick on the animal's hip with a terrific whack. bad-eye angered by the blow, squealed and leaped into the air with all four feet free of the ground. "hi-yi!" exclaimed the pony rider sharply, again smiting the animal while the latter was still in the air. ned's plan was to enter the stream at that point and swim down with the pony until they should have reached the boys and rescued them from their perilous position. while the bluff was sandy at the point where they had fallen in, down below, where tad was now desperately clinging to the rock, the stream wound through a rocky cut, whose high sides were slippery and uncertain, especially in the darkness of the night. bad-eye needed no further goading to force him to do his master's bidding. with another squeal of protest the little animal plunged for the bank. no sooner had his forward feet reached over the edge of it than the treacherous sands gave way beneath them. the pony pivoted on its head, landing violently on its back. ned had dismounted without the least effort on his part, so that he was well out of the way when his mount landed. he had been hurled from the saddle the instant the pony's feet struck the unresisting sand. but ned clung doggedly to the bridle reins. he, too, struck on his back. he heard the squealing, kicking pony floundering down upon him, its every effort to right itself forcing it further and further down the slippery bank. now on its back, now with its nose in the sand, bad-eye was rapidly nearing the swiftly moving creek. ned had all he could do to keep out of the way, and on account of the darkness he had to be guided more by instinct than by any other sense. however, it was not difficult to keep track of the now thoroughly frightened animal. ned leaped to one side. an instant later, and he would have been caught under the pony. the animal hit the water with a mighty splash, with ned still clinging to the reins. as the pony went in, ned was jerked in also, striking the water head first. he could have screamed from the shock of the icy water, which seemed to smite him like a heavy blow. for a moment boy and pony floundered about in the stream. it seemed almost a miracle that the lad was not killed by those flying hoofs that were beating the water almost into a froth. as soon as he was able to get to the surface ned exerted all his strength to swim out further toward the middle of the stream. even when he was under water, he still kept a firm grip on the rein. to let go would be to lose all that he had gained after so much danger in getting as far as he had. by this time, both boy and pony had drifted down stream several rods. the pony righted himself and struck out for the bank. ned was by his side almost instantly, being aided in the effort to get there by having the reins to pull himself in by. bad-eye refused instinctively to head down stream. there was only one thing to do. that was to climb into the saddle and get him started. ned did this with difficulty. his weight made the pony sink at first, the animal whinnying with fear. fearing to drown the broncho, the boy slipped off, at the same time taking a firm grip on the lines. bad-eye came to the surface at once. ned's right hand was on the pommel, the reins bunched in his left. he brought his knee sharply against the animal's side. "whoop!" he urged, again driving the knee against the pony's ribs. under the strong guiding hand of his master, the animal fighting every inch of the way, began swimming down stream. "i'm coming!" shouted the boy. before that moment he had not had breath nor the time to call. "i'm coming!" he repeated, as they swung around the wide sweeping curve. "are you there, tad?" "yes," was the scarcely distinguishable reply. "i've got to let go." "you hold on. bad-eye and i will be there in a minute and the professor is hurrying down along the bank with a rope." "i'm freezing. i'm all numb, that's the trouble," answered tad weakly. ned knew that the plucky lad was well-nigh exhausted. the strain of holding to the slippery rock in the face of the swift current was one that would have taxed the strength of the strongest man, to say nothing of the almost freezing cold water, which chilled the blood and benumbed the senses. "you've gone past me," cried tad. "i know it. i'm heading up," replied ned rector. ned had purposely driven his pony further down stream so that he might the easier pick them up as he went by on the return trip. "are you all right down there?" called the professor, who had reached a point on the bank opposite to them. "yes, but get ready to cast me a rope," directed ned. "i'm afraid i cannot." "then have walter do it." "he is not here. i directed him to remain in camp in case he was needed there." "all right. you can try later. i'll tell you how. i'm busy now." "don't run me down," warned tad butler. "keep talking then, so i'll know where you are. just say yip-yip and keep it up." tad did so, but his voice was weak and uncertain. ned swam the pony alongside of them, pulling hard on the reins to slow the animal down without exerting pressure enough to stop him. "is chunky able to help himself?" "yes, if he will." "then both of you grab bad-eye by the mane as he goes by. don't you miss, for if you do, we're all lost." "the pony won't be able to get the three of us up the stream," objected tad. "i know it." "then, what are we going to do?" "i'll stay here and hang on. you send walter back with the pony as soon as you get there. better call to him to get pink-eye or one of the others saddled as soon as you can make him hear. we'll save time that way. i'm afraid bad-eye won't be able to make the return trip." "now grab for the rock," cried tad. ned did so, but he missed it. tad still clinging to chunky fastened his right hand in the broncho's mane. all three of the boys were now clinging to the overburdened animal. ned began swimming to assist the pony, for he realized that they had dropped back a few feet in taking on the extra weight. "work further back and get hold of the saddle," ned directed. tad followed his instructions. "i'm afraid he'll never make it," groaned ned. "i----" at that instant his hand came in violent contact with a hard, cold object. it was the slender, pillar-like rock that tad had been clinging to for so long in the icy water. "i've got it," exclaimed ned. he cast loose from bad-eye and threw both arms about the rock. the pony freed from a share of his burden, struck off up stream against the current, making excellent headway. "i don't like to do this," tad called back. "i wouldn't, were it not for chunky. he couldn't have stood it there another minute." "you can't help yourself now. how's the kid?" called ned. "he's all right now." "professor, are you up there?" "yes." he had heard the dialogue between the boys, and understood well what had been done. "that was a brave thing to do, master ned." "thank you, professor. suppose you try to cast that rope to me. i'm afraid i shall never be able to hold on here alone as long as tad did. b-r-r-r, but it's cold!" he shivered. the professor tried his hand at casting the lariat. "never touched me," said ned, more to keep up his own spirits than with the intent to speak slightingly of the professor's effort. "take it up stream throw it out, then let it float down," suggested ned. professor zepplin did so, but the rope was found to be too short to reach, and at ned's direction, he made no further attempt. soon ned heard some one shouting cheerily up the stream. it was tad butler. he had dashed up to camp immediately upon reaching shore, and the exercise restored his circulation. walter, who was in camp had pink-eye ready and saddled for an emergency, and tad mounting the pony, forced him to take to the water. he was now returning to rescue his brave friend, who was clinging to the rock. he had been unwilling to trust the perilous trip to anyone else. "i was afraid walt would go over the falls, pony and all," he explained, wheeling alongside ned rector and picking him up from the rock. "i'll run a foot race with you when we get ashore," laughed tad. "go you," answered ned promptly. "the one who loses has to get up and cook the breakfast." chapter iv surprised by an unwelcome visitor "i'm sorry i was to blame for your going into the creek," apologized ned rector, bending over the shivering stacy. "i fell in, didn't i?" grinned the fat boy. "no, you rolled in. my, but that water was cold!" "b-r-r-r!" shivered stacy, as the recollection of his icy bath came back to him. "di--did you win the race?" "tad won it. i've got to get up and cook the breakfast, and it wasn't my turn at all. it was tad's turn." "yab-hum," yawned stacy, "i'm awful sleepy." "so am i," answered ned, uttering a long-drawn yawn. "see here, master ned. get out of those wet pajamas, rub yourself down thoroughly and put on a dry suit. i can't have you all sick on my hands to-morrow," commanded the professor. "don't worry about us," laughed ned. "it takes more than a bath in a cold creek to lay us up, eh, tad?" "i hope so," answered tad butler, who had rubbed himself until his body glowed. "but i thought once or twice that i was a goner while i was holding to that rock. i could not make chunky try to support himself at all. he just clung to me until he fagged me all out." "come now, young gentlemen, down with this coffee and into the blankets." professor zepplin had prepared the coffee, with which to warm the lads up, and had heated in the camp-fire some good sized boulders, which he wrapped in blankets and tucked in their beds. chunky was the only one of the boys who did not protest. ned and tad objected to being "babied" as they called it, and when the professor was not looking, they quickly rolled the feet warmers out at the foot of their beds. early next morning they were aroused by the cook's welcome call to breakfast. none of the lads seemed to be any the worse for his exciting experiences in the creek, much to the relief of professor zepplin, who feared the icy bath might at least bring on heavy colds. tumbling from their cots, they quickly washed; and then sprinting back and forth a few times, stirred up their circulation, after which the boys sat down to the morning meal with keen appetites. ned had cooked a liberal supply of bacon and potatoes and boiled a large pot of coffee. stacy opened his mouth as if he were about to yawn. "don't you dare to do that," warned ned, waving the coffee pot threateningly. "the first boy who yawns to-day gets into trouble. and stacy brown, if you fall in the river again you'll get out the best way you can alone. we won't help you, remember that." "this bacon looks funny," retorted stacy, holding up a piece at the end of his fork. "kind of looks as if something had happened to it." "just what i was going to say," added walter. "yes, what has happened to it? it's as black as the professor's hat." all eyes were fixed upon the cook. "i don't care, i couldn't help it. if any of you fellows think you can do any better, you just try it. cook your own meals if you don't like my way of serving them up. it wasn't my turn to get the breakfast, anyway." "our cook evidently has a grouch on this morning," laughed walter. "doesn't agree with him to take a midnight bath." "the bath was all right, but i object to having my cooking criticised." "the bacon does look peculiar," decided professor zepplin, sniffing gingerly at his own piece. ned's face flushed. "what did you do to it to give it that peculiar shade, young man?" "why, i soused it in the creek to wash it off, then laid it in the fire to cook," replied ned. "in the fire?" shouted tad. "of course. how do you expect i cooked it?" demanded the boy irritably. "i cooked it in the fire." "i could do better'n that myself," muttered stacy. "didn't you use the spider?" asked walter. "spider? no. i didn't know you used a spider. do you?" "he cooked it in the fire," groaned tad. "peculiar, very peculiar to say the least," decided the professor grimly. "gives it that peculiar sooty flavor, common to smoked ham i think we shall have to elect a new cook if you cannot do better than that. however, we'll manage to get along very well with this meal. if we have to get others we will hold a consultation as to the latest and most approved methods of doing so," he added, amid a general laugh at ned's expense. breakfast over, blankets were rolled and packed on the ponies. about nine o'clock the pony riders set out for the foothills, after first having consulted their compasses and decided upon the course they were to follow to reach the point, some fifteen miles distant, where they expected to pick up the guide. "seems good to be in the saddle once more, doesn't it?" smiled walter, after they had gotten well under way. "beats being in the river at midnight," laughed tad. "bad-eye looks as if he needed grooming, too. ned, i take back all i said about the bacon this morning. you did me a good turn last night. if it hadn't been for you, chunky and i wouldn't be here now. i couldn't have held to that rock much longer." "neither could i," interjected stacy wisely. ned gave him a withering glance. "you are an expert at falling in, but when it comes to getting out, that's another matter." "how blue those mountains look!" marveled walter, shading his eyes and gazing off toward the rosebud range. "i hear there are some lawless characters in there, too," tad answered thoughtfully. "where'd your hear that?" demanded ned. "heard some men talking about it in the hotel back at forsythe." "mustn't believe all you hear. what did they say?" "acting upon your advice, i should say that you wouldn't believe it if i told you," answered tad sharply. "these men are a kind of outlaws, i believe. they steal horses and cattle. probably sell the hides--i don't know. somehow the government officers have not been able to catch them, let alone to find out who they are." "indians, probably," replied ned. "the country is full of them about here, so i hear." "mustn't believe all you hear," piped up stacy, repeating ned rector's own words, and the latter's muttered reply was lost in the laughter that followed. it was close to twelve o'clock when they finally emerged on a broad table or mesa. before them lay the foothills of the rosebud, rising in broken mounds, some of which towered almost level with the lower peaks of the mountains themselves. "i don't see anything of our guide's cabin," said tad, halting and looking about them. "what do you think, professor!" "we will go on to the foothills and wait there. i imagine he will be waiting for us somewhere hereabouts." "yes, we have followed our course by the compass," answered tad. however, the lad had overlooked the fact, as had the others, that in order to find a suitable fording place, they had followed the hanks of the east fork for several miles. this served to throw them off their course and when they finally reached the foothills they were some six miles to the north of the place where the guide was to pick them up. as they rode on, the ground gradually rose under them, nor did they realize that they were entering the foothills themselves; and so it continued until they finally found themselves surrounded by hills, narrow draws and broad, rocky gorges. "young gentlemen, i think we had better halt right here. we shall be lost if we continue any farther," decided the professor. "this is a nice level spot with just enough trees to give us shade. i propose that we dismount and make camp." "yes, we haven't had the tents up since we were in the rockies," replied ned. "we shall be forgetting how to pitch them soon if we do not have some practice." on this trip, besides their small tents, the pony riders had brought with them canvas for a nine by twelve feet tent, which they proposed to use for a dining tent in wet weather, as well as a place for social gathering whenever the occasion demanded its use. they named it the parlor. in high spirits, the lads leaped from their ponies and began removing their packs. stacy brown began industriously tugging at the fastenings which held the large tent to the back of the pack pony. "i can't get it loose," he shouted. "what kind of hitch do you call this, anyway?" "young man, that's a squaw hitch. ever hear of it before?" laughed tad. "no. what kind of hitch is a squaw hitch?" asked chunky. "probably one that the braves use to tie up their wives with when they get lazy," ned informed him. "i know," spoke up walter. "it's a hitch used to fasten the packs to the ponies. mr. stallings explained that to me when we were in texas." "right," announced tad, skillfully loosening the hitch, thus allowing the canvas of the parlor tent to fall to the ground. while tad and walter were doing this, professor zepplin with stacy had started off with hatchets to cut poles for the tents. the sleeping tents were erected in a straight row with the parlor tent set up to the rear some few rods, backing up against the hills nearest to the mountains. in front of the small tents the ponies were tethered out among the trees so as to be in plain view of the boys in case of trouble. profiting from past experiences, they knew that without their mounts they would find themselves helpless. in an hour the camp was pitched and the boys stood off to view the effect of their work. "looks like a military camp," said ned. "all but the guns," replied walter. "we might stack our rifles outside here to make it look more military like." "let's do it." suggested tad. laughing joyously, the lads got out their rifles, standing them on their stocks, with the muzzles together in front of the small tents. not being equipped with bayonets the guns refused to stand alone, so they bound the muzzles together with twine wrapped about the sights. this held them firmly. "there!" glowed ned. "where's the flag? somebody get that and i'll cut a pole for it," suggested tad butler. in a few moments old glory was waving idly in the gentle summer breeze and the boys, doffing their hats, gave three cheers and a tiger for it, in which professor zepplin joined with almost boyish enthusiasm. "i always take off my hat to that beautiful flag," said the professor, gazing up at it admiringly. "how about your own country's flag?" teased ned. "that is it. i am an american citizen. your flag is my flag. and now that we have done homage to our country and our flag, supposing we consult our own bodily comfort by getting dinner. of course, if you young gentlemen are not hungry we can skip the noon----" "not hungry? did you ever hear of our skipping a meal when we could get it?" protested walter. "for a young man with a delicate appetite, you do very well," laughed the professor. "it wag less than two months ago, if i remember correctly, that the doctors thought you were not going to live, you were so delicate." "almost as delicate as chunky now," chuckled ned maliciously. the midday meal was more successful than had been their breakfast. they ate it under the trees, deciding to dine in the parlor tent just at dusk. the afternoon was spent in shooting, at which the boys were becoming quite proficient. by this time, even stacy brown could be trusted to manage his own rifle without endangering the lives of his companions. "is there any game in these hills?" asked ned, while he was refilling the magazine of his repeating rifle. "plenty of it, i am told," replied the professor. "there is big game all over the state." "what kind?" "bears, mountain lions and the like." "w-h-e-w. that sounds interesting. may we go gunning to-morrow?" "better wait until the guide joins us. it will be best to have some one with us who understands the habits of the animals. as you have learned, hunting big game is not boys' play," concluded the professor. "yes, i remember our experience in hunting the cougar in the rockies. i guess i'll wait." during the afternoon, the boys made short trips along the foothills hoping to find some trace of the guide, but search as they would they were unable to locate him. nor did they dare stray far from the camp for fear of being unable to find their way back. the foothills all looked so alike that if one unfamiliar with them should lose his way he would find himself in a serious predicament. "i guess we shall have to camp here for the rest of the summer," professor zepplin said, while they were eating their supper. "we must be a long distance from our man if he has not heard our shooting this afternoon." the boys were enjoying themselves, however; in addition, there was a sense of independence that they had not felt before. they were alone and entirely on their own resources, which of itself added to the zest of the trip. the supper dishes having been cleared away and the camp-fire stirred up to a bright, cheerful blaze, all hands gathered in the parlor tent for an evening chat. above them swung an oil lantern which dimly shed its rays over the little company. professor zepplin was poring over an old volume that he had brought with him, while the boys were discussing the merits of their new ponies, which by this time had developed their individual peculiarities. chunky, growing sleepy, had crawled to the rear of the tent, where he sat leaning against the closed flap, nodding drowsily. finally they saw him straighten up and brush a hand over the back of his head. "he's dreaming," laughed ned. "imagines he's rolling down the river bank again." suddenly they were aroused by the fat boy's voice raised in angry protest. "stop tickling my neck," he growled, vigorously rubbing that part of his anatomy. "funny, you fellows can't let me alone." "you must be having bad dreams," laughed ned. "we are not bothering you. we're all over here." "yes, you are. you've done it three times and you woke me up," answered the fat boy, settling back and closing his eyes preparatory to renewing his disturbed nap. he was asleep in a moment, not having heeded the laughter of his companions, nor their noisy comments. but stacy dozed for a moment only. he sat up quickly and very straight, while a shrewd expression appeared in his eyes. had they been looking they might have observed one of his hands being drawn cautiously behind him, as if he were reaching for something. the boys were too busy, however, to pay any heed to the lad, and the professor was deeply absorbed in his book. "i've got you this time! tell me you weren't tickling my neck? i'll show you stacy brown's not the sleepy head you----" the boy paused suddenly and scrambling to all fours turned about on his hands and knees, intently gazing at the flap against which he had been leaning. "what's the matter, gone crazy over there!" called tad. "anybody would think you had from the racket you are making." stacy did not answer. he had not even heard tad speak to him. his eyes, bulging with fear, were fixed on the flap. what he saw was a long black snout poked through the slit in the canvas, and just back of that a pair of beady, evil eyes. "y-e-o-w!" yelled stacy. the lad leaped to his feet and dashed from the tent, bowling over walter and tad as he ran, shouting in his fright and crying for help. knowing instinctively that something really serious had happened, the others sprang up, peering at the other end of the tent. for a moment, they could see nothing in the flickering shadows; then as their eyes became more accustomed to the half light, they discovered what filled them with alarm as well. "run for your lives!" shouted tad, bolting from the tent in a single leap, followed almost instantly by ned rector and walter perkins. the professor with one startled glance, hurled his precious book at the object he saw entering the tent at the back, and bolted through the front opening, taking the end tent pole down with him in his hasty flight. chapter v the pursuit of the burning bear "what is it?" cried walter breathlessly, slowing up when he observed that the others were doing likewise. "it's a bear, i think," replied the professor. "i only saw the head so i can't be sure. keep away. where is stacy?" "i--i think he's running, still," answered ned, his voice somewhat shaky. "there goes the other tent pole down!" shouted tad. "he's wrecking the place. that's too bad," groaned walter. "are the provisions all in there?" asked the professor anxiously. "no, most of them are over in my tent, where i took them from the pack pony," ned informed him. "we are that much ahead anyway. i think we had better get a little further away, young gentlemen. we had better get near trees so we can make a fairly dignified escape if that fellow concludes to come out after us." "he's too busy just now," announced tad, with an attempt at laughter. "get the guns," ordered the professor. "i can't," cried tad. "why can't you? i will get them myself." "they are all in that tent there with the bear," groaned tad. "there's a box of shells in there, too," added walter. "i put it there myself." "then, indeed, we had better take to the trees," decided professor zepplin. "wait," warned tad. "he won't get out right away. see, he has pulled the tent down about him." "yes, he's having the time of his life," nodded ned. "i hope he never gets out. if we had our guns now!" and, indeed, mr. bruin was having his own troubles. angry snarls and growls could be heard under the heaving canvas as the black bear plunged helplessly about, twisting the tent about him in his desperate struggles to free himself. they could hear the clatter of the tinware as he threshed about, and the crash and bang of other articles belonging to their equipment. "look! what's that light?" exclaimed walter. "fire!" cried the professor. "the tent's on fire!" shouted tad. "quick, get water!" urged ned. "what for? to put out the bear?" laughed tad. "i had forgotten about the lantern. that's what has caused the fire. when the tent collapsed the lantern went down with it, and in his floundering about he has managed to set the place on fire," the professor informed them. "there goes the parlor tent. that settles it," said walter. the other two boys groaned. "has he-ha-ha-has he gone?" wailed chunky, peering from behind a tree. "no, he hasn't gone. he's very much here. don't you see that tent! what do you suppose is making it hump up in the middle, if he isn't there? and the tent's on fire, too," answered ned, in a tone of disgust. "this is a bad start for sure." "i didn't fall in that time, did i? i fell out," interrupted stacy. "lucky for me that i did, too. i would have been in a nice fix if that tent had come down on me and that animal at the same time." he shivered at the thought. "what is it, a lion?" "lion! no, you ninny, it's a bear. b-e-a-r," spelled ned, with strong emphasis. "do you understand that?" "y-y-e-s. i-i-i thought it was a lion. i did, honest," he muttered. "and it tickled my neck with its paw, too. wow!" stacy instinctively moved further away from the tent. disturbing as their situation was at that moment, the lads could not repress a shout of laughter over stacy's funny words. but stacy's face was solemn. he saw nothing to laugh at. "lucky for both of you that you didn't yawn. the bear might nave fallen in," jeered ned. "might have been a good thing for us if chunky had yawned. maybe the bear would have got to yawning at the same time, and yawned and yawned until he was so helpless that we could have captured him," laughed walter. "not much chance of that," answered tad. "bears don't yawn until after a full meal. i guess our bear over there hasn't had one lately or he wouldn't have been nosing about our camp when we were all there." "keep back there, boys. please don't get too close. he is liable to break out at any time. he is a small bear, but there is no telling what he may do in his rage when he emerges," warned the professor. "we're not afraid," answered ned. the boys, having no weapons, had armed themselves with clubs, prepared to do battle with their visitor should he chance to come their way. "what's that racket over there in the bushes?" demanded ned, wheeling sharply. "it's the ponies," answered tad, darting away. at last the little animals had discovered the presence of the bear in camp and were making frantic efforts to break their tethers. "come over here, some of you. the bronchos are having a fit. i can't manage all of them at once," called tad in an excited tone. "what's the matter--are they afraid?" called the professor. "i should say they are. they'll get away from me if you don't hurry." leaving the hear to his own desperate efforts, the boys rushed to the aid of tad butler. they were not quick enough, however. "there goes one of them!" cried tad. a pony had broken the rope and with a snort, had bounded away. tad, leaped on the bare back of his own pony, first having caught up his lariat, and set out after the fleeing animal. luckily the runaway broncho had headed for the open and tad was able to overhaul him before they had gone far from the camp. riding up beside the little animal it was an easy matter to drop the loop over his head and bring him down. "there, that will teach you to run away," growled the boy, cinching the rope and dragging the unruly pony back to camp. in the meantime the others, after considerable effort, had succeeded in securing the other plunging bronchos, more rope having been brought for the purpose, while tad, breathing hard, staked down the frightened animal he had roped. "now we'll see how mr. bear is getting along," announced the professor, as they turned back toward the camp, where the bear was still fighting desperately with the smouldering tent. as they reached the scene they observed professor zepplin hurrying to his tent. he was back again almost at once. "just happened to think of my revolver," he explained. "think you can kill him with that?" asked tad. "i don't know. i can try. it's a thirty-eight calibre." "won't even feel it," sniffed ned. "i've read lots of times that it takes a lot to kill a bear." the professor raised his weapon and fired at the spot where the tent appeared to be most active. though he had pulled the trigger only once a series of sudden explosions followed, seemingly coming from beneath the tent itself. "what's that!" demanded the professor, lowering his own weapon, plainly puzzled. "guess the bear's shooting at us," suggested chunky wisely. "no. i know what it is," cried tad. "you know?" demanded ned. "sure. it's our cartridges exploding. the fire from the lantern has got at those pasteboard boxes in which we carried the shells." now they were popping with great rapidity, and instinctively the boys drew further away from the danger zone, though the professor told them the bullets could not hurt them, there being not sufficient force behind to carry them that distance. the professor stood his ground as an object lesson and again resumed his target practice. the tough canvas resisted the bear's efforts, and the fire was burning slowly. however, the tent seemed to be ruined and the boys feared their rifles would share a similar fate. "he's breaking out!" yelled chunky, who was some distance to the right of the others, now dancing up and down in his excitement. "look out for him!" with a last desperate effort, the animal had succeeded in forcing his way through the stubborn canvas. "look, look!" yelled walter perkins, greatly excited. the spectacle was one that for the moment held the boys spellbound. a mass of flame separated itself from the ruins of the tent. with snarls of pain and rage the mass ambled rapidly away in a trail of fire. "the bear's on fire!" shouted ned rector. "help!" screamed chunky. blinded by the pain and the flames that had gotten into its eyes, the animal not seeing the lad, lurched heavily against him and stacy brown went down with a howl of terror. the boy, who had not been harmed, was up like a flash, running from the fearful thing as fast as his short legs would carry him. "oh, that's too bad!" exclaimed tad. he did not refer to the accident to his companion, which he considered as too trivial to notice, but rather to the sufferings of the animal. tad felt a deep sympathy for any dumb animal that was in trouble, no matter if it were a bear which would have shown him no mercy had they met face to face. "professor, let me have your revolver please," he cried. "what for?" "i want to put the brute out of his misery. please do!" "there are no more shells in it." "then load it. i'm going to get pink-eye. hurry, hurry! can't you see how the miserable creature is suffering?" the lad darted away for his pony, while professor zepplin, sharing something of the boy's own feelings, hurried to his tent and recharged his weapon. he had no more than returned when tad came dashing up on pink-eye. "where is he? do you see him?" "over there, i can see the fire in the bushes," answered ned rector. "quick, give me the gun," demanded tad. "wait, i'll go with you," said ned. "no, remain where you are," ordered professor zepplin. "some of you will surely be shot. thaddeus, remember, you are not to go far from camp." tad was off in a twinkle. putting the spurs to pink-eye, the animal leaped from the camp and disappeared among the trees. "i am afraid i should not have allowed him to go," announced the professor, with a doubtful shake of his head. but it was too late now for regrets. tad found the going rough. he soon made out the flaming animal just ahead of him. the beast was down rolling from side to side in a frantic effort to put out the fire that was burning into his flesh. tad could not understand why the fur should make so much flame. he spurred the pony as near to the animal as he could get. then he saw that the bear had become entangled in the guy ropes, and that he was pulling along with him portions of the burning canvas, attached to the ropes. it was this which made the animal a living torch. the pony in its fright was rearing and plunging, bucking and squealing so that the lad had difficulty in keeping his seat. "steady, steady, pink-eye," he soothed. for an instant the broncho ceased its wild antics and stood trembling with fear. "bang!" tad had aimed the heavy revolver and pulled the trigger. instantly the pony went up into the air again and the lad gripped its sides with his legs, giving a gentle pressure with the spurs. "whoa, pink-eye! i hit mm, i did. i aimed for his head, but i must have merely grazed it. i wish i could kill the brute and put him out of his misery," said the lad more concerned for the suffering animal before him than for his own safety. no sooner had he fired the first shot, than the bear sprang to its feet and sped away up a steep bank. tad noticed that the bear's rolling had extinguished some of the fire, but he knew that it was still burrowing in the beast's fur, causing him great agony. "i am too far away to hit him. i've got to get closer," decided the boy. "pink-eye, do you think you can make that climb?" the pony shook its head and rattled the bits in its mouth. "all right, old chap, try it." a cluck and a gentle slap on the broncho's flanks sent him straight for the steep bank. at first his feet slipped under him; he stumbled, righted himself and digging in the slender hoofs fairly lifted himself up and up. in the meantime mr. bruin was making better progress. he seemed unable to escape from the fire, but he could get away from this new enemy, the gun in the hands of the boy on the horse. every little while as he found he had gained on his pursuer the bear would throw himself down, and with snarls and angry growls, take a few awkward rolls; then be up and off again. once more the lad thought he was near enough to take another shot. releasing the reins and dropping them to the pony's neck, he steadied the hand that held the gun with the left and fired. "oh, pshaw, i missed him!" he groaned. "that's too bad. i'm only adding to his misery. next time i'll get nearer to him before i try to shoot." he went at pink-eye, applying every method with which he was familiar to increase the pony's speed. pink-eye responded as best he could, and began climbing the hill that had now developed into a fair sized mountain, making even more rapid headway than the bear himself. "good boy," encouraged tad. "we'll overhaul him if you can keep that up. steady now. don't slip or you'll tumble me down the hill and yourself, too. steady, pink-eye. w-h-o-e-e!" "bang!" the bear was running broadside to him and the lad could not resist taking another shot at it. like the previous effort, however, he had failed. tad tittered an exclamation of disgust and put spurs to the pony. "i never did know how to handle a revolver," he complained. "i'll begin to practise with this gun to-morrow if i get out of this scrape safely." he had failed to take into consideration that a bear was an extremely difficult animal to kill, and that frequently one of them could carry many bullets in its body without seeming to be bothered at all. but the lad was determined to get this one. he had not thought of where he was going nor how far from camp he had strayed. his one desire now was to get the animal and put a quick end to it. this time tad was enabled to get closer to bruin than at any time during the chase. he drove the pony at a gallop right up alongside of the animal. leaning over he aimed the gun at the beast's head, holding it firmly with both hands. tad gave the trigger a quick, firm pressure. a sharp explosion followed. at the same instant, pink-eye in a frightened effort to get clear of the bear, leaped to one side. the lad, leaning over from the saddle, was taken unawares, and making a desperate effort to grasp the saddle pommel, tad was hurled sideways to the ground. "whoa, pink-eye!" he commanded sharply as he was falling. but pink-eye refused to obey. the pony uttered a loud snort and plunged into the bushes. there he paused, wheeled, and peered out suspiciously at the boy and the bear. tad's shot had gone home. his aim had been true. yet the sting of the bullet served only to anger the bear still further. with an angry growl, it turned and charged the lad ferociously. in falling, the plucky boy had struck on his head and shoulders, the fall partially stunning him. for an instant, he pivoted on his head, then toppling over on his back, he lay still. powerless to move a muscle, the lad was dimly conscious of a hulking figure standing over him, its hot breath on his face. his right hand clutched the revolver, but he seemed unable to raise it. a loud explosion sounded in tad butler's ears, then sudden darkness overwhelmed him. chapter vi lost in the rosebud range "whoa, pink-eye!" muttered the lad, stirring restlessly. "i'll get him next time. look out, he's charging us. oh!" the boy suddenly opened his eyes. the darkness about him was deep and impenetrable and he was conscious of a heavy weight on his chest. what it was, he did not know, and some moments passed before he had recovered sufficiently to form an intelligent idea of what had happened. all at once he recollected. "it was the bear," he murmured. "i wonder if i am dead!" no, he could feel the ground under him, and a rock that his right hand rested on, felt cold and chilling. but what of the pressure on his chest? cautiously the lad moved a hand toward the object that was holding him down. his fingers lightly touched it. tad could scarce repress a yell. it was the head of the bear that was resting on him, and he had no idea whether the animal were dead or asleep, awaiting the moment when the lad should stir again to fasten its cruel teeth into his body. the boy was satisfied, however, that by exerting all his strength he would be able to pull himself away before the beast could awaken, even, providing it were still alive. first he sought cautiously for his weapon, his fingers groping about over the ground at his right hand. he could not find it. undoubtedly it had fallen underneath the bear. tad determined to mate a desperate effort to escape. he felt as if his hair were standing on end. with a cry that he could not keep back, the lad whirled over and sprang to his feet. as he did so he leaped away, running with all his might until he had put some distance between himself and the prostrate animal. realizing that he was not being followed, tad brought up sharply and dodged behind a tree. there he stood listening intently for several minutes. not a sound disturbed the stillness of the night. the leaves of the trees hung limp and lifeless, for no breeze was stirring. "i wonder if he's dead," whispered the lad, almost afraid to trust his voice out loud. "maybe that shot finished him. i must find out somehow." tad searched his clothes for matches, finally finding his match safe. next he sought to gather some sticks with which to make a torch, but the only wood he was able to find was of oak and so green that it would not burn. "that's too bad," he muttered. "i'll have to try it with the matches." lighting one he picked his way carefully toward the place where he had been lying, peering into the shadows ahead of him suspiciously as he went. "there he is," breathed tad. he could faintly make out the figure of the bear lying half on its side as it had been before, the only difference being that the animal's head was stretched out on the ground instead of on the lad's chest. "i believe he's dead. he must be or he'd have been after me before this," decided the boy. "i 'm going to find out." mustering his courage, tad continued his cautious approach, lighting match after match, shading the flame with his hands so that the light would not get into his eyes and prevent him from seeing anything ahead of him. it required no little courage for a boy alone in the mountains to walk up to a bear, not knowing whether the animal were dead or alive. yet when tad butler made up his mind to do a certain thing, he persisted until he had accomplished it. he reached the side of the animal, that is, close enough so that he could get a good view of it. the bear never moved and tad drew closer, walking on his toes that he might make no sound. there seemed no other way to make certain except to stir the animal. "i'll do it," whispered tad. cautiously lighting another match he drew back his left foot and administered a sound kick to the beast's side. thinking that the bear had moved under the blow, tad whirled and ran tittering a loud "oh!" he waited, but could hear no sound. "i believe i am afraid of myself. that bear hasn't stirred at all. i'm going back this time and make sure." he did. but this time, steeling himself to the task, tad stood still after he had prodded the beast with his foot again. there was no movement other than a slight tremor caused by the impact of the kick. "hurrah, i've shot a bear!" cried the lad in the excess of his excitement. "i wonder what the boys will say. the next question is how am i going to get him back to camp?" tad pondered over this problem some moments. "i know," he cried. "i'll hitch a rope to him and make pink-eye tow him out. but where is that pony?" all at once the realization came to him that the pony had thrown him off. that was the last he had seen of pink-eye. tad whistled and called, listening after each attempt without the slightest result. "he's gone. i've got to find my way back as best i can. the worst of it is i may be a long way from camp, but i guess i can find my way with the compass all right." the compass, however, was nowhere to be found. the lad went through his pockets twice in search of it. "pshaw! just my luck. i'm as bad at losing things as chunky is in falling in. i'll get the gun anyway, for the professor will be provoked if i go back without it. ah, there it is." tad picked up the weapon joyfully. "i've got something to defend myself with, at least," he told himself. a moment later when he discovered that the weapon held nothing but empty shells, the keen edge of his joy was dulled. "well, it's better to pack back an empty gun than no gun at all," he decided philosophically. "let me see, i think we came up that way. they'll build a big fire so i can see it and i ought to be there within half an hour at least." the lad struck out confidently. he had been lost in the wilderness before, and though he felt a slight uneasiness he had no doubt of his ability to find the camp eventually. he walked vigorously for half an hour. then he halted. the same impressive silence surrounded him. "i think i have been going a little too far to the left," he decided. he changed his course and plodded on methodically again. another half hour passed and once more the lad paused, this time with the realization strong upon him that he had lost his way. placing both hands to his mouth tad uttered a long drawn "c-o-o-e-e-e!" he listened intently, then repeated the call. the sound of his own voice almost frightened him. "oh, i'm lost!" he cried, now fully appreciating his position. the panic of the lost seized him and tad ran this way and that, plunging ahead for some distance, then swerving to the right or to the left in a desperate attempt to free himself from the endless thicket, bruising his body from contact with the trunks of the trees and cutting his hands as they struck the rocks violently when he fell. "tad butler, you stop this!" he commanded sternly, bringing himself up sharply. "i didn't think you were such a silly kid as to be afraid of the dark." but in his innermost heart the lad knew that it was not the shadows that had so upset him. it was the feeling of being lost in an unknown forest. instead of being in the foothills as he had supposed, he was penetrating the fastnesses of the rosebud mountains themselves. "there is no use in my going on like this," he decided finally. "i'll sit down and wait for daylight. that's all i can do. i surely can find my way back to camp when the light comes again." the next question was where should he go--where find a safe place to stay until morning. tad remembered with a start that there were bears in the range. he knew this from his own recent experience. how many other savage beasts there might be in the woods he did not know. he had heard some one speak of mountain lions, and having seen these before, he fervently hoped he might not have another experience with them, unarmed as he was. "if this gun only were loaded, i should feel better." after searching around for some time, tad found a ledge that seemed to rise to a considerable height. up this he clambered. it would give him a good view in the morning anyway, besides protecting him from any prowling animals that might chance in that part of the forest. tad ensconced himself in a slight depression, and with a flat rock for a resting place, leaned back determined to make the best of his position. a gentle breeze now stirred the foliage above his head and all about him until the sound became a restless murmur, as if nature were holding council over the lad's predicament. the lost boy did not so interpret the sounds, however. he made a more practical application of them. "it's going to rain," he decided wisely, casting a glance above him at the sky, which was becoming rapidly overcast. "and i haven't any umbrella," he added, grinning at his own feeble joke. "well, i've been wet before. i cannot well be any more so than i was last night. i'll bet the rainwater will be warmer than the waters in the east fork. if it isn't i'll surely freeze to death." fortunately he had worn his coat when he left the camp, else he would now have suffered from the cold. as it was, he shivered, but more from nervousness than from the chill night air. "yoh--hum, but i'm sleepy," he murmured drowsily. a moment more and his head had drooped to one side and tad butler was sleeping as soundly as if tucked away between his own blankets back in his tent in the foothills. chapter vii almost betrayed by a sneeze tad awakened with a start. his first impression was that he smelled smoke, and for the moment he believed himself back in camp. a movement convinced him of his error. a jagged point of rock had cut into his flesh while he slept. he almost cried out with the pain of it, and as he moved a little to shift his body from it, the wound hurt worse than ever. the lad was still surrounded by an impenetrable darkness. it all came back to him--but standing out stronger than all the rest was the fact that he was lost. "wonder how long i've slept," he muttered. "seems as if i had been here a year. lucky i awoke or i'd been stuck fast on that rock, for good and all. whew! b-r-r-r! i think it's going to snow. thought it was going to rain just before i went to sleep. wonder if they have snow up here in the summer time. have almost everything else," continued the lad, muttering to himself, half under his breath. slowly rising he shook himself vigorously and rubbed his palms together to get his circulation stirred up. "hello, what's that? i remember now, i smelled smoke or thought i did." tad sniffed the chill air suspiciously. "it is smoke," he decided. "maybe i've set the woods on fire with my matches. guess i'll climb down and investigate." he started to move down the side of the ledge when it occurred to him that perhaps it would be better to investigate from where he was; he did not know what danger he might be running into if he were to climb down without first having made sure that it was perfectly safe to do so. just what he might meet with he did not know. but he felt an uneasy sense of impending danger. "often feel that way when i first wake up, especially if i've been eating pie the night before," he confided to himself, in order to urge his courage back to life. bending forward he peered from side to side, but was unable to find a single trace of light, anywhere about him. if it were a fire it must be some distance away, he concluded. "if it were some distance away, i wouldn't smell it. the wind has died down. no, the fire that smoke comes from is right near by me," he whispered. the sense of human habitation near him caused his pulses to beat more rapidly. the question that remained for him to decide, was who was it that had started the fire? tad butler determined to find out if possible, and at once. he crept cautiously to the right, feeling his way along the ledge, not being sure how near he was to the edge. he found it more suddenly than he had expected, and narrowly missed falling over head first. "whew! that was a close call," he muttered. "i must be more careful." there was no sign of either smoke or fire below him, as he observed after getting his balance again. he drew back cautiously and worked his way to the side that he had been facing, yet with no better result than before. there yet remained two sides to be investigated--the one he had climbed up and the other that lay to the left of him. tad chose the latter as the most likely to give him the information he sought. however, he found that the edge lay some distance away. the table of rock was much wider than he had imagined, when he first ascended to it. the way was rough. once the lad's foot slipped into a crevice. in seeking to withdraw it he gave the ankle a wrench that caused him to settle down on the rocks with a half moan of pain. his shoe had become wedged in between the rocks so that he had difficulty in withdrawing it at all, and the injured ankle gave him a great deal of pain as he struggled to release himself. "guess i'll have to take off my shoe. hope i haven't sprained my ankle. i'll be in a fine mess if i have," he grumbled. the ankle gave him considerable trouble; but he rubbed it all of ten minutes, and he found that he could endure his shoe again. he was full of curiosity as well as anxiety to learn the cause of the smoke, which, by this time, seemed to be coming his way in greater volume. after having relaced the shoe and leggin, tad started on again, this time on all fours, not trusting himself to try to walk, feeling his way ahead of him with his hands, which he considered the safer way to do. "there's somebody down there," he whispered, after a long interval of slow creeping over the rocks. "i wonder who it is? perhaps they are looking for me. i'll give them a surprise if they are." the surprise, however, was to be tad's. at last he reached the edge of the little butte. slowly stretching his neck and lying flat on his stomach, he peered over. a cloud of black smoke rolled up into his face, causing the lad to withdraw hastily. "aka-c-h-e-w," sneezed tad, burying his face in his hands. "whew, what a smudge! i'll bet they heard that sneeze." "what's that?" demanded a gruff voice below. "sounded like somebody sneezing." "no, it's an owl," replied another. "i've heard that kind before. sometimes you'd think it was a fellow snoring." "must be funny kind of a bird," grunted the first speaker. "he's right. that's exactly what i am," growled tad, who had plainly overheard their conversation. yet he was thankful that the men below had not realized the truth. tad was quite willing to be mistaken for a bird under the circumstances. after making sure that the men were not going to investigate the sound, the boy crept again toward the edge, working to the right a little further this time, so that the smoke might not smite him full in the face as had been the case before. there were four of them--strangers. the boy observed that they were dressed like cowboys, broad brimmed hats, blue shirts and all. from the belt of each was suspended a holster from which protruded the butt of a heavy revolver. "cowboys," he breathed. "at least they ought to be and i hope they are nothing else." the lad's attention was fixed particularly on one of the party. he was all of six feet tall, powerfully built, his swarthy face covered with a scraggly growth of red beard, and with a face of a peculiarly sinister appearance. "when do they expect the herd?" asked the first speaker. "be here the day after tomorrer i reckon," answered the man with the red beard. "how many?" "they say there's five thousand sheep in the herd, but it's more'n likely there'll be ten when they git here." "huh!" grunted the other. "there'll be less when we git through with them." "you bet." "boss simms will be mad. he'll be ripping, when we clean him out." two of the men rose at the big fellow's direction and stalked off into the bushes to attend to their ponies, which the lad could hear stirring restlessly, but could not see. "simms!" breathed tad. "what does this mean? those men are up to some mischief. i know it. i must find out what it is they are planning to do." tad learned a few moments later, but in his attempts to overhear what the plans of these strange men were, he nearly lost his own life. chapter viii into the enemy's camp "has simms been warned that he'd better keep them out of this here territory?" asked one. "yes." "who told him?" "bob moore, who owns the double x ranch on the west side of the range. i saw to that," announced the man with the beard. tad decided that he was the leader of the party, but it was not yet clear what they were planning to do. yet he knew that if he listened long enough something was sure to be dropped that would give him a clue to the mystery. "bob's mad as a trapped bear over it. swears he'll kill every sheep in the country before he'll let simms drive in the new herd and graze it here." "suppose you put it into his head proper like to do something?" laughed one. "well, i did talk it over with him a bit," admitted the leader. "but he wasn't hard to show." "when is the thing coming off?" "we haven't decided yet. we four will talk that over. perhaps the same night they get in. they'll be restless then and easy to start." "but won't the foreman corral the sheep?" "don't think so. haven't room. they haven't fixed up a new corral, because they expected to graze the sheep on north. that many will clean up the range right straight ahead of us for more'n a hundred miles, so that we cattle men won't have half a chance to graze our cattle," grinned the spokesman of the party. his companions laughed harshly. "i reckon," answered another. "we'll have all the cattle men on both sides of the rosebud range so stirred up that they will pitch into that flock like hyenas who haven't had a square meal since snow fell last. when they break loose there's going to be fun, now i tell you. that's the time we get busy. we ought to be able to get a thousand of them anyhow. before next morning we'll be so far down toward the big horn range that they won't catch us. and besides, after the cattle men get through killing mutton, a thousand more or less won't be missed. it'll make a nice bunch to add to our flock. if we work that a few times we'll have enough to make a shipment worth while." "so that's the game is it?" muttered tad butler. "well, they won't do it if i can help it." yet be realized how powerless he was at that moment to defeat their nefarious plans. somehow they were going to urge the real cattle men to use highhanded measures to destroy mr. simms's flock. they were going to scatter them, and then these men were going to make off with all they could drive away. it did not seem to the listening boy that such things were possible; yet mr. simms was authority for the statement that such acts were not unknown in this far northern state. there were still many points that tad was not clear on, but he had heard enough to enable him to give the rancher a timely warning of what they proposed to do. the lad knew what that meant. it meant trouble. his sympathies had been largely with the cattle men--he had looked down on the sheep industry and for the reason that he knew only what the cattle men had told him about it. at that moment tad butler was experiencing a change of heart. that they could plan ruthlessly to slaughter the inoffensive little animals passed his comprehension. a remark below him caused the lad to prick up his ears and listen intently. "as i came over the little muddy this afternoon, i thought i saw some sort of a camp in the foothills," said a voice. "thought mebby that might be the outfit, though i couldn't see what they were doing on that side of the range." "oh," laughed the big man, "i know the one you mean. yes, i took a look at that outfit myself." "oh, he did, eh? wonder we didn't see him," grunted tad, realizing that the men referred to the camp of the pony riders. "there was something besides bears around there, i see." "find out what it was!" "yes, it seemed to be a camp of boys. there was only one man in the bunch so far as i could see. he was a tall gent with whiskers that hadn't been shaved for two weeks o' sundays." tad could not repress a laugh. "i wish the boys could hear that," he said, laughing softly. "that hits off the professor better than a real picture could do." "huh! what were they doing!" "you can search me for the answer. i haven't got it," laughed the big fellow. "we don't need to bother about them. they're out here with some crazy idea in their tops. they can't interfere with our plans any." "you'd better not be too sure about that," chuckled tad. "perhaps one of them may if he has the good luck to get out of here without being discovered." "what's the plan, bluff?" "so that's his name? i'll remember that," muttered tad. "that's what i wanted you boys to meet me here for. i want you to see all the ranchers before to-morrow night on both sides of the rosebud. understand now, no blunt giving away of the game. you want to start by telling them you hear boss simms is bringing in ten thousand head of sheep, and that he's going to graze them up the valley all the way over the free grass to the north. tell them that it'll be mighty poor picking for the cows and so on until you get 'em good and properly mad----" "yes, what then?" "better let the ranchers make threats first, then you can say that you hear the others are going to teach boss simms a lesson and stampede his flock to-morrow or next night. say you hear the word will go out when the mine is ready to touch a match to. you'll know how to work it?" "sure thing, bluff. who do you want us to see?" "i want you and jake to take the west side of the mountains. lazy and i will take the east. work it thoroughly and don't you go to making any bad breaks. right after the job is over, besides the sheep we get for our own herd, there'll be a few thousand laying dead around these parts. we'll take the contract to skin them for the hides. that'll be another rake off. do you follow me?" "yes." "to-morrow night meet me at the three sisters and i'll be able to give you your orders for the rest of the boys." "you don't think they'll suspect you--that they'll be wise to what the game is?" asked one of the men apprehensively. "no fear of that. they'd never mix me up with any such deal as that. i'm a respectable law abiding rancher, i am," laughed the man with the red beard. "don't you go to getting cold feet. that's the sure way to get caught," admonished the leader. "want us to start now?" "no, sure not. what's the use? we'd better turn in and get some sleep. it'll be light enough by three o'clock in the morning. we'll get a rasher of bacon and some hot coffee, then we'll light out for the valley. you know you don't have to see bob moore. and better not go near the circle t ranch. i'm not any too sure about those fellows. we'll turn in now." "i've heard enough to hang the whole bunch," thought tad butler. "the trouble is i don't know who they are. but that does not make so much difference. only if i did know, mr. simms might be able to have them arrested. as it is, i guess the best he can do is to get ready to fight them off when they do come," reasoned the lad. "better stake the ponies nearer camp in case anything comes along. i came across bear tracks a few miles to the east of here," the big man advised them. "so did i," thought tad. "i forgot to tell you that there'll be three or four crow braves with us on the raid as well as half a dozen blackfeet?" "blackfeet? what are them redskins doing down here, off the reservation?" demanded jake. "they're like all critters, think the pasture over the fence is better'n their own," laughed bluff. "guess there's no need of any of us keeping awake. we ain't likely to have any surprises." the cowboy outlaw, however, was about to have the most surprising of surprises that could have come to him at that time. tad, in his anxiety to catch every word that was uttered, had drawn his body close up to the edge of the cliff, his head and shoulders hanging well over. in front of him, right down to the camp stretched a long, sloping rock, whose smooth face, glistened in the light of the camp fire. as the men rose to prepare for the night, tad began pulling himself cautiously back, bracing himself with one hand. suddenly the hand slipped. how it happened he was unable to tell afterward, but instantly tad was over the rock and tobogganing down its side head first. a spot rougher than the rest of the rock, caught in his clothes, righting the boy's body, permitting him to shoot down the rest of the way, feet first. the pony rider boy's presence of mind did not desert him for an instant. it was not a long drop. he felt that he would land safely, providing he did not turn again and land on his head instead of his feet. it was a chance very liable to happen, as he knew from his experience of a second before. they heard him coming, but did not catch the significance of it. "what's that!" exclaimed bluff, springing up in alarm. "i don----" "y-e-o-w!" tad had uttered the shrill scream. with great presence of mind he hoped to take them so by surprise that they would hesitate for the few seconds, and that in this delay he would be able to get away. the lad's feet struck the ground, his body plunged forward and he fell sprawling at the very feet of the men he was seeking to get away from. "catch him! it's a man!" roared the leader. with one accord they sprang for the prostrate form of tad butler. chapter ix tad outwits his pursuers tad was lithe and supple. as the champion wrestler of the high school, back in his home town in missouri, he was possessed of many tricks that had proved useful to him on more than one occasion since the pony riders set out on their summer's jaunt. "y-e-o-w!" yelled the lad in a high-pitched, piercing voice, intended to confuse his enemy. and it served its purpose well. as the men leaped upon him, tad raised himself to all fours, his back slightly arched. in this position he ran on hands and feet like a monkey, darting straight between the legs of the man with the beard. the big man flattened himself on the ground face downward, while tad, who had tripped him, was well outside the ring. in an instant the leader's fellows had dropped on him and the four men were floundering helplessly, in what, to all appearances, might have been a football scrimmage. tad was not yelling now. he was fairly flying, running on his toes and seeking to do so without making the slightest sound. the men quickly untangled themselves and with yells of rage bounded from their camp in search of the one who had caused so much disturbance. it had all happened so quickly that they had not succeeded in getting a good look at their tormentor. "it's a boy!" roared bluff. "catch him. no, shoot! don't let him get away!" "where is he!" "i don't know. fan the bushes, fan everything. we've got to get him!" "keep it up. do you see him?" "no." as tad heard the bullets snipping the leaves over his head, he instinctively ducked and, turning sharply to the left, skulked through the trees. by the flickering light of the camp fire he had seen something that gave him a sudden idea. "watch out. there he is?" "where, where?" "there, by the ponies. give it to him!" cried jake. "stop, you fools!" thundered the leader. "do you want to kill the bronchs? get after him. what are you standing there like a lot of dumbheads for?" "i see him. i kin pink him," yelled one of the four. "i said go after him. not a shot in that direction!" commanded bluff. tad bad caught a glimpse of the ponies. "i'm going to try it," he breathed. no thought of wrong entered his mind. he was about to take a horse that did not belong to him. he knew his life was at stake and that having overheard their plans he would be sure to suffer were he to fall into their hands. "it's not stealing. it's just fighting them on their own ground," gasped the boy, tugging desperately at the stake rope in an effort to free the first pony he came to. the leash resisted all his efforts. out came the lad's jack knife. one sweep and the rope fell apart. they had discovered him. every second was precious now. he was thankful that the men had removed neither bridles nor saddles, though he knew the bit was hanging from the animal's mouth. but tad cared little for this. he could manage the pony, he felt sure. with a yell of defiance he leaped into the saddle and dug his fist into the animal's side, uttering a shrill, "yip-yip!" the pony, responding to the demands of its rider, sprang away through the forest, putting the lad in imminent peril of being swept off by low hanging limbs. "he's getting away. he's got one of the ponies. give it to him now, but don't hit the rest of the cayuses!" yelled the leader in high excitement. tad had it in mind to liberate the other animals and start them off on a stampede. it was the fault of the outlaw cowboys that he did not. they discovered his whereabouts sooner than he had hoped they might. it was all he could do to get one pony free and mount in time, for they were running toward him at top speed. instantly, upon their leader giving them the order to fire, the men raised their weapons, taking quick, careful aim, and pulled the triggers. their bullets whistled far above the head of the fleeing boy, as the ground was sloping and he was traveling downward rapidly. "keep it up. you may get in a chance shot. no, stop. take to the ponies." three of them, including the leader, cast loose the remaining animals, and springing upon their backs, spurred the bronchos into a run. they were in hot pursuit of the lad now, with freshly loaded guns ready to fire the instant they came within range of him. tad's pony was crashing through the brush, making such a racket that there could be no trouble about their keeping on the trail. they needed no light by which to follow it unerringly. the boy soon came to a realization of this. then again the men were so much more familiar with mountain riding that he felt sure they would eventually overhaul him. even now they were gaining. there could be no doubt of that. "i'll ride as long as i can, then i'll try to get away from them some other way," he decided. the moment was rapidly approaching when he would be forced to resort to other tactics. just what these should be he did not know. he would either be shot or captured in the event of his being unable to devise some other method of escape. tad butler was resourceful. he had no idea of giving up yet. he was determined above all, to defeat the desperate purpose of these men and save mr. simms from the loss of his flock. "we're gaining on him!" cried one of the pursuers. "i can hear the pony plainer now." "yes, i kin hear him snort," added another. "you'll hear that cub doing some snorting on his own account in a minute," snarled bluff, applying the spurs mercilessly. "shall we shoot, cap!" "i'll let you know when to shoot. no use filling all the trees in the range full of lead. we'll be up with him in a few minutes now and there'll be things doing. he can't get away. we've got him to rights this time." "he's a slick one whoever he is. think he heard us?" "can't guess. don't make any difference anyhow. he won't have a chance to use the information, if he did hear." "we're coming up on him," cried jake. "halt!" bellowed the leader. the pony in the lead did not slacken its speed in the least. bluff repeated his command, but still without perceptible result. "halt or we shoot!" tad butler made no reply. he was leaning far over on the pony's neck now. in this position he was less likely to be swept off by limbs, and, again, were they to fire on him as they had threatened, there was a much better chance of the shots going harmlessly over, instead of through him. thus far their marksmanship had been poor. this was the second time the lad had been under fire, the first having been in the battle of the mountaineers, when the pony riders were in the rocky mountains, on which occasion tad had conducted himself with such coolness and bravery. tad realized no fear, however. it thrilled him. a strange sense of elation possessed him. he felt strong and resourceful--he felt that he would be willing to do or dare almost anything. "let him have it!" commanded the leader sternly. the men obeyed instantly. their weapons sent a rattling fire in the direction of the fleeing broncho. "halt! will you halt!" the pony still plunged on. "once more!" the men fired again, two rounds each. this time they heard the pony plunge crashing to the ground. his rapid course had come to a sudden end. the pursuers set up a yell of triumph. "he's down! he's down! we've got him!" "give him another one!" to make sure that their man should not escape they fired their weapons again. the pursuers dashed up with drawn revolvers, ready to shoot at the least sign of resistance. bluff leaped from his pony and struck a match. tad's mount lay dying in the brush. "there's no one here," said bluff, his face working nervously. of tad butler there was no sign. he had disappeared utterly. chapter x the ride fob help "there's pink-eye!" exclaimed ned rector. "is it possible?" answered the professor. "then something has happened to tad." "mebby--mebby the bear's got him," suggested stacy brown, his face blanching. all through the night the little party had sat up anxiously awaiting the return of their companion, who had set out after the bear. the tent had been ruined, but they found that the rifles had not been harmed at all, having been stacked in front of the small tents. early in the morning the three boys and professor zepplin had followed tad's trail for some distance into the foothills, but feared to penetrate too far for fear of getting lost. the professor reasoned that it would be much better to return to camp and give tad a chance to find his way in in case he himself should prove to have been lost. this the boys had done, but they were impatient to be doing something more active. ned rector was fairly fuming, because their guardian would not permit him to set out alone in search of the missing boy. "no," the professor had said; "if i did that with all of you, we should have the whole party scattered over the mountains and it is doubtful if we should all get together again before snow flies." yet when tad's pony came trotting back to camp, the matter took on a more serious aspect. something must be done and at once. "now, will you let me go, professor?" begged ned. "not in those mountains alone, if that is what you mean." "then what can we do?" "if the guide were only here!" interjected walter. "do you suppose i could find him?" "it will be useless to try, my boy. about the only course we can follow now, is that leading back to forsythe, and i am not sure that we shouldn't be lost doing that." "then we don't know it," retorted ned. "i know the trail. i could go back over it with my eyes shut. why would that not be the idea, professor? why not let me ride back to forsythe? mr. simms would give us some one who knew the foothills and mountains and i could bring him back." "let me see, how far is it?" mused the professor. "thirty miles, he said." "why, it would take you couple of days to make that and back." "you try me and see. i can get a fresh pony to come back with, and if i do not return with the guide, what difference does it make? he's the one you want. but never fear, i'll be back with him between now and morning if i have no bad luck," urged the lad earnestly. "i am half inclined to agree to your plan. if i were sure that you knew the way----" "it is not possible to get lost. we have the compasses and we know the direction in which forsythe lies. all we have to do is to travel in an opposite direction from that by which we came." "supposing we all go!" suggested walter. "wouldn't do at all," answered the professor, with an emphatic shake of the head. "some one must remain here in case tad returns. that boy will get back somehow. i feel sure of that. he is resourceful and strong. and besides, he has my revolver. no; more than one on the trip would be apt to delay rather than to help. master ned, you may go." "good!" shouted the lad. bad-eye looked up almost resentfully as the boy approached him on the run, threw on the saddle and cinched the girths. the hits were slipped into the animal's mouth, and, placing his left foot in the stirrup, ned threw himself into the saddle. "i'm ready now," he said, his eyes sparkling with anticipation, as he rode up to the little group. "i'll show you that i'm not a tenderfoot even if i am from missouri," he laughed. "be careful," warned professor zepplin. "don't worry about me, and, chunky, you look out for bears. if tad should come in within the next half hour or so, you can fire off your rifles to let me know. then i'll turn about and come back. good-bye, all." "good-bye and good luck," they shouted. giving a gentle pressure to the spurs, ned rector started off on his long ride at a brisk gallop. within a short time the lad had the satisfaction of finding that he was emerging from the foothills. he then pulled up the pony and consulted his compass. "five points north of east. the professor said that should take me back. besides i remember that we came this way yesterday. i'm going to save some time by fording that fork without going the roundabout way we took before." ned galloped on again. had it not been for his anxiety over tad, he would have enjoyed his ride to the fullest. the morning was glorious; the sun had not yet risen high enough to make the heat uncomfortable; birds were singing and in spots where the sun had not yet penetrated a heavy dew was glistening on foliage and grass. ned drew a long breath, drinking in the delicious air. "this is real," he said. "nothing artificial about this. i wish i might stay here always." the lad did not think of the deep snows and biting cold of the northern winters there, winters so severe that hundreds of head of sheep and cattle frequently perished from the killing weather. he saw nature only in her most peaceful mood. he had ridden on for something more than two hours, when he came to the east fork, where they had had such an exciting experience two nights before. after a few moments' riding along the bank he discovered the spot where they had made their camp on the opposite side. "i'm going to take a chance and ford right here," he decided. "no, i guess my mission is too important to take the risk. if i should get caught in there i should at least be delayed. there's somebody else who must be considered. that's tad." half a mile above, the lad found a place that he felt safe in trying. luckily he got across without mishap. he had found a rocky bar without being aware of it, and the water while swift was shallow enough so that by slipping his feet from the stirrups and holding them up, he was able to ford the stream without even getting them damp. "i wonder why we didn't find this place the other night," he said aloud. "i guess we were in too big a hurry. that's the trouble with us boys. we blunder along without using our heads. but, i guess i had better not boast until after i have gotten back safely from forsythe," he laughed. "i may need some good advice myself before that is accomplished." the pony with ears laid back had settled to a long, loping gallop, covering mile after mile without seeming to feel the strain in the least. some distance beyond the fork, ned descried a horseman who had halted on beyond him, evidently awaiting his approach. ned was not greatly concerned about this. on the contrary, it was a relief to see a human being. the man hailed him as he drew up. ned noted the red beard and the general sinister appearance of the man. "how," greeted the stranger, tossing his hand to the lad. "how," answered ned in kind. "where you headed!" "forsythe." "stranger in these parts, i reckon?" "yes, sir." "on a herd?" "expect to be soon. just finished a drive down in texas." "cattle, of course?" "oh, yes." "that's right. this sheep business has got to stop. i hear there's going to be something doing round these parts pretty lively," grinned the stranger. "what do you mean?" asked the lad, peering sharply into the man's face. "oh, nothing much," answered the other. "thought being as you were a cowman it might interest you some." "it does," replied the boy almost sharply. "well, guess the rest, then," laughed the stranger. "where'd you get that pony?" "is that not rather a personal question?" asked ned, smiling coldly. "not in this country. kinder reminded me of a nag that belonged to me. he strayed away from my ranch a few weeks ago," said the fellow significantly. "it wasn't this pony," retorted ned, flushing. "i bought this animal. good day, sir, i must be getting along." "in a hurry, ain't ye?" "i am," answered ned, touching the spurs to the pony's sides and galloping off. "hey, hold on a minute," called the stranger. "can't. in too much of a hurry," replied ned. "i don't like the looks of that fellow at all," muttered the boy as he rode on, instinctively urging his mount along at an increased speed to put as much distance as possible between himself and the curious stranger. "funny he should ask me that question about my pony. however, perhaps it is a peculiarity in this part of the country. wonder what he meant by saying that there would be something doing here pretty quick." after a time ned turned in his saddle and looked back. the horseman was standing as ned had left him. he was watching the boy. ned swung his hand, and then turned, glad that he was well rid of the man. late in the afternoon, he saw the village of forsythe just ahead of him. the boy could have shouted at the sight. "straight as you could shoot a bullet," he chuckled. "i guess i can follow the old custer trail without getting lost." he did not pause, but galloped on into the village and up the main street, not halting until he had reached the bank with which mr. simms was connected. he was stiff and sore from the long, continuous ride, and as he dismounted he found that he could scarcely stand. after tethering the pony to the iron rod that had been fastened to two posts, ned walked into the bank. red-faced and dusty he presented himself to the banker. at first the latter did not appear to recognize him. "i am ned rector of the pony rider boys," explained the lad. mr. simms sprang up and grasped the boy cordially by the hand. "this is a surprise. you back so soon? why, is anything wrong!" "well, yes, there is," admitted ned. "sit down and tell me about it." ned seated himself, but the effort hurt him and he winced a little. "stiffened up, eh? where did you come from?" the lad explained and mr. simms uttered a soft whistle. "well, you have had a ride. i didn't suppose you boys could ride like that. i suppose the guide found you?" "we have seen nothing of him at all." "is it possible? i should not have troubled myself to come back to tell you had it not been for the fact that one of our boys is lost." "lost?" "yes. at least we think so. he has been away since early last evening. we should not have worried so much had not his pony returned without him early this morning. we dared not go far into the mountains to search for him for fear of getting lost ourselves." "you don't mean it?" "yes. i came back to see if you could give me a man from here, or get me one rather. one who knows the mountains and who will ride back with me at once." "of course i will. you did perfectly right in coming to me quickly. my foreman is in town to-day. he will be in shortly and i think he will know of some one who will answer your purpose. i wish you had ridden to my ranch, however. it would have been much nearer." "i didn't know where it was." "of course not." "while waiting for the foreman, tell me about how it all happened?" urged mr. simms. ned went over the events of the previous evening, in detail, to all of which the banker gave an attentive ear. mr. simms regarded him with serious face. "you young men are having plenty of excitement, i must say. yes, you are right. something must have happened to master tad. he looks to me like a boy who could be relied upon to look out for himself pretty well, however," added the banker. "he is. we were afraid that perhaps he might have gotten into trouble with the bear." "quite likely. do you plan on going back with the guide that we get for you?" "certainly." "then you will need a fresh, pony. i will have one brought around for you when you are ready to start. i should think, however, that it would be best for you to remain over until tomorrow. you'll be lamed up for sure." "no, i must go back. i'll be lame all right, but it won't be the first time. i'm lame and sore now. i've polished that saddle so you could skate on it already," laughed ned. mr. simms laughed. "i can understand that quite easily. i've been in the saddle a good share of my life, too. there comes the foreman now." the foreman of the simms ranch, who bore the euphonious name of luke larue, was a product of the west. six feet tall, straight, muscular, with piercing gray eyes that looked out at one from beneath heavy eyelashes, ned instinctively recognized him as a man calculated to inspire confidence. he shook hands with the young man cordially, sweeping him with a quick, comprehensive glance. mr. simms briefly related all that ned rector had told him, and the foreman glanced at the young man with renewed interest after learning of the ride he had taken that morning. "pretty good for a tenderfoot, eh?" ned's bronzed face took on a darker hue as he blushed violently. "i don't exactly call myself that now, sir," he replied. "right. you say your friend chased a bear out!" the lad nodded. luke shook his head. "bad. can he shoot?" "oh, yes. but he had only a revolver--a heavy thirty-eight calibre that belongs to professor zepplin." "nice toy to hunt bears with," laughed the foreman. "bear's probably cleaned him up. i'll get a man i know and i'll go back with you myself. we can run down the trail easily enough, but it will need two trailers, one to follow the pony and the other the bear after their trails separate," the foreman informed them wisely. "do--do--you think he has been killed?" stammered ned. "i ain't saying. it looks bad, that's all." ned forced a composure that he did not feel. he started to ask a further question, when there came a sudden interruption that brought all three to their feet. chapter xi a race against time but to return to tad and his experiences in seeking to elude his pursuers. the boy saw that it was a question of a few moments only before they would surely overhaul him. already the bullets from their revolvers were making their presence known about him. "getting too warm for me," decided the lad coolly. it occurred to him to leave the pony and take his chances on foot. the animal did not belong to him and he would have to abandon it sooner or later. a volley closer than the rest emphasized his decision. the lad freed his feet from the stirrups and slipped from the saddle, at the same time giving the pony a sharp slap, uttering a shrill little "yip!" as the animal dashed away. after this, tad did not wait a second. he ran obliquely away from the pony. this he thought would be better than turning sharply to the left or right. the next moment he came into violent contact with the base of a tree. he noted that it's trunk was a sloping one, and without pausing to think of the wisdom of his act, the lad quickly scrambled up it. to his delight he found himself amid the spreading branches of a pinon tree. he wriggled in among the foliage, stretching himself along a limb, where he clung almost breathless. he had no sooner gained that position than the pony went down under the fire of his pursuers. "too bad," muttered tad. "it's a shame i had to desert the broncho. he did me a good service." the men galloped by a few feet from the boy's hiding place and came to a halt beside the prostrate pony. his straining ears caught their every word. when they began to shoot, tad flattened himself still more, instinctively. some of the bullets passed close beneath him, and he wished that he might have chosen a higher tree in which to hide. bang! it seemed to have cut the leaves just behind his head. tad repressed a shiver and shut his lips tightly together. he was determined not to permit himself to feel any fear. at last the men joined each other right under the tree in which he was hiding. tad fairly held his breath. "well, what do you think, cap?" "don't think. i know. the cayuse has given us the slip." "no, not much use looking for him. better wait here till morning then try to trail him down, if we don't find him laid out somewhere in the bushes round here," suggested one. "yes, we might as well go back to camp. we can't spend much time looking for him in the morning. we've got other work to do. i wish i knew just how much that fellow overheard. queerest thing i ever come across, and i don't like it a little bit." they removed the saddle and bridle from the dead pony, after which they started slowly away. tad breathed again. yet he still lay along the pinon limb, every sense on the alert. he was not sure that it was not a trick to draw him out. he already was too good a woodsman to be caught napping thus easily. after a time, however, deciding that all the men had left, the lad cautiously began to work his way down the sloping tree trunk. his feet touched the ground, his arms still being about the pinon trunk. in that position he lay for several minutes. "i guess it's all right," decided tad, straightening up. "the question is, which way shall i go? i've got to be a long ways from here by daylight or that will be the end of me. it would be just my luck to run right into that gang again." after pondering a moment he decided that, knowing the direction the men had taken, there was only one thing for him to do. he would strike out in the opposite direction. he did so at once, first standing in one spot for some time to get his bearings exactly. then, the lad started away bravely. at first he moved cautiously and as he got further away, increased his speed and went on with less caution. he kept bearing to the right to offset the natural tendency to stray too far the other way, which is usual with those who are lost in the forest. tad was tired and sore, but he did not allow himself to give any thought to that. his one thought now, was to get out of the forest and give the alarm to the owner of the ranch against whom he had heard the men plotting. hearing water running somewhere near, tad realized that he was very thirsty, and after a few minutes' search, he located a small mountain stream. making a cup of his hands he drank greedily, then took up his weary journey again. forcing his way through dense patches of brush, stumbling into little gullies, becoming entangled amongst fallen trees and rotting brush heaps, boy and clothes suffered a sad beating. day dawned faintly after what had seemed an endless night. the sky which he could faintly make out through the trees above him, was of a dull leaden gray, which slowly merged into an ever deepening blue. off to his right he caught glimpses of patches of blue that were lower down. "i must be up in the mountains," said tad aloud. "i wonder how i ever got up here." this was a certain aid to him, however. he reasoned that if the valley lay to his right, he must be going nearly northward. that would lead him toward the place where he believed the simms ranch lay, and at the present moment that was tad butler's objective point. it might be losing valuable time were he to try to find his way back to camp. "i'll get down lower," he decided, turning sharply to the right and descending the sloping side of the mountains. reaching the lower rocks, he found that he was more likely to lose his way there than higher up. he was now in the foothills. there, all sense of direction was lost. so tad, began ascending the mountain. he went up just far enough to enable him to see the blue sky off to the right again, after which he forced his way along the rocky slope. it was tough traveling and he felt it in every muscle of his body. after plodding on for hours, he paused finally and listened. "thought i heard a bell tinkle," he muttered. "i've heard of people hearing such things when they were nearly crazed with hunger and fatigue on the desert. i wonder if i am going the same way. oh, pshaw! tad butler, you could keep on walking all day. don't be silly," he said to himself encouragingly. the tinkling bell was now a certainty. "i know what it is!" exclaimed the lad joyously. "it's sheep! i've heard them before. i'm near sheep and that means there will be men around. it's sheepmen that i am looking for now." with hat in hand, the boy dashed off down the mountain side, leaping lightly from rock to rock, his red neck-handkerchief streaming in the breeze behind him, as he followed an oblique course toward the foothills. all at once he burst out on to a broad, green mesa, and there, before his delighted eyes was a great herd of snowy-white sheep grazing contentedly. off on the further side of the flock he descried a man lazily sitting in his saddle while a dog was rounding up a bunch of stray lambs further to tad's right. the man was watching the work of the dog, so that he did not discover the lad at once. tad decided that he would go around the herd to the left. that appeared to be the shortest way to reach him. he did not wish to try to go straight through the herd. he had gone but a little way before he saw that the man had observed him and was now riding around the upper end of the flock to meet him. "hello, what do you want?" shouted the fellow. "i want to find mr. simms's ranch. is it anywhere near here?" "two miles up that way. where'd you come from?" "i don't know. i've been lost in the mountains. i must see mr. simms at once." "guess you've got a long walk ahead of you then," laughed the sheepman. "boss simms is up to forsythe." "is his family at the ranch?" asked tad. "i reckon the women folks is. you seem to be in a hurry, pardner." "i am. i must hurry." wondering at the haste of the disreputable looking youngster, the sheepman watched him until he had gotten out of sight. finding the footing good and encouraged by the knowledge that he had but two miles to go, the lad dropped into a lope which he kept up until the white side of the simms ranch buildings reflected back the morning sun just ahead of him. tads legs almost collapsed under him as he staggered into the yard and asked a boy whom he saw there, for mrs. simms. he was directed by a wave of the hand to a near-by door, on which tad rapped insistently. "i wish to see mrs. simms, please," he said to the servant, who responded to his knock. "i am mrs. simms. what is it you wish?" answered a voice somewhere in the room. it was a pleasant voice, reminding tad much of his mother's, and a sense of restfulness possessed him almost at once. he felt almost as if he were at home again. "i would like to speak with you, alone, please." "who are you?" "i am tad butler from missouri. i----" "oh, yes, nay husband told me you were expected," she said cordially, extending her hand. "i owe you an apology for appearing in this shape, but i have been lost in the mountains and seem to be rather badly in need of a change of clothes," smiled the lad. "come right in. never mind the clothes. perhaps i may be able to help you. you say you have been lost?" "yes." "where are your companions?" "i don't know. i left them in camp somewhere, i am not sure where." "oh, that is too bad. if you will remain until night perhaps we can spare one of the herders to help you find them----" "pardon me, but it is not for that that i came here," interrupted the lad. "it was on a far more important matter." "yes?" "it is a matter that concerns your husband very seriously." "tell me about it, please?" said mrs. simms anxiously. "have you anyone that you could send to forsythe at once with an urgent message for your husband?" he asked. "there is no one. the herders would not dare to leave their flocks--that is not until the sheep were safe in their corral to-night." "that will be too late. i'll have to go myself. have you a spare pony that i could ride!" "of course. that is if you can rope one out of the pen and saddle it yourself." "certainly. i can do that," said the boy quickly. "but i shall probably ride him pretty hard and fast. i do not think mr. simms will object when he learns my reasons." "is it so serious as that?" "it seems so to me. last night while lost in the mountains i overheard some men plotting against your husband. they said he was expecting a large number of sheep that were being brought in on a drive." "yes, that is true." "they were planning to attack the herd, to stampede it and kill all the animals they could----" "is it possible?" demanded the woman, growing pale. "they mean it, too. i think i will get the pony and start now," decided tad, rising. "you are a brave boy," exclaimed the banker's wife, laying an impulsive hand on tad's shoulder. "i wish you did not have to go. you are tired out now. i can see that." "i'll be all right when i get in the saddle again," he smiled. "thank you just as much." "you shall not leave this house until you have had your breakfast. what can i be thinking of?" announced mrs. simms. "you are doing us all a very great service and i am not even thoughtful enough to offer you something to eat though you are half starved." "i had better not spare the time to sit down," objected tad. "i must be going if you will show me the way." "not until you have eaten." "then, will you please make me some sandwiches? i can eat them in the saddle, and i shall get along very nicely until i get to town. i'll eat enough to make up for lost time when i get at it," he laughed. he was out of the house and running toward the corral, to which mrs. simms had directed him. tad hunted about until he found a rope; then going to the enclosure scanned the ponies critically. "i think i'll take that roan," he decided. "looks as if he had some life in him." the roan had plenty, as tad soon learned. however, after a lively little battle he succeeded in getting the animal from the enclosure and saddling and bridling him. tad could find no spurs, but he helped himself to a crop which he found in the stable, though, from what he had been able to observe, the pony would require little urging to make him go at a good speed. mrs. simms was outside when tad rode up. she had prepared a lunch for him, placing it in a little leather bag with a strap attached for fastening the package over his shoulder. "please say nothing about what i have told you," urged tad. "i don't want them to know we understand their plans. that is the only way mr. simms will be able to catch them." "of course, i shall not mention it. good-bye and good luck." tad mounted his broncho and was off, head-ding directly for the town of forsythe. chapter xii a timely warning arriving in the little town about noon, tad dashed up the street toward mr. simms' bank. tethering his broncho to the post, he entered the bank, and in his anxiety, pushed open the door of mr. simms' private office without ceremony. here, as we already know, were mr. simms, luke larue and ned, all eagerly discussing tad's mysterious disappearance. for a moment not one of those in the office spoke a word. tad stood before them, his clothes hanging in ribbons, his face scratched and torn, the dust and grime of the plains fairly ground into his face, hands and neck. luke larue, of course, did not know the lad, but the keen eyes of the banker lighted up with recognition. "master ned," he said. "i think if this young man were washed and dressed up, you might recognize in him the friend you are looking for." "tad!" exclaimed the boy, springing forward, excitedly grasping the hands of the freckle-faced boy. "hello, ned. what you doing here?' "looking for you. they're all upset back at the camp. we thought the bear had gotten you." "no, i got the bear. a two-legged bear nearly got me later on. i'll tell you all about it later. i want to see mr. simms now." "master tad, i don't know where you have been, but you certainly look used up. this is the foreman of my ranch, mr. luke larue," said the banker. with a quiet smile on the face of each, man and boy shook hands. "heard about you," greeted luke. "heard you was a tenderfoot. don't look like it." "neither do i feel like it. feel as if i'd been put through an ore mill or something that would grind equally fine. when do you expect the sheep?" the foreman shot a keen glance at him. "to-day or to-morrow. why?" "because there is trouble ahead for you when they get here." "what do you mean?" "what is this you say?" demanded mr. simms. "that is what i have come here to tell you about. there is a plan on foot to ride down your sheep when they get here." larue laughed. "guess they'd better not try it. where did you hear that fairy story, young man?" "it's not a fairy tale--it is the fact." mr. simms had risen from his chair and was now facing tad. he saw in the lad's face what convinced him that there was more to be told. "let me hear all about it, master tad," he said. "somebody's been filling the boy up with tenderfoot yarns," smiled the foreman. tad did not appear to heed the foreman's scoffing. instead, he began in a low incisive voice the narration of his experiences of the previous night, beginning with the bear hunt and ending with his finding his way out of the forest that morning. as he proceeded with the story, the lines on the face of the banker grew tense, his blue eyes appearing to fade to a misty gray. at first indifferent, larue soon pricked up his ears, then became intensely interested in the story. "and that's about all i can think of to tell you," concluded tad. ned uttered a low whistle of amazement. "so you think this is a tenderfoot yarn, eh?" asked the banker, turning to his foreman. "not now," answered larue. "i guess the boy did get it straight." "humph! you had no means of knowing--didn't hear what his name was, did you?" "no, sir. he was a big man with red hair and beard and he had a scar over his left temple. the men with him called him bluff." "don't know any such man, do you, luke?" luke shook his head. "nobody who would mix up in such a dirty deal as that. oscar stillwell who owns a cow ranch on the other side of the rosebud, answers to that description, but he ain't the man for that kind of a raw job. known him five years now." "sure about him, are you?" "positive. he don't approve of the hatred that the cowmen generally have for the sheep business. says there's free grass enough for all of us and that the sheepmen have just as much right to it as the cowmen. i'll ride over to his ranch this afternoon and talk with him. i can tell him the story without his giving it away." "just as you think best. you know your man and i don't." "yes. and if there's any such plan on foot, he'll be likely to know about it." "this business has been getting altogether too common. all the way up and down the old custer trail, there has been sheep killing, sheep stealing, stampeding and no end of trouble for the past year. we have seemed unable to fix the responsibility on anyone. but i'll tell you that if they try to break into any of our herds this time, somebody is going to be shot," decided mr. simms, compressing his lips tightly together. "we're forewarned this time." "have you any suggestions, mr. simms? i must be getting back to the ranch if this is in the wind?" "yes. let no one outside of our own men, know that we suspect, unless it be stillwell and you are sure you can trust him----" "there's no doubt of it." "when the new herd gets here, put all the men on it save one who will watch the corral at night. they won't be likely to attack the sheep that are in the enclosure. it's the new ones that we have to herd on the open range that they will be likely to direct their efforts toward. master tad has heard as much." "will you be out?" "of course. i'll ride out this afternoon and remain at the ranch or on the range until this thing has blown over. we had better begin grazing north at once. i want to get them up where the grass is better, as soon as possible. then you can let them take their time until after shearing. we're late with that as it is. see that the men are well armed, but make no plans until i have been out and looked the ground over." "very well. suppose you have no idea where it was that these men found you, or where you found them?" asked the foreman. "no, sir. i was too busy to take notice." "i should say so," laughed mr. simms. "i'd better be moving then, if there's nothing else to be said," decided luke. "i think you had better spare the time to take these young men back to their camp." "i helped myself to one of your horses, mr. simms. the roan." "help yourself to anything that belongs to me, young man," answered the banker. "you have done us a service that nothing we can do will repay." "the roan--you say you rode the roan?" asked lame. "yes. he's a good one." "did he throw you?" "he tried to," grinned tad. "then i take back all i said about your being a tenderfoot. there aren't three men on the ranch who can stick on his back when he takes a notion that he doesn't want them to." "luke, i have asked these young men to join our outfit. when i did so, i didn't know i was drawing a prize. they rather thought the sheep business wouldn't suit them, having been out with a herd of cows----" "we shall be glad to accept your kind offer, mr. simms," interrupted tad. "i've changed my mind since i saw how the cattle men act toward sheep." "that's good." "when do you wish us to join you?" "join to-day by all means, if you have no other plans. i am surprised that the guide failed you. you will not need a guide if you go with the outfit, and you can take as many side trips for hunting, as you wish." "that will be fine," agreed ned rector. "another idea occurs to me. my boy philip has not been well, and if you lads have no objection, i should like to send him along with the herd. if you will keep an eye on him to see that he doesn't get into trouble, i shall be deeply grateful to you." "of course we shall," answered tad brightening. "how old is he?" "only twelve. he's quite a baby still. you will not have any responsibility at all, you understand. he and old hicks the cook of the outfit, are great friends, and hicks will look after him most of the time." "we shall be glad to have him with us," glowed ned. "perhaps you would prefer not to join until after this trouble is over. it probably would be safer, come to think of it----" "no. i think we should like to join right away," interrupted tad hastily. "besides, we may be able to be of some service to you. we can handle cattle, so i don't know why we should not be of use with sheep. don't you think so, ned?" "yes, of course. that will just suit chunky, too. that's what we call our friend stacy brown," explained ned, with a grin. "he's the fat boy, you know." "was once. he's getting over it rapidly," laughed tad. "his uncle won't know him when he gets back to chillicothe." "you have had most of the fun and excitement thus far, tad. now the rest of us want to have some too." "if you call being shot at fun, then i have had more than my share." "most likely you will have all that's coming to you if this thing comes off," grunted the foreman. "i'm going out now. meet you here in an hour. we'll ride back to the ranch. i'll either accompany you to your own camp from there, or send some one else who knows the way. i think i understand where your friends are located. i'm going to get a case of shells at the hardware store, mr. simms." "that's the idea. better take out some more guns while you are about it. you know what to buy." at the appointed time larue presented himself at the bank, announcing himself as ready for the ride. the banker again renewed his expressions of appreciation of all that tad butler had done for him, after which they swung into their saddles and started off on their long ride over the plains. there was plenty of excitement before the pony riders. their few weeks with the herd were to be more eventful, even, than had been their journey with the cattle over the plains of texas. chapter xiii preparing for an attack it was late on the following forenoon when the pony rider boys descended on the simms ranch, bag and baggage. larue had relieved one of the herders and sent him back with tad butler and ned rector, to bring up the rest of the party. the parlor tent they found had been too badly damaged to be worth carrying along, so they left it where the bear had wrecked it. "heard anything from the herd?" was tad's first question as mr. simms came out to greet them. "we certainly have. they are within three miles of here now. i have given orders to keep them clear of the ranch, and the herders are at work deflecting them to the northward. we shall bed them down about five miles from here to-night. to-morrow we will push on slowly for the grass regions up the state. i have arranged for you to remain at the ranch to-night." "oh, no. we prefer to go out and join the herd," objected tad. "we most certainly do," added ned. "that's what we are here for." "have you heard anything new?" asked tad, in a low voice, leaning from his saddle. "yes. i heard that the cowmen all through here are stirred up. it isn't any one man or set of men that's doing it. we have received threats from different sources if we allow the sheep to stray from our own ranch," answered mr. simms, with serious face. "and you have decided----?" "to go on." "hello, is this your son, philip?" asked tad, as a slender, pale-faced boy came toward them. "yes, this is phil. come here, phil and meet my young friends." the pony rider boys took to the lad at once. he was a manly little fellow, but delicate to the point of being fragile, the lad having only recently recovered from a serious attack of typhoid fever. "you see what the outdoor life has done for these young gentlemen, phil," said mr. simms. "i shall expect you to come back this fall, looking every bit as well as they do now. all get ready for dinner. it will be served in a few moments. later in the day, we shall move out on the range. phil, have you packed up your things?" "yes, sir. i'm all ready." the noon meal was a jolly affair. the herders cooked their own meals out on the range, and after this the boys would eat with them. but to-day they were invited guests in the home of the rancher and hanker. in the meantime professor zepplin and mr. simms had become interested in each other and already were looking forward to the next few days on the range together, with keen pleasure. the start was made shortly after three o'clock, the party reaching their destination well before sundown. the pony riders uttered a shout as they descried the white canvas top of the chuck wagon. it was a familiar sight to them. on beyond that was a perfect sea of white backs and bobbing heads, where the great herd was grazing contentedly after its long journey to the free grass of montana. the boys had never seen anything like it. the sheep dogs, too, were a source of never-ending interest. the boys watched the intelligent animals, as of their own accord they rounded up a bunch here and there that they had observed straying from the main herd, working the sheep back to their fellows quietly and without in the least appearing to disturb them. "what kind of sheep is that over there?" asked chunky, pointing. "that's no sheep. that's billy," answered mr. simms. "who's he?" "the goat. you've no doubt heard of a bell wether?" "i have," spoke up tad. "that's what billy is. he leads the sheep. they will follow a leader almost anywhere. in crossing a stream billy wades in without the least hesitation and they cross right over after him. otherwise we should have great difficulty in getting them over." "oh, yes, i know a goat. had one once," replied stacy. "does he butt?" "sometimes. his temper is not what might be called angelic. i suspect the boys have been teasing him pretty well. however, you want to look out for some of those rams. they are ugly and they can easily knock a man down. if you are up early in the morning you will see them at play--you will see what they can do with their tough heads." "i forgot to tell you," said larue in a low voice, "that some of the men report having encountered indians during the day." "that's nothing new. there are plenty of them around here," laughed the banker. "they think they were blackfeet. the reds were so far away, however, that the men could not make certain." "off the reservation again, eh? probably think they can pick up a few sheep. well, look out for them. if you catch them at any shines just shoot to scare. don't hit them. we don't want any government inquiry. i have suspected for a long time that some of them were hiding in the rosebuds and that the crow indians were in league with them. it's only the bad indians who stray from their reservations, you see," explained mr. simms. "we have to be on the lookout for these roving bands all the time or they'd steal all we have." "i should think you would complain to the indian agencies," suggested the professor. "doesn't pay. they would take it out of us in a worse way, perhaps. they're a revengeful gang." one by one the herders came in with their dogs and flocks, rounding the sheep in for the night, having chosen for the purpose a slight depression in the plain. for the first time, the boys had an opportunity to meet the ranchers and compare them with the cattle men they tad known in texas. they were a hardy lot, taciturn and solemn-faced. the most silent man in the bunch, was noisy cooper, who scarcely ever spoke a word unless forced to do so by an insistent question. bat coyne had been a cattle man down in texas, while mary johnson--so called because of his pink and white complexion, which no amount of sun or wind could tarnish--was said to have come from the east. he had left there for reasons best known to himself, working on sheep ever since. it was old hicks, however, who interested tad most. hicks's first words after being introduced were in apology for being cook on a sheep ranch. he was limping about, flourishing a frying-pan to accentuate his protests. "i'm a cowpuncher, i am. wish i'd never joined this mutton outfit," he growled. "then why did you?" asked tad, smiling broadly. "why? i joined because i could get more pay. that's why. what you suppose i joined for?" "i thought perhaps you preferred sheep," answered the lad meekly. "like them--like mutton?" snarled old hicks, hurling his frying-pan angrily into the chuck wagon. "between sheep and had injuns, give me the injun every time. why, every time i have to cook one it makes me sick; it does." "indians? do you cook indians?" asked stacy, who had been an interested listener to the conversation. "wha--wha--cook indians? no! i cook mutton. what do you take me for?" "i--i--i didn't know," muttered stacy meekly. "thought i heard you say you did." "you got another think coming," growled the cook, limping away. "come over here and take a sniff at this kettle?" he called, turning back to tad. the lad did so. "smells fine, doesn't it?" "i think so. what is it, mutton?" "boiled mutton. i kin smell the wool. bah." "do you cook them with the wool on?" asked chunky, edging nearer the kettle. "see here, young man. this here is a bad country to ask fool questions in. use your eyes and ears. give your tongue a rest. it'll stop on you some day." chunky retired somewhat crestfallen, and from that moment on he kept aloof from the irascible cook, whom he held in wholesome awe. "come and get it!" bellowed old hicks, who, after prodding about the interior of the kettle with a sharp stick for some time, decided that the hated mutton was ready to be served. the pony riders did not share hicks's repugnance to mutton. they helped themselves liberally, and even phil simms went so far as to pass his plate for a second helping. by the time the meal had been finished twilight was upon them. the boys, when professor zepplin called their attention to the lateness of the hour, made haste to pitch their tents, while mr. simms, with phil and the sheepmen, looked on approvingly. "you boys go at it like troopers," he smiled. "you'll have to pitch your own, too, after to-day, philip." "we'll help him," chorused the boys. "we've got to do something to earn our board," said ned. "if we eat all the time the way we have tonight, there won't be many sheep left to graze by the time we've finished the trip," laughed walter. "somebody has to eat the cook's share," interrupted larue. "what i came over here to ask was whether you boys were intending to take your turns at herding for the next few nights?" "of course we are," they answered in one voice. "that's what we are up here for," added tad. "got any guns?" "rifles. fortunately, they were not in the tent that was set afire by the bear, so they are all right," replied tad. "however, i'll have to ask the professor about taking them out. i do not think he will care to have us do so." "i'll give you each a revolver," announced the foreman. "luke, never mind the guns. the boys will do their part by keeping guard. we don't want them to be mixed up in any trouble that may follow. if there is any shooting to be done, we can take care of that, i guess," said mr. simms, with a grim smile. "yes, i could not think of permitting it," said the professor firmly; hence it was decided that the lads should go on as they had been doing, leaving the sterner work to those whose business it was to attend to it. after the darkness had settled over the camp, the boys observed that there were more men present than had been the case when they had their supper. mr. simms explained that they were some men he had sent for to help protect the herd. he had ordered them to report after dark, so that the trouble-makers might know nothing about the increased force. the rancher was determined to teach the cattle men of the free-grass range a lesson they would not soon forget. "what do you wish us to do?" asked walter. "we are anxious to get busy." "i think two of you had better go out for the first half of the night; the other two for the latter half." "do we take our ponies?" asked tad. "yes. all of us will ride, excepting the few men who are regularly on guard with the sheep. but you will not move around much. make no noise and be watchful. that is all we can do." it was decided that ned and walter should take the early trick; tad and stacy brown going out after midnight. the herders were already attending to their duties. and now mr. simms and the foreman having given their orders, the reserve force moved out one at a time until all had disappeared in the darkness. a signal had been agreed upon, so that they might recognize each other in the dark. the rancher had thrown out his reserve force in the shape of a picket line, located some distance out from the herd and covering a circle something more than a mile in diameter. this was done so that in case of an attack they would have an opportunity to drive off their enemy without great danger to the herd. the battle, more than likely, would be ended before the cowmen could get near enough to the sheep to inflict any damage. the two boys left camp rather closer together than had the others, as they were to keep in touch during their watch. in a short time the guards were all placed and a great silence settled over the scene, broken only now and then by the bleating of a lamb that had lost its mother in the darkness. chapter xiv bunted by a merino ram the simms outfit breathed a sigh of relief when daylight came again. there had been nothing more disturbing than stacy brown's yawns in the early part of the night. so persistent had been these that the professor and mr. simms found themselves yawning in sympathy. old hicks, who was sitting up to prepare hot coffee for any of the sheepmen who might come in, was affected in a like manner. had it not been for the presence of the owner of the herd hicks might have adopted heroic measures to put a stop to stacy's yawns. as it was, he threatened all sorts of dire things. at breakfast time the cook seemed to be in a far worse humor than ever when he gave the breakfast call. "come and get it. and i hope it chokes you!" he bellowed, voicing his displeasure at everything and everybody in general. tad rode in as fresh as if he had not had a sleepless vigil. his rest of late had been more or less irregular, but it seemed to have not the slightest effect either on his spirits or his appetite. all felt the relief from the strain of the night's watching and it was a more sociable company that gathered at the table than had been the case on the previous evening. "well, how do you like being a sheepman?" asked mr. simms jovially. "it's better than being lost in the mountains and being shot at by cowmen," averred tad. "perhaps you'll have a chance to enjoy the latter pleasure, still," said mr. simms. "i do not delude myself that we are out of danger yet; it may be that they have taken warning and given it up." "what are the plans for to-day?" asked ned rector. "the herd will graze on, and later in the day we shall move the camp five or six miles up the range. see any indians last night?" "no," answered the boys, sobering a little. "old hicks is authority for the statement that they were hovering somewhere near during the night." "how does he know?" asked tad. "you'll have to make inquiry of hicks himself if you want to find out," laughed the rancher. "probably the same way that he knows we are talking about him now." all eyes were directed toward the cook. hicks was limping around the mutton kettle, shaking his fist at it and berating it, though in a voice too low for them to hear. "that's one of your cattle men for you," chuckled mr. simms. "i think he would take genuine pleasure in boiling a sheepman in his pot. but he takes the money," added mr. simms significantly. "by the way, where's your chum?" "whom do you mean?" asked walter, glancing about the table. "chunky, i believe you call him." "that's so, where is he?" demanded tad, laying down his fork. "probably fallen in somewhere again," growled ned. "did not master stacy come in with you, ned?" asked the professor hurriedly. "no, sir." "he was with you last night?" "no, not all the time. he went out with me, but i saw him only twice during the early part of my watch." mr. simms looked serious. "i hope nothing has happened to him. see here, luke. they tell me master stacy has not been seen this morning. know anything of it?" "why, no. are you sure? have you looked in his tent?" "excuse me, i'll go see if he isn't there," said tad, rising from the table and hurrying to the tent occupied by his companion. "no," he said as he returned; "evidently he has not been there since we went out at midnight." "ask old hicks if he has seen him come in," directed mr. simms. the cook said he had not set eyes on the fat boy, adding that he didn't care a rap if he never came back. the boys looked at each other with mute, questioning eyes. "we must go in search of him at once," decided the professor. "yes, don't worry, professor," calmed the rancher. "he has probably strayed off by himself and is unable to find his way back. luke will round him up in short order. finish your breakfast, everybody, then we will see that the young man is brought back. funny he should have gotten away without any one's having noticed it." "he's always getting himself into trouble," declared ned. "i thought i was the only one that did that," retorted tad, with an attempt at gayety. "that's different. i know what i'm talking about. something is sure to happen to that boy before we are ready to go back home." "begins to look as if something had already happened," said walter. a wild yell startled the sheepmen at the table. it seemed to come from some distance away. everybody started up, some reaching for their guns. "we are attacked!" cried one. "no, but we're going to be!" shouted another. "there comes one of the boys on a pony giving the alarm." "get ready, everybody!" the camp was in instant confusion. in their haste to prepare for action, the table was upset and its contents piled in a confused heap. old hicks was roaring out his displeasure, the foreman was shouting out his orders, while professor zepplin was seeking to make himself heard in an effort to give directions to his charges. suddenly the voice of the foreman was heard above the uproar. "hold on!" he shouted. "it's one of our own--it's------oh, bah!" "what is it? what is it!" cried mr. simms, unlimbering his weapon. "it's chunky," snorted ned rector disgustedly. "the fat boy has been falling in again or i'll eat mutton all the rest of my natural life." "it sure enough is he," answered tad, gazing off at the horseman who was riding at top speed and trying to urge his pony on still faster. "i wonder what he has been getting into this time. hope it's nothing serious." "not to him, anyway, judging by the way he is riding," replied walter. "something has given him a mighty good start, anyhow," shrewdly decided the foreman. "i know what it is--i know what he's in such a hurry about," said ned. "what?" asked walter. "breakfast. he's just found out it's breakfast time," jeered ned. "can't have no breakfast," growled old hicks. "breakfast is et." "excepting what's on the ground," added mary johnson. "what's he yelling about?" "something's gone twisted," decided champ blake. "think so, noisy?" "uh-hu," agreed the silent one. all eyes were fixed on chunky. he was gesticulating wildly and pointing back to the hills from which he had just come. "i believe they are after us, and in broad daylight, too," snapped mr. simms. "get your ponies. be quick! ride fast. don't let them get near the sheep." thus admonished, the sheepmen sprang for their saddles. the boys followed suit at once, leaving only the professor and old hicks to look after the camp. a bunch of sheep had trotted to a water hole hard by the camp, a faithful shepherd dog following along after them to see that they returned to the main flock as soon as they should have satisfied their thirst. the sheep were now between chunky and the camp. so intent was he on attracting the attention of the men that he failed to observe the small flock in his path. neither did the sheepmen notice it. if old hicks did, he did not care what happened either to the sheep or to the boy to whom he had taken such a violent dislike. "wow! wow! wow!" screamed the boy in a shrill, high-pitched voice. "what's the matter?" "where are they?" "how many of 'em?" these and other questions were hurled at chunky as he dashed straight toward the camp. he pointed back to the foothills. "they're there, he says," shouted the foreman. "come on. spread out so as to cover the herd. don't you let a man get through our lines." their ponies were stretched out with noses reaching for some unseen object, as it seemed. they swept past the lad within hailing distance, riding hard, while he continued to reach for home. stacy had turned to look back at the racing sheepmen, when his pony drove biting and striking right into the flock crowded about the water hole, for the ponies liked the sheep no more than did the cook. the broncho went down like a flash, hopelessly entangled with the bleating, frightened animals. but stacy did not stop. that is, he did not do so at once. the lad had shot neatly over the broncho's head, describing a nice curve in the air as he soared. pock! his head landed with a muffled sound. "ouch! help!" a loud, angry bleat followed his exclamation. the lad's head had been driven with great violence against the soft, unresisting side of a merino ram. the merino went down under the blow. but his soft fleece had saved the boy from serious injury, if not from a broken neck. "i fell off," cried stacy, struggling to his feet, running his fingers over his body, as if to determine whether or not he had been hurt. "i--i didn't see them. th--they got in my way." whether he had or not was not now the question, at least so far as the merino was concerned. the ram was angry. he resented being bunted over in any such manner. the animal, scrambling to his feet, uttered a bleat, at the same time viciously throwing up his head, landing lightly, for him, on chunky's leg. "stop kicking me! i say you stop that you----" he did not finish what he had started to say. the merino, finding the mark a satisfactory one, had backed quickly off. with head well down, eyes on the boy who had been the cause of his downfall, he charged with a rush. just at the instant when he delivered the blow, the tough, horned head was raised ever so little. "ye-o-ow!" shrieked the boy as he felt himself suddenly lifted from his feet and once more propelled through the air head first. it seemed in that brief interval of sailing through space as if every particular bone in his body had been jarred loose from its fastenings. chunky felt as if he were all falling apart while making his brief second flight. he was headed straight for the muddy water hole, and the ram was charging him a second time. the lad did not know this, however. just at the edge of the water hole the merino caught him again, neatly flipping him in the air and landing the boy on his back, with a mighty splash, right in the middle of the pool. yet the force of the ram's charge had been so great that he was unable to stop when he discovered the water at his feet. in endeavoring to do so, his strong little feet ploughed into the soft turf. the merino did a pretty half somersault and he too landed in the mud pool on his back. unfortunately, he struck in the identical spot that chunky had, and for a moment there was such a threshing about, such a commotion there as two monsters of the deep might have made in a battle to the death. old hicks was hammering a dishpan on a wheel of the chuck wagon, regardless of the damage he was inflicting on the pan, and screaming with delight. professor zepplin as soon as he could recover his wits, rushed to the rescue and from the flying legs and horns managed to extract stacy brown and drag him up to the dry ground. the lad was a spectacle. mud was plastered over him from head to foot, while the muddy water was dripping from hair, mouth, ears, eyes and nose. "i--i fell in, didn't i?" he gasped. "wh--who kicked me?" "who kicked him?" jeered old hicks. "oh, help, help!" he cried, rolling with laughter. stacy began to sputter in an uncertain voice. professor zepplin shook him roundly. "why didn't you get out of it? the water wasn't over my head, you chunk," roared old hicks. chunky eyed him sadly. "it was the way i went in," he said, breathing hard as he wrung the water from his trousers by twisting them in his hand. at that the irrepressible hicks went off into another paroxysm of mirth. chapter xv roped by a cowboy the professor had no sooner marched stacy to his tent to wash the mud from himself and get into a clean suit of clothes, than the sheepmen came galloping back to camp. a few of them had been left out near the foothills in case of a surprise. "where's that boy who sent us off on this fool chase?" demanded luke larue, riding right into the camp. chunky poked his head from the tent, holding the flap about him to cover himself. "what did you tell us the cowmen were after us for?" "who, me?" "yes, come out here. i want to talk to you." "i--i--i can't." "you'd better or i'll have to fetch you out. why can't you?" demanded the foreman sternly. "i--i haven't got any clothes on," stammered the boy. the foreman slipped from his pony, leaning against a tree with a helpless expression on his face. stacy's companions with mr. simms and several of the sheepmen rode in at that moment. "where's that boy?" demanded the rancher of larue. the foreman pointed to the tent. but the lad not yet having finished his toilet, all hands were obliged to stand about waiting for him. they did so with much impatience. stacy took all the time he needed, apparently not believing that there was any necessity for haste. at last he sauntered out smiling broadly. "i think you owe us an explanation, at least," announced mr. simms, a peculiar smile playing about the corners of his lips. he had intended to be stern, but the sight of chunky's good-natured face disarmed him at once, as it did most people. "'bout what?" asked the lad. "sending us out to the foothills, telling us the cowmen were attacking us." stacy's eyes opened widely. "never said so." "what did you say, then?" "nothing." "i guess we are all dreaming," laughed the rancher. "will you please tell me what did happen then, when you started us away?" "when i was riding in, you all started up and mounted your ponies. somebody yelled, 'where are they?' i pointed back to the mountains, and then you rode on," the lad informed him. it was an unusually long speech for chunky to make without many halts and pauses. but he did very well with it. "that is exactly what you did do. when we got there we found not the slightest trace of the cowmen. where did you see them?" "i didn't see them," persisted the lad. "then why did you tell us you did?" "i didn't." mr. simms thrust his hands in his pockets and strode back and forth several times. "say, young man, did you see anything at all, except what your imagination furnished?" chunky nodded emphatically. "what did you see?" "indians." "oh, pshaw!" grunted mr. simms disgustedly. "indians?" interrupted walter perkins. "tell me about it?" "i was asleep," began stacy. "so that's the way you keep watch over our herd is it?" growled luke. "we were just about to organize a searching party to go after you, when we saw you coming." "i got tired. i sat down by a rook and--y-a-li--hum----" "ho-ho-ho--hum," yawned the foreman. within half a minute the whole outfit was yawning lazily, all save old hicks, the cook, who with hands thrust into his trousers pockets stood peering at the fat boy out of the corners of his eyes. "stop that, d'ye hear!" snapped ned rector angrily. "i'll duck you in that water hole, if you don't." "just been ducked," answered stacy lazily. "got kicked in by a sheep." "what about the indians?" asked tad impatiently. "i guess you dreamed you saw them." "no, i didn't. i went to sleep by the rock and when i woke up it was daylight. i yawned." "of course you did," jeered ned. "wouldn't have been you if you hadn't yawned." "i was rubbing my eyes and trying to make up my mind where i was when--when----" "when what?" urged tad. "when somebody said, 'how?'" the sheepmen laughed. "i--i looked around, and there--there stood a lot of indians----" "on their heads!" asked ned. "no, sitting on their ponies. then--then i--" "then you pitched into them and drove them away," laughed walter. "no, i didn't. i yelled and run away. so would you." every man and boy of the sheep outfit roared with laughter. "my boy," said mr. simms, "you will have to get used to seeing indians if you remain with us long. this state is full of them, some bad, some good. but you need not be afraid of them. they dare not interfere with us, so if you see any, just pass the time of day and go on along about your business." "when i got back here i fell in----" professor zepplin here broke into the conversation to explain what had happened to the fat boy, whereupon the outfit once more shouted with merriment. the camp finally having been restored to its normal state, plans were made for moving on to the north. "i wish you would ride over to groveland corners and get me fifty feet of quarter inch rope, tad," said mr. simms. "you will have no trouble in finding the way. i'll show you exactly how to get there and find your way back afterwards. and by the way, you might take philip with you, if you don't mind. i want him to get all the riding he can stand." "i'll answer yes to both, requests," smiled tad. "how far is it to the--the----" "corners? five miles as the crow flies. it will be a slightly longer distance, because you have to go around the little butte. the place is situated just behind it on the west side." "then, i'm ready now, if phil is." the young man was not only ready, but anxious to be off, so without delay, the two lads brought in their ponies and after receiving final instructions as to how to find the new camp, they set off at an easy gallop in the fresh morning air, their spirits rising as they rode over the green mesa that lay sparkling in the morning sunlight. groveland corners was little more than its name implied, consisting of one store that supplied the wants of the half dozen families who inhabited the place, as well as furnishing certain supplies to near-by ranchmen. a group of cattle men had gathered at the store. they were sitting on the front porch talking earnestly when the two boys rode up. tad dismounted, hitching his pony, while phil, shifting to an easy position on his saddle, waited until the purchase of the rope had been made. the conversation came to a sudden pause as the boys rode up, the cowmen eyeing the newcomers almost suspiciously, tad thought. however, he paid no attention to them, further than to bid them a pleasant good morning, to which one or two of them gave a grunting reply. he had noticed one raw-boned mountain boy among the lot who had answered his greeting with a sneering smile and a reply under his breath that tad had not caught. the lad gave no heed to it, but went about his business. besides the rope, he made several small purchases for himself. in reply to a question of the storekeeper, tad informed him that he was with the simms outfit. one of the cowmen who had entered the store, overhearing this, went outside and informed his companions. "hello, kid," greeted one, as the boy left the store. "how's mutton to-day?" busily coiling the rope, tad paid no attention to the taunt; he hung the rope on his saddle horn and then methodically unhitched pinkeye. "going to hang yerself?" jeered another. "that's all a mutton puncher's worth. i guess." tad felt his face flush. he paused long enough to turn and look straight into the eyes of the speaker. "my, but ain't our little boy spunky!" called the fellow in derision. "if he is, he knows, at least, enough to mind his own business," snapped tad. a jeering laugh followed the remark. "did ye mean that fer me?" demanded the mountain boy, rising angrily. "if the coat fits, put it on," answered the freckle-faced boy indifferently, vaulting lightly into the saddle. "i'll bet that's boss simms's kid--the pale-faced dude, eh?" sneered one sharply. an angry growl answered the suggestion. tad thinking it was time to be off, turned his pony about and phil did the same. but no sooner had they headed their mounts toward home, tad being slightly in the lead, than a rope squirmed through the air. it dropped over the shoulders of mr. simms' delicate young son, tightened about his arms with a jerk. "help!" cried the frightened boy. tad, glancing back apprehensively saw what had happened. he wheeled his pony like a flash, but not quickly enough to save his companion from falling. phil simms was roped from his pony, landing heavily in the dust of the street. "y-e-o-w!" chorused the cowboys. chapter xvi tad whips a mountain boy "shame! shame on you!" cried tad butler indignantly. the lad leaped from his pony which he quickly tethered to the hitching bar in front of the store. this done he ran to his fallen companion, who still lay where the lariat had thrown him. he was half stunned and covered with dust. after jerking him from his pony, however, the cowboys, though continuing their shouts of glee, had made no further effort to molest philip. tad quickly released him. "i 've had a lot to do with cowboys, but you're the first i ever knew who would do a thing like that. the cowboys i know are gentlemen." "then, d'ye mean to say that we ain't, ye miserable cayuse?" demanded one of the number, rising menacingly. "the fellow who roped that boy is a loafer!" answered tad bravely, taking a couple of paces forward and facing the crowd. "you wouldn't dare do that to a man, especially if he had a gun as you have. why didn't you try it on luke lame when he was over here?" "oh, go back to yer mammy," jeered one. "i want to know who threw that rope? if he isn't too big a coward, he'll tell me. i guess mr. simms will settle with him." "it's up to you, bob, i guess," nodded one of them, addressing the angry-faced mountain boy who was one of their number. the latter rose with what was intended to appear as offended dignity. "ye mean me?" he demanded, glaring. "yes, if you are the one who did it," answered tad, looking him squarely in the eyes. "then your going to git the alfiredest lickin' you ever had in your life," announced the mountain boy. tad held the other with a gaze so steady and unflinching as to cause the mountain boy to pause hesitatingly. "phil, jump on your pony and get out of here," directed the lad in a low tone. "he stays where he is," commanded one of the cowboys. "do as i tell you," retorted tad sharply. "be quick about it, too." a cowboy aimed a gun at phil simms. "try it, if ye want ter git touched up," he warned. "bob, sail into the fresh kid," he added, nodding his head toward tad butler. "i'm not looking for a fight--i don't want to fight, but if that loafer comes near me i'll have to do the best i can," answered tad bravely. "i don't expect to get fair play. i'll----" "you'll git fair play and you'll git more besides," called the previous speaker. "go to him, bob." bob lowered his head, sticking out his chin and assuming a belligerent attitude with eyes fixed on the slender figure of his opponent. tad was observing the mountain boy keenly, measuring him mentally, while young simms, pale-faced and frightened, was leaning against his pony, which he had caught and was preparing to mount when he was stopped by the gun of the cowboy. "see, you've got him rattled already, bob," shouted a cowman triumphantly. "he'll be running in a minute." "come away, tad," begged philip. "keep quiet. don't speak to me," answered the lad, without turning his head toward his companion. tad butler's whole being was centered on the work that he knew was ahead of him. he was angry. he felt that he had never been more so in his life, but not a trace of his emotion showed in his face or actions. if he ever had need of coolness, it was at this very moment. he did not know whether he would be able to master the raw-boned mountaineer or not. the lad's training in athletics had been thorough, and his title of champion wrestler of the high school in chillicothe had been earned by hard work and persistent effort to make himself physically fit. "he's all of twenty-five pounds heavier than i am," decided the boy. "i've got to try some tricks that he doesn't know about, if i hope to make any kind of showing." bob was now approaching him with an ugly grin on his face. tad's arms hung easily by his side. "come on, what are you waiting for?" tad smiled. with a bellow of rage, bob rushed him. tad laughed, and stepping quickly to one side, thrust a foot between the bully's legs as he passed. bob landed flat on his face in the dust of the street. the cowboys set up a roar of delight. it was sport, no matter who got the worst of it. "give them room," shouted some one, as the men closed quickly about the combatants. "let the kids fight it out." these tactics were so new to bob, that he did not know just what had happened to him. and when he had scrambled to his feet, he met the laughing face of tad butler, which enraged him past all control. this was exactly what tad wanted. bob with a bellow again charged him. tad made a pass and missed, but covered his failure by neatly ducking under the upraised arm of the cowboy, whose surprised look when he found that he had been punching the empty air brought forth yells of delight from his companions. tad had cast away his hat, that it might not interfere with his movements. no sooner had he done so than his opponent renewed his attack. but tad skillfully parried the heavy blows, delivered awkwardly and without any great amount of skill. the great danger was that his adversary with his superior strength might beat down the lad's defense and land a blow that would put a sudden end to the fray. tad was watching for an opening that would enable him to put in practice a plan that had formed in his brain. "look out for the cayuse, bob. he ain't so big a tenderfoot as he looks," warned a cowboy. but bob had already discovered this fact. though his fists were beating a tattoo in the air he seemed unable to land a blow on the body of his elusive adversary, and this only served to anger him the more. "ki-yi!" yelled the cowboys as a short arm blow, delivered through the mountaineer's windmill movements, reached his jaw and sent him sprawling. tad had not been able to put the force into it that he wanted to, else the battle might have ended then and there. bob came back. this time he uttered no taunts. the blow hurt him. his head felt dizzy and his fists did not work with the same speed that they had done before. all at once tad's right hand shot out, his fist open instead of being closed. it closed over the left wrist of the cowboy with an audible slap. tad's left hand joined his right in closing over his adversary's wrist. he whirled sharply, bringing bob's left arm over his adversary's shoulder. then something happened that made the cowmen gasp with astonishment. the slender lad lifted the big mountain boy clear of the ground, hurled him over his head, and still clinging to the wrist, brought him down with a smashing jolt, flat on his back in the middle of the village street. phil simms narrowly escaped being struck by the heels of the mountain boy's boots as they described a half circle in the air. bob lay perfectly still. and for a moment the cowboys stood speechless with amazement. "whoopee!" yelled one. "who-o-o-p-e-e!" chorused the others, dancing about tad butler and his fallen victim in wild delight. "i'm sorry i had to do it," muttered the boy. they helped bob to his feet, pounded him on the back, making jeering remarks about his being whipped by a kid, until his courage gradually was urged back as his strength returned. suddenly bob turned on his assailant, and throwing both arms about him, bore him to earth. the move was so unexpected that the lad had no opportunity to side step out of the way. the weight of the mountaineer was so great that tad found himself unable to squirm from under. bob, with a growl of rage, raised his fist, bringing it down with the same movement that he would wield a meat axe. tad never flinched as he saw it coming. his eyes were fixed upon the descending fist, his every nerve centered on the task of watching it. just at the instant when fist and face seemed to be meeting, the lad by a mighty effort, jerked his head ever so little to the right. "oh!" yelled bob. something snapped. the pressure released from his body, ever so little, tad by a supreme muscular effort, threw his opponent slightly to one side, and quickly wormed himself from under. he was on his feet in an instant. the cowboys did not know what had happened, but they knew that the boy from the simms ranch had done something to their companion that for the instant had taken all of the fight out of him. tad had been only partly responsible for bob's present condition, however. by jerking his head to one side he had caused the mountain boy's fist to strike the hard roadbed instead of tad's head. bob struggled to his feet, holding the right wrist with the left hand and moaning with pain. the right hung limp. tad knew what had happened. "he's broken his wrist. i'm glad i didn't have to do it for him," said the lad. at first glowering glances were cast in tad's direction. they were of half a mind to punish him in their own way. "you said it was to be a fair fight," spoke up the lad. "has it been?" there was a momentary silence. "the kid's right," exclaimed a cowman. "he cleaned up bob fair and square. i reckon you kin go, now." "thank you." "hold on a minute. not so fast, young fellow. i'm kinder curious like to know how ye put bob over yer head like that!" asked another. "it was a simple little japanese wrestling trick," laughed the boy. "kin ye do that to me?" "i don't know." "well, yer going ter try and right here and now." "all right, come over here on the grass where the ground isn't so hard. if i succeed in doing it, though, you must agree not to get mad. i can't fight you, you know. you are too big for me." the cowman grinned significantly, and strode over to the place indicated by tad butler. "now what d'ye want me ter do?" he demanded, leering. "yer see i'm willing?" "strike at me, if you wish. i don't care how you go about it," replied tad. "here goes!" the cowman launched a terrific blow with his right. tad sprang back laughing. "if that had ever hit me, you never would have known how the other trick is worked," he said, while the cowboys laughed uproariously at the fellow's surprise when he found that his fist had not landed. "guess the kid ain't no slouch, eh, jim?" jeered one. jim let go another, then a third one. the third blow proved his undoing. the next instant jim's boots were describing a half circle in the air over tad butler's head. his revolvers slipping from their holsters in transit, dropped to the ground and jim landed flat on his back with a mighty grunt. he was up with a roar, his right hand dropping instinctively to his empty holster. "wh-o-o-o-e!" warned the fellow's companions. "no fair, jim. no fair. he said as he'd do it, and he did. kid, you'd clean out the whole outfit, give you time, i reckon." jim pulled himself together, restored his weapons to their places, and walked over to tad, extending his hand. "that was a dizzy wallop ye give me, pardner," he said, with a sheepish grin. "if ye'll show me how it's did, i'll call it square." tad laughingly did so. "i guess i couldn't get even with them any easier than by showing them the trick," he grinned, mounting his pony, and accompanied by philip rode away. "they'll try that trick till the whole bunch of them get into a battle royal." they did, as tad learned next day. chapter xvii chunky rides the goat "there's the sheep," announced tad, after they had ridden on for some time. "i'm glad," said phil, "do you know, tad, i thought those men were going to kill you." phil's courage had returned, when he realized that they were in sight of friends once more. tad laughed. "they aren't half so bad as they would have us believe. the boy was the worst of the lot. he needed to be taught a lesson, but i wish i hadn't hurt him," he mused. "he did it himself; you didn't." "yes, i know. i had to to save my own face." the lad laughed heartily at his own joke, which philip, however, failed to catch. "now we'll find out where the camp is," said tad, espying a herder off to the north of them. having been directed to the new camp, phil galloped away, tad remaining to chat with the sheepman a few minutes. yet he made no mention of his experience at groveland corners, not being particularly proud of it, after all. after riding slowly about with, the herder for half an hour, the lad jogged off toward camp, which his companion had reached before him. philip had spread the story of tad's battle with the cowboy. old hicks, contrary to his usual practice, had listened with one ear, giving a grunt of satisfaction when the story had been told. as a result there were several persons eagerly awaiting him in the sheep camp when he rode up. "who's getting into trouble now?" demanded stacy, with mock seriousness. "you need a guardian, i guess. i presume mr. simms thinks so, too." "heard you had two black eyes," jeered ned rector. "say, tad, we've agreed that you shall show us how you did it, using chunky for your model," said walter perkins. tad smiled good-naturedly, dismounting from the saddle and tethering the pony with his usual care. "guess i'd better leave the saddle on. there may be something doing any minute," he mused. "mr. simms wants ye over to his tent," old hicks informed tad. "oh, all right," answered the lad, walking briskly to the little tent occupied by the owner of the herd. the foreman was there awaiting tad's arrival as well. "first i want to thank you for having taken phil's part so splendidly," glowed mr. simms. "it is a wonder they did not do you some harm after that." "oh, they were not half bad," laughed tad. "they were ashamed of what they'd done after it was all over." "no. there's no shame in that crowd. i know them. phil has told me about it. i know them all, and they shall suffer for roping that boy," went on the rancher angrily. "one of them has," answered tad, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "besides, there's going to be a big fight over there. perhaps they are at it now." "fight? i should judge from what i hear that there already has been one. what do you mean?" "oh, nothing very serious. i taught them the japanese trick of throwing a man over my head. they were trying it on when i left. shouldn't be surprised, after they learn how to do the trick, if they got mad and had a real fight." luke larue leaned back, slapping his thighs and laughing uproariously. "well, you are a smart one," he exclaimed. "couldn't lick them all yourself, so you fixed it so they'd sail in and lick each other. funniest thing i ever heard. i'll have to tell old hicks about that. but i won't do it till after dinner, or he'll burn the mutton and spoil our meal. fighting each other!" luke indulged in more hilarity. "you heard nothing, of course--they said nothing about our herd----" "no, but it was plain that they had no love for you, mr. simms. it was the boy who roped philip, though. i do not think the men would have done anything like that." "it's all the same. it shows the feeling that exists. nothing will ever wipe that out except a good whipping. it's coming to them and they are going to get it." "you think then--you believe they have not given up their plan of attacking the sheep?" asked tad. "given it up? not they. they have been too well nagged on by your friend of the rosebud. i wish i knew who he is. i probably never shall, though." "i'll know him if i see him again." "you might not. camp-fire sight is tricky." "i'll know his voice, sir. i presume you will continue your watch over the herd to-night?" "yes, and for many nights to come. we shall keep it up until we get far enough to the north so that we are sure there will be no trouble. i guess you had better go on the late trick to-night. that is the most important. we'll send your friend chunky out early in the evening. his habit of going to sleep at unusual times is too serious to trust him with the late and dangerous watch. if they strike it will be close to morning, i imagine." "i hope they won't, for your sake." "so do i," answered mr. simms, with emphasis. the afternoon was waning. the pony riders were all in camp, some reading, others writing letters home, for already much had happened that would make interesting reading to the folks off in the little missouri town. steam was rising from the big kettle, into which old hicks was about to drop a quarter of mutton for the evening meal, and an air of perfect peace hovered over the camp of the sheepmen. under a spreading tree the bell goat of the outfit lay stretched out sound asleep. he had been in that position most of the afternoon, there being nothing special for him to do, as the herd was grazing as it saw fit, without any effort being made to urge it along. from the other side of the tree the round face of stacy brown might have been observed peering to one side of the sleeping goat. he listened intently. billy was breathing short, regular breaths, with no thought of the trouble that was in store for him. from the expression of the boy's face it was evident that he was forming some mischievous plan of his own. this was verified when, after dodging back behind the tree, his head appeared once more and a stick was cautiously thrust out. slowly it was pushed toward billy's nose, which it gently rubbed and then was withdrawn. billy probably thought it was a fly, for one impatient hoof brushed the troubled nose; then the interrupted nap was continued. stacy tried it again with equal success. his sides were shaking with laughter, and every little while he would hide himself behind the tree to give vent to his merriment. the others were too busy to notice what he was doing, though once old hicks paused in his work to cast a suspicious glance in that direction. stacy had been amusing himself for several minutes and with such success that he grew more bold. he had stepped from behind the tree that he might the better reach his victim. now the tickling and the sweep of the impatient hoof became more frequent. billy grunted as if he were having a bad dream, and this amused stacy so much that he was obliged to retire behind the tree again to laugh. as he emerged this time, billy slowly opened a cautious eye, all unobserved by his tormentor. with a hand over his own mouth to keep back the laughter, the lad rubbed the stick gently over the goat's nose. billy's chin whiskers took an almost imperceptible upward tilt and the observing eye opened a little more widely. next time stacy varied the performance by giving the goat a malicious little dig in the ribs with the sharp end of the stick. billy rose up into the air as if hurled there by an explosion beneath him. when he landed on his four feet, it was with head pointed directly toward the foe and with fore legs sloping well back under him ready for a drive with his tough little head. "oh!" exclaimed chunky, rapping the goat smartly over the nose with the stick to drive the animal off. billy drove all right, but it was not away from the lad. stacy was standing with legs apart and billy dived between them, at the same time lifting his head. the effect was instantaneous. chunky was neatly flipped to the goat's back, face down with his legs dangling about the animal's neck. instinctively he took a quick grip with the legs, locking his feet on the underside of billy's neck and his hands about the withers. at that moment the surprised goat gave an excellent imitation of a broncho trying to throw its rider. "hel-p!" cried chunky in a muffled voice. no one save the cook heard it. "whoop!" bellowed old hicks, smiting his thigh with a mighty fist and screaming with laughter. the pony riders and everyone else in camp sprang to their feet, not understanding what the commotion was about. "the kid's riding the goat," yelled hicks. "he's initiating himself into the order of know nuthins. see him buck! see him buck!" the camp roared. "let go, chunky!" shouted walter. "i can't, i'll fall off," answered the boy in a scarcely audible voice. "i'll help you then. come on, boys." they made a concerted rush to rescue their companion. this was the signal for the goat to adopt new tactics. he probably thought it was some new form of torture that they had planned for him. billy headed for the tent of the owner of the herd. he went through it like a projectile, upsetting the folding table on which mr. simms was writing, and out through the flap at the other end. by this time the outfit was in an uproar. even the sheep on the range near by paused in their grazing to gaze curiously campward; the herders off in that direction shaded their eyes against the sun and tried to make out the cause of the disturbance. "y-e-o-w!" encouraged the cook, waving a loaf of bread above his head and dancing about with a more pronounced limp than usual. jerk, jerk, went chunky's head until he feared it would be jerked from his body. "stay by him, stay by him, kid," encouraged a sheepman. mr. simms rushing from his tent, startled and angry, instantly forgot the words of protest that were on his lips and joined heartily in laughter at the ludicrous sight. "look out that you don't lose your stirrups," jeered ned as goat and rider shot by him with a bleat. walter made a grab for billy with the result that he was pivoting on his own head the next second. once they thought chunky was going to fall off and put a sudden end to their fun, but he soon righted himself, whereupon he tightened the grip of hands and legs. by this time the goat was mad all through. he seemed bent now upon doing all the damage he could. "stop that! want to run me down!" shouted ned, grabbing a tree as the outfit swept by him, the goat uttering a sharp bleat and chunky a howl of protest. all at once billy headed for the kitchen department. old hicks saw him coming and with a few quick hops got out of the way. "hi there, hang you, where you heading?" he roared. the tinware had been stacked up on a bench to dry out in the sunlight. perhaps it was the rays of the sun on the bright tin that attracted billy's attention. at any rate he went through it with a bound, amid the crash of rattling tin and splintering wood. old hicks made a swing at the animal with the long stick he had been using to prod the kettle of mutton. he missed and sat down suddenly, his lame leg refusing to bear the strain that had been put upon it. it was astonishing the endurance the goat showed, for chunky was no light weight in any sense of the word. now and then he would just graze the trunk of a tree, bringing a howl from his rider as the latter's leg was scraped its full length against the bark of the tree. by this time nearly everyone in camp had laughingly sought places of safety, some in the chuck wagon, others climbing saplings as best they could, for no man knew in what direction billy might head next. old hicks refused to take the protection that the wagon offered. he stood his ground, stick held firmly in both hands, awaiting a chance to rap the boy or the goat when they next passed. his opportunity came soon. he had been baking pies for the sheepmen's supper and these he had placed on the tail board of the wagon, which he had removed and laid upon a frame made of sticks stuck into the ground. billy finished the pies in one grand charge. the enraged cook forgot his own danger and boldly striding out into the open began throwing things at the mad goat. it mattered not what he threw. anything he laid his hands on answered for the purpose--dishpans, small kettles, knives, loaves of bread--all went the same way, some of them reaching chunky and bringing a howl from him. the goat, however, escaped without being hit once. twice more after wrecking the pies, did he charge the kitchen. it was noticed, however, that he avoided the hot stove. hicks gladly would have lost that for the sake of seeing the goat smash against it and end his career. after one drive more ferocious than any he had made before, billy whirled and came back. old hicks stood with his back to the kettle, stick held aloft. he was going to get the goat this time, for he saw the animal would pass close to him if he held his present course. billy did so until within a few feet of the cook. then he changed his direction. he changed it more suddenly than the cook had looked for. billy's head hit old hicks a powerful blow. the cook doubled up with a grunt. when he came down he landed fairly in the kettle of hot mutton. cook and kettle toppled over, the former yelling for help and struggling desperately to extricate himself. chunky too had fared badly in the final charge. the shock had thrown him sideways and he crumpled up not far from the kettle and its human occupant. they fished old hicks from the wreck, fuming and raging and threatening to kill the goat and to chase the "heathen kid" out of the camp. chunky was limp and breathless when they picked him up. they dragged the lad away from the vicinity of the cook as quickly as possible. old hicks' rage at that moment was a thing to avoid. the goat, billy, galloped away, the least disturbed of the outfit, but it was observed that he prudently remained out on the range with the sheep that night. "i didn't fall in that time, did i?" gasped chunky, after his breath had come back sufficiently to enable him to talk. "no, but you're going to do so when the cook gets hold of you," warned ned. "hicks? old hicks fell into the mutton broth, didn't he?" chuckled the fat boy. chapter xviii the vigil by the foothills supper was late in the sheep camp that evening. old hicks was in a terrible rage and no one dared protest at the delay, for fear he would get no supper at all. the boys were still discussing stacy brown's feat, and every time the subject was referred to all during the evening, it was sure to elicit a roar of laughter. as night came on, the sky was gradually blotted out by a thin veil of clouds, which seemed to grow more dense as the evening wore on. chunky had been sent out with mary johnson on guard duty, walter having gone out with the foreman. that left tad butler and ned rector of the pony rider boys, to take their turn on the late trick. tad preferred to sit up rather than to try to sleep for the short time that would intervene before it came his turn to go out. "do you think we shall have any trouble tonight?" he asked, looking up as mr. simms passed his tent. "you know as much about that as i do, my boy. perhaps your courage over at the corners may scare them off, eh? they may think, if we are all such fighters over here, that it will be a good place to keep away from." tad laughed good-naturedly. "guess i didn't give them any such fright as that. how is philip this evening?" "sound asleep. it's doing the boy good. he hasn't slept like this since his illness last spring." "i wish he might go on with us and spend the summer out of doors." "h-m-m-m," mused mr. simms. "i am afraid he would be too great a care. no, tad, the boy is a little too young. where are you going next?" "i am not sure." "well, let me know when you find out and we will talk it over. fine night for a raid of any kind, isn't it?" "yes, sir," answered tad, glancing up at the black clouds. "good luck to you to-night. you and your partner must take care of yourselves. do not take any unnecessary risk. you will have done your part in using your keen young eyes to see that no one gets near the camp." "i should feel better if i had a gun," laughed the boy. "somehow--but no, i guess it is not best." "certainly not." tad turned up the lantern in his tent and sat down to his book, which he had been reading most of the evening. he was not interrupted again until the camp watchmen came around to turn out the second guard. ned was asleep and he tumbled out rubbing his eyes, not sure just what was wanted of him. "wake up," laughed tad. "you are getting to be a regular sleepy head." "guess i am. is--is it time to go out?" "it is. and it is a dark night, too." "whew! i should say it is," replied ned, with an apprehensive glance out beyond the camp. "how are we ever going to find our way about to-night?" "i don't imagine we shall be moving about much after we get on our station. mr. larue will place us there." "where are we going to be?" "he hasn't said. i did hear him say that we were going to watch singly instead of in pairs, in order that he might cover more territory with the men at his disposal." "sounds shivery." "i don't know why it should. it is night, that is the only difference. i am getting used to being out in the night and not knowing where i am," laughed tad. tucking the lunches that had been wrapped for them into their pockets, the two boys walked over to the place where their ponies were tethered. the animals had been left bridled and saddled, the saddle girths having been loosened. these the boys tightened and prepared to mount when tad happened to think of something. "hold my pony, ned. i want to get something from the tent." tad returned a moment later with his lariat, which he coiled carefully and hung to the saddle horn, ned rector observing him with an amused smile. "if you can't shoot them you're going to rope them, eh?" "a rope is always a good thing to have with you. you don't think so, but it is. never know what minute you are going to need it badly." "it wouldn't do me any good, no matter how much i needed it," smiled ned. "i couldn't lasso the side of a barn." "you do very well. if you will practise every day you will be able to handle it as well as the average cowboy in less than a week. come along." as they left the camp, luke larue met them to conduct the boys to the places where they were to spend the last half of the night. "after we leave the herd behind us, it's the frozen tongue for you," he said. "you mean we are not to speak?" asked tad. "not a word out loud. if you have anything you must say, whisper." "oh, all right." they dropped ned first. his station was nearer to the herd than that which had been assigned to tad. the latter went on with the foreman until they were fairly out by the foothills. "i've given you one of the most responsible stations, you see," whispered the foreman. "it will be lonesome out here. do you mind?" "not at all. anybody near me?" "noisy cooper is over there to your left about ten rods away. bat coyne is to your right here. you're not so close that you can rub elbows, however. be watchful. it's just the night for a raid. use your own judgment in case you hear anything suspicious. above all look out for yourself. you've got a pony that will take you away from trouble pretty fast if you get in a hurry. you know the signal?" "yes." "then good night and good luck," whispered luke, reaching out and giving tad's hand a hearty clasp. there was something so encouraging--so confident in the grip, that even had tad butler's courage been waning, it would have come back to him with a rush after that. "good night," he breathed. "i'll be on the spot if anything occurs." "i know that," answered the foreman. in an instant luke had been swallowed up in the great shadow and not even the hoof beats of his pony were audible to the listening ears of the boy. tad looked about him inquiringly. as his eyes became more used to the darkness he found himself able to make out objects about him, though the darkness distorted them into strange shapes. "i think i'll get under that tree," he decided. "no one can see me there. they'd pick me out here in a minute. the cowboys have eyes as well as ears. i know that, for i've lived with them." the lad tightened on the reins ever so little, and the pony pricking up its ears moved away with scarcely a sound, as if realizing that extreme caution were expected of it. they pulled up under the shadow of the tree. there, tad found that he could see what lay about him even better than before. he patted pink-eye on the neck and a swish of the animal's tail told him that the little attention was appreciated. "good boy," soothed the lad, running his fingers through the mane, straightening out a kink here and there. he had dropped the reins as he finished with the mane, and pink-eye's head began to droop until his nose was almost on the ground. he had settled himself for the long vigil. perhaps he would go to sleep in a few moments. the rider hoped he would, for then there would be no movement that a stranger might hear. it was a lonesome post. there was scarcely a sound, though now and then a bird twittered somewhere in the foliage and once he beard the mournful hoot of an owl far away to his left. "i wonder if that could have been a signal, or was it a real bird," whispered tad to himself. "i have heard of a certain band of outlaws that always used the hoot of the owl as their signal to each other." after an interval of perhaps a minute another owl wailed out its weird cry off to his right. tad butler pricked up his ears. "well, if it isn't a signal, those owls are holding a regular wireless conversation. hark!" far back in the foothills there sounded another similar call. tad butler was sure, by this time, that something was going on that would bear watching. for a long time he heard nothing more, and was beginning to think that perhaps he had drawn on his imagination too far. it might be owls after all. "i wonder if the others heard that, too? maybe they know better than i what it means, if it means anything at all. i wish mr. larue would happen along now. i'd like to tell him what i think." he knew, however, that the foreman, like himself was stationed somewhere off there in the blackness, sitting on his pony as immovable as a statue, his straining eyes peering into the night, his ears keyed to catch the slightest sound. a gentle breeze rippled over the trees, stirring the foliage into a soft murmur. then the breeze passed on and silence once more settled over the scene. tad sighed. even a little wind was a welcome break in the monotony. he was not afraid, but his nerves were on edge by this time, and tad made no attempt to deny it. something snapped to the left of him. the sound was as if some one had stepped on a dry branch which had crumpled under his weight. the lad was all attention instantly. "there certainly is something over there," he whispered. "it may be a man, but i'll bet it's a bear or some other animal. if it's a bear, first thing i know pink-eye will bolt and then i'll be in a fix." tad cautiously gathered up the reins, using care not to disturb the pony, for it was all important that the animal remain absolutely quiet just now. but, though the boy listened with straining ears, there was no repetition of the sound and this led him to believe that it had been an animal, which perhaps had scented them and was stalking him already. it was not a comforting thought. yet tad never moved. he sat in his saddle rigidly, every nerve and muscle tense. he was determined to be calm no matter what happened. the lad's head was thrown slightly forward, his chin protruding stubbornly, and as he listened there was borne to his ears another sound. it was as if something was approaching with a soft tread. he could hear it distinctly. "whatever that thing is, it has four feet," decided the lad quickly. "it's not a man, that is sure." instinctively he permitted his left hand to drop to the pommel of the saddle so that he might not be unseated in case pink-eye should take sudden alarm and leap to one side. the reins were lightly bunched in the left, tad's right hanging idly at his side. the footsteps became more and more pronounced, tad's curiosity increasing in proportion. he fully expected to see a bear lumber from the shadows at any second now. if this happened he did not know what he should do. of course he could ride away, but in doing so he might alarm the watching sheepmen and upset all their plans. the noise after approaching for some moments, suddenly ceased. tad's eyes were fairly boring into the shadows. all at once the particular shadow at which he was looking moved. tad started violently. the shadow moved forward a few steps, then halted. it was a man on horseback. he had ridden right out from the foothills. "it's here," whispered tad butler to himself. the rider moved up a few steps again, this time halting within a few feet of the watching boy. tad's hand cautiously stole down to his lariat. he brought it up at arm's length, held it for one brief moment then swung it over his head. chapter xix a clever capture his plan had been conceived in a flash and executed almost as quickly. the rawhide rope squirmed through the air. he could not be sure of his aim in the darkness, but the stranger was so close that tad did not believe he could miss. he knew that if he did, he would find himself in a serious predicament. he heard a sudden startled exclamation. at that instant, pink-eye, alarmed by the unusual movement on his back, awakened and leaped lightly to one side. "i've got him," breathed the boy, feeling the line draw tight under his hand. "i've caught a man i----" pink-eye had discovered the presence of strangers now and with a snort he changed his position by again leaping to one side. tad heard the man strike the ground with a grunt. he took a turn of the lariat around the saddle pommel, drawing it taut. "who are you!" demanded the lad. a snarl of rage and a struggle over there on the ground was his only answer. "get up, if you don't want to be dragged. if you make a loud noise it will be the worse for you," announced the boy sternly. he clucked to the pony, which started forward suddenly, throwing a strain upon the rope. "steady, pink-eye. we don't want to hurt him," he cautioned, slowing the animal down to almost a walk. "are you on your feet back there?" "y-y-y-yes." there came a sharp jerk on the line. the boy knew that the man he had roped, pinioning his arms to his side had managed to get his hands up and grasped the line. in a moment he would free himself. tad pressed the rowels of his spurs against pink-eye's sides. the animal sprang forward, but the boy quickly checked him, pulling him down into a jog trot that was not beyond the endurance of a man to follow for a short distance. "remember if you allow yourself to fall down i'll drag you the rest of the way in," warned tad butler. "i won't hurt you if you behave yourself." "le--le--let me go. i--i--i--i--aint't done n-n-nothing." "we'll decide that when i get you back to camp," answered tad. "and don't let me hear you raising your voice again or i'll put spurs to the pony. do you understand?" "y-y-y-e-s." on the soft ground the footfalls of the pony made no sound that could be heard any distance away. on ahead of him the lad saw the dim light of a lantern, which he knew was at the camp and his heart leaped exultantly at the thought of what he had accomplished. he wondered if the others or any of them had done as well. "won't mr. simms be surprised?" he glowed. "wait, i--i--i'm going to drop," came a voice from behind him. it sounded far away and indistinct. "you'd better not unless you want to go the rest of the way lying on your back," called back the lad. however, he slackened the speed of his pony a little, thinking that perhaps his prisoner might be in distress. tad was too tender hearted to cause another to suffer, even if it were an enemy. the lad kept his left hand on the rope. in this way he was able to judge how well the man was following. now and then a violent jerk told tad that he was experimenting to see if he could not get away. the fellow might have braced his feet and possibly snapped the line, but he evidently feared to do this lest he be thrown on his face and dragged that way, for the noose of the lariat had, by this time, so tightened about his body as to bind his arms tightly to his side. tad uttered a warning whistle. instantly he noted figures moving about the camp. his call had been heard. the camp-fire was stirred to give more light, and as its embers flared up, tad butler and his prisoner galloped in. at first they did not observe that he had a man in tow. old hicks hobbled forward with a growl and a demand to know what the row was about. "what is it, boy? what is it? are they coming!" exclaimed mr. simms, running toward him. "i've got a man. i can't stop. grab him!" cried tad in an excited, triumphant tone. mr. simms saw. the others observed at the same time. they made a concerted rush for the lad's prisoner. "stop!" commanded the rancher. tad drew up instantly. as he did so three of them grabbed the man at the other end of the lariat, throwing him on the ground flat on his back. "all right?" sang back tad. "yes." the boy unwound the rope from his saddle pommel and casting the end from him, rode back and dismounted. yes, he had caught a cowman, but the fellow sullenly refused to answer a question that was put to him. the prisoner was glaring up at him with eyes so full of malignant hate that tad instinctively shrank back. "know him!" asked mr. simms sharply. "not by name. he's one of the men i saw over at the corners. he was the worst one of the lot, except the boy they called bob." no amount of questioning, however, would draw the fellow out. they had bound him hand and foot and straightened up to view their work. "there's no use in wasting time," decided mr. simms. "drag him over to my tent and throw him in. did you hear anybody besides this man?" tad told him about the owl calls. the rancher pondered a few seconds. "that sounds to me more like an indian trick. but i am satisfied we are going to be attacked tonight. you had better go back to your post. can you find the way?" "yes, i think so," answered the lad. "boy, you've done a great piece of work. i'll talk with you about it when we have more time. i must hurry out and find luke. the rest of you stick by the camp until you know that the cowmen are here; then sail in. there'll likely be some shooting." "any further instructions?" asked tad, bunching the reins in his hand preparatory to mounting. "nothing. that is, unless you find you can rope some more of these cayuses. i'd like to have them all tied up here for a while. i've got a few things to say to them. they'd have to listen whether they wanted to or not if they were all in the same fix that fellow is," he added with a short, mirthless laugh. tad swung himself into the saddle, first having coiled his rope and hung it in its place. "good-bye," he sang out, starting out at a gallop and disappearing in the night. as tad drew near the scene of his recent experience, he slowed the pony down to a walk, moving on with extreme caution. he did not want to fall into the trap that the cowboy had only a short time before. after groping about in the darkness some time, he finally came upon the very tree that had sheltered him before. tad uttered a low exclamation of satisfaction, once more taking up his position under its spreading branches. he had been there but a short time when the foreman rode up, giving a low whistle so that the boy would know who it was. "anything develop?" "yes." "what?" tad told him briefly of the capture of the cowboy. "good boy," glowed luke, reaching over and slapping tad on the back approvingly. "i guess we made no mistake in giving you this post. but there's not likely to be any more of them come through this way. i am going to send you down nearer the center. we are going to have all the fun we want before morning. so i wish you would move down nearer the herd. when the racket begins, if it does, we shall need all the sheepmen to help drive off the raiders. you will relieve one of them and look after the sheep. i have told your friend ned the same thing. he's down there now." "where are the sheep?" "head just a little to your left and ride straight, on till you come up with them. but be sure to give the whistle now and then so our men will know who you are if they chance to hear you coming. did anybody know the fellow you roped?" "no. i saw him at the store yesterday, though." "guess you've made no mistake then. well, so long." tad missed his way in the darkness, and had roamed about for some time before finally coming up with the herd. even then he was at a part of the line where there seemed to be no one on guard. he whistled and waited. after a little the signal was answered it was then only a matter of a few moments before he had joined the herder and delivered his message. the man rode away to take up his new position and tad settled down to tending sheep. there was little for him to do, the animals being sound asleep, but he rather enjoyed the relief from the strain that he had been under while watching for intruders off yonder under the tree. dismounting, the boy sat down on the ground, having stripped the reins over the pony's neck so that he could keep them in his hand. pinkeye nibbled at the grass a few seconds. it did not seem to satisfy the animal, for the sheep had worked it pretty well down ahead of him. so pink-eye went to sleep, and tad found himself nodding so persistently that he forced himself to get up and walk back and forth a few paces each way. "i am getting to be as much of a sleepy head as chunky is," he smiled. "that goat ride was the funniest thing i ever saw. i wonder where billy took himself to. he's a wise goat. i actually believe he had more fun out of putting the camp to the bad than the rest of us experienced in watching him." pink-eye woke up and rubbed his nose against the boy's coat sleeve. a shrill whistle trilled out off to the west. it was followed by another and another, until the air seemed full of them. tad paused abruptly in his walk and listened. a pistol spat viciously. he caught the flash faintly in the distance. tad threw the reins over pink-eye's neck and vaulted into the saddle. boy and pony were both wide awake now. chapter xx thrilling rescue of the rancher "they're here," breathed the lad. "i wonder what's going to happen." as if in answer to his question, a volley of pistol shots sounded to the west of him. almost instantly following, guns began to pop to the north and south. shouts and yells sounded everywhere. startled, half a hundred sheep near him, scrambled to their feet. "w-h-o-e-e-e," soothed tad, turning toward them as he remembered that he had a duty to perform. "come now, pink-eye, never mind the shooting. just you and i attend to our business. that's what we've got to do." yet tad regretted that he was not over there in the thick of the fight. he gave a long whistle, hoping to find some one near him. the whistle was not answered, therefore he concluded that he was alone on that side of the herd. but where was ned? he should be somewhere near by. by this time the restless herd required his whole attention. tad galloped up and down the line, speaking soothing words to the frightened sheep, whistling and trying to sing. "here, barker," he cried, discovering that he was not alone in his efforts. one of the sheep dogs was trotting along by his side, uttering little encouraging yelps to assist in keeping the lines well formed. "that's a good dog. i guess you and i can handle this outfit, can't we, barker?" barker barked as if in approval of the sentiment. tad called the animal to him and sent him back the other way, while he pressed on. the noise of the conflict seemed to be up that way and it was at that end that there would be more likelihood of disturbance to the sheep, he thought, urging his pony along a little faster. all at once guns began to flash ahead of him. "i believe they are in the flock already," he cried, putting spurs to pink-eye and dashing on at top speed. "yes, they are shooting into the flock. i can tell by the flashes of their guns. oh, if i had a gun!" the thought that they were slaughtering the innocent animals roused all the fighting blood in tad butler's nature. but what could he, single-handed and unarmed, expect to do to stop the ruthless slaughter? from the opposite direction, he heard a body of horsemen bearing down on the sheep killers. in a moment more they too began to shoot. he noted quickly, however, that this latter body of men were not shooting down. they were shooting over the heads of the herd at the men who were killing the stock. "good! good! give it to them!" fairly screamed the lad, rising in his stirrups, waving his hat and continuing his words of encouragement to the men of mr. simms's outfit. what mattered it whether they could hear him or not? a rattling fire was running along both lines of men. but the sheep killers, now content to ride down the sheep, were shooting back at their assailants. "somebody will be killed, i know," cried tad. "who's there?" he roared, as he heard the hoof beats of a running pony behind him. "it's me, chunky," came the answer. "get out of here, boy. you will be killed." "i can't. i'm afraid to stay back there in the camp all alone. hicks has gone too and----" "then get back down the line and help me to hold these sheep. don't give anyone a chance to say a pony rider boy is afraid of anything. how'd you like to be over there where those guns are going off? now, brace up. look cheerful and tend to those sheep the same as barker is doing." thus admonished, stacy did brace up. "all right," he said, pulling himself together and turning his pony about. in the meantime the shouting had increased in volume and the shooting was more rapid. tad had all he could do to hold the sheep in place. he knew that up above him they were rushing wildly here and there, and the wave of terror rolled over those in his immediate vicinity. "they're beating them back!" cried the boy. "the cowboys are giving way. hooray!" this proved to be the case. the defense of the sheepmen was a surprise to the cowboys, where they had thought to surprise the sheep herders and stampede the herd before any opposition was offered. with a yell of triumph the forces under mr. simms rode right over the scurrying sheep in their effort to drive the cowmen off. at that moment the clouds parted and the full moon shone out, lighting up the scene brightly. tad gazed in awe on the rushing ponies as he pulled his own to a stop. the cowmen, too, seemed to take courage from the moonlight. some had started to retreat. these whirled about and returned to the charge. "oh, there goes mr. simms!" cried the boy. he saw the rancher waver in the saddle, throw up his hands and slip sideways with head and arms hanging down. "he's shot! he's shot! they don't see him!" shouted tad. he cried out at the top of his voice to attract the attention of the ranchers, but in the uproar, no one heard him. his voice in that mad melee was a puny thing. fortunately the rancher's feet still clung to the stirrups, but his head was hanging so low that it appeared to be bumping along the ground with every leap of his pony, which was headed straight for the lines of the enemy. "oh, why won't they see him!" groaned the lad. "i can't stand it to sit here doing nothing and see a man lose his life that way--if he's not dead already." tad, acting upon a sudden resolve, shook out his reins, gave the pony a quick pressure with the spurs. "hi-yi!" he snapped. pink-eye leaped forward, with tad urging him to renewed efforts by sharp slaps on the animal's thigh. the boy was not shouting now. he did not wish to attract attention to himself if it could be avoided. in order to head off the rancher's pony, tad was compelled to follow an oblique direction which, if he continued it, would land him fairly in the center of the enemy's lines. "i must beat him out. it's the only way i can do anything. go, pink-eye! go!" and pink-eye did go as he had never gone before since tad butler had owned him. slowly but surely he was heading off the other horse. they saw him now and a few scattering shots were sent in his direction, but the lad heeded them no more than had they been rain drops. his mind was too fully absorbed with the task he had set for himself. at last he and the rancher's pony were converging on a single point. mr. simms's pony reached it first with tad only a few feet away. they were fairly between the lines now and bullets were flying about them. tad could hear their whut! whut! as they sped past him. he had lost the race. but there still remained one more resource. his rope was in its place. tad slipped it from the saddle horn and made a quick reach for the rancher. he groaned when he saw that he had missed his aim. yet, instead of giving up the battle, the lad was more determined than ever to rescue the owner of the herd that he had cast his fortunes with. the rowels were dug into the sides of the pony with a firmer pressure than before, and tad began rapidly to haul in the lariat with one hand. when once he felt the knot at his finger tips he began whirling the loop over his head, leaning well forward in his saddle, riding at a tremendous pace on the fleet-footed little pony. he cast. this time the loop fell true. "steady! steady! pink-eye," he cautioned, taking a quick turn about the pommel. to stop too suddenly might throw the other pony on its side and crush the rancher. the lariat had dropped over the other animal's neck and was quickly drawn down. pinkeye stopped, braced himself as he felt his fellow slowing down under the pressure of the loop on his neck. "whoa!" commanded tad sharply, leaping from the saddle and taking up on the lariat as fast as he could. a shrill yell from the cowmen told him they would be upon him in a moment. they understood now what he was trying to do. tad worked with feverish haste to release mr. simms from the stirrups. yet when he had finally accomplished this, his work was not yet half done. he did not know whether the rancher was dead or alive, nor had he the time to satisfy himself on this point. grasping mr. simms under the arms, the lad dragged him over to pink-eye, and with a strength born of the excitement of the moment, succeeded in throwing the rancher's body over the back of his own pony. the lad was panting in short, quick breaths. he had barely enough strength left to crawl on pink-eye's back. once there, he fairly fell across mr. simms's body, clinging to it with one hand, the other gripped on the pommel. pink-eye seemed to know what was expected of him, for straightway he got under motion, trotting off toward the lines of the sheepmen. the cowboys turned their guns on the little outfit, but the sheepmen now discovering what was going on, gave a mighty yell and swept down on their enemy. the cowboys gave way before the resistless rush, and whirling their ponies, raced for the foothills, with the pursuers shooting and yelling as they lashed and spurred their ponies after them. tad was almost overwhelmed as the sheepmen rushed by him. but he had saved mr. simms and he did not care if the jostling ponies of his friends had almost run him down in their mad rush. the lad now gaining in strength, pulled himself to a sitting posture and hurried pink-eye along at a little faster gait. they were headed for the camp, which they reached in a few minutes. tenderly the lad lifted the rancher from the saddle, stretching him out on the grass. his first care was to determine whether the man were alive or dead. "he's alive!" cried tad exultingly. "he's only stunned." a bullet had grazed the rancher's head, ploughing a little furrow as it passed, but there was nothing more. had tad not reached him in time no doubt he would have been killed. getting water from the chuck wagon, tad bathed the wound and dashed water into the rancher's face until signs of returning consciousness were evident. after a little while mr. simms opened his eyes and asked what had happened. tad told him, leaving out his own part in the rescue entirely, save that he had brought him in. the lad, after telling mr. simms that the cowboys had been driven off, helped the rancher to his tent and put him to bed, or rather induced him to lie down on his cot, for mr. simms's head was whirling. no sooner had tad done this than he heard a galloping pony rapidly approaching the camp. the lad stepped out as the horseman pulled up. it was the foreman. he threw himself from his mount and started on a run for mr. simms's tent. "hello!" he exclaimed, bringing up short. "where's the boss? is he hurt? what happened to him?" he demanded excitedly, without giving tad a chance to answer between questions. "i think he is all right, mr. larue. he had a close call"---- "was he shot?" "a bullet grazed the side of his head, and then his pony ran away. i guess that came nearer killing him than did the bullet." "he owes his life to you, and that's no joke," answered the foreman shortly. "we didn't see that he was in trouble till one of the boys discovered you chasing his pony. then we saw you rope the critter and pack the boss on your own cayuse." "was--was anybody killed?" asked tad hesitatingly. "no. mary got a bullet through the calf of his right leg, and bat coyne lost a piece of an ear. guess that's about all." "yes; but what of the others? were any of the cowmen killed?" "no such luck," growled the foreman. "we pinked a few of them, but they're too tough to kill. we come mighty near having a fight, however," he mused. "near!" exploded the boy. "i should say you were right up to it." "we've lost a lot of sheep, boy; that's of more consequence." "how many?" "no telling. can't tell till morning. it'll take all day to round up the scattered bunches--those that were not killed." "where are the boys--ned and the rest of them?" asked tad, suddenly bethinking himself of his companions. "oh, that's what i came back here for--one of the things. they're all right. that is, they're out there with the bunch, except phil. have you seen him?" "phil? no. where is he?" "he was with me, but he got away somewhere." "phil gone?" "it seems so." "oh, that's too bad. what shall we do?" "go hunt for him. do you want to join me?" asked the foreman, with sudden energy, leaping into his saddle again. "of course i do," answered tad butler, running for his own pony and following the foreman out of camp at a quick gallop. chapter xxi two boys strangely missing "no use. he's been picked up by those dastardly cowmen," growled luke after he and tad had searched until daybreak. "we must go back to the camp and then turn out the outfit. we've got to find him, that's all. mr. simms will be crazy when he hears that the boy has strayed away from us." "what do you think he'll do?" asked tad in a worried tone. "heaven only knows. if it's those cow fellows who have done it, he'll never rest till he's settled with them for good and all. i'll plan out a hunt for the kid, but it has got to be each man for himself. we must cover every inch of the territory to the north, west and south of us. he couldn't have gone the other way. come, let's be hustling back to camp." "perhaps they have not taken him at all. i should not be surprised if he were only lost." but luke shook his head. he was convinced that the rancher's son had not strayed away of his own accord. he believed that the cowmen had picked the lad up and carried him away for sheer revenge on mr. simms. having seen philip at groveland comers, some of them knew him, argued the foreman. when mr. simms was informed of the loss of phil, he was well-nigh beside himself. "do something! why don't you do something?" he exclaimed in agony. "we have," answered luke. "and we have returned to get the rest of your men started on a daylight hunt." "did he take his pony with him?" asked tad, as a thought occurred to him. "yes," replied luke. "then, if the pony has not come back, it is pretty good evidence that philip is still on his back, it seems to me." "then turn out; everybody turn out!" shouted mr. simms. "don't come back till you get him or bring me some tidings." "you will want some one to round up each scattered band of sheep, mr. simms. you do not want to lose your herd, do you?" asked the foreman. "i don't care for the herd. let two men and the dogs remain with the sheep that did not stampede. all the rest go out on the search. i'll take a turn myself. what's your plan, luke?" the foreman explained that he proposed to send the searchers out alone, so that all the territory might be covered. he had planned to lay his party out in the shape of a fan. the fan closed, he would push up into the foothills, then open it in a wide sweep. as he expressed it, "not even a jack rabbit could get away from them if he were within the semicircle covered by their formation." mr. simms bore the strain as well as a father could be expected to bear it. without the loss of a moment luke gathered the men about him, explaining briefly what was to be done and assigning to each man the part he was to play in the day's search. foremost among the party were the pony rider boys. even stacy brown, serious-faced and impatient to be off, had saddled and bridled his pony and sat awaiting the order to move. at last all was ready. "right!" announced the foreman, whereupon the sheepmen, headed by luke and tad butler, started up at a brisk gallop, headed straight across the mesa, taking a course that would lead them to the foothills, a short distance ahead of them. beaching the foothills, they continued on for some two or three miles. here the foreman gave the order to open the fan, he taking the lead on the left and tad on the right. the searchers were now moving with a space of about a quarter of a mile between them, shouting out the name of phil simms now and then, these calls running down the line to the lower end of the fan-shaped formation. after a time tad found that he could no longer hear the shouts of his companions, yet from the position of the sun, which he consulted frequently, he felt sure that he was following the right course. on and on he rode, until the sun lay on the western horizon. the others of the party were making a thorough search, investigating every gully and draw that lay in their course, shouting for phil, hut not shooting their guns, as this was to be the signal that the lost boy had been found. "i'm afraid we are going to miss him," mused the foreman. "if we fail to find him, then they've got him, sure." at last he had completed his half of the sweep of the fan, and his face wore a troubled look as his pony emerged from the foothills onto the open mesa again. the sun was setting. luke rode out and waited a few moments, and when joined by the rest of his section, started back to the camp. old hicks had prepared the hated mutton for supper by the time the right side of the fan formation got in. not a trace had one of them found of the missing philip simms. the rancher said nothing when told that they had failed. he strode away to his tent and they saw him no more for hours. they had just gathered about the table for the evening meal, all unusually silent, when ned rector, glancing about, made a sudden discovery. "where's tad?" he demanded. "didn't he come in?" asked the foreman, pausing in the act of sitting down to the table. "that's what i should like to know? where is he?" no one seemed to know. "now, he's gone, too," breathed the foreman anxiously. "that's one more mystery on the old custer trail." "we--we'll have to go hunt for tad now. you don't suppose he and phil are together, do you?" asked walter. "i don't know. i hope they are. but, boy, it's useless to go out looking for them now. all we can do will be to wait until morning, then take up the search again"---- "that's what comes from taking kids out on a man's job," growled old hicks, as he served the mutton. "hicks, no one asked you for your opinion," snapped the foreman. "these boys have done men's work ever since they joined. had it not been for tad, boss simms would have been out of business entirely now. don't let me hear anybody casting any slurs on these boys. i won't stand for it." old hicks grumbled and hobbled away to his black kettle, while the others ate their supper in silence. but, somehow, the meal was far from satisfying, and one by one they rose from the table, leaving plates half filled, and strolled away to spend the evening as best they could until bedtime. ned and the foreman remained up, for they were to go out at midnight and take their trick at watching over the herd. "i've just got an idea," said the foreman, calling ned to him. "yes; what is it?" "i'm going to put some one on the herd in my place and ride over to groveland. want to go along?" "yes, if it has anything to do with our friends." "that's what i mean." "all right, i'm ready; but it is pretty late." "makes no difference. we'll wake them up if they are in bed. i want to see cavanagh, who keeps the store. i have one or two questions to ask him." without saying anything to the others as to their intention, the two quietly saddled their ponies and rode off. the foreman made arrangements to have others take their trick, after which they headed across the mesa toward the place where tad had whipped the mountain boy. though the night, like the one that had preceded it, was intensely dark, luke rode on with perfect confidence, never for one instant hesitating over the course. ned did not know that they had reached the little village until the foreman told him. "we're here," he said quietly. "where's the town?" "in it now." "i don't see it, if we are." "you hold my horse. i'll wake up cavanagh," announced the foreman, dismounting and tossing the reins to his companion. luke thundered on the front door of the store, above which the owner had his quarters. after an interval, during which the foreman had pounded insistently with the butt of his revolver, an upper window opened and a voice demanded to know what was wanted. "come down here and i'll tell you." "who are you? what do you mean prowling around this time of the night?" "i'm luke larue, of the simms's outfit, and i want to see you." "oh, hello, luke. thought there was something familiar about your voice. i'll be down in a minute. anybody with you?" "yes, friend. hurry up." cavanagh opened the front door, peering out suspiciously before he permitted his caller to enter. "wait a minute. i want to call my friend in. ned, tether the ponies and come along." after the lad had joined them, the two ranchers entered the store, the proprietor taking them to the back of the store and lighting a lantern, which he placed behind a cracker barrel, so that the light might not be observed from the outside. "now, what is it?" he demanded. luke told him briefly of the battle with the cowboys, of which cavanagh had already heard. then he related the story of the mysterious disappearance of the two boys. "what do you want of me?" asked the storekeeper, when the story had been finished. "to know whether you had heard any of the boys say anything that might lead you to believe they knew anything about the matter?" "no," answered cavanagh after a moment's thought. "hain't heard a word. don't believe they know anything about it. they'd a said something if they'd heard of it." "don't you know anything about the boys yourself?" "no, don't know nothing about them." "sure?" "surest thing, you know." "very well. i believe you. one of my reasons for coming over here, however, was to tell you to keep your eyes and ears open to-morrow." "i'll do that for you----" "if we fail to find them to-morrow, i'll ride over at night after the crowd has left here and hear what you have learned. when any of the cowmen come in, i want you to bring up the subject and try to draw them out. you'll get something that will be of use to us, i know, for i'm dead certain that they've got both of those boys." "do you think they would dare do a thing like that?" asked ned. "dare?" luke laughed harshly. "they'd dare anything, especially about this time. oh, did you hear whether any of them got hit last night!" "two or three is laid up for repairs," grinned the storekeeper. "i'm glad of it. i wish the whole bunch had been trimmed." "lose many sheep?" "yes; too many. but that isn't what's troubling us now." "no, i understand. it's the kids." "exactly. don't forget what you have got to do, now." ned had been leaning against the counter listening to the conversation, when his hand came in contact with a soft object that lay on the counter. he carelessly picked it up and looked at it. what he had found was a sombrero. this of itself was unimportant, for the store carried them for sale. a broad, yellow band about it was what attracted ned rector's attention, causing him to utter a sharp exclamation. "what is it?" demanded luke quickly. "look. did you ever see this before?" he asked excitedly. "it's philip simms's hat," answered the foreman, fixing a stern eye on the old storekeeper. chapter xxii captured by the indians "yes. i recognized it the instant i saw it," answered ned. "cavanagh, what does this mean?" demanded the foreman. "i think it's up to you to explain and mighty quick at that." "i--i don't know anything about it," stammered the storekeeper. "where did you get that hat?" "i bought it." "off whom?" "don't know what his name is. i never seen him before." "tell me all you know. come, i've no time to fool away asking you questions. get to the point." "i'll tell you all i know. a fellow came in here this afternoon. i give him fifty cents for the hat and that's all there was to it." "say where he come from?" "yes, said he was down from the medicine range." "that's more than thirty miles north of here," mused the foreman. "i don't understand it. you sure that's all he said?" "yes; i don't know any more." "then we'll be off. i guess we'd better hit the trail for the medicine range to-night so as to be well on our way by daylight." "here's fifty cents. i'll take the hat with me," said ned, tossing a half dollar on the counter, and stowing the sombrero under his belt. they hurried from the store, with a parting injunction to cavanagh to be watchful. mounting their ponies they rode swiftly away. "we'll return to camp before we leave for the north," said luke. as the sun went down, tad, becoming concerned for himself, turned sharply to the right, urging his pony on so as to get back to camp before night. he did not relish the idea of spending another night alone in the mountains. "i believe i don't know where i am," decided the lad at last, pulling up sharply and gazing first at the sky, then at the unfamiliar landscape about him. "i seem to have acquired the habit of getting lost. hello, i hear some one coming. w-h-o-o-p-e-e!" he shouted to attract the attention of the newcomers, hoping that it might be some of the men from the simms outfit. there were several of them, and though they made no reply, he heard them turn their ponies in his direction. suddenly there rode into the little clearing where he was sitting on his pony, half a dozen men, the sight of whom made him take a short, sharp breath. "indians!" he gasped. with gaudily painted faces, bright blankets and buckskin suits, they made a picturesque group as they halted and surveyed the young man questioningly. one who appeared to be the leader of the party rode forward and peered into tad's face. "how," he grunted. "how," answered tad, saluting bravely, but feeling far from brave at that moment. a second and younger brave rode up at this point and in very good english asked the lad who he was. "i am from the simms sheep ranch, and i guess i have lost my way. if you can set me straight, i shall be very much obliged." the younger man consulted with the older one, who had greeted tad first. "the chief says we are going that way. if you will come along with us we will leave you within about a mile of the camp." "very well," answered the boy, with some reluctance. they seemed friendly enough and, besides, there could be no danger to him in accompanying them. as they started to move on, tad clucked to pink-eye and fell in with the party. he noticed shortly, that the others had ridden up and that he was in reality surrounded by the painted braves. then he remembered that he had heard of roving bands of indians in that part of the country--indians who had been getting off their reservations and indulging in various depredations. "are we getting near the place?" asked the lad finally, a growing uneasiness rising within him. "i'll ask the chief," said the young indian, who had been riding by tad's side. "he says it will be two hours yet," was the reply, after a series of grunts and gestures had passed between the men. "it didn't take me that long to get here." "camp almost one sun away." "who is he?" indicating the leader of the party. "chief." "what's his name?" "chief willy. he doesn't talk much english." "you do, though," answered tad, glancing up at the expressionless face of his companion. "me with wild west show long, long time." "is that so. maybe i have seen you. were you with the show that was in chillicothe last summer? i saw the show then." "me with um," answered the redskin. "why, that's interesting," said the boy, now thoroughly interested and for the time so absorbed in questioning the indian about his life with the show that he forgot his own uneasiness. by this time, darkness intense and impenetrable, at least to the eyes of the boy, had settled down about them. yet it seemed to make no difference to the indians, who kept their ponies at a steady jog-trot, picking their way unerringly, avoiding rocks and treacherous holes as if it were broad daylight. tad did not try to guide pink-eye any more, but let him follow the others, and when he got a little out of his course, the pony next to him would crowd pink-eye over where he belonged. "seems to me we are a long time getting there," announced the boy finally. he was beginning to grow uneasy again. "come camp bymeby," informed the young indian. "chief, him know way." tad had his doubts about that, but he thought it best not to tell them of his misgivings until he was certain. perhaps they were honest indians after all and were only seeking to do him a favor. the lad was getting tired and hungry, having had nothing more than a mutton sandwich since early morning. he judged it must be getting close to midnight now. as if interpreting his thoughts, the young indian rode up close beside him, at the same time thrusting something into tad's hand. "what is it?" asked the boy. "eat. good meat," answered the indian. the boy nibbled at it gingerly. it was meat of some kind, and it was tough. but most anything in the nature of food was acceptable to him then, so he helped himself more liberally and enjoyed his lunch. the dried meat was excellent, even if it was tough to chew. after a little they came to a level stretch, and now the indians put their ponies to a lively gallop, which pink-eye, being surrounded by the other ponies, was forced to fall into to keep from getting run down by the riders behind him. faster and faster they forced their mounts forward, uttering sharp little exclamations to urge them on, accompanied by sundry grunts and unintelligible mutterings. that they all meant something, the boy felt sure. but it meant nothing to him so far as understanding was concerned. after hours had passed the lad found all at once that the gray dawn was upon them and it was not many minutes before the stolid faces of his companions stood out clear and distinct. tad jerked pink-eye up sharply. "see here, where are you taking me to?" he demanded. "camp," grunted the young indian. "you're not. you are taking me away. i shall not go another step with you." summoning all his courage the boy turned his pony about and started to move away. a quick, grunted order from the chief and one of the braves caught pink-eye's bridle, jerking him back to his previous position. "take your hands off, please," demanded tad quietly. "you've no right to do that. for some reason you have deceived me and taken me far from home. i'll----" "no make chief angry," urged the young brave. "i tell you i'm going. you let me alone," persisted the boy, making another effort to ride from them. this time the chief whirled his own pony across tad's path. from under his blanket, he permitted the boy to see the muzzle of a revolver that was protruding there. "ugh!" grunted the chief. "him say you must go. him shoot! no hurt paleface boy." tad hesitated. his inclination was to put spurs to pink-eye and dash away. he did not fear the chief's revolver so much for himself. he did fear, however, that the chief might shoot his pony from under him, which would leave the boy in a worse predicament still. "all right, i'll go with you. but i warn you the first white man i see, i'll tell him you are taking me away." "ugh!" "if he shoots, i don't see how he can help hurting me," added the lad to himself, with a mirthless grin. "bymeby, boy go back with paleface friends." "that's what i expect to do. but if luke larue finds out you have taken me away against my will, he'll do some shooting before the big chief gets a chance to. where are you taking me to?" shrugs of the shoulders was all the answer that tad could get, so he decided to make the best of his position and escape at the first opportunity. keeping his eyes on the alert he followed along without further protest. once, as they ascended a sudden rise of ground on the gallop, he discovered two horsemen on beyond them about half a mile as near as he was able to judge. evidently the indians saw them at the same instant, for they changed their course and went off into the rougher lands to the left. "had they been nearer, i'd have taken a chance and yelled for help," thought the boy. "i will do it the next time i get a chance even if they are a long way off. i can make somebody hear." but they gave him no chance to put his plan into practice. not a human being did tad see during the rest of the journey, nor even a sign of human habitation. evidently they were traveling through a very rough, uninhabited part of the state. if this were the case, he reasoned that they must be working northward. this surmise was verified with the rising of the sun. chief willy gave the lad a quick glance and grunted when he saw his captive looking up at the sun. the chief then uttered a series of grunts, which the younger indian interpreted as meaning that they would soon reach their destination. tad was somewhat relieved to hear this, for he ached all over from his many hours in the saddle. then again he was sleepy and hungry as well. they offered him no more food, so he concluded that they had none. in any event he did not propose to ask for more, even if he were starving. along about nine o'clock in the morning they came suddenly upon a broad river. without hesitation the braves plunged their ponies in, with tad and pink-eye following. there was nothing else they could do tinder the circumstances. the water was not deep, however, the chief having chosen a spot for fording where the stream was not above the ponies' hips. tad lifted up his legs to keep them dry, but the indians stolidly held their feet in their stirrups, appearing not to notice that they were getting wet. "what river is this!" he asked, the first question he had ventured in a long time. the young brave referred the question to his chief, to which the usual grunt of response was made. "him say don't know." tad grinned. "for men who can find their way in the dark as well as these fellows can, they know less than i would naturally suppose," smiled the boy. the chief saw the smile and scowled. tad made careful note of the fording place in case he should have occasion to cross the river on his own hook later on. he examined the hills on both sides of the stream at the same time. leaving the river behind them, they began a gradual ascent. now they did not seem to be in so great a hurry as before, and allowed their ponies to walk for a mile or so, after which they took up their easy jog again. shortly after that the boy descried several wreaths of smoke curling up into the morning sky. the indians were heading straight toward the smoke. at first tad had felt a thrill of hope. but a few moments later when a number of tepees grew slowly out of the landscape he saw that they were approaching what appeared to be an indian village, and his heart sank within him. chapter xxiii in the home of the blackfeet their coming was greeted by the loud barking of dogs, while from the tepees appeared as if by magic, women and children, together with innumerable braves and boys. they fairly swarmed out into the open space in front of the camp, setting up a shout as they recognized the newcomers. "they seem to be mighty glad to see us," growled tad. "wish i could say as much for them." the ponies, seeming to share the general good feeling, pricked up their ears and dashed into the camp at a gallop, pink-eye with the rest. almost before the little animals had come to a stop, the braves threw themselves from their saddles and darted into their tepees. "they seem to have left me out of it, so i guess i'll go back," decided the lad half humorously. but he was given no chance to slip away. the young brave who had accompanied his chief, came running out and grasped the pony by its bridle. "boy, git off," he said. tad threw a leg over the pommel and landed on the ground. he could hardly stand, so stiff were his legs. the young brave took him into one of the tepees, held the flap aside while tad entered, then closed it. the lad heard him moving away. tired out and dispirited, tad butler threw himself down on the grass and, in spite of his troubles, was asleep in a few moments. a dog barking in front of his tepee awakened him. the boy pulled the flap aside ever so little and peered out. he was surprised to find that the sun was setting. he had been asleep practically all day long. scrambling to his feet hastily the lad stepped outside. he did not know whether he would be permitted to roam about, but he proposed to try. the answer came quickly. a brave whom he had not seen before suddenly appeared and, with a grunt of disapproval, grabbed tad by the arms, fairly flinging him into the tepee. the lad's cheeks burned with indignation. "i'll teach them to insult me like that," he fumed, shaking his fist toward the opening. "i'll look out anyway." he did so, prudently drawing the flap close whenever he heard anyone approaching. once as he peered out, a disreputable looking cur snapped at his legs. first, the lad coaxed the animal, then tried to drive him away, finally administering a kick that sent the dog away howling. "i've got revenge on one of the gang anyway," he laughed. "but it's not much of a revenge, at that. i wonder if they are going to bring me anything to eat. i----" the flap was suddenly jerked aside and the face of the chief appeared in the opening. "how," greeted chief willy. "how," answered tad rather sullenly. "what do you want?" "paleface want eat?" "you ought not to have to ask that question. so you can talk english just a little bit? chief, when are you going to let me go away from here? it will only get you into trouble if you try to keep me. they are sure to find me." "no find," grunted the chief. "oh, yes they will." "ugh," answered the redskin, hastily withdrawing. then followed another long period when tad was left alone with his thoughts. "i wonder two things," thought the lad aloud. "i wonder what he brought me here for and i wonder when i am going to get something to eat? captured by the indians, eh? that's more than the rest of the pony riders can say." yet there was a more serious side to it all. they had taken him prisoner for some purpose, but what that purpose was he could not imagine. his thoughts were interrupted by some one silently entering the tent. glancing up, tad saw a slender, rather pretty indian girl standing there looking down at him. the boy scrambled to his feet and took off his sombrero. "how," he said. the girl answered in kind. then she placed on the ground before him a bowl of soup and a plate of steaming stew. tad sniffed the odor of mutton, which now was so familiar to him, wondering at the same time, if it had come from mr. simms's flock. "thank you," he said. "if you will excuse me i will eat. i'm awfully hungry." she nodded and tad went at the meal almost ravenously. the indian girl squatted down on the ground and watched him. "what's your name?" he asked between mouthfuls. "jinny." "that's a funny name. doesn't sound like an indian name. is it?" "me not know. young buck heap big eat," she added. "yes. oh, yes, i have something of an appetite," laughed tad. "jinny, what are they going to do with me, do you know?" the girl shook her head with emphasis. "what tribe is this?" "blackfeet. other paleface boy here too." tad set down his plate and surveyed her inquiringly. "say that again, please. you say there's another paleface boy here in this village?" jinny nodded vigorously. "who is he?" "jinny not know." "when did he--how long has he been here?" "sun-up." "this morning?" "yes. he there," pointing with a finger to the lower end of the village. tad's curiosity was aroused. he wondered if another besides himself had been made an unwilling guest by the blackfeet wanderers. if so, it must have been by another party. a sudden thought occurred to him. tad was wearing a cheap ring on the little finger of his left hand. he had picked up the ring on the plains in texas. hastily stripping it from his finger he handed it to the girl. "want it, jinny?" she did. her eyes sparkled as she slipped it on her own finger and held it off to view the effect. "thank," she said, turning her glowing eyes on tad. "you're welcome. but now i want you to do something for me. i'll send you another, a big, big ring when i get home, if you will help me to get away from here." jinny eyed him steadily for a few seconds, then shook her head. "i'll send you beads, too, jinny--beads like the paleface ladies wear." "you send jinny white woman beads!" "i promise you." "me help um little paleface buck. me help um two," she added, holding up two fingers. without another word, she slipped from the tepee as silently as she had come. tad pondered over this last remark for some time. he did not understand what jinny had meant. "so i'm a buck, am i? that's one thing i haven't been called before since i have been out on the range. she said she would help me to get away. i wonder when she is going to do it." though tad waited patiently until late in the evening, he saw no more of the little indian girl. shortly after dark several camp-fires were lighted, the cheerful blazes lighting up the street or common in front of the row of tepees in which his own was located. children played about the fires, the dogs were disputing over the bones tossed to them after the evening meal, while the squaws and braves, gathered in separate groups, were squatting about, gesticulating and talking. to tad butler the scene held a real interest. he had never before seen an indian camp, and least of all been a prisoner in it. he lay down on his stomach, with elbows on the ground, chin in hands, and gazed out over the village curiously. "i wonder who that other boy is," he mused. "i presume he is a prisoner, too. hello, there's my guard." an indian, with knees clasped in his arms, was rocking to and fro a little distance from the tepee. though he was not looking toward tad's tent, the lad felt sure the fellow had been placed there to watch him. he understood then why jinny had not been to the tepee since bringing his meal. finally the camp quieted down, the fires smouldered and the dogs stretched out before them for sleep. tad butler's tired head drooped lower and lower, his elbows settling until his arms were down and he was lying prone upon the ground, sound asleep. after a time the indian whom the lad had seen sitting out in front rose, and, stepping softly to the tepee, looked in. he gave a grunt of satisfaction, threw himself down right at the entrance and was snoring heavily half a minute later. the camp slumbered on undisturbed until aroused by the ill-natured curs at daybreak next morning. tad was awakened by one of them barking at his door and snapping at him. suddenly pulling his flap open, he hurled his sombrero in the dog's face, frightening it, so that it slunk away with a howl. tad, laughing heartily, reached out and recovered the hat. "hey, there, i want to wash," he called to a brave who was passing. the redskin paid no attention to him. "all right, if you won't, then i'll go without you." he stepped boldly from the tepee and headed for a small stream at the left of the village, which he had observed on the previous day. he had not gone far before he observed that he was being followed at a distance. he did not let it appear that he noticed this, and after making his toilet strolled back to his tepee. tad shrewdly reasoned that if he could induce them to relax their vigilance over him, he would have a better chance to make his escape, and he determined that he would act as if he had no intention of leaving. he made an effort to find out where they had tethered pink-eye, but there were no signs of ponies anywhere. he knew, however, that they could not be far away, for the indian always keeps in touch with his mount. jinny came with his breakfast at sunrise. he noticed the first thing that she was not wearing the ring he had given her, but before he had an opportunity to comment on it, the girl drew the ring from a pocket, placed it on a finger and fell to admiring it. tad laughed and turned to his breakfast. this consisted of a big bowl of corn meal, steaming hot, with some cold mutton on the side. frankly, he admitted to himself that he had eaten far worse meals in more civilized communities. "good morning, jinny. i was so much interested in the breakfast that i forgot to say it when you first came in. this is very good. did you cook it?" she nodded. "i thought so. you beat old hicks's cooking already. hicks is the cook out on mr. simms's sheep ranch, where i come from. understand?" "yes." "i thought you were going to help me to escape," said tad, suddenly leaning toward her. "aren't you?" jinny made a sign for silence, and then went to the opening and peered out cautiously. she returned, and, placing her mouth close to the lad's ear, whispered, "bymeby." tad could scarcely repress a laugh at the tragic tone in which she said it. yet his face was perfectly sober and he continued with his breakfast without further comment. jinny gathered up the dishes and left him without a word. after a time the boy pulled back the flaps and sat down to watch the life of the camp by daylight. the squaws were busily at work, carrying wood and engaged in other occupations, though few of the braves were to be seen. the boy concluded that they must be sleeping. the hours dragged along slowly. it seemed an age until night came once more. somehow he felt that the night would bring him good luck. a warning glance from the indian girl when she brought his supper told him that conversation were better not indulged in, so he said nothing to her. she left the dishes with him and went away at once. that night tad sat up until late, hoping vainly for word from jinny, but none came. when the guard approached the tent along toward midnight, tad feigned sleep, and so well did he feign it that he really went to sleep. he thought he had been napping but a few moments, when a peculiar scratching sound on the back of his tepee brought him up sitting, every nerve on the alert. tad peered out through the flap. the guard was asleep. he crept back to the other side of the tepee and scratched on the tepee wall with his finger-nail. "s-h-h." the warning was accompanied by a slight ripping sound, and he knew the wall was being slit with a knife. "paleface buck, come with jinny," whispered a voice in his ear. chapter xxiv conclusion grasping the lad by the arm, the indian girl led him cautiously straight back from the tepee, guiding him in the darkness unerringly, around all obstructions. after proceeding in a straight line for some distance, she turned and made a wide detour around the camp. he could tell this by the light of the smouldering camp-fires. he dared ask no questions until jinny had given him permission to speak, which was not until they had left the camp some distance behind them. she paused suddenly and faced him. "you send jinny ring?" "yes, i promised you." "you send beads like white women wear?" "of course i will." "then come. ponies here. boy here." not understanding her latter words, tad followed obediently, passing around a point of rocks. "here ponies. here boy." "o tad, is that you?" exclaimed a tremulous voice. "who's that?" demanded tad sharply. "it's phil. o tad!" "phil!" cried the lad, grasping the boy about the neck and hugging him delightedly. "they got you too, did they? oh, i'm so glad i've found you! you must tell me all about it, but not now. we've got to get away from here. thank you, jinny. i shall never forget this. i--" "you send jinny beads?" demanded the girl suggestively. "indeed you shall have the finest set of beads that an indian girl ever wore, even if it takes all my money to buy them. now which way shall we go?" "go river." "where is it?" she took his hand in the darkness and pointed with it in the direction where the river lay. "yes, yes, i know. then where?" "find white man. he tell um. jinny not know." she pressed something into his hand. "what's this?" asked tad sharply. "knife. mebbyso brave catch um paleface buck." tad caught the significance of her words instantly. "no, jinny, thank you very much. i couldn't do that. you keep the knife. i shall not need it, but you shall have the beads just the same." "ugh! go pony. go quick. braves him follow." she pointed back toward the camp, and, grasping tad by the arm, hurried him toward the ponies. "when?" "come now," she insisted. tad felt a sudden thrill as he heard a great commotion back in the camp. "we've got to hurry, phil. i guess they have discovered our escape. you run, jinny. run back. don't you let them know you helped us. say, what will the chief do if he finds it out?" demanded the boy, pausing sharply. "huh. jinny no afraid chief. jinny laugh in chief face. bye." she disappeared with surprising suddenness. "quick, phil! get on your pony and follow me. keep close to me." "i am on," answered the boy bravely. "it's my pony, too." "and so is this one mine. it's pink-eye." "what's that noise!" asked phil in a tremulous voice. "hi-yi-yip-yah--yah-hi-yah!" rang out the indian war cry, as the braves threw themselves on the bare backs of their ponies and tore from the village, going in all directions. tad drove the spurs in viciously. "quick! quick, phil! they're after us." "i'm coming." both ponies sprang away in the darkness, the lads clinging to the saddles, none too sure of the path that lay before them, and riding desperately. bang, bang, bang! three rifle shots rang out in quick succession, and the boys imagined they could hear the bullets sing over their heads. "hi-yi-yip--yah-hi-yah!" "they're gaining on us. they're gaining, phil. ride for your life!" the shrill yells of the indians sounded much closer. the boys believed that their enemies had picked up the trail. "we have got to do something, and do it quick. we've got to outwit them," shouted tad. "what--what"---- "i'll tell you. when we think they are getting too near, i'll pull over by you and take you on my pony. we'll send the other one flying on while we turn off," decided tad. the time for the change came a few moments later. the indians were gaining on them every second. now the "hi-yi-yip--yah-hi-yah" sounded as if it was being shrieked into their ears. tad drove pink-eye right against the other pony. "jump!" he commanded, and phil landed on pink-eye's back without mishap, while tad, giving a vicious kick to the free pony, turned off to the left a little and drove his pony at a run. they reached the river. as the pony plunged in the boys slipped off on opposite sides of him, hanging to the saddle while the pony swam. "hang on tightly. don't let go. there is a strong current here." they could hear the savages racing up and down the river bank, shouting and shooting and searching vainly for the other pony. every minute tad expected to hear them take to the river, but for some reason they did not do so. after a chilling swim, the boys at last reached the other bank, and, shaking the water from their clothes as best they could, both mounted the one pony and struck off, guided by the stars alone. they continued on until daylight, having heard nothing more of the indians. both boys were shivering with cold and exhausted for want of something to eat after their trying night. tad learned from his companion that he had been taken by white men and turned over to the indians for some purpose unknown to him. phil described his captor as a man with a scar on his temple and having a red beard. shortly after sunrise they came upon a flock of sheep, and soon after they were at the house of a rancher, where the boys told their story. the owner of the ranch knew mr. simms well, and besides providing phil with a pony, sent one of his own men to pilot the boys home. they rode into the simms camp about midnight, rousing the camp with their shouts. and the jollification that followed the safe return of phil and his rescuer did the hearts of both boys good. there was no sleep in the simms outfit that night. tad and phil were obliged to tell the story of their experiences over and over again, while the other boys listened in wide-eyed wonder. mr. simms was of the opinion that, having taken phil, the indians picked up tad so that he might not report their being off the reservation. "at any rate we have got the man, thanks to your description," he added. "what, the man with the scar?" "yes. he is the cattle rancher whom luke insisted was such a friend of his. i took a long chance and had the sheriff arrest him to-day. he is being held until you take a look to see if you can identify him. i hope you will be able to." "where is he?" asked the lad. "tied up in the chuck wagon. i'll have him brought over." "hello, bluff," greeted tad, the instant he set eyes on the surly face of the prisoner. "hello, kid. never saw me before, did you?" "i should say i had. that's the man, mr. simms. there can be no doubt about it." "and he is the fellow who caught and turned me over to the indians," added philip, shrinking away from the bearded face. "then i guess there is nothing more to be said," announced mr. simms, with a grim smile. "this man has been doing a crooked business for years, all up and down the trail. of course he had accomplices, but we shall hardly get them. nobody suspected him. the frequent thefts of stock and the killing of sheep was a mystery until you solved it, master tad. i wish i knew how to express my appreciation of what you have done for us." "there is one favor you can do for me if you will, mr. simms." "it is already granted. name it." "i wish you would see that jinny gets the beads i promised her and which i am going to buy as soon as i get where i can." "she shall have them," replied the rancher, "and a present from me, besides. i'll send one of my men to the blackfeet agency especially to deliver your present and mine to the indian girl." "thank you." "to-morrow we shall have to go back to town with the sheriff and his prisoner. i should like to have you accompany us if you will. the prosecuting attorney can take your deposition and thus avoid the necessity of your having to wait for the trial. you are free to continue on your trip then, if you desire." "of course he will go with you," spoke up the professor, who, up to that point, had been too deeply absorbed in the developments of the hour to offer any comment. "all of us will accompany you. boys, you had better get your belongings together before we turn in, as i imagine mr. simms will want to make an early start in the morning. i guess you are all pretty well satisfied with what you have seen of the old custer trail." "yes," shouted the boys. "we've had a great time." "at least some of us have," smiled tad. at forsythe next day tad butler and young philip simms appeared against the prisoner. as the result of their positive identification and further testimony, bluff broke down. he made a full confession, implicating others who had been concerned with him in various misdeeds along the trail, each of whom was eventually brought to justice and punished. their presence being no longer necessary in forsythe, that afternoon the pony rider boys boarded a sleeping car, loudly cheered by a crowd of enthusiastic ranchers and villagers, who had gathered to see them off. and there, with their four smiling faces framed in the pullman windows, we shall take leave of the pony rider boys. they will next be heard from in another volume, entitled, "the pony rider boys in the ozarks, or the secret of ruby mountain," a stirring tale of adventure and daring deeds among the missouri mountains, in which the lads pass through many perils. the end. transcriber's note obvious typographical errors have been corrected. a list of corrections is found at the end of the text. the young lady's equestrian manual. [illustration] [illustration] [illustration: the young lady's equestrian manual.] e.landells.s. london. whitehead and comp^y. , fleet street. mdcccxxxviii. [illustration] preface. the following pages contain a treatise on the art of riding on horseback, for ladies, which originally appeared in the publishers' well-known manual of elegant feminine recreations, exercises, and pursuits, the young lady's book; with, however, various additions to the text, and a number of new illustrations and embellishments. in offering the treatise, thus improved and adorned, in a separate form, the publishers, it need scarcely be said, have been influenced, materially, by that high and most extensive patronage, which, under royal auspices, has been conferred by the ladies of this country, since the commencement of the present reign, on the art of which it is the subject. [illustration] [illustration] contents. page introduction equestrian technicalities the lady's horse personal equipments accoutrements for the horse rules of the road mode of mounting management of the reins the seat and balance aids and defences soothings and animations corrections vices exercises in the paces the walk the trot the canter the gallop stopping and backing leaping dismounting concluding remarks [illustration] the young lady's equestrian manual. [illustration] our virgin queen, peerless elizabeth, with grace and dignity rode through the host: and proudly paced that gallant steed, as though he knew his saddle was a royal throne. introduction. riding on horseback is, confessedly, one of the most graceful, agreeable, and salutary of feminine recreations. no attitude, perhaps, can be regarded as more elegant than that of a lady in the modern side-saddle; nor can any exercise be deemed capable of affording more rational and innocent delight, than that of the female equestrian. pursued in the open air, it affords a most rapid, and, at the same time, exhilarating succession of scenic changes, at a degree of personal exertion, sufficient to produce immediate pleasure, without inducing the subsequent languor of fatigue. nor is riding on horseback attended with that danger to ladies, attributed to it by the indolent, the melancholy, and the timid. accidents, indeed, in the side-saddle, are of extremely rare occurrence. strange as it may seem, it is, however, an incontrovertible fact, that horses, in general, are much more docile and temperate, with riders of the fair sex, than when mounted by men. this may be attributed, partially, to the more backward position, in the saddle, of the former than the latter; but, principally, perhaps, to their superior delicacy of hand in managing the reins. as an active recreation, and a mode of conveyance, riding on horseback appears to have been of very remote usage among our fair countrywomen. during a long period, indeed, it was the only one known to, or, adopted by them, for the performance of journies. such, too, appears to have been the case (with some modifications) in other european countries. the only _voiture_ of the french, says garsault, until the reign of charles the sixth, was the back of the horse or mule: neither kings, queens, princes, nor subjects were acquainted with any other. in the time of that monarch, litters, borne by two horses, first appeared; but these were uncovered, and used, only, by ladies of the court. froissart describes isabel, the second wife of richard the second of england, as having been borne "en une litière moult riche, qui etoit ordonnèe pour elle;" and this kind of vehicle, during the reigns of several succeeding monarchs, appears to have been used by women of distinction in this country, but, only, it is to be observed, in cases of illness, or on occasions of ceremony. for example,--when margaret, daughter of henry the seventh, went into scotland, she generally rode "a faire palfrey;" while, after her, was conveyed "one vary riche litere, borne by two faire coursers, vary nobly drest; in the which litere the sayd queene was borne in the intrying of the good townes, or otherwise, to her good playsher." towards the end of the thirteenth century, vehicles with wheels, for the use of ladies, were first introduced. they appear to have been of italian origin, as the first notice of them is found in an account of the entry of charles of anjou into naples; on which occasion, we are told, his queen rode in a _careta_, the outside and inside of which were covered with sky-blue velvet, interspersed with golden lilies. under the gallicised denomination of _char_, the italian _careta_, shortly afterwards became known in france; where, so early as the year , an ordinance was issued by philip the fair, forbidding its use to citizens' wives. nor was england far behind in the adoption of the vehicle; for, in "the squyr of low degree," a poem supposed to have been written anterior to the time of chaucer, we find the father of a royal lady promising that she shall hunt with him, on the morrow, in "_a chare_," drawn by "jennettes of spain that ben so white, trapped to the ground with velvet bright." "it shall be covered with velvet red, and clothes of fine gold all about your head; with damask white and azure blue, well diapered with lilies blue." however richly ornamented, the _careta_, _char_, or _chare_--and there is little, if any, doubt, to be entertained as to their identity--may have been, it was, probably, a clumsy, inelegant, and inconvenient structure; for its employment appears to have been far from general among high-born ladies, even on occasions of ceremony and pomp. during the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries, the french princesses usually rode on donkies; and so late as the year , a sacred festival was attended by queen eleonora, and the females of the blood royal of france, on horseback. nor did the superior and more recent invention of coaches, for a long period, tend materially to supersede, among ladies, the use of the saddle. these vehicles, according to stow, became known, in england, in ; but, many years after, queen elizabeth herself is described as having appeared, almost daily, on her palfrey. in the time of charles the second, the fashion, among ladies, of riding on horseback, declined; during subsequent reigns, it gradually revived; and the exercise may now be regarded as firmly established, among our fair countrywomen, by the august example of their illustrious queen. [illustration] the present graceful, secure, and appropriate style of female equestrianism is, however, materially different from that of the olden time. in by-gone days, the dame or damosel rode precisely as the knight or page. of this, several illustrations occur in an illuminated manuscript of the fourteenth century, preserved in the royal library. in one of these, a lady of that period is depicted on horseback, enjoying the pastime of the chase. in another, are represented two gentlewomen of the same period, on horseback, with an individual of the other sex, engaged (as is shewn by some parts of the design, which it would be needless, for our present purpose, to copy) in the once much-favoured diversion of hawking. [illustration] queen elizabeth, says a writer in the encyclopædia londinensis, "seems to have been the first who set the ladies the more modest fashion of riding sideways. considerable opposition was, at first, made to it, as inconvenient and dangerous: but, practice, in time, brought it into general use; particularly when ladies found they could ride a-hunting, take flying leaps, and gallop over cross roads and ploughed fields, without meeting with more accidents than the men: besides, it was not only allowed to be more decorous, but, in many respects, more congenial to the ease and comfort of a female rider." our author is, however, wrong in ascribing the fashion of riding sideways, by women in this country, to elizabeth; by whom it could only have been confirmed, or, at the most, revived;--the honour of its introduction being clearly attributable to another queen of england, who lived at a much more early period of our history. ann of bohemia, consort of richard the second, is the illustrious personage to whom we allude. she, it was, according to stow (whom beckman follows on this point), that originally shewed the women of this country how gracefully and conveniently they might ride on horseback sideways. another old historian, enumerating the new fashions of richard the second's reign, observes, "likewise, noble ladies then used high heads and cornets, and robes with long trains, and seats, or _side-saddles_, on their horses, by the example of the respectable queen, ann, daughter of the king of bohemia; who first introduced the custom into this kingdom: for, before, women of every rank rode as men do" (t. rossii, _hist. re. ang._ p. ). in his beautiful illustrative picture of chaucer's canterbury pilgrims, stothard appears to have committed an anachronism, in placing the most conspicuous female character of his fine composition sideways on her steed. that the lady should have been depicted riding in the male fashion, might, it strikes us, have been inferred, without any historical research on the subject, from the poet's describing her as having, on her feet, "_a paire_ of spurrés sharpe." neither the original example of ann of bohemia, nor that, in later days, of elizabeth, as female equestrians, however extensively followed, had sufficient force, entirely to abolish, among our countrywomen, the mode of riding like the other sex. in the time of charles the second, it appears, from a passage in the duke of newcastle's great work on horsemanship, to have still, at least partially, subsisted. another writer of the seventeenth century, whose manuscripts are preserved in the harleian collection, speaks of it, as having been practised, in his time, by the ladies of bury, in suffolk, when hunting or hawking; and our venerable contemporary, lawrence (a voluminous writer on the horse), it is worthy of remark, states, that at an early period of his own life, two young ladies of good family, then residing near ipswich, _in the same county_, "were in the constant habit of riding about the country, in their smart doe-skins, great coats, and flapped beaver hats." [illustration] although entirely relinquished, at present, perhaps in this country, the mode of female equestrianism under notice continues to prevail in various other localities. in the following sketch, taken from charles audry's magnificent "ecole d' equitation," a persian lady is delineated as just about to start on a journey, in the saddle; and, in the next, which is engraved from an original drawing, "done from the life," a lady and gentleman of lima are represented on horseback. "i have endeavoured," the artist says, in manuscript, on the reverse of his sketch, "to depict the horses '_pacing_;' as they are almost universally taught to do, in peru: that is, to move both the legs, of one side, forward together. it resembles an english butcher's trot in appearance; but, it is so easy, that one might go to sleep on the horse: and, after riding '_a pacer_,' it is difficult to sit a trotter at first. it is, also, excessively rapid;--good _pacers_ beating other horses at a gallop. the ladies of lima do not always ride with the face covered: but, only, when the sun is powerful. they, sometimes, ride in _ponchos_, like the men: in fact, it is excessively difficult, at first sight, to determine whether a person on horseback be male or female." [illustration] the side-saddle introduced to this country by ann of bohemia, differed, materially, from that now used by british ladies; having, no doubt, been a mere pillion, on which the rider sate, as in a chair. [illustration] [illustration] at what period our fair countrywomen first began to ride with the knee over the pommel, we are not enabled to state: it is, however, clear, according to the original of the above sketch, which occurs in one of the historical illustrations of equestrianism, given by audry, that the courtly dames of england did so, about the middle of the seventeenth century. our author describes the figure, as being that of the countess of newcastle. [illustration] it may be conjectured, that a single crutch, only, for the advanced leg, was at first used; and this, it is not improbable, was fixed on the centre of the pommel, as in the lady's saddle, now, or at least very lately, common in some parts of mexico; where the women, it would seem, ride with the left hand towards the animal's head. this, also, appears to have been, sometimes, the case, down to a recent period, in our own country; for, in rather a modern description of the side-saddle, the crutches are spoken of as being moveable, in order to afford a lady, by merely changing their relative positions, the means of riding, as she might please, on either side of her horse.[ -*] that a second crutch was used about the middle of the last century (we are unable to state how much earlier), in france, at least, is evident from a plate of the lady's hunting saddle, at that period, given by garsault; in which, it is curious, a sort of hold-fast is provided for the fair equestrian's right hand. but, even so recently as garsault's time, the saddle in ordinary use, by french women, was, we learn from his work on equitation, still, a kind of pillion, on which the rider sate, diagonally, with both feet resting on a broad suspended ledge or stirrup. the pillion in this country has not yet become obsolete; being still, frequently, to be seen, on the backs of donkies and hack ponies, at watering places. during the early part of the present century, its employment continued to be general. it was fixed behind a man's saddle, on the croup of a steady horse, trained to go at an easy though shuffling pace between a walk and a trot. the groom, or gentleman, equipped with a broad leathern belt buckled about his waist--by which the lady secured her position, in case of need--first mounted; and his fair companion was then lifted, backwards, and behind him, into her seat. in an old work on horsemanship, written by one william stokes, and published at oxford, it is not, perhaps, unworthy of notice, directions are given for vaulting into the saddle, _after_ the lady has been placed on the croup; together with a plate illustrative of so exquisitely nice and marvellously absurd an operation. in mexico "they manage these things," if not "better," at all events, with more gallantry, than our forefathers did, for with them, "the _pisana_, or country lady," we are told, "is often seen mounted _before_ her _cavaliero_; who, seated behind his fair one, supports her with his arm thrown around her waist." our illustrative sketch of this custom (in the preceding page) is taken from a beautiful model,--the work of a native mexican artist. [illustration] [illustration] having, now, offered our fair readers a slight and unpretending historical sketch of female equestrianism, we shall proceed, after a few preliminary remarks, to the practical details of the art. its various advantages, inducements, and attractions, as an exercise, have, already, been noticed. much, however, as we wish to interest our fair countrywomen, in its favour, it is proper, on our part, to tell them, frankly, that equestrianism is far from being an intuitive art:--there is no "royal road" to it. to be enjoyed and appreciated, it must be learnt. that ease and elegance,--that comparative safety in the side-saddle, of which we have spoken,--it is impossible to achieve, without considerable practice, based upon proper principles. many young ladies, however, feel a delicate repugnance to passing through the ordeal of a riding-school; some, again, do not reside in situations, where the benefit of a teacher's directions can be procured; while others, erroneously flatter themselves, that they are in possession of every needful acquirement, as regards equestrianism, when they have discovered how to retain a seat on the saddle, and guide a horse by means of the bridle. to such of our readers as happen to be comprised within either of these classes,--and to those, also, who, after having received a professor's initiative instructions, are desirous of further improvement, the following pages, if carefully perused, will, the writer most zealously hopes, prove beneficial. [illustration] footnotes: [ -*] since writing the above, we have been assured by a friend, that, within a few weeks past, he has seen several ladies, at brighton, seated on the wrong side of the horse. side-saddles, with moveable crutches, indeed, are now far from uncommon (to our own knowledge), in saddlers' shops. equestrian technicalities. a few, among the most generally adopted, of these, it will be expedient, in the first place, to notice and explain. most parts in the external structure of the horse are known by names of obvious signification: but such is not, exactly, the case with all. [illustration] to commence with the anterior limb:--_a_ is the fore pastern; _b_, the fetlock; _c_, the leg; and _d_, the arm. in the hind limb, _e_ is the hind pastern; _f_, the hock; _g_, the stifle; and _h_, the haunch. the upper surface of the neck, _i_, is denominated the crest; _k_, the withers, and _l_, the croup. [illustration] in the bridle, supposing it to be double-reined, _a_ is the double head-stall; _b_, the front; _c_, the nose-band; _d_, the throat-lash; _e_, _e_, the snaffle rein; and _f_, _f_, the curb rein. at _g_, _g_, is the martingale. [illustration] in the saddle, _a_, is the near crutch; _b_, the off crutch; _c_, the cantle; _d_, the crupper; _e_, the safe; _f_, the skirt; _g_, the stirrup; _h_, the near side half of the surcingle; and _i_, _i_, the girths. a lady's right hand is termed the _whip_-hand, and her left, the _bridle_-hand. the _near_ side of a horse is that which is on the _left_ of the rider; and the _off_ side that which is on her _right_. the height of a horse is always estimated in _hands_, of four inches each: it is always measured at the tip of the shoulder. a horse is never spoken of as being so many hands _tall_, but so many hands _high_. [illustration] the lady's horse. although the lady usually has a horse selected for her, by some gentleman, either of her own family or her acquaintance, it may not be inexpedient to inform the fair reader of those qualities which, combined in the same animal, may be said to constitute a complete lady's horse. such a creature, however, we must observe, is exceedingly difficult to be procured, even by those possessed of the nicest judgment on the subject; and, to whom, the usually important question of price is not an object of consideration. the beau ideal of this kind of horse is superlatively elegant in form, exquisitely fine in coat, and unexceptionably beautiful in colour; of a height, in the nicest degree appropriate to the figure of the rider; graceful, accurate, well-united, and thoroughly safe in every pace; "light as a feather" in the hand, though not at all painfully sensitive to a proper action of the bit; bold in the extreme, yet superlatively docile; free, in every respect, from what is technically denominated "vice;" excellent in temper, but still "though gentle, yet not dull;" rarely, if ever, requiring the stimulus of the whip, yet submitting temperately to its occasional suggestions. [illustration] in some, though not in all respects, the form should approach closely to that of a thorough-bred animal. the head should be small, neat, "well-set" on the neck, and gracefully "carried." the nostrils should be wide; the eyes large, rather protruding, dark, yet brilliant; the ears erect, and delicately tapering towards their tips. the expression of the countenance should be lively, animated, noble, and most highly intelligent; the neck rather arched and muscular; the ridge of the shoulders narrow and elevated; the chest full and fleshy; the back broad; the body, round or barrel-like; the space between the hips and tail, long, and very gradually depressed towards the latter organ, which, it is essential, should be based high on the croup. the fore and hind limbs should be distant, the one pair from the other; the "arms" muscular; the knees broad, the hocks (laterally) wide; the legs flat and sinewy; the pasterns rather long; and the hoofs large, and nearly round. a rough, or, what is technically termed, a "staring" coat, considerably deteriorates the appearance of a horse, however perfect in other conditions. its surface, on a well-bred, healthy, and properly groomed animal, is not only smooth, but brilliantly polished. the mane, if too long and thick, will interfere with that delicate management of the reins so desirable to a lady on horseback; and the tail, if of immoderate length, will, by the animal's whisking it towards his sides, prove inconvenient, to the fair rider, at all times; but, especially so, in dirty weather. neither of these appendages, however, on the other hand, should be ungracefully brief or scanty. of all colours presented by the horse, none is so rich, and, at the same time, so elegant and chaste, as a bright bay; provided the mane, tail, and lower parts of the legs, be black. a small white star on the forehead, and a white speck on one of the heels, are to be considered, rather, as beauties, than defects: but much white, either on the face or legs, whatever be the general hue, is quite the reverse of desirable. after bright bay, chestnut, perhaps, deserves to rank next in the scale of taste; provided it be not, as is very frequently the case, accompanied with white legs. some of the various shades of grey, however, are, in the opinion of many, entitled to be placed above it: of these, the silver grey, with black mane and tail, claims the highest place. brown is rather exceptionable, on account of its dulness. black is not much admired; though, as we think, when of a deep jet, remarkably elegant. roan, sorrel, dun, piebald, mouse, and even cream colour (however appropriate the latter may be for a state-carriage-horse) are all to be eschewed. the height of her horse should be in harmonious proportion with that of the rider. a very young or short lady is in no less false a position, as regards grace, on a lofty steed, than a tall, full-grown woman, on a diminutive pony. for ladies of the general stature, a horse measuring from fifteen to fifteen and a half hands, at the point of the shoulder, is usually considered, as regards height, more desirable than any other. in paces, the lady's horse should be perfect; or, at all events, so far as regards the walk and canter. the former should be fast, bold, firm, and lively, without being unsteady; and, the latter, light, easy, well-combined, and graceful: so, too, should the hand-gallop; although, it is true, a lady's horse is rarely put to this pace, unless used for the field. the trot, again, is but little practised: still the complete lady's horse is expected to be capable of performing it with great precision of step, and but little concussion to the rider:--many ladies regarding it,--however discountenanced by the majority, perhaps,--as preferable, from its vigour, liveliness, and dash, to any other pace. to expatiate on the absolute necessity of the lady's horse being safe on his limbs, would be needless. the mouth should be sensible of the most delicate hint of the rider's will, communicated to it by means of the bit. a horse that pulls hard, or hangs heavily upon the reins, is very unsuitable for a lady's use: so, again, is one having the mouth so tender as to suffer from moderate pressure, either by the snaffle or the curb. the former is no less fatiguing to, than the latter is distressed by, the bridle hand. [illustration] personal equipments. in the selection of these, a lady has a fair opportunity for the proper display of a refined and judicious taste. all that is gaudy, needless, or even elaborate, is vulgar. perfect simplicity, indeed, as regards, not only her own costume, but "the trappings of her palfrey," is expected, at the present day, on the part of every well-bred female equestrian. the habit should fit the bust, without a crease: but, beneath the waist, it ought to be, not only long, but, somewhat full and flowing. its colour should be dark as possible, without being positively black. the hair should be plaited; or, if otherwise dressed, so arranged and secured, that it may not be blown into the rider's eyes; nor, from exercise, or the effect of humid weather, be liable to be so discomposed, as to become embarrassing. to ride in a bonnet is far from judicious. a hat, or neat undress military cap, is indispensable to the female equestrian. it should be secured most carefully to the head: for, the loss of it would not merely be inconvenient, but, perhaps, dangerous, from the startling effect which its fall might produce on the sensitive temperament of the horse. a veil is the reverse of objectionable, provided it be of moderate length, and safely tied to the hat or cap; which, it is proper to state, should have no other ornament or appendage. the whip should be exquisitely neat and highly finished; but with little, if any, decoration. [illustration] accoutrements for the horse. every accoutrement for the horse, however ornamental and pictorial, beyond the mere saddle and bridle, is to be rejected, as being in bad taste. the crupper and breast-band are now almost obsolete; the saddle-cloth has nearly disappeared; nettings are, generally speaking, abandoned; and the martingale itself, valuable as it may be for horses of a certain character, is rarely to be seen. simplicity, indeed, as regards female equestrianism, is now imperatively (and, strange to say, most judiciously) enjoined, by "that same fickle goddess, fashion," in obedience to whose sovereign behest, a lady's horse, in the olden time, was disguised, as it were, "in cloth of gold most curiously wrought." [illustration] rules of the road. without a knowledge of these, the fair equestrian, when riding in public, would be exposed to considerable inconvenience, and, often, to no slight degree of danger. by a generally understood compact, persons, whether riding or driving, when proceeding in opposite directions, pass, each on his or her own _near_, or left-hand, side, of the road; and when on a parallel course, the faster party goes by the other, on the _off_, or right. in other words, when the former is the case, the right hands of the parties meeting, are towards each other; and, in the latter, the left hand of the faster, is towards the right hand of the slower. it follows, therefore, that when the rider is about to meet horses or carriages, she should take her ground on her _near_, or left, side of the road; and, when about to pass those travelling in the same direction with, though at a less speedy pace than, herself, on her right, or _off_. in meeting one rider, or vehicle, and, at the same time, passing, by superior speed, another, she must leave the first, on her right, and the second, on her left. it will not be inexpedient, under the present head, to make some observations as to which side the lady should take, when riding in company with a gentleman. adams, a teacher of equitation, and the author of a work on the subject, remarks, that the only inducements for a gentleman to ride on the left of a lady, would be, that, by having his right hand towards her, in case of her needing assistance, he might, the more readily and efficiently, be enabled to afford it, than if he were on the opposite side; and, should any disarrangement occur in the skirt of her habit, he might screen it until remedied. on the other hand, our author observes, with great good sense, though in terms somewhat homely,--addressing, it is to be noticed, his remarks to gentlemen,--"the inconvenience of riding on the left of the lady, is, that if you ride near, to give her any assistance, you are liable to rub, or incommode, the lady's legs, and alarm her; and the spur is liable to catch, or tear, the lady's habit: if the roads are dirty, your horse, likewise, bespatters the lady's habit. on the right hand of the lady, these inconveniences do not occur, if you ride ever so close; and you are situated next the carriages, and the various objects you meet, which, in narrow roads, or, passing near, might intimidate a lady. for these reasons, i think it most proper to take the right hand of a lady." [illustration] mounting. on approaching a horse, the skirt of the habit should be gracefully gathered up, and the whip be carried in the right hand. [illustration] [illustration] it is the groom's duty, when the rider approaches, to gather up the reins with his left hand, smoothly and evenly, the curb rein between, and somewhat tighter than the bridoon, properly dividing them with his fore-finger. the lady advancing, on the near side of the horse, to the saddle, receives them a little more forward than the point of the horse's shoulder, with her right hand, which still retains and passes the whip over the saddle to the _off_ or right side. on taking the bridle in this manner, her fore-finger is placed between the reins: the groom then removes his hand, and the lady draws her own back, suffering the reins to glide gently and evenly through her fingers, until she reaches the near crutch of the saddle, which she takes with her right hand, still holding the whip and reins, and places herself close to the near side of the horse, with her back almost turned towards him. the groom now quits his former post, and prepares to assist her to mount. the horse being thus left to the lady's government, it is proper, that, in passing her hand through the reins she should not have suffered them to become so loose as to prevent her, when her hand is on the crutch, from having a light, but steady bearing on the bit, and thus keeping the horse to his position during the process of mounting. she next places her left foot firmly in the right hand of the groom, or gentleman, in attendance, who stoops to receive it. the lady then puts her left hand on his right shoulder; and, straightening her left knee, bears her weight on the assistant's hand; which he gradually raises (rising, himself, at the same time) until she is seated on the saddle. during her elevation, she steadies, and even, if necessary, partly assists herself towards the saddle by her hands; one of which, it will be recollected, is placed on the crutch, and the other on her assistant's shoulder. it is important that she should keep her foot firm and her knee straight. [illustration] if these directions be well attended to, she will find herself raised to her saddle with but a trifling exertion, either, on her own part, or that of the assistant. should the latter be a lad only, or a groom not much accustomed to this part of his business, he should use both hands instead of one;--joining them by the fingers: indeed, this, generally speaking, is the safer mode. the lady, in all cases, should take care that her weight be well balanced on her left foot, from which she should rise as perpendicularly as possible; above all things taking care not to put her foot forward, but keeping it directly under her. the assistant should not begin to raise her until she has removed her right foot from the ground, and, by strengthening her knee, thrown her weight completely into his hand. [illustration] having reached the saddle, while her face is still turned to the near side of the horse, and before she places her knee on the pommel, the assistant puts the lady's left foot in the stirrup, while she removes her hand from the near to the off crutch of the saddle, holding the whip and reins as before directed. she now raises herself on the stirrup by the aid of her right hand, while the assistant, or the lady herself, with her left hand, draws the habit forward in its place. she then places her right knee between the crutches, and her seat is taken. should the back part of the habit at this time, or afterwards, in the course of the ride, require any arrangement, the lady raises herself in the stirrup, by strengthening her knee, and, with her left hand, disposes her habit to her satisfaction. [illustration] the reins. pupils, during their first lessons, may arrange the reins in the following manner:--the right hand is removed from the crutch of the saddle; the reins are separated, and one is held in each hand, passing up between the third and fourth fingers, the ends being brought over the fore-fingers, and held in their places by closing the thumbs upon them, and shutting the hands: these should be on a level with each other, at a little distance apart, three inches from the body, or thereabouts, with the knuckles of the little fingers in a line with the elbow. by slightly advancing the hands, or even relaxing the hold of the reins, the horse, if well trained, will go forward. the left hand is raised to turn to the near or left side, and the right hand to turn in an opposite direction. by slightly raising and approaching both hands toward the body, the horse may be made to stop. when either rein is acted on, to turn the horse, the other should be a little slackened, or the hand which holds it relaxed. as soon as the pupil has passed her noviciate in the art, she holds both reins in the left hand. some ladies separate them by the third and fourth fingers; others, by one of these fingers only; and many, by the fourth and little finger: but the greater number use the latter alone for this purpose, passing the off or right rein over it, and bringing the near or left rein up beneath it. the reins are carried flat upon each other up through the hand, near the middle joint of the fore-finger, and the thumb is placed upon them so that their ends fall down in front of the knuckles. the elbow should neither be squeezed close to the side, nor thrust out into an awkward and unnatural position; but be carried easily and gracefully, at a moderate distance from the body. the thumb should be uppermost, and the hand so placed that the lower part of it be nearer the waist than the upper; the wrist should be slightly rounded, the little finger in a line with the elbow, and the nails turned towards the rider. with the reins in this position, the lady, if she wish her horse to advance, brings her thumb towards her, until the knuckles are uppermost, and the nails over the horse's shoulder: the reins, by this simple motion, are slackened sufficiently to permit him to move forward. after he is put in motion, the rider's hand should return to the first position, gradually; or it may be slightly advanced, and the thumb turned upwards immediately. to direct a horse to the left, let the thumb, which in the first position is uppermost, be turned to the right, the little finger to the left, and the back of the hand brought upwards. this movement is performed in a moment, and it will cause the left rein to hang slack, while the right is tightened so as to press against the horse's neck. to direct the horse to the right, the hand should quit the first position, the nails be turned upwards, the little finger brought in towards the right, and the thumb moved to the left: the left rein will thus press the neck, while the right one is slackened. to stop the horse, or make him back, the nails should be turned, from the first position, upwards, the knuckles be reversed, and the wrist be rounded as much as possible. [illustration] the seat and balance. the body should always be in a situation, as well to preserve the balance, as to maintain the seat. [illustration] one of the most common errors committed by ladies on horseback, who have not been properly taught to ride is hanging by the near crutch, so that, instead of being gracefully seated in the centre of the saddle, with the head in its proper situation, and the shoulders even, the body is inclined to the left, the head is brought to the right by an inelegant bend of the neck, the right shoulder is elevated, and the left depressed. to correct or avoid these and similar faults, is important. all the rider's movements should harmonize with the paces of the animal: her position should be at once easy to herself and to her horse; and alike calculated to ensure her own safety and give her a perfect command over the animal. if she sit in a careless, ungraceful manner, the action of her horse will be the reverse of elegant. a lady seldom appears to greater advantage than when mounted on a fine horse, if her deportment be graceful, and her positions correspond with his paces and attitudes; but the reverse is the case, if, instead of acting with, and influencing the movements of the horse, she appear to be tossed to and fro, and overcome by them. she should rise, descend, advance, and stop _with_, and not _after_ the animal. from this harmony of motion result ease, elegance, and the most brilliant effect. the lady should sit in such a position, that the weight of the body may rest on the centre of the saddle. one shoulder should not be advanced more than the other. neither must she bear any weight on the stirrup, nor hang by the crutch towards the near side. she ought not to suffer herself to incline forward, but partially backward. if she bend forward, her shoulders will, most probably, be rounded, and her weight thrown too much upon the horse's withers: in addition to these disadvantages, the position will give her an air of timid _gaucherie_. leaning a little backward, on the contrary, tends to bring the shoulders in, keeps the weight in its proper bearing, and produces an appearance of graceful confidence. the head should be in an easy, natural position: that is, neither drooping forward nor thrown back; neither leaning to the right nor to the left. the bust should be elegantly developed, by throwing back the shoulders, advancing the chest, and bending the back part of the waist inward. the elbows should be steady, and kept in an easy, and apparently unconstrained position, near the sides. the lower part of the arm should form a right angle with the upper part, which ought to descend almost perpendicularly from the shoulder. the position of the hands, when both are occupied with the reins, or when the reins are held in one only, we have already noticed: the right arm and hand, in the latter case, may depend, easily, from the shoulder, and the whip be held in the fingers, with the lash downward, between two fingers and the thumb. the whip may also be carried in the right hand, in the manner adopted by gentlemen: the lady is not restricted to any precise rules in this respect, but may vary the position of her whip arm as she may think fit, so that she do not permit it to appear ungraceful. she must, however, take care that the whip be so carried, that its point do not tickle or irritate the flank of the horse. the stirrup is of very little use except to support the left foot and leg, and to assist the rider to rise in the trot: generally speaking, therefore, as we have already remarked, none of the weight of the body should be thrown upon the stirrup. the left leg must not be cramped up, but assume an easy and comfortable position: it should neither be forced out, so as to render the general appearance ungraceful, and the leg itself fatigued; nor, should it be pressed close to the horse, except when used as an aid; but descend gracefully by his side, without bearing against it. although hanging by the left crutch of the saddle, over the near side, is not only inelegant, but objectionable in many important respects, the near crutch, properly used, is a lady's principal dependence on horseback. the right knee being passed over the near crutch, the toes being slightly depressed, and the leg pressed against the fore part of the saddle, the pommel is grasped, and the rider well secured in the possession of her seat. it is said, that when a lady, while her horse is going at a smart trot, can lean over, on the right side, far enough to see the horse's shoe, she may be supposed to have established a correct seat; which, we repeat, she should spare no pains to acquire. in some of the schools, a pupil is often directed to ride without the stirrup, and, with her arms placed behind her, while the master holds the long rein, and urges the horse to various degrees of speed, and in different directions, in order to settle her firmly and gracefully on the saddle,--to convince her that there is security without the stirrup,--and to teach her to accompany, with precision and ease, the various movements of the horse. nothing can be more detrimental to the grace of a lady's appearance on horseback, than a bad position: a recent author says, it is a sight that would spoil the finest landscape in the world. what can be much more ridiculous, than the appearance of a female, whose whole frame, through mal-position, seems to be the sport of every movement of the horse? if the lady be not mistress of her seat, and be unable to maintain a proper position of her limbs and body, so soon as her horse starts into a trot, she runs the risk of being tossed about on the saddle, like the halcyon of the poets in her frail nest,-- "floating upon the boisterous rude sea." if the animal should canter, his fair rider's head will be jerked to and fro as "a vexed weathercock;" her drapery will be blown about, instead of falling gracefully around her; and her elbows rise and fall, or, as it were, flap up and down like the pinions of an awkward nestling endeavouring to fly. to avoid such disagreeable similes being applied to her, the young lady, who aspires to be a good rider, should, even from her first lesson in the art, strive to obtain a proper deportment on the saddle. she ought to be correct, without seeming stiff or formal: and easy, without appearing slovenly. the position we have described, subject to occasional variations, will be found, by experience, to be the most natural and graceful mode of sitting a horse:--it is easy to the rider and her steed; and enables the former to govern the actions of the latter so effectually, in all ordinary cases, as to produce that harmony of motion, which is so much and so deservedly admired. the balance is conducive to the ease, elegance, and security of the rider:--it consists in a foreknowledge of the direction which any given motion of the horse will impart to the body, and a ready adaptation of the whole frame to the proper position, before the animal has completed his change of attitude or action;--it is that disposition of the person, in accordance with the movements of the horse, which prevents it from an undue inclination, forward or backward, to the right or to the left. by the direction and motion of the horse's legs the balance is governed. if the animal be either standing still, or merely walking straight-forward, the body should be preserved in the simple position which we have directed the lady to assume on taking her seat. should it be necessary to apply the whip, so as to make the animal quicken his pace, or to pull him in suddenly, the body must be prepared to accommodate itself to the animal's change of action. when going round a corner at a brisk pace, or riding in a circle, the body should lean back rather more than in the walking position: to the same extent that the horse bends inward, must the body lean in that direction. if a horse shy at any object, and either turn completely and suddenly round, or run on one side only, the body should, if possible, keep time with his movements, and adapt itself so as to turn or swerve with him; otherwise, the balance will be lost, and the rider be in danger of falling, on the side from which the animal starts. in no case, let it be remembered, should the rider endeavour to assist herself in preserving her balance, by pulling at the reins. [illustration] aids and defences. all such motions of the body, the hands, the legs, and the whip, as either indicate the rider's wishes, or, in some degree, assist the horse to fulfil them, are, in the art of riding, denominated _aids_; and those movements of the rider which tend to save the animal from disuniting himself, or running into danger, may, properly enough, be classed under the same title: while such as act for the preservation of the rider, against the attempts of the horse, when headstrong or vicious, are termed _defences_. the aids of the hand are considered the most important: all the other actions of the rider tending, principally, to assist the bridle-hand and carry its operations into complete effect. there should be a perfect harmony in the aids; and all of them ought to be governed by those of the rein. in many instances, the power of a movement performed by the hand may be destroyed by the omission of a correct accompanying aid or defence, with the body, or the leg. thus:--if a horse rear, it is useless for the rider to afford him a slack rein, if she do not also lean forward, in order, by throwing her weight on his fore-parts, to bring him down, and also to save herself from falling backward over his haunches. should the rider, when her horse rises, slacken the reins, but retain her usual position on the saddle, if he rear high, she must necessarily be thrown off her balance; and then, if she hang on the bit, in order to save herself from falling, there is great danger of her pulling the horse backward. the aids and defences of the body are numerous: we shall attempt to describe a few of them; the residue must be acquired by practice, and the lady's own observation. when the rider indicates by her hand that she wishes the horse to advance, the body should be inclined forward in a slight degree; and the left leg (with the whip, also, if the animal be sluggish, or not well trained) pressed to his side. should she, by pulling the rein towards her, or turning the wrist in the manner we have before directed, communicate her desire to stop, her body ought, at the same time, to be thrown back, with gentleness, or otherwise, in proportion to the severity of the action of the hand against the horse's inclination to increase his speed contrary to the will of his rider, or when he leaps, kicks, or plunges. if a horse rear, the rider should lean forward more than in the aid for the advance: but care must be taken, in this case, to perform the defence with discretion, especially with a pony, or galloway; for, should the animal rise suddenly, and the rider throw herself abruptly forward, it is not improbable that he might give her a violent blow on the face with the top of his head. we have already mentioned, in a previous part of our treatise, the direction which the body should take when riding in a circle, turning a corner, or acting as a defence against the danger attendant upon a horse's shying. in the first case, the aid of the body, if properly performed, will carry with it the aid of the hand, the leg, and even the whip, if it be held near the horse's side. we will explain this by an example:--suppose the rider wishes to turn a corner on her left; she inclines a little towards it, drawing her left shoulder in, and thrusting her right shoulder rather forward: the bridle-hand will thus be drawn back on the near side, the off rein will consequently act on the horse's neck, and the left leg be pressed close against the near side; so that all the necessary aids for effecting her object, are performed by one natural and easy movement. the aids of the whip, on one side, correspond with those of the leg, on the other: they are not only used in the manner we have already mentioned, when the rider wishes her horse to advance, or increase his pace, but also in clearing a corner, &c. if the lady be desirous of turning to the left, she may materially aid the operation of the hand, which directs the fore-parts of the horse to the near side, by pressing him with her stirrup leg, so as to throw his croup in some degree to the right, and thereby place it in a more proper position to follow the direction of his shoulders. in turning to the right, the whip may be made equally useful by driving out his croup to the left. the power of these aids, especially that of the whip, should be increased as circumstances require. the aid which is sufficient for some horses, may not be powerful enough by half for others: and even with, the same animal, while the slightest pressure will produce the desired effect in some cases, a moderate, or, even, a rather severe, lash with the whip is necessary in others. [illustration] soothings, animations, &c. the voice and the hand, the leg, and the whole body, may be employed to soothe and encourage. high-mettled or fretful horses, it is often necessary to soothe, and timid ones to encourage. a spirited animal is frequently impatient when first mounted, or, if a horse or a carriage pass him at a quick rate; and some horses are even so ardent and animated, as to be unpleasant to ride when with others. in either of these cases, the rider should endeavour to soothe her horse, by speaking to him in a calm, gentle tone. she should suffer the whip to be as motionless as possible, and take even more than usual care that its lash do not touch the flank. her seat should be easy, her leg still, and her bridle-hand steady. the bit should not be made to press on the horse's mouth with greater severity than is necessary to maintain the rider's command; and, as the horse gradually subsides from his animation, its bearing should be proportionately relaxed. the perfection of soothing consists in the rider's sitting so entirely still and easy, as not to add in the least to the horse's animation;--at the same time being on her guard, so as to be able to effect any of her defences in an instant, should occasion render them needful. there is scarcely any difference between soothings and encouragements; except that, in the latter, it is advisable to _pat_, and, as it were, caress the horse with the right hand, holding the whip in the left. a shy or timid horse may often be encouraged to pass an object that alarms him, to cross a bridge, enter a gateway, or take a leap, when force and correction would only add to his fear, and, perhaps, render him incorrigibly obstinate. animations are intended to produce greater speed, or, to render the horse more lively and on the alert, without increasing his pace. some animals scarcely ever require animations; while others are so dull and deficient in mettle as to call them frequently into use. the slightest movement of the body, the hand, or the leg, is enough to rouse the well-bred and thoroughly-trained animal; but it is necessary for the animations to be so spirited and united, with sluggish horses, as almost to become corrections: in fact, what is a mere animation to one horse, would be a positive correction to another. the aids of the hand, the whip, the leg, and the body, which we have before described, are animations; so, also, are _pattings_ with the hand, the tones of the voice, &c. animations should be used in all cases, when the horse, contrary to the rider's inclination, either decreases his speed, droops his head, bears heavily and languidly on the bit, or, begins to be lazy or slovenly in the performance of his paces. a good rider foresees the necessity of an animation before the horse actually abates his speed, or loses the _ensemble_ of his action, and the grace and spirit of his deportment. it is much easier to keep up, than to restore, a horse's animation: therefore, the whip, the leg, the hand, or the tongue, should do its office a few moments before, rather than at, the moment when its movements are indispensable. a slight motion of the fingers of the bridle-hand serves as an excellent animation: it reminds the horse of his duty, awakens the sensibility of his mouth, and preserves a proper correspondence between that and the hand. [illustration] corrections. ladies certainly ought not to ride horses which require extraordinary correction. for numerous reasons, which must occur to our readers, a lady should never be seen in the act of positively flogging her steed: such a sight would destroy every previous idea that had been formed of her grace or gentleness. moderate corrections are, however, sometimes necessary; and the fair rider should make no scruple of having recourse to them when absolutely needful, but not otherwise. astley, in his work on the management of the horse, after very properly recommending all quarrels between the steed and his rider to be avoided, observes, that too much indulgence may induce the horse to consider "that you are afraid of him;" and, our author adds, "if he should once think you are really so, you will find he will exercise every means to convince you that he considers himself your master, instead of acknowledging, by implicit obedience, that you are his." those, who imagine that a horse is to be corrected only with the whip, are very much mistaken. the aids and animations of the leg, the bridle-hand, the body, and the voice, may be made sufficiently severe to correct and render a horse obedient in all ordinary cases. severe flogging seldom produces any good effect; and, in most contests between a horse and his rider, when both get out of temper, the former usually gains some important advantage. the best way to correct a horse is to dishearten, and make him do what he would fain avoid;--not so much by force and obstinate resolution, in contesting openly and directly with him, when he is perfectly prepared to resist, as, by a cool opposition and indirect means. there are different methods of attaining the same end; and those which are the least obvious to the animal should be adopted: a lady cannot rival him in physical strength, but she may conquer him by mere ingenuity, or subdue him by a calm, determined assumption of superior power. [illustration] vices. some horses are addicted to a very troublesome and vicious habit of turning round suddenly,--we do not here allude to shyness, but restiveness,--without exhibiting any previous symptom of their intention. a horse soon ascertains that the left hand is weaker than the right, and, consequently, less able to oppose him; he, therefore, turns on the off side, and with such force and suddenness, that it is almost impossible, even if the rider be prepared for the attack, to prevent him. in this case, it would be unwise to make the attempt: the rider would be foiled, and the horse become encouraged, by his success in the struggle, to make similar endeavours to have his own way, or dismount his rider. the better plan is, instead of endeavouring to prevent him from turning, with the left hand, to pull him sharply with the right, until his head has made a complete circle, and he finds, to his astonishment, that he is precisely in the place from which he started. should he repeat the turn, on the rider's attempting to urge him on, she should pull him round, on the same side, three or four times, and assist the power of the hand in so doing, by a smart aid of the whip, or the leg. while this is doing, she must take care to preserve her balance, by an inclination of her body to the centre of the circle described by the horse's head. the same plan may be pursued when a horse endeavours to turn a corner, contrary to the wish of his rider; and, if he be successfully baffled, three or four times, it is most probable that he will not renew his endeavours. on the same principle, when a horse refuses to advance, and whipping would increase his obstinacy, or make him rear, or bolt away in a different direction, it is advisable to make him walk backward, until he evinces a willingness to advance. a runaway might, in many instances, be cured of his vice by being suffered to gallop, unchecked, and being urged forward, when he shewed an inclination to abate his speed, rather than by attempting to pull him in: but this remedy is, in most situations, dangerous, even for men; and all other means should be tried before it is resorted to by a lady. should our fair young reader have the misfortune to be mounted on a runaway, she may avoid evil consequences, if she can contrive to retain her self-possession, and act as we are about to direct. she must endeavour to maintain her seat, at all hazards, and to preserve the best balance, or position of body, to carry her defences into operation. the least symptom of alarm, on her part, will increase the terror or determination of the horse. a dead heavy pull at the bridle will rather aid him, than otherwise, in his speed, and prevent her from having sufficient mastery over his mouth and her own hands to guide him. she must, therefore, hold the reins in such a manner as to keep the horse _together_ when at the height of his pace, and to guide him from running against anything in his course; and, it is most probable that he will soon abate his speed, and gradually subside into a moderate pace. _sawing_ the mouth (that is, pulling each rein alternately) will frequently bring a horse up, in a few minutes. slackening the reins for an instant, and then jerking them with force, may also produce a similar effect: but, if the latter mode be adopted, the rider must take care that the horse, by stopping suddenly, do not bring her on his neck, or throw her over his head. in whatever manner the runaway be stopped, it is advisable for the lady to be on the alert, lest he should become so disunited, by the operation, as to fall. our readers may think, perhaps, that this advice, however easy to give, is difficult to follow: we beg leave, however, to tell them, that although it is not so easy as drawing on a glove, or replacing a stray curl, it is much more practicable than they may imagine; though, we trust, they may never have occasion to put it to the proof. there is another situation, in which it is advisable to force the horse, apparently, to have his own way, in order to baffle his attempts. restive horses, or even docile animals, when put out of temper, sometimes endeavour to crush their riders' legs against walls, gates, trees, posts, &c. an inexperienced lady, under such circumstances, would strive to pull the horse away; but her exertions would be unavailing: the animal would feel that he could master the opposition, and thus discovering the rider's weakness, turn it to her disadvantage on future occasions. we cannot too often repeat, that, although a rider should not desist until she have subdued her horse, she must never enter into an open, undisguised contest with him. it is useless to attack him on a point which he is resolute in defending: the assault should rather be directed to his weaker side. if he fortify himself in one place, he must proportionately diminish his powers of defence in another. he anticipates and prepares to resist any attempt to overcome him on his strong side; and his astonishment at being attacked on the other, and with success, on account of his weakness in that quarter, goes far to dishearten and subdue him. if he plant himself in a position of resistance against being forced to advance, it is a matter of very little difficulty to make him go back. if he appear to be determined not to go to the right, the rider may, on account of the mode in which he disposes his body and limbs, turn him, with great facility, to the left. if he stand _stock-still_, and will not move in any direction, his crime may be made his punishment: the rider, in such case, should sit patiently until he shew a disposition to advance, which he probably will in a very short time, when he discovers that she is not annoyed by his standing still. nothing will subdue a horse so soon as this mode of turning his attacks against himself, and making his defences appear acts of obedience to the rider's inclination. when, therefore, a horse viciously runs on one side towards a wall, pull his head forcibly in the same direction and, if, by the aid of the leg or whip, you can drive his croup out, you may succeed in backing him completely away from it. it is by no means improbable, that when he finds that his rider is inclined to go to the wall as well as himself, he will desist. should he not, his croup may be so turned, outward, that he cannot do his rider any mischief. in shying, the same principle may be acted upon, more advantageously, perhaps, than in any other case. should the lady's horse be alarmed at any object, and, instead of going up to, or passing it, turn round, the rider should manage him as we have recommended in cases where the horse turns, through restiveness. he should then be soothed and encouraged, rather than urged by correction, to approach, or pass, the object that alarms him: to attempt to force him up to it would be ridiculous and dangerous. if the horse swerve from an object, and try to pass it at a brisk rate, it is useless to pull him towards it; for, if you succeed in bringing his head on one side, his croup will be turned outward, and his legs work in an opposite direction. this resistance will increase proportionately to the exertions made by the rider. a horse, in this manner, may fly from imaginary, into real danger; for he cannot see where he is going, nor what he may run against. pulling in the rein, therefore, on the side from which the horse shies, is improper; it should rather be slackened, and the horse's head turned away from the object which terrifies him. by this mode, a triple advantage is gained: in the first place, the horse's attention is diverted to other things; secondly,--the dreaded object loses half its terror when he finds no intention manifested on the rider's part to force him nearer to it; and, lastly,--he is enabled to see, and, consequently, avoid any danger in front, or on the other side of him. a horse may be coaxed and encouraged to go up to the object that alarms him; and, if the rider succeed in making him approach it, a beneficial effect will be produced: the horse will discover that his fears were groundless, and be less likely to start again from any similar cause. after the first impulse of terror has subsided, the animal, if properly managed, will even manifest an inclination to approach and examine the object that alarmed him: but, while he is so doing, the rider must be on her guard; for the least movement, or timidity, on her part,--the rustling of a leaf, or the passing of a shadow,--will, in all probability, frighten him again, and he will start round more violently than before. after this, it will be exceedingly difficult to bring him up to the object. astley, however, whom we have before quoted, says, that should the first trial prove unsuccessful, it must be repeated, until you succeed; adding, that the second attempt should not be made until the horse's fears have subsided, and his confidence returned. a horse that is rather shy, may, in many cases, be prevented from starting, by the rider turning his head a little away from those objects, which, she knows by experience, are likely to alarm him, as well before she approaches as while she passes them. a lady, certainly, should not ride a horse addicted to shying, stumbling, rearing, or any other vice: but she ought, nevertheless, to be prepared against the occurrence of either; for, however careful and judicious those persons, by whom her horse is selected, may be, and however long a trial she may have had of his temper and merits, she cannot be sure, when she takes the reins, that she may not have to use her defences against rearing or kicking, or be required to exercise her skill to save herself from the dangers attendant on starting or stumbling, before she dismounts. the quietest horse may exhibit symptoms of vice, even without any apparent cause, after many years of good behaviour; the best-tempered are not immaculate, nor the surest-footed infallible: it is wise, therefore, to be prepared. stumbling is not merely unpleasant, but dangerous. to ride a horse that is apt to trip, is like dwelling in a ruin: we cannot be comfortable if we feel that we are unsafe; and, truly, there is no safety on the back of a stumbling nag. the best advice we can offer our reader, as to such an animal, is never to ride him after his demerits are discovered: although the best horse in the world, may, we must confess, make a false step, and even break his knees. when a horse trips, his head should be raised and supported, by elevating the hand; and the lady should instantly throw herself back, so as to relieve his shoulders from her weight. it is useless to whip a horse after stumbling (as it is, also, after shying); for, it is clear, he would not run the risk of breaking his knees, or his nose, if he could help it. if a horse be constantly punished for stumbling, the moment he has recovered from a false step, he will start forward, flurried and disunited, in fear of the whip, and not only put the rider to inconvenience, but run the risk of a repetition of his mishap, before he regains his self-possession. it being generally the practice,--and a very bad practice it is,--for riders to correct horses after having made a false step, an habitual stumbler may be easily detected. when a horse, that is tolerably safe, makes a false step, he gathers himself up, and is slightly animated for a moment or two only, or goes on as if nothing had happened; but if he be an old offender, he will remember the punishment he has repeatedly received immediately after a stumble, and dash forward in the manner we have described, expecting the usual flagellation for his misfortune. when a horse evinces any disposition to kick, or rear, the reins should be separated, and held by both hands, in the manner we have described in a previous page. this should also be done when he attempts to run away, grows restive, or shies. the body should also be put in its proper balance for performing the defences: the shoulders should be thrown back, the waist brought forward, and the head well poised on the neck. every part of the frame must be flexible, but perfectly ready for action. [illustration] the principal danger attendant on the horse's rearing is, that the rider may fall over the croup, and, perhaps, pull the horse backward upon her. to prevent either of these consequences, immediately that a horse rises, slacken the reins, and bend the body forward, so as to throw its weight on his shoulders; and the moment his fore-feet come to the ground,--having recovered your position, gradually, as he descends,--correct him smartly, if he will bear it; or, endeavour to pull him round two or three times, and thus divert him from his object. the latter course may also be adopted to prevent his rearing, if the rider should foresee his intention. a horse that displays any symptoms of kicking, should be held tight in hand. while his head is well kept up, he cannot do much mischief with his heels. [illustration] if, however, when the rider is unprepared, in spite of her exertions he should get his head down, she must endeavour, by means of the reins, to prevent the animal from throwing himself; and also, by a proper inclination of her body backward, to save herself from being thrown forward. should an opportunity occur, she must endeavour to give him two or three sharp turns: this may also be done, with advantage, if she detect any incipient attempts in the animal to kick. a horse inclined to rear seldom kicks much: but he may do both alternately; and the rider should be prepared against his attempts, by keeping her balance in readiness for either of the opponent defences. she must also take care, that, while she is holding her horse's head up and well in hand to keep him from kicking, she do not cause him to rear, by too great a degree of pressure on his mouth. [illustration] exercises in the paces. although our limits will not permit us to enter into an elaborate detail of the lessons taken by a pupil in the riding school, it is right that we should give the learner a few useful hints on the rudiments of riding, and not devote our whole space to the improvement of those who have made considerable progress. while we endeavour to correct bad habits in the self-taught artist,--in the pupil of a kind friend, an affectionate relative, or of a mere groom,--to confirm the regularly educated equestrian in the true principles and practice of the art,--to remind her of what she has forgotten, and to improve upon the knowledge she may have acquired,--we must not forget those among our young friends, who, having never mounted a horse, are desirous of learning how to ride with grace and propriety, and who dwell at a distance, or do not feel inclined to take lessons, from a master. to such, one-third, at least, of our preceding observations are applicable; and we recommend an attentive perusal of what we have said, as to mounting, the aids, &c., before they aspire to the saddle. our other remarks they will find useful when they have acquired a little practice. a quiet and well-trained horse, and a careful attendant, should, if possible, be procured. a horse, that knows his duty, will almost instruct his rider; and if a friend, who is accustomed to horses, or a careful servant, accompany the pupil, there is little or nothing to fear, even in the first attempts. the friend, or groom, may also, by his advice, materially assist the learner in her progress. it would be needless for us to repeat our advice as to the manner of mounting, holding the reins, making the horse advance, stop, turn, &c., or the proper disposition of the body and limbs: all these, in her early lessons, the pupil should gradually practise. [illustration] the walk. let the pupil walk the horse forward in a straight line, and at a slow rate, supporting his head in such a manner as to make him keep time in the beats of his pace; but not holding the reins so tight as to impede the measurement of his steps, or to make him break into a trot on being slightly animated. the hand should be so held, that it may delicately, but distinctly, feel, by the operation of the horse's mouth on the reins, every beat of his action. if he do not exert himself sufficiently, he should be somewhat animated. should he break into a trot, he must be checked by the reins; but the pull must neither be so firm nor continued as to make him stop. the moment he obeys the rein and drops into a walk, the hand is to be relaxed. should he require animating again, the movement for that purpose must be more gentle than before, lest he once more break into a trot. [illustration] after walking in a straight line for a short time, the lady should practise the turn to the right and to the left; alternately using both hands in these operations, in the manner directed in a previous page. she must observe, that when she pulls the right rein in order to turn the horse on that side, the other hand must be relaxed and lowered, or advanced, to slacken the left rein and ease the horse's mouth, and _vice versá_. if the horse do not readily obey the hand in turning, or bring forward his croup sufficiently, he must be urged to throw himself more on the bit, by an animation of the leg or whip. the animations, during the first lessons, should be commenced with great gentleness, and the rider will easily discover, by a little experience, to what degree it is necessary to increase them, in order to procure obedience. this observation should be attended to, were it only for the pupil's safety; for, if she begin with her animations above the horse's spirit, his courage will be so raised as to endanger, or, at least, alarm her, and thus render what would otherwise be an agreeable exercise, unpleasant. after the pupil has practised walking in a straight line, and turning on either side, for a few days, she may walk in a circle, and soon make her horse wheel, change, demi-volt, &c. the circle should be large at first; but when the pupil has acquired her proper equilibrium, &c., it must, day by day, be gradually contracted. in riding round a circle, the inner rein should be rather lowered, and the body inclined inward. this inclination must be increased during succeeding lessons, as the circle is contracted, and the pupil quickens the pace of her horse. she must practise in the large circle, until she is able, by her hands and aids, to make the horse perform it correctly. the inside rein must be delicately acted upon; if it be jerked, at distant intervals, or borne upon, without intermission, the horse, in the former case, will swerve in and out, and, in the latter, the rider's hand, and the animal's mouth, will both become, in some degree, deadened; and thus their correspondence will be decreased. in order to procure correct action, the inner rein should be alternately borne on in a very slight degree, and relaxed the next instant,--the hand keeping exact time in its operations with the cadence of the horse's feet. the direction is to be frequently changed; the pupil alternately working to the right and the left, so as to bring both her hands into practice. [illustration] as soon as the rider becomes tolerably well confirmed in her seat and balance, and in the performance of the simple aids and animations, as well in large as small circles, she should begin to ride in double circles; at first of considerable diameter, but decreasing them, by degrees, as she improves. riding in double circles, is guiding the horse to perform a figure of ; and this, in the language of the riding-school, is effecting the large and narrow change, according to the size of the circles. the number of the circles may be increased, and the sizes varied, with great advantage both to the rider and the horse. they may be at some distance from each other, and the horse be guided to work from one to the other diagonally. thus, suppose he starts from _a_, he may be made to leave the upper circle at _e_, and enter the lower one at _d_; leave it at _c_, and enter the first again at _b_; and so continue for some time: then, beginning at _f_, to quit the lower circle at _c_, enter the upper one at _b_, leave it at _e_, and enter the lower circle again at _d_. thus, the position of the rider and horse are alternately changed, from working from the right to a straight line, thence to the left, thence to a straight line, and thence again to the right. to give an instance of riding in a greater number of circles, of different diameters, let the horse start from _a_ (see figure, p. ), and leave the upper circle at _b_, traversing to the outer small circle at _c_, passing round, so as to enter the inner circle at _e_, and going round, by _f_, to _g_; quitting it at _g_, and entering the lower circle at _h_; quitting the latter again, after passing round _i_, at _k_, and thence proceeding towards the outer small circle; entering at _l_, going round and entering the inner circle at _e_, passing round, and quitting it at _f_, to return again to _a_, by entering the upper circle at _m_. these exercises may be diversified in various ways; the pupil, for instance, may perform the upper circle, and one or both of the pair below, return to the upper circle, cross from that, diagonally, to the lower circle, quit it, at _h_ or _k_, to perform one of the middle circles, return to the lower circle again, pass thence to the other middle circle, and quit it at _c_ or _f_ (as the case may happen), to return to the upper circle again. nothing can be more beneficial than this variety of action; it tends at once to confirm the pupil in her seat; to exercise her in her balance and aids; and to render the horse obedient: while, if he be kept in only one direction, he will perform the figure mechanically, without either improving his own mouth and action, or the rider's hands, aids, or balance. [illustration] in the art of riding, working on a circle is called a _volt_; in angles, or a zig-zag direction, _changes reverse_; and on half a circle from a line, a _demi-volt_. these figures may first be performed separately; but there can be no objection to the demi-volt and changes reverse being afterwards embodied in the exercises on circles. as in the last figure, the lady may work from _a_ in the mode directed, for some time; then perform the variations, by going across from _a_ to _b_, and describe a demi-volt round by _c_ _e_ to _a_; then return from _a_ to _b_, and work a demi-volt, in an opposite direction, from _b_ to _a_: thence, the lady may proceed in a line, enter the lower circle at _d_, and re-commence riding in circles. the change reverse may at any time be performed, by quitting the upper circle at _e_ or _f_, and working on the traversing lines, so as to cross the lower circle at _g_ or _h_, and enter it at _i_ or _k_. in fact, these exercises may be varied, _ad libitum_; and the more they are diversified, the greater advantage the lady will derive from them, provided she persevere until she can perform one figure with accuracy, before she enter upon another that is more complicated. should the horse, in changing, yield his head, but withhold his croup so as to destroy the union of his action, or mar the perfection of the change, the rider should bring it to the proper position, or sequence, by an aid of the whip or leg, as the case may be. [illustration] the trot. [illustration] the lady should begin to practise this pace as soon as she is tolerably perfect in the walking lessons. it will be as well for her, at first, to trot in a straight line: she may then work in the large circle, and proceed, gradually, through most of the figures which she has performed in a walk. to make the horse advance from a walk to a trot, draw upwards the little finger of each hand (or that of the left hand only, when the pupil has advanced enough to hold the reins in one hand), and turn them towards the body: an animation of the leg or whip should accompany this motion. the trot should be commenced moderately: if the horse start off too rapidly, or increase the pace beyond the rider's inclination, she must check him by closing the hands firmly; and, if that will not suffice, by drawing the little fingers upwards and towards the body. this must not be done by a jerk, but delicately and gradually; and, as soon as the proper effect is produced, the reins are again to be slackened. if the horse do not advance with sufficient speed, or do not bring up his haunches well, the animations used at starting him are to be repeated. when the horse proceeds to the trot, the lady must endeavour to preserve her balance, steadiness and pliancy, as in the walk. the rise in trotting is to be acquired by practice. when the horse, in his action, raises the rider from her seat, she should advance her body, and rest a considerable portion of her weight on the right knee; by means of which, and by bearing the left foot on the stirrup, she may return to her former position without being jerked; the right knee and the left foot, used in the same manner, will also aid her in the rise. particular attention must be paid to the general position of the body while trotting: in this pace, ordinary riders frequently rise to the left, which is a very bad practice, and must positively be avoided. the lady should also take care not to raise herself too high; the closer she maintains her seat, consistently with her own comfort, the better. the canter. the whole of the exercises on circles should next be performed in a canter; which may be commenced from a short but animated trot, a walk, or even a stop. if the horse be well trained, a slight pressure of the whip and leg, and an elevation of the horse's head, by means of the reins, will make him strike into a canter. should he misunderstand, or disobey these indications of the rider's will, by merely increasing his walk or trot, or going into the trot from a walk, as the case may be, he is to be pressed forward on the bit by an increased animation of the leg and whip;--the reins, at the same time, being held more firmly, in order to restrain him from advancing too rapidly to bring his haunches well under him; for the support of which, in this position, he will keep both his hind feet for a moment on the ground, while he commences the canter by raising his fore feet together. [illustration] the canter is by far the most elegant and agreeable of all the paces, when properly performed by the horse and rider: its perfection consists in its union and animation, rather than its speed. it is usual with learners who practise without a master, to begin the canter previously to the trot; but we are supported by good authority in recommending, that the lady should first practise the trot, as it is certainly much better calculated to strengthen and confirm her in the balance, seat &c. than the canter. the lady is advised, at this stage of her progress, to practise the paces, alternately, in the various combinations of the figures we have described; performing her aids with greater power and accuracy in turning and working in circles, when trotting or cantering, than when walking. she should also perfect herself in her aids, the correspondence, and balance, by alternately increasing and diminishing the speed in each pace, until she attain a perfect mastery over herself and her horse, and can not only make him work in what direction, and at what pace, but, also, at what degree of speed in each pace, she pleases. the horse ought to lead with the right foot: should he strike off with the left, the rider must either check him to a walk, and then make him commence the canter again, or induce him to advance the proper leg by acting on the near rein, pressing his side with the left leg, and touching his right shoulder with the whip. his hind legs should follow the direction of the fore legs, otherwise the pace will be untrue, disunited, and unpleasant, both to horse and rider: therefore, if the horse lead with his near fore leg (unless when cantering to the left--the only case when the near legs should be advanced), or with his near hind leg, except in the case just mentioned--although he may lead with the proper fore leg--the pace is false, and ought to be rectified. [illustration] the gallop. no lady of taste ever gallops on the road. into this pace, the lady's horse is never urged, or permitted to break, except in the field: and not above one among a thousand of our fair readers, it may be surmised, is likely to be endowed with sufficient ambition and boldness, to attempt "the following of hounds." any remarks, on our part, with regard to this pace, would, therefore, be all but needless. [illustration] stopping and backing. the lady must learn how to perform the perfect stop in all the paces. the perfect stop in the walk, is a cessation of all action in the animal, produced instantaneously by the rider, without any previous intimation being given by her to the horse. the slovenly stop is gradual and uncertain. the incorrect stop is a momentary and violent check on the action in the middle, instead of the conclusion, of the cadence, while the fore legs are coming to the ground. the proper movements should be performed, by the rider, so that the stop may conclude correctly with the cadence. the firmness of the hand should be increased, the body be thrown back, the reins drawn to the body, and the horse's haunches pressed forward by the leg and whip, so that he may be brought to bear on the bit. [illustration] the stop in the trot is performed as in the walk: the rider should operate when the advanced limbs of the animal, before and behind, respectively, have come to the ground, so that the stop may be perfected when the other fore leg and hind leg advance and complete the cadence. the stop in the canter is performed by the rider in a similar manner: the time should be at the instant when the horse's fore feet are descending;--the hind feet will immediately follow, and at once conclude the cadence. in an extended canter, it is advisable to reduce the horse to a short trot, prior to stopping him, or to perform the stop by a _double arrêt_;--that is, in two cadences instead of one. it is necessary that the lady should learn how to make a horse _back_, in walking: to do this, the reins must be drawn equally and steadily towards the body, and the croup of the horse kept in a proper direction by means of the leg and whip. leaping. in riding-schools, ladies who never intend to hunt, are frequently taught to leap the bar. the practice is certainly beneficial; as it tends to confirm the seat, and enables the rider more effectually to preserve her balance, should she ever be mounted on an unsteady or vicious horse. [illustration] leaps are taken, either standing or _flying_, over a bar, which is so contrived as to fall, when touched by the horse's feet, if he do not clear it: it is placed at a short distance from the ground, at first; and raised, by degrees, as the rider improves. the standing leap, which is practised first, the horse takes from the halt, close to the bar. the flying leap is taken from any pace, and is easier than the standing leap, although the latter is considered the safer of the two to begin with; as, from the steadiness with which it is made by a trained horse, the master or assistant can aid the pupil at the slightest appearance of danger. [illustration] the position of the rider is to be governed in this, as in all other cases, by the action of the horse. no weight is to be borne on the stirrup; for, in fact, pressure on the stirrup will tend to raise the body, rather than keep it close to the saddle. the legs--particularly the right one--must be pressed closely against the saddle, and the reins yielded to the horse, so that the rider can just distinguish a slight correspondence between her own hand and the horse's mouth. the animations thus produced, and the invitation thus given, will make the horse rise. as his fore quarters ascend, the lady is to advance forward; the back being bent inward, and the head kept upright and steady. a moment before the horse's hind legs quit the ground, the body should be inclined backward; the rider taking care not to bear heavily on the reins, lest the horse force her hand, and pull her forward on his neck, or over his head, as he descends. when the leap is cleared, the rider should bring the horse together, if at all disunited, and resume her usual position. in the flying leap, the seat is to be preserved as in the standing leap; except, that it is needless, and, indeed, unwise, to advance the body as the horse rises: because, in the flying leap, the horse's position, especially in a low leap, is more horizontal than when he rises at the bar from a halt; and there is great danger of the rider being thrown, if she lean forward, in case the horse suddenly check himself and refuse the leap; which circumstance occasionally happens. the waist should be brought forward, and the body suffered to take that inclination backward which will be produced by the spring forward of the horse. the horse's head is to be guided towards the bar, and the reins yielded to him as he advances. the proper distance for a horse to run previous to the leap, is from ten to fifteen yards. if he be well trained, he may be suffered to take his own pace; but it is necessary to animate an indolent animal into a short, collected gallop, and urge him, by strong aids, to make the leap. [illustration] dismounting. the first operation, preparatory to dismounting, is to bring the horse to an easy, yet perfect, stop. if the lady be light and dexterous, she may dismount without assistance, from a middle-sized horse: but, it is better not to do so if the animal be high. the right hand of the lady, when preparing to dismount, is to receive the reins, and be carried to the off crutch of the saddle. the reins should be held sufficiently tight to restrain the horse from advancing; and yet not so firm as to cause him to back or rear; nor uneven, lest it make him swerve. the lady should next disengage her right leg, clearing the dress as she raises her knee; remove her right hand to the near crutch; and then take her foot from the stirrup. thus far the process is the same whether the lady dismount with or without assistance. if the lady be assisted, the gentleman, or groom, may either lift her completely off the saddle to the ground; or, taking her left hand in his left hand, place his right hand on her waist, and, as she springs off, support her in her descent. she may also alight, if she be tolerably active, by placing her right hand in that of the gentleman (who, in this case, must stand at the horse's shoulder), and descend without any other support. should there be any objection to, or difficulty found in alighting by either of these modes, the gentleman, or groom, may place himself immediately in front of the lady, who is then to incline sufficiently forward for him to receive her weight, by placing his hands under her arms, and thus easing her descent. [illustration] if the lady dismount without assistance, after the hand is carried from the off to the near crutch, she must turn round so as to be able to take, in her left hand, a lock of the horse's mane; by the aid of which, and by bearing her right hand on the crutch, she may alight without difficulty. in dismounting thus, without assistance, she must turn as she quits the saddle, so as to descend with her face towards the horse's side. [illustration] by whatever mode the lady dismounts, but especially if she do so without assistance, she should--to prevent any unpleasant shock on reaching the ground--bend her knees, suffer her body to be perfectly pliant, and alight on her toes, or the middle of her feet. she is neither to relinquish her hold, nor is the gentleman, or groom, if she make use of his ministry, to withdraw his hand, until she is perfectly safe on the ground. in order to dismount with grace and facility, more practice is required than that of merely descending from the saddle after an exercise or a ride. it is advisable to mount and dismount, for some days, several times, successively, either before or after the ride;--commencing with the most simple modes, until a sufficient degree of confidence and experience is acquired to perform either of these operations in a proper manner, with the mere aid of the assistant's hand. [illustration] concluding remarks. the lady should perform her first lessons with a snaffle bridle, holding the reins in both hands, and without a stirrup. when she has acquired some degree of practice in the balance, aids, and general government of the horse, she may use a bridle with double reins, and hold them in the left hand, managing them as we have directed in some of the preceding pages. if the lady be but in her noviciate in the art, we strongly advise her not to place too much reliance on her own expertness, or to attempt too much at first; but, rather, to proceed steadily, and be satisfied with a gradual improvement; as it is utterly impossible to acquire perfection in the nicer operations of riding, before the minor difficulties are overcome. the lady, in all cases, should recollect that her horse requires occasional haltings and relaxation. the time occupied in each lesson should be in proportion to the pace and animation in which it has been performed. if the exercise be varied and highly animated, the horse should rest to recruit himself at the expiration of twelve or fifteen minutes; when refreshed, by halting, he may be made to go through another of the same, or rather less duration, and then be put up for the day. it would be still better to make two halts in the same space of time;--the exercise taken in such a lesson being equal to three hours' moderate work. when the lessons are less animated, they may be made proportionally longer; but, it is always better, if the pupil err in this respect, to do so on the side of brevity, than, by making her lessons too long, to harass her horse. [illustration] whitehead and comp^y. printers, , fleet street, london. transcriber's note the following typographical errors have been corrected. diminutive poney changed to diminutive pony dependance changed to dependence inner rein is be changed to inner rein should be transcriber's note obvious typographical errors have been corrected. a list of corrections is found at the end of the text along with a list of inconsistently spelled words. oe ligatures have been expanded. the horsewoman [illustration: alice m. hayes] the horsewoman a practical guide to side-saddle riding by alice m. hayes author of "my leper friends." edited by m. horace hayes, f.r.c.v.s. (_late captain "the buffs"_) author of "points of the horse," "veterinary notes for horse-owners," "riding and hunting," etc. _second edition, revised, enlarged and photographic illustrations added._ london hurst and blackett, limited great marlborough street _all rights reserved_ printed by kelly's directories ltd., london and kingston. preface. the first edition of this book was the result of seven years' experience of riding hundreds of horses in india, ceylon, egypt, china and south africa; the most trying animals being those of which i was the rough-rider at my husband's horse-breaking classes. since that edition came out, i have hunted a good deal, chiefly, in leicestershire and cheshire, and have taught many pupils, both of which experiences were of special advantage to me in preparing this new edition; because english ladies regard riding, principally, from a hunting point of view, and the best way to supplement one's education, is to try to teach. the directions about side-saddles and seat are the outcome of practical work and fortunate opportunities; and i hope they will be as useful to my readers as they have been to my pupils. although i have ridden, when abroad, some of the worst buckjumpers that could be found in any country, i have never "cut a voluntary," thanks to the adoption of a seat and saddle which gave the necessary grip. of course i have had "purls," when horses have "come down" with me out hunting; and on one occasion in china, when a horse which i mounted for the first time, reared and came over. i have taken figs. to , to and fig. from _riding and hunting_, and figs. and from _points of the horse_. my husband has written chapter xxii. i have omitted the chapter on my _riding experiences_, as i thought it out of place in a purely teaching book. knowing the immense value of photographs in explaining technical subjects, i have gladly availed myself of the expert help of my husband and son in that form of illustration. i am greatly obliged to miss harding, miss burnaby, miss neil, the rev. g. broke, the rev. r. j. gornall, mr. clarence hailey of newmarket, the editor of _country life_ and the editor of _the queen_, for the admirable photographs and blocks they most kindly lent me. i regret that i inadvertently omitted to place the names of mr. clarence hailey and the gresham studio, adelaide, south australia, under the excellent photographs which are respectively reproduced in figs. and . this edition is practically a new book. _yew tree house, crick, rugby, th march, ._ contents. chapter i. beginning to ride to chapter ii. horses for ladies to chapter iii. side-saddles to chapter iv. bridles to chapter v. riding dress to chapter vi. mounting and dismounting to chapter vii. how to hold the reins to chapter viii. the seat to chapter ix. hands, voice, whip and spur to chapter x. first lessons in riding to chapter xi. riding across country to chapter xii. hacking to chapter xiii. riding without reins to chapter xiv. nerve to chapter xv. fences, country and gates to chapter xvi. hunting to chapter xvii. riding and hunting abroad to chapter xviii. walking foxhound puppies to chapter xix. kindness to horses to chapter xx. cross-saddle riding for ladies to chapter xxi. riding difficult horses to chapter xxii. names of external parts of the horse to list of illustrations. frontispiece--alice m. hayes. fig. page . man riding a horse over a fence in a side-saddle . miss burnaby's butterfly . miss neil's jackeroo . mr. vansittart's romance . irish mare, salary . polo pony, pat . arab pony, freddie . side view of saddle tree . underneath view of saddle tree . front view of saddle tree . underneath view of saddle tree and its webs . grip with improved leaping head . " ordinary " . hook for stirrup leather . leaping head too low down . side view of a properly made saddle . champion and wilton's extra stirrup case . capped stirrup-iron . slipper stirrup . the christie stirrup . foot caught . latchford stirrup . scott's stirrup . " " open . cope's stirrup . foot released by cope's stirrup . scott's stirrup . foot caught on off side . child mounted . child jumping without reins . foot caught, on account of its having been put into the stirrup from the wrong side . "head" of a single bridle: _a_, crown-piece; _b_, _b_, cheek-pieces; _c_, throat-latch; _d_, front or brow-band . unjointed snaffle . chain snaffle . ordinary snaffle with cheeks . nutcracker action of jointed snaffle on horse's mouth . action of unjointed snaffle on horse's mouth . action of a curb as a lever . properly constructed curb for ordinary hunter. side view . ward union curb bridle with half-moon snaffle . curb chain covered with india-rubber tube . chin-strap unbuckled . chin-strap buckled . curb reversed by horse throwing up his head, in the absence of a chin-strap . cavasson nose-band . standing martingale attached to rings of the snaffle . lord lonsdale's registered running martingale . maximum length of standing martingale . side view of horse's lower jaw . angle made by the cheeks of a curb, when the reins are taken up . view of under-surface of lower jaw . the hayes' safety skirt open for mounting . off side of the hayes' safety skirt . the hayes' safety skirt closed for walking . apron skirt open for mounting . the apron skirt closed for walking . riding dress for child . loose riding coat, too long . front view of good riding coat . back view of good riding coat . terai hat and norfolk jacket . pith hat and drill jacket . good driving coat . top of boot catching on safety bar flap . front view of riding under-bodice . back view of riding under-bodice . foot raised for mounting . ready to mount . dismounting without help . " with help . a rein in each hand . single reins crossed in one hand . " " " " " . double reins held separately in two hands . holding double reins crossed in one hand . double reins in left hand: one crossed, the other hooked up on middle finger . reins held in one hand in military fashion . off rein taken up by right hand from position shown in fig. . position of rider's legs at the walk . hooked back leg, the direction of the pressure of which is shown by the fore finger of the left hand . seat at the walk . length of stirrup . correct position of legs . leaning back . hunting whip . thong properly put on . " " " . " incorrectly put on . " not quite right . a practical bullfinch . spur-carrying whip used for high school riding . thorough-bred mare at a walk . preparing to rise at the trot, with stirrup at correct length . rising at the trot, with stirrup at correct length . preparing to rise at the trot, with stirrup too long . rising at the trot, with stirrup too long . canter, with right leg hooked back, and stirrup too long . good seat at canter or gallop . " " " " . " " " " . bad seat; right leg hooked back, stirrup too long, and foot "home" . miss emmie harding jumping wire . maximum amount of pressure on leaping head . position of legs in jumping . driving horse over jumps . a cut-and-laid fence . " " " during construction . a stake and bound fence . post and rails to close gap in hedge . posts and rails . " " " with ditch . midland stile . an oxer . wire in front of bullfinch . galway bank . side view of bank shown in fig. . galway bank . "cope and dash" wall . loose stone wall . low bank with ditch on both sides . view of country between yelvertoft and crick . grass on each side of the road . ordinary five-barred gate . bridle gate . gate with wooden latch . " " spring " which has to be drawn back . " " " " " " " pushed forward . double gate . a puzzle in gate-opening . ridge and furrow . " " " in the distance . haystack and gate . brook . pollard willows in the next field . the cottesmore drawing a covert . wire board . red flag . "'ware wire" . iron hurdle . wire on top of gate . pytchley puppy, mottley . front view of kennel coat . back view of kennel coat . puppies with bicycle . pytchley puppy, monarch . riding mountain zebra . external parts of horse . measurements of horse the horsewoman. chapter i. beginning to ride. instruction based on experience assists us in the attainment of all arts, and hastens the process of learning. although a specially gifted individual who has not been taught, may be able to sing in a pleasing style, no one has ever become an accomplished pianist without competent instruction; the former being somewhat in the position of a man, the latter in that of a lady, as regards riding. in all countries we find good untaught horsemen who have got "shaken into their seats" by constant practice, with or without a saddle, which in most cases is chiefly a protection to the animal's back. a side-saddle, on the contrary, is as artificial a production as a musical instrument, and a full knowledge of its peculiarities often cannot be acquired during a lifetime. here the great difference between men and women is that the former ride the horse; the latter, the saddle. the tyranny of the side-saddle would not be so marked as it is, if this article of gear were of a uniform pattern of the best possible kind. unfortunately it is generally built according to the fantastic ideas of fashionable makers who have no practical experience of side-saddle riding. unaided learners have such difficulty in acquiring security and grace of seat and good hands, that many ladies who have ridden all their lives, and have lots of pluck, are poor performers, particularly in the hunting-field. a beginner who is put on a properly made saddle and suitable horse, and is taught the right principles of riding, will make more progress in a month than she would otherwise do in, say, five years. the artificiality of side-saddle riding extends even to the horse, which must be free from certain faults, such as unsteadiness in mounting, that would not render him unsuitable to carry a male rider. competency in the instructor is of the first importance. nothing is more absurd than for a man who cannot ride well in a side-saddle, to try to unfold to a lady the mysteries of seat. such men, instead of getting into a side-saddle and showing their pupils "how to do it," generally attempt to conceal their ignorance by the use of stock phrases. if asked "why?" they invariably reply, "because it's the right thing to do," or words to that effect. i have never heard of women venturing to teach men how to ride. davis, a young groom we had, was a rare instance of a man who was thoroughly competent to teach ladies how to ride, because he had lots of practice in side saddles, and had ample opportunities of learning the theory of the art, while i was teaching pupils in a riding school, where i rode and jumped horses without a skirt. fig. shows davis riding in a side saddle over a gate, on my grey horse gustave. the fact of his not hanging on to the horse's head is a good proof that he had a strong seat. [illustration: fig. .--man riding a horse over a fence in a side-saddle.] the first lessons in balance and grip should be given by a competent horsewoman, and the riding-skirt should either be taken off or pinned back (for instance, with a safety-pin), in order that the lady instructor may be able to see and at once correct faults in the position of the legs, which is hardly a task fit for a man, even were he competent to perform it. after the pupil has acquired a good seat at the various paces and over small fences, her further education in the guidance and control of her mount might be entrusted to a competent horseman, preferably to a good cross-country rider, and not, as is frequently the case, to an ex-military riding-master, who, having been taught that a cavalryman's right hand has to be occupied with a sword or lance, considers that ladies should also adopt the one-handed system of riding! as a rule, the services of a good horseman are desirable when the pupil is fit to ride in the open, because he is more helpful than a lady rider in rendering prompt assistance on an emergency. besides, riding men usually know more about the bitting and handling of horses than women, and are therefore better able to impart instruction in this branch of equitation. it is as impossible to lay down a hard-and-fast rule as to the age at which a girl may be allowed to mount a pony or donkey, as it is to control the spirits and daring of a foxhound puppy. those who possess the sporting instinct and the desire to emulate the example of their hunting parents or friends, should certainly be encouraged and taught to ride as soon as they manifest their wish to do so. many hunting women allow their children to occasionally attend meets in a governess car or other suitable conveyance, and the budding sportsmen and sportswomen in the vehicle keenly follow the hounds, as far as they can do so, by the roads. on non-hunting days during the season, it is no uncommon sight in hunting districts to see ladies walking by the side of their tiny daughters who are mounted on ponies, and giving them instruction in riding. in cub-hunting time we may often see the good results of such lessons, when parent and daughter appear together, and the little girl on her pony follows the lead over small fences which "mother" knows can be negotiated by both with safety. twenty years ago, infants were often carried in panniers or baskets, one on each side of a led pony or donkey, with the supposed object of initiating them to horse exercise. the pannier training was followed by the little girls being placed on a pilch, and conducted about by a mounted groom with a leading-rein. this leading-rein system is absolutely worthless as a means for teaching horse-control to children, and should be used only as a safeguard with an animal which the young rider may be unable to hold. at whatever age a child is taught to ride, we should bear in mind that the exercise always entails a certain amount of fatigue, and should be taken in moderation. the many lamentable accidents which have occurred to young girls from being "dragged," show the vital necessity of supplying the small horsewoman with the most reliable safety appliances in saddlery and dress. the parent or guardian often overlooks this all-important point, and devotes his or her entire attention to securing a quiet animal. girls who do not possess any aptitude or desire to ride should not be compelled to practise this art, for, apart from the cruelty of subjecting a highly nervous girl to the torture of riding lessons, such unwilling pupils never become accomplished horsewomen. in the same way, a child who has no ear for music, and who is forced against her wish to learn the piano, never develops into a good player. the same remark applies to older ladies, who, with the usual angelic resignation of my sex, try their best to obey the command of their lords and masters by learning to ride. i fear that success in this art is seldom attained by ladies over thirty years of age, for by that time they have generally lost the dashing pluck of their youth; their figures have become set and matronly; and, as a rule, they find great difficulty in mastering the subtleties of balance and grip. also, a state of nervous anxiety is apt to add to the general stiffness of their appearance, and to suggest discomfort and irritability. we read from time to time alarming rumours of "spinal curvature" as a result of side-saddle riding, but i have never known a case of this to occur, either to old or young, although the near-side position of the leaping-head has a tendency to develop the muscles of the left leg more than those of the right leg, a fact which i discovered as soon as i began to ride a bicycle, after having had many years' experience on horses. riding alternately on a saddle with the leaping-head on the near side and on one with the leaping-head on the off side, would help to save the back and legs of a lady's horse. in cantering or galloping, the animal puts more weight on the leading fore leg, which is consequently more liable to suffer from the injurious effects of work than the non-leading leg; and, as we all know, to canter or gallop comfortably, a lady's horse has to lead with his off fore when the leaping-head is on the near side; and _vice versâ_. also, the vulnerable side of the back and withers of an animal which carries a side-saddle, is the one which is opposite to that on which the leaping-head is fixed. i am afraid that these practical considerations would not outweigh the dictates of fashion and the expense of having two saddles for one horse. the _young lady's equestrian manual_, which was published in , tells us that in the early part of the last century, a plan which was similar to the one in question was adopted of having movable crutches, "in order to afford a lady, by merely changing their relative positions, the means of riding, as she might please, on either side of her horse," and that this change of crutches was found advantageous. i do not think that a side-saddle built on this principle would look neat enough for modern requirements. chapter ii. horses for ladies. a hunter suitable for a lady should be temperate, sound, strong, safe and clever over fences, and fast enough for his country. as extra fatigue is entailed on a lady's mount by the side position of his rider, he should be quite lbs. above the weight he has to carry. as a rule, he should not be younger than seven, and should have had, at least, two seasons' hunting in which to learn his business. fig. shows us a typical high-class leicestershire hunter; and fig. , a good australian hunter. mr. vansittart's romance (fig. ) was one of the nicest of the many australian horses i rode, during my sojourns in india, between the years and . he was thoroughbred and was the winner of several races on the flat and across country. in those days, the idiotic custom of docking horses had not found favour in australia. [illustration: fig. .--miss burnaby's butterfly.] the requirements of the various hunting countries differ greatly. for the shires, a lady would want a well-bred galloper which can "spread himself out" over his fences, because there is almost always a ditch or a rail on one side or the other of the midland hedges. temperate he must be, because the fields in leicestershire, for instance, are so large that there is often a crowd of riders waiting their turn at the only practicable place in a jump, filing through a gate, or waiting _en masse_ in a cramped space at the covert side, and a horse who displays temper on such occasions is naturally regarded as a nuisance and danger by the rest of the field. besides, it must be remembered that nothing tends to spoil the nerves of any rider, man or woman, more than attempting to hunt in a big country like leicestershire on a bad-tempered horse, and especially on a refuser which has a tendency to rear. on no account should a lady ride a roarer, although the artful dealer may assure her that the "whistle" which the animal makes, will be a secret unknown to any one except herself and the horse. in the large majority of cases, roaring is a disease which increases with time, and the accompanying noise is distressing to all lovers of horses who hear it. kickers, even with red bows on their tails, should on no account be ridden; for they are a danger to man, woman, horse, and hound, and are the cause of many accidents every hunting season. it would appear that ladies--not those of the present day, let us hope--were not sufficiently careful in insisting on this last-mentioned requirement in their hunters; for captain elmhirst, writing in , says, "horse dealers, farmers, and--we are sorry to add--ladies must especially be avoided; for who ever saw a vicious kicker that was not ridden by one of these three?" [illustration: fig. .--miss neil's jackeroo.] apart from the danger to others, it is obvious that no sane woman would ride a horse which would be likely to kick her in the event of a fall. when i was in india, i had to get rid of a horse because of his vicious tendency in this respect. he was a good-looking australian, a clever fencer, and had a nice mouth, but so vicious that when we first got him, he used to rush open-mouthed at any one who went near him, except his syce. my husband took him in hand, and he became sufficiently civilised to take carrots from me. when i rode him, i found he was always looking out for an excuse to "play up," or to lash out at other horses. in order to test his jumping, a lightweight gentleman rider one day rode him over a made course. the animal blundered badly at one of the fences, threw his rider, and while the man was lying on his back on the ground the horse deliberately put a fore foot on him, and would have doubtless broken his back, if my husband, who was standing near the fence, had not pulled the vicious brute off. we got rid of him, and i heard shortly afterwards that he had killed his jockey, a native, in a hurdle race at calcutta, by the adoption of similar vicious tactics. it would have been criminal to have taken such a horse as that into any hunting-field. [illustration: fig. .--mr. vansittart's romance.] a hunter should have good shoulders (long, flat, and oblique) and a comparatively high forehand; for horses which are lower in front than at the croup are uncomfortable to ride, and there is generally some difficulty in retaining the side saddle in its place on their backs. the height of a hunter will depend greatly on that of his rider. for instance, a tall woman with a "comfortable" figure would be suitably mounted on a horse hands or more high, whereas a light girl of medium height would find an animal of say - as much as she could comfortably manage; for we must remember that big horses, as a rule, take a good deal of "collecting." a small horse generally stays better, can come out oftener, is handier, and not so likely to hurt one if he falls. for the shires i do not think a lady's hunter should be much under - , and he must be a big jumper and well bred. hunting women, as a rule, do not pay much attention to the good looks of their horses, for hunting is not a church parade, and the finest performer over a country is always admired and coveted whatever his appearance may be. the same may be said about colour; although, as a grey horse is conspicuous enough to be singled out of a crowd of bays and browns, a lady who is at all "impartial" in her seat would do well to select a horse wearing a less noticeable tint of coat. as rearing is the worst vice a lady's mount can possess, no horse who has a tendency to rear should be ridden by a woman, as from her position in the side-saddle she is far more helpless than a man on such an animal. a lady's hunter should not have too light a mouth, but should go nicely up to his bridle, and not resent the use of the curb, which is sometimes necessary in avoiding danger. he should on no account be inclined to pull. a perfect hunter is like a thorough good sportsman, who regards his share of bangs and blows as all in the day's work. as the majority of hunters have their own likes and dislikes about jumping certain kinds of fences, a lady should know precisely what to expect from her mount and what his jumping capabilities are, before taking him into the hunting-field, which is not the place for experiments. i had many pleasant days out hunting with the quorn, belvoir, cottesmore, and north cheshire on the irish mare, salary (fig. ). in summing up the requirements of a hunter for either man or woman, i cannot do better than to quote the following sound advice from whyte melville: "people talk about size and shape, shoulders, quarters, blood, bone and muscle, but for my part, give me a hunter with brains. he has to take care of the biggest fool of the two, and think for both." [illustration: fig. .--irish mare, salary.] to be capable of safely crossing a stiff country, a horse requires at least a few falls--which had best be shared by a man--and much experience, which cannot be obtained without time. hence, i would advise no lady, however well she may ride, to hunt on a young horse, who will always require a good deal of time in which to learn his business. it is certainly no pleasure to be on the back of a horse who is inclined to drop his hind legs in the ditch on the other side, or to "chance" a post and rails. many young horses are so reluctant in going at a fence, and in "spreading themselves out," that they are no good except when ridden by a man who can use his legs, which is a feat that a woman is unable to accomplish. a perfect _hack_, whether for man or woman, is far more difficult to find at the present time than a good hunter, and when found will command a fancy price. the ideal hack is a showy, well-bred animal of the officer's charger type, which has been thoroughly well "made" in all his paces. such an animal appears at his best when executing a slow, collected canter, with arched neck and looking full of fire and gaiety, though ridden with an almost slack rein, and intent only on rendering prompt obedience to the slightest indication of his rider. in germany and france the hacks ridden in the tiergarten and bois, for instance, are thoroughly "made," and compare very favourably with the pulling, half-broken brutes on which many ladies appear in the row. in former times, before the introduction of the leaping-head made hunting possible for women, more attention was paid to the breaking and training of hacks than at present, on account of the great demand for "complete ladies' horses." the advent of the bicycle for ladies has almost abolished hacking as a pastime and means of exercise, and hence the difficulty in finding a well-broken animal for this work. the best substitute is, i think, a good polo pony, because the requirements of that game demand that the animal should be temperate, handy, and capable of being ridden with a slack rein. the polo pony pat (fig. ) is a perfect hack, with a snaffle-bridle mouth, and so steady and clever that he can canter round the proverbial sixpence. he has played well in several polo matches. [illustration: fig. .--polo pony, pat.] although many ladies in this country have never enjoyed the luxury of riding a high-caste arab, we occasionally see these animals in the row and hunting-field. the sight of an "arabi tattoo" to an old indian like myself, revives many pleasant memories of delightful equine friends in the east. the arab is _par excellence_ the most perfect hack for a lady, and i think it would be ungrateful of me in this new edition to omit the portrait of my arab pony freddie (fig. ), even though the cut of the riding-habit is out of date. although a good horsewoman may be satisfied with any animal which is fit for a man, provided he is steady to mount and does not require an unusual amount of collecting; it is not safe to put an inexperienced or nervous rider on a horse that has not been taught to carry a habit, which a groom can do by riding the animal with a rug or dark overcoat on the near side, and letting it flop about. horses rarely object to the presence of a skirt, though i have known cases in which the animal went almost wild with terror when the right leg was put over the crutch. it is, therefore, wise to accustom a horse to the skirt and leg by means of a groom. the fact of a lady having to ride in a side-saddle, puts her under the following three disadvantages as compared to a man in a "cross-saddle": she is, as a rule, unable to mount without assistance; she cannot apply the pressure of the right leg to the side of the horse; and it is difficult for her "to drop her hands" in order to pull him together. the judicious application of a crop or ash-plant (my husband, though an irishman, swears by a neilgherry cane) may partly make up for the absence of a leg on the off side; but, however well a woman may ride, she should not have a horse which "plays up" when he is being mounted, or sprawls about and requires constant pulling together when she is in the saddle. [illustration: fig. .--arab pony, freddie.] the style of hack should be in thorough keeping with that of the rider. a slight lady has a greater range of choice in horseflesh than a portly dame, who would be best suited with a weight-carrying hunter or compact cob. the height might vary from - to - . i hardly think that even a small woman would look well on a pony which is less than - . a beginner should be put on a lazy animal, whether horse or pony, that will condescend to trot or canter for only a short distance, which will be quite far enough for its inexperienced rider. many parents who are supervising the riding instruction of their children, look too far ahead when selecting a mount. instead of purchasing a steady, plodding, though not unwilling slave, they invest in a second- or third-stage animal, which is absolutely useless to a beginner, because it wants more riding than she can give it. such a young lady needs a thoroughly steady animal, no matter how old or ugly it may be, and she will probably learn more about riding on it in a month, than she would in a year on a horse which would have to be led by a groom, on account of its unsteadiness. a good donkey is a most useful conveyance for young girls, as he can generally be trusted to take things quietly, and will not unduly exert himself without being called upon to do so. for the benefit of inexperienced riders, i must not omit to mention that the measurement of horses is taken from the highest point of the withers to the ground. a horse is measured by hands and inches, not, as in humans, by feet and inches. a hand is in., therefore an animal of hands is ft. in height; hands, ft. in.; hands, ft. in.; and one of - --which would be a gigantic height in a saddle horse, but not in a cart horse--would be ft. in. high. a woman of medium height, like myself, who stands ft. in. in "stocking feet"--a height, by-the-bye, which is accorded to the venus de medici (we might make use of that fact on being termed "little")--would find a horse of - or - a very nice, useful height; though she need by no means limit herself to height with any horse which is springy and active, does not require a great amount of collecting, is easy in his paces, and has a good mouth. the bigger a horse is, the more fatiguing do we find him to ride, if his mouth, manners, and paces are not thoroughly "made." the late esa bin curtis, a celebrated arab horse dealer, in speaking of big buck-jumping walers, said, "god hath not made man equal unto them," and, however well a woman may ride, it is no pleasure to find herself breathless and exhausted in her efforts to control such animals. on the other hand, many small horses which play up are most difficult to sit, for, although they may not take their rider's breath away by their display of physical power, they are like quicksilver on a frying-pan, and highly test our agility in the matter of balance and grip. i cannot conclude this chapter on ladies' horses without expressing my strong condemnation of the senseless and cruel practice of docking riding horses, which has nothing in its favour except its conformance to fashion, and which in this case is disgusting cruelty. thoroughbred horses are never docked, whether they be used for racing, steeplechasing or hunting, and it is a monstrous thing to mutilate unfortunate half-breds, especially mares, and condemn them to be tortured by flies, and to have the most sensitive parts of their bodies turned into a safe camping ground for insects, simply because these poor animals have a stain in their pedigree. in summer time, when flies are troublesome, we may often see a long-tailed brood mare at grass protecting both herself and her suckling foal from these irritating pests by the free use of her tail; but docked mares are deprived of this means of driving away insects, and have been known to unwittingly injure their young by kicking and plunging violently in their efforts to rid themselves of attacking flies. the unfortunate foal is unable to take its natural nourishment in peace, and consequently does not thrive so well as does the offspring of an unmutilated mother. one of the feeble arguments set forth in favour of docking is, that it prevents a hunter from soiling the coat of his rider by his tail; but, as my husband truly says in his new edition of _veterinary notes for horse owners_, "this idea is an absurdity, because an undocked horse cannot reach his rider with his tail, if it is banged short, which is a fact known to all military men. besides, mud on a hunting coat is 'clean dirt.'" the actual pain caused by the operation is trivial as compared with the life-long misery to which tailless horses are subjected, for we deprive them for ever of their caudal appendage, and the ridiculous stump sticking up where the tail ought to be, is as ungraceful as it is indecent, especially in the case of mares. our friend, the late dr. george fleming, says in _the wanton mutilation of animals_, "nothing can be more painful and disgusting to the real horseman and admirer of this most symmetrically formed and graceful animal than the existence of this most detestable and torturing fashion; and those who perform the operation or sanction it are not humane, nor are they horsemen, but rather are they horse-maimers and promoters of the worst form of cruelty to animals. let anyone go to rotten row during the season, and satisfy himself as to the extent to which the fashion prevails, and the repulsive appearance which otherwise beautiful horses present. the astonishing and most saddening feature of the equestrian promenade is the presence of ladies riding mares which are almost tailless. surely a plea might be entered here for the use of a fig-leaf to clothe the nude." i feel sure that if my sex had a voice in the matter, this wholesale mutilation of mares would soon cease. dr. fleming, writing in the _nineteenth century_ over twenty years ago, said: "i hope and believe that when the horse-loving public and the friends of animals begin to realise how cruel and degrading some of these mutilations are, they will not be long in having them suppressed"; but the horse-lovers do not appear to have done much in this matter so far. this writer tells us that "the ancient welsh laws protected it" (the horse's tail) "from harm at the hands of man," and that "an ecclesiastical canon was issued in order to prevent it from being damaged in the eighth century." cannot our laws do something to protect mares, at any rate, from the cruelty of docking in the twentieth century? dr. fleming, in reviewing the history of docking from its earliest times, tells us that he saw an old print "which represented a very emaciated horse, with a fashionable tail, standing in a luxuriant meadow, his body covered with flies, which prevented him from grazing, and from which he could not free himself; a notice board in the field announced that horses were taken in to graze, those with undocked tails at six shillings a week and docked ones at eighteenpence." when voltaire visited this country in the first quarter of the eighteenth century, he was so impressed with our barbarity, especially in the cutting off the tails of our horses, that he could not refrain from giving vent to one of his pungent sarcasms in the following epigram:-- "vous fiers anglois barbares que vous êtes coupez la tête aux rois et la queue à vos bêtes; mais les françois, polis et droits, aiment les lois, laissent la queue aux bêtes et la tête à leurs rois." chapter iii. side-saddles. description of a side-saddle--saddle tree--covering of a side-saddle--panel--the leaping head--stirrup leather--safety bars--safety stirrups--girths--balance strap--breast-plate--weight of a side-saddle--shape of the seat of a side-saddle--the saddle must fit the rider--crupper--numdahs and saddle cloths--side-saddles for children--saddling a horse--prevention of sore backs--cleaning a side-saddle. description of a side-saddle. a properly made side-saddle consists of the following parts:-- . a _tree_, which is a wooden frame that is strengthened with steel and iron, and is provided with an _upper crutch_ (_near head_) and _webs_. . a _leather covering_, which comprises the _seat_, _off flap_, and _safe_, which is the trade term for the near flap. . a _panel_ (or cushion), which is placed underneath the tree, so as to protect the animal's back from the hurtful pressure of the unprotected tree. . a _leaping head_, which helps the lady to obtain security of seat. . a _stirrup leather_. . a _stirrup iron_. . a _stirrup bar_ for the stirrup leather. . _girths._ . _balance strap._ to these ordinary components of a side-saddle, a _breast-plate_ and _saddle cloth_ or _numdah_ are sometimes added. on rare occasions a _crupper_ is used. [illustration: fig. .--side view of saddle tree.] saddle tree. the tree (figs. , , , and ) consists of two _bars_ (side boards), which are connected together in front by the _pommel_, and behind by the _cantle_. the pommel is made up of a _gullet plate_, which is a steel arch that goes over the withers, and its coverings. the _points of the tree_ are connected, one on each side, to the front ends of the bars and to the gullet plate, and they point downwards. the _stirrup bar_, which should be of a safety pattern, is attached to the near bar, a little lower down than the leaping head. [illustration: fig. .--underneath view of saddle tree.] the _webs_ (fig. ) of a tree are strong hempen bands which cover the open space down the centre of the tree, and are nailed, at one end, to the pommel, and at the other end to the cantle. they are tightly stretched, in order to give the rider a comfortable seat, and to keep her weight off the horse's backbone. the _office of the bars of the tree_ is to evenly distribute the rider's weight, by means of the panel, over the muscles which run along each side of the horse's backbone, and which form the only suitable bearing surfaces for the purpose in question. no weight should fall on the animal's backbone, because it is very sensitive to pressure, even when the pressure is well distributed. in order to obtain this indispensable condition of evenly-distributed pressure, the bars of the tree of a saddle which is to be made for a particular horse, should accurately fit the bearing surfaces of the back upon which they rest, and should be well away from the backbone; in fact, the distance between the bars should not be less than four inches. when the rider is in the saddle, a fair amount of space should exist between the gullet plate and the withers, so that no injurious pressure may fall on the top or sides of the withers, which are particularly susceptible to inflammation from this cause. in order to avoid giving an undue height to the pommel, with the object of keeping it off the withers, it should be "cut back" (fig. ), although this cutting back need not be carried to the excessive extent that is sometimes practised. in a man's saddle, the pommel is generally straight. [illustration: fig. .--front view of saddle tree.] the _points of the tree_ should accurately fit the parts upon which they rest, so as to prevent any "wobbling" of the saddle. the near point of the tree (fig. ) is usually made long, with the idea of helping the saddle to keep in its place; but if this is done, the off point should be comparatively short, because, if both points be long, they will be apt to become pulled further apart in the event of the horse turning round sharply, as he would have to do in a narrow stall, or even when refusing a jump. the _upper crutch_, or, as it is called by saddlers, the _near head_, is a more or less upright projection which is placed on the near side of the pommel, in order to give support to the rider's right leg. the slope and bearing surface of this near head should be regulated, so that (as we shall see further on) the lower part of the rider's right leg may extend downwards along the shoulder of the horse, and that the lady may be able to exert full pressure against the near head, by the inward rotation of her thigh (p. ). the height of the near head depends on the thickness of the rider's thigh, because a fat leg will require a higher crutch than a thin one. if the upper crutch be unduly long, it will push the skirt up and give it a bad appearance. we must, however, bear in mind that if it is too short for its legitimate purpose, it will afford an insecure grip to the right leg, which is a consideration that must not be neglected. before the leaping head (p. ) was invented, side-saddles were provided with an _off crutch_, which was placed on the off side of the pommel. in a very old saddle which i saw, it took the form of an upright handle, which was placed parallel to the direction of the withers, and which apparently was intended to be grasped by the right hand of the rider in case of emergency. in a saddle of mine, which is about years old, the off crutch projects horizontally to the right. fifty years ago, the off crutch was almost always upright, and was often placed so close to the near crutch that the rider was able to get a fairly firm support for her right leg by jamming it between these two crutches. as the great utility of the leaping head received increasingly wide recognition, the off crutch underwent a gradual process of decadence, because it is of no benefit to a rider who understands the use of a leaping head. indications of its previous existence may occasionally be seen, especially abroad, in the form of an entirely useless thickening of the off side of the pommel. [illustration: fig. .--underneath view of saddle tree and its webs.] covering of a side-saddle. the seats of good saddles are generally of pigskin, and the flaps of cow-hide. the fact of the seat being of buckskin or other rough leather will increase the lady's security in the saddle, but may somewhat detract from the smartness of her appearance, especially if the leather is white. i can see no objection to the seat of the saddle being of rough brown leather. formerly, all side-saddles had a "stuffed safe," in which the front part of the near flap is padded, but nowadays it is rarely, if ever, used by smart hunting people. it is evidently the surviving remains of the voluminous pad, upon which ladies used to rest the lower part of their right leg in the days before the leaping head was invented. ornamental stitching about the seat and safe of a saddle is equally out of date. panel. it is all important that the panel should be so carefully stuffed, that the rider's weight will be evenly distributed over the bearing surfaces of her animal's back. even if this is done to perfection, the desirable arrangement will last for only a short time, if the stuffing is of the wrong kind of material. instead of using fine wool (best flock), incompetent or unduly economical saddlers often employ flock which is largely composed of cotton waste, and, consequently, when they stuff or re-stuff a saddle, lumps, from the absorption of perspiration, are apt to form in the panel, with the frequent result of a sore back. although the stuffing of side-saddles is too technical a subject to attack in these pages, i would fail in my duty to my readers if i omitted to advise them always to go to a first-class saddler for a new saddle, or to get an old one re-stuffed, which should be done as may be required, preferably, before the beginning of the hunting season, supposing that the saddle has seen a good deal of service. it is often thought that expert saddlers are to be found only in london; but if a saddler is clever at his trade, the fact of his having a shop in a good hunting district, must be a great advantage to him in studying the requirements of riding people. the leaping head was invented about by m. pellier, who was well known in paris as a riding master. its object is to help the rider to obtain security of seat by a fixed surface against which she can press the front and lower part of her left thigh. before the invention of the leaping head, ladies had to rely entirely on the right leg for grip, and consequently few, if any of them, were able to hunt. mr. john allen, who wrote _modern riding_, in , tells us that "the left leg is nearly, if not wholly useless; for though a stirrup is placed on the foot, the only use of it is to ease the leg a little, which, for want of practice, might ache by dangling and suspension." the following are the chief points to be considered about a leaping head:-- * * * * * . its curve should be so arranged that the harder a lady presses against it, the more will her left leg be carried inwards, so that the flat (inside) of her knee may be brought in contact with the flap of the saddle (fig. ). an ordinary leaping head is curved, as a rule, in such a manner that when a rider seeks to obtain support from it by the pressure of her left leg, this limb is carried outwards, and she is able to get a _point d'appui_ only at the extreme end of this projection (fig. ). it is evident that the closer the left leg is to the saddle, the firmer will be the seat. besides, the more the left leg is brought outwards, the more weight will be put on the near side, which, as we shall see further on, is the very thing a rider ought to avoid. . the leaping head should be close to the upper crutch (figs. and ). the usual plan of putting it much lower down (fig. ) tends to bring the weight to the near side, a fact which can be easily tested, especially in trotting, by trying the improvement in question, which was suggested to me by mr. ford of rugby, who is a very competent and experienced saddler. [illustration: fig. .--grip with improved leaping head.] . usually, the leaping head is attached to the tree by means of a screw, which is an arrangement that has the disadvantage of not allowing the leaping head to be placed close to the upper crutch. if the leaping head is riveted on to the tree (as in figs. and ), which is the better plan, it can be placed as near as we like to the upper crutch, and it will have no tendency to wobble about, as it would be apt to do, if it was fixed by a screw. as the screws of the leaping heads of cheap saddles are almost always made of annealed iron, which is a form of cast-iron, it is not an uncommon occurrence for the screw of one of these saddles to break, which is more apt to occur at a critical moment, as for instance when the horse is jumping or "playing up," than when he is going quietly. on the only occasion i ever rode over a fence in one of these cheap walsall saddles, the screw broke, but luckily i "remained." . when the leaping head is a fixture, the bearing surface which it presents to the rider's left leg should be in the same direction as the upper part of that limb, so that the pressure on it may be evenly distributed. by placing a straight stick under the leaping head, and holding it in the direction which the left thigh would occupy, when the rider is mounted, we can easily see if the bearing surface is in the proper position. . as an aid to security of seat, it is well to have the under surface of the leaping head and the off side of the upper crutch covered with rough brown leather, which, we should bear in mind, is concealed from view, when the lady is in the saddle, and consequently it will not detract from the smartness of her appearance. [illustration: fig. .--grip with ordinary leaping head.] stirrup-leather. the stirrup-leather, which is on the near side, should always be attached to a bar, and not, as is sometimes done, to the balance strap (p. ); because, in this case, its length will be subject to frequent variation, not only when the saddle is put on different animals, but also when the horse gets slack in his girth from work. when it is fixed to a bar, which should always be of the safety kind, no alteration in the correct length of the leather will take place. the arrangement for undoing the stirrup-leather is in the most convenient position when it is close to the iron, and not in proximity to the stirrup-bar, as is the case in a man's hunting saddle. if the leather is used in the latter manner, the buckle will be apt to hurt the inside of the lady's left leg, when she brings the knee close to the flap of the saddle; and it will be more inconvenient to alter the length of the leather, when the lady is mounted, than if the buckle or hook was low down. the hook (fig. ) is better than a buckle, because it lies flatter and is easier to arrange. [illustration: fig. .--hook for stirrup leather.] safety bars. a safety bar is a bar which will release the leather, in the event of the rider falling from the saddle, and at the same time getting her foot caught in the stirrup-iron. to be reliable, it should do this, whether the lady falls on the near side, or on the off side. the best safety bar which has up to the present been put before the public, is undoubtedly champion and wilton's latest pattern. it releases with absolute certainty on both sides, and can be fitted in such a manner that it will allow the flat of the left leg to be brought close to the saddle. as safety bars and safety stirrups are the only means for ensuring a lady from being dragged by her stirrup, and as champion and wilton's safety bar is more reliable in this respect than any safety stirrup, it stands to reason that it should be used with every side-saddle. with this bar on a saddle, there is of course no objection to the use of a safety stirrup, in order to make "doubly sure." it is usually fitted with a thick flap (fig. ), which prevents the left leg from being brought close to the saddle; but this objection can be removed by the adoption of mr. ford's plan of greatly reducing the size of the flap of the bar, and making it fit into an opening cut out of the near flap of the saddle (fig. ). i have found this arrangement a great improvement on the old clumsy flap, the lower edge of which is unpleasantly apt to catch on the rider's boot, especially when trotting. i shall discuss the failings of safety stirrups further on. [illustration: fig. .--leaping head too low down.] [illustration: fig. .--side view of a properly made saddle.] owing to the position which a lady occupies in a side-saddle, she is often inclined to draw her foot back to such an extent that she would pull the leather out of the bar, if the action of the bar was similar to that of a man's saddle; but a champion and wilton's bar is so devised that it will free the leather, only when the pressure of the left leg is removed from the flap of the bar, in which case the lady will have quitted the saddle. hence, as long as she keeps her seat, she cannot pull the leather out of the bar by drawing back her left leg. the only thing which prevents this safety arrangement from being absolutely perfect, is the liability the leather has of falling out of the bar and becoming lost, in the event of the rider severing her connection with the saddle, in which case the retaining action of the flap on the bar will cease. for this emergency, messrs. champion and wilton provide side saddles with a small leather case which contains an extra stirrup, and which is attached to the near side of the saddle, so that it is concealed from view, when the lady is mounted (fig. ). the weight of the stirrup and case is only half a pound. [illustration: fig. .--champion and wilton's extra stirrup case.] safety stirrups, both for men and ladies, have been in existence for hundreds of years. apparently the first variety of this contrivance was the capped stirrup-iron, either simple (fig. ) or in the form of a slipper (fig. ), which was provided with an arrangement on its sole that prevented the toe of the slipper from yielding to downward pressure, but allowed it to revolve upwards, and thus to facilitate the release of the foot, in the event of a fall. the simple capped stirrup was used by ancient spanish cavaliers, and is still employed by many of their descendants in america. in apparent oblivion of these facts, the christie stirrup (fig. ), made on the same principle, was patented about four years ago. besides its undue weight ( - / lb. as compared to the / lb. of the slipper stirrup), it has the further disadvantage of allowing the possibility of the toe being caught between its bars (fig. ). want of neatness appears to have been the only cause of the abandonment of the capped stirrup, which is certainly safer than any of its successors, the first english one of which appears to have been the latchford safety stirrup (fig. ). it consists of two irons; the small one, which is placed within the large one, being made to come out the moment the foot gets dragged in it, in which case it parts company with its fellow, and is then liable to get lost. the scott safety stirrup (figs. and ) has not this fault, for its inner iron always retains its connection with the outer one, and can be replaced without delay, if the lady after her tumble desires to remount. the latchford, scott ordinary, and cope safety stirrup (figs. and ) open only one way, so that the foot, when correctly placed in any of them, may not be liable, as in the event of a fall, to be forced through the outer iron, in which case the lady would almost to a certainty get hung up if her saddle was not provided with a safety bar. in these stirrups, the side of the "tread,"[ -*] which ought to be to the rear, is generally indicated by the fact of its being straight, while the other side is curved (fig. ). this is done in fig. , by the word "heel." [illustration: fig. .--capped stirrup-iron.] [illustration: fig. .--slipper stirrup.] [illustration: fig. .--the christie stirrup.] [illustration: fig. .--foot caught.] [illustration: fig. .--latchford stirrup.] [illustration: fig. .--scott's stirrup.] [illustration: fig. .--scott's stirrup open.] * * * * * the _chief faults of so-called safety stirrups_ are as follows:-- . they may catch on the foot, on account of getting crushed by coming in violent contact with a tree, wall or other hard object, or by the horse falling on his near side. when i was living in india, i had a scott safety stirrup jammed on my foot in this manner, by a horse which i was riding, making a sudden shy and dashing against a wall. the iron was so firmly fixed to my foot by this accident, that it could not be taken off until, after much pain and trouble, my foot was freed from both boot and stirrup. had i been unseated, i would probably have been killed, because my saddle had not a safety bar. [illustration: fig. .--cope's stirrup.] . those which open only when the foot is put into them in one way, are apt to cause a fatal accident if put in the wrong way, which may easily happen from carelessness or ignorance (p. ). the methods (straight edge of "tread," or word "heel") used with these stirrups, to indicate the proper side on which to put the foot into the iron, may convey no meaning to persons who are not well acquainted with the details of side-saddle gear, and in moments of hurry and excitement may be easily overlooked. . any ordinary safety stirrup which is used without a safety bar may cause a lady to get "hung up," if she is thrown to the off side and her heel gets jammed against the saddle in the manner shown in fig. . [illustration: fig. .--foot released by cope's stirrup.] . if the outer iron is small in comparison to the size of the foot, the rider may easily get dragged. . if the outer iron of a scott's reversible safety stirrup is large in comparison to the size of the foot (as in the case of a young girl), the rider may get dragged in the event of a fall, by the foot going through the stirrup. accidents caused by a foot going through a stirrup have often occurred to men from falls when hunting and steeplechasing. [illustration: fig. .--scott's stirrup.] some ladies think it "smart" to ride with a man's ordinary stirrup iron, or (madder still) with a small racing stirrup, attached to a leather which does not come out. i once saw a lady who adopted this senseless plan fall and get dragged. by an extraordinary piece of good luck she was saved from a horrible death by her boot coming off. all that can be said in favour of safety stirrups, is that they are less liable to cause accidents than ordinary stirrups. the fact remains, that the danger of being dragged by the stirrup can be entirely obviated only by the use of an efficient safety bar. [illustration: fig. .--foot caught on off side.] girths. in referring to this subject, i cannot do better than give the following extract from _riding and hunting_:-- "girths, while fulfilling their duty of efficiently keeping the saddle on a horse's back, should be as little liable as possible to hurt the surface on which they press. hence they should be broad, soft, and constructed so that their tendency to retain sweat between them and the horse's skin may be reduced as far as practicable. they can best fulfil the last-mentioned important condition when they are absorbent and open in texture. it is evident that sweat retained between the girth and the skin will have the effect of the moisture of a poultice in rendering the part soft and unusually liable to injury from pressure or friction. "as a material for girths, wool is superior to cotton or leather, because it is softer, more absorbent, and does not become so hard on drying after having become wet. the only drawback to ordinary woollen girths is that they are not sufficiently ventilated, an objection which has been overcome in specially constructed woollen girths that are sold by many good saddlers. "the plan of giving ventilation by slitting up a broad leather girth into several narrow straps, or by using a number of cords of cotton or of plaited or twisted raw hide often acts well; but its adoption may give rise to girth-galls, if care is not taken to smooth out, when girthing up, any wrinkles there may be in the skin underneath the girth. it is evidently more difficult for the pressure to be evenly distributed by these cords, than by a broad girth which consists of one piece. "great care should be taken to keep girths clean and soft, and to oil them from time to time, if they be of leather. "i prefer a broad girth attached at each side by two buckles to two narrow girths. the fitzwilliam girth, which consists of a broad girth with a narrow one over it, is handy with a martingale or breast-plate, through the loop of which the narrow girth can be passed." in a fitzwilliam girth, the pressure of the narrow one on the centre of the broad one, makes the edges of the broad girth incline outwards, and thus apparently helps to save the horse from becoming girth-galled. girths should always be buckled high up on the near side, in order to prevent their buckles hurting the rider's left leg, by making an uncomfortable bump in the flap of the saddle; and also to allow plenty of space on the girth straps of the off side, for shortening the girths as may be required. balance strap. this is a leather strap which is attached to the off side of the rear part of the saddle, at one end; and to a strap close to the girth straps of the near side, at the other end. before the days of safety bars, its near side end was usually buckled on to the stirrup leather, which was a faulty arrangement, not only as regards the leather (p. ), but also because its degree of tightness was a constantly varying quantity which entirely depended on the amount of pressure that the rider put on her stirrup. the presence of a properly tightened balance strap helps to prevent lateral movement on the part of the saddle. also it counteracts, to some extent, the excess of weight which almost every rider puts on the near side of her saddle; this good effect being due to the fact that the off attachment of the balance strap is farther away from the centre line (axis) of the animal's body than the near attachment; and consequently the pull of the balance strap on the off side acts to greater mechanical advantage than the pull on the near side. breast-plate. the breast-plate is attached at one end to the girth or girths, and at the other end to the staples of the saddle. its use is to prevent the saddle shifting backwards, as it might do if the girths were slack, especially if the animal was very narrow waisted. even with a well-shaped horse, a breast-plate is often useful on a long day and in a hilly country. it is much in favour with hunting ladies. staples are small metal loops which are fixed to the front part of the saddle-tree. weight of a side-saddle. in order to avoid giving a horse a sore back and consequently disabling him for the time being, it is essential to have the tree rigid, so that the weight may remain evenly distributed over the bearing surfaces of his back, which rigidity cannot be obtained without having the tree fairly heavy. the necessary width and length of saddle and strength of upper crutch and leaping head are also questions of weight. hence if we require a saddle for rough and dangerous work like hunting, we must not entertain the ridiculous idea of having a light saddle, so that it may look particularly smart. a fair weight for a side-saddle is one-seventh of the weight of the rider, that is to say, two pounds for every stone she weighs, with a minimum weight of lbs. shape of the seat of a side-saddle. the level-seated fad which some fashionable saddlers try to impress on their inexperienced customers is an absurdity from a hunting point of view, because no one out of an idiot asylum would care to sit for several hours on a perfectly level surface, whether it was a saddle or a chair. the discomfort which such an attempt would entail, is due to the fact that the nature of our anatomy requires a certain amount of dip in that portion of the seat upon which most of the weight falls. the level-seated idea is purely theoretical, because no saddles are made in conformance with it. for hunting we must have comfort, without, of course, any undue violation of smartness. besides, a certain amount of dip in the seat, similar to that shown in fig. , is an aid to security. a cutback pommel (fig. ) improves the look of a side-saddle without diminishing the rider's grip. the seat on the near side should be eased off, so as to allow the rider's left leg to get close to the horse; and the near side, close to the cantle, should be made a little higher than the off side, in order to correct any tendency there may be to sit too much over on the near side. the saddles which i used on romance (fig. ), and freddie (fig. ), about fifteen years ago, were not called "level seated," but we may see that they are quite as neat and smart as those of the present time, which fact shows that very little change has been made in the shape of side-saddles since the eighties. the saddle must fit the rider. the two great points in this requirement are that the upper crutch and leaping head should be in a suitable position, and the saddle sufficiently long, so as to be about a couple of inches clear of the back of the rider's seat. the right position of the upper crutch and leaping head can be determined only by experiment. if the tree is so short as to allow any undue weight to fall on the cantle, the horse will naturally run the risk of getting a sore back. the height of the upper crutch and the length of the leaping head will vary according to the thickness of limb. we shall see on pages to , that the position of the upper crutch which will suit a lady who hooks back her right leg, will not be applicable to one who carries her right foot forward; and _vice versâ_. a saddle which suits a rider's style of equitation will invariably fit her, if its tree and its crutches are long enough. hence, if more than one member of a family wants to ride and there is only one horse, a saddle which will fit the biggest will suit all the rest. crupper. the office of a crupper is to prevent the saddle working forward on the horse's back, which it will not do if the animal is of a proper shape and the girths sufficiently tight. in ancient days, when riding-horses were more rotund than they are now, and saddles were not so well made, cruppers were generally used, but within the last forty years they have gone entirely out of fashion. a crupper is not to be despised in out-of-the-way parts abroad, when we have to ride animals of all sorts and sizes, and when we have only one saddle. numdahs and saddle-cloths. as the principles which regulate the use of these appliances with cross saddles are the same as those with side saddles, i cannot do better than give the following extract from _riding and hunting_, with one or two additions: "saddle-cloths are generally made of felt, and their primary object is to prevent the panel from soaking up sweat and becoming thereby soiled and more or less spoiled. the term numdah or numnah, which is applied to felt saddle-cloths, is derived from a hindustani word that signifies 'felt.' a saddle-cloth should be as thin as efficiency in serving its purpose will allow it to be, so that it may give as little play as possible to the saddle. although the fitting of the saddle should as far as practicable be limited to the adjustment of the shape of the tree and to regulating the amount of stuffing in the panel; the use of a numdah with a saddle which does not fit the horse or which is not sufficiently stuffed, is often a valuable makeshift when necessity gives no other choice. the employment of an ordinary saddle-cloth is accompanied by the slight disadvantage, that the middle line of the back which is covered by the saddle is deprived of the benefit of air circulating along it, by the fact of the saddle-cloth resting on it. an attempt to remedy this objection is sometimes made by cutting a longitudinal piece out of the centre of the saddle-cloth. here the cure is worse than the complaint, because injurious pressure will be exerted by the edges of the aperture thus made, especially if the edges are bound with tape, to preserve them from fraying out. "a saddle-cloth should extend about two inches beyond the bearing surfaces of the saddle, so that its edges may not give rise to unequal pressure on the back, which would occur if the saddle-cloth was shorter than the tree. "saddle-cloths made of one thickness of leather admirably answer the purpose of saving the panel from injury; but for hunting and other long-continued work they have the objection of retaining perspiration, instead of soaking it up, as felt ones do. it is a good plan before using a new saddle-cloth, to rub a little neat's-foot oil into its rough (upper) surface, which is much more absorbent than its smooth side. if neat's-foot oil is not at hand, cod liver oil or castor oil may be used. the oily application can be repeated, according as the leather gets dry." as a substitute for a panel, messrs. champion and wilton have devised a numdah lined with spongio-piline and covered with linen, to be used with a saddle, the underneath part of the tree of which is covered with leather. the chief advantage of this numdah is that a saddle which is provided with two or more of them, can always present a dry bearing surface to the horse's back. a stout numdah of this kind can be used with a high withered animal, and a thin one with a horse which has thick withers. its inventors claim that it distributes the weight better and keeps the saddle steadier than a panel. side-saddles for children. as children are unable to take the necessary precautions against accident, no considerations of fashion or smartness should outweigh those of safety for the little ones. even the old handle at the off side of the saddle (p. ) might be a valuable help to a very young beginner. the seat of the saddle and the bearing surfaces of the upper crutch and leaping head had best be of rough leather, and particular attention should be paid to the construction of the upper crutch and leaping head, so that a maximum of grip may be obtained, which is a point that is deplorably neglected by many of the makers of side-saddles for children. children can ride in any comfortable saddle, supposing that it is not too small. i have taught very small girls to ride in my saddle and jump without reins on a horse - high. a lady who attended one of these lessons, which were held in ward's riding-school in london, made two sketches of her little friends which, by the kind permission of the editor of the _queen_, in which paper they appeared, i am able to reproduce. we may see that the small horsewoman is sitting well over her hurdle and is riding with comfort in a saddle that is far too large for her. the lady friend of the two little girls wrote about our work in the _queen_ of june , , as follows: "i made the acquaintance of the authoress of _the horsewoman_ one morning in ward's manège, where i went to see two little friends taking their riding lesson from her. it was a novel and pretty sight. mrs. hayes has inaugurated a method of instruction hitherto unpractised, and which must recommend itself to any one who sees the extraordinary progress which accompanies it. the children are dressed in gymnastic costume (fig. ) and it was the third time only that they had been put on a horse--a large horse it was too, and as patient and kindly as it is possible to be. the first thing mrs. hayes teaches is how to sit. by the pupils wearing no skirt she can see at a glance whether the position of the legs is right, and this is all-important. [illustration: fig. .--child mounted.] "by the time i saw the children they were galloping gaily round and round, with radiant faces and flying hair, sitting better into the saddle, even at this early stage, than many a woman who considers herself a complete rider. they are not allowed to hold the reins; the hands lie in the lap, holding the whip across the knees, which accustoms them from the first to keep their hands low, besides teaching them to keep their seat without 'riding the bridle,' as so many people do. the horse is driven with long reins, like those used in breaking by captain hayes, and managed by him with the dexterity of a circus master. after a few turns at the canter, wicker hurdles are put up, and, to my astonishment, the children, without the slightest fear or hesitation, settled themselves down, leaned well back, and popped over without raising their hands or altering the position of their legs (fig. ). they had been over the same hurdles at the second lesson, and too much can hardly be said in praise of a system that has such results to offer in so short a space of time. mrs. hayes herself, as may be supposed, looks every inch a 'workman' in the saddle. she has ridden in most quarters of the globe; and, as if she sighed for other worlds to conquer, and were _blasée_ about all sorts and conditions of horses, she rode a zebra at calcutta which was broken within an hour by her husband sufficiently to be saddled and bridled. her experiences on his back are entertainingly set forth in her book _the horsewoman_, which is well worth the reading, not only for its hints on horsemanship, but for the many amusing sporting anecdotes. her other book is one which one would hardly have expected from a woman whose life has been in so great a measure devoted to horses and sport. it is called _my leper friends_. a friend indeed they must have thought her, with her devoted sympathy and repeated endeavour to alleviate the sufferings from the most distressing and repulsive malady in the world. another book is now on the stocks, the preparation of which keeps captain and mrs. hayes for the present in england. that done, they will soon start again on their travels, england being a place that never holds their roving spirits long. the curiosities, and beautiful stuffs and feathers, which they have gleaned in many lands will have to disappear into big boxes and be warehoused, until some fresh store of adventures recalls the wanderers home. "meanwhile she teaches the art, of which she is indeed a past mistress, in a way which it is a pleasure and profit to see; and i can most conscientiously advise any mother to send her girls to her if she wishes them to at once become perfect horsewomen while remaining perfect ladies." [illustration: fig. .--child jumping without reins.] we had so many charming pupils during our short stay in london, that i shall always regard this teaching period as one of the pleasantest events of my life. i often think about them all, and wonder how they are getting on with their riding, and, as their various difficulties have been present in my mind while writing this book, i have done my best to solve them all as clearly as possible. we put up small hurdles and got our tiny pupils to ride over them, because i saw that they had grasped my explanation and demonstrations of balance and grip, and it made them mightily proud of themselves, and keen on learning all they could about riding, when they found that they could sit over fences with ease. although the school hurdles were small, our grey horse which they rode was a big jumper, which could negotiate a five-foot posts and rails with ease, so the children who rode him were unconsciously carried a far greater height than they imagined, for we all know that a big jumper makes a fine leap, even over small fences. in teaching children to ride we should always provide them with saddles in which they can obtain the grip that we ourselves require, and should see that the length of the stirrup-leather is correct. we should remember that the young horsewoman, however tiny she may be, requires to be provided with the best and safest appliances in the matter of stirrup, safety bar, and safety skirt, that we can give her; and i may say that if i had a daughter i would never allow her to ride unless her saddle was provided with champion and wilton's safety bar, which i use, and unless she wore my skirt or the safe little coat shown in fig. . if reliance has to be placed on a safety stirrup in the absence of champion and wilton's safety bar, only the capped stirrup-iron (fig. ) or the slipper stirrup (fig. ) should be employed. i have no faith in one-sided safety stirrups for young girls, for we cannot put old heads on young shoulders in the matter of careful attention about placing the foot in the safety stirrup from the proper side. a groom may put the stirrup correctly on the foot of his young mistress before starting out with her for a quiet ride, but these men naturally know nothing about the correct length of the stirrup leather, and during the ride the stirrup may come out of the foot and be caught haphazard by the rider, with the result that, should she become unseated and thrown from her saddle by her horse suddenly shying with her, she may be dragged and killed. i therefore cannot too strongly recommend all mothers to see that their daughters' saddles are provided with reliable safety bars, and of course that the children are provided with safety skirts, for a safety bar is useless if the rider's skirt catches on the upper crutch and holds her suspended. in july a young daughter of a well-known nobleman was dragged by her stirrup and killed while exercising her pony in a paddock. as the stirrup was of a one-sided pattern, it must have been negligently placed the wrong way (fig. ) on the foot of the poor girl, who was only fifteen years old. i heard that rider, saddle, and pony were all buried on the same day. i would not be inclined to blame the groom if he were inexperienced, as many are, in the one-sidedness of so-called safety stirrups. another equally terrible accident occurred in september , when a young lady was dragged by her stirrup and killed while hacking along a road at kilhendre, near ellesmere, with her groom in attendance. as far as i could gather from the newspaper report of this sad accident, a butcher's cart driven rapidly round a corner caused the lady's pony to shy suddenly and unseat her, with the result that she was dragged by her stirrup and killed. at the inquest which was held on the body of this poor girl, the jurymen devoted their entire attention to the character of the animal she was riding, and as the father of the young lady, who had bred the pony himself, was able to show that it was a staunch and reliable animal, the usual verdict of accidental death was given. these twelve good men and true absolutely ignored the stirrup, which had been the sole cause of this awful occurrence, and concentrated their entire attention on the innocent pony she rode. saddling a horse. as a horse's loins are ill fitted to bear weight, the saddle should be placed as far forward as it can go, without interfering with the action of his shoulder-blades, the position of the rearmost portion of which is indicated by the "saddle muscle," which is a lump of muscle below the withers. the saddle can be placed about three inches behind it. instead of putting the saddle on the exact part of the back it is to occupy, it is best to place it a few inches too far forward, and then to draw it back, so as to smooth down the hair under it, and thus make it comfortable for the animal. the front girth is first taken up, and then the next one, which is passed through the loop of the martingale or breast-plate, supposing that two girths of equal width are used. to prevent any wrinkles being made in the skin under the girths, and to make the pressure even, the groom should shorten the girths to about half the required extent on one side, should finish the tightening on the other side, and should run his fingers between the girths and skin in order to smooth out any wrinkles, the presence of which would be liable to cause a girth-gall. as girthing up, when the lady is mounted, will have to be done on the off side, sufficient space for that purpose will have to be left on the girth-straps of that side. after the rider has been put up, the girths should be again tightened, and it is generally advisable to repeat this operation after she has ridden her horse for a short time, especially if the animal has the trick of "blowing himself out." with a fitzwilliam girth, the narrow girth which goes over the broad one is passed through the loop of the martingale or breast-strap, supposing that one or both of these appliances are used. the balance strap should be tightened to a fair extent, though not quite so much as the girths, because the portion of the ribs over which it passes, expands and contracts far more than that encompassed by the girths. [illustration: fig. .--foot caught, on account of its having been put into the stirrup from the wrong side.] if a saddle-cloth be used, the groom, before girthing up, should bring the front part of the cloth well up into the pommel with his forefinger or thumb, so as to prevent it from becoming pressed down on the withers by the saddle. prevention of sore backs. the chief causes of sore backs brought on by side-saddles are:-- . badly fitting saddles. the fitting of saddles has already been discussed in this chapter. . neglect in girthing up sufficiently tight. as the tightness of the girths diminishes according to the duration and severity of the work, the girths should be taken up after the lady has ridden for some time. for ordinary hacking, tightening the girths after, say, five minutes' riding will generally be sufficient; but this operation should be repeated, for instance at the meet, when out hunting. knowledge of the necessity of having the girths tight enough, to prevent the saddle wobbling, will enable the rider to take the necessary precautions against putting her animal on the sick list from this cause. . undue weight on the near side, which is generally caused by too long a stirrup, by the leaping head being placed too low down, and by rising at the trot for too long a time. . mismanagement of the horse after his return to the stable, which is a subject i will allude to further on. cleaning a saddle. the leather work of a saddle should be kept clean and soft, with the stitches clearly defined, and not clogged up by grease or dirt. no stain should be left on a white pocket-handkerchief or kid glove, if it be passed over any portion of the leather. beeswax may be used to give the saddle a polish; but it should be sparingly applied and should be well rubbed in, for it is apt to make the leather very sticky. nothing but specially prepared or good white soap (made into a thick lather) should be employed to clean the leather work, except a little lime-juice or lemon-juice to remove stains. the use of soft soap permanently darkens leather. a small amount of saddle dressing may be put on once a month, in order to keep the leather soft and pliable. the steel work should, of course, be kept bright. footnotes: [ -*] the "tread" is the part of the stirrup-iron on which the sole of the rider's boot rests. chapter iv. bridles. description of a bridle--varieties of bits--snaffles--curbs--pelhams-- nose-bands--reins--martingales--adjustment of the bridle. as there is no difference between the bridles used by men and those employed by ladies, i have compiled this chapter from my husband's _riding and hunting_, to which i beg to refer my readers for any further information they may require. description of a bridle. a bridle consists of a bit, head-stall and reins. the _bit_ is the piece of metal which goes into the animal's mouth; the _head-stall_ or "_head_" is the leather straps which connect the bit to the horse's head; and the _reins_ enable the rider to use the bit. some persons incorrectly restrict the term "bit" in all cases to a curb. this particular application of the word is from custom allowable in the expression "bit and bridoon," in which the bit signifies a curb, and the bridoon a snaffle. [illustration: fig. .--"head" of a single bridle: _a_, crown-piece; _b_, _b_, cheek-pieces; _c_, throat-latch; _d_, front or brow-band.] [illustration: fig. .--unjointed snaffle.] [illustration: fig. .--chain snaffle.] [illustration: fig. .--ordinary snaffle with cheeks.] [illustration: fig. .--nutcracker action of jointed snaffle on horse's mouth.] [illustration: fig. .--action of unjointed snaffle on horse's mouth.] [illustration: fig. .--action of the curb as a lever.] the _names of the different leather parts of a bridle_ (fig. ) are as follows:-- the _crown piece_ (_a_) passes over the horse's poll. the _cheek pieces_ (_b_ _b_) connect the crown-piece with the bit. the _throat-latch_ (_c_), which is usually pronounced "throat-lash," passes under the animal's throat, and serves to prevent the bridle from slipping over his head. [illustration: fig. .--properly constructed curb for ordinary hunter. side view.] the _front_, _forehead-band_ or _brow-band_ (_d_) goes across the horse's forehead, and has a loop at each end, for the crown-piece to pass through. "front" is the trade name for this strap. the _head-stall_ or _head_, which is the trade term, is the name given to all this leather work. varieties of bits. bits may be divided into snaffles, curbs and pelhams. snaffles. a _snaffle_ is a bit which acts on a horse's mouth by direct pressure, and not by leverage. [illustration: fig. .--ward union curb bridle with half-moon snaffle.] a _bridoon_ is the term applied to the snaffle of a _double bridle_, which is a bridle that has a curb and a snaffle. a double bridle is often called a "bit and bridoon." [illustration: fig. .--curb chain covered with india-rubber tube.] [illustration: fig. .--chin-strap unbuckled.] [illustration: fig. .--chin-strap buckled.] the best kinds of snaffles are the half-moon snaffle which has an unjointed and slightly curved mouth-piece (fig. ); and the chain snaffle (fig. ). the objection to the jointed snaffle (fig. ), which is the kind generally used, is that it has a nut-cracker action on the animal's mouth, instead of exerting a direct pressure, as shown respectively in figs. and . a chain snaffle should always have a hancock's "curl bit mouth cover," which is a roll of india-rubber that curls round the mouth-piece, and prevents it hurting the mouth. in the absence of this india-rubber arrangement, we may cover the mouth-piece with two or three turns of wash-leather, which can be kept in its place by sewing. [illustration: fig. .--curb reversed by horse throwing up his head, in the absence of a chin strap.] in all cases a snaffle should be thick and smooth, so that it may not hurt the horse's mouth. curbs. a curb is a bit which acts as a lever, by means of the curb-chain that passes under the animal's lower jaw (fig. ). fig. shows a properly constructed curb for a horse with an ordinary sized mouth. the best curb which is in general use is the ward union (fig. ). the curb-chain should have broad and thick links, so that it may not hurt the lower jaw. this precaution can be supplemented by a leather guard or by passing the curb-chain through a rubber tube (fig. ). a chin-strap (figs. and ) is necessary to keep the curb in its place (fig. ). pelhams. a pelham is a bit which can act either as a curb or a snaffle, according to the reins which are taken up. unless a lady thoroughly understands the handling of the reins, she should not use a pelham, because her tendency when riding will be to feel both reins, in which case the snaffle reins will pull the mouth-piece high up in the mouth, which, as we shall see further on, is the wrong position for the action of the curb. hence, only one pair of reins (either those of the snaffle or those of the curb) should be brought into play when using a pelham. nose-bands. the use of a nose-band is to keep the horse's mouth shut, in the event of his holding his jaws wide apart, so as to resist the action of the bit. to be effective, it should be fixed low down. the cavasson nose-band (fig. ) is neat and serviceable. [illustration: fig. .--cavasson nose-band.] reins. reins should be fairly broad (say, / inch) and moderately thin, so that they may be handled with efficiency and ease. with a double bridle, the curb reins are sometimes made a little narrower than the snaffle reins, which is an arrangement i like, because it greatly helps the rider to distinguish one pair of reins from the other. with the same object, i like the snaffle reins to be connected by a buckle, and the curb reins by sewing. [illustration: fig .--standing martingale attached to rings of the snaffle.] [illustration: fig. .--lord lonsdale's registered running martingale.] martingales. the only kinds of martingales which we need consider are the _standing martingale_ which is buckled on to the rings of the snaffle (fig. ) and the _running martingale_ (fig. ). following in the footsteps of that high priest of irish horsemanship, mr. john hubert moore, i pin my faith to the standing martingale, as it has enabled me on many occasions to ride, in peace and quietness, horses which without it would have been most dangerous "handfuls." its great virtue, when properly put on, is to prevent the animal getting his head too high. if he be allowed to do this and is unruly, whether from vice or impetuosity, our power over him will more or less vanish, and besides he will not be able to accurately see where he is going, in which case we will be lucky if we escape without an accident. the famous steeplechase horse, scots grey, would never win a race without one of these martingales to keep his head in proper position. when lengthened out to its maximum effective length (fig. ), it cannot possibly impede the horse in any of his paces or in jumping. it is, of course, well to accustom a horse to its use before riding him in it over a country. it at least doubles one's power over a puller, and is invaluable for controlling and guiding a "green" animal. [illustration: fig. .--maximum length of standing martingale.] it is a common idea that the chief use of a running martingale is to prevent a horse raising his head too high. we find, however, that when our best flat race and steeplechase jockeys and other good horsemen ride with this martingale, they almost invariably have it so long, that it has little or no effect in keeping the head down. when a horse is prevented from raising his head too high by a standing martingale attached to the rings of the snaffle, he is punished by the tension of the martingale being transmitted to the mouth-piece of the snaffle, if he tries to get his head in the air; but the moment he brings his head down and bends his neck, cessation of the painful pressure will reward him for his obedience. this automatic means of dispensing punishment and reward is so accurate in its working, that a horse soon learns the lesson set before him. but with a running martingale, the rider, in order to reward the horse for bringing his head into proper position, would have to slacken out the reins with a promptness that would be seldom attainable, and with an entire disregard of control over the animal. in fact, with a running martingale, adjusted so as to prevent the horse from getting his head too high, the reins would have to perform the dual office of keeping down the head, and of regulating the speed, which duties could seldom be successfully combined. with a standing martingale, however, the rider can safely relinquish the adjustment of the height of the animal's head to the martingale, and consequently he is not forced to check the horse's speed, when he wants to get his head down. some good horsemen, on finding that the running martingale did not perform its supposed office efficiently, have discarded it altogether, and thenceforth have trusted to their hands to act as their martingale. in this they were right not to use a running martingale to keep a horse's head down; but they were wrong in thinking that keeping the head down was the only, or even the principal, use of this article of gear. if we closely examine its action, we shall find that the great value of this martingale is to aid the rider in turning a horse by keeping his neck straight, when cantering or galloping, which object is greatly facilitated by the opposite rein exerting a strong pressure on the neck. [illustration: fig. .--side view of horse's lower jaw.] in regulating the length of the running martingale, we should carefully guard against making it so short that it would interfere with the horse's mouth, when he is not carrying his head unnaturally high; for such interference could have no good result, and would probably impede the animal's movements. although it is impossible to determine with mathematical accuracy the exact length of this martingale, we find in practice that it should not be shorter than a length which will allow it, when drawn up, to reach as high as the top of the withers. lengthening it out another three or four inches will generally be an improvement. the use of a running martingale shorter than the minimum i have just laid down, more or less irritates the horse; because, even when he holds his head in correct position, he cannot escape from its disagreeable pressure. the employment of a short running martingale for 'cross country work is a very dangerous proceeding; for if the rider does not leave the reins loose when jumping, the horse will be almost certain to hurt his mouth, and consequently he will be afraid to face his bit, or will become unmanageable from pain, either eventuality being highly dangerous to horse and rider. [illustration: fig. .--angle made by the cheeks of a curb, when the reins are taken up.] adjustment of the bridle. the bit is placed in the horse's mouth, because there is a vacant space (of about four inches in length) on the gums of his lower jaw, between his back teeth and tushes (canine teeth or eye teeth), as we may see in fig. . a mare has no tushes, or possesses them in only a rudimentary form. the tushes of a horse begin to appear through his gums when he is about years old. if horses had not this convenient gap (interdental space) in their rows of teeth, we would probably have to guide and control them by means of reins attached to a nose-band, which is a method practised by many american cow-boys when breaking in young horses. owing to the fact that their nose-band (hackamore) does not hurt the animal's mouth, and that it gives all the necessary indications, excellent results, i believe, are obtained with it. [illustration: fig. .--view of under-surface of lower jaw.] as the pressure of the bit should be an indication of the wishes of the rider and not a means of inflicting pain, the bit should rest on the least sensitive portion of the interdental space, namely, on the part just above the tushes; because there the jaw-bone is broader than higher up, and is consequently better able to bear pressure. hence, with a double bridle, the mouth-piece of the curb should be just clear of the tushes of the horse or gelding (fig. ), and about one inch above the corner front teeth of the mare; in fact, as low as possible without making the curb-chain liable to slip over the animal's chin. the fact of the mouth-piece of the curb being in this position has the further advantage, that it prevents the curb-chain from working up on the sharp edges of the lower surface of the jaw. the curb-chain in fig. rests in what is called the "chin-groove," which is the depression that covers the bone immediately below the point at which the lower jaw divides into two branches (fig. ). the edges of these branches are sharp, but that portion of the bone which is between their point of separation and the front teeth, is smooth and rounded. the snaffle, whether by itself or in conjunction with a curb, should be placed sufficiently low, so as not to wrinkle the corners of the mouth. the tightness of the curb-chain should in no case exceed that which will allow the cheeks of the curb the amount of "play" shown in fig. . with a light mouthed horse, the curb-chain might be let out another hole or two. the throat-latch should be loose, so that it may not exert any pressure on the animal's wind-pipe. chapter v. riding dress. habits and safety skirts--breeches--underclothing--hats--boots--gloves-- riding under-bodice, hunting ties, collars, cuffs, and ties. habits and safety skirts. the choice of the material for a riding habit is naturally limited to the price which the purchaser intends to pay for the garment. i would, however, strongly counsel the selection of the best possible cloth, as only from it can a really successful habit be constructed. tailors who make a habit for five guineas, doubtless give the best value they can for that sum; but when we consider that a good melton cloth costs about a guinea a yard, we can understand that it is impossible to get material of that class in a cheap garment. all good habit makers will admit--though in most cases very reluctantly--that melton is by far the best material for riding habits which are intended for hard wear, as in hunting; but it possesses, in their eyes, the very grave fault of longevity, for a good melton habit lasts for several years. rough-faced cloths, such as cheviot, frieze, and serge, retain moisture like a blanket, and shrink after exposure to much rain; but melton, which is of a hard and unyielding texture, and has a smooth surface, is almost impervious to wet. the virtues of this material are much appreciated by experienced hunting women for hard wear. there is "a something" about the hang of a perfectly-fitting melton habit which no other material seems to possess; and whatever the elements may be doing, it never appears out of place. on the other hand, if it is badly cut, it exposes the shortcomings of its maker in the most ungenerous manner, and is so obstinate that all the altering in the world will not make it forgive the insult to its cloth. a melton habit, therefore, requires to be cut by one who is an artist at his trade. another advantage possessed by this cloth is that it is far easier to clean than any rough-faced material. an experienced saddler has drawn my attention to the fact that the dye from skirts made of cheap shoddy material, is apt to come off and seriously injure the leather of the saddle. the colour of a habit is a matter of taste on which i can offer no advice, except that a lady who requires to wear her habit until it exhibits signs of old age, would do well to select an inconspicuous tint. i have always found dark blue the most serviceable shade, because it does not fade, even in tropical climates, nor does it, like black, turn green and rusty-looking before it is worn out. besides, it admits of a new skirt or new coat, as the case may be, without emphasising the disparity in age of its companion so much as is the case with lighter shades, such as grey for instance. some years ago, various shades of green, brown, and claret colour were worn, but they seem to have been superseded by dark grey and dark blue, at least in the shires, though since the death of our lamented queen victoria, black has been greatly used. [illustration: fig. .--the hayes' safety skirt open for mounting.] in selecting a melton habit, a heavy make called treble melton should be chosen for the skirt, and a lighter one of the same material, which all good habit makers keep in stock, for the coat; because, in order to hang well, a skirt must be of heavy cloth, which would, of course, be too hard and unyielding for a riding coat. we require a "kind," pliable cloth for our coats, to allow us absolute ease and freedom of movement, but our skirts, even for wear in the tropics, should be of a thick, heavy make. when i went out to india in , safety skirts were unknown, or, at least they were not constructed by creed, of conduit street, who made my habits, and who was in those days regarded as the best habit maker in london. he told me that my thick melton skirt would be of no use to me in that hot country, and recommended a habit of khaki-coloured drill, for which i paid sixteen guineas, as he would not make any kind of riding habit for less than that sum. i soon found that my investment was a failure, for the skirt flapped about like a sheet in the wind, and the marks of perspiration on my coat looked most unsightly, so i handed over my drill habit to my _ayah_, a gift which i know she did not appreciate at anything approaching its cost. i found myself more comfortably garbed in my melton skirt, for heat in riding is not felt to any appreciable extent below the waist, and i provided myself with jackets of white drill, on which marks of perspiration are not so unsightly as on a coloured material. [illustration: fig. .--off side of the hayes' safety skirt.] as safety in the saddle is the first consideration, and as no article of riding dress has proved such a death-trap as the skirt, no lady should ride in one of the old-fashioned, dangerous pattern. i am thankful to say i was never dragged in any of those ancient garments, but i was fully aware of this danger, and devised, as i explained in the first edition of this book, a means of lessening it by buttoning "the under and outer part" of the skirt just above the knee to the breeches, by means of large flat cloth buttons, the same colour as the skirt, being sewn on the breeches, and corresponding button-holes being made in the skirt. the idea was a practical one, but i was by no means satisfied with it, and i began to evolve a safety skirt of my own. while i was experimenting with a pair of scissors on an old skirt in which a groom was seated on a side-saddle, a habit maker sent me and asked me to wear and recommend what he called a "perfectly-fitting skirt." this awful thing had glove-like fingers, which were made to fit the upper crutch and the leaping head! i hope no lady ever risked her neck in such a death-trap as that. in puzzling out my safety skirt, i desired to attain two objects, namely, absolute safety in the saddle, and a decent covering for my limbs when out of it, so that i might be able to dismount and walk exposed to the gaze of men at any time or place, without my dress, or rather want of it, being made the subject of remark. i had a nice quiet horse, who allowed me to thoroughly test my invention by falling off his back in every conceivable direction, my husband being present to prevent my voluntary fall from degenerating into a "cropper." mr. tautz, the well-known breeches maker of oxford street, witnessed these acrobatic feats, and after we had all been perfectly convinced of the absolute safety of the garment, he took it on a royalty. my skirt has now been on the market for several years, and i am glad to have this opportunity of thanking the numerous ladies who have shewn their appreciation of it. fig. gives the appearance of the "hayes' safety skirt," when its wearer is ready to mount, fig. shows the off side when in the saddle, in fig. we see the side opening, from which the cloth near the crutches is cut entirely away, closed for walking, and fig. shows the hang of the skirt when the wearer is mounted. since this skirt was invented, i have had several opportunities of further testing its merits, especially when riding young horses which have fallen with me in leicestershire, and i would not care to ride in any other kind. there are several safety skirts, but it is obvious that the best kind is one that is safe to ride in, presentable when dismounted, and easily arranged, which conditions are thoroughly fulfilled by my patent. there are riding women who object so much to the indecency of apron skirts (figs. and ) that they adopt the dangerous closed pattern. my skirt would commend itself to those of my sex who are sufficiently old-fashioned in their ideas to desire a safe and, at the same time, decent and graceful covering. some ladies consider it "smart" to expose their limbs, if we may judge from the free exhibitions to be seen in the hunting field, while others, who are aware of the unbecoming effect, have their breeches made extra baggy behind! [illustration: fig. .--the hayes' safety skirt closed for walking.] the apron skirt is an extremely cold, comfortless garment for winter wear, because it is merely a left-side covering for the limbs, while the right side being entirely unclothed, the lines and rotundity of the figure are, when the wearer rises in trotting, displayed to the wondering gaze of those who ride behind her. as, in the apron skirt, there is no covering of melton cloth to sit on and take off some of the wear and tear of the breeches, these garments become quickly worn out at the seat, and necessitate a double thickness of cloth at that part. there is another kind of safety skirt which is a combination of breeches and skirt in one; but i consider this a very unsanitary arrangement, for it is obvious that the undergarment must be kept clean, and handed over when necessary to the laundress to be carefully washed, before sending it to a tailor to be pressed and repaired as may be required. it is part of a groom's duty in small households to attend to the cleaning of his mistress's hunting boots and skirt, but a combination garment should not be cleaned by a male servant. [illustration: fig. .--apron skirt open for mounting.] any skirt which ensures safety in the saddle is preferable to the old-fashioned shape, with its dangerous bundle of cloth over the crutches, a fact which is so well understood by hunting women that none who hunt in leicestershire, or i hope in any other place, appear in those early victorian atrocities. provision of this kind does not appear to be insisted on for the safety of young ladies; for i saw a girl dragged in leicestershire, and lord lonsdale, who fortunately stopped her horse, sent her home, and told her not to hunt with his hounds until she had provided herself with a safety skirt. the young and inexperienced, who, with the fearlessness of ignorance, are prone to rush headlong into difficulties, ought surely to be safeguarded in every possible manner. fig. shows a safe and comfortable riding dress for a very young girl. for winter wear, the coat and leggings should be made of melton; and the breeches of elastic cloth or knitted wool to match. it is well to have the coat buttoned over the right leg, so as to protect that limb from cold and wet. for summer use, a linen coat is worn. we may notice that the sweet little horsewoman has a good seat, and is capable of taking sole charge of her nice pony. the safest and most comfortable length for a riding skirt is when it just covers the rider's left foot when she is seated in the saddle with her stirrup at its usual length. it is best for a lady to use her own saddle when having her habit fitted, as her stirrup will then be at the length she rides in, and the crutches will also receive the necessary consideration from the fitter. care should be taken that the skirt fits well over the right knee, when the wearer is seated in her saddle. creed and other good makers of the past always padded this knee part, which gave not only a nice, rounded appearance to the knee, especially in the case of a very thin lady, but ensured the skirt being put on straight with a minimum of trouble. present day skirts have not this small round pad for the right knee to fit into, but its omission is far from being an improvement on the old fashion. [illustration: fig. .--the apron skirt closed for walking.] whatever shape a lady may select for her riding coat, she should pay particular attention to the fit of the sleeves, which must not in any way hamper the movements of her arms. before trying it on, its wearer should procure a good pair of riding corsets, which must allow free play to the movements of her hips, and, above all, she must not lace them tightly. wasp waists have luckily gone out, never, i hope, to return. the size of a woman's waist, if she is not deformed, is in proportion to that of the rest of her body. therefore, a pinched waist, besides rendering the tightly girthed-up lady uncomfortable, to say nothing of its probable effect on the tint of her nose, deceives no one. it is impossible to ride with ease and grace in tight stays, a fact which we should remember when trying on a habit coat, for the fitter will follow the shape, or mis-shape, of the corsets, and the coat will be built on those lines. the back of the garment should be quite flat, and padding may be needed in the case of hollow backs, as there should be no high water line across the back defining where corset ends and back commences. the collar should fit nicely into the neck at the back, and not gape open from being cut too low. there should be no fulness at the top of the sleeves, for nothing looks more unsightly than "bumpy shoulders" on horseback. it would be well for the wearer when trying on, to lean back and extend her arms, as she would do when giving her horse his head over a fence, in order to find out if the sleeves are likely to hamper the movements of the arms, as they sometimes do, from the coat being cut too narrow across the chest. it is no use fitting on a coat once or twice, and then leaving it to chance; for, to secure a perfect fit, the garment will require to be tried on until there are no further alterations to be made in it. whatever shape may be chosen, the coat should not be made too long, or it will flap and flop about in a most ungraceful manner. fig. shows a loose-fitting coat which is not smart, because it is too long, and as it rests on the horse's back, it will wrinkle up when its wearer sits down in trotting and will look ugly. if this coat was a good four inches shorter at the back, and graduated off to just cover the right knee, it would be clear of the horse's back and present a far neater and less sloppy appearance. many habit makers who run apron skirts of their own, insist on making riding coats far too long, of course with the object of hiding the indecency of the apron skirt when its wearer is on foot. ladies who do not adopt that kind of skirt, should not allow tailors who have had no practical experience in side-saddle riding, to dictate what _they_ consider best, to experienced horsewomen. i find that young habit makers who are new at their business are far more trying in this respect, than their more experienced elders. [illustration: _photo. by_ the rev. g. broke. fig. .--riding dress for child.] [illustration: fig. .--loose riding coat, too long.] we have only to look at fashion plates to see that no dress is suggested for ladies who are inclined to be stout, for in them, only slim figures appear to receive consideration. i would recommend the loose-fitting coat as the most becoming for portly persons, because with a loose garment there is no abrupt accentuation of bulk, a fact which many stout ladies who adopt the eton jacket style of dress, fail to recognise. on the stage, a slim actress may look well in tights, but this skin-like covering on a bulky figure would be ridiculously ugly. as the same lady draped in loose flowing robes may present a graceful and dignified appearance; those who are inclined to be portly would do well to wear loose-fitting riding coats, being careful to see that they are made to just reach the saddle and not flop on the back of the horse, or they will not be smart or comfortable to ride in. in fig. i have shown how unnecessarily bulky a woman with a -inch waist may be made to look in a loose coat which is too long. tailors do not like making these articles of dress, especially when they are of melton cloth, because they are extremely difficult to manipulate, and the "hang" of such a garment will be hideous if its cutter be not a true artist at his business, for a loose coat is nothing if not graceful in outline. it is impossible to tell, when seated on a wooden horse, how a loose coat will hang when ridden in, so the finishing touches, such as pockets, &c., should never be made until the wearer has tried the coat on her own horse, with a critical friend to ride with her and tell her if anything is amiss with it. the little extra trouble this precaution may involve, is nothing as compared with the disappointment of having to "put up" with an ill-fitting garment. some tailors have a mayhew saddle on their block horse for fitting skirts; because in that kind of saddle, the crutches give them no trouble as regards "poking up"; but if a lady uses a saddle with ordinary crutches, she should be wary and take her own saddle for the fitting of her skirt. there are habit makers who recommend tight-fitting coats for stout figures, because, they argue, the bulk is there and must go somewhere; but a deaf ear should be turned to such arguments, as an ample figure should be concealed; not accentuated. naturally these gentlemen are prejudiced against loose coats, for apart from the difficulty in making them, they cut into a much larger amount of valuable cloth than tight-fitting ones. tailors will readily admit that this shaped coat is the best for young girls, because tight-fitting ones would give them too much of a "grown-up appearance," but not for the stout girl, who has far more need to conceal her "grown-up appearance"! [illustration: fig. .--front view of good riding coat.] twenty years ago tailors were much more particular over their work than they appear to be at the present time. creed always insisted on a lady bringing her own saddle, before he would fit a habit, and, if the garment did not please him, it would be discarded and another cut out ready for her when she next came to be fitted. this generous method of dealing was amply repaid; because it soon became known that the old man would not allow an imperfect garment to leave his shop. for hunting, it is best to have a coat which will afford us protection from cold and wet, and therefore its fronts should be made to cover the right knee, the buttons being concealed under the "skirt" of the coat. this shape is in every way good, because there are no floppy fronts to trouble us by blowing back on windy days, and when the rain drips from the hat, the coat-covering helps to keep our right knee dry. in the old-fashioned habits, great care was taken that nothing could become displaced, to spoil the effect, as an old lady friend puts it, of "the beautiful gliding motion of a ship in full sail." i fear now-a-days we allow our sails to flop about far too much, and destroy that "beautiful gliding motion." what could be more ugly than a coat with tails which reach nearly to a horse's hocks, and no front covering whatever to protect the knee in bad weather? wind, which is no respecter of persons, seizes these long tails and hurls them over the back of the rider's head, as she stands in a wild blast at the covert side looking very "tailly" and cold. besides covering the right knee, the coat should have a collar that will turn up and fasten at the throat with a button and strap, to keep out wet, and cuffs that will turn down over the hands. [illustration: fig. .--back view of good riding coat.] clad in a sensible garment of this kind, which should be smart and well-fitting, we can defy the elements without running any undue risks. fig. shows a coat which is made to cover the right knee. fig. gives the back view, and is a useful length. fashion, whoever he or she may be, invents more or less fearful and wonderful coats, which appear every season in the hunting field; but these curiosities "go out" suddenly, and the end of the season generally sees us all garbed in the old motley; for the newcomers have been tried and found wanting. the best way to clean a mud-stained habit is to dry it thoroughly and brush the mud off. any white marks of perspiration from the horse which may remain after a skirt has been thoroughly brushed and beaten, may be removed by benzine collas, or cloudy ammonia diluted with water, or they may be sponged with soft soap and water, care being taken to remove all the soap from the cloth. for riding during the hot weather in india and other tropical countries, a very useful garment is a norfolk jacket in cream stockinet, which can be purchased ready-made. it fits the figure closely, and has three pleats in front and behind, which are sewn to the garment, the buttons being concealed under the front pleat (fig. ). the best kind of belt, i think, for wearing with this jacket is one made like a girth, of ordinary cream girth webbing, as it is easy to wash when soiled. jackets in white drill, which may be worn open with soft-fronted shirts (fig. ), are also to be commended, as they wash well and always look clean and cool. some ladies dispense with a jacket, and ride with a shirt and belt; but that style is not generally becoming, and is suggestive of forgetfulness in dressing. in ceylon i obtained very smart checked flannel for riding jackets. in china and japan a fine crêpe flannel, which does not shrink in washing, may be had for this purpose, but i have been unable to procure it in other countries. [illustration: fig. .--terai hat and norfolk jacket.] [illustration: fig. .--pith hat and drill jacket.] a lady who intends to hunt will find a driving coat necessary when travelling by rail, or driving to and from a hunt. fig. shows a comfortable coat in melton cloth, with "storm" collar and cuffs of astrakan. a good driving coat is a costly garment, but it can be utilised as a winter or travelling coat. the collar of the subject of this illustration was made specially high for use in russia, where, during winter, the cold is so intense that i often found my pocket-handkerchief frozen hard in my pocket, although this thick melton coat was wadded throughout. the hayes' safety skirt worn under this coat is looped up from the right knee button to a tab of elastic attached to the waist of the skirt, which obviates the necessity of holding up the skirt. [illustration: fig. .--good driving coat.] breeches. i shall not say anything about trousers, because i do not think they are worn by riding women of the present time, and also for the very good reason that i have never worn them. i think they would be uncomfortable to use for hunting, for, unlike breeches, they do not fit the knees closely. trousers went out of fashion about thirty years ago, before safety skirts came into general use. it used to be extremely difficult for ladies to get a properly-fitting pair of riding breeches, as no correct measurement for them was taken, and it was not pleasant to be obliged to interview male fitters respecting the cut of these garments. messrs. tautz and sons, of oxford street, solved the difficulty by providing us with a competent female fitter, who takes careful measurements for breeches, and rectifies any faults there may be in their fit. the best kind of material for breeches is elastic cloth, which is specially made for that purpose. it is both strong and porous, and can be obtained in any shade to match the riding-habit, which, of course, is necessary. the breeches should be fitted while the wearer is seated on a wooden horse, and special attention should be devoted to their cut at the knees; for if the cloth at the right knee does not lie flat and fit that part like a glove, the wearer will suffer discomfort from being "rubbed" by the friction of the superfluous material. following the senseless custom adopted by men, many of whom hate it themselves, we have our breeches to button on the shin bone. i would recommend ladies who experience discomfort, from the combined pressure of boot and breeches buttoned on the shin bone, either to revert to the old style of buttoning the breeches a little to the outside of the leg, or to have their riding boots made shorter, see page . besides, there is no necessity for us to ape men's fashions in either boots or breeches, because these garments are not seen, and we require them to be thoroughly comfortable. for hunting and winter use i like what are called "continuations" fixed to breeches, as these gaiter-like pieces of cloth cover the leg to a certain distance below the swell of the calf, and keep it warm, besides preventing the knee of the breeches from working round, which men obviate by using garter-straps. leather breeches for ladies' use are too unsanitary to merit consideration. for use in the tropics, a lady would require breeches of a very thin make of elastic cloth, and, if continuations were liked, it would be best to have them made detachable, as they could not be worn with comfort during the hot weather. underclothing. ladies who hunt should always carefully protect themselves against chill by the adoption of warm underclothing, for they are frequently exposed for hours to bitter cold, wind, snow, sleet, hail and fog, and if one is thinly clad, and, as often happens, there is a long wait at a covert side, a dangerous chill may be contracted. an under-vest of "natural" wool should be worn next the skin, and a pair of woollen combinations--which button close to the throat, and are provided with long sleeves, will be found very comfortable and warm. combinations are better for riding use at any time than ordinary underclothing, as there is no superfluous material in them to become displaced and cause discomfort. they can be had in very thin material for use in the tropics and for summer wear. warm woollen stockings are to be recommended for hunting, and especially for ladies who suffer from cold feet. those who find woollen garments irritating to the skin may remove the difficulty by wearing them over thin silk. any trouble in keeping the stockings in place can be best overcome by the use of plain sewn elastic garters, which have no buckles or straps, being placed below the knees, and the upper part of the stockings turned back over them and pulled down the leg as far as they will go, so that each stocking may lie perfectly flat on the leg. the elastic bands should be of the usual garter width, and should be sufficiently roomy not to hurt the legs. as i found chamois leather, with which breeches are usually lined, unsatisfactory, i invented a comfortable substitute for it in the form of a removable pad, which has met with the approval of several hunting women. i would be happy to give privately any particulars concerning this invention to ladies who may be interested in it. hats. the tall silk hat has, during recent years, been largely superseded by the more comfortable if less elegant-looking bowler. on hunt full-dress occasions, such as a quorn friday, the ladies of the hunt generally wear tall hats, but i notice that bowlers have as a rule been worn during the rest of the week. the high hat is said to be the more becoming of the two, but it takes a lot of trouble to keep in order, and a bowler is more comfortable and useful for rough work. a lady who is wearing a tall hat for the first time, should not forget to lower her head well in passing under trees, as this kind of head-gear requires more head room than a bowler. the best arrangement for keeping a riding hat firmly fixed on the head is to have a small piece of velvet sewn inside the front, so that it comes on the forehead, and to have for the back, a piece of elastic an inch wide sewn to the hat, well to the front. care should be taken that the elastic is not too tight, in which case it might cause a nasty headache, as well as a ridge on the forehead from the pressure of the hat. in selecting a bowler, a lady should be careful to choose a becoming shape, as these hats vary greatly in form. to my mind, the kind most generally becoming has a low crown and rather broad brim. high-crowned hats with closely turned-up brim are trying to most faces. although it is not usual for hunting women in the shires to wear hat-guards, i would strongly recommend their adoption, because, however well a hat may be secured by elastic, an overhanging branch at a fence may knock it off, and it is as well to be able to recover it without assistance. when hunting this season, i lost my hat at a fence, and my long-suffering husband had to give up a good place in a run to go back and fetch it, whereas, if i had had a hat-guard, this tiresome occurrence would have been prevented. it is best to attach the cord of the hat-guard to a button-hole of the habit-jacket, for then, if the hat comes off, the cord can be more easily caught than if it is fastened inside the back of the collar of the coat. on windy days the advantage of a hat-cord is obvious. ladies who object to its use may say that overhanging branches should be avoided, but when hounds are running, and one is mounted on a tall horse, it is impossible to always steer clear of stray twigs, and therefore men find a hat-guard very useful. for tropical climates the pith hat or _sola topee_ (fig. ) is best for the hot weather. helmets, besides being apt to give one a headache on account of their weight, do not afford sufficient protection to the rider's temples from the sun. the double terai hat of grey felt (fig. ) is becoming, but it is very heavy. pith is lightest and most suitable for wear during intense heat. in the cool weather a bowler or straw sailor may be worn; but even in the cold season ladies should avoid wearing a small hat when the sun is above the horizon, for its rays are treacherous. i have had many a splitting headache from disregard of this precaution. in trying on a riding hat, the hair should be dressed low down, as it will be worn when riding, in order to obtain a comfortable fit; for the hat must fit the head and not be perched on the top of it, or it will not "remain" if the horse goes out of a walk. the old arrangement of dressing the hair in a coil of plaits at the nape of the neck has quite gone out, but it was a far neater one for riding than the "tea-pot handle" and other curious knobs and buns of the present time. the pulled-out style, in bad imitation of japanese hair dressing, gives a dirty and untidy appearance, and looks perfectly hideous on horseback, and especially when the place where the back hair ought to be, is adorned with a round brooch! if ladies who adopt this bad style could only see how much it vulgarises an otherwise nice appearance, they would at once abjure it. a neat way to arrange the hair for hunting is to coil it firmly round the head, and fasten it with plenty of hairpins--those bent in the centre and with ball points are, i think, the most reliable--and to pin over the hair an "invisible" silken net the same colour as the hair, which will keep it tidy. boots. i wish to lay particular stress on the necessity of riding boots having thin pliable soles, and being easy over the instep; because i once saw a lady dragged by her stirrup and only saved from death by her boot coming off and thus releasing her. i do not think that sufficient attention is paid either by ladies or bootmakers to the fact that a loose riding boot may be the means of saving its wearer's life: i never devoted much thought to the subject before witnessing this accident. the use of tight boots in winter has the great disadvantage of keeping the feet very cold, even when warm stockings are worn. saddlers have invented safety bars and stirrups, habit makers have provided safety skirts, but bootmakers have not yet thought out a hunting boot which would release the foot in the event of a safety bar failing to act, or of a safety or other stirrup being crushed in a fall. a thin pliable sole and plenty of room over the instep to allow of the left foot being easily pulled through the boot, would greatly minimise the danger in question. we seldom hear of a jockey being dragged, although flat races are ridden in saddles that have no releasing bars, and even steeplechases are often ridden in these saddles, when a rider has a difficulty in getting down to the weight; but all jockeys wear boots which have thin, and, consequently, very pliable soles. fashion dictates that ladies' top-boots should be as high as those worn by men, which is very absurd; because they are not seen, and the hard, unyielding leather of a high top-boot pressing either on the breeches buttons, or on the under part of the right leg is apt to cause great pain and discomfort. then, again, when a champion and wilton saddle with safety bar flap is used, the top of the left boot is liable to catch in the flap when its wearer is rising at the trot and is thus apt to release the stirrup leather. fig. shows the top of the boot in position to raise the safety bar flap in the manner mentioned. i have obviated these inconveniences and have ridden in comfort by wearing boots made two inches shorter than the regulation height, and by wearing breeches with "continuations," no stockings are exposed to view, even when one gets a fall. with boots of this length there is no possibility of the left leg being hurt by pressure of boot and breeches buttons on the shin bone. fashionable bootmakers who build boots for ladies on the pattern of those worn by men, seem to be unaware of the fact that a woman's grip in a side-saddle is entirely different from that of a man in a cross-saddle, and many ladies suffer unnecessary discomfort by meekly accepting what they are told is "the proper thing." our friend mr. james fillis, in his interesting work, _breaking and riding_, says that for ladies' wear he prefers "ordinary boots to long boots, which are too hard, and are consequently apt to cut the wearer under the knee, and to prevent her feeling the horse with her leg;" but as ordinary boots would not be considered sufficiently smart for hunting, or even hacking in the row, the compromise i advocate will be found to answer all requirements. in ordering a pair of riding boots we should go to a good maker and have them of patent leather, which is smarter and cleaner than blacking leather. for wear in tropical countries, i found that boots which have the foot part of patent leather and the leg of morocco, with a thin leather lining to stiffen and keep the leg part in place, are cooler and more comfortable than any other kind. a pair of boot-hooks will be required for putting them on, and a boot-jack for taking them off. a little lucca oil used occasionally prevents patent leather from cracking. the dry mud should be brushed off soiled boots with a soft brush that will not scratch the leather, and they should then be sponged over with a damp sponge and polished with a selvyt or chamois leather. patent leather, which has lost its brightness from wear, can be polished with harris's harness polish or any similar preparation which does not cake on the leather or injure it in any way. we should remember that boots will last much longer and retain their shape to the end if they are always kept, when not in use, on trees. it is best to wear new riding boots in the house before they are ridden in, so as to make them pliable to the "tread" in walking, and to work off their stiff and uncomfortable feeling. [illustration: fig. .--top of boot catching on safety bar flap.] gloves. antelope-skin or dog-skin gloves are, i think, the best for hunting. i prefer the former, as they are very soft and pliable. whatever kind of gloves are chosen, care should be taken to have them sufficiently large to allow perfect freedom to the hands; for tight gloves make the hands cold, and greatly impede their action in the management of the reins. in selecting gloves, a careful measurement of the fingers should be taken, so that they may not be too short. although gloves of the best quality are somewhat expensive, they are well cut, they wear better and are altogether more satisfactory than cheap imitations. on very cold days, i prefer white woollen gloves to any other kind. in wet weather they are indispensable, for a better grip of slippery reins can be got with them than with leather ones. i agree with jorrocks that "berlin gloves are capital for 'unting in, they keep your 'ands warm, and do to rub your nose upon in cold weather," though i have not tried their effect in this respect! during a winter which i spent in russia, i derived the greatest comfort from the use of woollen gloves, which i found far warmer than any other kind. for the tropics, kid or suède gloves may be worn in the cold weather, but in the hot months i found white cotton the most comfortable kind, as they are cool, thin and soft, and wash and wear better than silk, which the reins quickly destroy. perspiration from the hands will show through leather gloves, which, on drying, will become as stiff as a board. it should be remembered that rings worn when riding, especially those containing stones, hamper the action of the fingers, and are very destructive to gloves. [illustration: fig. .--front view of riding under-bodice.] riding under-bodice, hunting-ties, collars, cuffs and ties. a garment which i have thought out, and which i believe will fill a want, is a riding under-bodice with long sleeves and wristbands, to which cuffs can be attached, and also a stud at the throat for the attachment of a hunting-tie or collar. this bodice is in stockinet, and fits closely, without, as in the case of ordinary shirts, any superfluous material marring the outline of the figure (figs. and ). ladies generally have so much difficulty in fastening cuffs, that they will doubtless welcome a close-fitting garment of this description, and it will do away with the tiresome habit-shirts and dickeys which have an irritating trick of following one's neck about, instead of remaining in a fixed position. besides, collars which cannot be kept firmly in place generally necessitate the use of pins, which should never be employed with any article of riding attire. [illustration: fig. .--back view of riding under-bodice.] a hunting-tie or stock, which is a combination of collar and tie, the collar part being either starched or soft, according to choice, is the warmest and most becoming kind of neck arrangement for hunting. it is not easy to put on neatly, and it would be well for a novice when purchasing these ties to get the shopman to initiate her into their mysteries, and to take one home correctly tied, to be kept as a copy until its somewhat intricate manipulation has been mastered. my husband's directions for the arrangement of a hunting-tie are as follows:--"the centre of the stock is placed on the front of the neck, the ends are passed in opposite directions round the back of the neck, brought in front, tied in a reef knot, crossed in front of this knot, and finally secured, as a rule, by means of a pin or brooch of the safety or horse-shoe or fox pattern. a gold safety pin is often used. a brooch pin is naturally safer than an ordinary pin. nowadays, hunting ties are nearly always made of white cotton material" (_riding and hunting_). if a collar is preferred to a hunting-tie, it should not be too high, for nothing is more uncomfortable in riding than a collar which compels its wearer to preserve a stiff neck and runs into her whenever she tries to turn her head. the best kind of cuffs are those which have button holes for links or solitaires in the centre, as they allow room for thick gloves to be passed under them. the necktie to be worn is a matter of choice, but white and black ties are always becoming, the former for preference, as they brighten up a dark habit. it is always well to abjure startling colours; for the dress, saddlery and gear of a horsewoman should be characterised by simplicity and neatness. on this point i can offer no sounder advice than that given to laertes by his father, who said: "costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, but not express'd in fancy; rich not gaudy; for the apparel oft proclaims the man;" and also the woman. chapter vi. mounting and dismounting. mounting. supposing, as is usually the case, that there is a groom to hold the horse, and a gentleman to put the lady up; the groom, after the reins are placed on the animal's neck just in front of the withers, should stand in front of the horse, and should keep the animal's head up by holding the snaffle reins, one in each hand, close to the rings. if a double bridle be employed, as is usually the case, he should on no account hold the bit reins, lest an accident may happen from the curb hurting the horse's mouth. if there be no snaffle, the cheek-pieces of the headstall of the curb or pelham should be held. with a strange or uncertain tempered animal, it is best for the lady to approach him from his "left front," and she will do well to speak kindly to him and pat him on the neck, for these two forms of conciliation are greatly appreciated by horses. having arrived alongside her mount, she should stand just behind his near foreleg, close to, but not touching him, and facing to the front, with her shoulders at right angles to his side. she now places her right hand, with the whip in it, on the upper crutch, and raises her left foot about twelve inches from the ground, while keeping the leg, from knee to ankle, in a more or less vertical position (fig. ). the whip should be held as in this illustration, so as to avoid alarming the horse. the gentleman who is to put her on her horse, places himself close to, and in front of her, bends down, and places the palm of one hand (generally the left one) under the ball of her left foot, while he supports that hand by putting the palm of the other hand under it. the lady then places her left hand--with the elbow turned out a little, so as to be able to utilise that arm in raising herself--on his right shoulder (fig. ). [illustration: fig. .--foot raised for mounting.] having finished the "prepare to mount" stage, she straightens her left knee by lightly springing upwards off the ground by means of her right foot, and at the same time pressing on her cavalier's shoulder so as to straighten her left arm. the moment he feels her weight on his hands, he should raise himself into an erect position, so as to bring her on a level with the saddle, on which she places herself by turning to the left while she is being raised, and bearing on the upper crutch with her right hand. it will be difficult for the gentleman to do this lift properly, unless the lady keeps her left knee and left elbow straight during the ascent. the gentleman's task will be greatly facilitated if he takes advantage of the lady's spring; but even if he lets that helpful moment pass by, he can do the lift in a satisfactory manner with the small drawback of an extra expenditure of muscular effort. the fact of the lady exerting a strong downward pressure on the gentleman's left shoulder, makes the lift much easier for him than if he had to do it entirely by his arms. it is most important for the beginner to understand this extremely simple method of mounting, so that, if failure results, she may know who is in fault. her only serious error is that of neglecting to straighten her knee. his crimes in this respect are many. _first_, he may catch hold of the heel of her boot in the preliminary stage, and will thus prevent her utilising the play of her left ankle joint in her spring. experiment will show that this trick of catching the heel hampers a lady's movements in mounting much more than might at first be thought possible. _second_, from knowing no better, or from a desire to show off his strength, he may use only one hand to lift the lady, and will then almost always have cause to regret his superfluity of self confidence. _third_, he may stand too far away from her, and thus bring her left foot too much forward, in which case it will be almost impossible for her to straighten her left knee. _fourth_, he may also prevent her from doing this indispensable part of the performance, by trying to raise her before she has put her weight on his hands. _fifth_, he may stand too far away from the side of the horse, in which case he is liable to throw her over to the off side of the horse (as happened once to me), by giving her an oblique instead of a vertical propulsion. a minor form of this mistake is attempting to put the lady on the saddle, instead of raising her to the height at which she can easily take her seat. after a lady has suffered from clumsy attempts to put her up, it is not to be wondered at if she regards the feat of mounting as one which requires some peculiar knack to accomplish; and, as failure in mounting is particularly ungraceful, she naturally becomes nervous about attempting it. if she has any doubts as to her capability to mount easily, she might make some preliminary attempts to stand and support herself for a few seconds on a gentleman's hands, with her left hand on his shoulder and her right hand on the upper crutch. when she finds that she can do this successfully, she may, when her leg is again straight, give him a signal (or take one from him) to raise her to the necessary height, so that she may sit in the saddle. if she be very timid, she may practise mounting indoors, with her right hand on the top of an upright piano, and her left on a gentleman's shoulder as before. although it is usual for the gentleman to give the words, "one, two!" as a signal for her to make her spring and straighten her knee before he raises her, no such caution is necessary; for he will know, by feeling her weight on his hands, when she is in a proper position to be raised. [illustration: fig. .--ready to mount.] having arrived on the saddle, the lady places her right leg over the crutch, while her attendant puts her left foot in the stirrup, adjusts any elastic loops that may be present, and straightens her skirt, as may be required. she then takes up the reins. it is advisable for the lady not to touch the reins until she is securely placed in the saddle and is ready to use them, because the act of placing her right hand on the crutch while holding the reins in it, is liable to render the horse unsteady, and the reins are of no use to her until she is firmly seated. if there is only one man to help the lady to mount, he should place his left arm through the snaffle reins, so as to prevent the animal from getting away while putting her up. i think all hunting men should know how to put a lady up, because accidents in the field are constantly occurring, and some poor diana who has had a tumble is always grateful to any good samaritan who renders her this small service. a well-meaning sportsman who kindly offered me his help on such an occasion, knew so little about the mysteries of side-saddle riding, that he attempted to give me a "leg up," as if i were a man! it would be well for every school where riding is taught to be supplied with a wooden horse, on which pupils could learn the method of getting into the saddle, and would thus avoid becoming flurried or nervous when mounting, especially if the horse is a stranger. also, a dummy horse would be an admirable subject on which to do preliminary practice in other details of riding, such as grip, length of stirrup, leaning back (as when going over fences), position of the hands, holding and handling the reins, etc. in this way, beginners would learn what they had to do, before getting on a horse. _mounting from the ground unaided_ depends for its success chiefly on the respective heights of horse and rider, although a lady can be helped considerably in this attempt by letting out the stirrup leather, which she will have to shorten after climbing into the saddle. unless a lady is tall and athletic, it will be almost impossible for her to perform this feat on a full-sized horse. this method of mounting should, as a rule, be avoided, because, apart from its not being very graceful, it is apt to disarrange the position of the saddle, by pulling it to the near side, and the animal would then be liable to get a sore back, especially if he had to go through a long day with hounds. [illustration: fig. .--dismounting without help.] _mounting from a block_, low wall, or other suitable object, may be done without help, if the animal is "confidential" and accustomed to the work. if a man be present, he may stand in front of the horse and hold him in the way already described for the groom to do (page ). if the animal shows unwillingness to approach the mounting-block, the man should hold the off cheek-piece of the headstall of the bridle with his right hand, and, with the flat of his left hand, prevent the horse from swinging his hind quarters out. when the horse is sufficiently close, the lady should take the whip and reins in her left hand, put her left foot in the stirrup, take the upper crutch with her left hand and the cantle with the right, and spring lightly between both hands into the saddle. the right leg is then put over the upper crutch and the skirt arranged. dismounting, in the days of voluminous skirts, was a far more serious business than it is now; for the "knee recess" had to be carefully freed from the crutches of the saddle, and the skirt gathered up in the hands of the rider, so that she might not tread on it. riding women of to-day generally prefer to dismount without assistance, for they are no longer hampered with an early victorian skirt. while a man holds the horse, the rider releases her foot from the stirrup and loop, removes her right leg from the crutch, and placing her right hand on it and her left hand on the leaping head to steady herself (fig. ), springs lightly to the ground. if help is required from a male attendant, it is best for him to offer his right arm, on which the rider places her left hand (fig. ), as she leaves the saddle. if there is only one man present, he should take the snaffle reins in his left hand, before offering his right arm to the lady. another plan is for the lady to give her hands to the man who assists her to dismount, but that would not be pleasant in the case of an ordinary groom. an old-fashioned way of helping a lady to dismount, was to put an arm round her waist and lift her from the saddle! [illustration: fig. .--dismounting with help.] chapter vii. how to hold the reins. principles--holding single reins in both hands--holding single reins in one hand--holding double reins in both hands--holding double reins in one hand--shortening the reins--military method of holding the reins--respective merits of one-handed and two-handed riding. as there is but little difference between the respective ways men and women should use their reins, i have taken the most of this chapter from _riding and hunting_. principles. the following are the usual principles to be observed in holding the reins:-- . a secure grip of the reins should be maintained, with as little stiffness as possible, because stiffness implies continued muscular contraction, and consequent defective manipulation from fatigue. . when both hands are used, we should hold the reins so that we can freely use our hands, either separately or together, in any required direction. . when both hands are used, the manner of holding the reins by one hand should be the same as that by the other, so that the feeling of the hands on the reins may be the same on both sides. . when a horse which has an "even" mouth is going in a straight direction, the action of one rein should be the same as that of the other rein. [illustration: fig. .--a rein in each hand.] holding single reins in both hands. pass the near rein between the little finger and the ring finger of the left hand, bring it out between the forefinger and thumb, and take up the off rein in the same manner in the right hand (fig. ). the reins thus held will be in the best position for general use, especially as the hands can then be readily separated, if we wish to turn the horse to one side or the other. [illustration: fig. .--single reins crossed in one hand.] [illustration: fig. .--single reins crossed in one hand.] holding single reins in one hand. while holding the reins as in fig. , pass the off rein into the left hand between its forefinger and thumb, and across the portion of the near rein that is in the palm of the left hand (fig. ). on letting go the off rein with the right hand, we close the fingers of the left hand, turn the left hand inwards, and let it fall from the wrist in an easy manner (fig. ). when holding the reins in one hand, we should not keep the knuckles in a vertical position, because, by doing so, one rein will come up higher on the horse's neck than the other rein. on the contrary, both in one-handed and two-handed riding, the knuckles should be held more or less horizontally, as they would be when the hand is allowed to fall without stiffness from the wrist. [illustration: fig. .--double reins held separately in two hands.] whether the reins are held in one hand or in two, we should avoid "rounding the wrists," not only on account of the consequent stiffness imparted to these joints, but also because that action tends to make us carry the elbows outwards, and thus diminishes the force which the arms are capable of exerting on the reins. [illustration: fig. .--holding double reins crossed in one hand.] holding double reins in both hands. we may hold double reins in both hands in the same way as we hold single reins, except that the little fingers separate the reins on each respective side (fig. ). the question as to which rein should be on the outside may be decided by the amount of control which is required to be obtained over the horse; because, by the rotation of the hand, we can work the outward rein more effectively than the inward rein. if the snaffle is to be the predominant bit, its reins should be on the outside, and the curb-reins slack. holding double reins in one hand. the forefinger of the left hand separates the two off reins, the little finger divides the two near ones, and the reins are crossed in the palm of the hand (fig. ), as with single reins. it is convenient to have the reins on which we want to have the stronger pull on the outside. if the rider wishes to use only one rein, she may hold it crossed in her hand, and may hook up the other on the middle finger, and let it loose (fig. ), or draw it up to a greater or less extent. [illustration: fig. .--double reins in left hand: one crossed, the other hooked up on middle finger.] shortening the reins. in shortening the reins we should alter the feeling on them as little as possible, and should carefully keep them at the same length, so as not to interfere with the horse's mouth. if a rein is in each hand (fig. ), we had best pass the off rein into the left hand (fig. ); close the left hand on both reins (fig. ); slip the right hand forward on the off rein till the proper length is obtained; take up both reins in the right hand; let go the slack of the reins with the left hand; take up the near rein with the left hand; and separate the hands. [illustration: fig. .--reins held in one hand in military fashion.] if the reins are held in one hand (the left, for instance), take them up in the right hand; slip the left hand forward on the near rein; and, when the desired length is obtained, take up both reins with the left hand. military method of holding the reins. in almost all riding schools, ladies are taught to hold the reins in military fashion, which enacts that they should be held in the left hand, with the little finger dividing them, and their ends brought up between the finger and thumb (fig. ). thus, the hold on the reins is chiefly maintained by the lateral pressure of the fingers and by the downward pressure of the thumb on them. as the muscles which draw the fingers laterally together, are far weaker than the muscles which cause the hand to become clenched, it follows that this method of holding the reins is much less secure and a good deal more tiring than the crossed plan (fig. ), which has the further advantage of utilising the friction between the opposing surfaces of leather. this method is also unsuitable for two-handed riding, because it violates the principle laid down on pages and , that the manner of holding the reins by one hand should be the same as that by the other hand (compare figs. and ). [illustration: fig. .--off rein taken up by right hand from position shown in fig. .] respective merits of one-handed and two-handed riding. all good horsewomen, especially when out hunting, ride with both hands on the reins, because, even with the quietest animal, the two hands may be needed for control or guidance. besides, an even feeling on the reins when they are held in one hand, can be maintained only by keeping the hand in the centre-line of the horse's body, which is naturally a more or less irksome task for the rider. with only one hand on the reins, the rider's available strength is reduced by nearly one-half, and the reins have to be held much shorter than if both hands were on them. one-handed riding is all right for military men, who have to wield a sword or lance, and polo players, who have to use a polo-stick, but it is ridiculous for ladies. chapter viii. the seat. theory of the seat--practical details. theory of the seat. the best seat for all practical purposes is evidently one which affords security and comfort to the rider and freedom from injury to the horse. the lady should sit (not lean) forward in the saddle, so as to get a good grip of the crutches; and should bring her seat well under her ("sit well into the saddle"), in order to bring the centre of gravity of her body well back, as regards her base of support, and thus to increase her stability, which will depend almost entirely on her power to resist forward propulsion, when the horse suddenly stops or swerves to the left. her hold of the reins will in any case prevent her from toppling backwards over the animal's tail, in the event of his making an unexpected movement forward from the halt, or suddenly increasing his speed when in motion. the faulty practice of riding the crutches, instead of sitting down in the saddle, brings the weight forward, and places the lady in the best possible position to fall off. the greater difficulty which a rider has in keeping her seat when her mount abruptly swerves to the left, than when he goes to the right, is due to the fact that in the former case, the upper crutch is drawn away from the right thigh; but in the latter case, it forms a more or less effective obstacle to the forward movement of the right thigh, and thus helps the rider to retain her seat. to explain this subject more fully, i may point out, that if a person is standing on the foot-board of the right side of a rapidly moving train which suddenly turns to the left, he or she would be far more inclined to fall off, than if a similar change of direction had been made to the right, in both of which instances the side of the train would play the part of the upper crutch. the fact that the lower part of the rider's right leg rests against the horse's near shoulder, as in fig. , will materially help her in keeping her seat, in the event of an abrupt swerve to the left. the side position of the seat, combined with the fact that the head has to be kept more or less in the direction the horse is proceeding, causes more weight to be placed on the near side than on the off. although the rider cannot entirely remove this disadvantage, she may lessen this unequal distribution of weight, ( ) by avoiding the use of too long a stirrup leather, for the longer it is, the more inclined will she be to bring her weight to the near side, in order to obtain the assistance of her stirrup; ( ) by sitting a little over on the off side, so as to place her weight as much as possible on the middle line of the seat of the saddle, namely, over the backbone of the horse; and ( ), as already pointed out (p. ), by having the leaping head close to the upper crutch. in order to meet the second requirement, she should rest her weight on her right leg, which in any case will have less fatigue to bear than the left one. putting the weight on the right leg has the further advantage of lessening the tendency of the right shoulder to go forward, and of diminishing the pressure of the left foot on the stirrup. [illustration: fig. .--position of rider's legs at the walk.] the preponderance of weight on the left side of the saddle is liable to cause undue pressure on the off side of the withers, and also, though to a lesser extent, on the off side of the backbone, under the cantle of the saddle, with the result that ladies' horses frequently get sore backs at these places. as this unequal distribution of weight on the near side varies more or less at each stride of the horse; the saddle has a strong inclination, during movement, to keep working from one side to the other, and consequently, in order to check this hurtful tendency, a lady's saddle has to be girthed up much tighter than a man's saddle, and also to be provided with a balance strap (p. ). the only means by which the rider can maintain her position in the saddle are balance and grip, both of which are accomplished by muscular action, though in different ways. what is popularly known as "grip," is effected by continued muscular contraction, which speedily gives rise to fatigue, and consequently can be kept up for only a comparatively short time. the balance required for holding the body more or less erect, as in walking, standing and sitting, is, on the contrary, preserved by the alternate contraction and relaxation of a large number of muscles, the work of which, being intermittent and more or less evenly distributed, can be maintained for a long period without fatigue. it is therefore evident that a lady should ride as much as possible by balance, and that she should use grip only when its aid is demanded for keeping her secure in the saddle. it is obvious that grip is the riding function of the legs; and balance, that of the body. as grip has generally to be put in action at a moment's notice, the legs should be kept in such a position as to enable them to apply the necessary grip with promptness and precision. hence the rider should not move about in the saddle, as some are inclined to do, in the attempt to "sit back" when going over a fence. while keeping the legs in a uniform position, the rider will obtain all the _balance_ she needs, by the play of her hip joints and by that of the joints of the body above them, and will thus be enabled to sit erect, lean back or forward, or bring her weight to one side or the other, as may be required. _grip_ from the left leg is obtained by pressure against the leaping head, which can be effected either by certain muscles of the thigh or by those of the ankle joint. the amount of pressure which can be obtained by the former method is far less than by the latter, for which a short stirrup leather is necessary. the comparative feebleness of this action of the thigh muscles can be readily seen by the small resistance which they can make against downward pressure, when the knee is raised with the foot off the ground. if, however, the foot is on the ground, the muscles which straighten the ankle joint will enable the knee to be raised, even against strong downward pressure. it might be objected to this mode of obtaining grip, that the powerful pressure thus exerted on the stirrup iron, would cause a downward pull on the (near) left side, which is, however, counterbalanced by the upward pressure of the left leg on the leaping head, and consequently it has no displacing effect on the saddle. it is evident that this action of the ankle joint can be performed effectively, only when the ball of the foot rests on the stirrup. if the foot is put "home," the ankle joint will have little or no play. when using the leaping head, we should bear in mind that the action of the muscles which straighten the ankle joint, should be independent of the body. if this condition is not observed, the tendency will be to put undue weight on the stirrup, and to bring the body forward. it is evident that placing weight on the stirrup, without at the same time exerting counterbalancing pressure against the leaping head, will not only put undue weight on the near side, but will also bring the body forward. [illustration: fig. .--hooked back leg, the direction of the pressure of which is shown by the fore finger of the left hand.] the right leg can help in obtaining grip, either by bending the knee and bringing the calf of the leg round the upper crutch, or by lateral pressure of the knee against that crutch. the former method is entirely wrong, because it cannot be fully carried out, except by bringing the body forward,[ -*] which action is incompatible with firmness of seat, when going over fences, or when the horse makes any abrupt and disconcerting movement. this "hooked-back" seat also predisposes a lady to fall over the off shoulder of an animal which suddenly swerves to the near side; the reason being that in such a case, the upper crutch acts as the pivot of revolution. on account of causing the weight to be brought forward, this hooked-back style also tends to make her bump up and down in her saddle. the lateral method, which is effected by the inward rotation of the right thigh, is free from the foregoing objections; and by causing the lower part of the right leg to be placed against the horse's shoulder, it affords the rider valuable indications of the animal's movements. also, as the lateral pressure is as nearly as practicable in a direction opposite to that of the pressure of the left leg against the leaping head; it will act to the best advantage, and it will allow the body full freedom to be drawn back by the play of the hip joints. the pressure of the hooked-back leg is, on the contrary, nearly at right angles to that of the left leg (fig. ), and consequently it affords very little help in the attainment of grip. the hooked-back style of riding induces fatigue by continued muscular contraction, and is a fertile cause of ladies becoming cut under the right knee, which fact is fully proved by the numerous devices which have been brought out by saddlers with the view of obviating this injury. [illustration: fig. .--seat at the walk.] it is easy to prove by experiment, that when we sit in an unconstrained position on a chair or saddle for instance, the direction of our shoulders will be at right angles to that of our legs, or, more correctly speaking, at right angles to a line bisecting the angle formed by our legs. hence, when riding, we cannot continue to sit absolutely "square" (having our shoulders at right angles to the direction of our mount) without keeping our body in a stiff position, which in a short time will be productive of discomfort and fatigue. although the maintenance of a twisted position of the body to the right is incompatible with ease, no discomfort will arise from looking more or less straight to the front, because the muscles which regulate the direction of the neck and eyes are gifted with great mobility, and their respective periods of contraction and relaxation are comparatively short, when we are looking to the front. even when walking at ease, the direction of the shoulders, which alters at every step, in no way affects that of our line of sight; and it certainly would not do so, when we are riding. the continued maintenance of a perfectly square seat entails so much muscular rigidity, that it is unsuitable for 'cross-country work, or for the riding of "difficult" horses. in any case, it causes the body to assume a twisted and therefore an unnatural position; because the fact of the right hip joint being more advanced than the left one, will prevent the lower and posterior part of the trunk (the pelvis) from being parallel, as it ought to be, with the line connecting the shoulders. to facilitate the attainment of a "square seat," some saddlers incline the upper crutch a good deal towards the off side, and thus curtail the space between that crutch and the near side of the horse's shoulder and neck so much, that the rider is unable to get her right leg into proper position, and is consequently obliged to "hook it back." i need hardly say that such saddles do not suit good horsewomen. an absurd fallacy of some of the "square seat" school is that the right thigh (from hip joint to knee) should be kept parallel to the horse's backbone, a position which would put a great deal more weight on the near side of the saddle than on the off, and would consequently be liable to give the horse a sore back. on the contrary, the even distribution of the rider's weight is an essential condition of comfort to the animal and of security of seat to the rider, and is of infinitely greater importance than the attainment of a conventional and unnatural attitude. [illustration: fig. .--length of stirrup.] the majority of riding-masters are such admirers of the "square seat," that when giving a lady her first few lessons, they will as a rule keep constantly telling her to keep her right shoulder back, which she cannot do without twisting and stiffening her body. for practical requirements, as out hunting or on a long journey, the seat should be free from all constraint and rigidity, so that it can be maintained without undue fatigue for several hours, during which time the rider should be able at any moment to utilise the grip of her legs with promptness, precision and strength. a lady, with a good seat and properly made saddle, will ride quite square enough (fig. ) to avoid any lack of elegance in her appearance without having to adopt a conventional twist. practical details. the first thing for a rider to do is to place herself in a thoroughly comfortable position on the saddle. she should sit well down in it, in the same manner as she would sit on a chair in which she wished to lean back, and would thus get her seat well under her, and would be able to obtain, when required, a strong grip of the crutches. in this position she will be able to increase her stability by bringing her shoulders back, which she could not do with the same facility, if, instead of leaning back, she sat back. in order to see where she is going, she should sit more or less erect. her left foot should be placed in the stirrup only as far as the ball of the foot, so as to allow the ankle joint full play. the stirrup leather should be long enough to enable the left thigh to clear the leaping head, when the lady rises at the trot; and short enough for it to exert full pressure against the leaping head, by the action of the ankle joint. a correct compromise between these two opposing conditions is obtained when the length of the leather will just allow the flat of the hand to be easily placed between the leg and the leaping head (fig. ). [illustration: fig. .--correct position of legs.] the rider should obtain her grip of the leaping head just above the point of the left knee, as shown in fig. ; and by rotating the right thigh inwards, she should press the flat of that knee against the upper crutch, as if she were trying to bring her two knees together. while gripping in the manner described, the portion of the right leg which is below the knee, should rest in an easy position against the horse's near shoulder, as in fig. . [illustration: fig. .--leaning back.] when the beginner has learned how to sit in the saddle, she should practise leaning back, which she can best do by gripping the crutches, while keeping her legs in proper position (fig. ), and leaning her body back until she can almost touch the horse's croup. when doing this for the first few times, her teacher should support her, in order to give her confidence, and the groom, if necessary, should hold the horse, which should of course be a quiet animal. the object of this practice is to show her that the movements of her body are entirely independent of her grip of the crutches, and that the forward and backward motion of her body is regulated by the action of her hip joints, and not by altering her seat, which should remain fixed, and, as it were, glued to the saddle, at the walk, canter, gallop and jump; the trot being the only movement at which she should rise. having learned the meaning of grip and leaning back, she can take a snaffle rein in each hand, as in fig. , while keeping her hands low and well apart; she can then "feel" the horse's mouth by drawing her hands towards her through a distance of a few inches, and then keeping them in a fixed position. footnotes: [ -*] the muscles of our limbs are attached at each end to bones, between which there are one or more joints; and they act by their power of contraction, which enables them to become shortened to about two-thirds of their length. the full effect of this contraction can be obtained by a muscle only when its points of attachment are separated to their utmost extent, and it becomes diminished in proportion as the distance between them is shortened by the bending of the intermediate joint or joints, up to a length equal to that of the muscle in a fully contracted state, at which limit the muscle is out of "play." the muscles which bend the knee are attached, at one end, to the back of the shin bone, close to the knee; and at the other extremity, to the end of the ischium (lower part of the pelvis), which is below the hip joints. consequently, the more the knee is bent and the more the upper part of the body is drawn back by the play of the hip joints, the nearer are the opposite points of attachment of these respective muscles brought together, and the less power will they have to hook back the knee. hence the more a lady leans back, when going over a fence for instance, the less firmly will she be able to hook her leg round the upper crutch. therefore, ladies who adopt this hooked-back seat, are invariably prompted by the requirements of this position, to bend forward, and have more or less difficulty in bringing the upper part of the body back. chapter ix. hands, voice, whip and spur. hands. nearly every writer on the subject of riding is of opinion that "good hands" are inborn and cannot be acquired. this may be so, but the worst of hands may be greatly improved by good teaching and practice. continental horsemen do not, as a rule, learn how to ride across country, but the majority of them devote much study to the various methods of bitting and handling horses, and, as far as hacking is concerned, their horses are better broken and better handled than they are in this country. i am not alluding to the question of seat, as i think britons, and especially our colonial cousins, can beat them on that point; but it is evident, as can be seen any day and in any hunting field, that more study should be devoted to the acquirement of good hands. a course of school riding, especially on a made "school" horse, which is a very light-mouthed animal, would greatly lessen the clumsiness of heavy hands; or, if such instruction were unobtainable, good practice might be had on a young horse which had been carefully broken by a competent horseman. no young horse will pull until he is taught to do so by bad handling, and a lady who wishes to improve her hands might ride a young animal, in the company of an old steady horse, and ascertain in this way what the natural condition of a horse's mouth really is and how easily it may be controlled. i do not think that many ladies have heavy hands with horses--their chief fault lies in their want of control over their mounts. many ride with the reins so loose that their horses get out of hand and go in an uncollected manner, and accidents not unfrequently occur from this cause. as horses which are not well in hand in the hunting field will, sooner or later, bring their riders either to grief or to disgrace, this slipshod method of handling should be avoided. although the grip which a lady obtains in a side-saddle should render her entirely independent of the reins as a means of support, she is handicapped by being unable to lower her hands to the same extent as a man. i have found that with horses which carry their heads too high, and throw them up if the rider tries to lower them, a standing martingale attached to the rings of the snaffle affords considerable help in obtaining perfect control, especially with young horses. but i would not recommend a lady to use a standing martingale with a horse which has not previously been accustomed to it, nor indeed at all, unless she rides chiefly on the snaffle; for although it is perfectly safe to use the curb with a standing martingale in steadying and collecting a horse, it would be highly dangerous to touch it when the animal is jumping. the majority of riding men regard the standing martingale as dangerous--and rightly, for only men with good hands can safely use it. if any sudden snatch or jerk were made at the curb, and the horse in throwing up his head found himself caught by the standing martingale, a very serious accident might happen. the standing martingale in no way impedes a horse's jumping, for horses do not jump with their heads in the air, unless they fear the curb. fig. shows its maximum length. it may be said that ladies ought not to ride horses which carry their heads too high, but many of us have to make the best of what we can get in the matter of horseflesh, and employ the surest methods at our command for keeping such animals under perfect control. the standing martingale is dangerous in hunting only when going through gates, as it is liable to catch in a gate post and cause trouble. the faster a horse goes at any particular pace in a natural and unconstrained manner, the more will he try to extend his head and neck, so as to bring the centre of gravity of his body forward, and also to aid the muscles of the neck in drawing the fore limbs to the front. the pulling in of the head and neck by the reins will, therefore, be a direct indication to the animal to slacken his speed. if he be well broken he will not only go slower, but will also signify the fact of his obedience by yielding to the bit by the play of the joints of his head and neck. when he keeps these joints (namely, those which connect the lower jaw to the head, and the head to the neck, and the joints of the neck themselves) free from all rigidity and bears lightly on the bit, he is what is called "well in hand," in which state every horsewoman should endeavour to keep her mount, as it is the _beau idéal_ one that admits of full control by the rider and of perfect freedom of movement on the part of the horse. having the horse well in hand, the rider should be careful to keep the reins _at one unaltered length_ for the particular rate of speed at which she is going. if she desires to increase it, she should give her horse a signal which he understands, and should lengthen the reins as may be required. if she wishes to go slower, she should proportionately shorten them; but she should _always_ preserve uniformity of speed at any pace by keeping a fixed length of reins. nothing is worse for a horse's mouth than the constant "give and take" (in ireland they call it "niggling" at a horse's mouth) which is practised by almost every bad rider. this fact is so well recognised by our jockeys that "keep your hands steady" is the chief order which competent trainers of racehorses give to their lads. when a rider keeps shifting the position of her hands, her bewildered animal will be unable to know at what speed she wants him to travel. all this reads very simple, but sometimes we find that horses, especially when excited by hounds, insist on going at their own pace. if the coast is clear in front, and the horseman in advance has got safely over and away from the fence to which a lady is approaching, it would not be wise for her to interfere with her hunter, because, if he knows his business, he won't fall if he can help it. but if, on the other hand, the only practicable place in a fence is not free, the keenness of the animal must be checked by a judicious use of the curb. if he is so headstrong as to refuse to obey this command by slackening speed, he should be turned round either to right or left, whichever may be the easier for his rider. when we find ourselves in such a tight corner we must, for our own safety as well as for that of our neighbours, exercise a certain amount of force in controlling our horses. the "silken thread" method of handling, which is, or should be, employed at any other time, stands us in poor stead in the face of this difficulty. there are horses which will neither slacken speed nor turn for their riders, and a runaway in the hunting field is by no means rare. if any lady has a hunter who takes charge of her in this manner, i would strongly advise her to ride him in a standing martingale (p. ), because with its aid she will generally be able to turn him, even if she cannot stop him in any other way. a horse which will neither slacken speed nor turn in any direction gallops on, as a rule, with his head up, and, having succeeded in shifting the snaffle from the bars to the corners of his mouth, he is impervious to the action of the curb, because his head is too high for the curb to act with advantage. on such an animal the standing martingale is valuable, because it makes him keep his head in a proper position. a great deal of sound sense has been written by different horsemen on the subject of "hands." sam chifney tells us to use the reins as if they were silken threads which any sharp pull would break, and mr. john hubert moore always gave the advice to take a pull at the reins as though you were drawing a cork out of a bottle without wishing to spill one drop of its contents. i have often, in my own mind, likened a horse's mouth to a piece of narrow elastic which is capable of expansion up to a certain point. when vigorously tugged at, it is no longer elastic, but as unyielding as ordinary string. good hands maintain its elasticity, bad ones convert it into string. a sympathetic touch on a horse's mouth can only be made by "good hands." a musician, if he is an artist, will accompany a weak-voiced singer so sympathetically that the sweet though not robust notes of the voice are heard to the best advantage: he is a man with good hands. a heavy-fisted player, desiring to show his command over the instrument, will try to turn the accompaniment into a pianoforte solo, and the nice notes of the struggling singer will be entirely drowned by noise. he is like the heavy-handed, unsympathetic rider. voice. for pleasant riding, it is essential that the horse should understand his rider's orders, which are usually given to him only by the reins and whip. however efficiently a lady may use these "aids," the fact remains that a good understanding between herself and her mount is better established by the voice than by any other means. with a little vocal training any ordinary horse, when going fast, will pull up more promptly and with greater ease to his mouth and hocks, by a pleasantly uttered "whoa," than by the action of hands and reins. young horses, like foxhound puppies which are taken out for the first time, show great reluctance to pass moving objects; but if the rider speaks encouragingly to her mount in a tone of voice that means he must go on, he will try his best to obey her, although his attention may be divided betwixt fear and duty. as a reward, his rider should give him a few pats on the neck and speak encouragingly to him, and she will doubtless find that he will make a bolder effort to obey her voice when he again finds himself confronted with a similar difficulty; because he will associate his first escape from apparent disaster with her voice, and will in time have such confidence in her guidance that a word from her will be quite sufficient to assure him that all is well. when riding bad horses at my husband's breaking classes abroad, i found it best not to speak to them; for a bond of friendship had not been established between us, and i noticed that the sound of my voice often stirred up their angry passions by reminding them, i suppose, of some former rider who had scolded them while ill-treating them. it was unsafe even to pat and try to be friendly with such spoiled horses. i remember a very violent animal in pretoria which showed resentment in this respect by rushing at me after i had dismounted, simply because i endeavoured to pat and say a kind word to him. i have no doubt that he would have accepted my well-meant advances if we had had time to mutually understand each other. a show jumper named mons meg was so terrified of the man who used to ride her that, on hearing his voice, even from a distance, she would break out in a perspiration and stand trembling with terror. the mare was really so kind that we had her for a time at ward's riding school, and she was ridden without reins over jumps by several of our pupils. i took her to ride in a jumping competition at the agricultural hall; but, unfortunately, the rider she disliked came to her stall and spoke to her, with the usual result, and when i got on her back she was violently agitated, and refused the second fence, which was a gate. at one moment it seemed as though she would have brought us both to grief, for she tried to jump out of the ring among the people--a feat, i was afterwards told, she had performed on more than one occasion. she would always jump kindly when away from the hated show ring, where she must at some time or other have been badly treated. when animals get into a state of nervous excitement, a few pats on the neck and a soothing word or two often act like magic in calming them down. a mare which was lent me in calcutta by a horse importer, and on which i won a cup in an open jumping competition, was in such a state of nervousness that she would not let me take the trophy until i patted and spoke to her, and the presentation was then effected without a scene. this animal, which was a well-bred australian, was a stranger to me, and had never carried a lady before that day. nevertheless, she passed successfully through a terribly trying ordeal, and i am certain that she would not have made the great efforts she did in jumping, if i had not soothed and encouraged her with my voice. she was only - in height, and was competing against big horses, some of which were ridden by steeplechase jockeys. the competition took place at night in a circus which was lighted by electricity, and which was open at each end. the object to be jumped was a white gate placed midway across the arena, and raised each time that it had been successfully cleared. from the glare of electric light in this crowded place, we had to go into outer darkness and carefully avoid the tent pegs and ropes in finding our way to the other entrance. while we were waiting our turn to jump, we had to stand near a cage of lions which growled savagely during the whole time, and also in the vicinity of two camels. my mount disliked the camels far more than the lions; in fact, she hated the sight of them, and would have done her best to escape, if i had not turned her head away from them and patted and soothed her. mr. frank fillis, who was the proprietor of the circus, told me that horses have such an antipathy to camels that they will not drink, however thirsty they may be, from a bucket which has been used by one of these long-necked animals. by-the-bye, my acquisition of this cup caused me to be branded as a "circus rider" by the ladies in a little pedlington village in this country; for when the local society leader called on me, i was out, and my son, by way of entertaining her, showed her "the cup that mother won in a circus!" in order for the voice to be effective, the word of command must be given at the moment when a horse is about to play up in any way, not after he has committed a fault, and therefore a knowledge of horses and their ways is necessary before we can use the voice properly. it is always advisable to keep an eye on our mount, because if we do not do so, we shall be unable to seize the generally brief moment which exists between the thought of evil in the animal's mind and its execution. those who have lived much among horses must have frequently noticed this preparatory period before a horse plays up, and no doubt have profited by the warning their experienced eyes gave them; for if we see what is about to come, and know how to avert it, we are often able to save ourselves from disaster. in order that the animal may thoroughly understand our words of command, we should have as few of them as possible, employ them only when necessary, and always in the same respective tone of voice, whether it be a soothing word of encouragement accompanied by a few pats on the neck, or the word "steady" given in a determined tone, and accompanied by a restraining pull on the reins as may be necessary. the word "whoa" is best uttered in rather a high key and in a drawling tone, when we begin to pull up a horse during movement; but we should reserve "steady," like the curb, for use in emergency, and should utter it in a threatening tone of voice. the words of command which an inexperienced rider will find most useful are a click of the tongue for a walk, trot, and canter; "whoa" to pull up; "steady" when he is going too fast, or indulging in unnecessary leaps and bounds; "go on," with a few pats on the neck, if he is nervous about passing any object, or shying; and a quiet word or two of encouragement, with more pats on the neck, when he is in a state of nervous excitement, as, for instance, on his first day with hounds. [illustration: fig. .--hunting whip.] when visiting a horse in his stable to give him a carrot or other tit-bit, his mistress should call him by his name, and he will soon neigh on hearing her voice, if she always gives him something nice; for horses, like poor relations, don't appreciate our visits unless they can get something out of us. lady dilke had a horse which she had trained to lick her hand. on going up to him in his box she would put out her hand and say "lick her, dear," and the animal would give her his mute caress like a dog: it was very pretty to see how well the pair understood each other. we may see the power of the voice exemplified in cart horses, which will turn to right or left, go faster or slower, or pull up, according as they receive the word of command from the wagoner who walks beside them. the voice is also greatly used by polo players. horses are very catholic in their admiration for tit-bits. they like all kinds of sweets and fruit, and will even crunch up the stones of plums and peaches, which require good teeth to crack. an old favourite of mine was particularly fond of chocolate and jam tarts! whip. the chief uses of a hunting whip are to help the rider to manipulate gates, and to be cracked; the former being much more necessary to a horsewoman than the latter. the crop should therefore be of a serviceable length. it is the very silly fashion at present to have hunting whips that are less than two feet long. many are made of whalebone, and are covered with catgut, their special advantage being that their flexibility greatly facilitates the process of cracking. a more serviceable crop for a lady is one of stiff cane, the thick end of the handle of which is made rough, as in fig. , or is provided with a metal stud, so that the handle may not slip when it is pushed against a gate. formerly, two feet three inches was the usual length of a hunting crop for both sexes. three feet is a much better length for ladies, who cannot "get down into their saddle" like men. besides, a fairly long crop is very useful for keeping a horse straight by the rider touching him with it on the off flank when he wants to run out to the left, which is his favourite side for refusing in the large majority of cases. a short crop is useless for this purpose, as the right hand will be fully occupied on such trying occasions in keeping the animal's head toward the obstacle, and the crop should be able to perform its share of the work by a turn of the wrist, care being taken that no jerk is communicated to the rein. [illustration: fig. .--thong properly put on.] [illustration: fig. .--thong properly put on.] the thong is about three feet ten inches long, is furnished with a lash, which is about a foot long, and is attached to the keeper, which is a leather loop at the end of the crop. men generally like a thong of white pipe-clayed leather, but as the colour is apt to come off and soil one's habit, a brown leather thong is best for ladies. the keeper of the modern hunting whip has a slit, near its end, through both thicknesses of leather. in attaching the thong, the loop at its upper end is placed over the end of the keeper, and it is then passed through the slit and drawn tightly (fig. ). the old-fashioned keeper, which is still greatly in use, is a simple loop of leather, over which the loop of the thong is put, and the remainder of the thong is threaded through the opening at the end of the keeper (fig. ). a wrong way to put on the thong is, in the first instance, to pass the loop of the thong through (instead of over) the keeper (fig. ). some authorities might take exception to the way the thong is put on in fig. . to facilitate the use of the thong, it is well to have a long keeper, as in fig. . the keeper of the whip which is shown in fig. , and also in fig. , is too short. [illustration: fig. .--thong incorrectly put on.] [illustration: fig. .--thong not quite right.] the chief use of the thong in hunting is to recover the crop if it happens to be pulled out of the hand when opening a gate, before doing which, one or more turns of the thong are consequently taken round the hand. it also enables us to warn off hounds who approach too near our horses' legs, on which occasions the whip should be held at arm's length, with thong and lash vertical. a touch of the lash may aid in encouraging a friend's horse to go through something to which he objects, but a man would doubtless be handy to do the needful in such a case. it would be well for a lady to know how to crack her whip, if her help were required in turning hounds, or in hurrying up a laggard hound; but this art should first be learnt on foot, under the tuition of a competent man, in much the same way as mr. frank ward teaches his pupils to catch the thong with precision for four-in-hand driving; and the lady's hunter must also be trained to stand having a whip cracked on his back, before any experiment of that kind is performed in the hunting field. it is a good plan to first accustom hunters to the cracking of a whip in or near their stables, letting them see the performance, and, after a ridden horse will quietly stand the whip being flicked, his rider may safely crack it, supposing, of course, she is able to wield her flail correctly, and without touching the animal; hence the necessity of acquiring precision in this art before attempting it on horseback. an experienced hunting woman tells me that women should be as useful in the field as men; but i fear that is impossible, for we cannot get on and off our horses as easily as men, to render prompt help in cases of emergency; hold open a gate on a windy day, or perform the numerous kindly acts which fall to the lot of the mere male. besides, however active and well-intentioned we may be, we are hampered by our dress, and still more so by the want of it, in the case of an apron skirt. if a crop is used for hacking, say in the row, the thong should be taken off, for it would look as much out of place there as a pink hunting coat. the whip should be always carried handle downwards, on the off-side, as if we were trying to conceal its presence, and not as though we were riding with "a rein in each hand, and a whip in the other." in a country of hedges, like the shires, it is well to acquire the habit of holding the whip in such a way that the handle of the whip will point directly backwards; for if it is inclined outwards, it will be apt to catch in a branch or twig, when going through a bullfinch (fig. ) or straggling hedge. [illustration: fig. .--a practicable bullfinch.] spur. the spur is inapplicable to the requirements of ordinary side-saddle riding; because, in order to use it properly, it should be applied, as nearly as practicable, at right angles to the side of the horse, so as to touch him only on one spot, in which case the knee would have to be brought well away from the flap of the saddle, and the toe of the boot turned outwards. this would necessitate the use of a long stirrup leather, which would bring the rider's weight too much to the near-side, and would also render her seat insecure; because, instead of being able to get grip by the play of her left ankle joint (p. ), she would have to draw back the left foot, and press the upper part of the thigh against the leaping head. her forced adoption of this feeble attempt to obtain firmness of seat is due to the fact that if she raised her left knee to put pressure on the leaping head, her foot, in all probability, would come out of the iron, owing to the long leather being slack at that moment. besides, with a leather at that length, it would be impossible for her to press her leg strongly against the leaping head by the action of the ankle joint. a lady who rides with her stirrup leather at the correct length (fig. ), can use the spur only in a more or less parallel direction to the animal's side, in which case, the spur, if it is sharp, will be almost certain to tear the skin, instead of lightly pricking it. the entirely wrong system of handling, feeding, and leading horses almost always on the near side, teaches them to turn much more easily as a rule to that side, which is a lady's weak side, than to the right. consequently, when they "run out" at a fence, they almost invariably swerve to the left. in such a case, a man has his hands to turn the animal's head and neck, and his drawn back right leg to straighten the hind quarters; but the handicapped lady can supplement the action of her reins only by the whip, which she cannot use very effectively, owing to her perched-up position on the saddle. if she used a spur she would be at a still greater disadvantage, because, in order to escape the pain of the "persuader," the animal would naturally swing his hind quarters round to the right, and would consequently bring his fore-hand still more to the left, by the action of this misapplied "aid." if the lady's whip is not sufficiently long to give her mount the requisite reminder on the off flank, either by being pressed closely against it, or by the administration of a sharp tap, it will be useless for straightening him. lady augusta fane, who is one of the best horsewomen in leicestershire, and who certainly rides a greater variety of hunters during a season than any other lady in the shires, is strongly opposed to the use of the spur. she tells me that "if a horse is so sticky as to require a spur, he is no hunter for this country; and if he is a determined refuser, no woman, spur or no spur, can make him gallop to these big fences and jump. i consider a spur a very cruel thing, and feel certain that many men would find their horses go better, and jump better, if they left their spurs at home, and many accidents would be avoided." lord harrington, who is well known as a fine horseman, also dislikes spurs, and has advocated their abolition in the yeomanry. in this he should receive the support of all good riders, as they know that placid-tempered horses have better paces, higher courage, superior staying power, and greater cleverness and tact in times of danger than excitable ones. in polo, where the legs are far more required for guiding the horse than in hunting, the use of sharp spurs is forbidden, except by special permission. whyte-melville points out that my sex are unmerciful in the abuse of the spur. he says:--"perhaps because they have but one, they use this stimulant liberally and without compunction. from their seat and shortness of stirrup every kick tells home. concealed under a riding habit, these vigorous applications are unsuspected by lookers on." i have seen more than one poor animal's side badly torn and bleeding from a lady's spur. a lady who rides a horse in the ordinary way with this instrument of torture, which she is unable to use correctly, brands herself in the eyes of her more experienced sister as an incompetent horsewoman. i have heard hunting men advocate the spur for ladies; but they would probably change their opinion if they were to try the effect of riding with one spur, and that on the left foot, especially in a lady's hunting saddle. very few men who wear spurs are able to use them properly; whyte melville says not one in ten, and "the tenth is often most unwilling to administer so severe a punishment." the late george fordham wholly repudiated "the tormentors," and said they made a horse shorten his stride and "shut up," instead of struggling bravely home. my husband, in _riding and hunting_, says it is the fashion to wear spurs with top-boots, but many good horses go much better without them. whyte melville remarks that "a top-boot has an unfinished look without its appendage of shining steel; and although some sportsmen assure us that they dispense with rowels, it is rare to find one so indifferent to appearances as not to wear spurs." men wear spurs in hunting because it is fashionable to do so, but there is no such arbitrary law laid down for ladies, and the presence of the spur certainly adds to the danger of dragging by the stirrup; for, as whyte melville points out, its buckle "is extremely apt to catch in the angle of the stirrup iron, and hold us fast at the very moment when it is important for our safety we should be free." [illustration: fig. .--spur-carrying whip used for high school riding.] in continental high school riding, a spur is a necessity, as, without its aid, the _écuyères_ would not be able to perform many of their _airs de manège_. these ladies, in order to apply the spur with freedom, have the stirrup leather so long that they are deprived of the immense advantage, which the play of the ankle-joint gives us, of applying pressure with the leg against the leaping head, and with the flat of the knee against the saddle flap. the "school" rider seeks to strengthen her weak seat by the employment of a very long and greatly curved leaping head, which serves to support her leg while her knee is removed from the flap of the saddle when using the spur. this leaping head, which almost encircles the left leg, would, of course, be a most dangerous thing to use when hunting. the spurred lady also has a spur clamped on to her whip, in order that she may be able to prod her horse equally on both sides. the whip-spur (fig. ) is like a wheel with sharp spokes and no tyre. the application of the spur by continental _écuyères_, especially in obtaining the more difficult _airs_, is more or less constant, so as to keep the animal in a continued state of irritation. i went behind the scenes in a well-known circus in paris, where i saw a lady mounted and waiting to go on and give her performance. a man was holding her horse's head, and a second attendant, with a spur in his hand, was digging the unfortunate animal on the near side under her habit, which he was holding up for the purpose. he took care to inflict the cruel punishment on a part of the horse's body which would not be seen by the public! the animal, being unable to advance, was lifting his legs up and down (doing the _piaffer_), and sighing and groaning in agony. when the circus doors were opened and relief thus came to him, he bounded into the arena like a fury, amidst the thunderous applause of the audience! i should have liked to have seen that spur-man punished for cruelty to animals, for if the performance went on, as i believe it did, every night, that horse's near side must have been in a shocking condition! it is by no means an unusual occurrence for high school lady riders to be securely tied to their saddles. we must remember that a hunter has to carry his rider for several hours. hunting is not steeplechasing, and if a reluctant fencer cannot be sufficiently roused by a touch of the whip, i fail to see what is to be gained by spurring him on the near side, and thus giving him a direct incentive to refuse to the left. besides, as it is the opinion of some of our best horsemen that nine out of every ten men who hunt would be better and more safely carried if they rode without spurs, i certainly think that no lady should subject her hunter to "the insult of the spur," especially as she can inflict the punishment only on the near side, and thus provoke a defensive attitude which she has no compensating power to successfully resist. some years ago i rode in a jumping competition at ranelagh. there were about twenty men and one lady besides myself among the competitors. the lady found at the last moment that she had forgotten her spur, and a servant was sent to her trap for it, as she said she could not ride without it. she used her spur, but was unable to get her horse over even the first fence! lufra, a well-known prize winner at the agricultural hall and elsewhere, won the cup, after a strong contest against my horse gustave, who was given a red rosette for being second. gustave had never jumped in a competition before. he was ridden in a plain snaffle, and the only mistake he made was in just tipping the raised gate with his hind legs. he was evidently unaware that it had been raised, for when i took him at it again, just to show the ladies that he could jump it, he cleared it beautifully, and his temperate style of fencing was greatly admired. chapter x. first lessons in riding. the walk--turning--the halt--the trot--the canter--the gallop--jumping-- reining back. the walk. a horse which is held by a groom for a lady to mount, will generally start off at a walk without any given signal to do so, when the servant leaves his head, unless his rider desires him to remain at the halt, when she would give him a command, by saying "whoa!"; and when she wants him to proceed on his journey, she should say "go on," or click with the tongue. it is best to put a beginner on an animal which has been trained to await the commands of his rider, in order that she may from her very first lesson in riding, learn the rudiments of horse control. she should never jerk the reins as a signal to start, because this practice is very apt to confuse and consequently to irritate the animal, especially as the perpetrator of this _bêtise_ will, in all probability, use the same means for stopping him. before she gets on his back, the instructor should show how the reins should be held, and how the horse should be given the order to walk. it is the custom in many riding schools to place the curb and snaffle reins in the rider's left hand and leave her to find out their use as best she can, but as the lady will require to devote almost the whole of her attention to her seat, and as in hunting she will ride with both hands on the reins, it is better to give her a snaffle rein to hold in each hand, and not introduce the curb until she is sufficiently secure in her seat to be able to manipulate it properly. the unusual feeling of sitting on the back of a moving animal will often cause a lady to lean forward and grip her crutches, in order to retain her seat, especially at the turns in the school or enclosure, where she may be receiving her lesson, but the instructor should watch her carefully, and should call a halt when the pupil is observed to be riding her crutches instead of sitting well down in her saddle, and obtaining the necessary steadying power without bringing the weight of her body forward. the rider will not require to grip her crutches while proceeding in a forward direction at a walk, although their aid may be necessary when executing a turning movement, and she should also be ready to apply grip at any moment of emergency. she will at first experience some difficulty in being able to dissociate balance from grip, and as her efforts to do so may be somewhat fatiguing to her, her first lessons should be of short duration. fig. shows an easy, comfortable position when riding at a walk. after the rider has mastered the art of sitting comfortably and firmly in her saddle at a walk, she should be given a whip to hold in her right hand, which should also hold the right rein. i think the best kind of flail for a beginner is a long cane. a cutting whip is not sufficiently stiff to be used as an indication, and it is apt to tickle the horse's sides, and make him unsteady. [illustration: fig. .--thorough-bred mare at a walk.] turning. a lady should not be initiated in the mysteries of any other pace, until she is able to turn her horse at a walk, in any direction, while maintaining a correct balance of her body, and applying only sufficient grip to aid the movement. in turning a horse to the right, she should lower her right hand and carry it well away from his shoulder, while "feeling" the right rein, so as to give him as clearly as possible, the indication to turn; she should press the left rein against his neck, by moving her left hand to the right; she should grip her crutches, and lean to the right; and should resume her erect position when the turn is completed. if the animal answers these indications only by turning his head to the right, and does not bring his hind quarters round to the left, she should touch him lightly with the whip on the off flank, so as to make him bring his hind quarters round. in turning to the left, the opposite indications are employed; the only difference being that the whip cannot be used on the animal's left side, owing to the presence of the skirt. this inability to employ the whip on the left side is not of much consequence as a rule, because almost all horses readily bring their hind quarters round to the right, when they are turned to the left. having turned to the right, she may ride her horse in a circle to the right, while inclining her body slightly inwards, and keeping a nice feeling of the right rein, and a firm grip of her crutches round the circle, which at first should be large, as the smaller the circle the more difficult it will be to ride and guide one's mount. the reversed aids are used when circling to the left. the halt. in pulling up a horse from a walk, or any other pace, the rider should say "whoa," should lean back, and at the same time draw in the reins with an even, steady feeling, while keeping her hands low. if she has any difficulty in halting with precision, she should practise walking her horse short distances and stopping him at the word "whoa," which should be given to him in a tone that he can understand, for he cannot obey orders unless he knows their meaning. the trot. when learning to ride, ladies should endeavour to be thorough, and should not proceed to study a new pace, before the previous one has been entirely mastered. if the body is nicely balanced at sharp turns at the walk, with the weight evenly distributed on the saddle, and both legs kept perfectly steady and in their right position, a great deal will have been done towards acquiring a firm seat. when the pupil is able to ride with ease and grace at the walk, she may receive a lesson in trotting. i think it is best to teach the trot before the canter, because the majority of horses trot a few steps before they strike off into the canter. [illustration: fig. .--preparing to rise at the trot, with stirrup at correct length]. as an ounce of practice is worth a ton of theory, the instructor should first of all show her pupil how the trot is correctly executed, either without a skirt or with one pinned back, so that the position of her legs may be seen. she should try to make her practical demonstrations perfectly clear, and should encourage her pupil to question her concerning any points in this difficult pace which she does not understand. it is a good plan to trot both with and without a stirrup, in order to show that the weight of the body during the rise should be placed on the right leg, and not on the stirrup. reference to figs. , , , , , , and will show that the right leg remains in precisely the same position at the walk, trot, canter, and leap. the great difficulty in trotting is to keep this leg absolutely steady, and to prevent it from working backwards and forwards with the motion of the body, which can be done only by maintaining a steady pressure against the upper crutch with the right knee. when this has been obtained, and the rise can be made with the right leg held motionless, the rider will find herself able somewhat to relax this pressure, but in a mild form it is always necessary to press the right knee against the upper crutch in trotting, so as to aid the balance and to avoid putting too much weight on the stirrup. the right leg from the knee down should lie flat and in a slanting position against the horse's shoulder (fig. ), the movement of the animal's limb being distinctly felt by the rider's leg which is resting against it. having ascertained that the stirrup is sufficiently long to admit of the flat of the hand being placed between the left leg and the leaping-head when the rider is not exercising grip (fig. )--which will allow the lady to clear the leaping-head when rising at the trot--she should take rather a short hold of her horse, and induce him to bear on the snaffle to aid her to rise; for a horse which will not bear on the reins is not a comfortable animal to trot with. a lady should lean slightly forward and rise when the animal's near fore leg comes on the ground. in fig. we see the horse's off fore on the ground and the lady preparing for the rise with her body inclined forward. fig. gives us the position of the rider at the rise, and that of the horse's near fore leg. as a well-executed trot can be acquired only after a great deal of practice, a lady should not be disheartened if she makes but slow progress. she will find it difficult to time the rise accurately, and until she can do this it is best for her to sit down in the saddle and bump up and down _à la militaire_, keeping her seat by the aid of her crutches, and occasionally making an effort to rise. if she rises at the wrong time, her effort will be productive of a churning movement, which should at once be discontinued, for that slipshod style of trotting is not only incorrect, but is liable to give the horse a sore back, and will prove very tiring to the rider. in making the rise she should straighten her left knee as in mounting, and bear slightly on the stirrup, executing her upward movement by the aid of the ankle-joint and by simultaneously pressing the upper crutch with her right knee, when she will return to her former position without being in any way jerked during the movement. the stirrup should always be kept in one fixed position at the ball of the foot, and both foot and stirrup should act with automatic precision, without the slightest jerk or wriggle, exactly as though the lady were making an upward step from the ground. the pressure of the foot should be directed on the inner side of the stirrup-iron, in order that the leg may lie close to the flap of the saddle. she will not require to lift herself from the saddle, for the horse will put her up to the necessary height, if she straightens her left knee and prepares to rise at the right moment. the height of the rise will vary according to the size and action of the horse. an animal of, say, - , with a long, swinging trot, will cause his rider to rise higher in the saddle than a smaller horse with a short, shuffling gait. many ponies have a short, quick trot requiring a hardly perceptible rise from the rider; but they are not, as a rule, comfortable trotters. the lady, as i have already remarked, rises when the animal's near fore leg is placed on the ground, and remains seated while the off fore leg rests on the ground, but the height and duration of the rise will depend on his power of forward reach. some ladies exert themselves far too much in rising, and flop down on their saddles with a noise which attracts attention to their faulty riding, and which must be very uncomfortable both to them and their mounts. the chief cause of this faulty style is the adoption of a long stirrup (figs. and ), by which the weight of the body is brought so much to the near side that the rider can rise only with great muscular exertion, and with the risk of giving her mount a sore back, by the downward drag of the saddle to this side. if the horse were to break into a canter, the lady with a long stirrup would obtain her grip by bringing back the left leg as in fig. and pressing against the leaping-head high up on the thigh, which would give her a very insecure and ungraceful seat. i have seen ladies trying to trot with the left leg, from hip to foot, swinging about like the pendulum of a clock, as if they had no knee-joint at all. when we see an effort to trot with a stiff left leg swinging along the horse's shoulder, we may safely conclude that the rider has her stirrup too long, and knows nothing about the art of trotting, or that the leaping-head of her saddle is placed so low down on the near side that she is unable to ride in it, and has to stick on as best she can. as we do not use the leaping-head in trotting, its position on the saddle may appear unimportant, but this is not the case; for, even if a lady has her stirrup at its correct length, the fact of the leaping-head being placed low down on the near side, compels her to ride with her stirrup longer than she would have to do if this crutch were properly placed. the farther it is away from the upper crutch, the greater difficulty will a lady have in rising at the trot. i have tried to ride in saddles in which i have found trotting such a tiring business, and requiring so much muscular exertion on my part, that it was much more comfortable for me not to rise, but to bump in military fashion. many ladies, probably from the same reason, never rise in the trot. it is both wrong and unkind to put girls on bad saddles and then reproach them for not sitting straight at the trot, for i have found it absolutely impossible to do so in some saddles. much of the soreness and misery which ladies suffer in their efforts to trot, would be obviated if the leaping-head of their saddles were placed as in fig. . [illustration: fig. .--rising at the trot, with stirrup at correct length.] [illustration: fig. .--preparing to rise at the trot, with stirrup too long.] although a well-executed trot looks nice, it should be only sparingly indulged in, because it is more fatiguing to the rider than the canter and is particularly liable to give a horse a sore back; for, do what the lady will to sit "square," the saddle, supposing she rises, cannot fail to have some side motion. of course the rider should walk or trot, and not canter, on metalled roads and hard ground, but she should always take advantage of any bit of soft "going" and indulge in a nice easy canter on it. a lady learning to trot will require to do her hair up securely with plenty of hair-pins, pay attention to the fit of her hat, and see that it is provided with elastic an inch wide (p. ), because she will find her head jerked about a good deal during her first lessons. the trot should be properly studied in a school or enclosure before a lady is taken out on the roads, for she can learn nothing by "slithering" along anyhow, and will be liable to contract a bad method of riding, which will probably prevent her from ever becoming a good horsewoman. we must remember that the trot is the most difficult of all paces, and can be correctly acquired only after much patient practice; but it is worth doing well. very few ladies excel in this art, for the simple reason that they do not care to go through the drudgery of it. some ladies are so impatient that they give up the study of a pace as soon as they can stick on their saddles. how few who hunt can really ride well! in leicestershire a fine horsewoman remarked to me that several ladies ride hard who are indifferent horsewomen--a fact which i think we may see demonstrated in every hunting-field; but what is worth doing at all is surely worth doing well, and a lady should strive to be a good horsewoman as well as a plucky rider. when a horse increases his pace without being ordered to do so, he should be at once checked by a pull, not a jerk, on the reins, which should be accompanied by a word, such as "steady," uttered in a warning, determined tone that he will understand; because he should never be allowed to take the initiative, which he would do by breaking into a canter. the trot should be slow at first, until the rider is secure in her seat, when it may be increased gradually to its fullest limit. the faster a horse trots, the stronger bearing should we have on the reins, but when we find the pace degenerating into a rocking movement, the animal should be steadied and collected, because he is exceeding the limit of his speed, and is probably trotting with his fore and cantering with his hind legs, as we may frequently see with horses which are being overdriven in harness. after practice has been acquired in trotting in a forward direction, and the rider is able to sit with ease and grace, she should trot in a circle to the right, taking care to keep a good grip, incline her body inward, and guide her horse with precision. the circle, which should be large, may then be made to the left, which will more strongly test the rider's seat, and particularly her command of her right leg. if she does not ride correctly, this circling should be stopped, and the mistake rectified by more practice in a forward direction. [illustration: fig. .--rising at the trot, with stirrup too long.] if a horse, during the trot, suddenly breaks off into a canter, the rider should sit down in her saddle as in the walk, and grip her crutches as may be required. she should not be the least bit alarmed at this new pace, supposing that she has not been taught to canter, for all she will have to do will be to sit down and allow her body to follow the movements of the horse by the play of her hip joints, as explained in the first lesson (p. ). the lady who has practised leaning back (p. ) will be able almost at once to adapt herself to the requirements of the canter; but as the trot is the subject of her study, the horse should be instantly pulled up. in order to do this safely, she should lean slightly back in her saddle, and stop him gradually, employing her usual word of command, and, while keeping her hands low down and well apart, exert a firm and fixed pressure on the reins. the rider must never allow herself, however disobedient her mount may be, to "job" his mouth with the reins, or to use them at any time as a means of punishment. also she must not try to pull him up suddenly, but always gradually, in order that he may not strain the ligaments or tendons of his legs. if a horse hears and understands his rider's word of command, he will pull up in a manner most easy to himself. in practising the trot, the pupil should try to look between her horse's ears, and should keep her elbows as close to her sides as is comfortable, for she would lose power over her mount by turning them out. if she interferes with the horse's mouth, and does not keep her reins at one fixed length, the animal will naturally become unreliable in his paces. if she feels a pain in her side or gets a headache while trotting, the lesson for that day should be at once stopped, because she will not be able to ride properly if she is enduring any kind of discomfort. parents should pay great attention to this matter, especially if the riding instructor is a man, because a girl would naturally be disinclined to mention any personal ailment to him. whoever the teacher may be, he or she should always humour a nervous pupil, and not, as many do, start with the idea of getting her "shaken into her seat," at the risk of ruining her riding nerve for ever and causing her to loathe her lessons. if a pupil during her first trotting lesson suffers from nervousness, it is best to discontinue the trot and finish the lesson at the walk, in order to settle her nerves and not frighten her out of her wits. her next trotting lesson should be commenced at the walk, and an occasional effort be made to trot a short distance, so that she may gradually obtain the necessary confidence, and an encouraging word should always be given her when she does well. [illustration: fig. .--canter, with right leg hooked back, and stirrup too long.] the canter. after the pupil has mastered the difficulties of the trot, she will appreciate the enjoyable motion of an easy canter, which is the lady's pace _par excellence_. in the canter a horse should lead with his off fore leg, except when he is turning or circling to the left, and a beginner should be given a horse or pony which has been trained to canter correctly. as the majority of horses are not taught to start from a walk to a canter, the pupil should proceed at a smart trot, and, while holding the reins somewhat slack, turn her horse's head slightly to the left, and touch him on the right shoulder with her whip, to make him break into a canter with his off fore leading. [illustration: fig. .--good seat at canter or gallop.] she should sit firmly into her saddle, should lower her hands (fig. ) more than in the trot, and should fix the speed at which she wishes her horse to proceed, while keeping an easier feeling on his mouth than when trotting. she should indulge in no snatches at the reins, but should always preserve one fixed length of rein, unless she requires to alter the pace. the legs should remain perfectly still as in the walk, the knees should be kept ready to grip the crutches at any required moment, and the body from the hips upward should conform to the motion of the horse. figs. , and show a nice easy position in the different phases of the canter. it is absolutely essential for a lady to acquire a good strong seat at this pace, because it is practically the same as in the gallop and jump, and must therefore be regarded as her hunting seat. one of the first things to remember in the canter is to allow no movement of the seat, which should remain nailed as it were to the saddle, the hip joints supplying all the necessary motion to the body, and, as i have already said, the legs should be kept perfectly steady. to increase the adherence of the left knee against the flap of the saddle, the left foot should be carried a little outwards away from the horse's side, and its pressure chiefly applied to the inner side of the stirrup-iron, which will consequently be more depressed than the outer side. it has been remarked that an ugly seat at the canter is a sight that would spoil the finest landscape in the world, so a lady who desires to ride well should not be satisfied if she can merely stick on, like the lady in fig. , but should try to ride correctly. her head will perhaps at first be jerked to and fro like a "vexed weathercock," but practice will enable her to overcome the tendency to fix the muscles of her neck and to allow her head to follow the motion of her body. she should take care that her elbows do not flap up and down like the pinions of an awkward nestling learning to fly, but should keep them close to her sides, where they will be of more assistance to her in controlling her horse. in cantering on a circle to the left, a horse should of course lead with his near fore, for if he then leads with his off fore he will be liable to cross his legs and fall. if the canter is false--that is to say, if a horse is leading with the wrong leg--the movements of the limbs will be disunited, and the rider will find the motion rough and unpleasant, in which case she should pull him up and make him lead with the correct leg. when the pupil feels herself becoming tired or unsteady in her seat, she should give the horse her verbal signal to stop, at the same time taking an even and gradual pull at the reins. as i have already said, a horse should be gradually pulled up from a canter into a trot or walk. although a beginner's mount will, or at least should, allow a certain amount of liberty to be taken with his mouth, it must be remembered that every horse will go better with a rider who tries to save his mouth as much as possible when conveying her orders to him by means of the reins. when he is going too fast, the warning word "steady" should always accompany any restraining action of the reins, until the horse is accustomed to his rider's handling, when the pull may be taken in silence. as the voice is a valuable "aid" in riding, i would strongly advise the inexperienced horsewoman never to speak to her horse when he is at work, except when giving him an order. he will then be able to understand the meaning of her words of command. particular attention should be paid to the observance of this rule, for a lady who is incessantly talking to her horse, reproving or caressing as the case may be, renders him more or less indifferent to the voice as a means of control on an emergency. after he has carried her well, a few pats on the neck will establish a feeling of good fellowship between horse and rider, and the animal will always regard these caresses, and the kindly words that accompany them, as a sure sign of his mistress's approval. after she has dismounted she may "make much" of him, but while on his back it is wiser to reserve her voice for giving orders. a "funky" rider as a rule keeps continually talking to her mount, and the animal gets to know that she is nervous, and soon becomes the master. a horse, like a domestic servant, will not be obedient and respectful unless he thoroughly understands that his first duty is to obey. neither a horse nor a servant who fails to recognise this fact is worth his keep. every girl who is learning to ride, naturally desires to establish a feeling of friendship between herself and her mount, because she knows that he can get rid of her off his back any time he likes; but she should remember that a horse, like a servant, is always ready to take a liberty, and therefore any kindness she may bestow on him should be tempered with discretion and forethought as to its future results. she may pet him as much as she likes, but she should never allow him to have his own way, in opposition to her expressed command. the adoption of a conciliatory method with horses which deliberately refuse to obey orders is fatal, because the lady who takes that course literally allows the reins of authority to slip through her fingers. [illustration: fig. .--good seat at canter or gallop.] [illustration: fig. .--good seat at canter or gallop.] gallop. an experienced hunting man remarked to me that a large number of ladies who hunt, fail in ability to make their horses gallop, which is a pace never taught by riding masters. the gallop is not only necessary to acquire, especially by a lady who intends to hunt, but it improves the strength of seat more than any other gait. besides, a rider who is unaccustomed to it, is always in danger of coming to "grief," if her horse breaks away with her, either from being startled or from mere "light-heartedness." for a lady's first lesson in galloping, a piece of nice soft smooth ground, free from stones and holes, and, say, a quarter of a mile or three furlongs in length, should be selected. the pupil should be provided with a rather sluggish horse, which requires some "riding up to his bridle," and should be told to canter her horse at his highest speed, for the canter and gallop merge imperceptibly into each other. the seat in the canter is precisely the same as that in the gallop, except that when the horse is going very fast, a lady will find it easier to lean slightly forward, take a good steady hold of the reins, and keep her hands in one fixed position, as low down as possible. if she has any difficulty in getting her mount to extend himself, the instructor should ride with her and set the pace. when the lady's horse is really galloping, he should slacken speed a little, and let the animal pass him, in order that the pupil may learn to ride a gallop without a lead. the chances are that her horse will want to follow the example of his companion and go slower; but she should keep him going at the same fast pace by a touch with the whip and a click of the tongue, until she has arrived at the end of the specified distance. as a fast gallop is very trying to a horse's legs, it should be limited to occasional short spins on soft and smooth ground. in the next lesson the instructor should assume the lead, and tell his pupil to pull her horse up at a given distance, while he gallops away from her. this would be excellent practice for testing her power of horse control, because in hunting it is of vital importance that she should always have her mount in hand, and be able to stop him when necessary, even if a crowd of horses are galloping away in front of her. to do this when riding at a fast gallop, she should gradually slacken his speed, using the word "steady," and taking an even pull on the reins. it may be necessary for her to ride at this pace with a double bridle (curb and snaffle). fig. shows how the curb and snaffle reins should be held. i have not advocated giving a beginner a bit and bridoon, because in hunting she should always ride with the snaffle, and reserve the curb for use in cases of emergency, such as steadying her mount when galloping over plough or heavy ground, or in slackening his speed. the pupil who is learning to gallop should try the effect of the curb in stopping her horse while another horse is galloping away from her. as it is a severe bit, she would be wise to "feel" her horse's mouth with it only just enough to induce him to slacken his speed according to her indication. it should be used with the object of reminding him that it is in his mouth. if he does not obey the hint, the lady should take a stronger pull, and be ready to release her pressure when she feels her horse restrained by its influence, and then she should ride on the snaffle. my husband, in _riding and hunting_, says:--"with a double bridle we may ride on the snaffle as much as we like, and keep the curb for emergencies; although, from not knowing how to hold the reins properly, men frequently get into the habit of always riding on both reins, and then they blame the double bridle for being too severe.... a curb is indispensable with many horses for crossing an english hunting country in good style. we must also remember that out hunting, and with large fields, like what we see with the quorn and pytchley, the ability to obtain instant control over one's mount, even in the midst of exciting surroundings, is essential for the safety of one's self, one's horse, and one's companions, and for avoiding interference with sport.... i have known some horses, whose mouths had evidently been spoiled by injudicious, if not cruel, treatment, that would go quietly only in a snaffle." whyte melville, discussing the merits of the snaffle, says:--"this bit, the invention of common-sense going straight to its object, while lying easily on the tongue and bars of a horse's mouth, and affording control without pain, is perfection of its kind." of the double bridle he says:--"i need hardly explain to my reader that it loses none of the advantages belonging to the snaffle, while it gains in the powerful leverage of the curb a restraint few horses are resolute enough to defy. in skilful hands, varying, yet harmonising, the manipulation of both, as a musician plays treble and bass on the pianoforte, it would seem to connect the rider's thought with the horse's movement, as if an electric chain passed through wrist, and finger and mouth, from the head of the one to the heart of the other." [illustration: fig. .--bad seat; right leg hooked back, stirrup too long, and foot "home."] jumping. after the pupil has mastered the art of trotting, cantering, and galloping, and understands how to handle and control her mount with correctness and precision at these paces, she should be given a lesson in riding over fences. we may put up a small hurdle, or some easy obstacle, in an enclosed place, and tell her to canter her horse straight to the centre of it and jump it. all that she need be instructed to do, is to give the horse his head when he is rising at the jump, and to lean well back when he is about to land over it. by giving her horse his head, i mean that she is to extend her arms to their utmost length, and bring them again into position after he has landed. fig. shows a lady leaning back and extending her arms at a fence. the pupil will not require to alter the length of her reins when riding over fences, presuming, of course, that she has been taught from the first to keep a nice easy feel on her horse's mouth. she should be careful to leave the curb alone, and always ride over fences on the _snaffle_. the lady in fig. is riding only with a snaffle, and with a nice easy length of rein. i must pause here to draw attention to the fine riding of the lady, miss emmie harding, of mount vernon, new zealand, who is jumping this formidable wire fence on her hunter marengo. our hard riding colonial sisters have nothing to learn from us in the matter of sitting over stiff fences, even high wire barricades that would certainly stop a whole field in the shires. some critical ladies may consider that her left foot is carried too far back, but this is not the case, as she is riding with her stirrup at the ball of the foot and obtaining her grip of the leaping head without depressing the left knee. when we require to obtain the maximum amount of grip, as in jumping, we instinctively draw back the left foot, as shewn in fig. , in order that the ankle joint may exert its utmost power in pressing the leg against the leaping head. in fig. the position of the legs is identical with fig. . we can see that miss harding rides with her right leg forward, in the manner i have advocated. the rider should take a good grip of her crutches, and keep her legs perfectly steady and close to her horse. she should always ride him straight, not sideways, at his fences. there should not be the slightest movement of her seat in the saddle. as i have already explained, she should try to imagine that she is nailed down to the saddle and cannot be shifted, and that the movement of her body must come from the play of the hip joints. [illustration: fig. .--miss emmie harding jumping wire.] if her small brother possesses a rocking-horse, she should mount it and rock herself on it, if she does not entirely understand what is meant by "the play of the hip joints." if she rides over her first fence incorrectly, she should not be allowed to do so a second time without being put right. it would, therefore, be advisable for her to have her skirt pinned back, in order that the instructor, who should be standing by the fence at the near side, may see exactly how she obtains her grip. it is obvious that this lesson in jumping should be given either by, or under the supervision of a person experienced in side-saddle riding. the pupil may be allowed to hold a whip, but she should not use it, for she might acquire the bad habit of hitting her horse every time he jumps a fence. the whip in hunting should be kept for use at specially big fences, and as a reminder to the horse that he must exert his best efforts to clear them with safety. even then it is employed as an aid, but not as a means of inflicting punishment. no good horsewoman cuts her horse about the body with a whip. if the fence has been nicely jumped, the pupil extending her arms properly and keeping her hands low, we may "make much of her," and that will recompense her for any uncomplimentary things we may have said about her riding. after the small fence has been jumped nicely, it may be replaced at the next lesson by one somewhat higher; and when the lady has had practice over it on her steady horse, she may ride another mount who is a bigger jumper. no extra instructions need be given to her except that the higher the fence, the more must she lean back on landing. this jumping practice will probably teach her to always lean back when riding over a drop fence, or going down a steep hill. some ignorant people shout, "sit back," when a lady is riding at a fence; they should say, "lean back," which means quite another thing. [illustration: fig. .--maximum amount of pressure on leaping head.] if a lady, when taking her riding lessons, finds herself in any way uncomfortable in her saddle, she should at once stop and have the fault, whatever it may be, rectified. she should always be careful, when dressing for riding, to see that all her garments are put on correctly, so that nothing may get displaced and cause discomfort when she is in the saddle. if this does happen, she should dismount, if possible, and arrange matters without delay; otherwise she may be severely cut or rubbed and be unable to ride again for some time. after she has been taught to ride, she should be given a nice horse and a safe jumper, for she well deserves one, and will be able to ride him. she should hack him along quiet roads and bridle paths and learn to open gates and go through them nicely, always shutting them after her. [illustration: fig. .--position of legs in jumping.] reining back. as a lady will be unable to open gates correctly unless her horse will rein back readily, it will be necessary for her to obtain practice in this useful exercise. a horse which has to carry a woman should have previously been taught to rein back, chiefly by word of command and with only slight indications of the reins, because in the rein back a lady is greatly handicapped by her want of control over the animal's hind quarters. in this movement we should above all things avoid leaning back and putting an equal feeling on both reins, for that would be the very thing to prompt him to rear. it is evident that as a horse has to be light in front when going forward, he should be light behind when reining back. therefore, the rider should lean forward. also, she should feel the reins alternately, turning the horse's head towards the fore leg which is more advanced than the other fore leg. when she takes a steady pull with her right rein and finds that the horse draws back his off-fore, she should slacken the right rein and take a similar steady pull with the left rein to induce him to bring back his near fore, and so on. during this alternate feeling of the reins she should keep her hands as low as practicable, so that the horse may lower his head and put weight on his forehand, and consequently facilitate the movements of his hind legs. for each step the lady should use the words of command, "rein back," in a decided tone of voice, supposing of course that the animal has been taught the meaning of this verbal order. however well a lady may carry out these directions, she may not effect her purpose with precision, because the side pulls of the respective reins will prompt the horse, if he has not had previous training, to bring round his hind quarters in the opposite direction. the rider can prevent him doing this to the right by pressure of the whip on his off-flank; but owing to the necessary shortness of her stirrup, she will not be able to prevent him from swinging his hind quarters round to the left. here, the fact of a man having a leg on each side of his horse and fairly long stirrups, makes him far more capable of reining back a horse properly, than a lady seated on one side of the animal. a man obtains command of a horse's hind quarters by the pressure of his legs, especially when the feet are drawn back. as horses very much dislike reining back, i would caution the rider not to disgust her animal by continuing it for too long a time. he should be occasionally reined back a couple of times for four or five paces, and after each rein back should be allowed to go forward, and he should be rewarded for his obedience by a few pats on the neck and some words of encouragement. if the animal's temper be upset by too much reining back, he will probably adopt the dangerous habit of running back, when he would be very liable to fall, or he may rear. as inconsiderate people will persist in taking kickers into the hunting field, every lady who desires to hunt should be able to rein back her horse, in order to remove him, if possible, from the dangerous vicinity of an animal whose tail is adorned with a red bow, which is a sign that he is a kicker, and not that he has been recently vaccinated. her next lessons should be devoted to obtaining practice in jumping various kinds of fences, and in riding up and down hill, over ridge and furrow and difficult ground, which we will deal with in another chapter. a lady should remember to always keep an eye on her mount, and never let her attention be diverted from the order of his going, however much she may be otherwise occupied. to people who have had much practice in riding various horses, this forward outlook becomes almost automatic. i would advise my imaginary pupil to learn the following ancient rhyme by heart, and to observe its teaching, although it is not entirely applicable to ladies-- "your head and your heart keep boldly up, your hands and your heels keep down, your knees keep close to your horse's sides and your elbows close to your own." chapter xi. riding across country. "made" fences--practice over natural fences. "made" fences. it is necessary for a lady who intends to hunt, to obtain as much practice as possible over the various kinds of fences which she may have to negotiate when hunting, before she appears in the field. although ladies living in the country may have an opportunity of obtaining practice over natural fences of gradually increasing size, it is generally more convenient, and perhaps safer, to utilise "made" fences in a field or paddock. these obstacles need not be very high to commence with, but they should assume various forms, due prominence being given to the most common kind of fence encountered in the country in which the rider desires to hunt. two or more specimens of this particular obstacle may be included in the artificial collection. to imitate leicestershire fences we may make, for the first jump, the nearest approach we can to an ordinary hedge; the second, a hedge with a ditch on the taking-off side; the third, a post and rail fence; and the fourth, another hedge, with a ditch on both sides. we may follow that with a "cut-and-laid" fence with a ditch on the take-off side; and a stone wall, made up of loose stones or bricks. in the middle of the field, where the rider can obtain a good run at it, we may construct a water jump. the other fences should be built by the side of the boundary fence of the paddock or field, which may have to be artificially heightened for the purpose, but not supplied with wings; for in hunting, fences are not protected for us in that way. the pupil should first learn to jump them riding from left to right, as horses generally refuse to the left, and that side being blocked by the boundary fence, the horse will be more liable to go straight. the animal should, of course, first be ridden over them by the teacher in the presence of the pupil, who will see exactly at which jump her mount may be likely to give trouble. she should also observe the pace at which the animal is ridden, especially at the water jump. if he is sluggish, it would be wise for the lady to give him a touch with the whip when riding at timber, which he must not chance, and at cut-and-laid fences, which must also be jumped cleanly; for if a horse gets a foot in the top binder, the chances are that he will fall. besides, he must exert himself to clear the ditch on one or both sides. he should be ridden over the course at a canter, and allowed to jump the fences without interference from his rider, for he will try his best to avoid falling. he should be ridden fast at water, as a certain amount of speed is necessary for jumping length; but he should not be taken at full gallop, as he would then be too much extended to raise himself in his spring. if the correct pace could be gauged to a nicety, i should say it is just a shade faster than a hand gallop. horses, as a rule, jump water badly, perhaps for the very good reason that they seldom get schooled at this kind of obstacle. a line of "made" fences in a field or paddock would have to be comparatively close together, say, with intervals of not less than yards between them; although double that distance would be much better. a lady riding over these obstacles could hardly help going at the same speed, and, therefore, there would be but little opportunity for teaching her how she ought to regulate her pace for each of them, which would not be the case if they were a quarter of a mile or so apart. one advantage of riding over a line of "made" jumps is, that it strengthens a rider's seat, for no sooner has she landed over one fence, than she must be ready to negotiate the next one. she should remember to keep her hands low down and as steady as possible, carefully avoiding shifting in the saddle, flourishing her whip, checking her mount with the reins, shouting to him, or committing any other act which is likely to distract his attention from the fence in front of him. the horse given to the pupil to ride should be an experienced hunter, and, in that case, she may safely trust him to carry her over the various leaps without any interference whatever. if he takes them a shade faster than did the animal on which she rode over her first fence, she should not try to check him. as it is impossible for her to know the exact moment he is going to take off, she should give him his head, when he is coming up to the obstacle, and be ready to lean well back as he is landing over it. if a lady is riding with her reins too short, and the horse, in jumping, makes a sudden snatch to get more rein, she should at once let them slip through her fingers, and learn, from that experience, to ride with the reins sufficiently long to enable her to have an easy feel of her horse's mouth, without in any way hanging on to his head. some inexperienced ladies get alarmed when a horse is about to take off, and check him with the reins, which is a most dangerous proceeding. i have known the safest of jumpers pulled into their fences and caused to fall by the adoption of such tactics. a lady should remember that when her mount is going straight for a fence, with the intention of getting safely to the other side, any interference on her part will cause him to either blunder badly, or, if the jump is a fixture, to fall. if a horse slackens speed when near a fence, and suddenly runs out, his rider should let him refuse and take him at it again. i once got a very bad fall through turning a horse quickly at a fence which he was in the act of refusing. we were close to the jump, he had no time to take off properly, so he breasted the obstacle, a stiff timber jump, and blundered on to his head. that taught me a salutary lesson, and therefore i would warn all ladies to let their horses run out when the animals have taken the first step in the wrong direction, as it is then too late to keep them straight with safety, and a sudden turn, with the object of trying to do so, is very apt to make a horse blunder. when a touch with the whip is given to remind a horse that he has to clear a big ditch on the landing side, or when riding at timber, it should be used on the off flank by a turn of the wrist, but without jerking the reins. the whip, as i have before remarked, should be employed as an aid and not as a means of inflicting pain. a lady should not bustle her horse at his fences, except perhaps at water, for every horse has his own pace at which he prefers to jump, and the clever sort will always manage to put in a short stride, or take a longer one at the last moment, if they find that the strides they are using will not bring them up to the correct spot from which to take off. in hunting, the fences are generally taken at a canter, and the pace is increased in galloping over the open ground. horses are thus what is called "steadied" at their fences, but the pull should not be made nearer the fence than yards. when a lady has made up her mind to ride at a fence, she should think of nothing else but getting over it. some women go at their fences in such a half-hearted, irresolute manner that their horses learn to refuse. too much practice over "made" fences is monotonous to the rider and hateful to her horse, who is only too apt to become "reluctant" in such cases. hence, if the lady has ridden over the fences nicely, from left to right and from right to left, and taken her artificial brook at a good pace, she should not be required to do any more jumping on that occasion. the ground near the fences should be laid down with tan, stable litter, or anything else which will make the falling soft, in the event of the pupil having a tumble. it would be better for a lady not to be given a lead in riding over these "made" obstacles, because it is necessary for her to have as much practice as possible, at first, in controlling her mount without assistance. practice over natural fences. a lady who has gone through the hard drudgery of learning to sit well, will be repaid for her efforts on finding herself able to ride with ease over natural fences. her companion should select the obstacles, and give a lead, but the pupil should not send her horse at a fence until she has seen her pilot safely landed and going away from it. she should occasionally assume the lead, in order that she may not always rely on the guidance of others. unless there is a paucity of obstacles, no fence should be jumped twice, and the companion or attendant should be a man who knows the country, so that he may direct his pupil to obstacles without going out of the way to meet them. the more these fences are treated as adventitious circumstances, and not the main object of the ride, the steadier and more safely will a horse jump them. a lady should ride as many different horses as she can, and in company, for when four or five horses are cantering together, the lady's mount will, doubtless, be sufficiently excited to require steadying in approaching his fences, and she may then learn to gauge the distance at which to take a pull at him. those who are riding with her should require her to wait her turn at the only practicable place in a fence, as she would have to do when hunting, to pull her horse up to a halt, and to send him at his fence with a run of only a few strides. she should also practise trotting her horse up to a fence to see what is on the other side of it, and, if it is negotiable, she should turn him away from it, give him a short run at it, and jump it. after she has obtained as much practice as possible, on different horses, over various kinds of natural fences, and has shown ability to control her mount at a gallop, and when excited by the presence of other horses galloping in front of him, she should be considered competent to commence her hunting career, and take her place in the field at the beginning of the cub-hunting season. she should remember on all occasions of difficulty and danger to keep a cool head and trust to the honour of her mount. a good horsewoman, even if she has had no experience in hunting, will not be likely to incur disgrace by wild and incompetent riding, for, having been accustomed to keep her mount under thorough control, she will carefully avoid spoiling the sport of others, while seeing as much of it as she can in a quiet, unobtrusive manner. a lady should remember that strangers are not hailed with delight in any english hunting field; but when they are found to be competent to take care of themselves and their horses, they are far more kindly received, than if they go there as recruits in the great slipshod brigade. chapter xii. hacking. it is necessary for a lady to acquire a knowledge of the rules of the road before riding in public, especially if she be attended by a groom, who would of course ride behind her. persons, whether riding or driving, when proceeding in opposite directions, pass each other on the near (left-hand) side of the road, and when going in the same direction, the more speedy party goes by the other on the off (right) side. a male companion would ride on her off side. in military riding, the rule when meeting a rider proceeding in the opposite direction is "bridle hand to bridle hand." when the young horsewoman assumes charge of her mount in the open, she should always keep a watchful eye on the road in front of her, in order to avoid as far as possible dangerous ground and approaching vehicles. her eyes and ears should enable her to mentally note objects coming behind her, as well as those on either side, such as, for instance, loose horses or cattle in fields, the approach of trains, etc., in order that she may be prepared for any sudden movement on the part of her animal. loose horses which we meet in fields have such a playful way of galloping up behind, and frequently taking great liberties, that it is often necessary to get into the next enclosure as quickly as possible. even when quietly cantering on grass by the side of the road, the vagaries of loose horses or cattle, or even the sudden flight of birds on the other side of the dividing boundary, may cause a rider to be taken by surprise, if she has not previously made a mental note of her neighbourhood. also, she should always have reassuring words on the tip of her tongue for her animal in case of momentary alarm. the quietest horse in the world may occasionally exhibit fear, but if his rider uses her eyes and ears, she will generally be prepared for any sudden flight of fancy on his part, and will not be likely to lose her head. a lady should avoid trotting on broken or uneven ground, or on a road which is covered with loose stones, as her horse would be liable to fall and perhaps cut his knees. unless in a hurry to reach her destination, she should not, like a butcher's boy, trot her horse at his fastest speed. the ground chosen for a canter should be soft and, if possible, elastic, and she should, of course, avoid the "'ammer, 'ammer on the 'ard 'igh road," which is a fruitful cause of lameness. any soft parts at the side of a road may be used for the canter, or if the ground is very hard and dry, as it sometimes is in summer, and also in frosty weather, only quiet trotting and walking exercise could be taken with safety to the horse. a lady should always study her mount, and carefully select the "going." it is best to ride down-hill at a walk. if a horse stumbles he should never be hit or jobbed in the mouth, because he takes no pleasure in making false steps, or even in breaking his knees. a lady should always give any passing vehicle as much room as possible. if her animal is afraid to pass any object on the road, the groom or attendant should at once ride in advance and give him a lead. if he still evinces fear, his rider should speak encouragingly to him, pat him on the neck, and tell him to go on. if this fails, and he shows an inclination to turn in an opposite direction, she should check him at once, and order him to go on in a severe tone of voice. it will be on such occasions as these that a rider who has never acquired the silly habit of constantly talking to her mount, will find the voice a powerful factor in horse control. unfortunately, many people, when a horse shies, lose their heads, clutch at the reins, hit the horse, and commit other foolish acts which only irritate the animal, without in any way allaying his fear, supposing, as we do, that the horse is good-tempered, and is not shying from vice. the voice of his rider will inspire him with confidence, and, therefore, when he has made an anxious and fearful step in the right direction, he should be patted and spoken to in an encouraging tone, so that his mind may not be wholly occupied with the terrifying object in front of him. it is a good plan to incline his head away from it as much as possible. i have ridden young horses who have shied at almost everything, but have never worried them to go up to and smell the object of their aversion, as some recommend, because it is not always practicable to do so, as, for instance, in the case of a motor car. it is not wise to give undue importance to comparative trifles. the voice has always stood me in good stead with shying horses, who soon get to regard it as a sure sign that they have nothing to fear. a lady who has been properly taught to ride, and sits correctly, should remember that whatever her horse may do in plunging about from one side of the road to the other, he cannot unseat her, so she need feel no alarm on that point. the greatest danger is that the horse may dash into something which in his fright he has not seen, but that, fortunately, is a very rare occurrence, even with young horses. however frightened a lady may herself feel, she should never reveal her secret to her horse by speaking to him in a terrified tone of voice, or by otherwise displaying fear; and above all things, she should never lose her temper and hit him, no matter how obstinate he may be, as doing so will only make him shy on the next occasion, with a display of temper thrown in, and he will then be more difficult than ever to manage. the best way to act with a horse which shies from desire to "play up," is to take as little notice as possible of his antics, give him more work, and less corn. a lady should always ride slowly round a corner, and keep a good look out in front of her. many things may happen during the course of a ride to try the nerve of both horse and rider, but if anything should startle a horse, his rider should keep her head cool, sit tight, and do her best to pull him up. she will have doubtless accustomed him to the meaning of the word "steady," or other verbal order which she may have employed when slackening speed. this word, accompanied by a steady and vigorous pull on the reins, should succeed in stopping him before he has had time to get up much speed. if, however, a lady finds she cannot pull him up, she should try to turn him to the left, as that will be the easier, supposing, of course, she has sufficient room in which to turn. if not, she should saw his mouth with the bit by working it from side to side. the groom, or attendant, should on no account gallop after her, as doing so will only tend to make the lady's horse go all the faster. i remember riding a very hard puller belonging to mr. wintle, of shanghai. one day this animal bolted with me, and the stupid native _mafoo_ behind galloped on after me. i managed to stop the animal by turning him to the left, and pointing his head away from the homeward direction in which we were proceeding, but i was greatly hampered by my mount hearing the footfalls behind him. the native groom was frightened, and no doubt thought he could help me, which he could best have done by pulling up. i cannot too strongly impress on all ladies who ride the necessity of using a safety-bar on their saddles (p. ), and wearing a safety skirt, even when hacking; for a sudden cause of fright may make the animal unseat his rider, and it is no uncommon thing for a horse to fall when going over apparently level ground, even at a walk, in either of which cases she might get dragged by her stirrup or skirt, if it is of the non-safety pattern. in any case of difficulty with a horse, a lady should contrive at all hazards to retain her self-possession and her seat, remembering that the least symptom of alarm on her part will increase the terror or obstinacy of the animal. my advice for stopping a runaway is not so easy to follow as drawing on a glove, but it has extricated me on many occasions from a dangerous position and, therefore, i know it to be practicable; but i hope no lady may ever have occasion to put it to the proof. although all quarrels between horse and rider should be avoided, a woman should never, by over-indulgence, induce her mount to consider that she is afraid of him, because if he once gets that idea into his head, he will exert every means to convince her that he is the master, and will end by doing precisely what he likes, instead of implicitly obeying her commands. by watching my husband reduce to subjection vicious horses in various parts of the world, i have seen that although equine demons cannot be conquered by physical strength, they can be controlled by coolness, patience and knowledge, which is a fact that every riding woman should bear in mind. chapter xiii. riding without reins. undoubtedly the best and quickest way for a lady to learn to ride well is the one which i shall now describe, and which i believe i have been the first to practise. before putting up the pupil, it is well to teach the horse the work he has got to do, which should be performed, if possible, in an enclosure not less than yards in diameter: yards would be a better size. the track should be soft. a thick, smooth snaffle having been put on, the leather reins are taken off, and others (the best are of "circular" or "pipe" webbing, - / inches broad) about feet long are substituted. if circular webbing cannot be obtained, ropes or ordinary leather reins, if of the proper length, will do. the animal is made to circle round the driver by the outward rein (the left rein if he is going to the right) passing round his quarters, while the inward rein (the right in this case) leads him off and bends him in the direction he has to go (fig. ). the horse should be made to circle in a thoroughly well-balanced manner, so that the circle described by his fore feet will be the same as that made by his hind feet, and he should be taught to turn smoothly and collectedly. the driver should stand partly to one side of the horse and partly behind him, as in fig. , but should on no account keep following the animal; for, if he does so, he will throw too much of his weight on the reins. this should, of course, be avoided; for the lighter the feeling on the reins, the better, so long as the horse goes up to his bridle. the pressure of the outward rein should act like that of the outward leg of a man who is riding a horse on a circle, in keeping his hind quarters "supported"; so that the circle described by the hind feet may not be greater than that made by the fore feet. in order to give adequate command over the horse, a standing martingale, put at a proper length, will be required for this driving on foot. this method of mouthing horses is fully described in my husband's _illustrated horse breaking_. when the horse circles and turns equally well on both reins and jumps cleverly, the beginner may be put on the saddle without giving her any reins to hold. in order to keep her hands down and occupied, she may hold a whip or stick in both hands resting on her lap, as shown in the illustration, or she may fold her arms in front of her. whatever may be the pace, if the pupil begins to lose her balance, to be frightened, to sit awkwardly, or to become tired, the driver should at once halt the horse and should try to rectify matters as far as possible. [illustration: fig. .--driving horse over jumps.] the lesson should be commenced by the driver starting the horse into a steady walk, on a circle to the right, as that will be easier than going to the left. after a few circles, and when the rider has acquired some confidence, the driver may give her the "caution" that he is going to turn the horse, which he does by turning him to the "left-about" by means of the left rein, while "supporting" the hind quarters by the right rein. after the required number of circles has been made to the left, the caution may be repeated, and a "right-about" turn done. when the pupil has become sufficiently advanced, a steady trot on the right circle may be attempted; the turns being executed as before. subsequently, a canter may be tried. as the rider gains expertness, the turns may be made without giving any caution, and the sharpness with which they are done may be gradually increased. when the rider has acquired a good firm seat, she may get a jumping lesson. the best kind of fence is a round thick (at least inches in diameter) log of wood. it should be of good substance and weight, so that, if the horse hits it once, he will not care to repeat the experiment. it should be free from any sharp points or edges that might blemish the animal, if he "raps" it. this log should be at least feet long, should have one end a little outside the circumference of the circle on which the animal works, and the other end pointing towards the centre of the circle. the log, at each extremity, may be propped up on empty wine or beer cases (fig. ). no wing or upright pole which might catch in the reins should be placed at the inner end of the log. if a log such as i have described be not procurable, a hurdle or gate might be employed. it is well to begin this lesson by placing the log on the ground, and first walking the horse, who carries his rider, over the log, which might then be raised or inches. the bar need not be put up higher than feet. the whole of this jumping practice should at first be given while circling to the right. as the capabilities of all are not alike, the teacher, who ought also to be the driver, should exercise his judgment in apportioning the work done. as a rough approximation, i should say that an apt pupil who had never been previously on a horse, ought to do in fairly good style, after a dozen lessons, all i have described. these lessons, which had best be given daily, ought not to exceed half an hour in duration. great care should be taken that the rider gets neither fatigued nor "rubbed." as a rule, a man will be required to drive the horse on foot with the long reins; for few women would be able to do this work, and teach at the same time. if the instructor be a lady, she might get an experienced man to drive for her, while she gives the cautions and orders. while receiving her first lesson in riding without reins, the pupil should try to keep her seat by the combined help of balance and grip, and should not attempt to hold on to the saddle with her hands, which, subsequently, will be required solely for the manipulation of the reins and whip. as a rider can manage a horse in a moment of danger twice as well with two hands as with one, it is impossible for her to become a fine horsewoman if she acquires the fatal habit of clutching hold of the saddle, which she inevitably will do the instant she feels insecure in her seat, or becomes nervous, if she be that way afflicted. to guard against this evil, the learner should be taught to ride in a modern english saddle, which, as we all know, has got no off pommel. by allowing her body to be perfectly lissom from the waist upward, she will be able to conform to the movements of the horse, and will not feel herself violently jerked from side to side by any quick turn or untoward movement he may make. if she stiffens her body and assumes an awkward position in her saddle, she will find herself, on the animal being sharply turned, unable to retain her seat with ease. as it is difficult, even for an accomplished horsewoman who is not accustomed to riding without reins, to do this when mounted on a light-mouthed horse, and without a signal from the driver of his intention to turn sharply in the trot or canter to "right" or "left" as the case may be; the pupil, until she has acquired the knack of conforming to every movement of the animal, should receive due warning from the driver. when he signifies his intention to turn the horse, she should grip the crutches with her legs, and incline her body in the direction to be taken by her mount. by watching the animal's ears, she will soon learn to become independent of the driver's signal. she will find, until she has acquired practice in riding without reins, that it is far more difficult to retain her balance in the saddle during these turns, than in riding over a fence; for when an obstacle has to be negotiated, she is made aware beforehand of the intended movements, but in turning without a signal she has not that advantage. if the lessons are given, first at a walk, and the pace gradually increased according as she becomes secure in her saddle, she will soon acquire a good firm seat, and will have no tendency to be displaced by her horse shying with her, or by making a sudden plunge to right or left. i have described in chapter viii. how a lady should sit in her saddle, so i need not repeat these directions. while being driven with the long reins, the rider should endeavour to sit as upright as she can, without any stiffness, and leaning neither to the front nor back, except when rising at the trot, when the body should be inclined a little forward, so as to make the movement smooth. the _walk_ requires no special mention. at the _trot_, before she has learned when and how to rise in her stirrup, it is best for her not to make any attempt to do so, but to let herself be bumped up and down until she feels that, although the movement may be unpleasant, it does not render her seat insecure. while doing this, she should be careful not to put any weight on the stirrup. after she has thus learned to trot without rising, she should try to feel her stirrup just before her body is bumped upward by the horse, and she will soon become able to time her movements, so as to rise in her stirrup with grace and ease. to do this, her effort should be strictly confined to aiding the upward lift which the horse gives to her body, and should be free from any jerk or wriggle. she should have her weight well on her right leg, and should keep her stirrup in one unaltered position (p. ). the ankle acts here as a spring to take away any jerk that might occur during the movement. the stirrup, as i have said on page , should be at the ball of the foot, and the left knee should be kept steady and close against the flap of the saddle. if the horse, during the trot, suddenly breaks off into a canter, the rider should sit down in her saddle, and be ready to grip her crutches with both legs, if necessary. when _cantering_, the lady should try as much as possible to ride by balance and not by gripping her crutches tightly the whole time. she will thus be able to sit in a nice, easy position, and will be ready to grip the moment she requires to do so, as when turning, or if she feels she is losing her balance. whenever the pupil gets displaced in her saddle or frightened, the horse should at once be pulled up; for the lesson will be of no use to her, if she feels forced to adopt a stiff, awkward position in her saddle for the sake of safety. it is well to know that an almost infallible sign of a rider being frightened of her horse is a tendency to unduly bend or "crane" forward. hence, the instant this sign becomes apparent either to learner or teacher, the lesson should be discontinued, or the pace, if that was the cause of the nervousness, should be decreased as might be required. this "funky" seat on horseback looks bad, is particularly unsafe, and is hard to correct when once acquired. in _riding up to a fence_ the lady should in no way alter her position, but should merely grip the crutches firmly, while keeping her body perfectly lissom, with her head and shoulders slightly back. many persons have a notion that the proper way to sit over all jumps is to bend forward when the animal is rising, and to lean back when he is descending. this is quite wrong; for, as the horse, before propelling himself forward and upward by his hind legs, has to raise his forehand off the ground by the straightening out of one or both of his fore legs, it is evident that it would be inadvisable to put any additional weight, at that moment, on the forehand. as most persons have a natural tendency to bend forward too much when going at a fence, i have advised the rider to bring her head and shoulders a little back, just sufficient to correct such a tendency. when a horse is in the act of taking off at a standing jump, the rider should lean forward, and bring her head and shoulders back, when he is landing. it is always sound practice to lean well back when landing over a fence, so as to take the weight off the horse's fore legs as much as possible. an experienced rider solves all these problems automatically. the fact of a side saddle giving the very strong grip it does, induces many ladies who find they can sit over a fence without falling off, to become so well satisfied with their own riding, that they neglect to acquire a good seat over a country. their slipshod style is neither graceful, nor does it enable them to give their horse any assistance, if he happens to make a mistake; for they are certain to tumble off, if they receive any unusual provocation. the hold the lady has on the crutches should prevent her falling, if the animal stops dead when coming up to a fence. a lady who has acquired a good firm seat ought never to be displaced from her saddle while her mount remains on his legs. though progress in the art of riding without reins must of necessity be slow and somewhat tedious at first, still, i would strongly recommend all ladies who are able to do so to practise this method, for they will find it the best and most rapid by which they can acquire a good and firm seat on horseback. the great difficulty in this work is to find a man who can use the long reins and manage a horse with correctness and precision in the various paces, and in jumping. it would be most dangerous for a lady to allow herself to be driven by the long reins by any man who was not a thorough master of this difficult art of horse guidance and control. even with such a man, the horse to be ridden and jumped without reins should be previously trained for this work, and should be taught to stop dead the instant he receives the word of command. as a lady who is inexperienced in this kind of riding, may get a toss when being turned, especially if she tries to hook back her right leg, it is obvious that the "falling" should be soft and that the pupil be supplied with a safety bar and a safety skirt. it will be seen by the extract from the _queen_, page , that even small girls who were taught to sit their horses in the manner that i have described in this book, were able to ride well over fences without reins after two lessons. chapter xiv. nerve. no lady can enjoy riding, or become proficient in that art, unless she has good nerve. luckily, the large majority of girls who learn to ride possess abundance of nerve and pluck, an excess of which is often a danger to safety in the hunting field. it may be noticed, however, that the finest horsewomen do not make any showy display of their prowess, for they ride to hunt, and do not hunt to ride. pluck is an admirable quality as far as it goes, but it must be supported by nerve. it is the custom to laugh at people who are suffering from temporary loss of nerve, but it is heartless to do so, as we have all, i believe, felt, more or less, what jorrocks would term, "kivered all over with the creeps," at some period or other of our lives. bad horses and bad falls are apt to ruin the strongest nerve, and there must be a cause to produce an effect. for instance, i never feared a thunderstorm until our house was struck by lightning; but now, when a storm comes, i feel like the colonel to whom a major said on the field of prestonpans: "you shiver, colonel, you are afraid." "i _am_ afraid, sir," replied the colonel, "and if you were as much afraid as i am, you would _run away_!" it may, however, be consoling to ladies who are battling against loss of nerve, to hear that i have known brilliant horsemen lose their nerve so utterly that they were unable to take their horses out of a walk. with quiet practice their good nerve returned again, and they have ridden as well as ever. nerve in riding is recoverable by practice on a very confidential horse. some men give their wives or daughters horses which are unsuitable for them, and which they are unable to manage. is it any wonder that such ladies have their nerve entirely shattered in their efforts to control half-broken, violent brutes of horses? it is customary to blame ladies who are unable to control their horses in the hunting field; but the men who supply them with such animals are, in many cases, the more deserving of censure. there are men, not many, i hope, who consider it unnecessary for their womenkind to learn to ride before they hunt; but no one has a right to thus endanger the lives of others. such ladies possess plenty of pluck, but not the necessary knowledge to guide their valour to act in safety. a master of hounds told me that his nerve was so bad that he positively prayed for frost! at the end of one season he gave up the hounds; but he is again hunting them, so his nerve must have become strong. mr. scarth dixon, writing on this subject, says: "it is a curious quality, that of nerve. a man's nerve, by which i mean his riding nerve, will go from him in a day; it will sometimes, but not frequently, come back to him as suddenly as it departed. everyone who has hunted for any length of time and kept his eyes open must be able to call to mind many a man who has commenced his hunting career with apparent enthusiasm, who has gone, like the proverbial 'blazes,' for two or three seasons, taking croppers as all in a day's work, and then all at once has given up hunting altogether because his nerve has gone. he has, perhaps, tried to 'go' for a season, enduring unknown tortures in the attempt, and then he has given up altogether. he has never joined the skirting brigade, not, perhaps, as some would suggest, because he was too proud to do so after having once been a first-flight man, but because he did not care sufficiently for hunting." this writer knew a man who gave up riding to hounds because he had lost his nerve, and yet he continued to ride in steeplechases, which may be explained by the fact that the rider on a "flagged course" knows what is in front of him, and has little or nothing to fear from bad ground. mr. otho paget considers that "a failing nerve may be always traced to the stomach," and recommends moderation in eating, drinking, and smoking. frank beers, the famous huntsman of the grafton, had his hunting career closed by a severe illness, which apparently deprived him of all his former dash. mr. elliot says: "at the commencement of the season ( - ) an attempt was made by the poor man to resume his duties, but one hour's trial proved to mr. robarts and those present that all hope had vanished, and the above-named gentleman, being in charge during lord penrhyn's absence, sent the hounds home." huntsmen, like other riding men, generally lose some of their nerve after forty. mr. otho paget tells us that the late tom firr was the only huntsman he ever knew who retained his riding nerve to the end. he was riding brilliantly at fifty-eight, in his last season with the quorn, when he met with an accident which compelled him to resign his post. with lord lonsdale as master, and tom firr as huntsman, the quorn possessed two of the most perfect horsemen who ever crossed leicestershire. i think the best treatment for a lady suffering from loss of nerve is, first of all, to attend to her health, which will probably be out of order; then get a steady horse or pony and ride him quietly for a time, and the chances are that the good nerve will all come back again. it grieves people who have been unable, from various causes, to keep up their riding practice, to think that they have lost their nerve, and they brood over it until they often imagine they are past hope of recovery, but that is a great mistake. this feeling can be struggled against, and, in most cases, conquered, by quiet measures. nothing but the most "confidential" animal will help to do it, so i would warn my riding brethren not to make matters worse for their womenkind by providing any other kind of mount. chapter xv. fences, country and gates. from a hunting point of view, the chief value of fences lies in the fact that they retard the hounds more than the horses, and help the foxes to save their brushes. on arable land, fences as a rule are used merely as boundaries; but on grazing land, they are needed to prevent stock from roving beyond their assigned limits. hence, in a grass country, the obstacles are generally much more difficult to negotiate than on tilled ground. also, the nature of grazing stock demands variation in the stiffness and height of the fences, which, in the midlands, have to restrain the migratory propensities of frisky young bullocks; but in dairy-farming counties like cheshire, much smaller and weaker ones amply serve their purpose in acting as barriers to placid bovine matrons. farmers in the shires have found that hawthorn hedges make the most serviceable fences under old time regulations. when these hedges are allowed to grow in a natural manner, they take the form of a bullfinch (fig. ), which, though impossible at many places, often leaves a gap at others. consequently, bullfinches are gradually going out of fashion in the shires, and are generally converted into cut-and-laid fences, of which there is an example in fig. . this alteration is usually made in winter, and is effected by cutting with a bill-hook about half way through the small trunks of the hawthorn shrubs, turning them to the left, and interlacing their tops and their branches, as we may see in fig. , which shows us the appearance fig. presented during its construction. a cut-and-laid is usually about feet inches high, and is the wrong kind of obstacle to "chance," because it is very stiff. some hunting people who know very little about country life, call a cut-and-laid fence a "stake-and-bound fence," which (fig. ) is an artificial barrier made by putting a row of stakes in the ground and twisting brushwood between them. stake-and-bound fences are common in kent, and are not nearly so dangerous to "chance" as a cut-and-laid, because the ends of their stakes are only stuck in the ground. the practice of cutting and laying hedges is so general in the midlands, that we rarely see a bullfinch which does not show signs of having been tampered with in this manner. even the height to which the hawthorn bushes in fig. have attained, does not entirely conceal the traces left by the bill-hook, some years before this photograph was taken. posts and rails are often used in the shires to strengthen decrepit fences (fig. ), and to take their place when no hawthorn bushes are present (fig. ). their difficulty of negotiation is naturally increased by the presence of a ditch on the taking off or landing side, as in fig. . as a rule, they are about feet inches high. a not uncommon form of posts and rails is a midland stile (fig. ). a familiar combination of a hedge and posts and rails is an oxer (fig. ). the gap in this illustration has been repaired by wire, and i am much indebted to the ox who kindly allowed us to take his portrait, as well as the fence which owes its name to his family. although the whissendine is a prominent feature of the cottesmore country near stapleford park, i need not dwell upon brooks as a form of hunting obstacle in the shires, for they are seldom jumped; not from faintheartedness on the part of riders, but because the ground on the taking-off or landing side is often treacherous, and the presence of posts and rails or wire on one or both of the banks is a frequent occurrence. also, the width of these brooks and bottoms varies greatly according to the amount of rainfall. people whose experience of leaping is limited to that of fences on firm and level ground, like those in a jumping competition, are naturally apt to overlook the severe manner in which a hunter is handicapped when coming up to an unknown fence, after a long and fast run through heavy, rough and hilly ground. [illustration: fig. .--a cut-and-laid fence.] [illustration: fig. .--a cut-and-laid fence during construction.] [illustration: fig. .--a stake and bound fence.] [illustration: fig. .--post and rails to close gap in hedge.] [illustration: fig. .--posts and rails.] [illustration: fig. .--posts and rails with ditch.] [illustration: fig. .--midland stile.] [illustration: fig. .--an oxer.] [illustration: fig. .--wire in front of bullfinch.] wire (fig. ) is terribly common in some parts of the shires, and often makes any attempt to ride straight impossible. in countries where it is prevalent, speed is a much more valuable attribute of a hunter than cleverness in jumping, because the main object of the rider will then be, as a rule, to get over fields and through gates with a minimum of "lepping." some of our colonial sisters might taunt us for not trying to leap wire in the brave manner done by miss harding (fig. ) and other new zealand and australian horsewomen, but their conditions of country are entirely different from ours. in the shires, for instance, wire, as a great rule, is visible only from one side of the fence which it contaminates, and often takes the form of a concealed trap. hence it is carefully avoided both by horses at grass and by riders. my husband tells me that banks, stone walls and "stone gaps" are the chief fences in ireland; that hedges are seldom encountered, except in the form of furze on the top of banks; and that he has rarely seen posts and rails in his native land. while enjoying a very pleasant visit last winter with mr. arthur pollok, the master of the east galway hounds, he took the photographs of figs. to . fig. shows a broad bank about feet high, with a deep ditch on each side, and a tall man standing on the top of it, so as to give an idea of its dimensions. fig. is a side view of fig. . in fig. , mr. pollok, who is also tall, is standing beside a higher and more upright bank which has the usual accompaniment of broad ditches. in fig. , the very popular master of the east galway is close to a typical galway stone wall of the "cope and dash" order and close on feet in height. this formidable obstacle derives its name from the fact that the stones on its top are firmly cemented together by a dash of mortar. the masters, hunting men, hunting ladies, and horses of the east galway and blazers think nothing of "throwing a lep" over a cope and dash of this kind. ordinary second flighters in the shires would probably prefer the galway "loose stone wall" depicted in fig. or the small bank shown in fig. . he also tells me that although there is wire in east galway, it is used only for fencing-in large spaces of ground, and as it stands out alone by itself, it is no source of danger to horse or rider. my husband returned to crick delighted with the people in county galway, especially because, when he went out hunting, almost everyone of the small field, both ladies and men, seeing that he was a stranger, were glad to meet him, and went up and spoke to him in a very friendly manner. over there, hunting is evidently a sport, and not a social function. fig. , which was very kindly taken from the top of yelvertoft church for this book by the rector of that nice parish, gives a good idea of the country over which we hunt in northamptonshire. in that county, the grass fields are smaller and the country more wooded than in leicestershire, which has the inestimable advantage of possessing so many bridle paths, that people who hunt in it have very little road tramping to do. even that trying infliction is mitigated to some extent in most parts of the shires, by the presence of grass on the sides of country roads, as in fig. . [illustration: fig. .--galway bank.] [illustration: fig. .--side view of bank shown in fig. .] [illustration: fig. .--galway bank.] [illustration: fig. .--"cope and dash" wall.] [illustration: fig. .--loose stone wall.] [illustration: fig. .--low bank with ditch on both sides.] [illustration: _photo. by_ rev. r. j. gornall. fig. .--view of country between yelvertoft and crick.] [illustration: fig. .--grass on each side of the road.] when hunting in england, gates are hardly ever jumped, for two very good reasons. first, because it would take a manifesto or a cloister to negotiate a series of them safely during a long run; and second, because the habit of leaping gates would be almost certain to unfit a horse for the task of steadily going through the various phases of opening and shutting these means of ingress and egress. besides, gates are often in such positions, as regards taking off and landing, that it would be impossible to fly them safely, even if the way were clear of hunting companions, which is seldom the case in large fields. every horsewoman should remember that nothing is more apt to spoil a horse than allowing a brace of alternative ideas to occupy his mind at the same time. hence, when a hunter sees a gate during a run, his thoughts should be solely occupied in doing his best to aid his rider to open, get through and shut it, or hold it open, if necessary. gates, as a rule, may be divided into five-barred gates (fig. ) and bridle gates (fig. ). variety in gates is chiefly limited to their form of fastening, which is generally on the left-hand side of the rider when the gate opens towards her (figs. , and ); and on her right-hand side, when it opens away from her (fig. ). in fig. , we see the old-fashioned wooden latch. in fig. , the spring latch has to be pulled towards the hinges of the gate; and in fig. , away from them. in the double gate shown in fig. , the upper fastening consists of a moveable d; the lower one being a very common supplementary latch, which in fig. , is cunningly secured by a curved piece of iron that renders the gate impossible to be opened, except by a person on foot. another form of craft that we sometimes encounter, is an arrangement by which the gate hangs so heavily on its latch, that the would-be passer-through has to lift up the gate before he or she can open it, and often at an expenditure of strength of which many women are incapable. to perform this feat, a rider would of course have to dismount, which would be very awkward, if a lady was by herself. i have met gates of this annoying description on bridle paths on which the public have a right-of-way. [illustration: fig. .--ordinary five-barred gate.] [illustration: fig. .--bridle gate.] [illustration: fig. .--gate with wooden latch.] [illustration: fig. .--gate with spring latch which has to be drawn back.] [illustration: fig. .--gate with spring latch which has to be pushed forward.] [illustration: fig. .--double gate.] [illustration: fig. .--a puzzle in gate-opening.] a gate is opened either with the hand or hunting crop, the former being more efficient than the latter, if the latch is within reach, which would seldom be the case if the rider was on a tall horse. when the fence at the side of the fastening of a gate is low enough to allow the rider to place her horse's head over it, she usually can, by doing so, open the fastening by whip or hand, draw the gate back or push it forward, as the case may be, and pass through. if the hedge at the side of the fastening is too high for this to be done, she will have to place herself alongside the gate, with the horse's tail towards the hinges, and then open the latch, by means of the hand (with or without a whip) which is next to the latch. if the gate opens away from her, she may have to push it forward by hand or crop, unless she is on a well instructed animal, who will be always ready to save her this trouble, by pushing the gate open with his breast. if the gate opens towards her, the horse should be so trained, that when she has undone the latch, and has begun to draw the gate towards her, he will turn his hind quarters round (make a _pirouette renversée_, as the french call it), move his fore quarters a little to one side, so as to get them clear of the gate, and pass through, the moment he sees that his rider has opened the gate sufficiently for him to perform that final manoeuvre. for instance, if a mounted lady wants to get through the gate shown in fig. , she should pull back the latch with her right hand (with or without a whip), and on drawing the gate towards her, the horse should bring his hind quarters round to the left; move his fore legs a little to the left; and, if need be, rein back a step or two, so as to be in the proper position to move forward, as soon as he has plenty of room to do so. as a lady has not a leg on each side of her mount, to enable her to turn his hind quarters to whichever side she likes, she will have far more difficulty than a man in teaching a horse these very useful movements. at the same time, when a horse is anxious to get through a closed gateway, as he will generally be when his head is turned towards his stable, he will very quickly learn how to ably assist his rider in this process. chapter xvi. hunting. when ladies began to hunt--hunt subscriptions--in the field-- cub-hunting--blood--coming home--rider's physical condition--tips and thanks--the horn--hirelings--farmers and wire--pilots-- propriety--falls. when ladies began to hunt. although the hunting field is nowadays graced by the presence of many good horsewomen who ride well to hounds and are capable of taking care of themselves and their mounts, it is only within about the last seventy years that ladies have ridden across country. mr. elliott in his book _fifty years of fox-hunting_ tells us that in "mrs. lorraine smith and her two daughters, with miss stone from blisworth, were the only ladies who hunted then. the misses lorraine smith rode in scarlet bodices and grey skirts. the improved side-saddle was not then invented to enable a lady to ride over fences." we learn from the same writer that in "a lady named miss nellie holmes was out, topping the fences like a bird to the admiration of all; and when she came to the brook, over she went.... that was the first lady whom i saw go over a country. there is one certainty about ladies, what one does another will do, if it be worth the doing. very soon others were at the game, and many have played it well since." in a pleasant little book entitled _the young ladies' equestrian manual_, written by a lady and published in , we read, "no lady of taste ever gallops on the road. into this pace the lady's horse is never urged, or permitted to break, except in the field; and not above one among a thousand of our fair readers, it may be surmised, is likely to be endowed with sufficient ambition and boldness, to attempt the following of hounds." the saddle given in a drawing in this book has no leaping head, but the writer mentions, as i have previously noted, that movable crutches were being introduced to enable a lady to ride on either side of her horse. the leaping head (p. ), third crutch, or third pommel, as it was first called in england, came into use in this country in the forties, and with its aid ladies felt themselves endowed with sufficient ambition and boldness to follow hounds. captain elmhirst, writing in , says: "it will, i think, be admitted by everyone that the number of ladies who hunt now is at least tenfold as compared with a dozen years ago," and every year since that was written, has seen a steady increase in the ranks of hunting women. hunt subscriptions. perhaps it may not be out of place to say something about what a lady should do if she desires to join a hunt and has no menkind to arrange such business matters for her. every woman who hunts should (and usually does, i believe,) contribute her share of payment towards the sport in which she participates. if a lady is well off, and intends to hunt regularly, she would probably not give less than £ ; but the quorn and some other fashionable hunts lay down no hard and fast rule concerning the amount to be subscribed, which varies according to individual circumstances. the minimum subscription to the pytchley is £ for a man and £ for a lady. lord north, who is chairman of the committee of the warwickshire hunt, states (_the field_, th december, ), in a very generous manner, that "fox-hunting must never be allowed to become the sport of the rich alone. it is a national sport, and must be open to all--to rich and poor alike." there is, however, a recognised sum which qualifies the donor for hunt membership; for instance: the craven minimum subscription, with membership, is £ ; the crawley and horsham, guineas; while subscribers of £ to the meynell hunt are privileged to wear the hunt button. in several hunts--lord fitzwilliam's, mr. bathurst's, the belvoir, when hunted by the duke of rutland, and others--the master hunts the country at his own expense, subscriptions being accepted only for covert, wire, poultry, or damage funds, as the case may be. the vale of white horse (cirencester) requires a subscription from ladies of "£ per day, per week." strangers who hunt occasionally with a subscription pack where capping is not practised, are expected to contribute towards the poultry or damage fund. in some hunts a cap is taken from non-subscribers, from whom a certain fixed sum is expected; the essex and suffolk requires five shillings a day, the burstow a sovereign, and the pytchley and warwickshire two pounds. the usual "field money" in ireland is half-a-crown. the blackmore vale, although a subscription pack, does not fix any sum, but sensibly expects people to subscribe according to the number of horses they keep, and the amount of hunting they do. an old and sound rule is £ for each horse. as subscriptions vary in different hunts, the best plan for a lady who has to arrange her own business matters, is to write to the secretary of the hunt which she desires to join, and obtain from him the required information. she will find _bailey's hunting directory_ a most useful book of reference. in the field. under this heading, i shall try to give practical advice to those who are commencing their hunting career, and explain several things that i would have liked to have known myself when i first rode to hounds. as we may learn something from the failings of others before entering the expensive school of experience, it would be wise, before we hunt, to study certain complaints which experienced hunting men have published anent our sisters in the field. mr. otho paget says: "i am not one of those who think that women are in the way out hunting, and in my experience i have always considered they do much less harm than the men, but the time when they do sin is at a check. they not only talk themselves, but they encourage men to talk as well, and i have repeatedly seen a woman lead a whole field over ground where the pack intended to cast themselves. the woman, instead of attending to what hounds are doing, enters into a conversation with a man and together they talk on without paying heed to the damage they may do. my dear sisters, forgive me for calling you to order, but if you would only keep silent when hounds are at fault, and stand quite still, you perhaps might shame your admirers into better behaviour, and thereby be the means of furthering the interests of sport." this rebuke means that when a gallop is suddenly stopped by hounds losing the scent of their fox and being obliged to puzzle out the line, the ladies of the hunt should remain silent, should pull up and not impede the huntsman who will do his best to aid his hounds in recovering the lost scent. mr. paget's remark about the lady who led the field over ground where the pack intended to cast themselves, means that the hounds were trying to recover the lost scent without the assistance of the huntsman, but their efforts had been spoiled by the people who rode over the ground and thus foiled the line. it is obvious that to spoil the sport of others in this negligent manner is to cover ourselves with humiliation, and other unbecoming wraps. it must be remembered that hunting, unlike other forms of sport, has no written rules of its own for the guidance of the uninitiated. every indulgence should therefore be shown to the hunting tyro who innocently commits errors; for in nine cases out of ten it is probable she does so, from ignorance of the unwritten laws which govern the conduct of the experienced hunting man and woman. on this subject mr. otho paget writes: "the lady novice comes in for her share of blame, and though she may not get sworn at, black looks will soon explain the situation. for her i would also crave indulgence, and if she becomes a regular offender, you can ask her male friends to tell her in what way she is doing wrong. in whatever way we may treat them, there is no excuse for the novice, male or female, embarking on a hunting career, without having ascertained the customs and observances which are considered necessary by those who have had considerable experience.... anyone who comes out hunting without knowing the rules of the game, is a constant source of danger to those who are near." this is all very true of course; but the aspiring diana may well ask "what are these said rules, and where can i obtain them?" i feel sure that all hunting novices would greatly appreciate and study an orthodox code of hunting laws, as it would be far pleasanter for a lady to avoid mistakes by their guidance, than to have "her male friends to tell her in what way she is doing wrong," possibly _after_ she has received "black looks" from the whole of the field. hunting is a science which has to be learnt, and every game of science should have its published code of regulations, or it cannot be played without grave blunders by those who have to pick it up at haphazard. in justice to my sex it must be allowed that they do not holloa on viewing a fox, a fault that is often committed by men, especially in the provinces. colonel alderson quoting from an old pamphlet on hunting which was reprinted in by messrs. william pollard and co., exeter, says: "gentlemen, keep your mouths shut and your ears open. the fox has broken cover, you see him--gentlemen, gentlemen, do not roar out 'tally-ho'! do not screech horribly. if you do, he will turn back, even under your horses' feet, in spite of the sad and disappointed look on your handsome or ugly faces. do not crack your infernal whips, be silent." whyte melville says: "i do not say you are never to open your mouth, but i think that if the inmates of our deaf and dumb asylums kept hounds, these would show sport above the average and would seldom go home without blood. noise is by no means a necessary concomitant of the chase, and a hat held up, or a quiet whisper to the huntsman, is of more help to him than the loudest and clearest view holloa that ever wakened the dead, 'from the lungs of john peel in the morning.'" as this chapter is written with the desire to help the inexperienced huntress, she will, i feel sure, be grateful to the writers who have advised her what not to do, so we will study the next complaint which comes from that experienced sportsman captain elmhirst, who describes a hunting run better, i think, than any other writer on the subject. he says: "when ladies cast in their lot with the rougher sex, lay themselves out to share in all the dangers and discomforts incidental to the chase, and even compete for honours in the school of fox-hunting, they should in common fairness be prepared to accept their position on even terms, nor neglect to render in some degree mutual the assistance so freely at their command, and that men in a leicestershire field so punctiliously afford to each other. the point on which they so prominently fail in this particular is, to speak plainly, their habitual, neglect--or incapacity--at gateways. given the rush and crush of three hundred people starting for a run and pressing eagerly through a single way of exit--to wit, an ordinary gate swinging easily and lightly, and requiring only that each passer through should by a touch hinder its closing after him or her. of these three hundred, in all probability thirty are ladies; and i commit myself to the statement that not more than five of that number will do their share towards preserving the passage for those who follow them. the bulk of them will vaguely wave what they, forsooth, term their hunting-whips towards the returning gate; while others merely give their mounts a kick in the ribs and gallop onwards, with no look behind at the mischief and mortification they have caused. the gate slams, the crowd press on to it, a precious minute or two is lost and scores of people are robbed of their chance in the forthcoming gallop. and yet these are our sisters whose arms and nerves are strong enough to steer an impetuous horse over a most difficult country and who turn away from nothing that we can dare to face. the intense annoyance entailed by a gate being dropped into its intricate fastenings through want of ability or of consideration on the part of the fair amazon immediately preceding him, has brought into the mouth of many a chivalrous sportsman a muttered anathema of the feminine taste for hunting that scarce any other provocation would have availed to rouse. it is only quite of late that a certain number of ladies have supplied themselves with whips at all capable of supporting a gate; and not many of these can use them even now. i make bold to say that not only every lady who hunts should be armed with a sufficient hunting-crop (with of course a lash to guard against its loss in a gateway), but that no lady ought to deem herself qualified to take her place in the field until she has learned how to use it. were such a rule adhered to, we should hear none of the sweeping remarks indulged in by sufferers who have over and over again writhed under disappointments, that if inflicted by our own sex, would have quickly called forth direct charges of inconsiderateness and want of courtesy." from this admonition the tyro may learn two things which will be of great service to her in hunting. first, the necessity of providing herself with a strong hunting crop, which should be sufficiently long and stiff to stop a gate easily, with a good handle to it capable of opening or stopping a gate, and the orthodox thong and lash attached to prevent the whip from falling on the ground if she loses her hold of it at a gateway. provided with this serviceable crop, a lady, before she appears in the hunting field, should ride through as many different varieties of gates as she can find, and should thoroughly master the art of opening and shutting them herself, and of giving the necessary push with her crop as she passes through for the assistance of imaginary riders behind her. in leicestershire there are so many bridle roads that a lady may obtain any amount of this practice when hacking. it would be well for her to ride the horses on which she intends to hunt, as she will be teaching them to go steadily through gates while she is perfecting herself in the art of opening and shutting them, and her hunters will also learn the important accomplishment of being able to push a gate when it opens from her. she should be careful to securely shut every gate through which she may pass, because farm stock are apt to stray through gates which are left open and cause great inconvenience to their owners. if a lady is the last to pass through a gate when hunting, she should always remember to shut it. men are often far greater culprits than women at gates, apart from their holloaing propensities. many men seem to regard the sport as provided for them alone, and look upon my sex as being in the hunting field on sufferance. most of us have met the entirely selfish male who gallops up to a gate, rushes through it and lets it bang behind him, well knowing that a lady is making for the same means of exit, and is only a few lengths away. considering that women pay for their hunting and are not on the free list, it seems rather superfluous for men to assure them that they do not object to their presence in the hunting field, an announcement which appears in print so often that it sounds like protesting too much. we never hear of hunting women recording the fact that they do not object to the presence of men: even ladies who carry the horn themselves are free from prejudice in this respect. hunting men, in assuring us of their distinguished toleration, almost appear to copy each other in their charming manner of expressing that fact. for instance, whyte melville says: "far be it from me to assert that the field is no place for the fair; on the contrary, i hold that their presence adds in every respect to its charms." then why does he suggest such a thing? captain elmhirst assures us that he is "one of those who, far from cavilling selfishly at their presence, heartily admit the advantages direct and indirect in their participating in a pursuit in which we men are too often charged with allowing ourselves to be entirely absorbed." mr. otho paget says: "i am not one of those who think that women are in the way out hunting, and in my experience i have always considered they do much less harm than the men." nice, truthful man, and great favourite as he deserves to be. the celebrated beckford appropriately gives as a frontispiece, in his _thoughts on hunting_, a portrait of diana, the goddess of hunting, having her sandals girded on for the chase, and explains the picture by saying: "you will rally me perhaps on the choice of my frontispiece; but why should not hunting admit the patronage of a lady? the ancients, you know, invoked diana at setting out on the chase, and sacrificed to her at their return; is not this enough to show the propriety of my choice?" how much nicer the ancients must have been than many moderns are! they often provoke poor diana when setting out for the chase, and sacrifice her to their bad tempers on their return! according to jorrocks, hunting men must be vainer than we are, for we do not wear pink. that great sportsman found that "two-thirds of the men wot come out and subscribe, wouldn't do so if they had to ride in black!" another admonition which should receive the serious attention of the hunting tyro comes from whyte melville, who says: "now i hope i am not going to express a sentiment that will offend their prejudices and cause young women to consider me an old one, but i do consider that in these days ladies who go out hunting ride a turn too hard.... let the greatest care be taken in the selection of their horses; let their saddles and bridles be fitted to such a nicety that sore backs and sore mouths are equally impossible, and let trustworthy servants be told off to attend them during the day. then, with everything in their favour, over a fair country fairly fenced, why should they not ride on and take their pleasure? "but even if their souls disdain to follow a regular pilot (and, i may observe, this office requires no little nerve, as they are pretty quick on a leader when he gets down), i would entreat them not to try 'cutting out the work,' as it is called, but rather to wait and see at least one rider over a leap before they attempt it themselves.... what said the wisest of kings concerning a fair woman without discretion? we want no solomon to remind us that with her courage roused, her ambition excited, all the rivalry of her nature called into play, she has nowhere more need of this judicious quality than in the hunting field." possibly the writer was thinking of two rival dianas who ride to cut each other down, and who are a nuisance and danger to the entire field. one, if not both of them, has generally to be picked up as the result of this jealous riding. [illustration: fig. .--ridge and furrow.] as it is in leicestershire that many of our finest horsewomen may be seen, i would strongly recommend the lady who has done some preliminary hunting with harriers, can ride well, and who is supplied with suitable hunters which she can thoroughly control, to learn to hunt in that country. she will there get the best possible instruction in hunt discipline and see the game correctly played, which is far better for her than graduating in a country where people ride to holloas, where the master is unable to control his field, and where hounds are interfered with in their work by ignorant or careless sportsmen. besides, if she made her _debût_ in a country which is badly hunted, she would learn a great deal that she would have to unlearn, if she should ever desire to hunt in leicestershire. a leicestershire field may be divided into four classes: the first flight people who show the way, ride comparatively straight and require no lead; the second flighters, who use the first flighters as their skirmishers and follow them as straight as they can; the third flighters (to which class the hunting tyro ought to belong while getting to know the country), who ride through gates and gaps and over small fences; and the fourth flighters, or macadamisers, who, like jorrocks, "are 'ard riders, because they never leave the 'ard road." the lady who is a capable horsewoman, which i need hardly say she ought to be before she attempts to hunt in any country, should, if she wishes to ride in leicestershire, get as much practice as possible over ridge and furrow (fig. ), in order that she may be able to gallop easily and comfortably over it when hunting; for those who are unaccustomed to deep ridge and furrow are apt to tire themselves and their horses unnecessarily. the lines of snow in fig. show the presence of ridge and furrow in the distance. as it is requisite for a lady to know how to ride on the flat and over fences, it is equally important that she should obtain all the practice she can in negotiating difficult ground, so that the hunting field may have no unpleasant surprises in store for her. a very steep incline will stop many people. there is one in the north cheshire country, near church minshull i think, which is like riding down the side of a house to get to the valley below. the passage from the high ground to the belvoir vale is also quite steep, enough to give us pause. the best and safest way to ride down such places is for the rider to lean back and take her horse very slowly and perfectly straight down the incline. he should never be taken sideways; because if he makes a mistake and his hind quarters are not under him, he will be very liable to roll over on his rider. if he is kept perfectly straight and misses his footing, he will try to save himself by putting his weight on his hind quarters, and will probably find himself sitting on his haunches until he recovers his balance. the rider, by leaning back, removes weight from his forehand and is prepared for any mistake he may make. she should remember to lower her head in passing under trees and not hurry her mount in the least, even though she may see the whole field streaming away from her in the valley below. in going up hill, if the ascent be very steep, the rider would do well to lean forward and catch hold of her horse's mane, if he has one, or of the breastplate, so as to avoid letting her weight make the saddle slip, and also to put her weight well forward and thus assist the horse. she should let him take a zigzag course, and should on no account interfere with his head by pulling on the reins. we may notice that a waggoner with a heavy load always takes his horse in a zigzag direction up a steep hill, as it is easier for the animal, and allows him occasional intervals for rest, if necessary. we should ride slowly and save our mount as much as possible on such occasions. [illustration: fig. .--ridge and furrow in the distance.] when we go a-hunting we should not forget to provide ourselves with a pocket-handkerchief of a useful size; for a dab of mud on the face is a common occurrence. our noses and often our eyes require "mopping" on a cold day, and as the small square of lace bedecked or embroidered cambric which usually does duty as a handkerchief, is totally unable to meet the various calls made upon it, it is ridiculously out of place. if a watch is needed, it is most conveniently carried in a leather wristlet made for the purpose, as it can then be consulted at any moment, by merely raising the hand, without having to fumble for a watch-pocket. i must not omit mention of the necessary flask and sandwich case, which are generally given into the charge of the second horseman; but if a one-horse lady goes home at the change of horses, she will not require a "snack." as one of the first principles of hunting is to spare both ourselves and our horses any unnecessary fatigue, a lady should, if possible, always drive to the meet, or go by rail. if she has to ride, she should undertake no distance beyond ten miles. i have ridden twelve, but i think that is too far. if she rides her hunter, she should take him quietly, alternating the pace between a walk and a slow canter on the soft side of the road, the orthodox pace being six miles an hour. she should trot as little as possible, in order to avoid the risk of giving her mount a sore back; for trotting, if she rises in the saddle, is the pace most likely to cause trouble in this respect. on arriving at the meet, she should never neglect the precaution of having her girths tightened as may be required, for her horse will have thinned down somewhat from exercise, and the girths will allow of another hole or two being taken up. one of the most fruitful causes of sore back is occasioned by thoughtlessly hunting on a horse which is slackly girthed up, as the friction of the saddle will soon irritate the back, with the result, generally, of a swelling on the off side of the withers, and on the off side of the back, near the cantle. i wish to draw particular attention to the necessity of tightening the girths of a side-saddle, even when a horse has been led to a meet; because i have found from long experience of riding young horses with tender backs, as well as hunters in hard condition, that, given the most perfectly-fitting saddle, trouble will arise sooner or later if this precaution is neglected. some ladies are so careful about the fit of their saddles, that they have a separate saddle for each of their hunters. i know of a lady who has fourteen hunters so equipped. when hounds move off to covert, a lady should be sufficiently watchful to secure a good place in the procession, as it sometimes happens that a field is kept waiting in a road or lane while a covert is being drawn, and, if she be at the tail end of it, she will get a bad start. in taking up her position she should, of course, be careful not to interfere with others. mr. otho paget gives the following good advice, which we should all endeavour to follow: "when we go a-hunting, i think we should forget all the petty squabbles with our neighbours, and meet for the time on terms of cordiality. anything approaching a quarrel will spoil the day's sport for you. everyone should try to be genial and good-tempered, so that, even if there is only a moderate run, you return home feeling happier for the exercise and the good fellowship. there are many things to try one's temper in the hunting field, when everybody is excited, but one should control one's feelings and be invariably courteous in speech. you should apologise, even when you think you are in the right, for the other man may be equally certain he is in the right, and it would be difficult to say who was in the wrong. at the same time, when a man apologises and is evidently sorry, you ought to accept his apologies in a kindly spirit, even though he has jumped on the small of your back." it is almost superfluous, perhaps, to tender advice of this kind to my gentle sex, but still, sometimes--very rarely, of course--we find ourselves uttering impatient remarks in the excitement of the chase, which we feel, on mature reflection, that we would have preferred to have left unsaid. a lady will require to keep a very clear head when the fox breaks covert and the huntsman sounds the well-known "gone away," which is the signal to start. in a field of three or four hundred horsemen and women all galloping off at once with a whiz like the sound of a flock of startled birds, there must be neither hesitation nor recklessness on the part of the young diana, who should ride with discretion and judgment in order to steer clear of danger, especially at the first fence. there are generally a few left on the wrong side of it, and the chances are that there will not be so great a crowd at the next one. at the start, a judicious use of the curb will doubtless be necessary for keeping an excited hunter under control, and allowing the rider in front plenty of room to jump and get clear away from his fence. when horses have settled down to the required pace, which will be regulated by the hounds and according to scent, a lady should ride on the snaffle, keep her hands in a steady fixed position, as low down as comfortable, and should maintain a good look out in front of her, so that she may, after jumping into one field, see the shortest and best way into the next. jorrocks speaks truly in saying "to 'unt pleasantly two things are necessary--to know your 'oss and know your own mind.... howsomever, if you know your horse and can depend upon him, so as to be sure he will carry you over whatever you put him at, 'ave a good understanding with yourself before you ever come to a leap, whether you intend to go over it or not, for nothing looks so pusillanimous as to see a chap ride bang at a fence as though he would eat it, and then swerve off for a gate or a gap." if there is a crowd at the only practicable place in a fence, a lady must wait her turn, and should her horse refuse, she must at once give place to any rider who may be behind her, and wait until her turn comes again before having a second attempt to clear the obstacle. as precious time is lost by refusing horses, it is generally wiser if possible to find some other means of exit than to argue with a refuser. remember that there is always a gate which can be opened, near a haystack, as the farmer places his hay where he can easily get at it (fig. ). a lady should save her horse as much as possible, jump only when she is obliged, for hunting is not steeplechasing, and try to keep within sight of hounds. she should remember to shut any gate she may use, and to carefully avoid riding over winter beans, wheat, clover, roots, turnips, or any crops, or ground newly sown with seed. a lady should take a pull at her horse when going over ploughed land or down-hill in order to keep him well collected, and should always ride slowly over ground that is deep and holding, if she values her hunter's soundness. ladies who know every fence and covert in a country have a great advantage over strangers, because foxes frequently make a point from one covert to another, and experienced hunting women will generally have a good idea where they are going. like surtees' michael hardy, they know their country and the runs of its foxes. there are people that have hunted in leicestershire all their lives, who manage to keep comparatively near hounds and see good sport without jumping a single fence. they know the country, generally ride to points, and act as admirable pilots to the uninitiated. i owe them a deep debt of gratitude for showing me the way, when i rode young horses who were getting their first lessons in hunting. croppers never came to me under their wise guidance, but only when tempted by the keenness and excitement of my over-sanguine youngster, i essayed lepping experiments which were not always successful. [illustration: fig. .--haystack and gate.] a lady should never put her mount at a fence which she is not certain he is able to jump, for it is better to be a coward than a corpse, and even if she is pounded and loses a run, both she and her horse have plenty more good hunting days in store. some hunters will refuse a fence at which they see the horse in front of them come to grief, and as it is only natural that any horse with brains should feel more or less frightened at such times, his rider should sympathise with him and encourage him to make an effort, in much the same way as we would coax a child to take a dose of medicine. few horses like jumping. whoever saw animals at liberty larking over fences from sheer delight in leaping? it takes a deal of time and patience to make a good fencer, although, of course, some horses learn the art much more quickly than others. although few horses enjoy jumping, they, luckily for us, detest falling, and i feel sure that if people would only leave their mouths alone and regard the use of the curb at fences as a death-trap, we should hear of far fewer falls in the hunting field. captain elmhirst truly says: "horses are very sage at saving themselves and consequently you. they care little for the coward on their back; but for their own convenience they won't fall if they can help it." to prove this i may relate the following interesting and instructive fact: some years ago i was giving, at ward's riding school, brompton road, london, practical demonstrations of riding over fences without reins, my husband driving on foot a horse which he had taught to jump, with the long reins. when my part of the show ended, a single pole was raised to a height of five feet, and gustave, which was the name of this amiable grey horse, was asked to go and jump that fence by himself. he was allowed only a short run at it, as the school is not a large one, but in his desire to obey orders he would canter up to the pole, and if he considered that he had misjudged his correct distance for taking off, he would go back of his own accord and take another run at it. my husband was as much surprised as i was when we first saw the horse do this, as we had not credited him with so much intelligence. therefore, when i hear people talking about "lifting" and "assisting" horses over their fences, i cannot help thinking that if they lifted themselves off their backs they would see how much better horses are able to jump without their assistance. many of my readers doubtless saw the grand national of , and how poor hidden mystery, who, after he had fallen and had unshipped his rider, jumped the fences with safety to himself and the field. such sights must show how necessary it is for us to interfere as little as possible with our horses when riding them over fences. if most horses dislike jumping, it is certain that they love hunting and will exert every effort to keep in touch with hounds. those who doubt this should ride a young horse, and note how anxious he is to try and keep with hounds and how, with the fearlessness of ignorance he would charge any fence and probably kill both himself and his rider, if he were permitted to urge on his wild career. blow a hunting horn near a stable where there are hunters, and then listen to the snorting, kicking and excitement which your action has aroused; but it is unwise to repeat the experiment, for the chances are that the excited war horses inside may do some damage in their frantic efforts to get out and follow the music. watch farmers' horses loose in a field when hounds are in the vicinity, and you will see them careering madly up and down, as if they too would like to join in hunting the fox, although their avocation in life dooms them to the placid work of drawing a plough or heavy cart. as in horses so in men, and those who possess the sporting instinct will run many miles in the hope of catching a glimpse of a hunt, even though they may never be able to follow hounds on horseback. these foot people are not welcomed in any hunting field, but there is no denying that they are keen on the sport, or they would not tire themselves as they do, in their efforts to see something of it. jorrocks says: "i often thinks, could the keen foot-folks change places with the fumigatin' yards o' leather and scarlet, wot a much better chance there would be for the chase! they, at all events, come out from a genuine inclination for the sport, and not for mere show sake, as too many do." if a lady has the misfortune to own a hunter who, on refusing a fence, shows an inclination to rear on being brought up to it again, my advice would be to sell him, as rearing is of all equine vices the most dangerous, and a woman in a side-saddle is unable to slip off over the tail of a horse who is standing on his hind legs, a feat i have seen accomplished by men. besides, a horse who will try to rear at a fence instead of jumping it, will be sure to revert to the same form of defence, whenever the will of his rider does not coincide with that of his own. it is very unwise to lend a hunter to anyone who is not a thoroughly good rider. i had in calcutta a clever australian horse which i used to ride in the paper-chases that are run over a "made" course. he had never refused or made the slightest mistake with me until i lent him to a friend. when i again rode the horse, he refused with me at the first fence. i spoke to him, took him again at it and he jumped it, but i had a similar difficulty at another obstacle, and was entirely out of the chase. i was subsequently told by those who knew the horse that the man to whom i had lent him was very noisy, had cut the animal about with his whip, and had treated the surprised onlookers to scenes with him at every fence. the horse had a light snaffle mouth, and would quickly resent any undue interference with it. it is unwise, also, to lend a hunter to even an expert rider, if he or she is afflicted with a bad temper. i heard of a case of a brilliant hunter being lent to an accomplished horsewoman who returned him after a day's hunting with large wheals on his body, showing how cruelly she had used her whip on him. the lady to whom the animal belonged was greatly distressed on seeing the condition of her favourite hunter, who was one of the best that ever crossed leicestershire. a whip, as i have said, should never be used with the object of inflicting pain, but as an "aid." it is a good plan to always give a hunter a touch with the whip when sending him at an exceptionally big fence, as a reminder that he must exert his best efforts; but in order that the horse may thoroughly understand its meaning, it should be used only at stiff fences; the touch should not be so severe as to hurt him, and should be given on his off flank. a horse must bring his quarters to the right before he can run out to the left, and a touch on the off flank will help to keep him straight. if a lady finds herself on dangerous or difficult ground, as for instance, land intersected with rabbit holes, her best plan will be to slacken the pace into a trot or walk, if necessary, and leave the rest to her horse, who will do his best to keep a firm footing. parts of the south african veldt are dangerous to ride over because of meerkat holes, but the horses in that country are marvellously clever in avoiding them, if they are left alone. rabbit holes are responsible for many bad accidents in hunting. i was out one day with the belvoir on a young mare who put her foot into one while going at a smart pace over ridge and furrow. she wrenched off a fore shoe and pecked so badly that i thought she must fall, but i had the sense to lean back and leave her mouth alone, and she appeared to save herself with a spare leg at the last moment, recovering her balance by the aid of the ridge which she had breasted. minus a fore shoe, i had to take her home at a walk, and i smiled to myself when i saw her make a vicious stamp at a rabbit who was in the act of disappearing into another hole. a lady should send her horse at a good pace at a brook (fig. ), but not at top speed, as he will not be able to collect himself to take off at a long jump if he is sent at it at full gallop. we may see in jumping competitions, especially at the agricultural hall, that a clever horse can clear a fair expanse of water when allowed a run of only a few lengths. the water jump at the richmond show is placed in such a position that a horse cannot be given a long run at it, and yet many horses clear it easily. it measures, i believe, about feet, and is so narrow that a horse i once rode over it showed his sense by clearing the width instead of the length, and landing near the stand. i do not think that out hunting it is usual to expect a horse to negotiate a water jump of say over feet in width. some horses, like some men, possess a special aptitude for jumping width, although they would doubtless be poor performers at height, the style of jumping being entirely different. the hunter who is equally proficient at both styles of fencing, is as rare as he is valuable. captain elmhirst records an instance of "a whole leicestershire field pounded by feet of water," and how the difficulty was at last overcome by a shallow spot being discovered, a rail broken down and the field "slink pitifully through.... how we hug ourselves as we gallop under a railway arch, to find we have bridged a bit of water that would frighten no one outside the vaunted midlands." i believe the reason why the majority of hunting people dislike water is that they do not care to ride fast at it, for fear of being crumpled in a fall. i do not agree with the statement that a hard funker rushes at his fences. ignorance and enthusiasm may lead people into doing that, but funk oftener than not either pilots them away from fences entirely, or incites them to pull their horses off them, and then abuse the animals for refusing! when the funky rider does make up his mind to take a jump, he generally lets everybody near know it by the noise he makes, ostensibly to encourage his horse, but in reality to keep his heart in the right place, and not in his mouth. the ignorant horsewoman, as pointed out by the duchess of newcastle, rushes her horse at difficult obstacles, because she is fearless of dangers unknown to her; but a wholesome fall generally teaches her to temper valour with discretion. if a lady finds herself on a horse which is pulling too hard to be within perfect control, she should stop him as soon as possible and take him home, for very obvious reasons. if there is difficulty in stopping him, the best way is to try and keep him on the turn until he obeys the rein. [illustration: fig. .--brook.] the presence of a line of pollard willows in the distance (fig. ) is a certain sign that a brook is flowing past their roots. in going through woodland country, a lady should be careful to lower her head in passing under trees and to ride slowly. it is essential for her to decide at once the direction which she intends to take, to keep her horse well collected, and not allow him to deviate from it by going the wrong side of a tree or opening, or to take the initiative in any other way. a good horsewoman is seen to great advantage in riding through woodland country. cub-hunting. a lady intending to hunt should obtain as much practice in the cub-hunting season as she possibly can; for she will be helping to get both herself and her hunters into condition, and, as the season goes on, will gain experience of what fox-hunting will be like. in the early days she must not look forward to having a gallop, for hounds are being taught to hunt and kill a cub in covert, and the most useful service she can render at such times is to stand by the covert side and prevent any foxes from breaking away. i believe that only people who are really fond of hunting take part in the morning and dress by candle, lamp, or gas-light. when they are ready to ride perhaps a long distance to covert, there is often only sufficient daylight to see with, rain drizzling down steadily and everything looking cheerless. a light meal, if it be only a cup of cocoatina and a slice of bread and butter, should be taken before starting, and if it is wet or threatening, a good rain coat should be worn. towards the end of september and throughout october there will be galloping and jumping, and often the pace will be fast enough for the condition of both horse and rider, as we may see by steaming animals and flushed faces at the end of a run. i have so greatly enjoyed these cub-hunting runs with their freedom from crowding and crush, that i can heartily endorse the opinion of captain elmhirst, who says: "call it cub-hunting, or call it what you like, there will be few merrier mornings before xmas than that of the quorn on the last days of september." it seems like the breaking up of a family party when the cubbing ceases and all the pomp and circumstance of fox-hunting commences. i often wonder if people who take no interest whatever in cub-hunting, but who regularly appear on the opening day of the season, really ride to hunt, or hunt to ride? jorrocks tells us that, "some come to see, others to be seen; some for the ride out, others for the ride 'ome; some for happetites, some for 'ealth; some to get away from their wives, and a few to 'unt." our tyro who is enjoying her cubbing will be wise to take a back place on the opening day of the season, and thus avoid being jostled by the mighty crowd she will see on a kirby gate day. she will doubtless find her mount far more excited and difficult to manage than ever before, and will require to exert a good deal of tact and patience in restraining his ambition to catch the fox. the opening day is always the most trying one of the season. all the world and his wife seem to be at the meet. there are people in vehicles of every kind, on foot, on bicycles and tricycles, as well as about four hundred horsemen, and many things happen on this day of crowding and discomfort which must sorely tax the patience of the most angelic tempered master. [illustration: fig. .--pollard willows in the next field.] a lady who has had a good season at cub hunting, ought to be able to take her place among the third-flight people, where she will gradually gain experience and a knowledge of the country, which will enable her to pass into the second rank, and finally into the first; but she must work her way up by degrees, and remember that no one can ride safely over leicestershire in the first flight who is not mounted on an accomplished performer, and is not thoroughly well acquainted with the country. kickers and red bows. unless a lady is perfectly certain that her mount will not lash out at hounds, she should keep well away from them, and should never ride into a covert where they are. i once had a mare of this description who never kicked horses, but who would try to get a sly kick at even our own wow-wows during a hacking ride. we had some foxhound puppies at walk, but i never allowed her to get near them, and our own dogs got so artful that they always managed to evade her kicks. i do not believe that mare would ever have been safe with hounds, so i took good care to give her no opportunity of disgracing the pair of us in the hunting field. in every other respect she was most amiable. as there are inconsiderate people who ride kickers, a lady should carefully avoid getting near a horse whose tail is adorned with a red bow. if this is impossible, and it often is in crowds, she should try and keep to the left of the kicker, so that if he lashes out he may not be able to break her legs. scrutator in his book on _foxhunting_ points out that "the risks men encounter in the chase are great enough without being subjected to the chance of having their legs broken by a bad-tempered brute at the covert side." i once had the misfortune to see a man's leg broken by a vicious kicker in leicestershire. another case happened while i was in cheshire, and yet these dangerous be-ribboned animals can still be seen in almost every hunting field. we must here draw a sharp line of distinction between horses which kick from vice, and those, especially young ones full of corn and short of work, which throw up their heels from exuberance of spirits. many mares, particularly in springtime, are apt to kick from causes which i need not discuss. hence, geldings are more free from this baneful habit than their female relations, and are consequently, as a rule, more reliable mounts. great care should be observed in gradually accustoming a young horse to placidly bear the excitement of being surrounded by a large number of his equine companions, and he should thoroughly learn this part of his education before he is required to quit the outskirts of the field, and take his place as a hunter. this preliminary training of course comes under the heading of breaking and not of hunting. a young horse "turned out" in the open, not unfrequently gives a companion a playful kick, which very seldom inflicts any injury, because it has no "venom" in it, and the hoof that administers the tap is unshod. i have even seen mares with a foal at foot, give the young one a slight push with the hind hoof, to make him get out of the way. the motives of such taps are of course entirely different from the dangerous malevolence that prompts a confirmed kicker to "lash out" at horse or man who comes within striking distance. we should bear in mind that a touch behind is very apt to provoke a kick, whether of the vicious, playful or get-out-of-the-way kind. hence a rider should always be careful never to allow her horse's head to touch the hind quarters of an animal in front, which is a precaution that is of special application in crowds of pulled-up horses. also, on such occasions, she should keep him straight and should prevent him from reining back. any man or woman who knowingly rides a kicker in a large hunting field, is guilty of disgraceful conduct; because it is impossible for everyone to get out of reach of this bone-breaker's heels, during the frequent stoppages which occur out hunting. some persons have a red bow put on their animal's tail, or they place a hand at the small of their back, with the palm turned to the rear, as a sly device to get more elbow-room in crowds. it is evident that such artful tricks are unworthy of imitation. blood. with full consideration of the importance of blood for making hounds keen, i must say that the digging out of foxes is a phase of hunting that i greatly dislike to witness. i do not think that any writer has put this question more fairly than captain elmhirst, who says:--"we must grant that hounds are glad to get hold of their fox; but we cannot grant that it is at all necessary that they should do so. in a well-stocked country he must be a very bad huntsman who cannot find them blood enough by fair killing; while in a badly stocked one it is very certain you cannot afford wanton bloodshed. moreover, it is almost an allowed fact that hounds well blooded in the cub-hunting season do not require it to any extent afterwards; and many authorities maintain that a good 'flare up' of triumph and excitement over the mouth of an earth is just as effectual and satisfactory to hounds as an actual worry. "and what do the field think of it? they hate and abominate it, each and every one of them. they neither sympathise with the feeling that prompts the act, nor hold with the expediency of its commission. to them it represents no pleasure, and certainly coincides with none of their notions of sport. they would find much greater fun in seeing rats killed in a barn, and derive from the sight a much higher sense of satisfaction. condemned, probably, to stand about in the cold, unwilling witnesses of what they heartily detest, they spend the time in giving vent to their annoyance and contempt.... finally, fox-digging, in the sense we refer to, is a crying enormity, a disgrace to a noble sport, and should be put down as rigorously as vivisection." tearing a poor fox to pieces is a sight which very few women would care to watch, except those manly ones who take a delight in killing wild animals themselves. such persons would be able to look unmoved at a bullock being pole axed, without losing a particle of their appetite for a cut off his sirloin. coming home. we are accustomed to associate hunting with pleasant runs; but there are days when covert after covert is drawn blank and a fox not found until late. sometimes, but very rarely, we have an entirely blank day. a lady with only one hunter out should use her own judgment about participating in a late run. a great deal would depend on the distance the animal has travelled and the length of the journey home. some people ignorantly imagine that a hunter should be kept out until he has had a run, unless the day proves entirely blank, however tired he may be. if it is necessary for people who stay out all day to ride second horses, it is equally important that the one-horse lady should know when her mount has had enough. it is always a safe plan for her to retire at the "change of horses"; for there is no pleasure in continuing to hunt on a tired animal, and there is certainly danger in so doing. old-time sportsmen were content with one horse a day. "scrutator" tells us that in the time of mr. meynell "it was not the fashion to have second horses in the field." if i may express an opinion, i think that many ladies are inclined to regard horses as machines, and expect too much from them. this is probably due to that unfortunate saying "as strong as a horse," estimating the standard of mechanical power as "horse power," and so forth. i have no doubt that our domestic cat would dislike the person who said that cats have nine lives. a horse is, in reality, by no means as strong as many of us imagine, and his legs are a continual source of anxiety. ladies who hunt should get a veterinary book, preferably _veterinary notes for horse-owners_, and when they have read it through, they will not be likely to overtax the powers of their hunters. i once saw in an old _graphic_ a picture of lady somebody's mare which that worthy dame had ridden to death. the animal had, it was explained, gone brilliantly with her ladyship that day and had fallen dead while passing through a village. the artist had drawn the poor mare stretched out, surrounded by an inquisitive field, and the owner posed as the heroine of a great achievement, instead of one who had rendered herself liable to prosecution for cruelty to animals. i feel sure that no woman would knowingly commit such a heartless action. when a horse begins to show signs of distress, his rider should instantly pull up, and, if necessary, walk him quietly home. his "state of condition" should always be taken into account at such times. the hurried and distressed state of a horse's breathing, and his laboured action, are sure signs to the experienced horsewoman that the animal has had enough. to persons who know little or nothing about horses, the fact of their usually free-going mount ceasing to go up to his bridle and to answer an encouraging shake of the reins or touch of the whip, are valuable indications that he should be pulled up, either into a trot or walk. if he is in hard condition, a respite from exertion, for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, will make him all right for another gallop, which should be given with due circumspection. if the horse is not in thorough galloping condition he should be taken home at a quiet walk. keeping a horse standing, especially in a cold wind, after a fatiguing run, is not an unfrequent means of giving the animal congestion of the lungs. a wise woman will take care of a good hunter, for such animals are not easy to replace, and, as jorrocks says, "we know what we 'ave, but we don't know what we may get." if a lady intends to ride her hunter home, it would greatly conduce to his comfort, and possibly her own, especially if she has been several hours in the saddle, to dismount for, say, a quarter of an hour, have her horse quietly led about, and then ride him home at a walk. if she is using a second horse, it is always wise to get her second horseman to take the saddle off her first horse and rub his back well with the hand, especially at the off side of the withers and of the back, under the cantle, in order to restore the circulation of the part before taking him home. the animal ought to be given an opportunity of refreshing himself by drinking at a brook or trough on his homeward way. no harm can arise from a horse drinking cold water when at work, however hot he may be, if his exercise be continued at a slow pace for a short time. a lady's hunter should always be examined, if possible by his mistress, or by one of the male members of her family, on his return from a day with the hounds, and his back and legs should receive special attention. the chief accidents which are liable to happen by such work, are sprains of tendons and ligaments below the knees, over-reaches, cuts, punctures from thorns, and injuries from the saddle. it is not within the province of this book to deal with such subjects, and few ladies would go through the bother of studying them. nevertheless, there are some exceptions, as we may see by the comparatively large number of lady doctors, and by the fact that only the narrow-minded policy of the royal college of veterinary surgeons prevented miss custance, who had studied at the edinburgh new veterinary college, from obtaining her diploma, to which she was fully entitled by her scientific attainments and practical experience. those of my readers who wish to understand the treatment of horses in health and disease, cannot do better, as far as books are concerned, than to study my husband's _stable management and exercise_, and _veterinary notes for horse-owners_. one point about the examination of a hard-ridden hunter which is within the comprehension of even an inexperienced girl, is the detection and proper treatment of lumps on his back which have been produced during the ride by hurtful pressure of the saddle, and which almost always appear on the off side of the withers, and on the off side of the back, near where the cantle rested. if these swellings be neglected, they will probably become developed into abscesses, which will incapacitate the animal from work for a month or longer. an admirable way of treating them, as soon as the saddle is removed, is to pour some whiskey, brandy or other spirit into the hollow of the hand, apply it to the lump, and rub the swelling briskly with the palm of the hand for at least five minutes. i have often seen a large swelling of this kind visibly decrease in size during this process, which, in the many cases i have witnessed, always caused the lump to disappear by the following morning. in applying this form of massage, no delay should occur, after removing the saddle, which should always be taken off the moment the animal returns to his stable, and his back well rubbed with the hand or with a dry whisp of straw or hay. when entrusting the carrying out of this treatment to the groom, care should be taken that the spirit is administered externally to the horse, and not internally to the man. if spirit be not available, careful friction with the palm of the hand will generally be sufficient to ensure the desired result. this treatment should not be applied, if the skin over the part is broken, for in that somewhat rare case the friction would irritate the wound. rider's physical condition. the young or old diana, especially if she is not in hard riding condition, is very apt to get rubbed, generally by the cantle of the saddle. if the skin is cut, a dry dressing of tannoform, which is a powder that can be got from a chemist, will be found a good and speedy remedy; and is also useful for cuts in horses. it would be injudicious to ride again, or to have an injured hunter ridden again, until such an abrasion has healed. it is essential for a lady who intends to hunt, to be able to ride a fast gallop without becoming "blown." some hunting ladies do preparatory work cubbing or with the devon and somerset staghounds. those who are obliged to forego these pleasant methods of "getting fit," would do well to get into fairly good condition by long walks or bicycle rides. i would warn my young readers that all fast exercise should be taken gradually and in moderation, and that they should never disregard symptoms of fatigue; because when muscles are tired, they are unable to act with strength and precision. tips and thanks. we should always remember to carry some small change in our pockets to be given as tips to gate-openers and any poor persons whose services we accept. and now, gentle ladies, let me remind you never to forget to render thanks to every person, gentle or simple, who may, by the performance of some kindly act, have helped to contribute towards your day's enjoyment. we should also try to be as useful as possible to each other; for we all admire that "nice pleasant woman" who, instead of attempting to hold us up to ridicule if our "back hair" is falling down, or anything has happened which ruffles our appearance, rides up and quietly brings the fact to our notice. i have heard female voices audibly "picking holes" in a lady's mount, which is very unkind; for their poorer sister was doubtless riding the best horse she could get, and the hearing of such rude remarks may entirely spoil her day's pleasure. the horn. mr. j. anstruther thompson in his most instructive book, _hints to huntsmen_, gives the following horn notes and explanation of their meaning. ladies who intend to hunt should study the music of the horn in order that they may understand what hounds are doing in covert (fig. ), and be ready to start off as soon as they hear the recognised signal. "to call hounds on when drawing a covert." [illustration: music] "a prolonged swelling note to call them away." [illustration: music] "a long single note when all are away." [illustration: music] "a double note when on a scent (called doubling the horn)." [illustration: music] "two short notes and a long one for 'gone away.'" [illustration: music] "'tally-ho! back,' on horn and crack of whip." [illustration: music] "a rattle for 'whoo, whoop.'" [illustration: music] from the foregoing it will be seen that it is necessary to be on the alert for short notes, because they mean business, while the long ones denote a covert drawn blank. hirelings. the large majority of hunting women ride their own animals, or mounts lent them by friends; but some less fortunate ones have to content themselves with hirelings, many of which are unreliable conveyances, because they pass through so many hands, that they run a great risk of being spoiled by bad riders, and in that respect, horses have unfortunately very retentive memories. from two to three guineas is the usual charge for a day; and from £ to £ for a month. in both cases, the job-master has to bear all reasonable risks. a person who hires a horse for longer than a day, has to keep the animal and pay for his shoeing. £ a month is a reasonable charge for the loan of a good hunter. when wishing to hire by the month, it is well to go to a job-master who has a large collection of hirelings, like mr. sam hames of leicester, so that the hirer may get a change of mounts, in the event of the first not being suitable. [illustration: _photo. from_ "_country life._" fig. .--the cottesmore drawing a covert.] i have ridden a few hirelings, but hunting on them gave me no pleasure; because i was entirely ignorant of their capabilities, and it is not a pleasant feeling to ride at a nasty fence with a big note of interrogation sticking in one's heart. "scrutator" in his interesting book, _foxhunting_, says he "never could find any pleasure in riding strange horses. they neither understand your way of doing business, nor you theirs, so there must of necessity be doubts and drawbacks until both become more intimately acquainted." i have seen so many bad accidents happen to men who were riding hired hunters, that i cannot too strongly impress on my readers the necessity of letting caution mark the guarded way, by testing a strange mount at small fences to see how he shapes, before taking unwise risks. last season, a young man who was hunting with the pytchley on a hireling came a cropper at the first fence, staked his mount and got a kick in the head. he was greatly distressed about the poor horse which the dealer had assured him could "jump anything," a feat that no hunter in the world can perform. an accident of this kind with a hired hunter is a most unpleasant occurrence; because, if the bruised and mud-stained horseman happens to be a stranger to the dealer, the latter will naturally blame his riding, while the injured one who has to break the news as gently as possible, will consider that he has been misled concerning the animal's jumping capabilities. jorrocks's advice, "know your horse," should be engraved in capital letters on the heart of everyone who hunts, as its observance would prevent many distressing accidents both to humans and equines. farmers and wire. there is very little wire in leicestershire, though it is far too common in other parts of the shires. fences where the warning red board (fig. ) or red rag (fig. ) is seen, should be avoided, as these signals denote the presence of wire. as these death-traps bear no warning notice in some places (fig. ), it behoves people hunting in such countries to keep a sharp look-out for unmarked wire and iron hurdles (fig. ). [illustration: fig. .--wire board.] some farmers appear to use wire in an unnecessary manner. for instance, placing it on the top of a gate (fig. ) seems to have no _raison d'être_, except to hurt unfortunate hunters which in breasting such a gate to push it open, are apt to get badly pricked and run suddenly back to avoid it, with the possible result of injury to both horses and riders behind them. also, i have seen wire put up in fields in which there were no cattle, and removed after the hunting season, to duly appear again in the following one. other tricks, such as sending sheep-dogs to head foxes, and stationing farm hands to shout "wire!" where there is none, have also come under my personal notice. indeed it is impossible to live in the country, without observing such acts of hostility on the part of farmers towards "hunting people." i cannot help thinking that much of this tension might be removed, if every hunt secretary followed the example of colonel francis henry, the hon. secretary of the duke of beaufort's hunt, of whom we read in _baily's magazine_ of march, :--"colonel henry, who, in the opinion of his numerous friends, seems to possess the secret of eternal youth, contrives to enquire personally into every complaint that is sent to him, whether relating to damaged fences, loss of poultry or, rarely, 'wire offences.' there is no better known figure in gloucestershire than that of colonel henry on his hack, one of his own breeding by the way, which carries him on his long rides; he is wont to say that in dealing with a grievance 'one visit is worth a dozen letters.' his geniality, and the painstaking care with which he investigates every matter to which his attention is called, dissipate at their beginning many difficulties which, handled with less sympathetic diplomacy, would 'come to a head' and produce the friction which tells against sport. landowners, farmers, and business men alike in the badminton country are keen supporters of fox-hunting, and their attitude towards the sport is due in no small degree to the unremitting attention and care for their interests displayed by the honorary secretary both in winter and summer." the truth of colonel henry's remark that one visit is worth a dozen letters, was exemplified to me the other day by an old lady, a farmer's wife, who regretted the sad change in "hunting people" since her young days, when they "used to come in and chat with me as affable as could be." she mentioned the name of mr. wroughton, who partook of some of her "cowslip wine," and so much was she impressed with the visit that every small detail of it, even the year, month, day and hour, and also where he sat in her parlour, remains a treasured memory. he made a friend who will always speak of him in the highest terms, because he was nice and civil to her, and it seems to be a matter for regret that this friendly feeling is not more generally cultivated than it is in hunting districts. [illustration: fig. .--red flag.] unfortunately, the old-fashioned motherly, hardworking farmer's wife is a type of woman which is rapidly dying out, and the modern specimen belongs to that large and useless brigade of "perfect ladies" who are above their position and who regard work as undignified. i recently saw an advertisement from a farmer's daughter who said in it that she had offers of plenty of mounts, but wanted some lady to give her a riding habit! surely it would have been far better for her to have worked and earned one, instead of cadging in such a manner for her amusement? proverbially bad as our fresh butter in the midlands is, i fear the time is approaching when butter making will entirely cease, for, with few exceptions, farmers' daughters are not trained to do dairy work. a modern "young lady" from a farm, who had been educated in a board school, applied to a well known lady of title for a situation as governess; but her ladyship pointed out that her educational attainments did not qualify her for such a post, and suggested that she should obtain employment as a parlourmaid. needless to say that the farmer's daughter scorned the idea of thus "lowering" herself! even the daughters of farm labourers nowadays ride their bicycles, instead of going out to service as their mothers and grandmothers did before them, and dress themselves ridiculously out of keeping with their position and surroundings. it seems very incongruous to see such girls living in indolence in country villages, while the daughters of their parson, as frequently happens in large families, turn out and earn their own livelihood. [illustration: fig. .--"'ware wire."] it would cost very little to give an annual ball, say, after the hunt ball and before the decorations were taken down, to farmers and their wives and any local residents who help towards the support of hunting, and i feel sure that an entertainment of this kind would be productive of beneficial results. in order to make it a success, it would have to be attended by some of the members of the local hunt, and not in any way bear the stamp of a charity ball; for untravelled middle-class people in this country are, as a rule, very "select," and eaten up with social ambition, and many who would not think of attending a subscription dance, would be attracted by "an invitation hunt ball." besides, after all, even if local residents and farmers pay their guinea to be present at an annual hunt ball, they feel themselves rather "out of it," if they are not personally acquainted with anyone in the room, and wisely avoid such dreary functions. it is recorded of mr. conyers that he once presented every farmer's wife in his hunting district with a silk dress, saying that the ladies must be propitiated if hunting is to flourish. [illustration: fig. .--iron hurdle.] one of the reasons why hunting is unpopular among farmers is the selfish and reckless manner in which many followers of a hunt ride over arable land; the greatest sinners in this respect being those who reside in towns, and who, knowing nothing about agriculture, err more from ignorance than indifference. unless vegetation stares them in the face, they evidently think there is no harm in riding over ploughed land, no matter how distinctly the smoothly-harrowed surface and carefully prepared drains indicate the presence of seed underneath. in such a case, our best plan would be to skirt along, as near as possible, the hedge or other boundary, even if we have to go a little out of our way. riding over cultivated "heavy" (clay) land, especially if its surface is wet, is particularly hurtful to the crop, because each imprint of a horse's foot will form a small pool of water, which will rot the seed inside it. in "light" (sandy) land, the water in such holes will quickly drain off, and little or no injury will be done. while hoping that young horsewomen will not allow their enthusiasm for hunting to outweigh their sense of prudence when steering their horses over farmers' land, i would entreat them to also "hold hard" when approaching allotment ground, for this land is rented, as a rule, by the poorest of the poor, who have no gardens in which to grow vegetables, etc., for their use, and a small field of, say, a few acres may be cultivated by several villagers and their children in their "spare time of evenings." each tenant has his own patch of allotment land on which he grows what he requires for his use. in winter we may frequently see the entire field under wheat cultivation, as many poor families grow their own grain, which the local miller grinds into flour, and in this way they save the baker's bill, as they make their own bread. to ride over and destroy their small crops is a sin which i am sure no lady would knowingly commit, and, therefore, it behoves us all to exercise due circumspection when we find ourselves on arable land. [illustration: fig. .--wire on top of gate.] also, on pasture land we have need to temper valour with discretion, and especially after christmas, when ewes and cows are heavy with young, and are not in a fit state to safely endure the dual evil of fright and violent exercise. later on, when lambs have appeared, it is cruel to gallop so near these mothers and their young, as to cause suffering. sheep are such stupid animals that they appear to have no idea of evading a crowd; and cattle, as a rule, lose their heads from fright, and career madly about their fields, sometimes for two or three days after the sudden passing of a hunt. when a gate is negligently left open, and the terrified animals avail themselves of this method of escape, the unfortunate farmer will generally have great trouble in finding and bringing them back, because they often go long distances, and he has seldom any means of knowing what route they have taken. horses give him far more trouble than cattle in this respect, because they can travel faster and farther. i have seen ladies who have the interests of hunting deeply at heart--mrs. james hornsby, for instance--ride back and fasten gates which have been carelessly left open. one grievance which lies very near the heart of a farmer, because i suppose it frequently touches his pocket, is the damage done to his fences, especially during a check, by people who unnecessarily potter through small gaps, which, after they have finished, resemble open spaces. the farmer who has to get them mended speaks very bitterly about fox-hunting, especially if he has to do the repairing at his own expense, as he argues that if it was necessary to work a passage in this manner through his hedge, the field might have been content with one open door instead of making several. a farmer in the north cheshire country was so irate on this point that on one occasion when the hunt wanted to cross his land, he and his men gave us a welcome with pitchforks! a kind of farmer whom i despise is the man that hunts on the free list and pretends to support fox-hunting, while he keeps his land encompassed by wire during the entire season! i have known some of these men enjoy unmerited popularity with the master, and even take charge of hunt wire boards. their non-hunting neighbours who take down wire and over whose land they ride with safety, are obviously the better supporters of hunting, although they may not be able to afford a nag, even if they had time to devote to the sport. the farmer who takes down his wire is naturally displeased with a hunt which favours an individual who keeps it up; but i think if all hunt secretaries were like colonel henry, such delinquents would soon be brought to book, for no master would care to see with his hounds, a farmer who kept his land wired during the hunting season. some of the illustrations of wired fences in this book have been photographed on the land of so-called "hunting farmers." an even worse class of man than the double-dealing farmer is the wealthy landowner who preserves his coverts, shoots foxes, lets his shooting at a big profit, and then goes off to hunt in some fashionable centre, like melton mowbray. in leicestershire he would be regarded as a hunting man, while in his own district he is known as a vulpicide, for reynard is seldom, if ever, found in his coverts. one has only to live in the country, and pretend indifference about fox-hunting, to see the tricks which some farmers perform in order to prevent people from riding over their land. i remember in the north cheshire country a big covert, which was always considered a certain find, being drawn blank, much to the huntsman's surprise. as he called off his hounds, after a thorough investigation, a farmer said, with a smile: "i knew they wouldn't find a fox here, for mr. ----'s foxhound puppy, which he is walking, has been rummaging about this covert all morning!" it appears that mr. blank was a farmer whose land adjoined the said covert, and who had found his foxhound puppy more useful in driving away foxes than his sheepdogs. instead of doling out compensation to farmers as a form of charity, it would be much better for our hunting authorities to meet them on a level footing, get them to appoint a committee of their own, and pay that official body, every year, a certain proportion of the hunt subscriptions, to be applied according to the wishes of the farmers' committee. pilots. i have not enlarged on the subject of hunting pilotage, because, truth to tell, i have never indulged in the luxury of a pilot, as i have preferred to know the capabilities of my mount and to see and act for myself. i believe that any woman who can ride and manage her horse with intelligent forethought, has no more need of a paid pilot than has the small boy who takes his chance on his pony. if a lady has no male companion to remain with her during the day's hunting, she should provide herself with a groom, whose services will be very useful to her, in the event of anything going wrong, and in helping her in various ways. it would be absurd for her to expect casual aid at every turn, in a large field composed chiefly of strangers, especially when its giver would be deprived of his place in a run. pilots seem to be going out of fashion, if we may judge by the large number of women who hunt safely without their assistance. the inexperienced huntress generally has her father, brother, husband, or some male friend or servant to show her the way, which is the safest and best method of learning to hunt, because they would know both the capabilities of the young lady and her mount, and could be trusted to keep her out of harm's way. if a paid pilot is engaged, his horse should not be a better fencer than that of his charge. he should also know her riding form, and over what kind of jumps she intends him to lead her. i would strongly impress on an inexperienced lady the necessity of learning to judge pace, that is to say, to know at what speed her horse is going. the chief duty of a pilot is to set the pace for her, and to select such fences as he knows her horse is capable of jumping, the former being more important than the latter, as it is far more difficult to learn. she should see that her pilot is safely over a fence before sending her horse at it. only practice and natural aptitude can teach a lady to judge pace: it cannot be learnt from any book. a lady should not deceive her pilot, any more than we should withhold the truth from our doctor or lawyer. if she feels more in skirting trim than in hard hunting nerve, she should not hesitate to say so; for we all like to take things easy at times, whether it be in hunting or in anything else, according as we feel fit or otherwise. there is no gainsaying that the human barometer is regulated to a great extent by the weather, as we may see by the big fields which greet the master on a fine hunting morning. the unpleasant disclosures which have been recently made in our law courts, concerning the free and easy conduct of a certain set of hunting men and women, may prejudice many mothers against hunting as a fitting pastime for their daughters; but the indiscretions of a few idle fast people should not be taken as a sample of the behaviour of an entire field. in the crowd and bustle of hunting, the large majority of the people are seriously engaged in the business of the day, and have no time to indulge in flirtations. certainly no sane man would choose a meet or covert side, where he is surrounded by a crowd of people, to do his love-making. if the usual discretion is observed in the choice of a companion for a young lady going to and returning from a hunt, she would have far less opportunity for "frivol," than in any ordinary ball room or theatre. we need only watch hunting men and women passing through a crowded gateway, to see that each one goes in turn, and that there is very little consideration for sex. falls. although the subject of falling is not a pleasant one to discuss, still we cannot ignore it, for even the best horsewoman occasionally gets hurt by her horse falling with her. accidents sometimes occur over the most trivial obstacles, and when least expected; and are not confined to jumping, for some of the worst falls have happened on the flat. i remember captain king-king breaking three ribs and a collar-bone--a pretty good dose in one gulp--by his mount coming down with him on the flat when hunting in leicestershire. the late whyte melville met his death by a similar accident; and poor archbishop wilberforce was killed while quietly hacking, by his horse putting his foot in a hole and throwing him on his head. unfortunately, we are unable to learn the art of falling correctly, because we have only one neck, and, if we break that, our experiments must abruptly cease. we may, however, minimise the danger of its fracture by leaning well back at our fences, and by ducking our chins into our chests when we feel ourselves coming the inevitable cropper. the worst kind of fall is when a horse breasts a stiff fence and either turns a complete somersault, or falls violently on to his head. in the former case, the accident generally means severe internal injuries, to say the least of it; in the latter, a broken collar-bone or concussion of the brain. such bad accidents are happily rare; for, if a horse can jump, he will certainly do his best to clear an obstacle with his fore legs, and if he catches his hind ones and comes down, our chances of either being killed, or crippled for life, are far smaller. in leicestershire i once saw a stranger send his mount at a posts and rails fence about five feet high, which the animal breasted and went over with a sickening fall; but i could not help thinking that the man must have been either riding a hireling, or must have imagined that his horse was a wonderful jumper to have sent him at such a forbidding thing, especially as it had been avoided by the first flight people, and what they can't jump, strangers may be perfectly certain ought to be left alone. in this case, the animal, which may have been easily able to take the jump, went at it unwillingly, for he saw it was not the line taken by other horses, and he was doubtless annoyed at being asked to incur what must have appeared to him an unnecessary risk. a similar thing occurred when a well-known leicestershire lady broke her collar-bone. horses were filing through the gate, and the lady, who was anxious to get forward, put her horse at a stiff posts and rails by the side of it. he apparently regarded the act as unnecessary, for he went at it in a half-hearted fashion, struck the fence, fell, and hurt his rider. it is the custom to say that the first flight people who ride safely over leicestershire are mounted on the best horses that money can buy; but at the same time, we should remember that they seldom deceive their mounts by asking them to jump anything which is either impossible or unnecessary. mr. hedworth barclay, who is one of the finest horsemen in leicestershire, always rides with great judgment. if he did not, he would not have been safely carried for fourteen seasons by his brilliant hunter freeman, and for an almost equally long time by lord arthur and franciscan. a great deal of ignorant nonsense has been written about people (and even horses!) taking "their own line," but such scribes ought to go to leicestershire and show how that can be done! ladies who try to follow the teaching of such people, do so at great personal risk; for it is absurd for a stranger, however well she may ride or be mounted, to think that she can safely take her own line over an unknown country, and especially such a one as leicestershire, which is in many parts entirely unjumpable. as it requires several seasons to learn the "lie of the land," most people wisely prefer to hunt in a county they know. some ladies make a great boast of their numerous falls. one recently told me that she had had fourteen croppers in a hunting season; but when i hear such talk, i cannot help thinking that there is something radically wrong with their riding, for our best horsewomen very seldom fall. i have noticed that horses have been staked in hunting, through being taken sideways instead of straight, at their fences. it is most dangerous to ride an animal in this manner; because, if he makes a mistake and falls, he will come down on his side and may roll over on to his rider in his efforts to regain his feet. we may observe that when a horse is lying on his side he invariably makes a preparatory half roll in rising from that position. the first thing to do when a horse comes down, is to try to get clear as soon as possible, and to let go the reins, unless the rider can retain them without any risk. she is so encumbered by her skirt, even if it is only an apron, that she will probably get kicked or trodden on, if she hangs on to the reins. "scrutator" wisely remarks that "so long as there is a chance of holding him together, the pigskin should not be abandoned, but when that chance is gone, by your horse's fore-legs getting into the ditch on the other side, throw yourself clear of him to avoid a pommelling." in such times of difficulty and danger, a lady should remember to leave her horse's mouth alone, and not frighten him, at a moment when her life may depend on his remaining quiet. whatever happens, she should never utter a startled cry, for that will do no good and may lead to disastrous results. professor sample, the american "horse tamer," once found himself underneath a cart, while breaking a horse to harness with the long reins. enveloped as he was in his driving reins, a bad accident might have resulted if he had not kept his presence of mind, while his faithful "jo," whom he called to his assistance as if nothing had happened, came and helped him out of his dangerous position. he then turned to the audience and calmly told them that he was showing them "how not to do it!" when a lady gets a bad fall out hunting, and we see her attended by men only, we should at once go to her assistance, whether we know her or not; because it is always better for a woman to have one of her own sex to help her and, if necessary, unloosen any garments which are matters that men know nothing about. chapter xvii. riding and hunting abroad. i now turn to the pleasant subject of riding and hunting abroad, with special reference to india, where almost all our fellow countrymen and women ride and own horses. even in lonely up-country stations which contain only a few white residents, gymkhanas are often got up by officers who train and ride their own horses and ponies. nothing seems to give these good sportsmen greater pleasure than lending their equine favourites to their lady friends. therefore, a visitor who is fond of riding, need never be at a loss for a mount, as i found during my four years' residence in that hospitable land. i can truly say that i did not understand what real hospitality is, until i went to india, and shall always remember the great kindnesses my husband and i received from native princes. for instance, the late maharajah of vizianagram, who was devoted to horses, invited us to visit him, placed a furnished house, servants, horses, carriages, food, wines and every other comfort at our disposal, and considered our month's stay much too short. ladies in india who ride, obtain so much practice as a rule on various kinds of animals, that they soon become expert horsewomen. it is the custom there to ride twice a day: in the early morning after _choti haziri_ (little breakfast), which usually consists of a cup of tea, a boiled egg, bread and butter; and in the evening. there is no law of trespass in india, and it is delightful to canter for miles while sharing the freedom of the son of the desert who is carrying you. there is nothing like these lonely scampers as a cure for petty worries, for you can put them so far behind you, that on your return you have forgotten their existence. calcutta is an ideal riding city, with its beautiful _maidan_ (plain), where there are miles of springy turf for galloping, a large race-course with well-kept training and hacking tracks, and hurdles for those who desire jumping practice. there is also a red road, which is the rotten row of the place, for afternoon hacking among the beauty and fashion, so what more could the heart of man or woman desire? during the misnamed "cold weather," women who are fond of cross country work, can ride once a week over made fences in the paperchases. the course is usually about three miles long, well supplied with fences, chiefly hurdles and stiff mud walls from three feet six to four feet six high. as the start takes place at about seven in the morning, and as the meets are some distance from the town, the devotees of sport have to be up at about five o'clock, dress by lamplight, send on their chasers, and drive or hack to the trysting place. two "hares" carry the paper in bags slung across their shoulders and receive a quarter of an hour's grace in which to plant their burden, where they know the coloured slips will take some finding. the hares ride over the fences, and by distributing their landmarks sparsely and in places where their pursuers can follow only in single file, they often make it difficult for the leading division to keep the line. those who over-run the paper, of course imperil their chance of being among the first six, which is the number of "placed horses" in these paperchase records. a writer in _ladies in the field_, while discussing this form of sport, says: "any old screw, country-bred pony or short-shouldered arab may be brought out on these occasions." that author evidently had no experience of calcutta paperchasing, because a horse for this work must not only be a fast galloper and clever jumper, but also must have a good mouth and temper, and be fit and well. in fact, the ideal paperchaser is a cross between a steeplechaser and a hunter, for he has to possess the speed and quick jumping qualities of the former, and the amiability and brains of the latter. unless a lady has such a mount, it will be almost impossible for her to secure a coveted place among the first half dozen. also, there are so many horses, say, forty or more, all galloping at the same fences, which are not broad enough for a quarter of that number to take abreast. consequently, those behind have to see that the coast is clear, before they can proceed. falls frequently occur, but serious accidents are happily rare. it is true that two men have been killed in these chases; but although ladies have taken part in them since the early days when that fine horsewoman, mrs. "jim" cook, set the example, i have not heard of any woman getting badly hurt. mrs. cook, who was known in india as the "mem sahib," holds the record of being the only woman who has won the paperchase cup when competing against men. she won in , was the only lady in about twenty starters, and her mount was appropriately named champion. the late lord william beresford was second, and general cook, her husband, was third. after i left india, lord william gave a cup to be competed for by ladies only, which must have acted as a strong stimulant to those who had vainly tried to beat the "mere male." mrs. murray was a most plucky rider, and made more than one good bid for the paperchase cup, which she well deserved to win. i had a very good australian horse named terence, by talk of the hills, which got placed in these chases, but when i hoped to do great things with him, i got typhoid fever and exchanged my residence to the general hospital. the first time i took terence, who was a beautiful jumper, to a paperchase, two horses fell in front of him at the first jump. a horse ridden by that good sportswoman, mrs. saunders, refused a hurdle in front of us, and terence followed suit. after i had got him sailing away again, a horse ridden by mr. garth, a well known horseman, fell over a big blind ditch just in front of terence, who luckily cleared the lot. captain turner was walking about minus horse and hat, and that famous g.r., captain "ding" macdougal, had a nasty purl. in fact, that chase was a chapter of accidents. mr. "tougal," who had helped to lay the paper, told me afterwards that two of the unbreakable mud walls were four feet three inches high, which is a very formidable height, considering that the horses had to jump out of deep mud. that chase took place on nd january, , and i think it was a far higher test of 'cross country cleverness, than hunters in the shires have to go through. mr. clark, who lived and paperchased for several years in calcutta, and who was a large horse dealer in hilmorton, near rugby, tells me that he frequently measured the mud walls which were built for these chases, and often found them full five feet high. the large majority of horses ridden in these events are well bred australians, which, taking them all round, are the best jumpers i have ever seen. some "country-breds" are fine fencers, but arabs, delightful as they are for hacking, rarely distinguish themselves across country. the calcutta natives were always on the look-out for squalls, like the irish "wreckers" of olden days. it was no uncommon sight to see a black man, with nothing on but a _kummerbund_, running away to his lair, with a stirrup leather, hat, or even a pair of spurs belonging to some dethroned sportsman. the horse ridden by mrs. saunders in the paperchase i have alluded to, was a powerful "waler" which, according to his importer, mr. macklin, had won nearly all the jumping prizes in australia! he had evidently been spoiled at the competition business, like many other horses, for despite the careful handling of his mistress, he was useless as a paperchaser. we had, while living at melton mowbray, a black irish horse which also had won prizes at show jumping, but he was a most determined refuser in the open, and had many other tricks of temper, so we soon got rid of him. on off days, during the cold weather in calcutta, mr. milton, who was a dealer and owner of large livery stables, used to invite the riding community to hunt jackals with his "bobbery pack." the meet took place at the stables before daylight, and the "hounds" were carried to covert in a sort of water-cart. they were a most ferocious lot, to judge by the scuffling, squealing and snarling that took place _en route_. when they were let out, they appeared to lose their heads; the greyhounds, whippets, fox-terriers, bull-terriers, pariahs and nondescripts scampering off in various directions and requiring a good deal of keeping in order. naturally, the greyhounds and whippets did the coursing, and having sighted a jack, they soon put an end to him. our huntsman's chief anxiety, as far as i could see, was to arrive in time to secure a bit of the prey for the small fry. it was very interesting to watch the work of these "hounds," and to note that the small terriers used their noses to advantage, and often put their speedier companions on the right track. i had many enjoyable scampers with mr. milton's bobbery pack, which i believe is still going strong in the city of palaces. at lucknow, paperchasing was nearly allied to steeplechasing, for the course was flagged, and there was no paper to disturb the galloping. few ladies took part in those functions, but i enjoyed my gallop on mr. mcandrew's pony, suffolk punch, which, after floundering a bit at the double, came down at the last fence, luckily without damaging either of us. the great drawback to the paperchasing at the capital of oudh, was the blinding dust which was raised by the leading animals, and which almost obscured the fences in front of their followers. as i was only on a pony, all i could see in front of me was flitting shadows in a brown fog, so i left everything to my game little mount, who was galloping his hardest. for the same reason, dust thrown up by the leaders, is not unfrequently the cause of accidents at steeplechasing in india. near bombay and mozufferpore, jackals are hunted during the cold season by foxhounds sent out from england. in , mr. rowland hudson, master of the mozufferpore pack, had seventeen couple of foxhounds, nine of which were supplied by himself, and eight by subscription. these hounds were selected by the late tom firr, from the quorn, cottesmore, and pytchley, and they accounted for fifteen brace of jackals from november to march, hunting only two days a week, and after having had several good runs. foxhounds stand the heat of india badly, and most of them out there die of liver disease, despite the precaution taken of sending them to the hills during the hot months. at singapore, drag-hunting provides good sport in which ladies participate, and show their fine horsewomanship to admiring friends, when the run finishes over the fences on the racecourse. at shanghai we can go paperchasing on china (mongolian) ponies, which, despite their want of pace and somewhat three-cornered appearance, are very clever over bad ground. the ladies whom i had the pleasure of meeting in shanghai, like those in india, were all devoted to riding, and i had many merry scampers across country with them. in the country round tientsin, we had often to jump over ponderous coffins, for john chinaman has a provoking way of omitting to bury his relations, after he has stowed them away in their long homes. having to stay for a month at suez, i was greatly disappointed to find no better mounts than the very knowing egyptian donkeys. as i had never ridden that kind of animal before, i sent my syce, motee, to hire a couple for the day. to my surprise, the donkey owner came to tell me that i could not ride any of his animals unless he accompanied me! i assured him that i was capable of managing an ass, and would take every care of the beast entrusted to me. he smiled, apparently at my presumption, and as i saw that he would not let me have my way, i consented to the infliction of his company. at the appointed time he appeared on foot, leading two mokes and armed with a long thick stick. as he was evidently going to walk, i whispered to motee to gallop after me as hard as he could, and give the stick man the slip. this i found far easier said than done, because my donkey utterly ignored my commands, even when they were backed up by force, and would take orders only from his master. i saw the man trying to conceal a smile, as i whacked my placid mount with the energy of one who meant business, so impatiently asked him if he had fulfilled the promise he had given motee to bring me his best donkeys. he assured me that i was sitting on the back of mrs. langtry, who was well known as the fastest animal in suez, and by far the handsomest. he said he had mrs. cornwallis west, ellen terry, mary anderson, mrs. kendal, and other good mounts; but mrs. langtry was the pick of the basket for speed and endurance. i asked the name of motee's moke, which he said was his next best one, and found that it was called mr. gladstone! the pair were excellent friends, and insisted on walking side by side, although motee did all he could to keep mr. gladstone behind. disliking this aspect of affairs, i dealt motee's mount a couple of sharp cuts with my whip over the quarters, with the object of inducing him to set the pace. this resulted in such high kicking on the part of mr. gladstone, that motee nearly fell off, and the man behind ran up yelling in such an angry tone, that i almost feared he would chastise me in a similar manner. he cooled down and then patronisingly told me that when i had grown older and had gained more experience in riding, i would not be guilty of cruelty to dumb animals. having failed in my tactics, and paid for my ride, i resigned all further activity in the proceedings, and submitted to having the speed of my mount regulated by the stick from behind. when pursued, mrs. langtry would go off with a rush, pausing at intervals to listen for footsteps behind, and assure herself that the stick man was well out of reach. once she relapsed into a dreamy reverie, and so far forgot herself as to allow her owner to wake her up with a tremendous whack, which sent her flying with such force that i was nearly jerked out of the saddle. our destination was the first castle, and i was glad to turn homewards. motee did not appear to have enjoyed his share of the joke, for he looked very angrily at the donkey man as he removed my saddle, and said: "dis no good ponies, _mem sahib_, plenty _tamasha_." that evening when i was recounting my adventures at dinner, count carlo sanminiatelli, who was staying at the same hotel, asked me in french if i was fond of riding. on hearing my reply, he at once placed at my disposal nearly three hundred remounts which were to be shipped later on to massowah. these horses belonged to the italian government, which was expecting a row with king john of abyssinia. after that, motee and i used to disappear for hours in the desert every day, and we wended our way back to the hotel, only when the pangs of hunger forced us to do so. we would try sometimes as many as fifteen animals in a day, and i took the numbers of those which were nice to ride. in a very short time i had a list of more than a dozen of the nicest horses, which i intended to keep for my own hacking. as most of them had been accustomed to the barbarous mameluke bit, which is used in egypt, they took very kindly to my snaffle. the desert is a grand place for trying experiments with horses; for in it there is nothing to frighten or distract their attention from their work, and if one does happen to get a spill, the falling is very soft. as soon as the news of my doings became noised abroad in suez, the riding men mustered in great force and borrowed several of the horses i had passed as quiet. it was amusing to see some of the horsemen sending all over the place to borrow a saddle, and in a couple of days we all met for a ride. one of the ladies rode very well, but she would not try any of the remounts, as she had her own arab. there was seldom such excitement in suez before, the lawn tennis ground became quite deserted, and everyone seemed to have gone riding mad. coursing steinbok with greyhounds used to be a popular sport in south africa, but when my husband and i were in kimberley in , mr. fenn was establishing a pack of foxhounds. i fear the jameson raid and its dire results have sadly disturbed the harmony of that sporting community. i cannot help thinking that the germans are more devoted to riding than any other continental nation. i have not hunted in germany, as i was there only during the summer; but i sold a good hunter to a german count who was a fine horseman and a master of foxhounds. he told me that a large number of ladies hunted with his pack. i was particularly struck with the immense size and beauty of the riding schools in berlin. in the berliner tattersall there are three large riding schools, and i seldom went there without seeing some ladies on horseback. in the largest riding school there is a gallery, a refreshment room, reading room, several dressing rooms, a bandstand, and seating accommodation for hundreds of people. the proprietor told me that in the winter months when the weather is too bad for outside riding, ladies ride in the schools, and various entertainments are given. i saw a large number of ladies riding in the tiergarten, although it was out of the season, and i expected to find the ride as empty as rotten row in the winter months. as i went there before eight in the morning, our german cousins must be early risers. on the last occasion we visited the tiergarten, we were on our way home from russia, and, having a couple of hours to wait for our train, we strolled into the delightful wooded ride. it was about half-past seven on a cold march morning, and almost the first people i saw there were the kaiser and the kaiserin, so i no longer marvelled at german ladies' taste for early rising. when i was in the bois de boulogne last season, it was greatly frequented as usual, but it struck me that fewer women ride there now than formerly, and that motor cars have absorbed their attention. although the riding schools of paris are not to be compared to those of berlin, the worst of them is far superior to the two miserable civilian riding schools in st. petersburg, where riding is almost entirely a military function. very few russian women ride, although history tells us that peter iii. kept a pack of hounds, and that his wife, catherine ii., according to her memoirs, listened to the loving solicitations of soltikov while they were riding together "to find the dogs." a saddle belonging to this amorous lady, which i saw at the hermitage, was like an australian buck-jumping saddle, with large knee rolls and a high cantle. it was covered with red velvet and decorated with cowrie shells. the side saddle appears to have been first used in russia by the daughters of the emperor paul. the duchess of newcastle, writing in _ladies in the field_, on "the untidy slipshod way the riders are often turned out" in rotten row, terms this state of things "a disgrace to a country which is considered to have the best horses and riders in the world," and wonders what foreigners must think of the sorry spectacle. this "floppy" untidyness of riding dress appears to have been introduced by the "new woman." twenty years ago, top hats and perfectly fitting habits were _de rigueur_; but now neither horses nor riders are so well trained for park hacking as they were in those days. the duchess also points out that it is as cheap to be clean as dirty, and there is no reason why the horses should not be groomed, and their bits burnished. chapter xviii. walking foxhound puppies. i believe i am correct in stating that no woman who has ever hunted, professes any other feeling than that of ardent admiration for the hounds which provide her with sport; but i would like to see this admiration take, among hunting women, the more practical form of walking hunt puppies, in whose future well-being they should have a keen personal interest. there are two maiden ladies in ireland, who, although they have never hunted, and are long past the age at which they are likely to do so, always, from sheer love of sport, walk a couple of foxhound puppies for their district hunt. we want, i think, more of this sporting irish feeling among our sex, for i am sure that apart from all other considerations, a hunting woman would find more to interest her in the rearing and training of a foxhound puppy, whose career she could literally follow, than in spending money and time in clothing and nursing a useless pug or toy terrier. there is no more intelligent and charming companion for a woman than a young foxhound, who appears to be able to do everything but speak, and even that he can do in a mute way, for when he is greatly troubled, he cries like a human being, with real tears. i am thinking as i write of a young cottesmore pup i was walking at melton mowbray who, when a friend accidentally trod on his foot, came yelping up to me for sympathy with big tears rolling down his face. when i picked up this heavy lump of dog and soothed him, he at once stopped his yelping and his tears like a child. mr. otho paget in his interesting book, _hunting_, says, "the whole future success of your breeding hounds rests on being able to get good walks," and in order to ensure such success, he advises generosity in the matter of prize giving at the annual puppy show and the luncheon on that occasion, to be "as smart and festive as you can make it." mr. paget considers that the "ideal home for a puppy" is a farmhouse; but even if this statement were correct--which i greatly doubt, seeing the poverty of many farmers and the neglected state of their own domestic animals--few farmers walk foxhound puppies even in classic leicestershire. when a large landowner, good sportsman and lover of hunting like the late duke of rutland, makes an agreement with his tenant-farmers, to walk puppies, the work is certain to be carried out in a give and take manner which will cement good feeling between both parties, and will promote sport; but the practice which obtains in some badly managed hunts of sending a whipper-in to dump down his cartload of puppies on any people who will consent to take them, is not only akin to cadging, but is also productive of many cases of neglect which ought to come before the notice of the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals. instead of deputing servants to dispose of young hounds in this casual manner, the master or his secretary should approach the residents of the district, and either personally, or by writing, arrange with them to walk puppies, so that they may be prepared to receive their young charges. also, the master or secretary should visit the puppies at walk occasionally, as such practical interest taken in their welfare, would tend to encourage the walker in her by no means easy task of rearing the youngsters. mr. otho paget's advice as to prize giving and a sumptuous lunch hardly, i think, meets the requirements of the case. we can dismiss the lunch, as very few of my sex care for "smart and festive" feeding, and as far as the prizes go for their trouble and expense with the animals, what is the use of judging puppies six months after they have returned from walk? the poor, neglected, half-starved animal who goes back to kennels all skin and bone may, if he be a well-shaped hound, show up better at the time of judging, than those who were returned full of good food and in hard exercise, but who may have lost in condition by fretting, or by having to live on shorter rations than before. some puppies, as i know from experience, have either died during the six months' interval, or have been drafted to another pack. therefore it would be far more satisfactory and encouraging to puppy walkers for the judging to be on a day fixed for them to take their young charges to the kennels. in bygone days when country squires lived on their land and their tenants were under contract to walk puppies, the present arrangement no doubt answered well enough, because it was to the tenant's interest to do his best to please his landlord; but times have changed since then. the large majority of people who hunt nowadays, rent hunting boxes for the season, and take so little interest in country life that they fly off to town on the first appearance of frost, and are not seen again until the land is fit to be ridden over. when the season ends, they disappear till the following one. few of them know any of the resident farmers or inhabitants of hunting centres even by sight, or want to know them. this snobbish exclusiveness is very harmful to the interests of hunting, because the farmers are under no obligation to them--quite the reverse--and a farmer can, if he likes, refuse to allow them to ride over his land. therefore, when hunting people show farmers no civility, the agriculturists naturally do not care to go to the trouble and expense of walking hunt puppies, as several farmers have told me, unless they are given a better inducement to do so than present arrangements offer. then again, in judging puppies returned from walk, supposing the judging takes place at once, as it should do, only the condition of the puppies, and not their "points" should be taken into consideration; for the walker usually has to take any puppies that are given to him, and as he does not breed them, he cannot be held responsible for any defects which may be in their make and shape. the hunt puppy-show ought to be a function entirely apart from the walkers' show, and until this is done, the unfortunate puppies will continue to be dumped down on any stranger who will consent to take them. i cannot help thinking that the great mortality which takes place every season among young hounds, might be considerably lessened if the various hunts were to send out with the puppies, for the benefit of inexperienced walkers, a pamphlet or card of printed instructions concerning their feeding and general management. they should also request the walker to report any case of sickness, and should at once despatch a competent veterinary surgeon to investigate such cases and prescribe for the young patients. the inexperienced puppy walker, in her anxiety to get her charges strong, often gorges them to repletion with raw meat even before they have got any permanent teeth, which is as absurd as feeding an infant on raw steak. we know not how young hounds contract distemper, but they cannot be prevented in their daily walks from eating offal, and if the germs of the disease are taken into their bodies in this way, the hound whose system has been weakened by "heating" and unsuitable food will seldom recover. i do not wish to pose as an authority on this subject and am simply giving, for the benefit of ladies who find themselves placed in a similar predicament, my experience, or rather, at this stage, inexperience, in walking a couple of cottesmore pups. i tried very hard to save those pups, nursed them night and day, and had them in my room at night, but both died. one of them was slowly recovering, but was so weak that he could hardly stand, and i was recommended to give him some fresh meat cut up small. this food occasioned a relapse, and next day he was dead. i notice that mr. otho paget in his book on _hunting_ recommends "a little raw fresh meat" for weakly pups, but possibly he would not advocate it for one getting over distemper. i attributed the death of my charges solely to improper feeding, and have since been successful in rearing others by feeding them at first on bread and milk, biscuits and gravy, scraps of cooked vegetables, and when meat has been given, i have taken care to see that it has been _cooked_. even with the greatest attention to diet and exercise, that horror, distemper, has attacked them, but they have made a good recovery. at the time of writing i am walking a couple of pytchley pups, which alas, will soon go to their permanent home. both of them have had distemper, one in a very severe form, accompanied by an abscess in his throat, which prevented him from swallowing anything but beaten eggs and milk for several days. his portrait (fig. ) shows that he has now "grown into a hound," and i am proud of him, for all of the pytchley pups of the first, or spring batch, which were distributed in this village died of distemper with the exception of my couple. my pups must have contracted the disease from a neighbouring farmer's dog who died of it in great agony with an abscess in his throat. possibly the adoption of some kind of muzzle would prevent puppies from eating diseased matter. [illustration: fig. .--pytchley puppy, mottley.] my belief in the necessity of giving hounds cooked meat and rigorously abjuring it in a raw state, excited ridicule here, but when the good result of such "faddy" feeding was proved by the healthy condition of the animals, the unbelievers acknowledged themselves converted. mills, in his _life of a foxhound_, tells us that ringwood, who appears to have been a fine hound, was brought up solely on "sweet milk, meal and broth"; but i find that pups in hard exercise want a generous supply of cooked paunch as well as bones for the development of their teeth, and that if they are blown out with sloppy food, their internal arrangements become disorganized. besides, a hound cannot gallop on meal alone. one of the greatest difficulties with which puppy walkers in small villages have to contend, is in obtaining an adequate supply of paunches and bones, for country butchers do not kill many animals in the week, as there is little sale for meat. the average villager purchases a joint for his "sunday's dinner," which either lasts the whole week, or is supplemented by scraps of meat, or even a "bone pie"! an ox paunch is of course dressed and sold as tripe, all sorts of pork scraps are made up into brawn, mutton ditto into "faggots," so that there is very little left for the foxhound puppies. during the hot summer months it is best to give pups very little cooked meat, but plenty of cooked vegetables, biscuit, house scraps of bread, &c., and in cold weather the first meal of the day should, if possible, be given warm, or mixed with warm milk, for when young animals are cold and hungry, it is a good thing to warm their little insides. all meat should be given cut up. when feeding hounds on remains of fish, care should be taken to remove large bones, which are very apt to choke them. if puppies are shut up at night in a barn or loose box, their abode should be cleaned out every morning, and any soiled straw removed. attention should be paid to the thawing of their drinking water during severe weather. after they have got their teeth and begin to snarl over their bones, it is best to feed them in separate tins, or the stronger and greedier of the two will get far more than his fair share, even if he allows his pal to have any at all. i have found ordinary large sized baking tins useful for feeding purposes, as crockery is liable to get smashed. it is a good plan to have a system of regular feeding morning and evening; for puppies, like children, thrive better on regular meals than when they are "picking and nipping" all day. a constant supply of fresh water should be always at hand for their use. for ladies who attend personally to the wants of their canine friends, messrs. d. h. evans, of oxford street, have registered a kennel coat, which i think will fill a want. they have adopted my suggestions respecting its make and shape, and have made it in mud-coloured washing material, as that tint looks less unsightly when soiled than white, which is worn by kennel huntsmen. a protection of this kind for the dress is needed in tending dogs, and i have found it a very serviceable garment. fig. shows the front view of this coat; and fig. , the back view. [illustration: fig. .--front view of kennel coat.] another point to remember in the management of puppies is never to wash them. i believe every experienced hound man will bear me out in attributing many tiresome ailments to the bath tub. hounds can be kept perfectly clean by careful brushing, and their coats will show a gloss and polish that no bathing can give. it is not unusual to find mange in pups fresh from kennel, and care should be taken that the brush is not used on the affected animal. i found that applications of paraffin and salad oil, in equal parts of each, quickly cured mange, and that the hair on the coat grew thick and appeared to be greatly benefited by the lotion. although pills are supplied by some hunts to be given to pups who are off their feed, it is no easy task for a woman, or even man, to induce an animal to swallow one, and the struggles of the terrified youngster who objects to the pill, often make it do more harm than good. that safe old medicine, castor oil, is generally at hand, and a puppy will lap a spoonful or two in milk without making a fuss. my experience of dog doctoring has been practically limited to castor oil, except during distemper, when five grains of quinine have been given daily with beneficial results. the best way to give this medicine is to mix it with a small piece of butter and spread this ointment on a piece of cheese, which will be eagerly gobbled up, as all hounds appear to like cheese. the pups should have plenty of clean dry straw for their bedding, and boards are far safer and more comfortable for them to lie on than bricks, which are always more or less cold and damp. each pup selects his own spot for his bed, which he arranges to his liking, and if plenty of straw be given, he will burrow under it in very cold weather and thus keep himself warm. there is certain to be one pup which we like best, but no favouritism should be shown outwardly, as it breeds envy, hatred and malice, and all bow-wows are afflicted with jealousy. it is best if possible to take two pups, as a lone hound is miserable without a playmate, and if he has no one to play with, he will be almost sure to get into mischief. one will want to boss the other, but they can generally be left to settle their own quarrels. in every pack there is a master hound who rules the roost, but if he degenerates into an intolerable bully, he may, not improbably, be killed and eaten by the others, an occurrence which mr. mills tells us took place in mr. conyer's kennel at copthall, essex. [illustration: fig. .--back view of kennel coat.] next to feeding, the most important thing in puppy walking is exercise. foxhounds have to know how to gallop, and therefore the young hound requires training. it is both cruel and useless to keep a healthy pup shut up in a stable or yard and afford him no opportunity of learning his work. as soon as the young ones settle down in their new home, they may be taken out for short walks, in order to accustom them to pass traffic, and if possible they should have a steady old dog to lead them; for even the placid cow coming home to be milked, will prove an object of terror to them and probably cause them to bolt home. with the exercise of patience and kindness, such fearsome journeys will soon be made with safety, and moving objects will cease to be regarded; in fact a bold hound will be likely to prove far too venturesome, and his hair-breadth escapes from being run over will occasion much anxiety. after the pups have got accustomed to getting out of the way of fast traffic, it is excellent training for them to learn to follow a bicycle, fig. ; but the rider must go slowly at first and only short distances, in order not to overtax the strength of the young hounds. a good rule is to slow down when the animals lag behind, and if they show any signs of fatigue, and are not stopping merely to make investigations, it is time to go slowly home. they will soon be able to gallop as fast as any ordinary rider can safely steer her bicycle, and will sometimes show their freshness and play, by catching hold of her skirt with their teeth, as once happened to me and gave me a fall. foxhounds are however so intelligent that the animal who playfully caused my discomfiture, looked sorrowfully at me as i lay sprawled out with my machine on the ground, and i feel sure that when i reproached him, he understood the drift of my remarks, for he never afterwards attempted to touch my skirt, though he has often come bumping into me, when flying for protection from some imaginary enemy. it is impossible to be really angry with these most affectionate irresponsible beings, for they are brimful of the exuberance of youth, and if they roll over each other in the middle of the road just under the front wheel, it is advisable to try and get out of the way. a good plan when this road playing begins is to keep the break going, ready for "happenings." riding with pups is excellent practice in bicycle control! from bicycle exercise we passed to the higher stage of taking out the pups with horses, but i regret we did not continue the bicycle training, because one day the bolder hound of the two (fig. ), who had several narrow escapes by reason of his insane propensity for running into the middle of the road and jumping up at the muzzle of an advancing horse, met with a serious accident, to wit, a fractured fore leg. i was not present when it occurred, but i had often ridden out with this hound, whose vagaries in the matter of jumping up at my horse's muzzle or playfully biting his hocks, frequently necessitated my riding at a walk. the animals who were ridden with these hounds were quiet, insomuch as they never attempted to kick them when all were loose in a paddock, or when ridden; but i even the quietest horse in the world is apt to show annoyance if very great liberties are taken with his person by either man or hound. my experience teaches me to remember this fact and not try a horse, who is not a huntsman's mount, too highly in this respect. the more sedate pup of the two is in fine condition, because he takes no liberties with the horses and therefore he obtains his requisite exercise; but if i wanted a bold, generous, dashing foxhound who can use his nose, swim a river or perform in brilliant style the work required in hunting, i should unhesitatingly choose the bold cripple, who i hope will get his leg right, for he would certainly perform brilliantly in any hunt, although as a show hound he would be superseded by his more sulky and indolent brother. [illustration: fig. .--puppies with bicycle.] [illustration: fig. .--pytchley puppy, monarch.] as the first requisites in a foxhound are pluck and confidence, i would, in selecting a couple of pups from the usual cartload, prefer to take from those who came and faced me boldly, as if inquiring my business, rather than to seek for "show" points among those who require to be dragged from the back of the cart for inspection. many people are debarred from walking foxhound pups from the tales they have heard about their destructiveness, but these yarns are grossly exaggerated, for the youngsters are no worse than ordinary puppies in their desire to try their new teeth on sponges, brushes, boots or anything else they can procure. if they are taught from the first that such things are riot, and are given in their idle moments a bone on which to expend their energy, they will peacefully occupy themselves with it for hours, and after they have eaten it or as much of it as is possible to be broken off, they will solemnly proceed to inter it for resurrection on some future occasion. a young dog who has had his necessary exercise, will prefer to sleep than to get into mischief; but if kept idle, he will naturally seek some means of working off his pent-up energy. it is as cruel to punish a young animal for gnawing and biting inanimate objects, as it is to strike a teething infant who is similarly prone to use his teeth on anything he can get hold of. we generally supply such a child with a bone ring or something equally safe to bite; and if we do not give a puppy a bone, he will quickly find something for himself. i have a sheep-dog pup who, having gnawed and buried a boot in the paddock, was brought to me for correction. i gave him a "good talking to" and ordered him to lie down near me under the table, where i believed he would be out of mischief. i went on with my work and thought he was asleep, but when i bent down and looked at him, i found him busy at a large hole he was biting in our carpet! it was all my fault--he ought to have had a bone. we now come to the important question of corporal punishment, which i have deferred, as i hate it, but i know that it is a necessary evil. solomon's warning about sparing the rod is more applicable, i think, to foxhounds than to children, for the spoilt hound has before him a fearful day of reckoning which a child may escape. therefore our supposed kindness in ignoring sins of omission or commission is, in the case of a young hound, a cruel wrong which will assuredly cause him a great deal of suffering that timely correction on our part may avert. in the first place we ought to insist on implicit obedience, not by coaxing, but by the whip, for if a hound wilfully disobeys the person whom he loves as his mother, how much less will he be inclined to obey the orders of a stranger who is his whipper-in? when it is necessary to punish a glaring offence concerning which the lady walker, who is acting the part of mentor, has given an unheeded warning, the offender should be well whipped by someone told off to perform this operation, and when they fly to her for sympathy, she should remain silent as one who knows they have been justly punished. if she has to undertake these salutary thrashings herself, she should call the hounds to her in a tone of voice which she knows they can hear, and if, as frequently happens, they hesitate for a moment, look at her and then decide to disobey her command, she should follow them up, still calling on them to come to her, but now in a severer tone, and the disobedient ones will generally falter and take refuge in any available place. then is the time to punish them with a few sharp cuts of whip or cane. there will be no howling, as the pups know very well that they have transgressed, and will show it on the way home by answering promptly when they are called. pups must be punished only when they are caught in the act of disobedience; but a sin of yesterday must never be punished to-day; because foxhounds, like all dogs, have a keen sense of justice, and only understand the meaning of punishment when it is timely administered. all attempts at hunting on their own account should be rigorously repressed, and the personal dignity of the house cats should be upheld. even when the hounds are accorded the special favour of entering the house, our pussies must be no more disturbed by them than they would be by our house dogs who sleep near the fireside with them. i like to encourage hounds to visit me occasionally in the house, as then they are, so to speak, on their honour, and they so much appreciate these visits that they lie peacefully near the fire with the cats in perfect friendship, after having carefully examined, without touching, everything in the room. they may look and smell, but not touch, and as bad behaviour in this respect means instant ejection, they soon become like visitors to a museum. the worst about puppy walking is that one has to part with these delightful companions, and that parting is a time of sorrow which we feel almost as keenly as if they were our children leaving home for the first time with all life's troubles before them. chapter xix. kindness to horses. a great deal has been said and written about bad-tempered horses, but hardly enough anent the riders who make them sulky or irritable. jorrocks' remark that "the less a man knows about an 'oss, the more he expects" is perfectly true; for such persons seem to regard horses as machines, and are ever ready to slash them with the whip across the head, or any other part on which they think they can inflict most pain, and then when animals resent such cruelty, they dub them bad-tempered brutes! there are people belonging to the show-off brigade, who punish horses without the slightest provocation, in order to attract general attention to their fine (?) horsemanship. their method is first to job the animal in the mouth, and when he exhibits the resulting signs of irritated surprise, to "lamb" him well. another kind of horse-spoiler is the man who, having been angered by some person, vents his pent-up rage on his unfortunate mount. far be it from me to call down the wrath of the lords of creation on my thin head by denouncing them all as cruel monsters, but my experience is that, in the majority of cases, horses are rendered vicious by brutal treatment on the part of men. a horse, like a dog, has a keen sense of justice; he never forgets unmerited punishment, but is in a constant state of nervous anxiety when ridden by a man who treats him unkindly. a dog exhibits a similar feeling of distrust of a cruel master by crouching up to him when called, instead of being delighted to see him, and according him a frisky welcome. i will give an instance of what i once saw a bad-tempered man do with a bird in india. the animal was a small green parrot which the man had taught to perform a certain trick; but i don't know what it was, because the parrot did not execute it when asked to do so. the owner of the bird was a very mild private individual, who i thought was fond of animals, and who asked me to see the effect of his training on this parrot. he tried to get the little thing to perform, but as it would not, for some cause best known to itself, he actually wrung its neck in my presence! i shall never forget that incident, because it gave me one of the greatest shocks i have ever experienced. this was, of course, an exceptional case of temper, which i mention only to show to what extremities a violent burst of rage may carry a sane individual. we often hear of an uncontrollable temper, but i believe that every man can, if he likes, govern his rage, unless, of course, he is demented. if the vast majority of so-called vicious horses could write the story of their lives, what terrible tales of suffering and injustice they would relate! a horse, unlike a dog, bears punishment in silence, and any brutal creature may with impunity torture a horse, but if he tried to hurt a dog in like degree, the yelping of the animal would alarm the entire neighbourhood, and be almost certain to call forth a strong remonstrance from some lover of animals whose sympathy had been excited by hearing such piteous cries. people who are unacquainted with the inner life of stables, have no idea of the brutality which many grooms and strappers inflict on the animals in their charge. when we find a horse which is difficult to bridle, owing to the objection he has to allowing his muzzle or ears to be approached by the hand of man, we may be almost certain that this vice has been caused by the application of a twitch, either on his upper lip, or on one of his ears, a method of restraint which should never be employed. by laying down the law on this point of horse control, i in no way pose as an authority, but rely on what my husband, who is a veterinary surgeon, thinks on this matter. he tells me that during the two trips which he made in to south africa in veterinary charge of remounts, he examined the mouths of over seven hundred horses and found that more than ten per cent. of them had been permanently injured, especially on the tongue, by the inhuman application of twitches. no one, veterinary surgeon or layman, is justified in using a twitch that will make the animal subsequently difficult to handle. if any of my readers wish to know how a twitch can be applied without this drawback, they should consult my husband's book, _illustrated horse breaking_. of all horses, a good hunter which passes into the hands of an incompetent master, is most to be pitied. the wretched condition of many hunters is truly pitiable. their skins, instead of showing the glow of health, present a dried-up, kippered-herring appearance, and some of the poor things have the miserable half-starved look of berlin cab horses, chiefly because they live as a rule in a constant state of thirst, owing to the objection their grooms have of allowing them a sufficiency of water to drink. such parched animals will quickly tell their mistress this secret, by loudly neighing, if, when she goes near their boxes or stalls, she takes up and rattles a stable bucket. this thirst torture is abominable cruelty. in this country, grooms, as a rule, are given a free hand in the feeding and management of horses, with frequently disastrous results, owing to the consequent system of commissions and tips from horse dealers, corn dealers, saddlers and shoeing smiths. in india and the colonies, horse-owners usually take a practical interest in the welfare of their equine servants, which are therefore properly fed, and have a plentiful supply of fresh water to drink. almost all hunting grooms keep horses in loose boxes tied up during the day, in order to prevent them lying down, soiling themselves and disarranging the bedding, which would, of course, entail trouble on the stable attendants. to such men, the good effect of liberty on legs and health is, of course, a negligible quantity. it is evident that the benefit of a loose box is nullified, if the animal in it is tied up. when we visit horses in their stable and find that they exhibit terror at our approach, we may conclude that their fear is due to bad management, because no horse which has been kindly treated, will show the slightest fear on being approached. a class of groom whom i would not care to keep, is the funky man who is continually yelling at his animals, and thus unfits them to obey our words of command when we ride them. every horse-owner, even from a purely humane point of view, should spare a few minutes at night before turning in, to see that the animals have got plenty of hay and are not parched with thirst. i would strongly plead for our dumb friends in this matter, because, on more than one occasion, i have found my horses shut up for the night without "bite or sup," and by the welcome they always gave me, i know they were most grateful to me for my nightly visits, not only in neighing on hearing me speak, but also in dutifully obeying my voice when i rode them. if a horse, like a dog, gets to know that his mistress is his kindest friend, he will do his best to please her, and will remain steady at her command even under very great provocation to "play up." here again jorrocks' advice to know your horse comes in, for our stable friendship with our animals establishes a bond of unity which they will always remember and appreciate. horses are very sporting animals, and the love of competition is inherent in them all, from the hack to the steeplechaser. when it is a question of a gallop, an old nag will put his best foot foremost and try to outdistance his companion, even though his chances of so doing may be extremely small. in hunting and racing we see horses gamely struggling on, often under severe punishment. to my mind, half the pleasure of witnessing equine competitions of speed and staying power is lost by the brutality of jockeys who, possibly from rage and disappointment at losing a race, often unmercifully punish their animals with whip and spurs, even when the first three horses have passed the winning post. one of the most fruitful causes of bad mouths is the practice which many servants adopt of jerking the reins, when a horse which they are holding becomes restless, even when the inquietude consists merely in looking at passing objects. men who adopt this barbarous method of control, never accompany the action of their hand with the voice, and, consequently, the unfortunate animal does not know why he is punished. he naturally connects any pressure of the mouth-piece on the bars of his mouth with the idea of pain, from which he tries to escape by throwing up his head. hence, instead of going freely up to his bit, and thus putting himself in touch with his rider, he will fight against it and will be unpleasant, if not dangerous, to ride. there have been many funny books written about horsemanship! in a very incompetent book on this subject, the author states: "in riding, if a horse does not nag himself properly, take short hold of the reins with your left hand, lean back in the saddle, with a light whip or stick give him three or four strokes right and left down his shoulders, at the same time holding the reins tight so that he does not go from under you; he will soon alter his pace. that requires practice, with nerve and judgment." i think that a person who would be guilty of such a display of "nerve and judgment" deserves similar punishment with the whip. it is in the hands of such men that horses earn the reputation of being bad-tempered. this writer also tells us "not to give water before feeding, as it weakens the saliva in a horse's mouth!" whyte melville owed his success in horse management to the adoption of kind and humane methods. all those who have broken and ridden young horses know how thoroughly sound is his advice:--"from the day you slip a halter over his ears he should be encouraged to look to you, like a child, for all his little wants and simple pleasures. he should come cantering up from the farthest corner in the paddock when he hears your voice, should ask to have his nose rubbed, his head stroked, his neck patted, with those honest pleading looks which will make the confidence of a dumb creature so touching; and before a roller has been put on his back, or a snaffle in his mouth, he should be convinced that everything you do to him is right, and that it is impossible for _you_, his best friend, to cause him the least uneasiness or harm. "i once owned a mare that would push her nose into my pockets in search of bread and sugar, would lick my face and hands like a dog, or suffer me to cling to any part of her limbs and body while she stood perfectly motionless. on one occasion, when i hung up in the stirrup after a fall, she never stirred on rising, till by a succession of laborious and ludicrous efforts i could swing myself back into the saddle, with my foot still fast, though hounds were running hard, and she loved hunting dearly in her heart. as a friend remarked at the time, 'the little mare seems very fond of you, or there might have been a bother'! now this affection was but the result of petting, sugar, kind and encouraging words, particularly at her fences, and a rigid abstinence from abuse of the bridle and the spur." many animal lovers, especially those who have had no personal experience in studying the peculiarities of our dumb servants, consider that all horses behave well if kindly treated. this belief has a certain foundation in fact, in the case of amiable animals which appreciate good usage. there are, however, many horses, especially among the half-bred hackney class of riding animal, possessed of bitter obstinacy which no amount of kindness on our part can subdue. some of these animals allow us to get on their backs and carry us quietly, so long as we permit them to proceed at their desired pace; but as soon as we attempt to assert ourselves in this matter, they display their sullen tempers in various ways, either by plunging, pulling, or setting up other defences against our authority. if we insist on our orders being obeyed, they show fight, or more usually a sullen nagging resistance that continues the whole time we remain on their backs, and they carry out the same programme every time we ride them. with such nasty tempered brutes, breaking is of no avail, for they are quiet as long as we allow them to set the pace and carry us as they like. a breaker who is a good horseman and possessed of extreme tact and patience, which of course is necessary, may continue the fight longer than an ordinary rider cares to do, but he can produce no permanent result, for he is unable to give the animal a new heart. therefore, when we consider the important question of manners in a horse, we should first learn all we can about the disposition and temper of the animal both in and out of the stable. given a sound foundation to work upon, that is to say, a placid generous tempered horse, we may confidently set to work in polishing up his manners as may be required, but with the sullen brutes i have described, it is a useless task. we find much the same thing in some human beings. george moore, in his novel, _esther waters_, graphically depicts the sullen obstinacy of a low class of person who will "neither lead nor drive." i think that this dogged obstinacy of temper is rarely met with among thoroughbred, or even well-bred horses, for i have found it to exist in its worst form only among half-breds, and especially among those which have hackney blood in their veins. as a rule, a bad-tempered thoroughbred does not sulk, he fights openly, says his say, like an irritated master or mistress, and, having relieved his mind, lets the matter drop, and does not nurture it up for future use, like the servants in the kitchen. my advice to any lady who is trying to win the regard of a sullen brute of this class, would be to give up the task as hopeless, get rid of him, and expend her kindness on an animal more worthy of it. no horse that will not "chum" with you, by ready obedience without asserting himself at every step he takes, is worth his keep, and it is no pleasure to either man or woman to ride such animals, however excellent both the rider's temper and horsemanship may be. i would recommend any lady who is about to purchase a horse, to do her best to find out, not only if the animal is quiet, but if his former owner was also amiable, and on no account to buy a horse which has been spoiled by a bad-tempered man, or woman, supposing that any of my sex is sour-tempered, which i very much doubt, unless, of course, she had been spoiled by a vicious male! we should bear in mind that absolute perfection, either among humans or equines, is unattainable, and, as jorrocks points out: "if his 'oss is not so good as he might be, let him cherish the reflection that he might have been far worse!" i think that the native syces of india, like the russian _ishvoshik_ (cabman), treat their equine charges with far greater sympathy and kindness than our english grooms and cab-drivers do. in india we ride stallions; my grey arab, fig. , was an entire, and was so kind and gentle that he was always most careful not to tread on his syce who slept in his box with him, rolled up in a corner, like a bundle of old clothes. when gowlasher, which was the man's name, groomed him, the pony would playfully catch his arm between his teeth and make a pretence of biting it, but he never allowed his teeth to hurt the skin. gowlasher liked to show me the funny little tricks of this animal; but if freddie had attempted to touch the arm of an english groom, he would have been promptly struck across the muzzle, because his playfulness would have been misunderstood. it is not the custom in this country to hunt or hack stallions, which are often led out for exercise with two men hanging on to their heads, both armed with stout sticks. magic, a grey arab entire, which we brought home from india and sold to colonel walker, of gateacre, who won several pony races with him, carried me quietly in the row, and his new owner found him a very clever polo pony. when passing through london on my return from a visit to russia, we put up at an hotel in oxford street, where the night was rendered hideous to me by the brutal slashing of cab horses; for one hears nothing of that kind in russia, and yet we english people pride ourselves on being a horse-loving nation! the speed of orlov trotters is very great, but no whip is used in driving them; the coachmen drive with a rein in each hand, like the drivers of american trotters, and shout after the manner of firemen to clear the road, for these animals seem to require a good deal of holding. the russian cabby uses a small whip like an ordinary dog-whip, which he tucks away somewhere under his seat, and when his horse is taking things too easy, it is only necessary for him to show it him, for he is driven without blinkers, to cause him to at once hasten his pace. very often the man is unprovided even with this toy thing, in which case he obtains a similar result by abusing the animal's relations! during the whole time that i was in russia, i never once saw a cabby hurt his horse with the whip. russia is the last country to which one would go to learn anything about the treatment of human beings, knowing what we do of her past and present history; but we certainly should emulate the russian coachmen in their kindness to horses, and not shock our neighbours by exhibitions of brutality which may be seen daily in the london streets. chapter xx. cross-saddle riding for ladies. the question periodically arises as to whether women should adopt men's saddles in preference to their own. i have studied the art of riding astride in an ordinary man's saddle, and would give a negative answer to that query. the fact that by the adoption of the cross saddle, about seven pounds in weight would be saved, and the work for the horse would be somewhat easier, ought not to outweigh the enormous disadvantages on the other side. whenever a lady is dragged by skirt or stirrup and killed--an accident which, happily, occurs but rarely nowadays, for we wisely adopt the best safety appliances to prevent it--up crops that evergreen question of cross-saddle riding, as if men never come to grief! statistics would, i think, show that, considering the large number of women who hunt, the proportion of fatal accidents to them in the hunting field is extremely small as compared with the male record. then, again, the question of sore backs from side-saddles may be urged; but with a well-fitting saddle which is properly girthed up, this trouble can be averted. besides, sore backs are not confined to side saddles, for every hunting man, at some period or other, has had a sore-backed horse in his stable. my argument against the adoption of men's saddles is, in the first place, that such saddles afford us far less security of seat than we obtain in our own; for i do not think that men could ride, as we can, over fences without the aid of the reins. this statement is borne out, not only by the attempts which many good horsemen have made to do so, while my husband drove animals over obstacles with the long reins, but also by the fact that all men like a horse that goes well up to the bridle for cross-country work. then, again, a woman's limbs are unsuited to cross-saddle riding, which requires length from hip to knee, flat muscles, and a slight inclination to "bow legs." i practised my cross-saddle riding in a school well supplied with large mirrors in which i could see my figure as i passed. it was anything but graceful, for the rotundity, which even in some men is very ugly on horseback, was far too much _en évidence_, and caused an outburst of laughter from the ladies who were watching my performance. i at first found it rather difficult to preserve my balance well in cantering on a circle, but that came to me far more quickly than ability to ride properly over a fence in a plain flapped saddle, such as i presume ladies would want to use if they adopted that style of riding. the directions given me were to lean back and grip with my knees; but, as in side-saddle riding, i left the reins quite loose, instead of hanging on to them as most men do, i lost the aid which they might have afforded me in my efforts to stick on. besides, my grip was all wrong, and seemed to be obtainable only at the thigh, which, my husband tells me, ought, for riding purposes, to be flat and not round. my experience of this kind of riding appears to have been borne out by another lady who tried it, for "rapier," in the _sporting and dramatic news_, nov. th, , says: "a few weeks ago my correspondent 'ion,' who is, i believe, an excellent horsewoman, told me how she made an essay at riding on a man's saddle, with the result that she had a very bad fall." i believe both of us would have done better if we had had no previous experience of riding, and had acquired the art of hanging on to the reins. a lady who is well known with the devon and somerset staghounds asked my husband's advice about a suitable saddle, as she desired to ride astride, and he helped her to procure one with large knee pads, made on the principle of australian buck-jumping saddles, which appears to have answered her purpose very well; but i do not know how she would get on in leicestershire. mrs. tweedie rode astride in a mexican saddle, which, like those used by natives in india, are something after the pattern of an easy-chair. william stokes, in an old work on riding which was published at oxford, tells us that in mexico "the _pisana_, or country lady, is often seen mounted before her _cavaliero_, who, seated behind his fair one, supports her with his arm thrown round her waist." this was much more gallant than the old english method, for the lady, after being seated sideways on the horse's croup, had to run the risk of being knocked off by her cavalier, who vaulted into the saddle in front of her. the plate illustrating this nice performance shows that the man had to stand with his left leg in the stirrup and put his weight on the saddle with his hands, while he raised his right leg over the lady's head. having lived in the east, i am aware that oriental women ride astride, but i have not seen any of them voluntarily go out of a walk. it is not difficult to trot and canter in a man's plain hunting saddle, but i think our conformation requires the assistance of knee rolls for jumping. we may see even fair horsemen thrown by a horse suddenly stopping dead at a fence, an accident that rarely occurs to a woman in a side saddle, as the grip afforded by her crutches gives her greater security of seat. a large number of men's saddles have recently been purchased in london for the use of american ladies who desire to adopt cross-saddle riding. they intend wearing frock coats and breeches made exactly like men's hunting breeches, and top boots; but as the frock coats are tight-fitting and follow the contour of the figure, i do not think that the costume will enhance the elegance of the wearer. in the tiergarten at berlin i saw a german lady riding astride in a kind of divided skirt, and as she was rather portly, her palfrey appeared to be fully caparisoned. if the cross-saddle were to be generally adopted by women, it would be but a revival of an ancient custom which was in use before the side-saddle with a leaping head rendered it possible for women to ride across country. according to audry, english ladies discarded cross-saddle riding, and began to ride with the right leg over the crutch, about the middle of the seventeenth century, which style the countess of newcastle is said to have been the first to adopt. in the _encyclopædia londinensis_ we read that queen elizabeth "seems to have been the first who set the ladies the more modest fashion of riding sideways," but i think the honour of its introduction is due to ann of bohemia, the consort of richard the second. garsault tells us that during the fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, ladies of the french court usually rode astride on donkeys. whatever may be said in favour of cross-saddle riding, we must bear in mind that it was not until the introduction in of the leaping head that women were able to ride over fences, and it would be a most reactionary measure to try to dispense with this valuable improvement on the ancient and incompetent order of things. chapter xxi. riding difficult horses. general remarks--shying--stumbling--dancing and prancing--throwing up the head--habit-shy--jibbing--shouldering--backing--pulling-- refusing--boring--kicking--buck-jumping--rearing. general remarks. as ladies are not supposed to have to ride "difficult" horses, a chapter on the best means of managing such animals may appear superfluous; but even the steadiest animal is apt to go wrong at times, and as forewarned is forearmed, it is best for us to know how to act in cases of emergency. i do not think that there exists in this world an absolutely perfect horse, or faultless human being for that matter, although many members of both the human and equine race nearly approach the ideal standard, especially among our own gentle sex. a woman who rides a great variety of horses finds that each of her mounts has his or her special peculiarity of temper, which often sorely taxes her supply of patience and tact in keeping it under control. all horses, even the quietest, try to show their authority when ridden by a stranger, and still more so when they find themselves carrying a rider who sits in a side-saddle, which must be a most unnatural burden to a horse that has been broken and ridden by men. apart from considerations of side-saddle gear, the extra steadiness which is required of him in standing "stock" still while a lady is being put up on his back and her habit arranged, necessitates more patience on his part than with a male rider. on the other hand, he may be impressed with the idea that he is being asked to carry a more precious burden, and that he must prove himself worthy of the confidence reposed in him. i think this feeling of honour exists in horses, for i am reminded of a charger which an officer in india lent me, with somewhat anxious misgivings, to ride. he told me that the animal would be sure to buck at a certain spot, and, as he rode with me, he warned me when i came to this debateable ground to be ready for the usual performance. we cantered along quietly, as we had been doing, for i thought it best to pretend nothing, and my mount, to his owner's great surprise, made no attempt to buck, either then or subsequently, while i was riding him, and we remained the best of friends. a hunter mare which i had in cheshire, gave another instance of this honourable feeling among equines. when ridden by my husband or myself, she loved to show off by shying at a white gate, a heap of stones, a piece of paper, a bird, or any imaginable thing that she could find as an excuse to dart suddenly from one side of the road to the other. when we got to the hunting field, with all its noise and turmoil, she was as steady as possible, and the violent shying, which was her way of showing off, seemed to be quite forgotten. she would carry my son to his school, a distance of about five miles, and bring him home without making any attempt to shy with the child, but if an adult person rode her on the same route, she would play up as usual. i can only infer from this experience that, as i have already said, many horses possess a certain sense of honour. as shying is the most common vice among horses, we may consider it first. shying. i have called this habit or trick of becoming violently startled without adequate cause a vice, because in old horses who frequently shy with the object of unseating a rider thus suddenly taken unawares, it certainly is a very bad vice, and one for which the only cure is good horsemanship--that is to say, a seat sufficiently secure in the saddle to enable us to treat such conduct with indifference. if we attach importance to it by losing our temper and hitting an artful offender of this kind, punishment may cause an unpleasant exhibition of temper on his part, besides letting him see that his object has been accomplished. in the case of young and nervous horses, shying arises from timidity and not from vice, and therefore it behoves us to exhibit patience and kindness in inspiring confidence in such animals and assuring them that there is no reason for terror. the best means of doing this is to ride on and take no notice, although we may see by the behaviour of our mount, as he keeps his ears pricked, snorts at the terrifying object in front of him, slackens his pace, and prepares to either stop or dart away, that he will require encouragement to induce him to go on. as long as he answers the indications of the reins and pressure (not cuts) of the whip we should keep silent; but when he falters as if his heart were failing him, it is time for us to encourage him with the voice, softly at first, and louder, in a determined tone of command, if he still hesitates. with a young horse it is well to continue speaking to and soothing him until he has falteringly passed the cause of alarm, as the sound of his rider's voice often inspires him with confidence at the critical moment by withdrawing his attention from the object of his fright. if a lady is riding with a friend and is engaged in conversation when her horse begins to show fear at some object of alarm, she should continue her talk, because it will give him more encouragement to go on, than sudden silence on her part, which he might take as a sign that she shares his fear. if she finds it necessary to shorten her reins in anticipation of his "playing up," she should do it in an easy and gradual manner, so as not to let him know her intentions, and above all things she should refrain from speaking to him until it is absolutely necessary, which will be at the moment he is getting ready to swerve. i have at present a very amiable and steady hunter, which will invariably shy at any high vehicle, but will pass traction engines, trains and even motor cars quite quietly. no doubt his unsteadiness is nervousness and not vice, and is the result of an accident. it is not a good plan to wrestle with a horse until he can be induced to go up to and smell what he was shying at; for besides attaching too much importance to a trivial failing, it is not always possible to do this, in the case of moving objects, which cause animals far more terror than stationary ones. the whip should never be used on a shying horse with the object of hurting him, because it is unjust to inflict pain for an unintentional mistake, and idiotic to regard the exhibition of his fear as a personal affront, which is often done by ignorant riders. almost all horses when they are very fresh, and especially on cold days, will shy and jump about on first being taken out, partly with the desire to keep themselves warm, and also with delight at being able to come out and enjoy a scamper. dogs exhibit much the same skittishness; even old animals gamble like puppies when they are taken out, and the shying which results from freshness in horses should be tolerated within, of course, reasonable limits. exercise will take away the superfluous playfulness, and it is one of the best of cures for equine failings, because even young horses which are regularly ridden, soon give up their habit of nervous shying and become steady conveyances. however terrified an inexperienced horsewoman may be on finding herself on a horse which shies badly, she should take care not to divulge her secret to him, as the animal would then try to usurp the reins of authority and refuse to obey her tremulous exhortations. she should always bear in mind that horses, young or old, nervous or bold, require as much keeping in their place as do domestic servants. therefore, in all critical situations in which our ability to govern is directly challenged, we should assume the virtue of power if we have it not, and hang our banners on the outer walls, even though we may not have a shot in the locker. stumbling. stumbling is not a vice, and therefore it would be as unjust to hit a horse for accidentally tripping, as it would be to strike a human being for making a false step and possibly spraining an ankle. its chief causes may, i think, be traced to weakness; and, in the case of young horses, to bad shoeing and dirty stables. the subject of horse-shoeing is one which does not appeal to ordinary riders, so i may refer any lady who desires to study it, to my husband's chapter on it, in his new edition of _veterinary notes for horse owners_. the feet of horses should not be washed, because this practice renders horses liable to cracked heels and thrush, both of which ailments diminish the sure-footedness of an affected animal. if the feet are carefully picked out and brushed they can be kept in a hard, healthy condition, such as we find in the feet of young and unbroken horses which have never been shod. the stable should be kept clean and dry, for it is useless to expect a horse's feet to remain in a sound condition if he be allowed to stand in a wet and dirty stall or loose-box. the feet should always be carefully picked out after an animal has been exercised on tan, which contains matter that is injurious to the feet if it be allowed to remain in them. we have had bad cases of thrush caused by carelessness in this respect. as regards conformation, it is evident that horses with upright pasterns and heavy shoulders are far more apt to stumble than well-shaped ones, besides being rough and unpleasant to ride. young horses which are shod for the first time, often stumble a great deal, until they get accustomed to their artificial foot-gear, and learn to go in a collected manner. animals that are punished for stumbling by ignorant or bad-tempered riders, frequently acquire the detestable habit of dancing about every time they make a false step. dancing and prancing. this vice, which some badly-broken horses possess, of refusing to walk when required, and "blowing their noses" when spoken to, proceeds generally from temper, and a desire on the animal's part to show his authority. it is sometimes caused by the rider hanging on to the reins, especially if she uses a sharp curb or pelham. i have known cases of horses which had been sold at a great sacrifice on account of this trick, become perfectly steady in a few days when properly handled. on the other hand, there are animals which prance from vice, and refuse to obey even the best horsewomen. i know of nothing more annoying to a lady, for it causes her to feel hot and uncomfortable, to say nothing of a possible headache and pain in the side. such fretting and fuming brutes are not fit to ride, and should be put through a course of breaking lessons, preferably with the long reins, and be punished by being compelled to rein back, walk and halt at word of command. if it is inconvenient to have them properly broken, they should be driven in harness at a walk, and be kept standing about as much as possible to teach them obedience. a lady can offer very little defence when riding a dancing horse, but she may gain some respite by making him halt, supposing she does not desire to trot or canter. if a steady animal commences to dance without any exciting cause, such as the prospect of a hunt, his bitting and girthing up should be carefully examined, as there may be something hurting him, or the saddle may be pinching his back. horses which are tormented by flies are apt to dance about, in which case it is best to trot or canter as much as possible. in india and other tropical countries where these pests are particularly troublesome during the hot weather, horse-hair wisps specially made for the purpose, are carried for brushing them away. throwing up the head. if a curb be used, care should be taken that its mouthpiece is not placed too high up in the mouth; that the chain is not too tight, in which case it would hurt the jaw; and that the mouthpiece of the snaffle does not press against the corners of the mouth. if there is nothing hurting the animal's mouth, he should be ridden by a groom in a standing martingale, at a length which will prevent him from getting his head too high. i like the irish plan of buckling the standing martingale to the rings of the snaffle, better than that of attaching it to the noseband, because it teaches the animal to "give" to the bridle, and not to lean persistently on the noseband. the noseband method is generally adopted by polo players. the precaution of seeing how the horse behaves when he finds that he can no longer indulge in his favourite vice, should always be taken before he is ridden by a lady; because at first the checking influence of the standing martingale is sometimes resented by efforts to rear and plunge badly. if the use of the long reins is understood, it is better to have the horse circled and turned with them, but very few people are capable of using them in an efficient manner. when the animal finds himself unable to successfully resist this fixed defence and prefers to carry his head quietly, rather than to hurt his mouth by violently throwing his head up, he may be safely ridden by a lady in this martingale, and she will then be able to control him. very few horses will fight against the martingale for any length of time, and as this most useful article of gear is considered to be indispensable to polo players for controlling their animals, its value to ladies who cannot, by reason of their perched-up position in a side-saddle, lower their hands like men, is inestimable. habit-shy. i use this term to designate the trick that some horses, chiefly those which are unaccustomed to the side-saddle, have of sidling away from the skirt. a good plan is to put up a groom in a side-saddle with a rug on, and get him to ride in circles to the left, kicking the rug about with his foot until the horse goes collectedly, which he will generally do in a few lessons. jibbing. jibbing, or "balking" as the americans term it, is a detestable vice. as a rule, it is the outcome of the knowledge an animal has acquired of his own power. some horses are foolishly allowed by their riders to jib successfully. for instance, i was once riding with a lady whose animal "planted" himself at a certain spot and refused to "budge." instead of trying to make him go on, his mistress wearily said that that was her limit, and that she always took him home from it, because he did not want to go any farther! i suggested a change of horses, but she would not hear of it; for she said i might upset his temper and make him worse than ever. needless to say, the spoiled brute did precisely as he liked with her, and as she submitted to being "bossed" in this feeble manner, there was nothing to be done but go home every time he "wanted" to do so. if a horse jibs and there is nothing hurting him in the saddle or bridle, he should be shaken up sharply and ordered to go on. if he treats that order with silent contempt, the best thing to do is to make him turn and keep him circling until he gets tired of this performance and will go in the required direction. it is wiser not to strike an obstinate jibber, unless as a last resource, for further rousing his bad temper is productive of no good result. if punishment has to be resorted to, his rider should be able to form an idea of what defence he will be likely to offer by way of retaliation. if he is inclined to rear, the cuts should be given well behind the girth, and he should be kept on the turn to the right, in order that he may not fix his hind legs, which he would have to do in order to get up. if kicking be his speciality, they should be applied on the shoulder, while his head is held up as high as possible. if punishment proves ineffectual, it should be discontinued at once, as no woman cares to be the centre of an admiring crowd while she is engaged in a fight which, in nine cases out of ten, does more harm than good. a man told me that he cured a bad jibber by getting off him and throwing a lighted cracker under him; but such heroic measures had best not be undertaken by a lady, who would be wise to hand over the animal to a competent breaker if she wished to ride him again. shouldering. this is a form of jibbing in which the horse tries to get rid of his rider by pressing her against some convenient object, such as a tree or wall. as he will naturally do this on the left side, his rider should try to turn him to the left to make him bring her away from the object in question. in other respects she should act as recommended in "jibbing." backing. this is another variety of jibbing; but it is also caused by using a severe bit which a horse is afraid to face. if the bitting and saddling are right, a touch with the whip given behind the girth will generally prove effective. sometimes a horse will deliberately back in order to kick another. in the hunting field, mares are at times very apt to try this trick, so care should be taken to prevent it. pulling. i have found from experience that the best kind of gear in which to hold a hard puller, who goes along with his mouth open and is so headstrong that he will not slacken speed when required, is an ordinary double bridle, a cavesson nose-band and a standing martingale. it is far better for ladies, especially out hunting, to ride animals in gear in which they are able to hold them, than to have them dashing about as they like, and proving a source of danger, not only to their riders, but to the rest of the field. a lady should never ride a hard puller when hunting; but as some of us have to put up with what we can get, it is well to fix up a difficult mount of this kind in a manner that will keep him under control. some clever people assert that any horse can be held with a snaffle; but i am certain that pullers can, as a rule, be much better controlled by a curb, provided that it is properly put on. i have no faith in severe bits, because the desire to pull and tear away emanates from the brain of a horse, and if we hurt his mouth by using a severe bit, we only succeed in making him more headstrong than ever. most, if not all, young horses make frantic efforts to get away after the hounds, when they are hunted for the first few times; and, until they settle down and learn that fences require jumping and not galloping into, it is far more difficult to hold them without a standing martingale than with one. if a horse is getting out of hand, even under the restraining influence of a curb, we can generally manage to turn him with the aid of a standing martingale, and so long as we can do that, he cannot run away, as i have found when i have been placed in somewhat critical situations, with my curb ineffective in preventing a headstrong youngster from urging on his wild career under the intense excitement of his first day with hounds. the desire which a puller has to get away would probably only occur in the early part of the day when the starting rush is made, but if it were successful he would bolt among a lot of horses and be almost certain to cause an accident. a cavesson nose-band properly put on, will shut the mouth of a puller which wants to keep it open, and will thus help the rider to control him. if a lady possesses doubts as to her ability to hold her horse, she should keep well away from the field, so that she may not endanger the safety of others. it is always best to put animals which are at all likely to pull, through a regular course of cub hunting from the very beginning of the season, so that they may gradually work along from the "pottering" to the galloping stage. a course of such instruction sobers them down, and they will then give their rider far less trouble than if they are dashed off into the excitement of fox-hunting without having had good preliminary training. this is a fact which ladies should bear in mind; for i have found it work very successfully. there is nothing like plenty of regular work for taking the nonsense out of pulling horses. mr. caton, a well-known american trainer of match trotters, whom i met in st. petersburg, told me that he always sent his bad pullers to do a week or two's work in one of the city tram-cars, for they always came back with a good deal of the "stuffing" taken out of them. pulling is of course a very bad vice; for a pulling horse knows well enough what his rider is asking him, through the medium of the reins, but he shakes his head, or throws it up, if he can, as much as to say that he will _not_ obey. a lady should not be alarmed if she finds her mount getting out of hand; but should, if possible, let him go for a short distance and then take a pull at him, at the same time speaking determinedly to him, and not in a frightened tone. if the brute will not obey, we must use severe measures, and in extreme cases, it is well to "saw" the bit from one side to the other, in order to hurt his mouth so much, that from very pain he must perforce yield. i believe that many bad accidents have occurred through riders becoming frightened and refraining from the use of force in stopping a hard puller, who is thus allowed to run away. i think that if people could keep their heads clear and not clutch on to the saddle and let the reins loose, or maintain a dead hold of them, which is equally ineffective, but husband their resources for determined attacks, very few horses would succeed in bolting with their riders. of course a great deal depends on the strength of the seat of the rider; for we must sit very tight and not let our mount feel us wobbling about in the saddle. we should never forget the power of the voice as a factor in horse control, and our attempts to stop a pulling animal should always be accompanied by a sternly expressed word of command. in my travels abroad, i have ridden some extremely bad pullers which were said to bolt with men; but although i certainly had trouble with such animals, none of them succeeded in running away with me and taking me where they liked. my husband also has a similar record in this respect, so i cannot help thinking that when a rider is actually bolted with, he or she must have got frightened and confused at a critical moment and have allowed the animal to literally take the reins of authority in his teeth. it requires a good deal of physical strength to control a hard puller, and i have had my gloves and hands badly cut in wrestling with particularly headstrong brutes. on the other hand, some horses which have really nice mouths, get the name of being pullers, on account of having been ridden by "mutton-fisted" men who hang on to the reins and thus irritate them beyond control. i am reminded of a big australian horse, about seventeen hands high, which mr. macklin, the australian horse-shipper, brought to calcutta and lent me to ride in a paper-chase there. this animal carried me perfectly, although his rough rider (more "rough" than "rider") afterwards showed me an unjointed snaffle bent almost double, which he said had been caused by this "pulling devil of a horse"! there is a great deal of truth in the saying, that if you don't pull at a horse, he won't pull at you. i am sure that many horsemen, and certainly every riding member of my sex, will bear me out in stating that women manage pullers far better than do men, because they do not hang on to their mouths, in order to help them in keeping their seats. where many women greatly err in riding confirmed pullers, is in inability to take sufficiently harsh measures which are needed for their control. i am aware that there are animals, especially race-horses, which cannot be held at all until they have gone a certain distance. the pace holds them, but such headstrong animals tire themselves unnecessarily, and generally have to "shut up" before the finish of a long distance race; for the steady plodding horse will almost invariably prove the better stayer of the two. in hunting, the pace will not always hold a horse, because hounds may check at any moment, the start to a "holloa" may prove a false alarm, and leaving out the uncertain behaviour of foxes, a sudden stoppage may be caused by an impossible fence, river, railway, or by a variety of causes which would amply prove the fallacy of the pace holding a hard puller in the hunting field. as pulling horses are the cause of frequent hunting accidents, i would specially caution my readers against riding animals which they are not able to keep in hand. if a lady is riding a good old hunter who insists on going his own pace, she should interfere with him as little as possible, even in her desire to steady him over bad ground and at his fences; because the large majority of these animals have their own method of doing business, and can be safely trusted to take care of themselves. if they are unduly checked in galloping, they are apt to pull very hard, and greatly tire their riders. i am, of course, alluding to good-tempered, well-made hunters which go best with a rider who sits still on their backs and trusts to their experience and honour. concerning the best kind of bridle in which to hold a puller, i cannot do better than quote the following remarks from my husband's book, _riding and hunting_:--"as regards the bitting of a puller, i would advise that with a double bridle the curb should be put low down in the mouth.... in all cases an unjointed snaffle is much the best form of bit. with a double bridle we have a choice between the two. we should bear in mind that the action of a curb is peculiarly liable to produce insensibility of the mouth on account of its pressure being distributed almost completely round the lower jaw, while that of the snaffle falls only on the upper surface of the jaw. even the jointed snaffle and the chain snaffle leave the under surface of the jaw free from pressure, and consequently interfere comparatively little with the circulation and nervous supply of that part. hence we should avoid riding even the worst puller continuously on the curb, the action of which we should alternate from time to time with that of the snaffle, so as to preserve the sensibility of the jaw. it is evident that the sensibility of the mouth is the means by which we are enabled to remain in touch with the forehand of the horse. i would here recommend the alternative, not the combined, employment of the curb and the snaffle." thin bits which irritate horses' mouths often cause them to fight and pull hard; it is unfortunately no uncommon sight in the hunting field to see a tortured horse bleeding from the mouth, and yet such animals are expected to gallop and jump kindly! refusing. to jump or not to jump, that is the question with which determined refusers have "stumped" some of the very best cross country riders. i am reminded of an instance which occurred in india, when a fine horsewoman, seeing a friend unable to make his mount jump in a paper-chase, which is nearly akin to a steeple-chase, rode him herself in the next one, with no better result, and great must have been her mortification on finding herself left on the wrong side of the first fence which the determined brute refused to look at, even when carrying this charming lady, to whom many equine bad characters had yielded obedience. this appeared to be a sheer case of equine temper and obstinacy; for the animal could jump well when he liked, but the man or woman has yet to be born who can make a horse jump when he has decided not to do so. i have a very strong belief that refusers are made, not born, for every unbroken horse which my husband had to deal with in his travels, tried his best to give satisfaction by making an effort, even if an unscientific one, to clear the obstacle, generally a heavy log of wood propped up on boxes, which was offered for his consideration. if he jumped well, and in the flippant style of a natural fencer, more boxes were produced, and sometimes these youngsters cleared quite a respectable height in one "lepping" lesson with me on their backs, and my husband at the end of the long reins. the abuse of the curb at fences is the cause of, i think, half the falls, and more than half of the refusals which we see in the hunting field. in ireland, where the large majority of our hunters come from, the snaffle is the bit used in breaking and hunting, as it is in steeple-chasing; and although our irish neighbours find the curb has its advantages, we must admit that they keep it in its proper place and do not allow it to usurp the snaffle when riding over fences. the sportsmen of tipperary, kildare, cork and other parts of ireland, who have to negotiate immense banks, would ridicule the idea of riding at such obstacles on the curb, because no sane person would think of checking a horse in such a manner; and the solid "cope and dash" stone walls of galway also require to be taken by an animal whose mouth is not interfered with. here in england we see these irish hunters frequently ridden at fences on the curb, and the poor brutes, in order to save their mouths and keep on their legs, throw up their heads and give a half buck over the obstacle, landing on all fours, and then get a cut with the whip for having jumped badly! this is how many refusers are made. another recipe for making a refuser is to pretend to ride hard at a fence and, at the last moment, turn the animal's head from it, and then loudly rate and "lambaste" him for refusing! still another method is to "funk" the obstacle when it is too late, and check the horse with the curb _after_ he has made his spring, which will cause him to crash into the middle of the fence, and probably bring both himself and his rider to grief. my husband, being a veterinary surgeon, has had hunters brought to him in a most pitiable state of laceration, caused, i believe, in many cases, by "funk" and curb, a most disastrous combination. we have in our stable at the time of writing, a very intelligent hunter who was dreadfully injured from having, it is said, "jumped bang into a fence," but i wish that patient sufferer could tell me the real cause of his accident. it was one of those crumpling falls which seem to mean death to both horse and rider, but luckily in this case, the rider escaped with a few bruises and a smashed hat. the horse was also fortunate in a way, as no bones were broken; but the skin and flesh of his near fore-leg were torn off from almost the shoulder to the knee, and i wondered, as i looked on that gaping, bleeding wound, and the poor animal quivering with pain and hardly able to bear even placing the tip of his toe on the ground, if he would ever have the courage to face a fence again. luckily, he is all right now. i have heard people talk about a "good fall" being the best means for teaching horses how to jump, and there is a certain modicum of truth in this, especially with young horses, and young horsemen too for that matter; but when an old hunter gets a "bad" fall, i doubt whether he ever recovers his jumping form again, any more than we ourselves who may have come an awful "buster" after we have reached the "age of discretion." horses frequently refuse on account of some physical infirmity. unsoundness in one or both fore legs naturally makes a horse chary of jumping, because of the painful jar which he will receive on landing, when he is obliged to place his entire weight on his fore legs. then again, if his feet are not in a hard and sound condition, he "funks" the pain of landing over a fence and tries his best to avoid jumping. many unsound horses, generally hirelings, are hammered along out hunting, especially on roads, with most inconsiderate cruelty. i once tried to hunt on a hireling which, i soon saw, was not in a fit state to carry me without pain. had i insisted on having my money's worth out of the animal, it would have been nothing short of gross cruelty. his fore legs were bandaged, as is usual with hired mounts, and he galloped and jumped several small fences soundly, as far as i could feel; but when he came to a rather formidable one, he stopped and tried to rear. i at once found an easier means of egress, which took me for a short distance on a road, and the hard ground of only about yards seemed to tell so much on one leg, that i felt him going decidedly short, pulled him up and walked him home. when i arrived in melton mowbray, a lady, the last person in the world whom i would have cared to meet, hailed me with the news that miss so-and-so had broken her collar-bone, a fact which appeared to give her more pleasure than sorrow, "and you" she said, "have lamed your horse"! the dealer evidently expected this result; for when i rode the horse into his yard, so that i might personally explain things to him, he told me that the animal, which was only a four year old, had been "ridden very hard" by an officer, who, i am sorry to say, has since lost his life in south africa. the dealer tried his best to make amends by subsequently offering me another mount for nothing; but he certainly did err in letting out this young unsound animal, and spoiling my day's sport, for which i had paid the usual guineas. my only regret in the matter is that i galloped and jumped an animal which was not in a fit state to perform such work. horses are frequently rendered refusers by being repeatedly jumped over the same fence, until they get so disgusted with the performance that they will have no more of it. spurs and whip then come into play and make matters worse. even if the animal jumps the fence after a good deal of unnecessary fighting, the memory of this unjust punishment remains in his mind, and is productive of the violent agitation which such horses exhibit on being taken near a jump. it is a wise plan to stop a "lepping" lesson immediately after the horse has cleared the jump in good style, and then make much of him (patting him on the neck and speaking kindly to him). punishing horses at fences with whip and spur renders them afraid to face their jumps; because they think that they will be knocked about, even when they are trying their best to give satisfaction. many faulty and bad tempered riders are unnecessarily cruel in this respect. if a horse refuses from seeing an animal fall in front of him, his natural prudence should not be taken as a personal affront, but he should be spoken to and encouraged to try, preferably, if possible, after another horse has got safely over the obstacle, if there is no other part of the fence negotiable. i think that by dint of patience and tactful management, many refusers may be taught to repose sufficient confidence in their riders to make an effort when required, but that can be done only by gentle means and easy tasks. old tricky offenders cannot be cured of this or any other vice. a lady who is hunting on a doubtful jumper should be careful not to upset other horses by letting her refuser perform in front of them, but should show consideration for her companions by keeping a backward place, supposing that several horses are taking their turn at jumping the only practicable part in a fence. refusers are detested in the hunting field, and a lady whose hunter is known to shirk his fences and stir up equine rebellion, is soon classed among the large number of those who never will be missed. boring. horses are said to bore when they carry their heads down and lean heavily on the bit or bear on it to one side. as both the curb and pelham have a tendency to make a horse carry his head low, they should not, as a rule, be used with a borer. the rider might make the animal keep his head in proper position by playing with the snaffle, the cheekpieces of the bridle of which may be shortened, so that the mouthpiece may press against the corners of the mouth and thus induce him to keep up his head. the same effect can be obtained with the gag snaffle, which has the advantage that, when one's object is gained, one can ease off the gag reins and take up the other reins, which are used in the ordinary manner. when a horse bores to one side, or when he bores with his head stuck straight out, the standing martingale will often be useful for correcting this unpleasant fault. i have seen in trotting matches a bearing-rein (called in america an "over-draw check-rein") passing between the animal's ears, going down the top of his head and attached to the pommel of the saddle, effectively employed to correct this fault. it would, of course, be too unsightly to be used by a lady, but her groom might employ it advantageously in teaching a borer to carry his head in correct position. kicking. if practicable, we should first of all see that the saddle does not hurt the horse in any way. if this be all right, we may "shake him up" with the snaffle reins and make him carry his head high. if this be not effective, he should be given a few cuts with the whip on the _shoulder_. making him hold up his head and touching him on the shoulder are done to "lighten" his forehand, and to put more weight on his hind quarters. also, we may with much advantage give him some practice at reining back, within judicious limits, either when we are in the saddle, or with the long reins. when a horse starts kicking, the rider should take a strong grip of her crutches and lean back, as far as she is able, while holding his head up, and thus prevent herself from being thrown over his head. the most awkward kicker i ever rode was a mountain zebra (fig. ), which my husband broke in at calcutta. he kicked very neatly without lowering his head, and, as the slightest touch on his ears drove him nearly out of his mind, i had great difficulty in avoiding them, as he kicked with a sort of peculiar wriggle which complicated the performance for me, because i had had no practice on a kicking zebra, and had to pick up my knowledge as i went on. it was no use trying to rein _him_ back; for he had a neck like a bull, with a small rudimentary dewlap, and at every kick he gave, he made a noise like a pig grunting. his skin was the best part about him, and was as lovely and soft to the touch as the finest sealskin. as i believe i am the only woman who has ridden a mountain zebra, this photograph is probably unique. it ought to be a better one, seeing the trouble i took to make my obstinate mount stand still; but he seemed to regard the camera as an infernal machine destined for his destruction, and flatly refused to pose nicely for his portrait. he was far too neck-strong to make a pleasant mount for a lady. kickers, as i have already said, should never be taken into any hunting field. [illustration: fig. .--riding mountain zebra.] buck-jumping. under this heading i shall include the minor vices of plunging and "pig-jumping." bucking is all but unknown among english and eastern horses, but is seen to its highest perfection among australian and new zealand animals, especially those that have been allowed their liberty up to a comparatively late period of life, say, four years old. i have ridden some buck-jumping argentine horses which were expert performers: many of the wild russian steppe horses are very bad buck-jumpers. some english horses, especially thoroughbreds, can give a very fair imitation of this foreign equine accomplishment. i remember riding a steeple-chase horse called emigrant, which placed quite enough strain both on me and my girths when he was first called upon to carry a side-saddle. if a horse has any buck in him, the side-saddle will be almost certain to bring it out; for with it the animal requires to be girthed up extra tightly; the balance strap "tickles and revolts" him, the lady's weight is farther back than on a man's saddle, and the unusual feeling of carrying a rider whose legs are placed on one side, tends to irritate a highly sensitive horse. if an animal, on being saddled, gets his "back up," he should not be mounted until this certain indication of the buck that is in him has been removed, which may be done by either circling him with the long reins, or letting a groom run him about a little until his back goes down. a cold saddle and a chilly day will often cause a horse to come out of his stable with his back in bucking position, and, unless a lady knows her animal well, it is best to get it down before she mounts, because he may buck as she is in the act of placing her right leg over the crutch--a part of mounting which animals that are unaccustomed to it greatly dislike, as, i suppose, they think she is going to give them a kick on the head! as i used to do the rough-riding for my husband on his horse-breaking tours in various countries, i have had to sit a good many buck-jumpers, and, am thankful to say, i never got thrown, because, from what i have seen of men being catapulted and placed on the flat of their backs on the ground, this kind of fall must be, as jorrocks would say, "a hawful thing." the great difficulty in sitting a buck-jumper consists in keeping the body from being jerked forward in the saddle, and slackening the reins the moment the animal makes a vicious downward snatch at them, by ducking his head; for if the rider hangs on to his head, he will pull her forward by means of the reins, and she will be unable to sit the buck which will follow. all confirmed buck-jumpers look out for this opportunity whenever the rider draws the reins tightly. ladies who ride with the right leg hooked back would not be able to sit a buck-jumper; for i found that the chief means which prevented me from being thrown was the ability to lean back, which the forward position of my right leg gave me. when riding bad horses at my husband's classes, i was able to see beforehand what special defence such animals offered, and was, therefore, prepared to cope with them; but i have been taken unawares when mounted on australian horses which dealers in india have lent me, when they have wanted to sell such animals as having carried a lady. i remember one very handsome waler, which went like a lamb with me until suddenly, when cantering quietly along, he took it into his head to try and buck me off. he did his best to accomplish his purpose, and was encouraged in his efforts by my pith hat coming off and flopping about my head. i wished the thing could have fallen, but it was held by the elastic--we wore our hair in plaits at the nape of the neck in those days--and i had securely pinned the elastic with hairpins under my hair. this great wobbling hat only caused the horse to buck worse than ever, until he tired of his performance and came to a sudden halt. i was greatly exhausted, and suffering from mental tension, because i was entirely unprepared for this attack, and doubted the security of my stronghold, for the girths of my saddle had seen a lot of service, and the strain on them, caused by the violent bucking of this powerful sixteen-hand animal, was very great. the bigger a horse is, the more difficult he is to sit when he bucks badly, because he can put much more force into the performance than a small animal, and he shakes the breath out of one much sooner. it is lucky for us that a wise providence has placed a limit on a horse's bucking capabilities. i think that ten or twelve bucks, given in good style and without an interval for recuperation, is about as much as any horse can do, but possibly my australian readers can give statistics on this point. i hope i am not offending them in saying that australian horses are the most accomplished buck-jumpers i have met. australian shippers send many of them over to india, and rely on the long sea voyage to quieten them down, which it does to a certain extent. mr. macklin, an australian importer, told me that a horse-carrying ship was wrecked on some part of the coast, an island, i believe, between australia and india, and that there is a big colony of wild horses to be picked up by anyone who will go and take them. i like australian horses, because they are excellent jumpers, have beautiful shoulders and are remarkably sound in wind and limb. they are moreover handsome breedy looking animals, and those of them which are addicted to bucking, soon give up this vice, if ridden by capable people. a lady who finds herself on a bucking horse should try her best to keep both her head and her seat, and not be in any way disconcerted by hearing the angry grunts which such animals often give with each buck they make to get her off. she should lean back and firmly grip her crutches as in sitting over a fence, and should try to imagine that she is jumping a line of obstacles placed close together. if she feels any forward displacement after one buck, she must hastily get into position to be ready for the next one, without pausing for a moment to think, because there will be no time for thought, and her recovery of balance must be done automatically, while the animal is doubling himself up for his next buck. if her hat, which is generally the first thing to leave the saddle, flies off, no notice must be taken, because the instant the rider devotes her attention to anything else but sticking on, she relaxes her grip and stands a good chance of being thrown. the most difficult of all bucking i have experienced was when hunting in leicestershire on a young argentine mare, which started to buck when we were galloping down hill over deep ridge and furrow. i knew her bucking propensities, because my husband broke her in and i had had a good deal of bucking practice with her, so i was able to remain, but that down hill ridge and furrow performance was extremely hard to sit. like most young animals, she hated ridge and furrow, and her temper was upset on finding that she had to gallop down hill over this troublesome ground. the necessity of devoting careful attention to the soundness of the girth-tugs, stirrup-leather, and balance-strap when riding a horse which is likely to buck is obvious, for of course if they give way under the strain, no lady would be able to retain her seat. rearing. rearing is the worst of all vices in a horse which has to carry a side-saddle, because a lady, by reason of her side position and her inability to lower her hands to the same extent as a man, is utterly powerless on a rearer. i have seen men slip off over the animal's tail, when he was standing on his hind legs, but this is a feat which a woman is unable to accomplish, as i found when a horse reared and came over with me at tientsin in china, and hurt my spine so much that i felt its effects for several years afterwards, especially after a hard day's hunting, or a long swim. swimming appears to tax the soundness of the spinal bones quite as much as does riding. the best thing to do with a rearer is to prevent him from fixing his hind legs, which he would have to do before he can get up, and therefore a long whip should be used, and the animal touched with it as near the hocks as possible, keeping him at the same time on the turn to the right. confirmed rearers are however so quick in getting up on their hind legs, that the rider has no time, even were she supplied with a sufficiently long whip, to get anywhere near his hocks, and all she can do is to lean well forward and leave his mouth alone. if she is still alive when he comes down, my strong advice would be to get off his back, and give him, as the late mr. abingdon baird did in the case of a similar brute, to the first passer by! rearing is no test of horsemanship, and the sickening sight of ladies in circuses mounted on rearers is one from which every good horsewoman would recoil with horror. at rentz circus in hamburg i saw one of these awful sights, and noticed that the ringmaster kept touching the _steiger_ on the fore-legs with the whip in order to make him paw the air. i have been told that so long as a rearing horse keeps pawing in this manner, he will not fall over, but such horrid exhibitions ought to be prevented. there is nothing more trying to the nerves of any rider than hunting on a refuser which has a tendency to rear, and i have known ladies whose nerves have been utterly shattered in their efforts to govern such dangerous brutes. take my advice ladies and have nothing to do with these animals; for it is far easier to get rid of a horse than it is to recover one's nerve, and the longer a lady tries to wrestle with a rearer, the more difficulty will she have in overcoming the strain on her nervous system. i would not take a rearing horse at a gift, for such animals can never be made sufficiently reliable for any woman to ride. horses sometimes learn this detestable vice from others. i once had an animal in calcutta which began rearing with me without any known cause, and i was greatly mystified about his behaviour until one day i saw my syce, who was exercising him, in company with a native on a horse which was rearing badly, while my mount was imitating him, a performance which i subsequently discovered had been going on daily for some time. if a previously quiet horse suddenly starts a new form of playing up, the riding of the groom or person who has been exercising and handling him should be carefully watched, and no animal which is known to be unsteady should be allowed to teach his bad tricks to a lady's mount, for we know that horses very quickly pick up bad habits from each other. baron de vaux, in his book _ecuyers et ecuyères_, tells us that emilie loisset, who was a brilliant high school rider, was killed by a rearer coming over with her. he says:--"_elle souffrait beaucoup, car la fourche de la selle lui avait perforé les intestins. après deux jours de douleurs horribles, la pauvre emilie loisset rendit le dernier soupir, surprise par la mort en pleine jeunesse et en plein succès._" the animal she rode is described as _d'origine irlandaise et de mauvais coeur_. chapter xxii. names of external parts of the horse. i shall here of course omit to describe parts, such as the eyes, head and tail, for instance, which are known to everyone. the figures and letters employed in the following list, have reference to those on fig. , except when fig. is mentioned. the hoof ( ) is the horny box which encloses the lower part of the leg. the front part of the hoof, near the ground surface, is called the _toe_; the side portions, the _quarters_; and the rear parts, the _heels_. the outer portion of the hoof is termed the _wall_, which is divided into a hard, fibrous outer covering, called the _crust_, and a soft inner layer of non-fibrous horn. the designations "wall" and "crust" are often used indiscriminately. the _frog_ is the triangular horny cushion which is in the centre of the ground surface of the hoof, and which, by its elasticity and strength, acts as a buffer in saving the structures inside the hoof from the injurious effects of concussion. _the cleft of the frog_ is the division in the middle line of the frog. in healthy feet, it consists of only a slight depression. in a disease, called "thrush," of the sensitive part which secretes the frog, the cleft forms a deep, damp and foul-smelling fissure, and the frog becomes more or less shrivelled up. the frog similar to the skin of the palms of our hands, requires frequent pressure to make it thick and strong. the horn of the hoof is merely a modification of the cuticle (scarf skin). the _bars_ of the hoof are the portions of the wall of the hoof which are turned inwards at the heels, and run more or less parallel to the sides of the frog. the _sole_ is that portion of the ground surface of the foot which is included between the wall, bars and frog. the _pastern_ ( ) is the short column of bones (two in number) which lies between the fetlock and hoof. the _fetlock_ ( ) is the prominent joint which is just above the hoof. the _cannon bone_ ( ) is the bone that extends from the fetlock to the _knee_ ( ), which, in the horse, corresponds to our wrist. the _back tendons_ or _back sinews_ (_m_) form the more or less round tendinous cord which is at the back of the leg, from the knee (or hock) to the fetlock. these tendons, which are two in number, usually appear in the form of one cord; but in horses which have a very fine skin and "clean legs," we may see that one of them is placed behind the other. the term "clean legs" signifies that the limbs are not only sound, but are also free from any fulness, which would more or less obscure the contour of the bones, tendons and ligaments. _muscles_ are the lean of meat, and their ends are connected to bones by means of _tendons_, which consist of hard, fibrous and inelastic material. the _ligaments_ of the limbs are composed of the same material (white connective tissue) as tendons, and serve to connect bones together, without the intervention of muscle. the horse has practically no muscles below his knees and hocks. [illustration: fig. .--external parts of horse.] the _suspensory ligament_ is the fibrous cord which lies between the cannon bone and the back tendons. the fact that it stands sharply out between these two structures, when viewed from the side, shows that it is in a sound condition, which is a most important point as regards usefulness; because injury to it, from accident or overwork, is a fruitful cause of lameness, especially in saddle horses that are employed in fast work. the _fore-arm_ ( ) is the portion of the fore leg between the knee and the elbow. the _point of the elbow_ (_i_) is the bony projection which is at the top and back of the fore-arm. the _point of the shoulder_ (_h_) is the prominent bony angle which lies a little below the junction of the neck and shoulder, and consists of the outer portion of the upper end of the humerus. the _forehead_ (_a_) is the front part of the head which is above the eyes. the _nose_ (_b_) is a continuation of the forehead, and ends opposite the nostrils (_c_). the _muzzle_ is the lower end of the head, and includes the nostrils, upper and lower lips (_d_ and _e_), and the bones and teeth covered by the lips. the _chin-groove_ (_f_) is the depression at the back of the lower jaw, and just above the fulness of the lower lip, which, in this case, assumes the appearance of a chin. the _angles of the lower jaw_ (_g_) are the bony angles between which the upper end of the wind-pipe lies. the _withers_ ( ) are the bony ridge which is the forward end of the back. the _shoulders_ ( ) are the bony and muscular portion of the body which is more or less included between a line drawn from the point of the shoulder (_h_) to the front end of the withers, and another line drawn from the point of the elbow (_i_) to the rear end of the withers. anatomically speaking, the shoulders consist of the _humerus_ (the bone which lies between the elbow and the point of the shoulder), shoulder blade, and the muscles which cover them. the _crest_ (_t_) is the upper part of the neck, extending from the withers to the ears. the _jugular groove_ (_u_) is the groove which is on each side of the neck, just above the wind-pipe. it marks the course of the jugular vein. the _poll_ (_v_) is the part on the top of the neck, immediately behind the ears. the _breast_ is the front portion of the body which we see between the fore legs and below a line connecting the points of both shoulders, when looking at the animal from the front. the chest is the cavity which is covered by the ribs, and which contains the lungs, heart, etc. therefore, instead of saying that a horse which struck a fence without rising at it, "chested" it, we should, on the contrary, say that he "breasted" it. this confusion between the terms "breast" and "chest" is not unusual. the _brisket_ ( ) is the part formed by the breastbone, and is the lower part of the chest. the _girth-place_ is that portion of the brisket which is just behind the fore legs, and which the girths pass under when the horse is saddled. the _back_ ( and ) is practically the withers and that portion of the upper part of the body which is covered by the saddle. strictly speaking, it is that portion of the spine which is possessed of ribs. in common parlance, the term "back" is often applied to the upper part of the horse, from the withers to the highest point of the croup (fig. , _h_). this measurement includes the _loins_ ( ) as well as the back. the bones (six vertebræ) of the loins have no ribs, and, consequently, the flanks on each side are soft to the touch, and have a tendency to "fall in" (become depressed), especially if the abdomen, which is underneath them, be insufficiently filled with food. the _croup_ ( ) is that part of the spine which is between the loins and tail. the hind legs are connected to the croup by means of the pelvis, which is firmly united to the croup by strong ligaments. the pelvis stands in the same relation to the hind legs as the shoulder blades do to the fore limbs, the chief difference between them being that the pelvis is a single bony structure composed of several bones, and the shoulder blades are separate bones. the front part of the pelvis is called the _point of the hip_ (_s_). the _stifle_ (_n_) is the joint of the hind leg which is at the lower part of the flank. the _thigh_ extends from the stifle to the hip joint. the _hock_ ( ) is the large and freely movable joint which is immediately above the hind cannon-bone. the _point of the hock_ (_q_) is the bony projection at the back and top of the hock. the _hamstring_, or _tendo achillis_ (_p_), is the tendinous cord which runs up the back of the leg from the point of the hock. the _gaskin_ ( ) is the part of the leg immediately above the hock and bounded at the rear by the hamstring. the term, _thigh_, is usually applied to the part of the hind leg above the gaskin; but, correctly speaking, it is the part of the hind leg above the stifle. [illustration: fig. .--measurements of horse.] the _belly_, or _abdomen_ ( ), is the underneath portion of the body of the horse which is not covered by bone. the _point of the buttock_ (_o_) is the rearmost point of the pelvis. _the dock_ (_r_) is the solid part of the tail. the _height of a horse_ (_a b_, fig. ) is the vertical distance of the highest point of his withers from the ground, when he is standing with his fore legs nearly vertical and with the points of his hocks in a vertical line with the points of his buttocks. i have qualified "vertical" by "nearly" when referring to the fore legs; for when the hind legs are placed as in fig. , the weight of the head and neck, which are in front of the fore legs, would cause the animal to stand somewhat "over." when a pony is being measured for polo or racing, his legs should be placed in the position i have described, although his head may be lowered until his crest is parallel with the ground. the _length of the body of a horse_ (_d e_, fig. ), may be assumed as the horizontal distance from the front of the chest to a line dropped vertically from the point of the buttock. this measurement is a somewhat arbitrary one, but it is probably the best for the purpose. french writers generally take the length of a horse as the distance from the point of the shoulder to the point of the buttock. as this is not a horizontal measurement, i prefer to it the one just given. the _depth of the chest at the withers_ (_a c_, fig. ) is the vertical distance from the top of the withers to the bottom of the chest. this measurement being taken for convenience sake is an arbitrary one, because the chest is lower between the fore legs than behind the elbow, which is the spot i have selected. besides, the actual height of the withers above the roof of the chest, has no fixed relation to the depth of the chest. _depth of the body_ (_f g_, fig. ). the best and most uniform point to take this is, i think, the lowest point of the back. _height at the croup_ (_h i_, fig. ) is measured from the highest point of the hind quarters. index. abdomen, . accidents, . across country, riding, . age to begin, . agricultural hall, , . alderson, colonel, . allen, mr. john, . angles of lower jaw, . ann of bohemia, . apron skirts, . arabs, , , . argentine horses, . ash-plant, . audry, . australia, . australian horses, , . ayah, . back, . " tendons, . backing, . backs, sore, . badminton, . _baily's hunting directory_, . _baily's magazine_, . baird, mr. abingdon, . balance, , . " strap, , . "balking," . banks, , , . bar, stirrup, . barclay, mr. hedworth, . bars of the hoof, . " of the tree, , . " , safety, - . baskets, . beckford, . beers, frank, . belly, . belvoir, , , . " vale, . beresford, lord william, . berliner tattersall, . bicycles, , . bit, . " and bridoon, , . ", cover for, . blackmore vale, . blazers, . "blood," . "blowing their noses," . "bobbery pack," . body, length of, . bois de boulogne, , . bombay, . boots, . boring, . brandy, . _breaking and riding_, . breaking classes, . " tours, . breast, . breast-plate, . breeches, . bridle, adjustment of, . bridles, . bridoon, . brisket, . brooks, , . brow-band, . brutality, - . buck-jumping, . bullfinch, . "bumpy shoulders," . burnaby's butterfly, miss, , . butter, . butterfly, miss burnaby's, , . buttock, point of the, . calcutta, , , , , , , . camels, . cannon bone, . canter, the, . cantering, . " false, . capping, . carriages, passing, . carrots for horses, . case for extra stirrup, . catherine ii., . caton, mr., . cattle, . ceylon, . cheek pieces, . cheshire, , , . chest, . " , depth of, . chifney, sam, . children, side-saddles for, - . " , teaching, - . child's riding dress, , . china, , , . chin-groove, , . church minshull, . circus, . " in paris, . clark, mr., . "clean legs," . cleaning a saddle, . cloister, . cloth, , . coat, driving, . " , fitting riding, . coats, riding, - . coffins, jumping, . collars, . colonel, . colour of habit, . coming home, . committee, farmers', . compensation to farmers, . condition, rider's, . "continuations," . conyers, mr., . cook, mrs. "jim," . "cope and dash," . cottesmore, , , . country, . covert fund, . covering of a side-saddle, . cows, . cracked heels, . craven, . crawley and horsham, . creed, mr., , . crest, . cross-saddle riding, - . croup, . " , height at, . crown-piece, . crop, . crupper, , . crust of hoof, . crutch, off, . " , upper, . crutches, movable, . " , riding the, . cub-hunting, . cuffs, . curb-chains, . curbs, , , , , , , , , , . custance, miss, . "cut-and-laid" fence, . "cut back" pommel, . dairy-farming, . damage fund, . "dancing," . davis, , . de vaux, baron, . depth of chest, . " " body, . devon and somerset staghounds, , . diana, . "difficult" horses, - . dilke, lady, . dismounting, . distemper, . dixon, mr. scarth, . dock, . docking horses, - . donkeys, , . double bridle, , . "dragged," , , - , . dress, riding, - . east galway, , . _ecuyers et ecuyères_, . elbow, point of the, . "ellen terry," . elliot, mr., . elmhirst, captain, , , , , , , , . emigrant, . emperor paul, . _encyclopædia londinensis_, . esa bin curtis, . essex and suffolk, . _esther waters_, . external parts, names of, - . falls, - . fane, lady augusta, . farmers, , , - , . " , compensation to, . " , committee, . " , daughters, . feet, care of the, . fence, riding up to, . fences, . " , "made," . " , natural, . fenn, mr., . fetlock, . field, in the, . _field, the_, . fillis, mr. frank, . " , mr. james, . firr, tom, , . first lessons, . flask, . fleming, dr. g., , . flirting, . flock, . foot "home," . ford, mr., , . fordham, george, . fore-arm, . forehead, . forehead-band, . foxhounds in india, . foxhunting, , . france, . franciscan, . freddie, , , . freeman, . "frivol," . frog of hoof, . front, . frost, praying for, . "funking," , . galway, , . gallop, . garsault, . garth, mr., . gaskin, . gates, , - , , . geldings, . germans, . germany, . girls riding, , . girth place, . girths, - . "give and take," . gloucestershire, . gloves, . "gone away," . gowlasher, . grafton, . grand national, . _graphic, the_, . grip, , . gullet plate, . gustave, , , . habits, - . habit-shy, . hackamore, . hacking, . hacks, - . hair, management of, , . halt, the, . hames, mr. sam, . hamstring, . hancock's bit cover, . handkerchiefs, . hands, . " steady, keeping, . harding, miss, , . harrington, lord, . hat-guards, . hats, . " for the tropics, . hayes' safety skirt, . haystacks, . "head," , . " , near, . head-stall, , . heavy land, . heels, . height at croup, . " of horse, . henry, colonel, , , . hidden mystery, . high school riding, . _hints to huntsmen_, . hip, point of the, . hirelings, . hock, . holloaing, . home, coming, . hoof, . hooked-back seat, , . hook for stirrup-leather, , . horn, the, . hornsby, mrs., . horse, talking to, , . horse-breaking classes, . " " tours, . horses for ladies, . " , buying, . hospitality, . hot countries, jackets for, . _humerus_, . hunt balls, , . hunter, height of, . hunters, australian, . " , leicestershire, - . hunting, , . " abroad, . " ties, . " whips, , . " women, , . _illustrated horse-breaking_, , . india, , , , , . " -rubber mouth-piece cover, . ireland, , , . italian remounts, . jackeroo, miss neil's, . jackets for hot countries, . jameson raid, . japan, . jaw, angles of lower, . jibbing, . jorrocks, , , , , , , , , . jugular groove, . jumping, , - . " competitions, , . " without reins, . kaiser and kaiserin, . keeper of whip, . kennel coat, . kent, . kickers, , , , - . kicking, . kindness to horses, . knee-pad, . king-king, captain, . kirby gate, . _ladies in the field_, , . laertes, . lash, . leading fore leg, . leaning back, , . leaping head, - . left leg, action of, . " , swerving to the, . legs, position of, . leicestershire, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . length of body, . level-seated saddle, , . _life of a foxhound_, . ligament, suspensory, . ligaments, . light land, . lions, . little pedlington, . loins, . loisset, emilie, . long reins, . lonsdale, lord, , . lord arthur, . lord fitzwilliams, . lucknow, . lufra, . macdougal, captain "ding," . macklin, mr., , , . mcandrew, mr., . magic, . major, . mameluke bit, . manifesto, . marengo, . mares, . " , docking, , . martingale, running, - . " , standing, , . "mary anderson," . measuring horses, . meerkat holes, . melton cloth, - . " mowbray, , , . men riding, . " teaching ladies, , . meynell, . " , mr., . mexico, . michael hardy, . midlands, . midland stile, . mills, mr., , . milton, mr., . modern riding, . mons meg, . moore, george, . " , mr. john hubert, , . motee, . mounting, - . mouth-piece, cover for, . mozufferpore, . mr. bathurst's, . "mr. gladstone," . "mrs. cornwallis west," . " " kendal," . " " langtry," . murray, mrs., . muscles, . musician, . muzzle, . _my leper friends_, . near head, . neckties, . neil's, jackeroo, miss, . neilgherry cane, . newcastle, countess of, . " , duchess of, , . new zealand, . " " horses, . "niggling," . _nineteenth century_, . north cheshire, , , . " , lord, . nose, . nose-band, cavesson, . nose-bands, , . nostrils, . numdahs, - . off crutch, . oriental women, . orlov trotters, . oxer, . pace, judging, . paget, mr. otho, , , , , , , , , . panel, , , . panniers, . paperchasing, - . paris, . pastern, . pasture land, . pat, . patent leather, . pelhams, . pellier, m., . pelvis, . penrhyn, lord, . _pirouette renversée_, . pilots, . pith hats, . ploughed land, . points of the tree, . poll, . pollard willows, . pollok, mr. arthur, . pommel, , . polo, , . " ponies, , . posts and rails, . poultry fund, . prancing, . pretoria, . prestonpans, . pulling, - . puppies, exercise for, . " , feeding, , . " , judging, , . " , medicine for, . " , punishing, . pytchley, , , , . " pups, . quarters, . queen elizabeth, . _queen, the_, , . quorn, , , , , . " friday, . rabbit holes, . ranelagh, . "rapier," . rearers and rearing, , . red board, . " bows, - . " rag, , . refusers and refusing, , , - . reining back, . reins, - . " , how to hold the, . " , jerking the, . " , long, . " , military way of holding, . " , riding without, . " , shortening the, . remounts, italian, . rentz's circus, . richmond show, . ridge and furrow, . riding abroad, . _riding and hunting_, , , , , , , , . riding masters, . " without reins, . right leg, action of, . " " , position of, . road, rules of the, . roberts, mr., . romance, , . rotten row, , , , . running away, . russia, , . russian cabmen, , . " horses, . rutland, duke of, , . saddle, cleaning a, . " cloths, - . " to fit rider, . saddling a horse, - . saddles, riding in men's, - . "safe," , . safety bars, - , . " skirts, - , . " stirrups, - , - . st. petersburg, . salary, , . sample, professor, . sandwich case, . sanminiatelli, count, . saunders, mrs., , . scots grey, . "scrutator," , , . seats of side-saddles, , . seat, the, . " , theory of the, - . second horseman, . " horses, . shanghai, , . sheep, . shires, , , , , , , , , , , . shoulder, point of the, . shouldering, . shoulders, . shying, , , - . side-saddle, weight of, . side-saddles, , , , , - . sideways, jumping horses, . singapore, . "sit back," . skirt, accustoming horse to, . " , length of, . slipper stirrup, . snaffles, , , , , , . society for the prevention of cruelty to animals, . _sola topee_, . sole of the hoof, . soltikov, . sore backs, , , , . south africa, , . spinal curvature, . _sporting and dramatic news_, . spur, . " on whip, . square seat, - . _stable management and exercise_, . standing jump, . standing martingale, . " "over," . stapleford park, . staples, . stake-and-bound fence, . starting, . "steady!" , . "steadying" horses, . steep ground, . _steiger_, . steinbock, coursing, . stifle, . stirrup bar, . " , case for extra, . " , leather, - . " " , length of, . " , man's, . " , position of foot in, . " too long, . stirrups, safety, - , - . stock, . stokes, william, . stone gaps, . " walls, . strangers, . stuffing of saddle, , . stumbling, . subscriptions, hunt, . suffolk punch, . suez, . surtees, . suspensory ligament, . swimming, . syces, . tailors, , - . talking to horses, , . tan, . tannoform, . tautz, mr., , . tendo achillis, . tendons, . terai hat, . terence, . tientsin, , . tiergarten, , , . tips, . tit-bits for horses, . thanks, . _the young lady's equestrian manual_, _the wanton mutilation of animals_, . thigh, , . third crutch, . " pommel, . thompson, mr. anstruther, . thong, . throat-latch, , . thrush, , , . _thoughts on hunting_, . throwing up the head, . toe, . "tougal," mr., . tree, points of the, , . " , saddle, , - . trot, rising at the, - . " , the, - , . turner, captain, . turning, . tushes, . tweedie, mrs., . twitches, , . under-bodice, . under-clothing, . upper crutch, . vale of white horse, . vehicles, passing, . venus de medici, . _veterinary notes for horse-owners_, , , , . vizianagram, . voice, , , . voltaire, . walers, . walk, the, , . walker, colonel, . walking puppies, - . wall of hoof, . _wanton mutilation of animals, the_, . ward, mr. frank, . ward's riding school, , , , . warwickshire hunt, , . washing horses' feet, . " puppies, . watches, . watering horses, , . webs, . weight of side-saddle, . whip, hunting, . whips, . whissendine, . whiskey, . "whoa!" . whyte melville, , , , , , , , . wilberforce, archbishop, . willows, pollard, . wintle, mr., . wire, , - . " fund, . withers, . women riding, . woodland country, . wroughton, mr., . yelvertoft church, . young horses, , , , , , , . zebra, riding a, , . list of books on horses by captain m. horace hayes, f.r.c.v.s. _the field._--"as trainer, owner and rider of horses on the flat and over a country, the author has had a wide experience, and when to this is added competent veterinary knowledge, it is clear that captain hayes is entitled to attention when he speaks." published by messrs. hurst & blackett, ltd. , great marlborough street, w. books on horses. =veterinary notes for horse-owners.= an illustrated manual of horse medicine and surgery, written in simple language, with illustrations. sixth edition. revised throughout, considerably enlarged, and new and original photographs added. large crown vo, buckram, s. net. "a necessary guide for horse-owners, especially those who are far removed from immediate professional assistance."--_the times._ "of the many popular veterinary books which have come under our notice, this is certainly one of the most scientific and reliable."--_the field._ "this book leaves nothing to be desired on the score of lucidity and comprehensiveness."--_veterinary journal._ "it is superfluous to commend a book that is an established success, and that has gone on from edition to edition extending its usefulness."--_army and navy gazette._ =points of the horse.= a familiar treatise on equine conformation. third edition in the press. "capt. horace hayes, the best of writers upon horses, has issued a second edition--considerably altered and enlarged, and magnificently illustrated--of his admirable work upon the 'points of the horse,' which is, in fact, a complete work on horses, their races and peculiarities."--_athenæum._ "the intrinsic value of the book and the high professional reputation of the author should ensure this new edition a cordial welcome from sportsmen and all lovers of the horse."--_the times._ =riding and hunting.= fully illustrated with upwards of reproductions of photographs and drawings. in vol., demy vo, cloth. price s. net. "capt. hayes has produced a book which cannot fail to interest, if not to instruct the experienced horseman, and the beginner may learn from its pages practically all that it is necessary for him to know."--_the world._ "we can imagine no more suitable present for one who is learning to ride than this book."--_pall hall gazette._ "he is no doubt the greatest authority, both on horses and horsemanship, now living in this country. everything which he writes is lucidly expressed, and no detail is too trivial to be explained."--_the spectator._ =the horsewoman.= a practical guide to side-saddle riding. by mrs. hayes. edited by capt. m. h. hayes. second edition, re-written, enlarged, and with about new and original photographic illustrations added. vol., demy vo. s. net. "this is the first occasion on which a practical horseman and a practical horsewoman have collaborated in bringing out a book on riding for ladies. the result is in every way satisfactory, and, no matter how well a lady may ride, she will gain much valuable information from a perusal of 'the horsewoman.'"--_field._ "a large amount of sound, practical instruction, very judiciously and pleasantly imparted."--_the times._ "we have seldom come across a brighter book than 'the horsewoman.'"--_the athenæum._ "with a very strong recommendation of this book as far and away the best guide to side-saddle riding we have seen."--_saturday review._ =stable management and exercise.= a book for horse-owners and students. illustrated by numerous reproductions of photographs taken specially for this work. in vol., demy vo. price s. net. "capt. hayes, who may justly claim to be the first authority now living on all matters connected with the horse, is always welcome, and the more so because each successive volume is a monument of 'the reason why.'"--_the county gentleman._ "eminently practical."--_the field._ "the work of an exceptionally competent authority, who thoroughly understands his subject, and is able to make the results of his practical knowledge clear to readers."--_badminton magazine._ =illustrated horsebreaking.= second and cheaper edition. large crown vo. price s. net. _this edition has been entirely rewritten, the amount of the letterpress more than doubled, and reproductions of photographs have been added._ "it is a characteristic of all captain hayes' books on horses that they are eminently practical, and the present one is no exception to the rule. a work which is entitled to high praise as being far and away the best reasoned-out one on breaking under a new system we have seen."--_the field._ "the work is eminently practical and reliable."--_veterinary journal._ =horses on board ship.= a guide to their management. by m. h. hayes. in vol., crown vo, with numerous illustrations from photographs taken by the author during two voyages to south africa with horses. price s. d. net. "the book altogether is like the rest of captain hayes' works, written on sound, practical lines, and is all the more welcome in that it deals with a subject on which we have yet a great deal to learn."--_the field._ "as he has had two voyages to south africa in charge of large consignments, his experience is eminently practical, and his book contains much valuable information, and ought to enable the war office to avoid in the future some of the errors of the past."--_morning post._ "we are sure that the book will be found useful and instructive to those who are new to the work of conveying either large or small numbers of horses across the seas."--_county gentleman._ =training and horse management in india.= fifth edition. crown vo, cloth, s. "we entertain a very high opinion of capt. hayes' book on 'horse training and management in india,' and are of opinion that no better guide could be placed in the hands of either amateur horseman or veterinary surgeon newly arrived in that important division of our empire."--_veterinary journal._ =infective diseases of animals.= being part i. of the translation of friedberger and froehner's pathology of the domestic animals. translated and edited by the author. with a chapter on bacteriology by dr. g. newman, d.p.h. demy vo, s. d. net. "whether considered as a work of reference for busy practitioners, as a text-book for students, or as a treatise on pathology in its widest significance, this volume meets every requirement, and is an invaluable addition to our literature."--_veterinary record._ =among horses in russia.= with illustrations from photographs taken chiefly by the author. in vol., large crown vo. price s. d. net. "the book is exceedingly well written and illustrated."--_graphic._ "the author has made an exceedingly entertaining book of his experiences."--_baily's magazine._ =among horses in south africa.= in vol., crown vo. price s. "capt. hayes' book is genuinely interesting, and fully repays reading."--_black and white._ "the book is very readable."--_spectator._ "the book is written in a pleasant, chatty style, and with a broad mind."--_sportsman._ =modern polo.= by captain e. d. miller, late th lancers. edited by captain m. h. hayes. second edition, revised and enlarged. in one vol., demy vo., with numerous illustrations from photographs and drawings. price s. net. "both in the matter of polo-playing and in that of choosing or breeding polo ponies, the volume is a certain authority."--_the times._ "'modern polo,' written by e. d. miller and edited by capt m. h. hayes, will assuredly become the authoritative work concerning the game, which is rapidly growing in favour in this country. it is clear and bright in style, and it is provided with numerous illustrations from photographs."--_black and white._ "mr. miller's is by no means the only work upon the game of polo, but it is, at least, the most complete and comprehensive work upon the subject that has yet been issued. it has had the benefit, too, of the editorship of capt. m. h. hayes, one of the best authorities of the day in regard to all matters connected with horsemanship. to capt. hayes are also due the excellent photographs by which the book is illustrated, showing almost every turn and stroke in a rather complicated game."--_graphic._ london: hurst and blackett, limited. transcriber's note the following typographical errors have been corrected: xiii ready changed to . ready xiii holding changed to . holding xiii in fig changed to in fig. arab pony, freddie changed to arab pony, freddie. fig. . cope's changed to fig. .--cope's wanderers home changed to wanderers home. _photo by_ changed to _photo. by_ dismounting, changed to dismounting. on both sides changed to on both sides. in fig changed to in fig. a-well executed changed to a well-executed .--a cut and-laid changed to .--a cut-and-laid in fig changed to in fig. - changed to - moore, george, changed to moore, george, . ninteenth changed to nineteenth ads p. management and exercise changed to management and exercise. ads p. =management in= india changed to =management in india= ads p. _sportsman_ changed to _sportsman._ the following words were inconsistently spelled or hyphenated: breast-plate / breastplate buck-jumpers / buckjumpers cavesson / cavasson cheek pieces / cheek-pieces / cheekpieces cross-saddle / cross saddle cross-country / 'cross-country / cross country / 'cross country cub-hunting / cub hunting fore-hand / forehand fore-leg / foreleg / fore leg fox-hunting / foxhunting hair-pins / hairpins head-stall / headstall hooked-back / hooked back illustrated horse-breaking / illustrated horse breaking / illustrated horsebreaking mouth-piece / mouthpiece nose-band / noseband now-a-days / nowadays paper-chase / paperchase race-course / racecourse race-horses / race-horses re-written / rewritten safety-bar / safety bar sheep-dogs / sheepdogs side-saddle / side saddle side-saddles / side saddles steeple-chase / steeplechase steeple-chasing / steeplechasing stirrup-bar / stirrup bar thorough-bred / thoroughbred under-clothing / underclothing whyte-melville / whyte melville the pony rider boys in the rockies by frank gee patchin chapter i the love of a horse "oh, let me get up. let me ride him for two minutes, walter." walter perkins brought his pony to a slow stop and glanced down hesitatingly into the pleading blue eyes of the freckle-faced boy at his side. "please! i'll only ride him up to the end of the block and back, and i won't go fast, either. let me show you how i can ride him," urged tad butler, with a note of insistence in his voice. "if i thought you wouldn't fall off----" "i fall off?" sniffed tad, contemptuously. "i'd like to see the pony that could bounce me off his back. huh! guess i know how to ride better than that. say, chunky, remember the time when the men from texas had those ponies here--brought them here to sell?" chunky--the third boy of the group--nodded vigorously. "and didn't i ride a broncho that never had had a saddle on his back but once in his life? say, did i get thrown then?" "he did that," endorsed stacy brown, who, because of his well-rounded cheeks and ample girth, was known familiarly among his companions as "chunky." "i mean, he didn't. and he rode the pony three times around the baseball field, too. that broncho's back was humped up like a mad cat's all the way around. 'course tad can ride. wish i could ride half as well as he does. you needn't be afraid, walter." thus reassured by chunky's praise, walter dropped the bridle rein over the neck of his handsome new pony, and slid slowly to the ground. "all right, tad. jump up! but don't hold him too tightly. he doesn't like it, and, besides, he has been trained to run when you tighten up on the rein, and father would not like it if we were to race him in the village." "i'll be careful." tad butler needed no second invitation to try out his companion's pony. with the agility of a cowboy, he leaped into the saddle without so much as touching a foot to the stirrup. in another second, with a slight pressure on the rein, he had wheeled the animal sharply on its haunches, and was jogging off up the street at an easy gallop, both boy and pony rising and falling in graceful, rhythmic movements, as if in reality each were a part of the other. tad seemed born to stirrup and saddle. yet, true to his promise, the boy made no effort to increase the speed of his mount. nor did he go beyoud the corner named. instead, he circled and came galloping back, one hand resting lightly on the rein, the other swinging easily at his side. as he neared the two boys, tad checked his pony, but walter motioned to him to continue. with a smile of keen appreciation, tad shook out the reins, and pony and rider swung on down the village street. the soft breeze bad by now fanned the bright color into the face of thaddeus butler, and his deep blue eyes glowed with excitement and pleasure; for, to him, there was no happiness so great as that to be found on the back of a swift-moving pony. however, this was a pleasure that seldom came to tad, for his lines had not fallen altogether in pleasant places. the boy was now seventeen, and from his twelfth birthday he had been almost the sole support of his mother. his time, out of school hours, was spent largely in doing odd jobs about the village where his services were in demand, and on saturday afternoons and nights he delivered goods for a grocery store, for which latter service he earned the--to him--munificent sum of twenty-five cents. but all of this he accepted cheerfully and manfully. now and then tad was allowed to drive the grocer's wagon to the station for goods, and at such times his work was a positive recreation. some day tad hoped to have a horse of his own. he could imagine no more perfect happiness than this. he had determined, though, that when he did own one, it should be a saddle horse and a speedy one at that. yet, at the present moment the realization of his ambition seemed indeed far away. walter perkins was the son of a banker. he and tad butler had been born and brought up in the little village of chillicothe, missouri, where they still lived, and, despite the difference in their social positions, had been fast friends since they were little fellows. chunky was the son of a merchant in a small town in massachusetts, and had been visiting an uncle in chillicothe for nearly a year past. walter was a delicate boy, and, reared in luxury, as he had been all his life, he had sensed few of the delights of out-door life that were so apparent in the face of his nimble friend, tad. it was this delicate physical condition that had brought about the gift of the pony. the family physician had advised it in order that the boy might have more out-door air, and on this may morning walter had brought the pony out to show to his admiring friends. "tad's a good rider. isn't he a beauty?" breathed chunky, as they watched the progress of boy and horse down the street. "who, tad?" asked walter, absorbed in the contemplation of his new possession. "tad! pooh! no; the pony, of course. i don't see anything very fetching about tad, do you? but i should be willing to be as freckled as he is if i could stick on a pony's back the way he does." "yes, he does know how to ride," agreed walter. "and, by the way, father is going to get a horse for professor zepplin, my tutor; then we are going off on long rides every day, after my lessons are done. the doctor says it will be good for me. fine to have a doctor like that, isn't it?" "great! wish i could go along." "why don't you?" asked walter, turning quickly to his companion. "that would be just the idea. what great times we three could have, riding off into the open country! and we could go on exploring expeditions, too, and make believe we were cowboys and--and all that sort of thing." chunky shook his head dubiously. "i haven't a pony. but i wish i had. i should like to go so much," replied the boy wistfully. "then, why not ask your uncle to get one for you? he will do it, i know," urged walter brightly, brimming over with his new plan. "why, i'll ask him myself." "i did." "wouldn't he do it?" "no. uncle said i was too young, and that the first thing i would be doing would be to break my neck. if father was here and gave his permission, why, that would be different. uncle said it would take my mind off my school, besides." "school? why, school will not last much longer. it is may, now, and school will be over early in june. that isn't long to wait. you go right home, chunky, and tell your uncle you must have a pony. tell him i said so. if he refuses, i'll have my father go ask him. he won't refuse my father anything he asks. my father is a banker and everybody does everything he wants them to, because he lends them money," advised walter wisely. "my--my uncle doesn't have to borrow money. he's got money of his own," bristled chunky. "yes, that's so. but you go ask him. tell him about my pony and that we are all going off for a ride every day. say that professor zepplin will be along to take care of us. and say! i'll tell you what," added the boy eagerly. "yes?" urged chunky. "we will form ourselves into a club. now, wouldn't that be great?" "fine!" glowed chunky. "but, what kind of a club? they don't have horses in clubs." "we shall, in this one. that is, we shall be the club, and the ponies will be our club-house. when we are on our ponies' backs we shall be in our club-house. maybe we can get ned rector to join us. he knows how to ride--why, he rides almost as well as tad." chunky nodded thoughtfully. "what shall we call it? we must have some kind of a name for the club." "i hadn't thought of that. i'll tell you what," exclaimed walter, brightening, after a moment's consideration. "we will call ourselves the rough riders. that's what we will do, chunky." "yes, but we are not rough riders," protested chunky. "we are only beginners; that is, all of us except tad, and he can't join us--just because he's too poor to have a horse. as for us--humph! we'd be rough riders only when we fell off!" walter laughed heartily. "no," he admitted. "i guess we are not rough riders yet; but we may be some day, after we've learned to ride better. i can't think of any other name, can you?" "we might call ourselves the wild riders," suggested chunky. "no, that won't do, either. it's as bad as the other name. father'd never let me go out at all if we called ourselves the wild riders, because he would think it meant we were going to be too much like cowboys. i guess we shall have to think it over some more. but here comes tad back. suppose we ask him? he'll know what to call the club." tad reigned in alongside of them and pulled the pony up sharply, patting its sleek neck approvingly, still loath to dismount. "it's great, fellows. wish i had a pony like him." "so do i," echoed chunky. "why, you don't have to touch the reins at all. i could ride him without just as well as with them. all you have to do is to press your knee against his side and he will turn, just as if you were pulling on the rein. he's a trained pony, walter. did you know that?" "that's what the man said when father bought him. jo-jo can walk on his hind legs, too. but father said i mustn't try to make him do any tricks, for fear i might get hurt." "hurt nothing! he wouldn't hurt a baby," objected tad in the little animal's defence. "i'll show you--i won't hurt him, don't be afraid," he exclaimed leaping to the ground, stripping the rein over the animal's head and holding it at arm's length. "if he knows how to stand up i can make him do it. i've seen them do that in the circus. let me have your whip." "i don't know about that," answered walter doubtfully. "yes, you may try," he decided finally, extending the whip that he had been idly tapping against his legging. "but don't hit him, will you?" "not i," grinned the freckle-faced boy, leading the pony further out into the street. "he doesn't need to be struck." tad first coaxed the pony by patting it gently on the side of the head, to which the intelligent animal responded by brushing his cheek softly with its nose. "see, he knows a thing or two," cried tad. "now, watch me!" standing off a few feet, the boy tapped the animal gently under the chin with the whip. "up, jo-jo! up!" he urged, lifting the whip into the air insistently. at first, jo-jo only swished his tail rebelliously, shaking his head until the bit rattled between his teeth. but tad persisted, gently yet firmly urging with voice and whip. jo-jo meanwhile pawed the dirt up into a cloud of dust that settled over the boys, finally causing a chorus of sneezes, until tad felt sure he observed a twinkle of amusement in the eyes of the knowing little animal. "up, jo-jo!" he commanded almost sternly, bringing the whip sharply against the side of his own leg. the pony, recognizing the voice of a master, hesitated no longer. half folding its slender forelegs back, it rose slowly, up and up. walter perkins and stacy brown broke into a cheer. but tad, never for an instant removing his gaze from jo-jo, held up a warning hand, leaned slightly forward and fixed the pony with impelling eyes. then tad backed away slowly. to the amazement of the others, jo-jo, balancing himself beautifully on his hind legs, followed his new-found master in short, cautious steps, the animal's head now high in the air, its nostrils dilated, and every nerve strained to the task in hand. "beautiful," breathed walter and chunky in chorus. "he's a regular brick," added chunky. "how'd you do it, tad!" before replying, the boy lowered the whip to his side, motioning to the pony that his task was done. jo-jo dropped quickly on all fours, and, walking up to tad, rubbed his nose against the lad's cheek again. "good boy," soothed tad, returning the caress, his eyes swimming with happiness. but as tad stepped back jo-jo insistently followed, alternately pushing his nose against the boy's face and tugging at his shirt. "he wants to do it again, tad," cried chunky, enthusiastically. the freckle-faced boy grinned knowingly. "got any sugar, walter?" he asked. walter thrust a hand into a trousers pocket, bringing up a handful of lumps that were far from being their natural color. but tad grabbed them, and an instant later jo-jo's quivering upper lip had closed greedily over the handful of sweets. "that's what the little rascal wanted," breathed tad with a pleased smile. "i could teach that pony to do 'most anything but talk, fellows. i'm not so sure that he couldn't do that in his own way, after a little time. what did you give for him?" "father paid the man a hundred and fifty dollars." tad uttered a long-drawn whistle; his face sobered. it was more money than he ever had seen at one time in his life. would he ever have as much as that? the freckle-faced boy doubted it. "we fellows were talking about getting up a club," spoke up walter. "club? what kind of a club?" asked tad absently. "oh, some sort of a riding club. chunky is going to ask his uncle to buy him a pony; then we are going out with my tutor on long rides in the country." tad eyed them steadily. "somehow we can't just decide on the name for the new club. i thought maybe we would call ourselves the bough riders. chunky doesn't like that name. we had an idea that, perhaps, you could give us one. what do you say, tad?" "chunky's uncle is going to get him a pony?" asked tad a bit unsteadily. "we hope so," nodded walter. "and that's not all. we are going to get ned rector to join the club. he already has a pony. wish you might come in with us, tad." "wish i might," answered tad wistfully. "of course, we know you can't really, but you belong to us just the same. you can be a sort of--of honorary member. we will let you ride our ponies sometimes when we are in town, though, of course, when we go out for long trips we can't take you along very well. you understand that, don't you, tad?" tad inclined his head. "and now about the name. got anything to suggest?" the freckle-faced boy walked over to the pony and laid his cheek against its nose, which he patted softly, his head averted so that the others might not see the pain in his eyes. "you--you might call yourselves 'the pony rider boys,'" suggested tad, controlling his voice with an effort. chapter ii the pony rider boys' club organized the pony rider boys, as a club, met for the purpose of organization, with headquarters under a tent in banker perkins's orchard. it was the tent in which walter, under orders from the family physician, had been sleeping during the spring. over the entrance the boys pinned a strip of canvas on which they had printed in red letters, "headquarters pony rider boys' club." "now they will know who we are," explained walter, standing off to view their handiwork. "you see, people can read that from the street. everybody who passes will see it." "yes," replied ned rector, who already had been enrolled as a charter member. "but i hope they won't think it's a blacksmith shop over here, and drive in to get their horses shod." the boys laughed heartily. "the next question is, whom shall we have for president of the club?" asked walter. "i suppose we ought to elect one to-day so we can be regularly organized." "yes, that's so," agreed chunky. "what's the matter with having tad butler for president? he knows all about horses, even if he has none himself." "but he's not a member of the club," objected ned. "no," agreed walter, "but i had thought we might make him an honorary member. we ought to take him in, someway, for i know he's anxious to join us." "then, i would suggest that we organize first," advised ned, who possessed some slight knowledge of parliamentary law. "you can choose one of us for temporary chairman, and then we will go ahead and form our organization just like a regular club." "that's a good plan. will you be the chairman, ned?" "no, walt. i think i should prefer to be on the floor, where i can talk. neither the chairman nor president has the right to argue, you know. i'm afraid i shouldn't be of much use to the club if i couldn't talk," laughed ned. "i propose mr. stacy brown, otherwise known as 'chunky,' for temporary chairman. chunky is fat, and can appear very dignified when he wants to, even if he doesn't feel that way." "that's the idea," agreed walter. "now, all in favor of mr. chunky brown for presiding officer of the first meeting of the pony rider boys manifest it by saying 'aye.'" ned and walter voted in the affirmative. "all opposed, say 'nay.'" "nay!" voted chunky in a loud voice. "the ayes have it. mr. stacy chunky brown has been duly chosen temporary chairman of the pony rider boys. mr. chairman, will you please take the chair and call this meeting to order?" invited ned rector, escorting stacy to a chair which had been placed at one end of the tent for the purpose of receiving him. chunky sank into the seat, gazing helplessly about him. "well?" urged ned. "do something," laughed walter. "yes, but what shall i do?" "call the meeting to order, of course. what do you think we elected you for? not to sit up there and look pretty. call it to order." "i do." "help!" pleaded ned rector, weakly. "see here, that's not the way to do it. is this the first time you have presided at a meeting?" chunky, by a nod, informed them that it was. "humph!" grunted ned witheringly. "then say after me, 'i now call the meeting of the pony rider boys to order. what is your pleasure, gentlemen?'" the chairman haltingly repeated the words. "now, that's the way to do it," approved ned. "i shouldn't be surprised to see you president of the united states some day. i now move, mr. chairman, that tad butler be made an honorary member of the club, as well as riding master and manager of the live stock." "second the motion," added walter quickly. the motion was carried with much enthusiasm. then the club voted to make chunky brown its permanent presiding officer, and this in spite of the winner's vigorous objections. walter was made treasurer because, as ned expressed it, walter's father was a bank president. ned rector was chosen secretary. "i now move," proposed ned rector, "that this club direct its secretary to write to the uncle of its president, pointing out to him the advisability of providing a pony for said president to ride; said president being so heavy as to make walking to the meetings of this club a burden to himself and to the club members who have to wait for him." this motion was adopted with a shout of laughter. after having directed the secretary, at his own suggestion, to notify tad butler of his election, the club adjourned to meet on the following morning for field practice. in other words, the club's two ponies, with walter perkins and ned rector upon them, were to be taken out for exercise about the village and in nearby roads. the next day being saturday, tad butler found himself too busy to devote much time to brooding over his troubles. as a matter of fact, the boy was little given to this sort of thing; he was too much a man. his was a wholesome, confident nature, and the same indomitable courage and determination that had enabled him to stand next to the head of his class in the high school filled him with a resolution to possess a pony of his own. nor did he permit the receipt of a letter that morning, informing him of his honorary election to the pony riders club, to cast him down, even though, for want of a pony, he could not enter into full membership. instead, with flashing eyes, his clean-cut jaw set more firmly than usual, tad went about his duties of the day cheerfully, his active mind running over this and that plan through which he might possibly gratify his longings. late that same afternoon, on his way driving out to deliver a package of goods to a summer residence just outside the town, he came upon walter and ned, returning on their ponies from a short jaunt into the country. the two boys hailed him joyously. tad grinned and waved his hand. "hello! aren't you going to stop to tali with a fellow?" called ned, as the riders came abreast of the grocery horse and pulled up. tad shook his head. "oh, come on; hold up a minute." "can't. i'm on business, you know," answered the boy, smiling pleasantly. "i am working all day to-day for mr. langdon, and i mustn't stop. i have a lot of goods to deliver before night." "then what do you say to our riding out and back with him, walt?" suggested ned. "all right. i guess we shall have plenty of time to do that and get back for supper. tad won't stay long. he's in too big a hurry," answered the banker's son, bringing his pony about, and galloping up beside the wagon, which had continued on its way during the conversation. this gave tad an opportunity to gaze admiringly at the sleek ponies on which the boys were mounted, as well as at the nickel trimmings of bridles and saddles, which glistened brightly in the sunlight. "wish you had him, don't you?" laughed ned, noting tad's gaze fixed on his own well-groomed mount. to ned's surprise, tad shook his head negatively. "mean to tell me you don't want a pony like this?" "i didn't say so, ned. no, i wouldn't say that, because it isn't true. you asked me if i didn't wish i had him. of course, i want a pony more than anything else in the world. but i want my own, not yours. that is different, you see. much as i want one, i don't covet either yours or walt's." "well, you are a funny fellow. i never did understand you," marveled ned. "but, i guess he's about right, eh, walter? don't you think so!" "yes. and i have been thinking, since our meeting yesterday, that perhaps it might be fixed. i wasn't going to say anything about it," answered walter, meditatively. "thinking about what?" demanded ned. "about tad's not having a horse, and no way to get one. i tell you, it's mighty tough----" "yes?" "well, he is a member of the club, and as fellow members of the pony riders, we are bound to stand by one another." "that's right," agreed ned. "that's what we're going to do, too. but what are you getting at, walt?" tad's blue eyes were fixed inquiringly on walter's face. he, too, was at a loss to understand what it was that his delicate young friend was planning. still, he would not ask, knowing full well that it was of him they were thinking. "simply this. tad has got to have a pony." ned uttered a long-drawn whistle, while the boy on the grocery wagon suddenly straightened up. "i agree with you there, walt," ned remarked. "yet, how is he going to get one? that's what i should like to know--and it's a question that the pony riders will have a hard time in answering. now, it is different with chunky. chunky's uncle has money. he can well afford to buy his nephew a pony. when i went to ask him to-day he said he would see about it. that means chunky will have one." "why do you think that?" "because my father is a lawyer, and he says when a fellow doesn't know his own mind, you can make him agree to 'most any old thing," answered ned with a laugh. by this time they had reached their destination. though keenly interested in the conversation of his companions tad leaped to the ground, tying his horse without an instant's delay, and proceeded to the house to deliver his merchandise. the boys watched him disappear around the corner of the house before resuming their conversation. "i'll tell you, now," began walter. "i didn't want to explain before him. tad is the best rider in town, you know, ned----" "next to me," added ned humorously. "yes, next ahead. and he is the second best scholar in the high school. nothing could stop him from heading the class if he had the time to devote to his studies, so professor zepplin tells me. i like him, ned----" "since he fished you out of the mill pond, when you fell through the ice there last winter, eh!" "yes, partly. but, i liked him just as well before that. do you know," continued walter after a moment of silence, "i never told my father that tad did that for me?" "you didn't? why not?" asked ned, his face reflecting his surprise. "because tad made me promise i wouldn't. he's such a modest chap that he didn't want father to thank him, even. so i never did----" "he is a queer lad----" "that is, i did not until last night," corrected walter thoughtfully. "oh! then you told him? what did he say?" questioned ned, now keenly interested in the narration. "he said tad was a brave boy, and that he wanted to do something for him. i told him there was one thing he could do that would please me, at the same time making tad the happiest boy in chillicothe--yes, happier than any other boy in the state of missouri." "yes?" "father laughed and asked me what it was that tad desired so much." walter glanced up at his companion, a queer smile playing about his lips. "well, what did you tell him!" "that tad wanted a pony." the boys gazed into each other's eyes. "good for you," breathed ned. "you are the right sort, even if you are weak. i always said you were. but did your father say he would get tad a pony?" "well, not exactly. he wanted to know how i thought tad could take care of a pony when he got it--said the boy would have no place to keep it, nothing to feed it on----" "yes, that's so." "but, i told him tad might stable his pony with jo-jo in our barn." "sure thing. that's fine. did he agree?" "he said for me to bring tad in to see him." "but you did not?" "no; i haven't had a chance. i'm going to try to get him to stop on the way back, if he will. all three of us will stop off at the bank father usually stays late on saturdays to go over the books all by himself----" further conversation was interrupted by the return of tad. acting upon a knowing look from walter, ned maintained a discreet silence on the subject. and, if tad's keen glance, which searched their faces, as he clambered aboard the grocery wagon, gave him the slightest inkling as to what they had been discussing, he made no effort further to gratify his curiosity. "what are you going to do when you get back, tad?" asked walter by way of directing the conversation to the subject of which he was at that moment so full. "going back to the store. why?" "oh, nothing much. father wanted you to step in some time this afternoon," answered walter as carelessly as he could. "what for?" "he wishes to talk with you about something. you can stop off as we go by. it will take only a few minutes of your time." tad shook his head emphatically. nothing could deter him from doing what he considered was his full duty to his employer. "then i shall go over to the store with you myself and see mr. langdon," announced walter firmly. after that, the conversation drifted into a discussion of the respective merits of the two ponies that ned and walter were riding. arriving at the store, walter dismounted, and, tossing the reins to ned, ran up the steps into the store, while tad began methodically to haul the market baskets from the wagon, piling them together on the sidewalk. in a moment walter came hurrying out. "it's all right," he called from the top step. "mr. langdon says hitch your horse here, while you go over with me to see father." "very well," replied tad, as, with evident reluctance, he followed his friend to the hank, half a block up the street. mr. perkins greeted his young guest with marked courtesy. "walter delayed telling me of your heroic conduct in saving his life until last night, thaddeus. i am sorry. but, according to the old saying, 'it is never too late to mend.' therefore, i want to thank you now." mr. perkins grasped the lad's hands in a firm grip, while tad, hiding his embarrassment as best he could, gazed with steady eyes into the face of the banker. "i'm sorry he told you, sir. i just pulled him out--that was all." the banker laughed. "yes, fortunately that was all. but there surely would have been more if you had not, walter would have drowned. how you managed to get him out, without both of you going down, is more than i can understand." "he dived in and swam out with me," walter informed him. "quite so. and you wished my son to say nothing about it?" added the banker with a twinkle in his eyes, not wholly lost on the boy who was standing so rigidly before him, steeling himself to the most trying ordeal he ever had experienced. "i did, sir." "walter respected your wishes in the matter. but something came up last evening that induced him to make a clean breast of the whole affair. and i am very glad he did so." "yes, sir." "walter tells me you are a great lover of animals, especially horses." "i am more fond of them, sir, than of anything else in the world, save my mother," answered the boy, his eyes growing bright. "and he also has told me about this new club of which i most heartily approve. it will be an excellent thing for walter. but of course you will not be able to go out with the boys, not having a pony of your own." "no, sir," answered tad in a firm voice. "i take it you would be very happy to be able to join them on their outings?" "indeed i should, mr. perkins." "well," glowed the banker, "at walter's suggestion i have arranged it so that in the future you shall not be denied this pleasure. do you happen to know where there are any ponies for sale at this moment?" "yes, sir. they have several at the mccormick farm about three miles from town. they are very fine ponies, too, sir. one of them, i think, would make an excellent mate for jo-jo, if you are considering getting another one for walter to drive or ride." "no, i was not thinking of doing that at present. i will tell you what i propose to do, however." "yes, sir." "i propose to send you out to the mccormicks' this afternoon, if you can spare the time. when you reach there you will pick out what you consider is the best pony in the lot, and bring him back to town. they will let you have him upon presentation of the letter i shall give you before you leave," smiled the banker. "i--i don't quite understand, sir. i--i--what is it you wish me to do with the pony?" stammered tad. banker perkins rose, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. "take him home with you--he is yours, tad." "my--my--mine?" "yes." a sudden rush of color flashed into the face of tad butler and crept up to the roots of his hair, his eyes holding those of the hanker in an unflinching gaze. "i--am sorry, sir; but i cannot accept it." "what?" exclaimed mr. perkins. "i thank you very much. believe me, i do. but i could not accept a gift like that from you. you will understand me, won't you? i couldn't--i couldn't do it; that's all." "i do, my lad. i understand you perfectly," answered the hanker slowly, grasping the lad's hand and gripping it until tad winced. "thank you," murmured tad, backing from the room, with as much composure as he was able to muster. reaching the street, the boy clenched his fingers until the nails dug into the palms of his hands. then, with shoulders erect, he strode rapidly off down the street to continue his duties at the grocery store. chapter iii tad goes into business after supper, that night, banker perkins strolled leisurely across town to the cottage occupied by tad butler and his mother. the house lay on the outskirts of the village, surrounded by half an acre of ground, part of which the boy tilled, keeping the little family in vegetables a great part of the year. the rest of the plot had been seeded down, and was now covered with a bright green carpet of new clover. tad, being busy at the grocery store that night, did not return home for his supper, so that the banker's visit was all unknown to the boy who was going stoically about his duties over in the village. yet, in his clear eyes there was nothing of regret at his own refusal to permit the desire of his life to be gratified. mr. perkins remained at the cottage for nearly an hour and a half, and a quiet smile might have been observed hovering about his lips as he bade good-night to mrs. butler, whose countenance reflected something of his own satisfaction. "i will attend to the matter on monday morning," were his parting words, at which mrs. butler bowed and withdrew into the cottage. all unmindful of the important conference, tad returned home at ten o'clock. his mother was awaiting him. she greeted him with a hearty embrace and a kiss, which the boy returned with no less fervor. "i have a nice, warm supper ready for you, tad," she informed him. "you must have a man's appetite by this time, for you have had hardly anything to eat since your breakfast." "it does put an appetite into a fellow, riding behind a horse, even if it is an old lame one," laughed tad. "i really believe you would find pleasure in driving a wooden horse, such as i have seen in harness shops," smiled mrs. butler. "you are so like your grandfather. he would miss a meal at any time for the sake of driving a horse or talking horse with a friend." "father didn't care so much about them, did he?" "no, your father was not particularly interested in horses. he was in too poor health to be able to handle them after he reached a position where he might have afforded such a luxury." tad nodded reflectively. "and you still want a pony, do you, my son?" asked mrs. butler, leaning forward with a twinkle in her eyes. but the boy's gaze was fixed steadily on his plate and he failed to note the expression. "yes, i do, mother. however, i don't allow myself to think much about it. i have got to take care of you, first. after i have made enough so that you can get along, then i shall have a horse. but not until then." "perhaps you may have one sooner than you know," breathed the mother, veiling her eyes with her hands, that he might not read what was plainly written there. tad shot a keen glance at her, then resumed his supper in silence. the subject was not again referred to between them, and on monday afternoon tad butler was again at the grocery store, prepared for work should there be any for him. mr. langdon, the proprietor, was talking with one of the men from his farm just outside the village. "you say the old mare is unfit for further service, jim?" "yes." "what do you advise doing with her?" "shoot her." "very well, take the old mare out in the swamp and put her out of her misery," directed mr. langdon after he had thought a moment. "i beg pardon, mr. langdon," interrupted tad butler, who had been an interested listener to the interview. "yes, tad; what is it?" "is it old jinny that you are speaking of, if i may ask?" "it is," smiled the grocer, good-naturedly. "what's the trouble with her?" "trouble?" sniffed the farm-hand. "jinny's got the heaves that bad she blows like a blacksmith's bellows. why, sometimes she even coughs the oats out of her manger before she's had the chance to eat them. and that ain't all that ails her, either. i----" "why do you ask, tad?" said grocer langdon. "what will you take for jinny?" inquired the boy, the color flaming to his face as a bold plan suddenly occurred to him. "why, what could you do with an old, broken-down animal like that?" "i don't know. but i should like to make a bargain with you----" "of course if you want her you may have her, provided you get her off the premises at once," answered the grocer. "she'll die on our hands presently, anyhow." "no; i don't want the mare that way. but, i'll tell you what i will do, mr. langdon." "yes?" "i will clean out your store every morning for a month in payment for the mare. yes, i will make it two months. if two months is not long enough, i will work for you longer." "oh, very well. the mare's not worth it. however, if you wish to have it that way i am sure i ought to be satisfied," laughed the grocer. "then, will you write on a piece of paper that the mare is sold to me, and that i am to clean out the store every morning in payment for her?" asked tad. "certainly, if you wish it. i wish you luck," smiled mr. langdon, handing the agreement over the counter after he had prepared it. with the precious document in his pocket, tad butler sped homeward as fast as his legs could carry him. mrs. butler saw him coming and wondered what the boy's haste might mean. "i've got a horse! i've got a horse!" shouted tad, vaulting the fence lightly and bounding up the steps. "i surely have a horse at last, mother." grasping his mother about the waist with both arms, tad whirled her dizzily, the full length of the porch and back, finally dropping her into a rocking chair with a merry laugh. "mercy!" gasped mrs. butler. "you have shaken all the breath out of me. what does this whirlwind arrival mean?" "it means that i have a horse at last, mother. to be sure, it is not much of a horse; but it's a horse just the same. and it's all mine, too." mrs. butler gazed up at him in perplexity. tad sank down at her feet and explained the terms on which he had procured jinny from mr. langdon. "well, now that you have her, what do you mean to do with her?" asked mrs. butler, a quizzical smile on her face. "with your leave, i shall bring her home. will you let me turn jinny in the clover patch there, mother? there'll be enough grass there to keep her all summer, and as soon as she is able to work i can get odd jobs enough with her to pay for the oats that i shall need to keep her up on," went on the boy speaking rapidly. "very well, tad; the place is as much yours as it is mine," agreed mrs. butler, indulgently. "and i have been thinking of something else, too--something for you. but i shall not tell you about that now. i am going to keep it as a surprise for you when i get it ready," announced the boy mysteriously. "if you have nothing for me to do just now, i think i'll go out to mr. langdon's farm and bring the mare in. i shall want to spend the evening making her comfortable." mrs. butler gave a ready permission, and tad hounded away, running every foot of the mile and a half to the langdon farm, where old jinny was turned over to him, together with a brand new halter and an old harness which the grocer had directed his man to furnish with the mare. tad petted and fondled the wheezy old creature, who nosed him appreciatively. "how old is jinny?" he asked. "going on twelve," answered the farm-hand laconically. tad opened the mare's mouth, which he studied critically. "humph!" he grunted, flashing a glance of disapproval at the farm-hand. "what's that, younker? i said as she was going on twelve." "i guess you have dropped five years out of your reckoning somewhere," answered the boy. "jinny is past seventeen. but it's all right. it is all the same to me. i don't care if she's a hundred," decided tad, picking up the halter and leading the mare from the yard. "hope she don't run away with ye," jeered the farm-hand, as boy and horse passed out into the highway. but to this tad made no reply. he was too fully occupied with his new happiness to allow so little a thing as the farm-hand's opinion to disturb him. once out of sight of the farm buildings, the lad pulled the mare to one side of the road, where he examined her carefully. "huh!" he exclaimed. "heaves, ringbone and spavin. i don't know how much more is the matter with her, but that's enough. still, i think she will wiggle along for some time and be of real service if i can fix up the heaves a little. they must have filled her up on dusty hay," he decided, examining the mare's throat and nostrils. "i'll get her home and look her over more carefully." tad's course led him through the principal residential street of the town. but he thought nothing of this, even though his new purchase was a mere bundle of bones and scarcely able to drag its weary body along. "she's mine," he whispered, as the sense of possession took full hold of him. "mine, all mine!" just ahead of him stood the home of stacy brown's uncle. chunky was standing in front of the gate, both hands thrust into his trousers pockets. he had observed the strange outfit coming down the street, but at first the full meaning of it did not impress him. now he discovered that the procession consisted of tad butler and an emaciated, hesitating old horse. stacy's eyes gradually closed until they were mere slits, through which he peered inquiringly. "hullo, tad," he greeted. "hello, chunky," returned the freckle-faced boy with a grin. "what you got there, a skeleton?" "no; this is a mare. her name is jinny and she's mine." "huh! skate, i call her. where did you get her?" "bought her," answered tad proudly. chunky emitted a long-drawn whistle. "what are you going to do with her?" he demanded, a sudden suspicion entering his mind. "first, i am going to doctor her up and make a real live horse of her. then, perhaps, she will join the pony riders' club." "what?" "i said she might join the club," reiterated tad. "then i resign," declared chunky. "all right," retorted tad. "jinny's better than no horse at all. and you haven't any." "yes, but my uncle is going to get me one next week. he's going to buy the handsomest one he can find out at the mccormick ranch," chortled the fat boy. "gid-ap!" commanded tad, his face sobering. "i don't care. i'll show them yet," he gritted, urging old jinny along with sundry coaxes and promises of a real meal upon their arrival home. though the boy tried to keep his purchase a secret until he should have conditioned the mare a little, stacy brown lost no time in informing the other members of the club, and through them the news soon became the property of the village. as a result, tad was the butt of many jokes and jibes, to all of which he returned a quiet smile, registering a mental promise to "show them." in two weeks time he had worked a marvelous change in jinny. one who had seen her on the day the boy brought her home, would scarcely have recognized in her the old, wind-broken skeleton that she had appeared two weeks previously. by this time, tad was beginning to use her to haul up wood which he had gathered in a patch of forest below the village. he would first gather and pile the poles; then, wrapping a rope about all he thought the mare could draw, would make her haul them home. here he sawed the poles to stove lengths in preparation for the winter. this work mrs. butler had always been obliged to hire done, and the saving now was of no small moment to her. one hot afternoon, however, tad had left jinny in the shade of the trees to rest, while he wandered out to the highway and sat down to think. he had been there not more than fifteen minutes when the faint chug, chug of a motor car was borne to his ears. it was still some distance away, but from the sound he knew the car was approaching rapidly. "if they keep on at that gait, something surely will happen," decided tad, being fully aware of the dangers that lay in the stretch of road between himself and the oncoming car. a few moments later he saw the car round the bend in the road just beyoud him. it came tearing along, swerved unsteadily from one side of the road to the other, then was brought to a sudden, grinding stop, narrowly missing a plunge into the roadside ditch. "the steering gear has gone wrong. i think the ball has been wrenched from the socket," announced the driver of the car, disgustedly. "i wish i could see a horse." tad grinned. "what are you grinning at, you young ape?" snapped the driver, voicing his increasing irritation. "you seem to think this is some kind of a joke." "i am not laughing at you, sir," answered tad respectfully. "you'd better not," growled the driver. "how far is it to chillicothe, kid?" "about a mile and a half," replied the boy. "can i get a horse anywhere around here?" "i reckon you can. i've got a horse." "you? where is it?" demanded the autoist doubtfully. "in the bushes, back here a piece. what'll you give me to pull you in?" "i'll give you five dollars," announced the driver eagerly. "but be quick about it." tad rose slowly and stretched himself. "i'll do it for two," he announced, to the surprise and amusement of the occupants of the car. in a few moments jinny had been led out, tad taking along the rope that he used in hauling the wood. one end he fastened securely to the front axle of the car, attaching the other to the whiffletree that he had made to use in the woods. "now, if you will start your engine and give me just a little lift, i think i can draw you in. can you steer the car enough to keep it in the road, do you think?" "i will try," answered the driver. "but if i find i can't, i'll toot my horn, which will be the signal for you to stop." it was all the old mare could do to draw the heavy car over the slight rise of ground that lay just beyoud where the automobile had been stalled; yet, with the aid of the power of the car itself, they managed to make the hill all right. at last the boy pulled the car and its occupants up in front of the blacksmith shop in the village, collecting his fee with the air of one used to transacting similar business every day. tad, however, did not return to the woods that day. instead, he turned old jinny toward home, which he made all haste to reach. arriving there he placed the money he had earned in his mother's hands. "just earned it with jinny," he explained proudly, in answer to her surprised look. "i'll get the wood to-morrow, and maybe i'll catch another automobile." however, tad's luck deserted him next day, though three days later he earned a dollar and a half towing in a disabled car. this led the lad to ponder deeply, the result being a hurried trip to the store, followed by sundry mysterious preparations in the stable at the rear of the house. tad's early mornings were devoted to cleaning up the store, so that he had no time then to give to his own affairs. late one afternoon in the middle of the following week, tad butler, driving jinny and with a parcel under his arm, moved down the street toward the woods. arriving at the woods he tied jinny to a tree and walked on around a bend in the highway, where he unrolled his parcel. a coil of clothes line dropped from it. the bundle, which proved to be a long strip of canvas, tad stretched out, tying an end of the clothes line on either side. the boy's next move was to climb a tree at one side of the road, and make fast one of the lines. descending, he did the same on the opposite side of the highway. by this time, tad's clothes were in a sad state of disorder. but to this he gave no heed. he was bent on accomplishing a certain purpose, and all else must give way before it. hauling down on the rope which he had made fast to the second tree, he caused a banner to flutter to the breeze directly over the highway. on it in big red letters had been painted: autos towed in. if you don't see any one, yell for tad or call at langdon's store. tow you in for two dollars. "i guess that's high enough to clear a load of hay," decided tad, standing off and critically, surveying his work. chapter iv a surprise, indeed that makes fifteen dollars, mother. tad butler, with flashing eyes and heightened color, laid two crisp new one dollar bills in his mother's hand, and nervously brushed a shock of hair from his forehead. "my, that car was a big one," he continued. "jinny couldn't quite pull it, so i had to get behind and push. but we made it." mrs. butler patted the disordered hair affectionately. "need a comb, don't i?" he grinned. "now, i am going to tell you about the surprise i promised you, mother. i've pieced together that old broken down buggy out in the barn, and, when i can afford to buy some paint for it, you will have a carriage to ride in. you needn't be ashamed of it, for it's a dandy. nobody will know it from a new one. then, when i am at school, you and jinny can go out for a drive every day. come out and look at it, mother, please." proudly escorting his mother to the stable, tad exhibited the vehicle that he had spent many nights putting together. it was truly a creditable piece of work, and mrs. butler made her son happy by telling him so. tad's business venture had proved more profitable than even he had dreamed, and the owners of cars breaking down on the rough road made frequent use of the invitation extended on the sign. soon, however, there were so many calls during the day, when the young man was at school, that he was considering the advisability of taking in a partner who would attend to the towing when he was not available. the only reason tad hesitated was because he feared his assistant would not be considerate of jinny. yet this, he told himself, should not deter him from making the move the moment he found the right sort of a boy to go in with him. during the past week there had been frequent conferences between mrs. butler and banker perkins, and on several occasions tad's mother had called at the hank in person. of all this the young man knew nothing. but one afternoon something did occur to stir him more profoundly than he ever had been stirred before. ned rector had called a meeting of the pony rider boys, and the word was passed that important business was coining up for discussion. tad said he could not spare the time from his business down the road. "i wish you would take the afternoon off," advised his mother. "you have been working hard of late, and i imagine the boys will have something to discuss that will be of great interest to you," added mrs. butler with a knowing smile. "w-e-l-l," answered tad. "if you think i ought to, of course i will. what are you going to do?" "i am going out to take tea with mrs. secor. i will leave your supper in the oven and you can help yourself. besides, it will do jinny fully as much good as it will you to have a rest. have you seen mr. perkins to-day?" "no. why?" "he said something about wanting you to drop in soon, when i saw him downtown this morning," answered mrs. butler softly. "now, run along and attend your important meeting, my boy." "all right," answered tad cheerily, after a second's hesitation. he ran lightly from the house, whistling a merry tune as he went. arriving at the headquarters of the club, he found all the members there awaiting him. "hello! how's the skate!" they cried in chorus. "howdy, fellows," greeted the freckle-faced lad with a pleased smile. "jinny goes when the automobile doesn't. give me a horse every time. how's the new pony, chunky? been too busy to drop in to look him over." "i fell off yesterday," replied stacy brown with a sheepish grin. "that's no news," jeered ned rector. "i guess we'll have to get a net for chunky to perform over. however, fellows, as the notice stated, we have some very, very important matters to talk over to-day. president brown will please take his chair and call the meeting to order. that is, if he is able to sit down. if not, i think there will be no objection to his standing up," announced ned, amid a general laugh. the president rapped sharply on the floor with his foot, and the members of the club settled down to the keenest attention. anticipation was reflected on each smiling face. tad instinctively felt that there was something behind all of this that he knew nothing about. but he bided his time. "what is the pleasure of the meeting?" asked the president. "i move," said ned rector, "that our friend and fellow member, walter perkins, now take the floor and outline the plans which i understand he has in mind. i think none of us know what they are, beyoud the fact that some sort of a trip has been planned for us. we are all ears, mr. perkins." walter rose with great deliberation, a smile playing over his thin, pale features, as he looked quietly from one to the other of his young friends. "fellow members," he began. "hear, hear!" muttered ned. stacy brown dug his heel into the floor for order. "as brother rector already has said, we are soon to take a trip. the matter has all been arranged. in the first place, our doctor says that i must spend the summer in the open air--that i must rough it, you understand. the rougher the life, the better it will be for me. he didn't say so to me, but i overheard him telling father that i was liable to have consumption, if i did not----" "you don't mean it?" interrupted ned with serious face. "yes. that's what he said. so they have planned a trip for me and all of you boys are to go along." "hooray!" shouted chunky. ned fixed him with a stern eye. "a president never should forget his dignity," he warned. "mr. perkins will now proceed." "we all now have our ponies, except tad butler, and when we get ready to start we shall have nothing to do but go. professor zepplin is to accompany us. father has bought him a big new cob horse. the professor was once an officer in the german army, and he knows how to ride--that is, the way they ride over there. he reminds me of a statue on horseback, when he's up. anyhow, he will go along to see that we are taken care of." "when do we go?" asked the president. "as soon after your school closes as is possible." "i am afraid our fathers and uncles will have something to say about that," said chunky with a wry face. "uncle never would let me go off like that. it's all very well for you, but with the rest of us it's different." walter smiled knowingly. "that has all been taken care of, fellows. tour fathers, as well as mine, know all about it." "you don't mean it?" marveled ned. "yes." "is tad butler going on that old skate of his?" bristled chunky. "i can't say as to that," answered walter. "well, if he does, it's me for home. why, we never would get beyoud the water works station, he would be so slow. does my uncle know about tad's old mare?" "never mind about the mare," growled ned rector. "we have other and more important matters to attend to just now." "yes, and we shall have to settle among ourselves what we are to take along, though father said he had a man who would look out for all that. we are going to rough it, you understand, so we shall have to leave behind all our fine clothes. and sometimes we may go without meals, even. but we all will sleep out-of-doors, most likely, every night after we get started. in the meantime, i would suggest that we practice riding--that is, form ourselves into a sort of company with a regular captain. i move that tad butler be made captain, and he can drill us." "you don't need to make that motion," announced ned, springing to his feet, full of excitement. "he will be our captain without being elected. he already is master of horse. it's now up to tad to get busy and drill us. we will begin to-morrow afternoon." tad, who had taken no part in the conversation, now shook his head slowly, which caused the others to shout in chorus: "you won't!" "of course i will drill you, if you boys wish it. but, you know i can't go with you. therefore, you had tetter make some one of you three fellows the captain." "why can't you go?" demanded ned rector. "of course you are going." "in the first place, i am too busy," answered tad with a wan smile. "then there are other reasons. i can't afford it. i must stay at home and earn money this summer. then, again, i have no pony." "oh pshaw!" growled ned. "that's too bad. i would rather stay at home myself." tad flashed an appreciative glance at him. "thank you. but i would rather you went, ned. i'll drill you willingly if you boys want me to." "that's right," approved walter. "perhaps something may turn up in the meantime, so you can go with us. it really will spoil our trip if you don't go along." "nothing will turn up. nothing can turn up. i tell you, i must stay at home with my mother. but i don't even know where you are going. i can drill you to better purpose if i know what sort of riding you expect to do." "yes! where are we going?" demanded chunky, with quickened interest. "that's so. i hadn't thought of that. where did your father say we were to ride to? we must be going quite a distance away, judging by all the preparations," besought ned rector. "and, by the way, are you sure you are right about this business, walt?" "there is no doubt," smiled walter perkins good-naturedly. "that is what this meeting was called for--to tell you about it. it was left to me to announce it to you boys, because it is my party, if you want to call it that. and you want to know where you are going?" "yes, of course we do," they shouted. "boys, we are going to the rocky mountains! we are going over the roughest and wildest part of them. perhaps we shall go where no white man's foot ever has trod. we shall be explorers. what do you think of it?" for a full moment no one spoke. each was too full of the wonderful news to do more than gape at the speaker. only the sound of their labored breathings broke the stillness. "will--will there be bears and things there?" asked stacy, hesitatingly. "i presume so," smiled walter. "ugh! and snakes?" "maybe." "rattlers. i've read about them out there," added ned. "i--i guess i'll stay home," stammered the president. "don't be a baby," jeered ned. "i rather think you'll be able to stand it if the rest of us can. and, besides, walt's professor will be along. he'll fix the animals and reptiles with, his cold, scientific eye till they'll be glad to run away and leave us to ourselves." "you boys are to come over to my house tomorrow night, when father is going to tell you more about it. he has not told me everything yet. but he directed me to give you the main points of the plan, which i have done." "i propose three cheers for walter perkins and his father," cried ned, springing to his feet. the boys joined in the cheers with a will, tad no less loudly than the rest, though there was no joy in his face now. the boy's disappointment was keen, yet he determined that his friends should not see it. and, as quickly as he could do so, tad slipped away and went home to fight out his boyish sorrow all alone. tad's mother found him out in the barn half an hour later, vigorously grooming the old mare. mrs. butler smiled to herself as she observed that he studiously managed to keep the mare between himself and her as he worked. "do you want to sell jinny?" she asked after a little. "what?" tad was all attention now. "i said, do you want to sell your horse?" "no. that is, i might if i got enough for her. but i can't say that i am anxious to. why, i am making plenty of money with her," answered tad coining out from behind the mare. "what made you ask that question, mother?" "i didn't know but you might be willing to part with her. and then, with the money you might be able to purchase a better one--a horse that you would be able to earn more money with." tad studied his mother's face a moment inquiringly. "not with any money that i could get for jinny." "how much do you think you could get for her?" "not more than ten dollars. i doubt if any one would be willing to pay that, even. who wants to buy her?" "yes; mr. secor, the butcher, spoke to me about it while i was at his house this afternoon. his delivery horse broke a leg yesterday and they had to shoot the animal to-day." "too bad," muttered tad. "he thought jinny was just the horse he wanted, because she is so gentle and will stand without hitching. it takes too much time to hitch a delivery horse at every stop, you know!" tad nodded his understanding. "did you tell him what ailed jinny?" asked tad. "yes, as well as i could. but he said he knew all about her, and was willing to take all chances. mr. secor said he believed jinny was good for ten years yet, with the kind of work he would require of her." "make an offer?" asked tad, with an eye to business. "yes." "how much?" "twenty-five dollars." "w-h-e-w! he must be crazy. all right, he can have her so far as i am concerned. i'll go over to see him this evening." that night tad butler came home with twenty-five dollars in his pocket, which, added to what he already had earned, made the tidy sum of forty dollars--a little fortune for him. he dropped the handful of bills into his mother's lap, and, going out to the porch, sat down with his head in his hands, to think. mrs. butler followed him after a few moments. "do you think you would like to go with the boys on their jaunt this summer?" she asked, innocently enough, it seemed. "yes, but i can't." "why not, my boy?" "first place, i've got no pony." "don't be too sure about that." "what do you mean, mother!" "run out to the stable and see," smiled mrs. butler. wonderingly, tad did as she had directed. and there in a stall stood a sleek indian texas pony, quite the finest little animal he had ever seen. "wh--whe--where did he come from!" gasped the astonished boy. "you earned him, tad, and the money you brought home this evening will complete the purchase price. you shall accompany the pony riders on their trip to the rockies----" "but----" "mr. perkins has arranged to have you go with walter to look after him. you will be his companion, and for this service mr. perkins agrees to pay you the sum of five dollars a week and all expenses. understand, you are not going as a servant--he wished that made very clear--but as the young man's companion. you can easily get someone to do your work at the store for another month, when your agreement will be worked out." "yes--but--but you, mother?" "i am invited to spend the summer with aunt jane, so you need have no concern whatever about me." tad's eyes grew large as the full significance of it all was home in upon him. "mother, you're a brick," he cried, impulsively throwing his arms about mrs. butler. but tad had no thought of the thrilling experiences through which he was destined to pass during the coming eventful journey. chapter v in a desperate conflict a sudden bright flash lighted up the camp, throwing the little white tents into hold relief against the sombre background of the mountains. it was followed after an interval by a low rumble of distant thunder that buffeted itself from peak to peak of the rockies. the pony riders stirred restlessly on their cots and tucked the blankets up under their chins. close upon the first report followed another and louder one, that sent a distinct tremor through the mountain. "what's that?" whispered stacy brown, reaching from his cot and grasping tad butler by the shoulder. "a mountain storm coming up," answered the boy, who for some time had lain wide awake listening to the ever increasing roar. "go to sleep." yet, instead of following his own advice, tad lay with wide-open eyes awaiting the moment when the storm should descend upon their camp in full force. he had not long to wait. with a crash and a roar, as if the batteries of an army had been suddenly let loose upon them, the elements opened their bombardment directly over the camp. "ugh!" exclaimed chunky in a muffled voice, as he crawled further down under the blanket to shut out the glare of the lightning. for a few moments the boys lay thus. then tad, rising, slipped to the opening of the tent and looked out wonderingly upon the impressive scene. each flash appeared to light up the mountains for miles around, their crests lying dark and forbidding, piled tier upon tier, the blue, menacing flashes hovering about them momentarily, then fading away in the impenetrable darkness. the camp appeared to be wrapped in sleep, and, by the bright flashes, tad observed that the burros of the pack train were stretched out sound asleep, while, off in the bushes, he could hear the restless moving about of the ponies, their slumbers already disturbed by the coming of the storm. the pony riders had been out three days from pueblo, to which point they had journeyed by train, the stock having been shipped there in a stable car attached to the same train. in the city of pueblo they found that all preparations for the journey had been made by lige thomas, the mountain guide whom mr. perkins had engaged to accompany them. besides the four ponies of the boys there were the professor's cob, thomas's pony and a pack train consisting of six burros, the latter in charge of jose, a half-breed mexican, who was to cook for the party during their stay in the mountains. it was a brave and joyous band that had set out from the colorado city in khaki trousers, blue shirts and broad-brimmed sombreros for an outing over the wildest of the rocky mountain ranges. by this time the boys had learned to pitch and strike camp in the briefest possible time--in short, to take very good care of themselves under most of the varying conditions which such a life as they were leading entailed. they had made camp this night on a rooky promontory, under clear skies and with bright promise for the morrow. tad gave a quick start as a flash of lightning disclosed something moving on the far side of the camp. "what's that!" he breathed. with quick intuition, the boy stepped back behind the flap of the tent, and, peering out, waited for the next flash with eyes fixed upon the spot where he thought he had observed something that did not belong there. "humph! i must be imagining things tonight," he muttered, when, after three or four illuminations, he had discovered nothing further. tad was about to return to his cot when his attention was once more attracted to the spot. and what he saw this time thrilled him through and through. a man was cautiously leading two of the ponies from camp, just back of professor zepplin's tent. the boy paused with one hand raised above his head, prepared to pull the tent flap quickly back in place in case the stranger chanced to glance that way, all the while gazing at the man with unbelieving eyes. was he dreaming? tad wondered, pinching himself to make sure that he really was awake. once more, impenetrable darkness settled over the scene, and, when the next flash came the camp had resumed its former appearance. tad butler hesitated only for the briefest instant. "ahoy, the camp!" he shouted at the top of his voice, springing out into the open. "wake up! wake up!" as if to accentuate his alarm, a twisting gust of wind swooped down upon the white village. accompanied by the sound of breaking ropes and ripping canvas, the tent that had covered professor zepplin was wrenched loose. it shot up into the air, disappearing over a cliff. now the lightning flashes were incessant, and the thunder had become one continuous, deafening roar. stoical as he was, the professor, thus rudely awakened, uttered a yell and leaped from his cot, while the boys of the party came tumbling from their blankets, rubbing their eyes and demanding in confused shouts to know what the row was about. but lige, experienced mountaineer that he was, instinctively divined the cause of the uproar, when, emerging from his tent, he saw tad darting at top speed across the camp ground. "the ponies! the ponies!" shouted the boy, as he disappeared in the bushes, regardless of the fact that he was clad only in his pajamas, and that the sharp rocks were cutting into his bare feet like keen-edged blades. "what about the ponies?" roared ned rector, quickly collecting his wits and following in the wake of the fleeing tad. "stolen! two of them gone!" was the startling announcement thrown back to them by the freckle-faced boy. by this time the entire camp, with the exception of professor zepplin and stacy brown, had set out on a swift run, following on the trail of tad. ahead of him, the boy could hear the ponies' hoofs on the rocks, and now and then a distant crash told him they were working up into the dense second growth that he had seen in his brief tour of inspection earlier in the evening. he realized from the sound that he was slowly gaining on the missing animals. tad's blood was up. his firm jaw assumed the set look that it had shown when he won the championship wrestling match at the high school. the shouts of the others at his rear, warning him of the danger and calling upon him to return, fell upon unheeding ears. so intent was the boy upon the accomplishment of his purpose that he gave no heed to the fact that the sounds ahead had ceased, and that only the soft patter of his own feet on the rocks broke the stillness between the loud claps of thunder. yet, even if tad had sensed this, its meaning doubtless would have been lost upon him, unused as he was to the methods of mountaineers. so the boy ran blindly on in brave pursuit of the man who had stolen their mounts while the pony riders slept. suddenly, without the slightest warning, tad felt himself encircled by a pair of powerful arms, and, at the same time, he was lifted clear of the ground. but even then the lad's presence of mind did not desert him, though the vise-like pressure about his body made him gasp. all his faculties were instantly on the alert. but he realized now that his only hope lay in attracting the attention of the others of his party, who could be only a short distance away, for he could still hear their shouts. "help!" tad's shrill voice punctuated a momentary lull in the storm. "coming!" answered the voice of the guide, its strident tones carrying clearly to tad, filling him with a feeling as near akin to joy as was possible under the circumstances. with a snarl of rage the boy's captor suddenly released his hold around the waist and grasped tad quickly by the knees. so skilfully had the move been executed that tad butler found himself dangling, head down, before he really understood what had occurred. his head was whirling dizzily. he felt his body swaying from side to side, his head describing an arc of a circle, as he was rapidly being swung to and fro. "where are you, tad?" "here!" came the muffled voice of the boy, too low for the others to catch. tad knew that they would have to hurry if they were to save him, for as soon as the dizzy swinging of his body began he had understood the purpose of his captor. at any second the boy might find himself flying through space--perhaps over a precipice. it plainly was the intent of the man to hurl the boy far from him, as soon as tad's body should have attained sufficient momentum to carry it. however, before the fellow was able to put his desperate plan fully into execution, tad, with the resourcefulness of a born wrestler, suddenly formed a plan of his own. as his body swung by that of his captor, the boy threw out his hands, clasping them about the left leg of the other and instantly locking his fingers. it seemed as if the jolt would wrench his arms from their sockets. yet tad held on desperately. and the result, though wholly unexpected by the mountaineer, was not entirely so to tad. he had figured--had hoped--that a certain thing might occur. and it did. the man's left leg was jerked free of the ground, and before he was able to catch his balance the fellow fell heavily on his side. tad, with keen satisfaction, heard him utter a grunt as he struck. but before the boy could release himself he was grabbed and pulled up over his adversary by the latter's left hand, his right still being pinioned under his own body. yet the mountaineer's move had not been entirely without results favorable to his captive. "i'll kill you for this!" snarled the man, fuming with rage. tad, groping for a wrestler's hold, felt his hand close over the hilt of a knife in the man's belt. and, as the boy was hauled upward, the blade came away from its sheath, clasped in tad's firm grip. but not even with this deadly weapon in hand did tad butler for a second forget himself. he flung the knife as far from him as his partly pinioned arms would permit, and, with keen satisfaction, heard it clatter on the rocks several feet away. "you'll do it without that cowardly weapon, then!" gasped the boy. though thoroughly at home in a wrestling game, tad knew that he would be no match for the superior strength of his antagonist. so, resorting to every wrestling trick that he knew, he sought to prevent the fellow from getting the right arm free. however, the most the lad could hope to accomplish would be to delay the dreaded climax for a minute or more. with an angry, menacing growl, the mountaineer threw himself on his hack, hoping thereby to free the pinioned arm. "now, i've got you, you young cub!" instantly, both of tad's knees were drawn up and forced down with all his strength on his adversary's stomach. from the growl of rage that followed, tad had the satisfaction of knowing that his tactics had not been without effect. "you--you only think you have," retorted the boy, breathing heavily under the terrible strain. the mountaineer might now have hurled the boy from him. to do this, however, would have been giving tad an opportunity to escape, of which he would have been quick to take advantage; and so, gulping quick, short breaths, and struggling with his slightly built adversary, tad's captor finally managed to throw the lad over on his back. so heavily did tad strike that, for the moment, the breath was fairly knocked from his body. recovering himself with an effort, he raised a piercing call for help. all grew black about him. he no longer saw the brilliant flashes of lightning that at intervals lighted up the scene, nor heard the voices of his companions frantically calling upon him to come back. the mountaineer's sinewy fingers had closed in an iron-grip over tad butler's throat. chapter vi the capture op the horse thief "there they are!" cried ned rector, a flash of lightning having disclosed the man kneeling over tad butler. "he's got tad down!" but lige thomas did not even hear the warning words. he, too, during the momentary illumination, had caught the significance of the scene. with a mighty leap he hurled himself upon the body of the crouching mountaineer, both going down in a confused heap, with the unfortunate tad underneath. ned rector was only a few seconds behind the guide. while the two men were straggling in fierce embrace, he sprang to them, and, grabbing tad by the heels, drew him from beneath the bodies of the desperate combatants. but ned's heart sank when he saw lige drop over backward, with the mountaineer on top. with a courage born of the excitement of the moment, ned clasped both hands under the fellow's chin, jerking his head violently backwards. so sudden was the jolt that the lad distinctly heard the man's neck snap, and, for the moment, believed he had broken it entirely. however, the mountaineer's tough coating of muscle made such a result impossible. yet he had sustained a jolt so severe that, for the time being, he found himself absolutely helpless, and wholly at the mercy of his antagonists. lige leaped upon the thief with the lightness of a cat, quickly completing the job which ned rector had begun. in a moment more the guide had thrown several strands of tough rawhide lariat about the body of the dazed mountaineer, binding the fellow's arms tightly to his side. "i guess that will hold him for a while," laughed ned. then, bethinking himself of tad, whom in the excitement of conflict he had entirely forgotten, rector dropped down beside his comrade. "tad! tad! are you all right?" tad made no response. he told ned afterwards that he had heard him distinctly, though to save his life he could not have answered. ned pulled him up into a sitting posture, and shook the boy until his teeth chattered. tad gulped and began to choke, his breath beginning to come irregularly. "how's the boy?" demanded the guide, rising after having completed his task of binding the captive. "he'll be all right in a minute. is there any water about here!" "no; not nearer than the camp. wait a minute; i'll bring him around without it," announced lige. in this case, however, tad felt that the remedy was considerably worse than the disease itself. lige brought his brawny hand down with a resounding whack, squarely between tad's shoulders, which operation he repeated several times with increasing force. "on--ouch!" yelled tad, suddenly finding his voice under the guide's heroic treatment. "wh--where am i?" "you're in the woods. that's about all i know about it," laughed ned, assisting his companion to his feet, and supporting him, for tad was still a bit unsteady from his late desperate encounter. "you're lucky to be alive." "what--what has happened!" "that," answered ned, pointing to lige as the latter roughly jerked the captive mountaineer to an upright position. "find the ponies!" commanded the guide sharply. "i hear them in the bushes there. will they come if you whistle!" "depends upon which ones they are. mine will." but, though ned whistled vigorously, neither of the animals appeared to heed the signal. "jimmie isn't there. i'll go get them." and ned ran off into the bushes, where they could hear him coaxing the little animals to him. in a few moments he returned leading them by their bridle reins. "whose ponies are they?" asked tad, leaning against a tree for support. "texas and jo-jo. the fellow picked a couple of good ones. but then, all the ponies are worth having," added ned, realizing that he was placing the others ahead of his own little animal. "what do you propose to do with that fellow over there, guide?" "depends upon you young gentlemen. just now i am going to tie him on one of the ponies and take him back to camp. i suppose you know what they do with hoss thieves in this country, don't you?" asked thomas. "never having been a horse thief, and never having caught one, i can't say that i do," confessed master ned. "what do they do with them?" "depends upon whether there are any large trees about," answered lige significantly. "we must be getting back now. master tad, you get on your pony, and i will lead jo-jo behind with the thief." the mountaineer had been securely tied to the back of walter perkins's mount, and the procession now quickly got under way, tad riding ahead, ned rector bringing up the rear, that he might keep a wary eye on their prisoner on their way back to camp. ned was armed with a club, a stout limb of oak, which he had picked up before the start, and which he covertly hoped he might have an opportunity to use before reaching camp. however, no such chance was given him, and, after picking their way cautiously over the rocky way, for trail there was none, they at last reached their temporary home. ned gave a war whoop as a signal to the camp that they were coming, which was answered with a slightly lesser degree of enthusiasm by stacy brown. the storm had died down to a distant roar and the camp was in darkness. "get a fire going as quickly as possible," directed the guide. ned quickly procured dry fuel, and in a few moments had a crackling fire burning. professor zepplin and stacy brown now came forward into the circle of light. after the sudden departure of his tent the professor had taken refuge in one of the other tents, where he had remained, not knowing exactly what had happened. in the excitement of losing his own little home he did know that all the boys, save stacy, had rushed out of camp, shouting about the theft of the ponies. chunky averred that all the stock had run away. still there seemed nothing left for the two to do except remain where they were until the return of the others of the party. they would have been sure to lose themselves had they ventured away from camp in the darkness. both paused suddenly when they observed the figure of a man tied to the back of jo-jo. "what's this? what's this?" demanded the professor in puzzled accents. "a man tied to a horse? what is the meaning of this, sir?" lige thomas smiled grimly. "that's our prisoner," declared tad, who, sitting upon his horse in his bedraggled, torn pajamas, presented a most ludicrous figure. "you certainly are a sight, sir," declared professor zepplin, surveying the boy with disapproving eyes. "what is the meaning of all this disturbance? first, my tent goes up into the air; then you all disappear, though where i am not advised. and now, you return with a man tied to a pony." "the man's a thief--" began ned. "it was this way, professor," tad informed him. "i saw some one walking away with jo-jo and texas. i ran after and caught up with the fellow. then the others came and we nabbed him. that's all." "yes, sir; if it hadn't been for master tad's quickness we might have lost both the ponies," added the guide. "he caught the fellow and handled him as well as a man could have done until we got there. when you get your full strength, you'll be a whirlwind, young man," glowed lige. blushing, tad slipped from his pony. "the man is a thief, you say, thomas?" "yes, sir." "well, well; i am surprised. i should like to take a look at him." thomas dumped the prisoner on the ground in the full glare of the torches, still leaving his arms bound, and taking the further precaution of securing the fellow's feet. "who are you, my man!" demanded the professor sternly, peering down into the prisoner's dark, sullen face. there was no response. "humph! can't he talk, thomas?" "i reckon he can, but he won't," grinned lige. "there ain't no use in asking him questions. he knows we've caught him in the act, and he knows, too, what the penalty is." "the penalty--the penalty? you refer to imprisonment, of course?" "no; that ain't what i mean." "then, to what penalty do you refer?" inquired the professor. "we usually hang a hoss thief in this country," replied the guide, grimly. "but, of course, it's for you and the boys to say what shall be done." "hang him? hang him? certainly not! how can you suggest such a thing? we will turn him over to the officers of the law, and let them dispose of him in the regular way," declared the professor with emphasis. "that's all right, but where are we going to find any officers?" asked tad. "they don't seem to be numerous about here." "the young gentleman has hit the bull's-eye, sir. it's sixty miles, and more, to a jail. you don't want to go back, do you?" "certainly not." "that's how we men of the mountains come to take the law into our own hands, sometimes. we have to be officers and jails, all in one," hinted the guide significantly. "then, there remains only one thing for us to do, regrettable as it may seem," decided the professor after a moment's thought. "yes, sir?" "let the fellow go, but with the admonition not to offend again." lige laughed. "heap he'll care about that," he retorted, his, face growing glum. however, at the professor's direction, the prisoner was liberated. no sooner was this done than the fellow leaped to his feet and started to run. "catch him!" roared lige. tad promptly stuck out a foot. the mountaineer tripped over it, measuring his length on the ground. lige jerked the fellow to his feet and stood him against a tree, the thief becoming suddenly meek when he found himself looking along the barrel of a large six-shooter. "i reckon you can run now, if you want to," grinned the guide suggestively. "admonish him," urged the professor. "now, you see here, fellow," said lige in a menacing tone, "you've struck a rich find tonight. next time, i reckon you won't get off so easy. i've got you marked. i'll find out what your brand is, then i'll tell the sheriff to be on the lookout for you. now, you hit the trail as fast as your legs'll carry you. if i catch you up to any more tricks--well, you know the answer. now, git!" and the late prisoner did. one bound carried him almost out of camp. the boys shouted derisively as they heard him floundering through the bushes as he hastily made his escape. "where is walt? did he go hack to bed?" asked tad, after the excitement had subsided. "to bed? no; he followed you," replied stacy brown. "followed us? you are mistaken. did you see anything of walter perkins, mr. thomas?" the guide shook his head. "did not go with you? i think you must be in error," spoke up the professor, with quick concern. "he certainly was not with us," insisted ned. "i did not even see him leave his tent." "why, he must have gone. with my own eyes i saw him running after you," urged professor zepplin in a tone of great anxiety. "guide, get torches at once. the boy surely is lost." alarmed, the boys needed no further incentive to spur them to instant action. grasping fagots from the fire, they lined up, standing with anxious faces, awaiting the direction of lige thomas, to whom they instinctively looked to command the searching party. "wait a minute," commanded lige in a calm voice. "which way did you see him go, professor?" "let me reflect. i am not sure--yes, i am. i distinctly remember having seen him run obliquely to the left there. it was just after i had lost my tent----" "over that way?" asked lige, pointing. "yes, that was the direction. i am positive of it now. but, if he went that way, he didn't follow you?" added the professor hesitatingly. "do you know what lies there, less than ten rods away?" asked the guide, gravely. "i don't understand you." "there's a cliff there that drops down a clear hundred feet," answered lige, impressively. a heavy silence fell over the little group. chapter vii over the cliff professor zepplin's face worked convulsively as he sought to control his emotions. "you--you can't mean it, sir. you cannot mean that walter has come to any real harm? i----" "i don't know. i'm only telling you what to expect." "then do something! do something! for the love of manhood, do--" exploded the professor, striding to the guide. but lige, having turned his back on the german tutor, was giving some brief directions to the boys, who were now fully dressed. they assented by vigorous nods, then promptly fell in behind him and held their torches close to the ground as if in search of something. reaching the bushes at the point where the professor thought he had seen walter perkins disappear, they halted, the guide making a careful examination while the boys waited in silent expectancy. lige nodded reflectively. "yes; he went this way. you boys spread out, and if any of you observe even a broken twig that i have missed, let me know. the trail seems plain enough here." and, the further he proceeded, the more convinced was lige thomas that his fears were soon to be fully realized. suddenly he paused, dropping onto his knees, in which position he cautiously crawled forward a few paces. "huh!" grunted the guide. the boys, realizing that he had made some sort of a discovery, started forward with one accord. "stop!" commanded their guide sternly. "don't you know you are standing on the very edge of the jumping-off place? get down and crawl up by me here, master ned. but, be very careful. leave your torch." ned quickly obeyed the instructions of the guide, lying down flat on his stomach, and wriggling along in that way as best he could. lige took a firm hold of his belt. "i can't see anything," breathed the boy. at first his eyes were unable to pierce the blackness. but after a little, as they became more accustomed to it, he began to comprehend. below him yawned a black, forbidding chasm. ned shivered. "walt didn't--didn't----" lige inclined his head. "are you going to keep me in this suspense all night?" demanded the professor irritably. "what have you discovered?" the guide, before replying, assisted ned back to his feet, leading him to a safe distance beyoud the dangerous precipice. "there's no doubt of it at all, professor. he has left a trail as plain as a cougar's in winter. he must have stepped off the edge at the exact point where you saw me lying." "then--then you think--you believe----" "that he has been dashed to his death on the rocks a hundred feet below," added lige solemnly. "nothing short of a miracle could have saved him, and miracles ain't common in the rockies." the boys gazed into each other's eyes, then turned away. none dared trust his voice to speak. it was some moments before the professor had succeeded in exercising enough self-control to use his own. "wh--what can we do?" he asked hoarsely. "nothing, except go down and pick him up----" "but how?" "by going back a mile we shall hit a trail that will lead us down into the gulch. but we'll have to leave the ponies and go down on foot. not being experienced, i'm afraid to trust them. only the most sure-footed ponies could pick their way where one misstep would send them to the bottom." returning to camp, and piling the fire high with fresh wood, the boys secured the ponies, and, led by lige, struck off over the hack trail. it was a silent group of sad-faced boys that followed the mountain guide, and not a syllable was spoken, save now and then a word of direction from lige, uttered in a low voice. after somewhat more than half an hour's rough groping over rocks, through tangled underbrush and miniature gorges, lige called a halt while he took careful account of their surroundings. his eye for a trail was unerring, and he was able to read at a glance the lesson it taught. "here is where we turn off," he announced. "follow me in single file. but everybody keep close to the rocks at your right hand, and don't try to look down. i'm going to light a torch now." the guide had had the forethought to bring a bundle of dry sticks, some of which he now proceeded to light, and, holding the torch high above his head, that the light might not flare directly in their eyes, he began the descent, followed cautiously by the others of the party. yet, so filled were the minds of the boys with their new sorrow that they gave little heed to the perils that lay about them. at last they came to the end of the long, dangerous descent, and, turning sharply to the right, picked their way through the cottonwood forest to the northwest. not a word had the professor spoken since they left the camp, until observing a faint light in the sky some distance beyoud them, he asked the guide what it was. "that's the light from our camp fire. we are getting near the place," he answered shortly. professor zepplin groaned. now, realizing the necessity for more light, lige procured an armful of dry, dead limbs, all of which he bound into torches, and, lighting them, passed them to the others. with the aid of these the rocks all about them were thrown up into hold relief. the boys were spread out in open order and directed to keep their eyes on the ground, remaining fully a dozen paces behind their leader, who of course, was the guide himself. peering here and there, starting at every flickering shadow, their nerves keyed to a high pitch, they began the sad task of searching for the body of their young companion. finally they reached the point which lige knew to be almost directly beneath the spot where walter was supposed to have stepped off into space. "remain where you are, please," ordered the guide. continuing in the direction which he had been following for several rods, lige turned and made a sweeping detour, fanning the ground with his torch, as he picked his way carefully along. "wh--wha--what do you find?" breathed the professor as lige turned and came back to them. "nothing." "nothing? what does that mean?" "that the boy's not here. that's all." "not--here!" marveled the three lads, and even that was a distinct relief to them. if walter had not been dashed to death on the rocks at the bottom of the gulch, then there still was hope that he might be alive. however, this faint hope was shattered by lige thomas's next remark. "the body may have caught on a root somewhere up the mountain side," he added. "i am afraid we shall have to go back and wait for daylight. but we'll see what can be done. i don't want to give it up until i am sure." "sure of what?" asked the professor. "that the boy is dead. look!" exclaimed the guide, fairly diving to the ground, and rising with a round stone in his hand. he held it up almost triumphantly for their inspection. but his find failed to make any noticeable impression upon either the boys or professor zepplin. they knew that in some mysterious way it must be connected with the loss of their companion, though just how they were at a loss to understand. "i don't catch your idea, lige," stammered the professor. "i understand that you have picked up a stone. what has that to do with walter?" "why, don't you see? he must have dislodged it when he fell off the mountain." "no; i do not see why you say that." "and up there, if you will look sharply, you will observe the path it followed coming down," continued lige, elevating the torch that they might judge for themselves of the correctness of his assertion. but, keen-eyed as were most of the party, they were unable to find the tell-tale marks which were so plain to the mountaineer. "what do you think we had better do, sir?" asked tad butler anxiously. "go back to camp. i should like to leave someone here--but----" "i'll stay, if you wish," offered tad promptly. "no, i couldn't think of it. it's too risky, there is no need of our getting into more trouble. if you knew the mountains better it might be different. if i left you here you might get into more difficulties, even, than your friend has. no; we'll go back together. it is doubtful if we could do anything for poor master walter now. no human being could go over that cliff and still be alive. a bob-cat might do it, but not a man or a boy," announced the guide, with a note of finality in his tone. sorrowfully the party turned and began to retrace their steps. but the necessity for caution not being so great on the return, most of the way being up a steep declivity, they moved along much faster than had been the case on their previous journey over the trail. the return to camp was accomplished without incident, and the boys slipped away to their tents that they might be alone with their thoughts. professor zepplin and the guide, however, sat down by the camp fire, where they talked in low tones. tad, upon reaching his tent, threw himself on his cot, burying his head in his arms. "i can't stand it! i simply can't!" he exclaimed after a little. "it's too awful!" the boy sprang up, and going outside, paced restlessly back and forth in front of the tent, with hands thrust deep into his trousers pockets, manfully struggling to keep hack the tears that persistently came into his eyes. a sudden thought occurred to him. with a quick, inquiring glance at the two figures by the fire, tad slipped quietly to the left, and nearing the scene of the accident, crept cautiously along on all fours. he flattened himself on the ground, face down, his head at the very spot where his companion had, supposedly, taken the fatal plunge. for several minutes the boy lay there, now and then his slight figure shaken by a sob that he was powerless to keep back. "i cannot have it--i don't believe it is true. i wish it had been i instead of walt," he muttered in the excess of his grief. "i----" tad cheeked himself sharply and raised his head. "i thought i heard something," he breathed. "i know i heard something." he listened intently and shivered. yet the only sounds that broke the stillness of the mountain night were the faint calls of the night birds and the distant cry of a roaming cougar. "h-e-l-p!" faint though the call was, it smote tad butler's ears like a blow. never had the sound of a human voice thrilled him as did that plaintive appeal from the black depths below. he hesitated, to make sure that it was not a delusion of his excited imagination. once more the call came. "help!" this time, however, it was uttered in the shrill, piercing voice of tad butler himself, and the men back there by the camp fire started to their feet in sudden alarm while ned rector and stacy brown came tumbling from their tents in terrified haste. "what is it! what is it?" they shouted. instead of answering them, lige thomas, with a mighty leap, cleared the circle of light and sprang for the bushes from which the sound had seemed to come. he was followed quickly by the others. both the guide and professor zepplin had recognized the voice, and each believed that tad butler had gone to share the fate of walter perkins. yet, when lige heard tad tearing through the underbrush toward him, he knew that this was not the case. "what is it?" bellowed the guide in a strident voice. "it's walt! he's down there! quick! help!" chapter viii a daring rescue lige thrust the excited boy to one side. running to the edge of the cliff, he leaned over and listened intently. a moment more and he too caught the plaintive cry for help from below. it was the first time thus far on the journey that lige thomas had manifested the slightest sign of excitement. just now, however, there could be no doubt at all that he was intensely agitated. "keep back! keep back!" he shouted, as the boys and professor zepplin began crowding near the masked edge of the cliff. "you'll all be over if you don't have a care. we've got trouble enough on our hands without having the rest of you jump into it." "what is it?" demanded the professor breathlessly. "it's master walt," snapped the guide. "stand still. don't move an inch. i'm going back for a torch," he commanded, leaping by them on his way to the camp fire. "where--is--he?" stammered the professor, not observing that the guide had left them. "down there, sir," explained tad, pointing to the ledge of rock over which walter had fallen. "i know--i know--but----" "i heard him call. walt's alive! walt's alive! but i don't know how we are going to get him." the shout of joy that had framed itself on the lips of ned rector and stacy brown died out in an indistinct murmur. "is it possible! what are we going to do, thomas--how are we to rescue the boy?" lige thomas made no reply to the question as he ran past them, and, dropping down, leaned over the cliff, holding the torch he had brought far out ahead of him. "see anything?" asked tad tremulously, creeping to his side. "looks like a clump of bushes down there. but i ain't sure. can you make it out?" "no. all i can see is rocks and shadows. where is it that you think you see bushes?" "over there to the right, just near the edge of the light space made by the torch light," answered the guide. "yes," agreed tad, "that does look like bushes. i'll call to walter and tell him we are coming. hey, walter! where are you?" "h--e--r--e," was the faint response. "all right, old man. stick tight and don't get scared. we'll have you out of that in no time." "don't move around. lie perfectly still," warned the guide. "are you hurt?" to this question walter made some reply that was unintelligible to them. "now, what are we going to do, i'd like to know?" asked ned. "i don't know," answered lige, frowning thoughtfully. "it's a tough job. if i had a couple of mountaineers who knew their business, we'd stand a better chance of pulling him up." "why not get a rope and let it down to him," suggested tad. "yes, that's the only way we can do it. run over to the cook tent and tell jose to give you those rawhide lariats that he will find behind his bunk. hurry!" tad was off almost before the words were out of the mouth of the guide, and in the briefest possible time came racing back with the leather coils, which he tossed to lige before reaching him, that there might not be even a second's delay. the mountaineer quickly formed a loop in one end of the rope, making it large enough to permit of its slipping over the shoulders of a man. this he dropped over the brink, after splicing two lariats together, and directing ned rector to make the other end fast about the trunk of a tree by giving it a couple of hitches. "hello, down there! let me know when the rope reaches you. can you slip it over your shoulders and under your arms?" called the guide. there was no response. "i say, down there!" shouted lige. "that's funny," wondered tad. "h-e-l-l-o-o-o-o, walt!" but not a sound came up from the black depths in answer to the boy's hail. they gazed at each other in perplexity. "has--he---gone?" asked the professor weakly. "no. we should have heard him if he had," answered lige. "if i could see him i'd lasso him and haul him up. but i don't dare try it. then again, these roots on a wall of rock ain't any too strong usually. i don't dare try any experiments." "what do you think has happened to him?" asked tad in a troubled voice. "fainted, probably. he ain't very strong, you know. and that tumble's enough to knock the sense out of a full grown man. ain't no use to expect him to hook himself onto the line, even if he does wake up," decided the guide with emphasis, beginning to haul up the lariat, which he coiled neatly on the rock in front of him. "then what are we going to do? we've got to get walt up here, even if i have to jump over after him," said tad firmly. "right you are, young man. but talking won't do it. something else besides saying you're going to will be necessary." "what would you suggest!" "one of us must go down there," was the guide's startling announcement. "that's the only way we can reach him," explained lige, dangling the loop of the lariat in his hands as he looked from one to the other. "d--do--down in that dark place? oh!" exclaimed chunky. "in that case, you will have to go yourself, thomas," decided the professor sharply. "i could not think of allowing any of my charges to take so terrible a risk, and----" "let me go, mr. thomas," interrupted ned rector, stepping forward, with almost a challenge in his eyes. "no; i am the lighter of the two," urged tad. "i am the one to go after walt, if anyone has to. i'll go down, mr. thomas." "master tad is right," decided the guide, gazing at the two boys approvingly. "it will be better for him to go, if he will----" "and he most certainly will," interrupted tad, advancing a step. "i protest!" shouted the professor. "you yourself should go, lige. you are----" "i am needed right here, sir," replied the guide, shortly. "you'd have both of us at the bottom if i left it to you to take care of this end." "i'm ready, sir when you are," reminded tad. the guide, without further delay, and giving no heed to professor zepplin's nervous protests, slipped the noose over tad's shoulders, and, drawing it down and up under his arms, secured the knot so that the loop might not tighten under the weight of the boy's body. "now, be very careful. make no sudden moves. and, if you meet with anything unlooked for, let me know at once. you know, you will have to stay down there while we are drawing the boy up. but, before removing the rope from your own body, make sure that you are safe. if you find the support too weak to bear your weight, let me know. i'll send down another rope to which you can tie yourself until we get master walter to the top. be sure to fasten him securely to the loop before you give the signal to haul up," warned the guide. "here, put my gun in your pocket." "i understand." "are you ready?" "yes." tad tossed away his sombrero and sat down on a shelf of rock at the edge of the cliff, his feet dangling over. the lad's face was pale, the lines on it standing out in sharp ridges; but not by so much as the flicker of an eyelid did he betray the slightest nervousness. yet tad butler realized fully the perilous nature of his undertaking, and that the least mistake on his part or on the part of those above him might mean a sudden end to his earthly ambitions. lige shortened the hitch about the tree, until the line drew taut. after winding the end tightly about his own arm, he handed a lighted torch to tad. it was a trying moment for all of them, and naturally more so for the boy who was about to descend into the unknown depths of the mountain canyou. "right!" announced the guide in a reassuring voice. tad made no reply, but, turning so that he faced them, let himself carefully over the ledge, his right hand holding the torch, his left firmly gripping the ledge so that there might be no jolt on the line by a too sudden stepping-off. "good!" approved lige encouragingly, beginning to let the rawhide slip slowly around the trunk of the tree. as he did so, tad felt himself gradually sinking into the sombre depths. he tilted his head to look up. the movement sent his body swaying giddily from side to side. cautiously placing a hand against the rocks to steady himself, tad wisely concluded that hereafter it would not pay to be too curious. "hold a torch over the edge of the cliff, master ned," directed the guide. "better lie down so you, too, don't take a notion to fall off. keep your eyes shut till i tell you to open them." slowly, but steadily, the slender line was paid out, amid a tense silence on the part of the little group at the top of the canyou. after what seemed to them hours, a sharp call from the depths reached their ears. lige quickly made fast the line to a tree. "yes? got him?" he answered, leaning over the cliff. "i see him," called tad, his voice sounding hollow and unnatural to those above. "he's so far to the right of me that i can't reach him. will it be all right for me to swing myself?" "where is he?" "lodged in the branches of a pinyon tree, i think it is. but he doesn't answer me." "wait a minute," cautioned the mountaineer. lige searched until he found a limb some three inches in diameter, and this he placed under the rope so as to relieve the strain of the rock upon it, that there might be no danger of the leather being sawed in two by contact with the ledge. "all right. now try it." the creaking of the rawhide told them that tad butler was swaying from side to side, fifty feet below them, at the end of a slender line. lige, leaning over the brink, was able to follow the boy's movements by the aid of the thin arc of light made by the torch in tad's hand. at last, the thread of light contracted into a point, and the watching guide knew that the courageous boy had finally reached the pinyon tree. then followed a long period of suspense. but from the cautious movements of the light far below them, the guide understood that the lad was at work carrying out his part of the task of rescue to the best of his ability. "why doesn't he say something?" cried the professor, unable to restrain his impatience longer, his overwrought nerves almost at the breaking point. "keep still! don't bother him. the boy's doing the best he can. mebby you think he's having some sort of a picnic down there, eh?" glared lige. "a--l--l right!" tad's voice, now strong and clear, rose from the depths of the canyou. "shall we haul up?" asked lige, making a megaphone of his hands. "yes; haul away. tell them walt's all right. he can talk now," was the answer that carried with it such a note of gladness that ned and stacy were unable to resist a shout of joy. "lend a hand here," commanded lige, taking firm hold of the line, and stepping to the edge that he might command both ends of the operation. "are you all safe down there, tad?" "sure thing!" answered the boy. very slowly, restraining their inclination to haul the rope in with all speed only because the warning eyes of the guide were upon them, the two boys, assisted by professor zepplin, began hoisting walter perkins toward the top. in a few moments the sinewy hands of the guide gripped walter by an arm and dragged him safely to the table rock. walter had fully regained consciousness by this time, and a brief examination showed that he had sustained no serious injury, he having struck on the yielding branches of the pinyon, which broke his fall and saved his life. beyond sundry bruises, a black eye and a thin crimson line on the right cheek where a branch had raked it, walter perkins was practically unharmed after his perilous experience. but it was a trying moment for tad butler, down there alone in the branches of the pinyon tree, with fifty feet of nothingness beneath him and a sheer wall that extended an equal distance above him. nor was his sense of security increased when, in shifting his position, the torch fell from his grasp, the fagots scattering as they slipped down between the limbs of the tree and whirling in ever-diminishing circles until finally he heard them clatter on the rocks below. the boy could not repress a shudder. closing his eyes, he clung to the slender support with grim courage until a hail from above told him that the rawhide loop was rapidly squirming down toward him. this time lige had allowed for his mistaken reckoning when tad had first descended, and the boy grasped eagerly at the leather as he felt it gently slap against his cheek. a few moments more, and he, too, had been hauled safely to the top, amid the wild cheers of his companions and the congratulations of the guide and professor zepplin. chapter ix rifles and ponies after having been well rubbed down by the guide, and given a steaming cup of tea, walter was put to bed, protesting stubbornly that he was all right and that their attentions were unnecessary. but lige thomas was firm. "you'll be that lame, to-morrow, you can't reach a stirrup. i want you to be fit, for we have a long journey ahead of us." walter soon fell into a deep sleep, while tad and ned, too full of the events of the night to go to sleep at once, sat by the camp fire discussing the stirring scenes through which they had so recently passed, until the deep, rhythmic snores of stacy brown reminded them that they, too, should seek their pine bough cots if they intended to get any more rest that night. next morning the camp slept late in spite of itself--that is, all save lige thomas. he was up with the sun, busying himself with getting the outfit ready for a prompt start. at nine o'clock the guide routed them out, and the boys, after washing themselves in the cool, refreshing waters of a little mountain stream, announced themselves as ready to eat anything that might be placed before them. walter, still pale from his recent experience, but smiling happily, took his place with the rest and ate as heartily as they did of the crisp bacon that jose had prepared. "now that you young gentleman are all together, it's a good time to give you some advice," said lige. "guess i'm the one who needs it most," laughed walter. "he's had his already," chuckled chunky brown. "but yours is still coming to you," added ned maliciously. "you must keep in mind that these mountains are full of danger," continued the guide. "even an experienced mountaineer sometimes goes wrong, losing his life as the result. so, before any one of you takes a step, be sure that your foot is going to land on something solid. as we get up into the park range you will find the country rougher, and still more caution will be necessary. but you're going to be all right. you boys have the right sort of stuff in you. not many fellows of master tad's age would have had the courage to do what he did last night." tad butler flushed a rosy red, and devoted his attention to his bacon. "yes, he saved my life," breathed walter. "you all did your share too." "there's one thing i should like to do more than anything else," interrupted ned, changing the subject. "and that?" inquired the professor. "to shoot a bear." "wow!" exclaimed chunky. "and so should i," agreed tad, his blue eyes opening wide. "the biggest thing i ever shot was a woodchuck." "you will have a chance to do some hunting soon," replied the guide. "we shall be on the hunting grounds in a day or so, if we have good luck, and none of you falls off a mountain. then i am going to show you some real sport." "oh, that will be fine," chorused the boys. "i believe i should like to try my hand at it, too," added the professor. "do you know, young gentlemen, i have not been on a hunting trip since i hunted wild boar in the black forest with general von moltke! you may talk about the savagery of your native bear. but, for real brutality, i recommend the wild boar." "yes, but wait a minute," objected ned rector, his face sobering. "how are we going to hunt? we have no guns to hunt with. mr. thomas has the only rifle in the party." "that's so," agreed tad. "i hadn't thought of that. i should have brought my old rifle with me." the guide smiled good-naturedly and motioned to jose. "do you know where that long package marked 'hard tack' is, jose?" he asked. the cook said he did. "bring it to me," directed lige so low that the others did not catch his words. the package was placed on the ground at lige's side a moment later. "what is it?" asked chunky, stretching his neck so he could look over the table. "your curiosity will be the death of you some day if you don't correct the habit," warned ned. "if you'll use your eyes you will observe that the package contains hard tack, and----" however, something in the shape of the four wrapped objects taken from the bundle, and laid on the ground, did not exactly correspond with their idea of what hard tack looked like. the boys rose full of curiosity. "wha--what----" gasped ned. "it's--guns!" fairly shouted tad butler. sure enough, it was. undoing the other three packages, the guide laid before their astonished eyes four handsome thirty-eight calibre repeating rifles. the boys looked at each other questioningly. at first they could scarcely believe it to be true. "are--are they for us--for us to use?" stammered tad. "that's what they're for, young gentlemen," smiled the guide. "you surely didn't expect to go hunting without guns, did you? at the professor's suggestion i have been keeping them as a sort of surprise for you." "three cheers for lige thomas and professor zepplin," cried ned rector, in which the boys joined with a will, their shouts echoing back to them from the rocky peaks on the other side of the gulch. "rifles and ponies! we surely ought to be happy!" laughed tad, with flashing eyes. "any boy with those two things wouldn't change places with a king, would he, fellows?" "no!" answered the pony riders at the top of their voices. "not even for a whole monarchy!" lige was beset by a perfect clamor of questions as to when they were to have a chance to try the guns on real game. "one at a time--one at a time," begged the guide. "first i must find out how well you boys can shoot. has any of you ever handled a gun before?" "i have," spoke up tad promptly. "and i," added ned rector. "i've done a little shooting with my thirty-two calibre," said walter. "but i don't call myself much of a shot." "and how about you, master stacy?" smiled the guide. "i? why, i can shoot a bull's eye with a how and arrow. but somehow, when i try to fire a real gun, i can't help shutting my eyes before the thing goes off." "that's bad." "then i don't hit anything--that is, not the thing i want to hit," he added humorously, at which there was a loud laugh from the other boys. "won't do at all," decided the guide with a shake of the head. "you will have to learn to do better than that before we take you out." "yes, he'll have to before i go gunning with him," growled ned rector. "any man who shuts his eyes when he's getting ready to shoot, is no friend of mine, especially if i happen to be in the neighborhood." "yes," agreed lige. "we'll have to go out for a little practice--this morning if you wish. i guess we can spare the time. but we must not waste too much of it, as we have an eighteen mile journey ahead of us over a rough trail, and i want to reach bald mountain before night. to-morrow will be sunday, and we must have a nice camping place, as you will want to rest and get ready for the busy week ahead of us. at any rate, you boys can try out the guns this morning and get the sights regulated. jose bring me a box of those thirty-eights, will you?" wistful glances were cast at the pasteboard box, as the boys fondled the guns, worked the cartridge ejectors, examined the magazines and looked over the sights at imaginary game. "better fall to, now, and strike camp, so the pack train can go on ahead," advised the guide. "when we finish shooting you can strap your guns to the saddles, or carry them over your backs, as you prefer. you see they have a leather on them for the purpose." there were no doubts in the minds of the pony riders as to how they would carry the weapons. as they set about obeying the instructions of the guide, they pictured themselves riding over the mountains like a troop of cavalry, rifles hanging across their backs, following the trail of a band of real indians. the camp was struck in record time that morning, and the tents, neatly rolled, soon were strapped to the backs of the sleepy burros. jose attended to the packing of the commissary. "i think we are ready, mr. thomas," announced tad, their task having been completed. the boys shouldered their guns proudly. "oh, yes; there is something else that goes with it," advised lige, after glancing critically over the boys and their outfits. "i had almost forgotten it. fine general i'd make in war time!" the guide ran to the cook tent which jose was packing, returning in a moment with another of those mysterious packages. by now the pony riders were worked up to a high pitch of excitement and anticipation. "what have you got?" asked chunky, with his usual curiosity. "i'll show you if you'll wait a minute," whereupon the guide opened the package, holding the contents toward them. "what is it!" marveled chunky, eyeing the things gingerly. "i know! cartridge belts!" shouted ned rector. and cartridge belts they were--regulation canvas belts, each with a shining brass buckle, bearing a spread eagle on its face, the belts each having compartments for forty-five rounds of ammunition. once more the pony riders made the mountains ring with their shouts of joy in which not even the dignified german professor could resist joining. stacy brown in the meantime, had been greedily filling his belt with the cartridges, until finally there was room for no more. the other three boys, who had quickly strapped on their belts, were parading about with guns on their shoulders, walter perkins giving them their orders. "wow! but this thing is heavy," exclaimed chunky, the weight of his loaded belt tugging at his waist line. "here, here, master brown! you don't need all those shells. put all but ten of them back in the box," laughed the guide. "they're not good to eat, chunky," advised walter. "huh!" grunted ned rector. "anybody would think he was going into battle. why, a soldier doesn't carry any more bullets than that. and what's more, mr. chunky brown, if you intend to shoot off a belt full of those shells, it's me for a rocky cave where the bullets can't reach. eh, tad?" tad nodded and grinned. "i'm with you in that." "we all have precious lives to save," added ned. "we are all ready," announced the guide. "jose, you bear to the right after you leave camp and follow the blazed trail. we shall take the lower trail. push right along so as to have a meal ready for us when we get in. we'll be hungry by that time." "have we any lunch with us?" asked the professor. "yes, in the saddle bags." a few moments later the boys were waking the echoes with the crashing explosions of their weapons as they banged away at the targets. chapter x the loss of the pack train "feels good to be in the saddle again, doesn't it, walt?" "yes, ned. at least it's better than falling over a cliff. how do you feel, chunky?" "shoulder aches where the gun kicked me. i didn't think a gun could hit so hard from both ends at the same time." stacy brown worked his right arm up and down like a pump-handle, making a wry face as he did so. the boys had completed their first target practice, in which tad and ned had carried off even honors, with walter perkins a close second, while stacy brown had hit pretty much everything within range except the target itself. about the best they had been able to do with him was to induce him to keep his eyes open, at least, until the first finger of his right hand had begun to exert a gentle pressure on the trigger. then, he would pinch his eyelids so tightly together as to compress his forehead into a series of small ridges. their practice had lasted some two hours, and now they were once more picking their way over the rough mountain trail, headed for bald mountain, and discussing the happenings of the night and morning. considerable amusement was afforded them when, on the journey, old bobtail, as they had named the professor's cob, stumbled and threw its rider over its head. fortunately, professor zepplin was not injured. he explained that he had had too many similar disasters while an officer in the german army, and that he did not mind a slight mishap like that at all. he declared that it reminded him so much of his younger days that he really enjoyed the sensation of falling off. this caused the pony riders to shout with laughter, and ned confided to tad, by whose side he was riding, that he never knew the professor was such a real sport. from then on the afternoon passed quickly. although the sun was shining brightly, the air was cool and invigorating, and a gentle breeze fanned their cheeks when the riders reached the higher places. at such times the boys would break into exclamations of wonder at the gorgeous panorama which unfolded itself before them. "makes a fellow feel as if he were walking on air, doesn't it?" bubbled stacy brown. "you will be in a minute, if you don't watch out where you are going," warned ned, observing that the boy had unconsciously pulled his horse too near the outer edge of the trail. "walt tried that last night, and you know what happened to him." "yes, but chunky would not come out of it quite so well," spoke up tad. "i reckon he'd break a rock or two on the way down," grinned ned rector, clucking to his pony. about four o'clock that afternoon lige announced that they had arrived at their destination. yet not a sign of jose and the pack train could they find. he had not arrived. the faces of the pony riders grew long at this, for the ride had given them an appetite that would not bear trifling with. "what do you suppose has happened to the pack train, mr. thomas?" asked tad. "probably been delayed by a pack slipping off. but don't you worry. jose will be along in good time," smiled lige. however, in his own mind the guide believed that, while this might be possible, it was more likely that the cook had missed his way, and was now wandering about the mountains. it was too late to go in search of the missing outfit that day, so there was nothing to do but to wait until morning, then to start out after it, in case the straggler had not come in by then. lige told the boys to stake down their live stock and make themselves at home while he went out for an observation. in the meantime the boys also took the opportunity to look about them. their new location they found to be a sightly one. the wild and rugged reaches of the rockies stretched away at their feet as far as the eye could see, the hills and low mountains rising in sheer slopes, broken by cliffs and riven by deeply cut and gloomy gorges. the pony riders gazed upon the scene in awe--at least three of them did. "splendid, is it not?" breathed tad, his eyes growing large with wonder. "oh, i don't know. it isn't so much," replied chunky lightly. "i've seen better. we've got bigger mountains in massachusetts." "humph!" grunted ned rector, resuming his study of the scene, its beauties intensified by the colors in which the low-lying sun had bathed them. a shot sounded off somewhere in front of and below them. "what's that?" exclaimed chunky, now aroused to sudden interest. no one was able to answer him. soon two more shots followed, and chunky; was sure that he heard a bullet sing by his head. professor zepplin laughed, saying it was no doubt some one hunting, and that what the boy had imagined was a bullet was merely an echo. "you no doubt will hear many shots while you are in the mountains. this is a place where people make a business of shooting, and even yourselves will be doing some of it within a few days, if all goes well. perhaps the shot you heard was from lige, trying his skill on some bird or animal." when lige returned, some little time after, the boys did not observe that he left his rifle in the bushes at the edge of the camp. "was that you shooting just now?" asked tad. instead of answering the question, however, the guide called the boys to him. "i'm going to teach you how to make beds in the mountains," he said. "we have not tried to make any like them yet----" "beds? i don't see any beds to make," objected chunky. "where are they?" "get your hatchets and i'll show you," grinned lige. "we have to discover a good many things when we are roughing it, you know." fetching their hatchets from the saddle bags, the boys cut great armfuls of pine boughs, all hands making two trips to camp and back in order to carry enough for the purpose. but, even then, they were mystified as to exactly what thomas intended to do or how he would go about it to make a bed out of the stuff they had gathered. professor zepplin watched the preparations with interest, finding much that was new to him in the resourceful operations of the mountain guide. having heaped up a great pile of fragrant green stuff, lige looked about him to fix upon the best locations for the beds he was about to make. "oh, i know," exclaimed ned. "you are going to lay the stuff into piles so we can sleep on them." "not quite," grinned lige. "watch me." carefully selecting the branches that he wanted, he stuck one after another of them into the ground, stem down, until he had outlined a fairly good bed. this done, he continued setting more of the green limbs, pushing each firmly into the ground until the mass became so thick and matted that it resembled a green hedge. "there," he announced. "one bed is ready for you." "call that a bed?" sniffed stacy. "why, that wouldn't hold a baby. he'd fall through the slats." "try it. lie down on it," smiled lige. chunky did so, gingerly, then little by little a sheepish smile crept over his countenance. "why, it does hold me up." "of course it does." "say, fellows, this is great. it's softer than any feather bed i ever slept in. but it wouldn't be half so funny if a fellow made a mistake and got a branch off a thorn bush; would it, now?" one after the other, the boys took turns in trying the new bed, and each was enthusiastic over it. "i'll never sleep on any other kind as long as i live," decided ned. "i'll have a tent in the back yard and a pine bed under it. what do you say, fellows?" "i have an idea," smiled the professor, "that you will get all you want of the experience this summer. some other trips have been planned for you, and you no doubt will spend many nights in the open air before you return to your homes this fall. i'll say no more on the subject at present." and professor zepplin steadfastly stuck to his word, leaving to their youthful imaginations the solution of the problem that he had presented. "get busy for firewood," called lige. "why, it's almost dark," exclaimed ned. "where is that pack train? what are we going to do, professor?" "ask the guide. he knows everything. he's the original wizard," laughed the german. "what do you think about it, lige?" "i might as well tell you all now--the pack train undoubtedly is lost in the mountains. we probably shall see nothing of jose nor the pack train until some time to-morrow." "yes; but what are we going to do?" demanded walter. "here we are, without a thing to eat, or a place to sleep." "we have the pine beds," answered tad. "that's a place to sleep, anyway." "but we can't eat the beds," jeered chunky. "if you young gentlemen will build a fire, i'll see what i can do about getting you some supper," advised lige. "you know, we have to get used to difficulties in the mountains. in a short time you should be well able to take care of yourselves without any of my help." lige disappeared in the bushes, returning a few moments later, carrying a brace of some sort of animal by the hind legs. "what's that?" demanded stacy brown, his eyes growing large. "jack-rabbits," answered the guide. "there are two of them. i shot them, and now we'll eat them. i was providing a supper for you when you heard those shots." the boys set up a cheer. now that the wholesome air of the mountains had in reality taken possession of their beings, they found themselves able to arouse enthusiasm over almost any subject. lige skilfully skinned the rabbits and dressed them. by the time he had accomplished this the fire was burning high, and out of it he scraped a bed of red hot coals, about which he built an oven of stones. "get two sharp sticks," he directed. on these he spit the rabbits, thrusting them over the coals to cook, while the boys looked on wonderingly. "you see," said the professor, "it is possible for a man to find sustenance in almost any place--that is, if he knows how." "i'd starve to death if i were turned loose up here," said chunky. "of course you would; and i probably should share the same fate. the only mountain subject with which i am familiar is geology," said the professor. "and you can't eat rocks," grinned ned. "just so." "now, boys, if you will go to my saddle bags you will find salt and pepper and some hard tack. bring it all over here, fill your folding cups with water, and then i think we'll be ready for supper," announced the guide, after the rabbits had been done to a rich brown. "pardon me, sir, but i'm curious to know what we're going to do for plates, knives and forks," asked tad. "do? "why, my young friend, we shall do without them. if you'll watch me carefully you will learn how." by lige's direction, the boys squatted down about a flat rock, after which the guide proceeded to carve the rabbits with his hunting-knife, seasoning the pieces with salt and pepper, yet doing all with tantalizing deliberation. the boys looked on expectantly. "much as i need money, i wouldn't take four dollars and a half for my appetite at this very moment," declared ned rector, earnestly. "it can't beat mine, fellows," laughed walter. "i tell you, there's nothing like falling off a mountain to give a chap a full-grown hankering for real food." "i should imagine it would shake one down a bit," agreed tad. "what do you think about it, chunky?" but chunky's reply was not clear to them, for the greater part of his face was buried in a flank of jack-rabbit, and he was able to talk with his eyes alone, which at that moment were large and expressive. never had a meal seemed to taste so good to these boys as did this crude repast, served on a rock several thousand feet in the air and with only such conveniences for eating it as nature had provided. but good humor prevailed and everybody was happy. chunky at last paused from his labor long enough to go to the spring for a cup of water. "while you are up you might fetch some for the rest of us," suggested ned. so chunky gathered up the cups and plodded to the spring, chewing vigorously as he went. however, finding it inconvenient to carry all the cups at one time, he left his own at the spring, returning with those of the others, filled with cool, sparkling water. the boys were profuse in their thanks, to which stacy bowed with great ceremony and returned to the spring for more water. for the moment, in the conversation that followed, they forgot clunky entirely. but he was recalled sharply to their minds a few minutes later. "pussy, pussy, pussy!" ned and tad turned inquiringly at the sound. lige and the professor, being engaged in earnest conversation at the time, had not heard stacy brown's plaintive call off behind the rocks yonder. the pony riders looked at each other and roared. "well, what do you think of that?" laughed ned. "that kid has gone and picked up a cat. who would ever think of finding a cat up here?" "what's that?" demanded lige sharply, turning to them. "why, chunky's found a----" "pussy, pussy, pussy! nice pussy. come here, pussy. that's a good kittie. puss, puss, puss," continued the soothing voice of the boy. had lige thomas been projected from a huge bow-gun he probably would not have leaped forward with much greater quickness than he did in this instance, bowling over the professor as he sprang by him, and making for the spring in mighty strides. "leave him alone!" he roared. the guide had heard and understood. he was hurrying to the rescue. those by the camp fire heard two sharp, quick explosions from the guide's revolver, followed by a squall of rage and pain and a great floundering about in the bushes. then the guide appeared around the corner of a large rock, leading chunky by one ear, the latter taking as long strides as his short legs would permit, to relieve the strain on the aforesaid ear. "wha--what----" stammered the professor. the boys had sprung to their feet in alarm at the crack of the pistol, and stood, amazement written on their faces, as lige and chunky came toward them. "what's the row?" asked ned rector in as firm a voice as he could muster. "i got a pussy and he tried to shoot it," wailed chunky. "pussy! huh! he got a bob-cat and he was trying to catch the brute," growled the guide. "lucky i got there when i did." stacy's eyes opened wide and his face blanched. "a--a bob-cat?" they gasped. "yes; i put a shot into him, but it did not kill kill him! hear him squall?" the guide made answer. "well of all the idiotic things i ever heard of!" exclaimed ned, gazing at chunky in bewilderment. "yes; it was all of that," grinned lige. chapter xi chunky gets the cat "wake up, fellows! the sun is up!" shouted tad butler, as sunday morning dawned bright and beautiful, the birds now making the mountains ring with their joyous songs. the pony riders rose up, rubbing their eyes sleepily. "what time is it?" asked ned rector. "half-past six." "too early to sing. i refuse to sit on a bough and sing at any such unearthly hour." "huh! i should say so," agreed stacy brown, turning over and burying his face in the fragrant green boughs of his cot. still, the boys had no patience with chunky's dislike to early rising, even though they themselves were not averse to a morning cat-nap. with a yell, they tumbled from their cots, descending upon chunky in a bunch, pulling him from his bed without regard to the way in which they did so. his ill-natured protests went for nothing. "i wonder where the guide is?" asked walter, after they had thoroughly awakened their companion. "probably gone gunning for our breakfast," answered tad. "i think he has gone after the pack train," said the professor. "he told me last night that he should start at daybreak, and that you would find some rabbit and hard tack for your breakfast under a flat stone back of his cot. i am afraid you will have to be satisfied with a cold meal this morning, unless you think you want to build a fire and warm up the food." "of course we will. lige thomas needn't think he's the only one in the party who can get a meal out of nothing," answered ned proudly, starting off to gather sticks for the fire. but when they went to get the rabbit there was no rabbit. the stone under which it had been placed was there right enough, as were several chunks of hard tack. the stone, however, had been turned over and the meat was nowhere to be found. "that settles it," said ned ruefully. "i never had an appetite yet that it didn't meet with the disappointment of it's young life. now, who do you suppose took that food!" "perhaps it was another of chunky's pussy cats," laughed walter. "don't we get anything to eat!" asked stacy in a plaintive voice, glancing from one to the other of his companions. "yes, of course. you can go out in the bushes and browse, if you are hungry enough," suggested ned. "as for myself i'm going to the spring and wash, and after that fill myself up on cold water. that may make my stomach forget, for a while, that it has a grievance." "i'm going to bed," growled stacy. "you'll do nothing of the sort," shouted the boys, grabbing their roly-poly president and rushing him back and forth to wake him up again. "no pony rider is allowed to sleep after sun-up." "professor, i have a suggestion to make," said tad, approaching professor zepplin, who was sitting on the edge of his cot, making a meal of a cup of water, seemingly well pleased that that much had been left to him. "i'll hear it, sir." "will you let me go out with my rifle to look for some game for breakfast? ned has three shells left in his belt. i think i shall be able to shoot something. there's no telling when mr. thomas will return with the pack." "i couldn't think of it, my boy." "i'll take care of myself, professor." "no. the responsibility is too great. we have had enough trouble already. i have not the least doubt that a resourceful young man like yourself could take care of himself under almost any conditions. but i do not dare take the risk. and, besides, a day's fast will do you all good. i remember when i was an officer in the german army----" "professor, may we go out and follow the trail of chunky's pussy cat?" interrupted walter. "ned has found the trail, and says he can follow it by the blood spots. perhaps we'll find the animal dead near by, and the skin would be a fine trophy of our hunt in the rockies." "certainly not. this is sunday, young gentlemen, and even in the mountains we must preserve some sort of decorum on that day." "oh, very well," answered walter politely, covering his disappointment with a smile. "all days look alike to me up here," grunted ned. "if it wasn't that one had a calendar he wouldn't even know when sunday did come. now, would he----" "i've got him! i've got him!" came the sudden and startling yell from the bushes, accompanied by a series of resounding whacks and a great threshing about in the thick undergrowth. the boys paused, not realizing, at first, to whom the excited voice belonged. "come help me! i've got him!" "chunky!" they groaned. "he's at it again!" professor zepplin leaped from his cot, striding off in the direction from which stacy brown's triumphant voice had come, and followed by the rest of the party on the run. all four of them crashed into the bushes at the same instant, shouting words of warning to stacy. they did not know what it all meant, but the boys were sure that he had gotten himself into some new danger. chunky had slipped away some moments before, after ned rector had discovered the trail of the bob-cat. his companions, however, had not missed him, so stacy was free to follow his own inclinations. "where are you?" cried the professor. "here! here!" whack! whack! came the sound from a rapidly wielded club again, accompanied by a vicious spitting and snarling that caused the boys to hesitate, for a brief second, in their mad dash for the underbrush. as they emerged into a little open space, made so largely by the battle that was being waged there, their eyes fairly bulged with surprise. there was stacy brown, hatless, his face red and perspiring, and in front of him a snarling bob-cat at bay. they saw at once that the animal had been wounded, two of its legs apparently having been broken, while blood flowed freely from a wound in its side. chunky was prancing about in what appeared to be an imitation of an indian war dance, now and again darting in and delivering a telling blow with the club held firmly in both hands, landing it on whatever part of the animal's anatomy he could most easily reach. the beast was snapping blindly at the weapon which chunky was using with telling effect. the boys in their surprise were unable to do more than stand and stare for the moment. that chunky brown had had the courage to attack a bob-cat, even though it already had been seriously wounded, passed all comprehension. "stop!" commanded the professor, finding his voice at last. whack! stacy landed a blow fairly on the top of the brute's skull, causing the animal to sway dizzily. paying not the slightest heed to the professor's stern command, the excited boy followed up his last successful blow by planting another in the same place. but the savage little beast, though probably unable to see its enemies, was showing its yellow teeth and squalling in its deadly anger, the jaws coming together with a snap like that from the sudden springing of a steel trap. "stand back!" ordered the professor. "don't touch him! get away, boys!" they were obliged to grab chunky by the arms, fairly dragging him from his victim, so filled was he with the fever of the chase and a resolve to conquer his savage little enemy. professor zepplin, once they had gotten chunky out of the way, stepped as near to the bob-cat as he deemed prudent. drawing his heavy army revolver, he took careful aim, shooting the beast through the head. the pony riders uttered a triumphant shout. the professor waved them back as they pressed forward, and planted another bullet in the animal's head to make sure that it was thoroughly finished. "hooray for the president of the pony riders!" shouted ned rector. "hip-hip hooray! t-i-g-e-r!" roared the boys, grabbing chunky and tossing him back and forth, making of him a veritable medicine ball. "what's the matter with chunky?" cried walter. "chunky's all right," chorused the band. "who's no tenderfoot?" "chunky's brown's no tenderfoot." puffing out his cheeks, and squaring his shoulders, stacy swaggered over to the dead bob-cat, violently pulling its ear. "he tried to bite me," explained the boy. "see--he tore a lacer in my leggin. i didn't see him till i almost stepped on him. i knew right off that it was the pussy that lige shot at last night." "what happened then?" asked tad, with an admiring grin on his face. "i fetched him one on the side of the head with a club. he jumped at me and i hit him again. about that time i called, and you fellows came up. but i got him, didn't i, professor?" "you did, my lad. but you took a great risk in attempting to do so," smiled the professor, picking the dead animal up and hefting it. "i think he'll weigh about twenty pounds," he decided. "yes; undoubtedly it's the fellow thomas shot last night. the brute was so badly wounded that he was unable to drag himself far away." "what shall we do with him now?" asked the boys. "take him to camp and leave him till lige returns," advised the professor. "and i think we had better tie up our young friend stacy, or he will be getting into more mischief than we are able to get him out of." "why can't we skin the cat?" inquired ned. "i should think you would prefer to wait till the guide sees it. and, besides, he knows better how to do that than any of the rest of us." "are--are bob-cats good to eat?" asked chunky sheepishly. the boys shouted. "not satisfied with trying to kill the poor beast, now you want to eat him," jeered ned rector. "why, stacy brown, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. no, i never heard of any one with an appetite so difficult to satisfy that he was willing to eat cats----" "yes; but this isn't a real cat," protested stacy. "you would have found him real enough if he had fastened one of those ugly claws in your flesh," laughed tad. "eat him, by all means, then," advised ned. "eat him raw. i wouldn't even stop to cook the beast if i were in your place." walter and stacy picked up the dead animal, carrying it along through the bushes, all talking loudly, the boys--though they would have been slow to admit the fact--casting envious glances at the fat boy and his trophy. chunky told himself he would have something to write to the folks back east that would make them open their eyes. the boys, after having reached the camp, stretched the cat out on a flat rock. and now that the animal lay in the full light of day, the sight of its ugly, beetling brow, thin, cruel lips and powerful teeth made each of the three boys feel rather thankful that he had not had the luck to come face to face with it over in the bushes. as for chunky, he sat down beside the cat to enjoy the proud sense of victory, gazing down at the trophy with fascinated eyes. deep down in his heart, he wondered how he ever had had the courage to attack it. but, of course, chunky confided nothing of this to his companions. "congratulating yourself, eh!" laughed ned rector. chunky glanced up at him solemnly. "at this minute i was wishing i had a piece of apple pie," he answered, hitching his belt a little tighter. chapter xii rough riders in the saddle the afternoon had grown old when a distant "c-oo-ee-e," told them that lige thomas was on his way back to camp. they answered his call with a wild whoop, and were for rushing off to meet him. but professor zepplin advised them to remain where they were and get the fire going in case lige had failed to find the pack train. he no doubt would bring food of some kind with him. the fire would be ready and thus no time would be lost in preparing the first meal of the day, which, in this case, would be breakfast, dinner and supper all in one. the boys awaited the guide's approach with impatience, some pacing back and forth, while others coaxed the fire into a roaring blaze, at the same time confiding to each other how hungry they were. after what had seemed an interminable time they heard jose urging along the lazy burros. it was a gladsome sound to this band of hungry boys, whose ordinarily healthy appetites, under the bracing mountain air and the long fast, had taken on what the professor described as a "razor edge." "now you may go," he nodded. with a shout, the boys dashed pell-mell to meet the pack train, and, falling in behind the slow-moving burros, urged them on with derisive shouts and sundry resounding slaps on the animals' flanks. "had anything to eat!" asked the guide. "not enough to give us indigestion," answered ned. "cold water is the most nourishing thing we've touched since last night." "but i left you a rabbit. didn't you find it?" "we did not. it must have come to life some time during the night and dug its way out," laughed tad. "and we've got a surprise for you," announced stacy, swelling with pride. "what's it all about?" laughed the guide. "you'll see when you get to camp," answered chunky. "i don't need guns to hunt with. a stout club for mine." after having shown the cat to lige and getting his promise to teach them how to skin it, the boys set to with a will to assist in the unpacking. while they were pitching the tents over the pine cots jose got out his buzzacot range, which he started up in the open, and in a few moments the savory odors of the cooking reached the nostrils of the pony riders, drawing from them a shout of approval. by the time the meal was ready the tents had been pitched and the boys had returned from the spring, rubbing their faces with their coarse towels, their cheeks glowing and their eyes sparkling in anticipation of the feast. chunky reached the table first, greedily surveying what had been placed on it. "hooray, fellows!" he shouted. "hot biscuit and--and honey. what do you think of that?" "honey? why, mr. thomas, where did you get honey?" asked walter. "found a bee tree on my way back, and cut it down. i think you will find there is enough of it to double you all up," grinned lige. "we'll take all chances," advised ned. "but what's this! it looks like jam." "jam?" exclaimed chunky, stretching his neck and eyeing the dish longingly. "yes; wild plum jam," answered the guide. "wow!" chuckled stacy under his breath. "now, fall to, young gentlemen," directed the professor. "i am free to admit that i am hungry, too. i think i shall help myself to some of that wild plum jam and biscuit, first it reminds me of old times. we sometimes had jam when i was with the german----" "army," added ned. "yes." but the professor was lost in his enjoyment of the biscuit, which he had liberally smeared with the delicious jam. chunky did even better than that. he buried his biscuit under a layer of jam, over which he spread a thick coating of honey. ned fixed him with a stern eye. "remember, sir, that a certain amount of dignity befits the office of president of the pony riders club," he said. chunky colored. "it's good, anyway." "then, i think i'll try some myself," announced ned, helping himself liberally to the honey and jam. "i'd lose my dignity for a mouthful of that, any day," he decided after having sampled the combination. "president brown, i withdraw my criticism. i offer you my humble apologies. you are not only the champion hunter of the pony riders, but you also are the champion food selector and eater. next thing we know you'll be providing us with bear steak." "bears, did you say?" demanded stacy in a voice not unmixed with awe. "are there bears up here?" "i reckon there are," smiled the guide. "we are in the bear country now. i had a tough battle with one in a cave not far from here, several years ago. i came near losing my life too, and----" "a cave?" interrupted tad. "yes, the country is full of caves. some of them are so big that you would lose yourself in them almost at once; while others are merely dens where bears and other animals live. besides this, there are many abandoned mines up the range further. all are more or less interesting, and some, for various reasons, are dangerous to enter." "shall we see any of them?" asked tad eagerly. "all you want. perhaps we may even explore some if we come across any," said the guide. this announcement filled the boys with excitement. "what i want to know, is, when do we go hunting?" asked ned. "that depends. perhaps tuesday. we shall need a dog. but i know an old settler who will lend us his dog, if it is not out. of course, dogs can't follow the trail of an animal as well, now, as they could with snow on the ground. but this dog, you will find, is a wonder. he can ride a pony, or do almost anything that you might set him at." "i think i'll ride my own pony and let the dog walk," announced ned. supper having been finished, the party gathered about the camp fire for their evening chat, after which, admonishing stacy to keep within his tent and not to go borrowing trouble, the boys turned in for a sound sleep. as yet, they had been unable to attempt any fancy riding with their ponies, owing to the rugged nature of the country through which they had been journeying. so in the morning they asked lige if he knew of a place where they could do some "stunts," as ned rector phrased it. the guide said that, by making a detour in their journey that day, they would cross table lands several acres in extent and covered with grass. "and come to think of it, that will be an ideal place for us to drop off for our noon meal," he added. "we'll let jose go on again, and i don't think he can lose himself so easily this time. the trail is so plainly marked that he can't miss it." the boys were now all anxiety to start, while the ponies, after their sunday rest, were almost as full of life as were their owners. the little animals were becoming more sure-footed every day, and ned said that, before the trip was finished, "jimmie" would be able to walk a slack rope. an early start was made, so that the party reached the promised table lands shortly before ten o'clock in the forenoon. a temporary camp was quickly pitched. at their urgent request, professor zepplin told the boys to go ahead and enjoy themselves. "but be careful that you don't break your necks," he added, with a laugh. "i guess i had better go along to see that you do not." they assured him that nothing was further from their intention, and quickly casting aside guns and cartridge belts, they threw themselves into their saddles again for a jolly romp. the great, green field, surrounded on all sides by tall trees, made the place an ideal one for their purpose. "tell you what let's do," suggested tad. "suppose we start with a race? we'll race the length of the field and back. we'll do it three times, and the one who wins two times out of three will be it." to this all agreed. appointing professor zepplin as starter, the pony riders lined up for the word. the first heat was run easily, none of the ponies being put to its utmost speed. walter perkins won the heat. the next two heats were different. this time the battle lay between tad butler and ned rector. it was a beautiful race, the little indian ponies seeming to enter thoroughly into the spirit of the contest, stretching themselves out to their full lengths, and, with heads on a level with their backs, fairly flew across the great plot of green. up to within a moment of the finish of the second heat the two ponies were racing neck and neck. tad hitched in his saddle a little, throwing the greater part of his weight on the stirrups. he slapped texas sharply on the flank with the flat of his hand. texas seemed to leap clear of the ground, planting himself on all fours just over the line, the winner by a neck. the third heat was merely a repetition of the second. all agreed that tad's superior horsemanship, alone, had won the race for him. ned took his defeat good-naturedly. by this time, the boys had come to feel fully as much at home in the saddle as they formerly had been out of it. even stacy brown, though he did not sit his saddle with the same grace that marked the riding of tad butler and ned rector, more practiced horsemen, was nevertheless no mean rider. "we will now try some cowboy riding," announced tad, who, as master of horse, was supposed to direct the riding of the club. "who of you can pick up a hat on the run?" "don't all speak at once," said ned, after a moment's silence on the part of the band. "i'll show you," promised tad. galloping into camp the boy fetched his sombrero, which he carried well out into the field and tossed away. then, bidding the boys ride up near the spot to watch him, he drew off some ten rods, and, wheeling, spurred his pony to a run. tad rose in the stirrups as he neared the spot where the hat lay, keeping his eyes fixed intently upon it. all at once he dropped to the saddle and slipped the left foot from the stirrup. grasping the pommel with the left hand, he appeared to dive head first toward the ground. they saw his long hair almost brush the grass; one of his hands swept down and up, and once more tad butler rose standing, in his stirrups, uttering a cowboy yell as he waved the sombrero on high. the boys howled with delight--that is, all did save stacy brown. "huh! that's nothing. i can do that myself," he grunted. "i've seen them do that in the wild west shows too many times not to know how myself." walter smiled, with a twinkle in his eyes. "why not show us, then?" he said. "i will," replied chunky, confidently. "got your life insured?" asked ned. "if you haven't i would advise you to go easy. tad is an experienced rider." "don't you worry about me, ned rector. guess i know how to ride. let me have that hat, tad," he demanded as the latter came trotting up to the group. stacy, his face flushed, determination plainly showing in his eyes, stretched forth his hand for the sombrero. riding bravely out into the field, he tossed it to the ground. the first time he rode swiftly by it, leaning over to look at the hat as he passed, holding to the pommel firmly with his left hand. stacy dismounted and removed the hat carefully to one side. "what's that for?" demanded ned, wonderingly. "hat too close to me. i couldn't get it," explained chunky. the boys roared. "why don't you move the pony? you don't have to move the hat, you ninny." once more stacy approached the sombrero, his pony running well, and as he drew near it, they saw him rise in his saddle just as tad butler had done a few minutes before. "by george, he's going to try it," exclaimed ned. "be careful, chunky," warned walter. "he's got to learn," declared tad. then chunky essayed the feat. at the moment when he freed his left foot from the stirrup, he threw his body sharply to the right, reaching for the hat without taking the precaution to grasp the pommel. as a result, instead of stopping when he reached the hat, the boy kept on going. fortunately, his right foot freed itself from the stirrup at the same time, or there might have been a different ending. chunky turned a double somersault, lay still for a moment, then struggled up, rubbing his body gingerly, as the rest of the party came hurrying up to him. "are you hurt?" asked tad apprehensively. "no; that's the way i always get off," grinned chunky. chapter xiii visions of gold after satisfying themselves that stacy was not injured, the others of the party each made an effort to pick up the hat, though with much more caution than stacy had used. ned accomplished the trick the first time he tried. walter, however, made several attempts, instructed by tad, before he finally caught the knack of it. "that will do for one day," decided the instructor, finally. "we must not tire out our ponies, for we still have a long jaunt ahead of us, according to the guide." when they reached the camp, stacy was still rubbing his head, much to the amusement of his companions. the noonday lunch was a light one; while they were eating it the ponies were tethered out on the plain to browse on the fresh, green grass. shortly after noon the party was on its way again, lige being anxious to reach their destination before dark. yet the trail was so rugged and precipitous that rapid progress was impossible. to add to this, late in the afternoon they overtook the pack train, which they found halted in the trail. one of the burros had gone lame, nor did jose know what the trouble was. he was sitting by the side of the trail helplessly, waiting for someone to come along. tad hastily slipped from his saddle, running over to the burro. "which foot is he lame in?" asked the boy. "donno," answered the mexican. the boy led the little animal back and forth several times. "it's the off hind foot," he announced. "off?" queried chunky. "he doesn't seem to have a foot off." "no, i didn't mean that. horsemen call the right the off side, and the left the near one," explained tad, picking up the beast's foot and examining it critically. "he has stepped on a sharp piece of rock and driven it into the hoof," announced the boy. "i am afraid we shall have to unload the pack and strap him down before i can get it out." tying their horses, all hands drew near to witness the proceeding, which bade fair to be unusually interesting. however, tad skilfully rigged a harness out of a long piece of quarter-inch rope. this he put on the burro, and soon had the animal on its knees, then on its side. the rope was drawn taut so that the burro could not kick, after which the boy cautiously cut around the sharp stone with his pocket knife, and, after considerable effort, extracted it. "i'm sorry we have nothing to put in the wound. but i guess he will go along all right. he'll be lame for the rest of the day; but we cannot help that." once more they loaded up the beast of burden and the procession continued on its way, lige having decided to keep the train in sight in case it was thought advisable to stop and make camp. they had been so delayed that it was now close to sunset. at dusk they were still some distance from their destination. "i think we bad better pull up here," suggested the guide. "there's a moon up there," answered tad. "why not go on by moonlight? that is, of course, if you can follow the trail." "i could follow the trail with my eyes shut, young man," grinned the guide. "what do you say, professor?" "as you think best, lige. i do not mind a moonlight ride." "yes; let's go on," urged the boys, looking forward with keen anticipation to traveling over the mountains by night, for this they had not yet had an opportunity to do. "very well, if your appetites will keep for another hour or so. we should make it in an hour and a half," lige decided, glancing about him keenly for landmarks. "we'll try, at any rate." the shadows now began to close in, the gulches standing out in bold relief, black, forbidding seas at the foot of the ridges that lay a white wonderland in the moonlight. "this is great!" declared ned enthusiastically. "glorious," breathed tad, drinking in the scene with wide open eyes, while inhaling in long, slow breaths, the soft mountain air. "i never saw anything more beautiful." now that night had settled over the trail, the riders had to move along more cautiously, and with tight reins, that their ponies might not stumble and hurl the riders over their heads. tad, with an eye to caution, had advised them to do this. in this way the train moved on until nearly nine o'clock, when lige announced that they had reached their halting place. the mountain top where they stopped was thickly studded with cedars and pinyon trees, while off in the ravines slender spruces reared their sharp points above the shadows, projecting up through the black sea like the spars of a whole fleet of sunken schooners. "old ben tackers lives nigh here," the guide told them. "i'll go over and get him after supper. we can then talk with him about his dog. he can tell us all about the game. ben is a character. however, you mustn't mind his blunt way of speaking. the old fellow is all right at heart." ben came over later in the evening, and the boys were much interested in him. a thick shock of shaggy hair covered his head and face, while through the mass of gray and brown twinkled a pair of bright, beady eyes. ned said they reminded him of a couple of burnt holes in a horse blanket. "any game about here, mr. tackers?" asked ned after the old mountaineer had been introduced to them. "for them as can see, there's things to be seen," answered ben enigmatically. "what do you reckon on shooting?" "anything we can find to shoot at," answered ned. "beckon i'll go home and lock up my pigs, then," declared the old man firmly. "oh, it's not as bad as that, sir," hastily added tad. "my friend, ned, means anything in the game line. surely we can be trusted to tell the difference between a bob-cat and a litter of pigs. stacy brown, here, knocked out a bobcat with nothing but a club at beaver mountain yesterday." ben turned to look at chunky, who, huddled on the ground, appeared not unlike a large, round ball. "huh! he ain't much to look at," grunted the old man. "i got a tame cub over to my cabin that would be a good mate for him." stacy flushed painfully. "mr. thomas was saying that you might be willing to make some arrangement with us so we could use your dog for a few days," hinted professor zepplin. "eh! dogs! lige thomas kin have my dogs--i've got two of them now. no arrangement ain't necessary," growled ben. "we prefer to pay for them, sir," spoke up walter. "and perhaps you may be able to tell us, also, where we may hope to find game?" "mebby so and mebby not. i'll see lige about that. got that cat skin ye was talking about?" he demanded suddenly, looking from one to the other. chunky brought it out, the old man examining it critically, nodding his head over some thought of his own. "bigger cats on tacker's mountain," he grunted. "want to sell it?" chunky shook his head. "huh!" exclaimed the old man, rising and starting away. "what's your hurry, sir?" asked the professor politely. "must shut up the pigs. the little red-faced bear over there by the fire might get loose with his club again," and the mountaineer strode from the camp without another word. stacy brown hung his head in chagrin, while the boys laughed heartily at what they considered a most excellent joke on stacy. "chatty old person, isn't he, mr. thomas?" grinned ned. "well, not exactly. but he's one of the best hunters on the park range. besides, he is credited with knowing more about what's hidden under these mountains than any other man on them. but ben doesn't care much for money. he'll set us right about the game when the time comes. if the game is not running he'll stay away and say nothing. however, at the right moment, you'll see old ben tackers and his dogs suddenly appearing in camp. it will do you no good to ask him questions. he'll tell me in a word what he has to say, and i shall have to guess the rest." "and you will know what he means?" asked tad. "i reckon," grinned lige. "in about the same way he told me to-night that there were some bad men in these parts--prospectors they called themselves--who were trying to locate some sort of a claim----" "claim? what kind?" asked walter. "gold." "gold? here?" spoke up the professor sharply. "mountains are full of it, if you can find it," answered lige in an impressive tone. and the boys, thrilled by the thought that perhaps fortunes in the bright yellow metal lay beneath their feet, went to bed to dream of buried treasures and limitless wealth. chapter xiv a narrow escape the pony riders awoke full of enthusiasm for the work of the day. thus far, each day had held a new and wonderful experience for them, while those to come were destined to be even more full of stirring incidents. most of all, the boys looked forward to the hunting trips that had been promised. next to that came the exploration of mountain caves. it was enough to gladden the heart of any boy. immediately they had arisen, they descended upon the guide in a body, demanding to know if they were to hunt that day. "depends upon ben tackers," answered lige. "you remember what i told you last night. he'll let us know when it's time for our little excursion. i think we had best have another hour of target practice this morning." this plan suited the boys so exactly that, after breakfast, they set to work cleaning their rifles. a dozen rounds of ammunition were placed in their cartridge belts, after which, the boys announced their readiness for practice. "get the ponies," directed the guide. "ponies? what for? we're not going to shoot the ponies, are we?" asked ned rector. "i wouldn't advise it," grinned the guide. "i'll show you what i want after we have reached the range. i suppose you know that hunting in this country is quite generally done on horseback, so you will have to get used to that way of shooting. also your ponies must become accustomed to the firing from their backs. snap shooting on horseback is a trick you will have to learn. it may be the means of saving your lives some time when you are after wild game." the boys made a rush to the spot where the ponies were staked. the little animals looked up in mild protest as their owners hastily threw on saddles, cinched the girths and slipped the bits into unwilling mouths. leading their ponies into camp, each boy, with gun slung over his shoulder, stood at the left of his mount, awaiting the command of his leader. "ready," announced tad. four right hands grasped the saddle pommels, the left hands the manes. "mount!" four enthusiastic lads swung lightly into their saddles, gathering up the reins, and on the alert for the next command. "forward!" ordered tad. the pony riders clucked to the little animals and in single column filed slowly up the mountain pass. the place that lige thomas had chosen for the target work was not an ideal one, being rough and uneven. yet, as he explained to them, it represented general hunting conditions in the rockies. however, the boys did not care. their ponies were sure-footed enough now, they thought, to warrant being trusted under ordinary conditions, while the boys themselves had no fear of their own ability to stick to their saddles. lige picked out a stump for the first target, on which he pinned a torn piece of newspaper. this the boys were to shoot at with their ponies at the gallop. they were first to ride to the upper end of the range, after which, they were to gallop down the field, keeping to the right of the target, firing at will at any time before reaching a certain point designated by a handkerchief tied to a bush. it was a proud and happy band that thundered down the field on the fleet-footed ponies, one at a time, discharging their weapons as they came bravely on. at first the little animals objected, in no uncertain manner, to the crashing of the heavy guns over their heads. chunky's horse reared and plunged until the boy was forced to drop his rifle and hang on desperately, while the pony tore about the field. the young man undoubtedly would have come to grief had not tad butler, observing that his companion had lost control of the animal, put spurs to texas, and reining alongside of stacy, grasped the pony by the bit, subduing it only after a lively struggle. during this contest chunky had let go of the reins entirely, and was clinging to the pommel of the saddle with both hands. "you take texas and let me ride your pony for a couple of rounds," suggested tad. "i'll see if i can't trim him into shape." stacy willingly relinquished his horse, and tad, mounting the stubborn little animal, treated the party to as entertaining a bit of horsemanship as they ever had witnessed. after tad had finished with the pony the animal, thoroughly subdued, made no further objections to the discharge of weapons all about and over him. "now, go ahead, chunky," advised tad. "if he cuts up any more just take a tight rein and give him the spur. but i think he'll be good without it." stacy had no further trouble with the pony after that. in fact, all the ponies soon accustomed themselves to the noise of the firing and the attendant excitement. at first none of the boys seemed able to hit even the stump. presently, though, little black patches began to appear on the white paper as the marksmen dashed by, each successful shot being greeted by a cheer of approval from the spectators. "those boys have the right stuff in them," said the guide to professor zepplin. "they shoot and ride like old hands already, though they don't hit the mark every time they shoot." "they are young americans," smiled the professor. "no other country in the world produces such types. as a foreigner i can appreciate that." while they were talking, tad was taking his turn at the target. "just look at that boy ride. that proves it," said the professor. tad had dropped the bridle rein over the saddle bow as he neared the shooting mark. rising in his stirrups, riding there as if he were a part of the animal itself, he was holding the bobbing rifle easily, eyes fixed on the mark that hung gleaming in the sunlight. suddenly the butt of the rifle sprang to his right shoulder, a flash of smoke and flame leaped from the muzzle of the gun, and a tiny black patch appeared, like magic, fairly in the center of the target. dropping to his saddle, half-turning his body, tad butler sent back a second shot hard on the report of the first one, once more planting a leaden pellet in the now well-riddled paper. the boys sent up a whoop of approval. "i guess that will do for to-day," decided the guide. "got any charges left in your magazines?" "i have," answered chunky. "draw them, then." "yes," said ned rector. "even though chunky is beginning to get his eyes open, i don't consider myself safe so long as he has a loaded gun in his hands. what we shall do with him when we get after real game, and can't watch him every second, i don't know." "don't you bother about me. you've got enough to do looking after yourself," retorted stacy sharply, much to the discomfiture of his tormentor. the boys now turned campward, well satisfied with the morning's practice and with keen appetites for the noonday meal. nothing had been seen of ben tackers, so their hopes for going hunting that day were shattered. yet they were given no opportunity to brood over their disappointment. professor zepplin and lige thomas still had a few surprises in store for them. very cleverly, they had pieced these surprises along instead of giving them all to the lads at the beginning. thus each day held its new interest, different from any that had preceded it. "we will call this our shooting day, eh, thomas?" smiled the professor significantly. "it has been." "then, perhaps you had best get out the other implements of warfare for our young gentlemen. it will keep them busy until supper time, furnishing something new as well." with a knowing grin, lige went to the cook tent, soon returning with an armful. at first the boys glanced at the bundle curiously, then with more interest as it began to assume shape and form to their eyes. "what---what----" stammered tad. stacy, whose eyes were wide open, was the first to recognize the articles, and as he did so, lige dumped them on the ground. "bows and arrows," cried the boys, performing a grotesque war dance about the weapons. "we'll be real indians now, won't we?" chortled chunky. "they are only playthings," sniffed ned. "what good are they when we have real rifles?" "you'll find these bows and arrows real enough," answered the guide. "they were made by indians, and some of them have been used by indians, not only for hunting, but against men as well. a shot from one of those arrows might put an end to any one of you fully as quickly as would a bullet from one of your thirty-eights." "shall we help ourselves?" asked ned. "wait. i'll divide them according to your size and strength. these two are war bows. i think i'll give them to master tad and ned rector. it takes a strong arm to pull them, and you'll want to be careful which way you shoot." "i'll show you fellows how to shoot," averred stacy. "i can beat any boy in the bunch with the bow and arrow. i learned the trick up in new england, where i come from. my ancestors learned it from the indians, who used to shoot them up, and the trick has been handed down in my family. somebody throw up his hat and see me pink it," he directed, stringing his bow skilfully. the boys could not repress a smile at chunky's self-praise. "here you go," said ned, sending his sombrero spinning high in the air, hoping thereby to take stacy so much by surprise that he would be unable to draw a bead on it. but chunky demonstrated that, however slow he might be in some other things, he could twang a bow with remarkable skill. even before the hat had spent its upward flight, stacy brown's bowstring sang, a slender dark streak sped through the air, its course laid directly for the hat of which its owner was so proud. "hi there! look out! you're going to hit it!" warned ned. that was exactly what stacy had intended to do, though none had had the slightest idea that he could shoot well enough to accomplish the feat. to their astonishment, the keen-pointed arrow went fairly into the center of the hat, coming out at the crown, its feathered butt tearing a great rent in the peak of the sombrero as it passed through. ned groaned as he witnessed the disaster that had come upon his new hat. but he got no sympathy from the rest of the boys. "i'll trade with you. you can wear mine," consoled chunky, observing his companion's rueful countenance as he picked up the sombrero, sorrowfully surveying the rent in its peak. "i'll do nothing of the sort," snapped ned. "i told you to shoot at it. it serves me right and i'll take my medicine like a man. if it rains, i'll stuff the hole full of leaves," he added humorously. "then my umbrella will be just as good as yours." "that's the talk," approved the boys. "anybody else want to offer his hat to the sacrifice!" grinned chunky. "i think hereafter you had better use the blunt arrows unless you are shooting at game," advised the guide. "those flint arrow heads are dangerous things for work such as yours. i'll pack them away, so there will be no danger of an accident." after having practiced in camp for a time, the boys strayed off, hoping for a chance to try their skill on some live thing. to this the professor made no objection, for they were now becoming so used to the mountains as to be quite well able to take care of themselves, unless they got too far from camp, which they were not likely to do. tad soon strolled away by himself, taking a course due south by his pocket compass. this led him directly over the range where they had been shooting earlier in the day, and the boy smiled with pride as he passed the target and counted up the bullet holes that his own rifle had made. he then pressed on, intending to enter the cedar forest that crowned a great ridge some distance beyoud him. before reaching there, however, tad sat down in a rocky basin, to enjoy to the fullest the sense of being alone in the mountain fastness. his quiver was full of arrows, and the strong, business-like looking bow lay across his knees. "if i could see a bob-cat now, i'd have something real to interest me," tad confided to himself. but not a sign of animal life did he observe anywhere about him. tad's right hand was resting on a small jagged stone beside him. it felt cool under his touch, and, after a little, the boy carelessly picked it up and looked at it. as he gazed, his eyes took on a different expression. the stone, in spots, sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight. he turned it over and over, examining it critically. "i wonder if it is gold?" marveled the boy, his eyes growing large with wonder. "i'll take it back to camp and ask lige." tad scrambled to his feet, but ere he could carry out his purpose of starting for camp, an unexpected and startling thing happened. there was a whir, as of some object being hurled through the air. the boy experienced a stinging sensation on his right cheek, as the missile grazed it, and a stone the size of a man's hand clattered to the rocks several feet ahead of him, rolling over and over, finally toppling from a small cliff. some one had thrown the stone at him. had it hit the boy's head fairly it almost surely would have killed him. tad butler needed no other evidence than that afforded by his own senses to tell him the missile was intended for him. he whirled sharply. but not a person was in sight. all at once, however, the keen-eyed boy discovered a slight movement in the sage brush, a few rods to the rear of where he had been sitting. like a flash he whipped a blunt arrow from the quiver. the bow twanged viciously, and the arrow sped straight into the sage brush. a yell of rage and a floundering about in the bush as if someone were running, told the boy that his shot had reached a human mark. pacing the sage, tad had become conscious of the fact that before him lay a large black hole in the rocks, and he dimly realized that he had come upon a cave. but he gave the matter no further attention at that moment, his first thought being that he must get back to camp as quickly as possible. stringing his bow, tad hurled another arrow into the brush, then bounded away, wondering vaguely who his mysterious enemy might be. chapter xv the battle in the cave reaching the rifle range, tad sat down to think over the occurrences of the past half hour. why anyoue should wish to do him harm, he could not understand. and, if anyoue did, why should he adopt such a peculiar way of attack? had it been a mountaineer, tad was sure the man would have used a gun instead of standing off and throwing stones at turn like a petulant school boy. he realized too, that they had a different mode of procedure in the mountains. "i'd have been as dead as chunky's bob-cat if the stone had hit me fairly," muttered the boy. "anyway, i've got a chunk of something that looks a good deal like gold, in my pocket," he added. deciding to say nothing about his recent experience to his companions, tad strolled slowly toward camp. yet, he had firmly made up his mind to go back to the spot later and make sure that his suspicions were correct. most of the boys had returned by the time tad arrived, and there was a clamor to know the result of his hunting trip. "maybe i shot a cat. but, i didn't," he grinned. "what's that!" demanded ned. "anyway, i've brought back a chunk of gold and discovered a cave. that's more than the rest of you have done, i'll warrant." either announcement would have been sufficient to arouse the interest of the campers, and they crowded about tad, demanding to know what he meant by his mysterious words. "i found a cave, i tell you," he repeated. "where?" asked lige. tad explained its location as well as he could. "and i found this chunk of gold, too," he added proudly. the guide took the piece of ore, examining it carefully. "that isn't gold," he laughed. "that is what is known as 'fools' gold.'" "scientifically known as 'iron pyrites'" explained the professor. tad's jaw fell at this shattering of his hopes. yet, when lige tossed the piece of mineral on the ground, the boy picked it up and dropped it back in his pocket. why he did this he did not know. perhaps it was instinct. however, after a few moments he had forgotten all about it. "you must have had a fight with a bob-cat to get that fierce scratch on your cheek," chuckled ned rector. "i must say that chunky has you beaten to a--a--i've forgotten the word i want--when it conies to fighting cats." "i have seen no cats to-day, ned. but i have found a real cave. will you take us over to explore it, in the morning, mr. thomas? i'll show you the biggest thing of its kind you ever have seen, if you'll go," promised tad, enthusiastically. "providing we don't go hunting, yes, and--and find some more fools' gold," laughed the guide. tad went to his tent, for the wound in his cheek was giving him considerable pain, and a glance into the hand mirror showed him that the cheek was beginning to swell. taking a towel with him, the boy hurried off to a mountain rivulet, where he bathed the wounded cheek, holding the wet towel to it to reduce the swelling. chancing to look up, he observed the guide, lige thomas, standing before him, eyeing him keenly. "warm, isn't?" grinned tad. "rather. put the towel down. i want to look at that cheek." tad hesitated, drew the towel away, and gazed back at the guide with a challenge in his eyes. lige examined the wound carefully. "how'd you get it?" he demanded, straightening up. "why do you ask that? it's only a scratch." "because i want to know. if you do not wish to tell me, of course i shall not press you. however, it will be my duty to call the attention of the professor to it. you see, i am responsible for you boys while you are up here, and----" "a stone did it," interrupted tad, with a touch of stubbornness in his tone. "a stone?" "yes." "how?" "somebody threw it at me." for a moment the guide gazed at tad doubtingly. "i'll tell you all about it," exclaimed tad impetuously. "but promise me that you won't tell the boys. they'd never cease joking me about it. i'm going back there to-morrow to see if i can find the fellow who shied the rock at me. no; i didn't see him at all. i was sitting with my back to him when he let fly at me. but i pinked him, mr. thomas. believe me, i did----" "pinked him?" "yes, i let him have an arrow full tilt, and i know it hit him, for he yelled and ran away," explained the boy. "this matter must be looked into," decided lige thoughtfully. "it begins to look as if ben tackers was right about the gang after all. no; i'll not say anything to the crowd. it would only stir them up. we will visit the cave to-morrow, and, while the others are amusing themselves, you and i will look the ground over a bit. i'll go back now, and you may come along when you get ready." tad remained by the stream until he heard the supper call, whereupon he rose slowly and picked his way over the rocks to where the others had assembled about the table in the gathering twilight. the boy's appetite, however, had not been affected by the experience through which he had passed that afternoon, and he stowed away a hearty meal, after which the evening was spent in listening to stories of the chase related by lige thomas. there being still no sign of ben tackers on the following morning, a visit to the cave was decided upon. they reached the place about nine o'clock, guided by tad, who took them to the hole in the rock at once. "i guess you boys had better fix up some torches," directed lige. "sometimes there are holes within holes, in these mountains, and we don't want to take a sudden drop down a hundred feet or so. three torches will be enough to light. you had better take along two or three more in case of need." before entering, the guide took the precaution of unslinging his rifle, and, placing the boys behind him with the torches, he entered the cave first. they were obliged to stoop to get through the opening. once within they followed what appeared to be a passage hewn out of the solid rock. "ah, here we are!" exclaimed lige finally, straightening and glancing about him curiously. they found themselves in a dome-like chamber, from which hung suspended hundreds of stalactites that threw back the rays of the torches in a thousand sparkling, scintillating points of fire. the pony riders gasped in amazement. never had any of them seen anything like this. "wha--what is it?" breathed tad butler. "stalactites," announced the professor. "look like icicles to me. b-r-r-r," shivered stacy brown. "it is a very common thing to find them in caves," added the professor. "but i never have had the pleasure of observing the formation before." "i can show you some better than these," stated the guide. "i know of a cave, not so very far from here, that is as big as a church, and a regular picture of one, too." "is this the end of the cave?" asked ned. "no; there are other passages leading further into the mountain, at the other end of the chamber there," replied lige. "are we going to explore them?" inquired walter. "yes; we can go further, if you wish. but you boys must keep a sharp lookout where you are going. don't fool too much. it's easy to get into trouble here, you know." while lige was speaking, tad had edged cautiously to one side of the chamber, where he had observed what appeared to be a small rock, glistening in the light of the torches. he picked it up, unobserved by the others, and dropped it into his pocket for further observation. the party then pushed on into the cave, one chamber leading into another, forming a bewildering maze, the brilliant reflections almost blinding them at times, until at last lige thomas was forced to admit that he never had quite seen the like of it anywhere else in the rockies. "didn't i tell you i'd show you the biggest thing you ever saw in your life?" glowed tad butler. at that instant a yell of terror from stacy brown drew their attention sharply from tad, their eyes bulging with fear at what they saw before them. there, sitting on its haunches, paws extended menacingly, showing its teeth as it uttered low, angry growls of protest, was a full-grown black bear. tad butler, indeed, had shown some of them the most surprising things they had ever seen. yet this was not exactly the surprise he had planned for them, or for himself. the guide had put his gun down as he entered the chamber, to get one of the stalactites for professor zepplin, who wished to examine it. as a result, lige was now some twenty-five feet away from his weapon. at first, with the bright reflection in his eyes, the guide was unable to understand what it was that had caused their sudden fright. yet the breathless silence about him told him instantly that something serious had happened. the bear had dropped to all fours and was lumbering straight toward stacy brown, who stood fascinated, watching the approach of the hideous object, whose raised upper lip showed a row of white gleaming teeth. "look out!" yelled tad suddenly finding his voice. "quick, guide!" begged the professor, weakly. "what is it? where?" snapped lige, crouching down and shading his eyes to protect them from the glare. he quickly saw what had caused the startling alarm. he saw too, the hulking beast drawing nearer and nearer to stacy brown, and knew that only some sudden shock to his mind would break the spell that seemed to possess the boy at that moment. "run!" thundered the guide. but chunky stood as rigid as a statue. lige sprang for his rifle. in his haste he slipped on the smooth, damp floor and went sprawling. by the time he had recovered himself, the bear had ambled up to stacy, until the boy could feel the hot, nauseating breath beating against his face. tad butler without regard for his own safety, leaped for the bear. but professor zepplin was too quick for him. he caught tad by the arm, jerking him back. now, at that instant, stacy brown did a thing that brought a groan from each one who witnessed the daring act. chunky drew back his pudgy fist and let go with all his might. his knuckles smote the bear fairly on the point of its nose, and the impact sounded loud and clear in the tense stillness of the cave. if the pony riders were surprised, bruin was even more so. with a grunt the bear suddenly sat down on its haunches, passing its paws over its nose, bewilderment plainly written on its countenance. under ordinary circumstances the boys would have laughed. but now they were too horrified to do so. chunky, either because he was emboldened by the success of his attack, or through the excitement of the moment, picked up a rock from the cave floor, and stepping back, hurled it with all his strength. the stone hit the bear a glancing blow on the head, bringing from the animal a growl of rage. now, the brute was dangerously angered. it charged the party savagely, jaws wide apart, but uttering no sound, not even a growl. by this time some one had pulled chunky from his perilous position and tad and professor zepplin were pushing the other boys back toward the exit with all possible haste. it all had happened in a few seconds. lige scrambled to his feet, rifle in hand, just in time to see the big brute charging straight at him, as if recognizing that in that quarter lay its gravest danger. there came a sudden flash of flame, a crash and a roar as if the very mountain had been rent in twain, followed by another and still another. tad had grabbed a torch from the hands of one of his companions, the instant lige began to fire, and sprung back to give the guide sufficient light to shoot by. in doing so, however, the boy had unwittingly placed himself in the direst peril. the wounded bear was charging madly here and there, uttering terrific growls of mingled rage and pain. but the instant its bloodshot eyes were fixed upon the boy with the torch, the animal rose on its haunches, and, with paws making powerful sweeps in the air, bore down upon tad. the boy was too far over in the chamber to be able to make his escape without getting between lige and the bear, and escape seemed well-nigh impossible. however, tad did not lose his presence of mind. with a leap as unexpected as it was surprising, he sprang straight for the savage beast. it seemed as if he was throwing himself right into the wide open jaws to be crushed to death. "don't shoot!" he warned, leaping forward. as he did so, he lowered the torch to the level of his own eyes, and drove it straight into the gaping mouth of the maddened bear. then tad sprang lightly to one side, throwing himself prone upon the floor. the great bear was not growling now, but its groans of agony as it fought to get the deadly thing from its throat, sent a chill to the hearts of all who heard them. at the instant when tad threw himself down, lige pulled the trigger. his bullet ploughed its way through the brain of the bear, relieving its fearful sufferings. bruin collapsed and rolled over, dead. chapter xvi live cubs captured "bring torches!" shouted lige. "look out for yourselves! there may be another in the cave. this is an old she bear." after the lights had been brought, the boys cautiously approached the dead bear. lige was down on his knees examining it. "i think we shall find something interesting here, before we have finished," he announced. "master tad, as you have strong nerves, you come along with me. the others can drag the bear out and wait for us outside. bring a couple of extra torches, in case we need them." "what are you looking for? more bear?" inquired the boy after they had penetrated further into the cave. "you'll see; that is, if i find what i am looking for. your cave is turning out better than any of us had any idea it would. was that some more fools' gold you picked up back there?" "oh, you saw me, did you? i don't know. it shines, and that's all i know about it. do you know of any place where there is real gold in this part of the rockies?" "yes; there are some claims paying fairly well within twenty miles of here. the lost claim is supposed to be somewhere in this neighborhood, but thus far no one ever has been able to locate it. i've had suspicions that ben tackers might make a close guess if he wanted to disclose it. but old ben wouldn't bother with the gold if it was dumped right down in his pig sty." "what's the lost claim?" "it's quite a long story. i'll tell it to you, briefly, while we are exploring the cave." "then it was a real gold mine?" "it surely was, master tad. and i guess it is still. some twenty years ago a miner who had been born and brought up in the park range began dropping down to denver at more or less irregular intervals, where he exchanged nuggets of pure gold and pay dust for cash. the quality of the gold showed that it must come from a rich vein. "naturally, people were curious. but to all their questions, ab ferguson simply said he'd got the gold out of 'the lost claim.'" "wonder they didn't follow him. i should think they might have located it in that way?" wondered tad. "they did. but they might as well have tried to find the pot of gold that is said to be at one end or the other of the rainbow. ab was too much of an indian to be caught that way." "what happened to him finally?" "knocked down by a runaway team in denver, and died three days later." "and he didn't tell anyoue where the claim was?" "not he. they've been looking for it ever since. but no one, so far as i ever heard, has got anywhere near it. there's a bunch of hard characters beating up the mountains now, hoping to get rich without work. it's dollars to sandwiches they're hoping to find the lost claim." "you--you don't suppose it was one of them who threw the stone at me, do you?" asked tad reflectively. "i hadn't thought of that. it may be--it may be. h-m-m-m. that's an idea." "but why should they wish to harm me? i don't understand it at all." "no more do i, unless they found you snooping about, or thought our party might be on the same lay they are. you know, fellows of that kind will stop at nothing. more than one man has been killed on nothing more than an idle suspicion, in these mountains. a lot more will follow in the same way. but we've been warned, and it will be well to keep a sharp lookout." "if they hadn't thought we were near the lost claim, i don't see why they should have had any suspicions," decided tad. "on general principles--that's all." "did you ever try to find the lost claim?" "i? never. what would i do with it, if i had it? i'm like ben tackers--don't need any more money than i've got. more would be too much." yet tad butler was unable to rid his mind of the idea that somehow he had stumbled close upon the dead miner's secret. he determined to turn prospector at the very first opportunity. "is this more fools' gold?" he asked, pointing to a thin, yellow streak that sparkled in the rock at their right. "i reckon it is. it has fooled more than one prospector, and drove some of them crazy. take my advice and don't get the fever. nothing but trouble will follow you if you do. trouble always does follow the greed for the yellow metal." they had been winding out in the maze of passages, lige, in the meantime, keeping a sharp lookout for guide marks, now and then gouging a niche in the wall to guide them on their return journey. "watch out," he cautioned. "we are coming to something." sundry soft, muffled growls led them to proceed more carefully, until, finally, lige directed the lad to raise the torch higher. lige cocked his rifle, holding it in readiness for quick action. in this manner they crept further into the cave until tad was suddenly startled by a loud laugh from the guide. "what is it?" exclaimed the boy. "just what i thought. come here." at first, tad could make nothing of what the guide was exhibiting. however, after a moment's peering in that direction, the boy observed what appeared to be a round ball of fur in one corner of the chamber. "wha--what is it--bears?" lige nodded, and, striding over to the heap, he pulled it roughly apart. his act was greeted with a series of savage snarls and growls. "cubs. four of them, and beauties, at that. i knew they were in here, somewhere, after i had examined the mother," announced the guide triumphantly. "bear cubs? you don't mean it!" exclaimed tad joyously. "and we can take them with us?" "that's exactly what we shall do. there will be one for each of you, and we can crate them up so they can be carried on the burros." "one for each of us? won't the boys go wild when they see them? but, how are we going to get them to camp?" "i'll show you." taking a strip of rawhide from his pocket, lige fashioned a collar about the neck of each cub, leaving a leash four or five feet long to lead the animal by. however, this was not accomplished without vigorous protest on the part of the cubs. tad was highly amused at their efforts to cuff their captor with their little paws, which they wielded with more or less skill. yet, they were too young to be able to make any great resistance, and the guide did not give the slightest attention to their attempts to drive them away. "there," he announced, having secured the little animals. "we each will lead two. don't be afraid to pull, if they hold back. they'll come along all right when they begin to choke." with their prizes in tow tad and the guide retraced their steps to the cave entrance. at first, looks of amazement greeted them as they emerged with their strange captives. "know what they are?" grinned tad, proudly hauling his cubs up for inspection. the boys shook their heads. "bear cubs. there's one for each of us." "whoop!" shouted the boys in chorus. "now, we'll have a regular menagerie," exclaimed ned. "if we could catch a live bob-cat to go with them, wouldn't that be great?" "will they bite?" asked chunky, apprehensively edging away from one of the animals that was playfully tugging at his leggin. "not yet," answered the guide. "and you can tame them so they won't hurt you at all. they make good pets if one begins when they are young." the next half hour was spent in skinning the big mother bear, which proceeding the boys watched with keen interest. some of the meat they took back to camp with them to cook for supper. they found old ben tackers there awaiting them. "hullo, ben," greeted the guide. "how's everything?" "tol'ble," grunted the old mountaineer. "are the dogs ready?" ben nodded. "start morning," he said. "good," shouted the boys. "we couldn't imagine where you had been keeping yourself all the time," added the professor. "lige went over to your cabin last night and found it locked." "been away, ben?" asked lige. "over to eagle pass. miners steal old ben's hogs--one, two of them. sheriff come by-and-bye and chase bunch out. old ben kill them, but sheriff do better. big fight when sheriff comes." the boys laughed at his quaint way of expressing himself, but not catching the full import of his words. lige, on the other hand, eyed him questioningly; and, when ben finally left the camp in his usual abrupt fashion, the guide rose and followed him. when lige thomas returned, his face wore an expression of seriousness that amounted almost to anxiety. the boys were excitedly discussing their plans for the morrow. it had been decided that the professor should remain in camp with jose, as, owing to the presence of the miners in the vicinity, it was not thought wise to leave the camp entirely alone. the four boys, with lige thomas, were to make the trip, from which, in case they found the game running, they might not return in twenty-four hours. tad had been thinking deeply. after a little while he rose and walked over to professor zepplin's tent. "may i come in?" he asked. "certainly, walk right in, tad. what is on your mind?" "this," answered the lad, laying on the professor's table the chunks of mineral that he had picked up. "what's this? ah, i see. more of the iron pyrites. the metal has driven many a poor fellow mad with anticipations of fabulous wealth," smiled the german. "are you sure it is fools' gold, professor?" "reasonably so. but you may leave it here, if you wish, and i will examine it at my leisure. where did you find the second piece?" "in the cave. there is a streak of what appears to be the same stuff, extending around one entire chamber there. if it was gold instead of----" "pyrites," supplied the professor. "yes. it would make a man very rich, would it not?" asked tad rising. "undoubtedly," smiled the professor, bowing the boy out courteously. professor zepplin, from the opening of his tent, watched tad until the latter had joined his companions, after which he pulled the flap shut, quickly seating himself in front of his camp table. having done so, he proceeded to examine the two pieces of metal under a magnifying glass. then with his geologist's hammer he broke off bits of the metal, through all of which sparkled the bright yellow particles. the german got out his field kit, from which he selected several bottles with glass stoppers, arranging these on the table in front of him. this done, he pulverized a small quantity of the rock, with short, quick raps of the hammer, placing the powder thus made on a plate. "one part nitric acid, two parts hydrochloric acid," he muttered, pouring the desired quantities from the bottles. these preparations having been made, the professor's next move was to apply a blowpipe to some of the metal from the pulverized ore, thus forming a small yellow button. this he dissolved in the aqua regia, formed by the combination of the two acids, and applied the usual chemical tests. as he did so, professor zepplin's eyes glowed with a strange light. he sprang up, peered cautiously from behind the tent flap, then settled himself once more to his experiments. again he went through a similar process with the powder made from still another chunk of the ore. the same result followed. "gold! gold! rich yellow gold!" breathed the scientist. he sat with head bowed, breathing heavily, his fascinated gaze fixed on the shining metal. "can it be possible!" he murmured. the loud laughter of the boys off by the camp fire was borne to his ears. but professor zepplin did not seem to hear the sounds. he was lost in deep thought. chapter xvii the ponies stampede next morning the camp was stirring as the first gray streaks appeared on the eastern horizon. each saddle bag was quickly packed with hard tack, coffee and other necessaries which might be easily carried, the rest of the space being taken up with cartridges and the like. blankets were rolled, ready to be strapped behind the saddles on the ponies' backs. the luggage was to be reduced to the absolute needs of the party, but with the possibility of having to remain out over night, their requirements were greater than if they had intended to return the same evening. before they had finished their hurried breakfast, ben tackers appeared, accompanied by two vicious looking hounds, whose red eyes and beetle brows made the boys hesitate to approach them at first. however, after the pony riders had tossed small chunks of cooked bear meat to them, the animals, by wagging their tails, showed that nothing need be feared from them. no sooner were the guns brought out than the dogs, beginning to understand what was in the air, bounded from one to another of the lads, barking and yelping with keen delight. all was activity in the camp. ponies were quickly rubbed down, saddled and bridled, blankets strapped on, and, at a command from tad butler, the young hunters fairly threw themselves into their saddles. the party moved off, with the enthusiastic riders waving their hats and shouting farewells to those who had been left behind. jose swung a dishpan, grinning broadly, while the professor smiled and nodded at the departing horsemen. in a few moments the voices of the boys had become only a distant murmur. "come into my tent a moment, mr. tackers," invited the professor. the old mountaineer accepted the invitation apparently somewhat grudgingly. "i hear considerable about gold being found in this neighborhood, occasionally, mr. tackers. what has been your experience, may i ask?" "there's some as has found pay dirt," answered ben. "but i reckon ben tackers don't bother his head about it." "hm-m-m-m," mused the professor. "what is the nearest railroad station to this place?" "eagle pass. 'bout twenty miles from here, due east." "how long would it take you to make the trip there and back?" "wouldn't make it again. just been there. haven't any horse." "i have a horse, mr. tackers, and i should very much like to have you make this trip for me," announced the professor, coming directly to the point. "i will pay you well for your trouble, but with the understanding that you say nothing of it to anyoue. the errand on which i am asking you to go is a confidential one. you will not mention it even to lige thomas. and, of course, it goes without saying that i do not wish the boys to know about it, either." ben peered at the professor from behind his bushy eyebrows, with suspicion plainly written in his beady eyes. "what for?" he grunted. "that i cannot tell you--in fact it is not necessary for you to know. when you get there, all you will be required to do will be to hand two packages to the express agent there, with instructions to forward them at once to their destination, which will be denver." "what'll you give?" "how much will you charge?" asked the professor. ben considered for a moment. "'bout fifty cents, i reckon," he answered hesitatingly, as if thinking the amount named would be too much. "i'll give you five times that," announced the professor promptly. "no; fifty cents 'll be 'bout right." "how soon can you start?" "now, i reckon." "be ready in an hour, and i will have the packages for you. when will you return?" "to-night." "good. now be off and get yourself ready. you know where my horse is. and, by the way, i shall want you to make the trip again no later than the day after to-morrow, as i shall expect an answer to my message by that time. for that service i shall be glad to pay you the same." "no; fifty cents will cover it all." "have it your own way." ben, understanding that the interview was at an end, rose and left the tent. professor zepplin then took one of the ore specimens from his pocket and packed it carefully in a small pasteboard box, wrapping and tying the package with great care. next, he wrote industriously for some twenty minutes. the letter he sealed in a large, tough envelope, after which he leaned back, lost in thought. "things couldn't be better," he muttered. ben, upon his return, received the packages which he was to express, and a few moments later had ridden from camp on old bobtail, headed for eagle pass. "i rather think i have turned a trick that will surprise some people," chuckled the professor. "perhaps i'll even surprise myself." later in the morning he strolled up to the cave entrance, hammer in hand, breaking off a bit of rock here and there, all of which he dropped into a little leathern bag that he carried attached to his belt. yet the professor wisely concluded not to take the chance of entering the cave alone, much as he wished to do so. the young hunters, in the meantime, were plodding along on their ponies on their way to the hunting grounds, which lay some ten miles to the northward of their camp. they found rough traveling. instead of following the ridges, they were now moving at right angles to them, which carried the boys over mountains, down through gulches and ravines, over narrow, dangerous passes and rocky slopes that they would not have believed it was possible for either man or horse to scale. "regular goats, these ponies," said tad proudly. "regular trick ponies, all of them." "they have to be or break their necks," replied walter. "or ours," added ned rector. "i don't see any wild beasts, but i feel hungry," declared stacy. "my stomach tells me it's time for the 'chuck wagon,' as lige thomas calls it, to drive up." "tighten your belt--tighten your belt," jeered ned. "cheer up! you'll be hungrier bye-and-bye." the boys munched their hard tack in the saddle, the guide being anxious to get, before nightfall, to the grounds where tackers had advised him the bob-cats were plentiful. already the dogs were lolling with tongues protruding from their mouths, not being used to running the trail in such warm weather. now and then they would plunge into a cool mountain stream, immersing themselves to the tips of their noses where the water was deep enough, and sending up a shower of glistening spray as they shook themselves free of the water after springing to the bank again. it was close to the hour of sunset when the guide finally gave the word to halt. lige prepared the supper while the boys bathed and rubbed down their ponies, after which they busied themselves cutting boughs for their beds, which they now were well able to make without assistance from their guide. bronzed almost to a copper color, the lads were teeming with health and spirits. even walter perkins, for the first time in his life, felt the red blood coursing healthfully through his veins, for he was fast hardening himself to the rough life of the mountains. all were tired enough to seek their beds early. wrapping themselves in their blankets, they were soon asleep. midnight came, and the camp fire slowly died away to a dull, lurid pile of red hot coals that shed a flicker of light now and then, as some charred stick flamed up and was consumed. a long, weird, wailing cry, as of some human being in dire distress, broke on the stillness of the night. the boys awoke with a start. "what's that?" whispered chunky, shivering in his bed. "nothing," growled ned. "what did you wake me up for?" once more the thrilling cry woke the echoes, wailing from rock to rock, and gathering volume, until it seemed as if there were many voices instead of only one. the ponies sprang to their feet with snorts of fear, while the boys, little less startled, leaped from their beds with blanching faces. the guide was already on his feet, rifle in hand. again the cry was repeated, this time seeming to come from directly over their heads, somewhere up the rocky side of the gulch in which they were encamped. even horses trained to mountain work had been known to stampede under less provocation. the frightened ponies suddenly settled back on their haunches. there was a sound of breaking leather, as the straps with which they were tethered parted, and the little animals were free. "stop them! stop them! jump for them!" roared the guide. but his warning command had come to late. with neighs of terror, the animals dashed straight through the camp, some leaping over the boys' cots as they went. "catch them!" thundered lige. "it's a cougar stampeding them so he can catch them himself." chapter xviii on a perilous hide "grab him! don't let him get by you!" one of the ponies swept by tad butler like a black projectile. the boy's hand shot out, fastening itself in the pony's mane. tad's feet left the ground instantly, his body being jerked violently into the air, only to strike the earth again a rod further on. so rapidly was the pony moving, that the boy was unable to pull himself up sufficiently to mount it. almost in a twinkling tad had been lifted out of the camp and whisked from the sight of his companions. the lad was taking what he realized to be the most perilous ride of his life. as soon as he was able to get his breath, he began coaxing the pony, but the continual bobbing of his body against the side of the terrified animal outweighed the persuasive tones of his urging. with each bump, the little animal, with a frightened snort, would leap into the air and plunge ahead again. tad did not know to which of the ponies he was clinging. nor did he find an opportunity to satisfy himself on this point. his flesh was torn from contact with thorns, while his face was ribbed from the whipping it had received by being dragged through the thick undergrowth, until tiny rivulets of blood trickled down his cheeks and neck. yet tad butler clung to the mane of the racing pony with desperate courage. he had not the slightest thought of letting go until ho should finally have subdued the animal. "whoa, texas! whoa, jimmie! whoa, jo-jo!" he soothed, trying the name of each of the ponies in turn. but it was all to no purpose. finally, the little animal slackened its speed, somewhat, as it began the ascent of a steep rise of ground. tad took instant advantage of the opportunity, and, after great effort, succeeded in throwing his right hand over the pony's back. then his right leg was jerked up. it came down violently on the animal's rump. startled, the pony sprang forward once more, causing tad to slide back to his former unpleasant position. but the boy had succeeded in getting a mane-hold with his right hand as well. this was a distinct gain, besides relieving the fearful strain on his left hand, the fingers of which were now cramped and numb. hardly any sense of feeling remained in them. instead of being dragged along on his left side, the plucky lad was now able, with great effort, to keep his face to the front. "if i could only get my hand on his nose and pinch it now, i'd stop him," breathed tad butler. in the meantime, excitement at the camp was at fever heat. lige had failed to bring down the cougar and every one of the ponies had disappeared. "bring torches!" commanded the guide calmly, not wishing to let the boys see that he was in the least disturbed. "we must try to round up some of the stock. one of you build up the fire." "but tad?" urged walter. "don't you know tad's gone? he'll be lost. we must go after him at once." "that's what i want you to start the fire for--so he can see it. he'll come back with the pony. no fear about that, for tad butler is not the boy to give up until he has accomplished what he's set out to do. one of you must remain here, though, while the rest of us go out to look for the stock. will you stay, ned?" "i will," answered the boy, though far from relishing the task assigned to him. "you have your rifle. signal us by shooting into the air if anything happens. but be careful. don't get the 'buck fever' and let go at us, or at tad, if he should return before we get back." "i'll be careful," answered the boy. "please don't worry about me. any danger of that cougar jumping down on me here?" he asked, glancing apprehensively at the rocks overhead. "i think not. he's gone. we shall be more likely to see him than you will. it's the ponies the brute's after. and he may have gotten one of them before this," added the guide. ned pluckily took his station just outside the circle of light formed by the replenished fire, and sat down with rifle laid across his knees. the guide, with walter perkins and stacy brown, set off at a trot in search of the stampeded ponies. at lige's direction they spread out so as to cover as much ground as possible, the torches making it well nigh impossible for any of them to get lost. "call your ponies," advised the guide. "we may be able to pick up some of them in that way after they have spent themselves." yet, though the forest rang with their calls, no trace were they able to find of the missing animals. "no use," announced lige finally. "we shall only get lost ourselves. it will be better to return to camp and wait for daylight. if the cougar is going to eat any of them, he probably has them by this time. however, i think my shooting has frightened him off, and that he is several miles from here by now. that was my main object in wasting so much ammunition on the beast." "yes, but what are we going to do about tad?" insisted walter. "if he has not returned, we can do nothing more than to keep the fire burning and discharge our guns now and then to let him know where we are. when daylight comes, i probably shall be able to follow his trail. but first of all we must get the ponies. we can do nothing without them." "do you think we ever shall find them?" asked stacy. "i most certainly hope so. at least, i expect to get some of them. if any are then missing, we can buy a couple at eagle pass, which is not very far. but you trust master tad to take care of himself. he'll get back somehow, my duty is to remain with you boys. we will look him up together when we get something to ride on." the little band trudged ruefully through the dark forest on their return to camp, guided carefully by lige, without whom they surely would have lost their way. in the meantime, tad had been dragged over an entire mountain range, the ranges in this case, however, being no more than a succession of summits of low peaks. the pony had reached the top of one of these when, without pausing in its mad course, it dashed on over the crest, and started down the opposite side. all at once tad realized that they were treading on thin air. the meaning of it all, smote him like a blow. "we're over the cliff!" he groaned. chapter xix lost in the mountains fortunately, however, their fall proved to be a very short one, though to tad it seemed as if they had been falling for an hour. boy and horse landed on a soft, mossy bank, rolling over and over, the pony kicking and squealing with fear, until, finally, both came to a stop at the bottom of the hill. tad was unharmed, save for the unmerciful treatment he had received during his record-breaking journey. yet, he proposed to take no further chances of losing his horse, if he had the good fortune to find the animal still alive. tad came up like a rubber ball. with a quick leap, he threw himself fairly on the pony's side. the impact made the little horse grunt, his feet beating a tattoo in the air in his desperate struggles to free himself. "whoa!" commanded tad sharply, sliding forward and sitting on the animal's head, which position he calmly maintained, until the pony, realizing the uselessness of further opposition, lay back conquered. yet the boy did not rise immediately. instead, he patted the pony's neck gently, speaking soothing words and calming it until the animal's quivering muscles relaxed and it lay breathing naturally. "good boy, jimmie," he said, recognizing the pony as ned's. "now, after you have rested a bit we'll see what we can do about getting back to camp. if i'm any judge, you and i are not going to have a very easy time of it on the back track, either, jimmie." without a compass, with only a hazy idea of the direction in which they had been traveling, tad's task indeed was a difficult one. "i think we'll walk a bit, jimmie," he confided to the pony, and, taking the little animal by the bridle, began leading it cautiously up the slope, which he ascended by a roundabout course, remembering the jump they had taken on the way down. tad was not likely to forget that. the boy's eyes were heavy for want of sleep and his wounds pained him beyoud words. after somewhat more than an hour's journey he pulled up, looking about him. "i am afraid we two pards are lost, jimmie." the pony rubbed its nose against him as if in confirmation of the lad's words. "and the further we go, the more we shall be lost. jimmie, the best thing for you and me to do will be to go to bed. lie down, jimmie, that's a good boy." as tad tapped the pony gently on the knees the little animal slowly lowered himself to the ground, finally rolling over on his side with a snort. "good boy," soothed tad. then snuggling down, with the pony's neck for his pillow, the bridle rein twisted about one hand, tad went as sound asleep as if he had not a care in the world, and without thought of the perils which the mountains about them held. yet some good fairy must have been watching over tad butler, for not a sound broke the stillness until a whinny from jimmie at last disturbed his slumbers. the boy opened his eyes in amazement. it was broad daylight. tad's first care was to tether the pony to a sapling, after which he searched about until he found a mountain stream, in which he washed, feeling greatly refreshed afterward. he then treated the pony as he had himself, washing the animal down, and allowing it to quench it's thirst in the stream. "not much of a breakfast, is it, jimmie? but you can help yourself to leaves. that's where you have the best of me. not being a horse, i can't eat leaves. i wonder where i am!" gazing about him inquiringly, the boy failed to recognize the landscape at all. in fact, he did not believe he ever had seen it before. when the sun rose he declared to himself that it had come right up out of the west. what little sense of direction he might have had left was entirely lost after this, and tad sat down to think matters over. once he raised his head sharply and listened. he was sure that he had heard a shot, far off toward the rising sun. tad wished with all his heart, that he had his rifle with him, for he realized that with it he might be able to attract attention. "i certainly cannot sit here and starve to death," he decided after jimmie had satisfied his own hunger from the fresh green leaves. "come on, jimmie; we'll go somewhere, anyway." saying which, tad methodically patched the broken bridle rein together, mounted the pony's bare back and set off to climb the low mountain that loomed ahead of him. he had gone on thus for nearly two hours, without finding any trace of either the camp or his late companions, when a sound off in the bushes to the right of him caused him to pull jimmie up sharply. jimmie pricked up his ears and whinnied. "that's strange," muttered tad. "he wouldn't be likely to do that if it was a wild animal over there. judging from past experiences, he'd run." once more did jimmie set up a loud whinny, and to tad's surprise and delight, the signal was answered by a similar call off in the sage brush. "it's a horse. i believe it's one of the ponies," cried tad, turning his mount in the direction from which the sounds had seemed to come, and galloping rapidly toward the place. next, the boy uttered a shout of joy. his delight was great, after he had penetrated the sage, to come suddenly upon a pony contentedly munching a mouthful of green leaves, and gazing at him with great wondering eyes. "texas!" shouted the boy. tad had indeed come upon his own faithful little pony. "texas, you rascal, you come right here. what do you mean by running away from me like this?" texas swished his tail, shaking his head and stamping his feet as if in mute protest at his owner's chiding. yet the pony made no attempt to run away as his master rode up beside him. leaping to the ground, tad petted the animal, throwing his arms about its neck, as if he had found a long lost friend. the two ponies, too, rubbed noses, and in other ways expressed their satisfaction at once more being together. now, reassured, and almost as well satisfied as if he had eaten a hearty breakfast, tad mounted his own pony, and, taking jimmie in tow, pressed on once more, hoping eventually to come out somewhere near the camp. but the boy's companions had not been idle. lige had prepared their breakfast without waking them. when he called them they sprang up, rubbing their eyes, and a few minutes later gathered around the hot meal. "what is the first thing this morning?" asked ned after learning that tad had not yet returned. "breakfast," answered the guide. "next, we'll look for the ponies, then go after master tad." more fortunate in their search than they had hoped for, the party within the hour succeeded in rounding up all the ponies save jimmie and texas. one of the two they knew tad had gone away with, so, after a council, it was decided to take the animals they had captured and make an effort to find tad butler. "i'm going to try an experiment," announced lige, after they had returned to camp with the stock. calling the hounds, ginger and mustard, to him, the guide allowed them to sniff the saddles and saddle cloths of jimmie and texas. after that, he showed them tad butler's hat. the intelligent animals, after sniffing attentively at the articles, looked up at the guide as much as if to say: "well, what about it?" "go after them! fetch them, ginger and mustard!" he urged. with noisy barks, the dogs began running about the camp with noses to the ground, sniffing at the ponies again and again, the little party in the meantime, watching them with keen interest. all at once, with a deep bay, mustard struck out for the bushes, followed an instant later by ginger. "they've got it! they've got it!" shouted lige. "that's the way tad went. now, if those brutes don't get sidetracked on the trail of a bob-cat, we ought to round up some of our missing friends." lige bade ned to accompany him on jo-jo, and directed the others to remain in camp--not to move from it until their return. then the two horsemen set off at a gallop, following the swiftly moving dogs. lige knew that he was on the right track, for tad, as he was dragged through the bushes, had left a plainly marked trail--that is, plain to the experienced eyes of the mountain guide, who nodded his head with satisfaction as he noted the course the dogs were taking. tad pulled up his pony, and, leaning forward, listened intently. he faintly caught the distant baying of a hound. placing a hand to his mouth, he gave a long, piercing war whoop. the dogs' baying seemed to come nearer. now and then, as the animals sank into a ravine, the sound would be lost momentarily, only to be taken up again with added force when the crest of the hill was reached. once more, tad sent out his long, thrilling war-cry. it was answered by a rifle shot, but from the perplexing echoes he was unable to place it. the ponies now pricked up their ears inquiringly. jimmie snorted, and, for the moment, acted as if he were ready to bolt again. tad slapped him smartly on the flanks, sternly commanding him to stand still. "there they are!" cried the boy, as the dogs, stretched out to their full lengths, with tails held straight out behind them, swept down a gentle slope on the other side of the valley, and, taking the hill on his side, rose rapidly to the pinnacle where he was sitting on his pony. "ginger! mustard!" was the glad cry uttered by tad butler, as the dogs, yelping with joy at the sound of his voice, came bounding to him, while the ponies reared and plunged in the excess of their excitement. tad leaped from his mount, petting and fondling the hounds, hugging them as they leaped upon him, and shouting at the top of his voice, as he heard still another shot on the other side of the hill. a few moments later, he made out the figures of two horsemen on the opposite ridge, following on in the trail of the dogs. they were ned rector and the guide, lige thomas. the two set up a glad shout as they made out tad, waving his arms and gesticulating. "come on, doggies! it's breakfast for us, now!" cried tad, leaping to texas' back, leading jimmie dashing down the hill to meet the oncoming horsemen. "hooray!" welcomed ned rector. and amid the shouts of the boys and the barking of the dogs, rescuers and rescued drew swiftly toward each other. chapter xx the dogs tree a cat walter and chunky finally made out tad, tattered and torn, but riding his pony proudly, approaching the camp. it was a warm welcome that the two boys extended to the returning horsemen, after they had finally dismounted and staked down their ponies. the plucky lad was kept busy for some time telling them of his thrilling experience on the wild ride of the night before. "and now, i guess we had better lay up for the day," decided the guide. "you must be pretty well tired out after your little trip. the rest of us didn't get much sleep last night, either." "no," protested tad. "i never was more fit in my life. i am crazy to start on our hunting trip." "so are we," shouted the boys in chorus. "all right, then. pack up while tad is getting something to eat. he must have a large-sized appetite by this time," smiled lige thomas. "if i had a chunk of that bear meat that we got the other day, i'd show you what sort of an appetite i have," laughed tad. "there's something about this mountain air that would lead a man to sell his blouse for a square meal. where's my rifle?" "over there by your bunk," answered walter. "you go ahead and eat. we'll pack the pony for you while you are breakfasting." tad did so, and an hour later the pony riders were once more in the saddle. "i think i'll put the dogs on the trail of the fellow that upset our plans so thoroughly last night," decided lige. "he probably is a long way from here by this time, but it will be a good trail to warm the hounds up on." bidding the boys draw down the valley half a mile or so, where he said he would join them, lige went in the opposite direction, and, picking his way along a ledge, sent the dogs on ahead of him. the hounds soon scented the trail, though on the bare rocks they had considerable difficulty in picking it up. after watching them for a few moments, lige urged them out into the brush, where he thought the scent might be more marked. his judgment was verified when, a moment later, a yelp from mustard told him the faithful animal had picked up the trail at last. turning back, the guide hastened to the foot of the mountain, whence he galloped down the valley to join the boys, who, having heard the deep baying of the hounds, were restless to be off. "what are they doing?" called walter, observing lige approaching. "they're after the cougar. set your horses at a gallop." the pony riders needed no urging, for they were keen for the excitement of the chase. the hounds, by this time, had obtained quite a lead on them, though the boys still could hear their hoarse voices. "they are following the ridge yet," decided lige. "the fellow ought to cross over pretty soon. i think if we will turn to the left, here, and climb the mountain, we may be able to save some distance. but don't speak to the dogs if they pass anywhere near you. it might throw them off the scent." half an hour after they had turned off, they were rewarded by seeing the dogs racing down the opposite hill, in great leaps and bounds, crossing the valley a short quarter of a mile ahead of the party. the ponies, which had been walking since they turned off, were now sent forward at a slow gallop again, soon falling in close behind the hounds. "they've got him!" cried lige. "got who?" asked chunky. "i don't know. the cougar, i presume. don't you hear them?" "i hear the dogs barking, that's all," replied ned. "and i hear more than that," said the guide, with a peculiar smile. "don't you distinguish a difference in the tone of one of the dogs' bark?" "no, i don't," snapped chunky. "all barks sound alike to me." "mustard is baying 'treed,'" said the guide. "hurry, if you want to be in at the death. if you don't the dogs either will kill him or get killed before we can reach them." putting spurs to their mounts, the hunters set off at a livelier gallop, and soon the deep tones of the hounds began to grow louder. now, too, the boys were able to catch a new note--a note almost of triumph, it seemed to them, in the dogs' hoarse baying. "stick to your ponies. don't leave them. if it's a cougar, he is liable to stampede them again. and don't any of you shoot until i give you the word." "there he is!" cried tad, pointing to a low-spreading pinyon tree. "i can see him moving around in the top there. may i take a shot at him, mr. thomas?" "no; do you want to kill the dogs?" "the dogs?" "certainly. that is one of the dogs up there. probably mustard," said the guide. "what's that? dogs climb trees?" demanded chunky, laughing uproariously. "keep still! do you want to spoil our fun?" growled ned. "the idea! dogs climb trees!" and chunky brown went off into a paroxysm of silent mirth, his rotund body convulsed with merriment. "mustard can climb a tree as well as you can, if not better," answered lige sharply. "use your eyes, and you will see for yourself. that is one of the dogs that you see in the tree there--not a cougar. ah! there goes the other one!" he cried, pointing with his rifle. and, sure enough, it was. "it's ginger!" exclaimed walter in amazement. the hound was creeping cautiously up the sloping trunk of the spreading tree, following in the wake of his companion, whose presence in the tree was indicated only by the movement of the slender limbs which he fastened upon to keep from losing his balance. "what are they after?" asked ned. "perhaps a cougar. i can't tell, yet," replied the guide, keeping his eye fixed on the tree. a yelp of pain and anger followed close upon his words, and a dark object came plunging from the tree. "there goes one of the dogs!" shouted lige. "that's too bad." the hound had approached too close to the animal in the tree, and a mighty paw had smitten it fairly on the nose, hurling it violently to the ground. mustard, nothing daunted, scrambled to his feet with an angry roar, the blood trickling from his injured nose, and pluckily began digging his claws into the bark of the pinyon tree, up which he slowly pulled himself again. "well, if that doesn't beat all!" marveled chunky. "he is climbing that tree!" "he surely is," agreed walter, his eyes fairly bulging with surprise at the unusual spectacle. "and there's the other one away up in the top there. why doesn't he fall off?" "he prefers to remain up a tree, i imagine," laughed ned rector, without withdrawing his gaze from the unusual exhibition. a squall of rage from the tree top caused the boys to draw their reins tighter, the ponies champing at their bits and pawing restlessly. the ugly sound thrilled the lads through and through. the deep, menacing growl of the dog that was crawling up the sloping trunk voiced his anxiety to take part in the desperate battle that was being waged above them. "ginger's got hold of him!" shouted the guide. "got hold of who?" demanded chunky. "you'll see in a minute," growled ned. "look out! there he comes!" came the warning voice of the guide. "back, out of the way!" from the dense foliage, as if suddenly projected from a great bow, leaped the curving body of the animal that the dogs had been harassing. with a snarl of rage it landed lightly, almost at the feet of the assembled pony riders. stacy chanced to be nearest to the spot where the beast struck the ground. as it did so, his pony rose suddenly into the air. the boy, so intently watching the battle, had carelessly allowed his reins to drop from his hand to the neck of his mount. "i'm going to fall off!" yelled stacy, grabbing frantically for the pommel of his saddle. he missed the pommel and slipped from the leather. striking the smooth back of the horse, he tobogganed down and over the pony's rump in a flash, sitting down on the ground with a suddenness that caused him to utter a loud "ouch!" "he-help!" gasped the boy. before the snorting pony's fore feet had touched the earth. tad made a grab for the bit, and was jerked from his own pony as a result. but still he clung doggedly to his own bridle rein with one hand, hanging to the other plunging animal with the other. the others of the party were having all they could do to manage their own horses, and hence were unable to offer tad any assistance at that moment. so mixed in the melee of flying hoofs and plunging bodies was tad butler, that for a few seconds the onlookers were quite unable to tell which was pony and which was boy. yet the lad was amply able to fight his own battles, and he was doing so with a grim determination that knew not failure. the ponies already were lessening their frantic efforts to get away. "it's a bob-cat!" shouted lige, as soon as he had succeeded in swinging his horse about so he could get a good view of the animal, which was now bounding away. throwing his rifle to his shoulder, the guide took a snap shot at the fleeing cat, which now was no more than an undulating black streak. his bullet kicked up a little cloud of dirt just behind the bob-cat, which served only to hasten its pace. a moment more and the little animal had plunged head first into a depression in the ground and quickly crawled into a hole, probably its home. "too bad," groaned ned rector. "now, we've lost him." "never mind," soothed lige. "there are more of them in the mountains. besides, it's a good experience for you, before we tackle bigger game. we'll see if we can't bag a cat before the day is over." chunky pulled himself up ruefully, rubbing his body and pinching himself to make sure that no serious damage had been done. satisfying himself on this point, he straightened up, gazing from one to the other of his companions pityingly. "you fellows make me weary," he growled. "the whole bunch of you can't do with guns what i did with a little stick. gimme my pony." "it occurs to me," retorted tad, after having subdued the ponies, "that you weren't doing much of anything, either. if i remember correctly, you were sitting on the ground during most of the circus." chapter xxi a cougar at bay the dogs did not succeed in picking up another trail that day, so, late in the afternoon, the guide directed them to make camp by a stream, under the tall, clustering spruces in a deep ravine. tired from their hard run, the hounds threw themselves down by the cool stream to satisfy their thirst. mustard employed his time in licking his wounded nose, where the claws of the bob-cat had raked it. altogether the two animals appeared more disappointed over the loss of their quarry than did the boys themselves. while responding to the caresses of their young masters, the dogs were irritable to the point of snapping angrily at each other whenever they approached one another close enough to do so. "they don't seem to enjoy each other's company," said stacy, observing the animals curiously. "they're always that way after a chase," answered the guide. "they will be friendly to their masters, but extremely irritable to each other. by to-morrow morning the hounds will be bosom friends, you will find." "humph! i wouldn't like to belong to that family," decided chunky. next morning, lige decided that it would be best to move further north for cougar, they having failed to strike the trail of any on the previous day. somehow, the dogs had lost the trail of the one that had so recently disturbed the camp, picking up the scent of the bob-cat instead. this frequently was the case, as the guide informed them while they were riding along in the fresh morning air. the dogs had not been freed yet, lige leading them along by the side of his pony on a long leash. tad was trailing along a few rods to the rear. a sudden exclamation from him caused the others to pull up sharply. the lad's eyes were fixed on a tree a short distance ahead of him beneath which the party had just passed. "what is it?" demanded lige in a low voice. as if in answer to his question, the hounds uttered a deep, menacing growl. tad made no reply, but signaled with his hand that they were to remain quietly where they were. they saw him slip off the strap that held the rifle to his back and bring the weapon around in front of him. there he paused, holding the gun idly in one hand, his gaze still fixed on the top of the tree. all at once the butt of the rifle leaped to his shoulder. there was a puff of smoke, a crash, followed by a loud squall, and a great floundering about among the branches. without lowering the weapon from his shoulder, the young hunter let go another shot. the squalling ceased suddenly, but the disturbance in the tree continued, sounding as if some heavy body were falling through the branches. this proved to be the case. in a moment more the animal he had fired at came tumbling down, landing in a quivering heap at the foot of the tree. tad lowered the muzzle of his smoking weapon, gazing in keen satisfaction at the victim of his successful shot. "good shot!" glowed lige. "it's a cat." yet, before he could dismount, the hounds had wrenched themselves free and pounced upon the body of the dead bob-cat. with savage growls they tore the sleek hide into ribbons, on one side, and were devouring the flesh of the animal ravenously. the hide was ruined. "let them alone!" ordered lige. "that's the only fun they get out of the game. they'll be keen to get on the track of a cougar, now that they have tasted blood." and so it proved. with their first big game, on this trip, at their feet, the boys were eager to be off for the haunts of the cruel cougar. to their disappointment, however, they were able to sight nothing more interesting than a gaunt gray wolf, at which ned took a long shot and missed. "might as well try to hit a razor's edge at that distance," said lige. "they have no flesh on them at all, to speak of, now----" "will they bite?" asked chunky innocently. "a pack of them would eat you, bones and all, in a few moments," grinned lige. chunky shuddered. "but the gray wolf, when taken young, makes an ideal pet. some of the best cougar hounds i nave ever seen were trained wolves, working with a pack of regular hounds, of course," he explained. leaving the carcass of the bob-oat for the ravens and magpies, which were already hovering about in the tall trees awaiting their turn at it, the hunters moved on. no other game being found that day, the party turned eastward, where camp was made, this time on the flat top of a low-lying mountain. nor was it until late the following afternoon that the dogs appeared to have struck a promising lead. from the way they worked lige thought they were trailing a black bear. forcing the ponies into a brisk trot, the boys still found themselves falling behind the hounds. then, at the guide's suggestion, they went in chase at a lively gallop. the run continued for somewhat more than two hours, until the ponies began to lag, and until every bone in the bodies of the hunters seemed to be crying aloud for rest. the going had been rougher than any they had yet experienced. now they found themselves in a country differing materially from any they had yet explored. the hills were lower and thickly studded with trees, the whole resembling an exaggerated rolling prairie. "they've got him this time," announced the guide. "got what?" demanded chunky. "we'll know soon," answered lige directing the boys to urge their ponies along, and at a rapid pace they came up with the hounds some twenty minutes later. they were fighting some animal in a dense copse. it was a dinful racket they made in their desperate battle. "it's a cougar," explained lige. "no cat would make such a rumpus. look out for yourselves. i guess you had better lead the ponies off to the right, there, and stake them securely, for we may have a fight on our own hook before we have finished here. hurry if you want to see the fun." the boys were back in a twinkling. "fix them so they can't get away?" "yes." "then all of you line up here on this side so we won't be shooting each other when the brute makes his attempt at a get-away, as he surely will, when the dogs give him a chance. two of them can't hold him long. we ought to have a pack." they could hear the battle waging desperately in the bushes, which were being rapidly trampled down by the dogs and their victim, amid screams of rage from the animal and menacing, deadly growls from the hounds. soon the young hunters were able to make out the combatants, as the beast worked its way little by little to its right in an effort to get within reaching distance of a tree that it espied near by. but the dogs fought valiantly to outwit this very move. "we've got a cougar this time!" shouted lige triumphantly. "look out for him!" they could see the fighters plainly now. it was dangerous to fire for fear of hitting the hounds. already they were bleeding where the fangs or claws of the ugly beast had raked them. however, the dogs were working with keen intelligence. one would nip at a flank while the other played for the head of the cougar, in hopes of getting an opening. snarling, pawing, grinning, its ugly yellow teeth showing in two glistening rows, the beast fought savagely for its life. despite the guide's warning, tad butler and ned rector had drawn closer that they might get a better view of the sanguinary conflict. "i'm afraid they'll never make it," groaned lige. "it's fearful odds. everybody stand ready to let him have it when he breaks away. but keep cool. and be careful that you don't hit the dogs. might better let the cat get away. there he goes!" the huge beast leaped clear of the pocket into which the dogs had backed him. "don't shoot!" ordered the guide, observing one of the boys swinging his rifle down on the struggling animals. as the big cat leaped, mustard fastened his fangs into the beast's left leg, and was carried along with the cougar in its mighty spring. they could hear the hones grind as the iron jaws of the hound shut down on them. with a scream of rage, the maddened animal came to a sudden stop. its cruel yellow head shot out, jaws wide apart, aimed straight for mustard, who was still hanging with desperate courage to the beast's leg. yet the momentary hesitation, the few seconds lost in stopping in its rapid flight and reaching back for mustard, proved the cougar's undoing. with a snarl that sent a shiver up and down the backs of the pony riders, ginger threw himself at the head of the beast. the hound's powerful jaws closed upon it with a snap. over and over rolled the combatants, the dogs without a sound--the cougar uttering muffled screams, its great paws beating the air. one stroke reached mustard, hurling him fully a rod away, where he fell and lay quivering, a dull red rent appearing in his glossy coat. the cougar, in an effort to throw ginger off, was shaking his head, as a terrier would in killing a rat. "ah! he can't make it," cried lige. "hang on, ginger! go it, ginger!" encouraged the boys, now wild with excitement. but the hound was fast losing his hold, and the hunters groaned in sympathy with him as they observed this. mustard, understanding this too, perhaps, struggled to his feet and staggered into the arena to assist his mate, only to meet a repetition of the calamity that had befallen him a few minutes before. ginger's hold was broken at last. one great paw felled him to earth, and the cougar's yawning jaws closed over his head with crushing force. tad butler's blood was coursing through his veins madly. he could endure it no longer. a second or so more and the faithful dog's life would be at an end. with a cry of warning to the others not to shoot, tad leaped into the fray, mustard, at the same time, hurling himself at the beast's throat, where he fastened and clung. as tad sprang forward, his hunting knife flashed from its sheath, and with a movement so quick that the eyes of the spectators failed to catch it, the boy drove the keen blade into the cougar's body, just back of the right shoulder. at that instant the beast succeeded in freeing itself from the weakened hounds, and, straightening up with a frightful roar, leaped into the air, one huge paw catching tad butler and hurling him to the ground. tad shuddered convulsively, then lay still. lige thomas's rifle roared out a hoarse protest, and at the end of its leap the cougar lurched forward and fell dead. chapter xxii professor zepplin's mysterious foe though tad butler had received an ugly wound where the sharp claw of the dying cougar had raked him from his right shoulder almost down to the waist line, his youthful vitality enabled him to throw off the shock of it in a very short time. making sure that the beast was dead, lige rushed to the boy's side, and turning him over, made a hasty examination of his wounds. tad was unconscious. "is--is he dead?" breathed walter, peering down into the pale face of his friend. "no. he's alive, but he's had a mighty close call," answered lige in a relieved tone, and each of the boys muttered a prayer of thankfulness. "bring me some water at once," commanded the guide. ned rushed away, returning in a few moments with his sombrero filled. in his excitement he dropped the hat in attempting to pass it to the guide, deluging the unconscious tad with the cold water. tad gasped and coughed, a liberal supply of the water having gone down hist throat. "clumsy!" growled lige. "get some more, but don't let go till i get hold of the hat this time." by the time ned had returned with the second hatful, tad butler was regaining consciousness, and in a few moments they had him sitting up. the guide washed the boy's wound, and, laying on a covering of leaves, which he secured with adhesive plaster, allowed him to stand up. "well, young man, how do you feel?" he asked, with a grin. "i feel sore. did he bite me?" "luckily for you, he didn't. if you are going in for hand-to-hand mix-ups i'm afraid we shall have to leave off hunting. old and experienced hunters have done what you did, but i must say it's the first time i ever heard of a boy even attempting it." "are the dogs dead?" asked tad solicitously. "no. but, like you, they're pretty sore. you saved ginger's life, and i guess he knows it. you can see how he keeps crawling up to you, though he can hardly drag his body along." "good ginger," soothed tad, patting the wounded beast, which the hound acknowledged by a feeble wag of its tail. "now, if you boys are satisfied, i propose that we start back in the morning," advised lige. "it will take us well into the second day to reach camp, and we may pick up some game on the way back. i'll skin the cat to-night after supper, so we can take the hide back with us. i guess you'll all agree that it belongs to tad butler?" smiled lige. "well, i should say it does," returned ned earnestly. "but he's welcome to it. if that's the way they get cougar skins, i'll roam through life without one, and be perfectly contented with my lot." "not many fellows would risk their lives for a dog," added walter, with glowing eyes. while the boys had been having such exciting times, professor zepplin also had been enjoying the delights of the mountains, as well as experiencing some of their more unpleasant features. the lure of the yellow metal had gotten into the professor's veins, immediately he had proved to his own satisfaction that that which tad had discovered was real gold. the german could scarcely restrain his anxiety until the final return of ben tackers with the reply to the message he had sent on to denver. ben had made the trip to eagle pass again on the third day, returning some time in the night, so that the professor did not see him until the following day. in the meantime, professor zepplin had not been idle. he had made frequent trips to the vicinity of the cave, bringing away with him each time a bagful of the ore, which he had detached with his hammer and chisel, all of which he had submitted to the blow-pipe, acid tests, and, in most instances, with the same result that had followed his first attempt. the professor's enthusiasm now was almost too great for his self-restraint. there could be no doubt of the correctness of his conclusions. there must be a rich vein of ore running through the rocks, terminating, he believed, in the cave itself. finally, urged on by this same enthusiasm, professor zepplin ventured in as far as the first chamber one afternoon, and what he found there raised his hopes to the highest pitch. "i must be careful. i must be cautious. no one must know of my discovery just yet," he breathed, glancing apprehensively about, as he emerged from the cave on hands and knees. yet, as he came out, the professor failed to observe two pairs of eyes that were watching his every movement from the rocks above the entrance to the cave. believing himself entirely alone, the professor spread the ore he had just gathered on the ground before him, taking up each piece of mineral, fondling it and gazing upon it with glowing eyes. "gold! bright yellow gold! a fortune, indeed!" with a deep sigh of satisfaction, he gathered up the specimens, replacing them in his bag with great care. he drew the mouth of the bag shut, tying it securely. so thoroughly absorbed was he with his great discovery, that he was all unconscious of the fact that a man had been creeping up to him from the rear while he had been thus engaged. in one hand the fellow carried a stout stick, the free hand being employed to aid him in his cat-like creeping movements. "i wonder if anyoue suspects," mused the scientist, sitting with a far-away look in his eyes. "well, we shall see. we shall----" the words died on the professor's lips, as the tough stick, which had been raised above him, was brought down with a resounding whack, squarely on the top of his uncovered head. sudden darkness overwhelmed professor zepplin. he sank down with a moan, into utter oblivion. when finally his heavy eyelids had struggled apart, night had fallen. at first, he could not imagine where he was nor what had happened. shooting pains throbbed through his head and down into his arms and body. the professor uttered a suppressed moan, closed his eyes and lay back, vainly groping about in his disordered mind for a solution of the mystery. step by step he went back over the occurrences of the afternoon, which gradually became clearer, until at last he reached the point where he had finished his examination of the specimens of ore, in front of the cave entrance. "and that's where i am now," decided professor zepplin, sitting up. "but, what happened then? i have it. something hit me." his hand instinctively went to his injured head. then, with trembling fingers he began searching for the bag of minerals. it was nowhere to be found. the professor marveled at this for some minutes. like a blow, the answer came to him. "robbed!" he exclaimed. struggling to his feet, the german staggered down the rocks toward the camp, calling for jose with the full strength of his voice. the professor having been assisted to his tent and a lotion prepared for his aching head, jose was hurried off to the cabin of ben tackers with an urgent demand for his presence. when ben responded, and had listened to the full account of professor zepplin's mishap, he sat grave and thoughtful. "bad lot," he growled. "ab durkin's one of the most lawless critters on the park range; and i've got all i'm goin' to stand from him. the sheriff will settle him when he gits here----" "i don't care anything about the sheriff. the coward shall suffer for this, if he is the one who attacked me. i'll drive him out myself, if you won't help me. i'll----" "i'm with you all right, pardner." "then, come. i'm ready now," urged the professor rising. "what you going to do?" "i am going back there to take possession of that claim. that's what i am going to do. and it will be worse for the man who tries to stop me," declared professor zepplin, taking a revolver from his kit, and examining it to see that all the chambers were loaded. "i'd like to see this man, ab, attempt to interfere with my rights--i mean, interfere again." yet, had he known what was in store for him, the professor might have hesitated before taking the step that he had determined upon. chapter xxiii the pony riders under fire with many a whoop and hurrah, the boys dashed into the home camp in the early forenoon of the following day. lige had left them three miles down the trail, that he might make a short cut to eagle pass for the purpose of getting word to the parents of the boys, that their trip had been concluded, and asking that directions for their further journeys might be sent to them at denver, where they were to travel by easy stages. the trail to camp being clear and easily followed, he felt no apprehension in allowing them to go on alone. "halloo the camp!" shouted ned, hurling his sombrero on high, riding under and deftly catching it as it descended. "why, there's no one here!" exclaimed tad butler, looking about inquiringly, as they rode in. walter swung from his pony, and, hurrying to the tents, glanced into each in turn. "that's queer. looks as if no one had been here in a month. well, suppose we unpack and wait." "somebody has been through these tents in a hurry," declared tad after having made a hasty examination on his own account. "did you notice that everything in the professor's tent had been fairly turned inside out? there are our bows and arrows lying out there near where the camp fire was." now, the boys began to feel real concern. "tether the ponies and we will go out and see if we can find them," commanded tad butler. "shall we take our guns?" asked stacy. "better not. take your bows and arrows if you wish. we are going on the trail of two-footed game now, and we do not want to have guns. we might use them and be sorry for it afterwards." realizing the wisdom of his words, the boys laid aside their rifles, grabbed up their bows and quivers, and following tad, who immediately struck off in the direction of the cave. tad's own experience there was still fresh in memory. at the entrance, they halted. "look at that! what do you think of that?" exclaimed tad. above the entrance to the cave hung suspended a broad strip of sheeting. on it had been scrawled, evidently with a piece of blunt lead, the words: this claim belongs to ab durkin. keep off! the boys gazed at each other in amazement. "we'll find out whom this claim belongs to!" declared tad sternly. "i don't believe what that notice says at all. there is something more to this than we know about. who'll go into the cave with me?" "i will," chorused the boys. "follow me, then." tad moved forward, with the rest of the boys following closely behind him. but, as they started, a revolver shot rang out and a bullet sang by the head of tad butler. "back to the rocks!" shouted the boy, springing from the open place where they had been standing, at the same time urging his companions forward. "what does this mean?" demanded ned rector. "i don't know. we are in for trouble. spread out and hide behind the boulders as well as you can, while we crawl back to camp. chunky, you run for ben tackers as fast as your fat legs will carry you!" with more order than might reasonably have been expected under the circumstances, the boys retreated rapidly, two more shots zipping over their heads as they leaped over a projecting ledge and scurried to cover without losing any time. "i guess they're trying to scare us, that's all," decided ned. they could hear their unseen enemies, clambering down the rough ground that lay on either side of the cave, evidently bent on following them, now and then sending a bullet at one or the other of the dodging figures of the pony riders. "humph! looks like it, doesn't it?" snapped tad. suddenly rising to his full height, the boy waved his sombrero and hailed the men who bad been firing at them. "hold on, there! what are you trying to do? you're shooting at us! you had best look out what you are doing, unless you want to got into trouble yourselves. i----" the answer came promptly. a gun barked viciously, and the plucky lad's sombrero was snipped from his hand, with a bullet hole through its broad brim. tad ducked behind a rock with amazing quickness. "spread out a little more, fellows. it won't be so easy to hit us," he commanded. "walter, you watch out on either side of us, while ned and i take care of the front." "wish i had my rifle. i'd show them," growled ned. "i don't," snapped tad. "we've got trouble enough as it is." the boys had been carrying on their conversation in low tones, that they might not betray their positions to their enemies. "get out of there, you young cubs!" suddenly roared a voice, whose owner they could not see. "i'll l'arn ye to interfere with other folks' business. i'll give yer five minutes to shake ther dust of this hy'ar mounting off yer feet. if any of ye is here then, it'll be the worse for ye. this claim belongs to ab durkin. now, mosey! d'ye hear?" tad butler did hear. and now he saw as well as heard. ab, confident that he had nothing to fear from the boys, had taken his station on a large boulder, from which position he was giving his orders to the pony riders. tad, peering from behind the rock where he had taken refuge, saw an evil face, topped by a weather-worn sombrero, and, beyoud it, the figures of four other men whose faces he was unable to make out. "i say, will ye git?" "no!" shouted tad, his face flushing, as all the old fighting spirit in him came to the surface. "then, take the consequences!" ab durkin raised his revolver, peering from rock to rock, not certain now as to the exact location of the boys. he seemed ready to fire the instant he made out the mark he was seeking. tad butler never had been more cool in his life, and a strange sense of elation possessed him. motioning to the boys to lie low, tad fitted an arrow to his bow, after which he waited a few seconds, keenly watching the enemy and measuring the distance to him, with critical eyes. all at once the boy's right arm drew back. there followed a sharp twang. "ouch!" the mountaineer leaped straight up into the air, which action was followed by two shots in quick succession, as both of the man's revolvers were accidentally discharged, the bullets burying themselves harmlessly in the ground in front of him. tad's arrow had sped home. its blunt end had been driven with powerful force, straight against the left ear of ab durkin, having been deflected slightly from where tad had intended to plant it. "lie low!" commanded the boy. the next instant, a shower of revolver shots flattened themselves against the rocks all about the boys. "give them a volley and drop back quickly!" ordered tad. three bows twanged, and yells of rage told the boys that at least some of their missiles had gone home. this was a different sort of warfare from anything to which these mountaineers had been accustomed, and, somehow, it had begun to get on their nerves, desperate men though they were. "follow me. we must change our positions again. they've got our range now," directed tad, and the boys, wriggling along on their stomachs, to the left, dutifully followed their leader. tad was heading for a clump of sage brush, so that their operations might be the better masked. while he was doing so, the mountaineers, who also had taken to cover, were bombarding the rocks from which the pony riders had just made their escape. from their new position the boys were overjoyed to find that their enemies were in plain view. "take careful aim, and when i count three, let go at them. see that not one of you misses," directed the leader. "ready, now! one, two, three!" three bowstrings sang, and as many mountaineers, with yells of rage, began shooting, fanning every rock and bush about them, in hopes of driving from cover their tantalizing opponents. at first they were at a loss to locate the boys' new position, but, after a little, as the arrows kept coming persistently from the sage bush, the mountaineers' bullets began to snip the leaves over the heads of the pony riders. "shoot slowly, and make every shot count!" directed tad with stern emphasis. once, a bullet grazed tad's left cheek, and ned rector narrowly missed death, escaping with the loss of a lock of hair. with rare generalship, tad continually changed their positions, which tactics also were followed by the mountaineers, all the time crowding the boys nearer and nearer to their own camp. chunky had not yet returned, and tad devoutly hoped that the boy would not be rash enough to attempt to do so now. if anything, the boys thus far had the best of the battle, and although none had sustained a serious wound, every one of the mountaineers had marks on his body to show where blunt tipped arrows, driven by a strong arm, had been stopped. now, a new danger menaced the brave little band. their quivers were nearly empty. tad, discovering it, drew his hunting knife from its sheath, tossing it to walter perkins. "quick! cut some sticks and make some arrows. don't lose a second. make them as straight as possible, or we shall be unable to hit a thing." by the time their supply had become almost exhausted, walter had succeeded in turning out more than half a dozen new arrows. yet no sooner had they begun driving these at their enemies than the mountaineers sent up a yell of defiance. they recognized the predicament the boys were in. "cease firing!" commanded tad, realizing at once that their enemies had discovered their plight. "fellows, we are about at the end of our rope. give me the arrows. then, you two make your get-away. but be careful not to expose your bodies to the fire of those brutes. when you get far enough away run for ben tackers' cabin. you can hide there, anyway," directed tad butler. "yes, but what are you going to do? you surely don't intend to remain here?" protested walter. "i'm going to cover your retreat. they'll think we have no more ammunition left and then they'll start to rush us. that's the time i'll surprise them. we have a few arrows left. they won't be so fast to----" "see here, tad butler, what do you take us for?" demanded walter, his eyes snapping. "do you think we are going to desert you and leave you here, perhaps to be killed?" "while we run away?" added ned. "i guess not. what breed of tenderfoot do you think we belong to?" "no! we stay with you," announced walter firmly. "oh, very well. i'm sorry. hold your arrows till you have to shoot, but it would be much better for you to go while you have a chance." recognizing the helplessness of the boys, the mountaineers began moving on their position, revolver shots occasionally zipping against the rocks. it was almost impossible for the boys to return the fire with their few remaining arrows, for fear of exposing themselves to too great danger. "i guess it's about up with us," said tad, coolly stringing his last arrow. chapter xxiv conclusion the faces of the three boys were pale, though a half smile played about the lips of tad butler. "lie down!" he said. tad was watching the enemy from behind a rock, nervously fingering the arrow that lay across his bow. at last the men had approached to within three or four rods of them. tad rose, not a muscle of his body appearing to quiver when they sent a few shots at him. deliberately drawing back his bowstring, the boy drove one of the heavy missiles that walter had cut for him full into the evil face of ab durkin. they could hear the impact as the heavy stick landed. ab toppled over backwards with a yell of rage. "that's our last shot." tad threw down his bow, standing with folded arms calmly facing the enemy. "hands up!" rang the stern command. at first, tad thought the order was directed at himself. then a puzzling expression settled over his face as he saw the mountaineers suddenly wheel, then throw their hands above their heads. lige thomas, on his way to the pass, had not gone far before he came up with the sheriff, to whom he explained what he had heard about the doings of ab durkin and his gang. while they were conversing, the sound of the shooting was borne faintly to them on the clear mountain air. suspecting something of the truth, lige had wheeled his horse and ridden back with all speed, followed by the sheriff and his little posse. they had arrived at the moment when they were, perhaps, needed most. creeping down into an advantageous position, they had put a quick and sudden end to the onslaught of the mountaineers, who were in no mood for trifling with their young opponents now. in a few moments the sheriff had each of the five men in handcuffs, and without having had to fire a shot. tad, who had rushed out, followed by his companions, explained to the posse that the professor and jose were missing. he believed now that they were prisoners in the cave. and there they found them--professor zepplin, ben tackers and jose, bound hand and foot. all of them bad been taken captive by the mountaineers when they visited the cave the night before. ab durkin was fuming with rage. "these cayuses was stealin' my claim," he snarled. "understand me, they was stealin' the gold, and, when i tried to drive them off, they sailed into us----" "yes, i observed that you were shooting at three boys," retorted the sheriff, sarcastically. "see, thar's my mark over that hole in the ground," continued ab pointing to the sign that was flapping idly in the breeze. "that's my claim and no man ain't goin' ter take it away from me, neither." "my friend," retorted professor zepplin, stepping forward frowning. "if i did what you deserve, i should send a bullet into your miserable carcass. instead i'm going to tell you about a little paper i have here." all eyes instantly were centered on the professor. "this little document, gentlemen, is a certificate from the register's office at denver, stating that the lost claim, which lies just within this cave here, is the property of herman von zepplin. had you examined this neighborhood more closely you would have found my claim stakes driven, as required by law. with the certificate is a report on the assay of the samples of ore i sent them, showing that, while the mine is a valuable property, it does not contain such untold wealth as generally has been believed. however, it may give these boys a few thousands apiece." "the lost claim! is it possible?" breathed the boys. "yes, ben tackers will tell you i am not mistaken. he has known this all along. i had the mine registered in my own name as this was the quickest way to secure it. however, tad butler is the rightful owner. immediately upon our arrival at denver, i shall take legal measures to transfer the property to him," announced the professor. tad slowly shook his head. "it's not mine alone," he answered, gazing at his companions, all of whom, now, were flushed with suppressed excitement. "the lost claim belongs to the pony rider boys club, of which professor zepplin is now a member and therefore entitled to share equally with us. are you willing, fellows?" "yes!" they shouted, following it with three cheers and a tiger for professor herman von zepplin. "as for my share in the claim, professor, i would prefer that you made it over to my mother," said tad, with a glad smile. "that is, if no one in the club objects," he added. "well, i guess not," replied ned, with strong emphasis. later in the day, the sheriff and his party set out for eagle pass with the prisoners. each member of the gang was sentenced to a term in prison because of the attack on the pony rider boys. that same day the boys began their preparations for leaving the mountains. at denver, where they arrived within a week, they effected a sale of the lost claim, with the permission of their parents, most of whom came on to fulfill the necessary legal requirements, and when the transfer of the mine had been made, the pony rider boys were twenty-five thousand dollars richer, giving them exactly five thousand dollars apiece. tad's share was promptly turned over to his mother. though he did not know it, the money was deposited to his credit in mr. perkins's bank. the exciting experiences of the pony rider boys were not yet at an end. the boys will be heard from again in another volume under the title: "the pony rider boys in texas; or, the veiled riddle of the plains." in this forthcoming volume the narrative of how the boys learned to become young plainsmen, and the stirring account of their experiences in the great cattle drive, will be found full of fascination and in every detail true to the strenuous out-door life described. the end. the pony rider boys with the texas rangers or on the trail of the border bandits by frank gee patchin contents chapters i. excitement on the west fork ii. a mysterious attack iii. in a bad man's power iv. tad butler makes a discovery v. when the tables were turned vi. the camp in an uproar vii. receiving a late visitor viii. a much-wanted desperado ix. showing good generalship x. the pony rider boys initiated xi. bag-baiting the 'possums xii. insects win the battle xiii. an inquisitive visitor xiv. when the air grew chill xv. making a starting discovery xvi. joining out with the rangers xvii. fun on the mountain trails xviii. one hiss too many xix. surrounding the enemy xx. learning some fancy shots xxi. a hole in the mountain xxii. the cave of the bandits xxiii. in a perilous position xxiv. conclusion chapter i excitement on the west fork leaving the main branch of delaware creek, a broad, sluggish stream that slowly made its way toward the muddy pecos river, a party of horsemen turned up the west branch. horses and men alike were wearied, dusty, perspiring and sleepy under the glare of a midsummer texas sun. little had been said for some time. none felt like talking. for hours they had been working south by west, urged on by the green of the foliage that they could see a short distance ahead. at least it had seemed a short distance for the last five hours, but the green trees now appeared to be just as far away as when the party had first sighted them early in the morning. at the head of the line rode a grizzled, stern-faced man, sitting on his pony very stiff and erect. just behind him was a young man, slender, fair haired and smiling, despite the discomfort his red face showed him to be suffering. still back of them rode three other young men, the last in the line being a disconsolate fat figure of a boy who slouched from side to side in his saddle, each lurch threatening to precipitate him to the ground. the boy's pony was dragging along with nose close to the earth, the bridle rein slipping lower and lower over the animal's neck. the fat boy was plainly asleep. he had been slumbering in the saddle for more than an hour, and occasional mutterings indicated that he was dreaming. "professor, don't you think we had better make camp and take a rest?" asked the first boy in the line, addressing the grizzled leader. professor zepplin cast a critical glance down the line of jaded horses and riders, a faint smile twitching the corners of his mouth. "all tired out, eh, tad?" he questioned. "yes, i'll confess that i am for once. of course i can stand it as long as the next one, but there's no use in wearing out the stock," answered tad butler. "chunky's asleep. ned and walter will be in a few minutes more." "very good; call a halt. we will ride into the bushes over there on the other side of the stream. the water cannot be deep. some hot coffee will wake us all up." "hoo---oo!" cried tad, interrupting the professor. "wake up, fellows, and make camp!" "wha---what's up?" demanded ned rector, straightening in his saddle. "nothing's up, except ourselves, and we'll all be down in a minute. we're going to ford the stream and make camp on the other side." "is this the guadalupe range?" asked walter perkins sleepily. "this is the loop all right, but not the guadalupe," laughed rector. "hullo, chunky's in the land of nod." "wake him up, ned," nodded tad. "not much. let him wake himself up." "his pony has gone to sleep, too," added walter. "yes, they are a couple of sleepy heads, tad." as the lads turned to gaze at the fat boy, they could not repress a shout of laughter. stacy brown's pony now stood the picture of dejection, its nose clear to the ground. chunky had settled in his saddle until it seemed that the boy was less than half his natural height. his body had fairly telescoped itself. the fat boy sat leaning forward, his sombrero tipped forward until it covered his face, leaving only the point of the chin exposed. by this time professor zepplin had driven his own pony into the creek, the others following, where the horses drank greedily. stacy and his mount were still on the bank, too sound asleep to think of either water or food. "stacy!" shouted the professor. "oh let him sleep," begged the boys. "too bad to disturb his infantile slumbers," jeered ned rector. "but he will fall off." "it wouldn't be the first time," laughed tad. "gid-ap!" the ponies climbed the opposite bank, the tired pony riders throwing themselves off and quickly stripping the equipment from their mounts. they then led the animals farther into the bushes, where the ponies were tethered until they should be wanted again. chunky still slumbered on. in the meantime tad was carrying water from the creek, while the other two boys were starting a fire on the bank, the smoke from which was already curling up lazily into the still, hot air. but not much of a meal was cooked. it was too hot to eat or to cook. the boys sat down to their little meal, almost choking with laughter every time they glanced across the stream toward the sleeping pony and its sleeping rider. "most remarkable," nodded the professor. "surely the smell of food ought to awaken him if nothing else does." "he's just as much of a sleeper as he is an eater, professor," declared rector. "that would be impossible," objected tad. "as an eater he is a champion, as a sleeper he is just above the average. you're the champion sleeper of this outfit, ned." "it's too hot to resent your unseemly remarks, tad. i'll take that matter up when we get to the mountains. by the way, how much farther is it to the mountains?" "just as far as it was this morning. how about it, professor?" "we ought to reach them this afternoon. according to my understanding, we were a little more than forty miles from them this morning. since then we have gone a good twentyfive miles." "then we will camp there to-night?" questioned walter. "yes, i hope so." "what are we going to do about chunky?" demanded walter. all eyes were directed toward the sleeping fat boy and his slumbering pony. the latter was now beginning to show some signs of life. it had lifted one foot, then another, until it had taken two steps toward the creek. but the rider was as soundly asleep as before. nothing seemed to disturb chunky when he was having a nap. "he will fall off. wake him up!" commanded the professor. "oh, please don't bother him. we want to see what he will do," begged walter. "i think you will see, all right," chuckled tad. "you will see what you shall see, and---" "there he goes!" the pony had taken three or four more steps toward the stream. now its eyes were partly open. it saw the rest of the party on the other side of the creek. the cool water completed the awakening process for the horse. it drank freely then started for the other side, chunky still sleeping. all at once the pony stepped into a deep hole in the creek. the animal went down on its nose with a mighty splash. stacy shot over the disappearing head, then boy and pony vanished under the waters of delaware creek while the others of the party bowled with delight. "oh, wow!" howled stacy, coming to the surface and making for shore with mighty splashes, coughs and chokings. "oh, wow!" walter ran down to the water's edge, lending the unfortunate fat boy a helping hand. the pony in the meantime had clambered up the bank and was trotting off to join its fellows. "what---what---who did that?" demanded stacy belligerently. "did what?" replied ned. "who threw me in?" "i reckon you threw yourself in," answered tad. "i didn't." "the pony did it for you. don't be a goose," commanded ned. "yes, you went to sleep. you've been asleep for the last ten miles or so," nodded butler. "i'm all wet," wailed stacy. "you will be dry in a few moments in this hot sun," interposed the professor. "i don't want to be dry." "then jump in again," suggested butler. "anyhow, you've missed your dinner." "i---i've---what?" "missed your dinner." chunky's gaze wandered from the camp fire to the dishes and provisions that already were being packed preparatory to moving on. "i want my dinner," he wailed. "dinner is finished, young man," replied the professor severely. "you should be on hand when meals are being served. there is no second table in this outfit, except for good and sufficient reasons." "my reasons are good. i---i fell in, i did. and---say, why didn't you fellows wake me up?" demanded the fat boy, a sudden suspicion entering his mind. he began to understand that a trick had been played upon him. "what'd you let me sleep for?" "because you were sleepy," answered ned rector solemnly. "that's a mean trick. i wouldn't play that on a horse," answered stacy indignantly. "but you did play it on a horse," spoke up tad. "the horse went to sleep with you, out of sheer sympathy i should say." "i should think he would have. anything would go to sleep with chunky on hand," declared ned. "you fellows are too funny! i don't care what you think. i'm going to have something to eat. where's the biscuit?" "packed." "then we'll unpack them again. i guess i've got as much right to the grub of this outfit as the next one." with that stacy helped himself to such of the food as he was able to find. in order to get what he wanted he was obliged to undo three of the large packs. once undone no one would help him lash them together again, so grumbling and growling, the fat boy tugged with the ropes until he had taken a secure hitch about each of the three packages. they made him tie the three before they would allow him to eat the biscuit and cold bacon that he had got out. while stacy was munching his cold lunch the others were lashing the packs to the lazy ponies and preparing to start again, every one being anxious to reach the mountains before night fell. but the fat boy was surly as well as sleepy. he felt aggrieved. that his companions should sit down to a meal, leaving him asleep on his pony, filled stacy with resentment and a deep-rooted determination to be even with them. he was already planning how he could repay his companions in their own coin. "better not try it," suggested tad carelessly as he passed the fat boy on his way to get his pony. "try what?" "to get even," answered tad laughingly. "how do you know that i was thinking of such a thing?" "perhaps i read your mind." "humph! you better learn to read your own before you go prying into mine. i'll show you what i'm going to do." "cinch up," interrupted the voice of professor zepplin. "we have no time to waste." still grumbling, stacy climbed into the saddle. he promptly fell off, having forgotten to cinch the saddle girth. now the pony woke up and began to kick as the saddle slipped under its belly. stacy moved more quickly than he had at any other time during the day. over and over he rolled in a cloud of dust in his efforts to get out of the danger zone, while the pony kicked and squealed, the boys shouting with laughter. "whoa!" roared the fat boy, sitting up after he had reached a place where he considered it safe to do so. "whoa! catch him, somebody." "catch him yourself," retorted ned. tad's rope wriggled through the air. it caught one of the flying hind feet of the pony. then the little animal plowed the dirt with its nose, while walter sprang forward, sitting down on the angry animal's head. "now get that saddle off," commanded tad. "come, chunky! do you think we are going to wait here all day for you?" the fat boy reluctantly obeyed the command of tad butler. after some further trouble, stacy's pony was properly saddled, but still stubborn and ready for further trouble. the lad got on this time without falling off, and with much laughter and joking, the party started off toward the blue haze in the distance, the dark ridge that marked the guadalupes. it was in "_the pony rider boys in the rockies_" that our readers first learned how this little private club of youthful horsemen came to be organized. the need of open-air life for the then sickly walter perkins was one of the great factors in the organization of this little band of rough-and-ready travelers. our readers remember the adventures of our young friends in the fastnesses of the rocky mountains. these lads speedily fitted themselves into the stirring life of the big game land, and had other yet more startling adventures in which wild animals did not play so strong a part as did wild men. the story of the discovery of lost claim, with its accompanying battle with claim-jumpers, was fully told in this first volume. it was in "_the pony rider boys in texas_" that we found the lads learning the first rudiments of the cattle business. the thrilling part that the young men took in the long cattle drive, with its stampedes, the fording of swollen rivers, the games of the cowboys and the tricks of the cattle thieves, is related in that second volume. how the boys improved their shooting and mastered the details of that fascinating sport of handling the lariat are all familiar to our readers. in "_the pony rider boys in montana_" is told the story of the long and exciting ride over the old custer trail, famous in the tragic annals of our earlier days of indian fighting. here the boys found themselves drawn into the life of the sheep men, on those great ranges where the sheep men must still defend themselves from the prejudices, and sometimes from the extreme violence, of the cattle men. it was in this connection that tad butler and his friends discovered leading clues in the great conspiracy of certain cattle men against the prosperity and safety of the sheep men. this state of affairs led finally to an angry battle, at which the boys were present. then, too, our readers all recall tad butler's capture by the blackfeet indians, and all that befell him ere he succeeded in escaping to his friends. the next stage of adventures took our lads somewhat further east, as told in "_the pony rider boys in the ozarks_." it was a thrilling, desperate time when the boys, with their ponies stolen, found themselves facing actual starvation in the wilds. tad butler's perilous trip for assistance is bound to bring throbs of recollection to every reader of that volume. the imprisonment of the youngsters in a mine, following a big explosion, formed another interesting scene in the narrative brought forth in that fourth volume of the series. it was here that chunky, as our readers know, displayed the splendid stuff that lurked under his odd exterior and behind his sometimes queer manners. how, in escaping from the mine, the pony rider boys penetrated a mystery that had disquieted the dwellers near the ozarks for a long time, was one of the most interesting features of the tale. but such strenuous life proves the mettle of the right kind of young americans. so, far from being discouraged, or sighing for the comforts of home, we next find our lads in nevada, as related in "_the pony rider boys on the alkali_." here they left grass behind for the glaring discomforts of the baked desert lands, where severe thirst was one of the least yet most constant perils. roving from water hole to water hole, finding them all gone dry, nearly drove the youngsters mad. then, too, the fight with the mad hermit, who seemed a part of the life of that bleak desert, helped to accustom the boys to the strenuous life of daily danger. as our readers will recall, it was in the next volume, "_the pony rider boys in new mexico_," that the author described the events surrounding the first real acquaintance that our lads formed with the little that is left of the savage indian to-day. it was here, too, that they beheld the fire dance of the saboba indians in all its ancient fury. the adventures of the young horsemen at this point became fast and furious. between prairie fire and fight they had the most exciting time of their lives. later, after a rest at home, as described in "_the pony rider boys in the grand canyon_," the boys visited the wonderful region of the colorado. here, as our readers will recollect, the lads were cut off from their trail by the falling of great masses of rock during a fierce storm. apparently the boys were doomed to remain helpless on a narrow shelf of rock; our readers recall how tad butler, at the risk of his life, spent hours in the attempt to get them out of their dangerous situation. the mysterious circumstances that followed the boys all the way along on their journey through the great canyon form a most remarkable series of events. now, from arizona, tad and his friends had journeyed onward and into the lone star state. here they looked forward only to a long, healthful ride, full of pleasures, yet devoid of anything like sensational excitement. yet one never knows what the day may bring forth, and these young travelers of ours, though they did not suspect it, were on the threshold of the most exciting experiences that had yet befallen them. the blue mountain ridge in the near distance was teeming with the story that was to unfold before them. so far the ride had been lonely. of late rarely had they come in sight of a building of any sort, for this part of the state was but sparsely settled. to meet a horseman was an event. in fact they had not met one since the early morning. the pony riders had no guide with them on this journey, believing that one would not be needed. nor did they carry a pack train. one additional pony bore all their extra baggage, each mount being loaded with all that he could carry in addition to its rider. for tents they had brought one large enough to accommodate the entire party. this was in sections, carried on the different ponies. five o'clock had come and gone. the sun was partly hidden by the ridge of the guadalupes towards which the pony rider boys were slowly drawing. ned called up to the professor who was riding at the head. "where are we going to make camp, professor?" "tad will decide that," answered professor zepplin without looking back. "near a stream, of course," answered butler. "any mosquitoes there?" demanded stacy. "no odds, if there are," retorted ned. "they wouldn't bite you." "not if they had got at you first," returned stacy solemnly. "there's a level place in there by the creek." "i see it. i'll ride on and have a closer look at it." butler spurred his pony ahead of the others. reaching the foothills of the range he shaded his eyes, gazing up into the cool, green valley or canyon that led into the mountains. "i guess this will do very well, boys," he said. "i---" bang! "wow!" stacy with a howl of terror slid from his pony, sending up a little cloud of dust as he collapsed on the plain. "wha---what---what-----" gasped the professor. bang! professor zepplin's sombrero was snipped from his head. stacy lay groaning on the ground. "ride for the rocks!" shouted tad as shot after shot began popping from somewhere in the mountains, the bullets screaming over their heads close to their ears or snipping up flecks of dust in the plain. tad drove his pony straight at stacy brown. he scooped the fat boy up by the collar and rode madly for the protection of the rocks, chunky's heels dragging on the ground. the others rode madly after them, while the shots were still being fired at them. it was an exciting moment. no one knew what the shooting meant, nor did they know whether stacy really had been hit or not. there was no time to stop to reason the matter out. it was a case of getting to cover as fast as horse-flesh would carry them. chapter ii a mysterious attack "pull in close!" cried tad. "where is it coming from?" shouted ned. "i don't know. i haven't had time to look. look out there!" professor zepplin, somewhat slower than the others, had halted a little distance out from the foothills. a bullet threw up a little cloud of dust just to one side of where he was sitting on his pony, followed by a report somewhere up in the mountains. "stop that! stop it, i tell you!" bellowed the professor, waving his sombrero. almost ere the words were out of his mouth, the sombrero was shot from his hand and went spinning out to the rear. professor zepplin did not wait for further parley. he turned his horse, dashing for the protection of the foothills. in the meantime, tad butler had leaped from his pony, placing stacy on the ground. it was observed that there was blood on the fat boy's left cheek, but his eyes, wide and frightened, were staring up at the boys now gathering about him. "are you hurt?" demanded tad breathlessly. "i'm killed." "nonsense! it's only a flesh wound---" "is---is he shot?" stammered walter perkins. "of course i'm shot. don't you see i am?" demanded chunky with considerable spirit for a man who had been the mark of a bullet and who according to his own word was dead. tad half dragged the fat boy down to the creek where the blood was quickly washed from his cheek. it was then seen that a bullet had grazed stacy's cheek, leaving a raw streak across it. professor zepplin, now mindful of his duty, had hurried up to them, and down on his knees was examining the wound critically. "hm---m---m!" he muttered. "bad business, bad business!" "but---what does it mean?" urged walter. "what does it mean? it means that the germans have got us," wailed stacy brown. "oh, i knew we should be in this war sooner or later, but i didn't think i should be the first man to get shotted up." "it means some one has been trying to shoot us up," answered rector. "trying!" exploded chunky. "they did more than try. they succeeded. don't you see this wound on my countenance? wait till i get sight of the man who put that mark on my face. i'll bear the scar for life. i-----" "it is my opinion that we are in a dangerous position," declared the professor, getting up and glancing about him apprehensively. "we were. we are all right here for a little while," replied tad. "but we shall have to seek other quarters, i am afraid, and that without delay." "surely, it must be a mistake," protested the professor. "some one must have been shooting at us under a misapprehension that we were another party." "it doesn't make any difference what their motive is, sir," answered tad. "the fact remains that some one is trying to get us and we must look lively or they will pink one or more of us. get up, stacy! you are all right. lead your pony in here while i take an observation." tad mounted his own horse and galloped along at the base of the rocks, well shielded from any one who might be hiding further back in the mountains. the pony rider boy's mind was working rapidly. he was forming a plan of campaign. he was inclined to agree with the theory of professor zepplin. still, theories would not help them at this critical moment. they must protect themselves and at once if they expected to get out alive. one course was plainly open to them. they could mount their ponies and ride out over the plains at a gallop and perhaps escape. however, this plan was rather risky. besides, tad did not like the idea of running away. "no, we've got to do something else," he declared out loud. "i have it!" the boy brought his pony up standing and gazed off over the plain to a point about a quarter of a mile beyond, where the plain rolled into a hollow, a "hog hollow" as it was called down there. butler galloped back to where his companions were standing anxiously awaiting him. "we are wasting time, tad," cried the professor as the lad rode up. "it is my opinion that we had better ride into that canyon there and make camp in some secluded spot where we shall not be easily found." "i am afraid that won't help us any, professor," said tad. "how could we expect to hide ourselves in there so completely that a mountaineer would not find us? no, sir, it is my opinion that our only safety lies out there in the open, at least for the rest of the afternoon and the night." "what, ride out there to be shot up again?" demanded stacy. "no, sir, not for stacy brown! i've been shot up once. i don't propose to make a bull's-eye of myself again." "stacy is right, boys. it would be foolishness to follow such a course and---" "wait till you hear my plan, sir," urged butler. "we will hear it. proceed." "out yonder about a quarter of a mile from the base of the rocks is a depression in the plain. if we can reach it we shall be safe---" "yes, if we can reach it," repeated ned. "in doing so we should be shot in all probability," objected professor zepplin. "i think not, sir." "explain what you mean?" "from the position occupied by the man or men when they fired at us out there, i am sure they could not see us were we to follow the course i went out on just now. if you will ride down to the edge of the foothills with me and wait there, i will gallop out and prove my theory." "what do you mean?" questioned the professor. "i will see if i can draw their fire," answered tad. professor zepplin shook his head. "too risky!" "it certainly is risky to stay here. listen, sir. if that man wants to get us he surely will be creeping down on our position before long. we are in greater peril here, where we can't see anything on one side of us, than we would be out there where we have an unobstructed view on all sides. my plan is to make camp out in the hollow; then we will place a guard over the camp, keeping a sharp watch all through the night. by morning we'll be able to find out what is in the wind." "i won't move a step," declared stacy stubbornly. "you will do whatever seems best to the rest of us," answered the professor sternly. then, after a moment's thought, he added, "i am inclined, upon second thought, to agree with tad. we will try the plan." "good. follow me. get that pony, chunky. i told you once before to catch him. we'll be in a fine mess if you lose your mount." "i'd rather lose my mount than to lose my precious life," answered the fat boy surlily. by this time the others were taking to their saddles. the faces of all wore serious expressions. they had not looked for anything quite so lively as this. it was not the first time the pony rider boys had smelled powder when the powder was being expended on them, but they liked it none the better for past experiences. stacy's cheek was bleeding again. he was holding his handkerchief to the wound and his face was a little paler than usual. "buck up!" commanded ned. "you're not going to show the white feather, are you?" "no, it's a red feather i'm showing," wailed the fat boy. "forward!" ordered butler. "get up, chunky!" the party moved off, keeping close to the rocks, tad now and then casting apprehensive glances up to their tops. he was not wholly satisfied that they were out of range of the bullets. the man who had been firing at them, too, was practically a dead shot. "now spread out," commanded tad after they had reached the point where he previously had halted. "don't shout, but when i wave my hand, ride fast for the hollow. i'll be all right; don't worry about me." with that the lad galloped leisurely out on the plain, his back to the mountains. it was a bold thing to do. deep down in his heart the pony rider boy expected every second to hear a bullet scream over his head, providing he was fortunate enough not to stop the bullet with his body. not a shot greeted his bold act. tad rode on, finally disappearing in the "hog hollow." a few moments later he rode up the ridge, waving his hands for them to come on. professor zepplin started out at once, followed by the others of his party, stacy this time well up toward the front of the line. for reasons of his own he did not care to drag behind. if there was to be any shooting he wanted to be as far away from it as possible. the trip was made at a fast gallop and without incident, the party reaching the hollow without having drawn a shot from the enemy. "it is my opinion," declared the professor, "that, whoever our enemy may be, he has discovered that he has made a mistake." tad shook his head. "i don't think we would be safe in taking that for granted. he did not see us, but he will be on hand before long. i'm going back there before he does see us. if he starts any more shooting you all lie low." "where are you going?" demanded the professor. "on a scouting trip." "i cannot consent to any such foolhardy business," answered professor zepplin sternly. "it is not foolhardy. we've got to clear up this mystery. don't you see, we shan't dare go any farther---we simply cannot go into the mountains knowing there is some one there waiting to riddle us the first time he gets a clear sight at us?" "but what do you propose to do?" "i don't know, beyond finding out what is up." "yes, let him go," urged stacy. "he's looking for trouble. i'm the only one who has had any experience thus far. it's time some one else made a mark of himself." "i was thinking of taking you with me," laughed tad. "no, you don't! not if i see you coming," objected stacy. "yes, take him along," urged ned. "no, i think i'll take you, the professor being willing," answered tad nodding at rector. ned stopped smiling, gazing at tad to see whether the latter were in earnest. tad was. "all right, i'm willing, tad." "how about it, professor?" "provided you do not go into the mountains i will agree to your plan. but i cannot consent to your taking further desperate chances." "i hope you will not hold me to that, professor." "to what?" demanded professor zepplin shortly. "to not going beyond the edge of the mountains." "plainly, what is it you are planning to do, tad?" "i want to find out who it is that is shooting at us and why. that is all, sir." "you don't suppose it possibly could be the germans attacking us, do you?" questioned walter apprehensively. the professor shook his head. "if you will stop to think you will see how necessary it is for some one to do something," urged tad butler. "yes; don't let me do it all," urged stacy. "i think i have done my share already. it is high time some one else got a move on. first thing we know we shan't know anything. we'll be dead ones, and---" "very good. go on. there will be no peace here unless you have your way. see to it that you are back here in an hour. if not we shall go after you. do you understand?" "yes, sir, i will try to get back on time. if something should occur to keep us longer than that please don't worry. you know we might not be able to get away. if we get into trouble i will signal by firing three shots into the air. are you ready, ned?" "yes. do we take our arms?" "better leave the rifles here. we don't want to be bothered with them. we'll take our revolvers. that will be sufficient." "now, tad, be prudent," begged the professor. "i know you have a level head or i should not permit you to get out of my sight under the circumstances." "we will be prudent, sir. come on, ned; we mustn't waste a moment now. if we are seen to leave the camp we'll fail." for answer ned swung himself into his saddle, after first having taken the rifle from the saddle boot and fastened it to one of the packs. "don't pitch the tent yet. we must be in marching order," directed butler, after leaping into his saddle. "and don't worry about us, for we'll be all right." nodding to ned tad started off at a fast gallop. but despite tad's cheerfulness he realized that he had taken upon himself a serious piece of work, one that might be the death of both. still, he was nothing daunted. he was determined to go to the bottom of the mystery, whatever the cost might be to himself. tad knew also that he could depend upon ned rector, for ned was brave and resourceful, a boy who would keep his head in an emergency. they made the trip to the mountains without incident. there tad pulled up for a conference. "now tell me what your plan is?" said ned. "first we will ride on a little further along the base here. i see a place where i think we can hide our ponies. i don't want to go back to the point where we first started to make camp. that is the place where our enemy will be looking for us first. but when he gets there we'll be somewhere in the vicinity." ned wheeled his pony without further comment and followed tad at a slow trot along the base of the foothills. the boys were engaged on a more desperate mission than they knew. chapter iii in a bad man's power having secreted their ponies in a dense growth of scrub oak, tad laid out his plan as follows: "you, ned, will go straight in from here until you've got about a quarter of a mile directly inland. when you have done so turn due west. i don't think you can lose your way for you can see out every little while and thus get your bearings." "where are you going?" "back to the point where we first decided to make camp. i shall have easier going than you will, but i shall be in more risk." "what's the rest?" asked ned with a short laugh. "it is my idea to close in on the right fork of the stream there in the foothills. i'll come up from the west and you from the east. in that way we shall close in, you see, covering roughly the greater part of the territory." "then you think we shall find our man there?" "i am sure he will get there eventually, provided he has not seen our movements out there. he will go to the stream and from there he will quickly locate our camp. understand?" "as far as it goes, yes. but what are we going to do if we find him?" "watch him. find out what he is up to, then from that on be guided by circumstances. but whatever you do, ned, don't use your revolver unless it be to save your own life." "no, i'm not aching to shoot any one. do you know, tad, i'm thinking you and i are biting off a bigger mouthful than we will know how to chew?" "we will manage it somehow." "what do you think this fellow is trying to do?" "it looked very much as if he were trying to kill us," smiled tad. "it did. but what for?" "i have an idea the professor was right when he said the fellow mistook us for some other party." "and he's likely to do it again, if that's the case." "he may have already discovered his mistake, ned. you observe he hasn't fired a shot since?" rector nodded thoughtfully. "well, we must be on the move. we don't want to be caught out here after dark, you know, ned. remember, the right fork, where it enters the hills, is the point we have agreed upon meeting. you will strike the stream farther back, then follow it, but be very careful. be an indian, ned. if you are a white man you're likely to lose your identity. we don't want to stop any bullets. chunky has done quite enough of that for one day." "i'll watch out---never you fear, old man." "then here we go." tad crept silently away, hugging the base of the rocks so that it would have been difficult for one at the top to have seen him at all. ned, obeying his instructions, found a canyon up which he crawled, neither boy making a sound. they had agreed upon the two-shot signal to call each other, three shots being a warning to the rest of their party that they were in need of assistance. neither lad saw or heard anything of a disturbing nature on his way out. ned found no difficulty in making his way into the range of mountains, but as he proceeded and found no one there he grew more bold. not that he was particularly careless, but he unconsciously relaxed a little of his former caution. in the meantime tad butler had crept on past the place where the party had first planned to go into camp. not a sign of a human being greeted tad's watchful eyes. the lad climbed the side of the rocks, keeping his body hidden in the foliage as much as possible. he had got about half way up when he paused to take a look over the plain beneath him. the pony rider boy could faintly make out the place where his companions were in camp awaiting the result of his mission. "i believe there's chunky standing on that rise," muttered tad. "yes it must be chunky. i'll bet the professor doesn't know the boy is out there. chunky evidently is getting anxious about us." bang! the shot sounded some distance to the eastward of where tad was secreted. instinctively the lad glanced toward the camp again. stacy brown no longer was to be seen. tad butler could not repress a laugh. he had a pretty clear idea as to what had caused chunky's sudden disappearance. it did not occur to him that possibly stacy had been hit. as a matter of fact the unknown marksman's bullet had grazed the head of the fat boy, instilling in that young gentleman a more thorough respect for the mountaineer's marksmanship. but now tad's mind turned to the object of his visit to the mountain range. he was there looking for the man who had fired the shot. ned rector had heard the shot also. both boys were making their way toward the spot whence the shot had seemed to come. ned had located the sound much nearer than had tad. the latter struck off in a southeasterly direction which carried him still farther into the hills. he had reasoned that the shooter was occupying a high point of vantage somewhere farther in, whence he was taking pot shots at the camp of the pony rider boys. in this tad was mistaken. the mountaineer was much nearer the plains than tad thought. ned started on a trot immediately after having heard the shot. "i've got him this time!" exulted rector. "i've got a chance to show the fellows what sort of a trailer i am. they don't think i'm any good, except tad, and he knows better." tad, as he skulked along, was wondering if ned had heard the shot and hoping that his companion would make no false moves. each boy was determined to round up the man who had winged stacy brown and narrowly missed killing the others of the party. night was coming on rapidly and it behooved the lads to make haste. in the first place they did not know these hills, and, in the second, the professor would become alarmed and come in search of them were their return delayed too long. this was not desirable. it might mean the undoing of the entire party unless tad and ned succeeded in rounding up their enemy first. ned, in his excitement, had a mishap. while creeping along the upper rim of a gully he stepped on a round stone. ned fell crashing into a heap of rotting limbs and went floundering from there to the bottom of the incline, making a racket that must have been heard clear out on the plain. the lad got up, his clothing torn, his face scratched, very much chagrined over his blundering fall. "i guess i'm not so much of a scout as i thought i was," he muttered. "chunky could have done no worse and for a blundering idiot he's always held the cup up to the present time. i'm glad no one saw me make such an exhibition of myself. but what if that fellow heard me? no, he couldn't. he is too far away." in this ned was wrong. the "man" was not so far away as the pony rider boy thought. the fellow, while watching for another opportunity to shoot, had caught the distant sound of crashing twigs. it might have been a falling tree, it might have been an animal. at any rate it put the fellow instantly on his guard. lowering his rifle he began skulking in the direction of the racket. by this time ned was walking ruefully down the gully looking for a convenient trail up the side to the ridge. not that he could not have made the ascent anywhere, but that he did not wish to raise any more disturbance than he already had done. at last, finding what seemed to him to be a path, ned began climbing the side of the gully. had the boy first taken a survey of the ground at the top of the rise, he might possibly have made a discovery, and then again he might not. crouched behind a rock was a man. the fellow was fingering his rifle suggestively. twice he raised it to a level with his eyes and drew a bead on the advancing form of ned rector, and as many times lowered it. the watcher observed that ned carried no rifle, only a revolver slapping against his thigh in its holster as the boy stumbled on up the mountain side. the mountaineer evidently changed his mind about shooting, for he changed ends with the gun and sat waiting. a few moments later ned stepped up beside the rock where he stood listening and looking about him. the pony rider boy looked everywhere except in the right place. suddenly there was a crackling of twigs behind him. ned turned just in time to see the figure of a man leaping upon him. the boy went down under the crushing weight, the cry that rose to his lips smothered by a stinging blow in the face. ned lost consciousness. everything turned suddenly black about him. chapter iv tad butler makes a discovery dusk was already settling over the mountains when ned butler fell beneath the powerful onslaught of the mountaineer. without an instant's hesitation the fellow picked up the boy, starting down the side of the gully with his burden. the man ran along carrying the lad as easily as if he had been a child. reaching a secluded spot near the west fork the fellow put his burden down, then built a little fire under a thick growth of pines, whose tops served to break up the smoke and scatter it, thus greatly lessening the chances of discovery. it was a few minutes later that ned regained consciousness. his captor, watching him narrowly, had placed ned against a tree, passed a piece of rope about the boy's body, pinioning his arms to his sides, securing the rope at the other side of the tree. then the fellow had squatted down with rifle across his knees. ned saw a powerfully-built, wiry man, whose lean face and deep-sunken eyes created a most unfavorable impression. even under more pleasing circumstances this man would have caused ned to give him a wide berth. discovering that he had been bound ned's face flushed angrily. even then he did not realize that his position was a perilous one. "you untie me and let me go, or it'll be the worse for you," threatened rector. "i reckon i've got you this time," grinned the mountaineer. "i know you. you're the fellow who has been shooting at us. you will get what is coming to you when my friends find out what you have done to me. what do you think i am anyway?" "that's what i reckoned to find out," answered the man. "who be you?" "that's what i am asking you." "i reckon i ain't answering fool questions." "why did you shoot at us?" "did i?" "you know you did." "what's your name?" asked the mountaineer, evading the question. "my name is rector---ned rector." "where you from?" "missouri." "what you doing here?" "maybe i am traveling for my health," answered ned with a half sneer. he was not advancing his own cause by his attitude. "i reckon you'll answer my questions and without putting on any trimmings either," announced the fellow, shifting his rifle around so that the barrel lay along his right leg, the muzzle pointing straight at ned. the latter was not greatly disturbed at this. he did not think, for a moment, that the man would dare to shoot him. ned did not realize what a desperate character he was facing. "i will answer what i choose. you can't make me answer any questions that i don't want to," declared rector defiantly. "i reckon you'll change yer mind before i git done with you. anybody with you?" "no, not exactly here," answered ned quickly, a sudden line of conduct occurring to him. "unfortunately for me, and fortunately for you, i am all alone. but when my friends do find out what has happened you'd better look out. you'll be riddled so full of holes that the wind will sigh through your body as if it were a sieve." "how's captain billy?" demanded the man sharply. "captain billy?" wondered ned. "yes. you needn't pretend you don't know what i'm talking about." "i most certainly do not. who is captain billy?" "know joe withem?" "i do not. some friend of yours, i suppose?" an angry exclamation escaped the lips of the mountaineer. "i reckon they're no friends of mine. i reckon, too, that you'll be answering my questions or you'll be hiking for the happy hunting grounds in about ten minutes from now. i haven't got all night to sit here talking with you. i've got to git through with you; then i'm going to finish the rest of your crowd. you fellows thought you'd play a sharp trick on me, eh?" "you are mistaken. we did not even know of your existence until you began shooting at us. why did you do that?" "if you don't know, i reckon you'll have to guess. bill mckay must think we're easy down here, to try a game like that." "i'll tell him when i see him," nodded ned. "i reckon you won't see him right smart. when i git through with you i'm going to send a bullet through your head. maybe they'll find you here. if they do they'll know what it means, i reckon." ned's face paled slightly. there was that in the eyes of the man before him which, all at once, told ned rector that the fellow meant what he said. "who do you think we are?" demanded the boy earnestly. "you're part of the ranger gang." "the what?" "the gang known as the texas rangers." rector laughed. "you've got it wrong this time. we are not texas rangers. we are known as the pony riders and we are out for our health and as good a time as we can have." "ye can't fool me. that line of talk don't go down at all i'll tell you what. bill mckay thought to trap some folks by getting in a bunch that wasn't known down in these parts. i had his little game sized up the minute i set eyes on your bunch. but i'll clip your claws. i'll show mckay that we ain't so easy. now you out with the whole story. if you tell it straight, i may think about letting you go. if you lie it's the end of you. i'd as lief shoot you full of holes as i would a yellow dog. now what's your orders?" "i haven't any orders, i tell you." "what did bill mckay reckon you would do down here?" "i don't know bill mckay, i don't know any texas rangers, and if they are anything like you and your kind, i don't want to know them. but i do want to tell you that if you don't let me go---that if you heap any more insults on me---it is you who will get a bullet through your miserable hide. i'm getting mad, mr. man." "oho! ye be, eh?" "yes, i am." "then i reckon there's only one thing to do to put ye in a better frame of mind," answered the mountaineer, shifting his rifle about suggestively. "now i'll give ye two minutes to open up and tell all ye know," was the stern announcement. in the meantime tad butler had not been idle. as the reader already knows, tad had been deceived as to the location of the shot. he had gone a long distance out of his course. after a time he realized this and at once started back toward the plain. it was his intention to make the opening where they had first sought to make camp, as it was there or in that vicinity that he was to meet ned rector. the lad settled down to a trot. every faculty was on the alert, for butler was a natural woodsman, added to which was an experience of some two or three years in mountain and on plain until tad was familiar with many of the tricks of the mountaineer. suddenly the boy halted and stood with head thrown back sniffing the air. "smoke!" breathed tad. "there is a fire somewhere near here. that means some one is in camp here. i can't be far from the edge now. i must find out where the fire is." after a few moments of sniffing the lad decided that smoke lay off obliquely to the right of him. having decided upon this he started in the direction named, but proceeded with much more caution than before as he did not wish to stumble upon strangers until he had first determined whether they were friends or enemies. at last he saw a faint flicker of light. "it's there," muttered the boy. "now we'll see. i hope nothing has happened to ned. still, he would have fired his revolver had he got into trouble. he may be waiting for me down by the creek. but i must find out what's going on here before i take time to look him up. i hope the others don't come and blunder in." tad paused in his reflections as the sound of voices reached his ears. young butler, crouching low, crept cautiously through the bushes, each foot being placed on the ground as softly as an animal stalking its prey could have done. not a sound did the young woodsman make. of course his progress was slow, but it was silent, which was much more to be desired. some fifteen minutes elapsed before tad reached a point where he could get a view of the fire. he was obliged to crawl some three or four rods from that point ere he found a position where he could see the men who were near the fire. the first to attract tad's attention was the mountaineer, squatting down with head thrust forward, his rifle held across his chest, the man's hand over the trigger-frame. butler knew that the first finger of the right hand was toying with the trigger. his glances followed the direction indicated by the muzzle of the weapon. then tad's face flushed hot all over. there, back to a tree, a rope twisted twice about his body sat ned rector, defiance in face and eyes. ned was looking straight at his captor. the situation was strained. to tad, it was maddening. "what is it you want me to tell you?" demanded the prisoner. "i've told you that already. what are your orders?" "and i have already told you, i have no orders from any one." "how many are in your party?" "five, not including the horses." "i wasn't asking about the cayuses. who is in charge of you?" "you wouldn't know if i told you." "i'm asking you!" "his name is zepplin, professor zepplin." "one of them scientific shooters, eh?" "i don't know about his being a shooter. he is scientific, all right. but what's that got to do with you and me?" "did this---this perfesser get his orders from bill mckay?" "i should say not," answered ned with a mirthless laugh. "who was it you was to look up?" "i don't know what you mean." "yes you do. don't try to make a monkey of me. you'll be willing to answer right smart after i've fanned you with a forty-four. who is it you and your bunch are after?" "we are after no one. can't you understand english?" replied rector with some heat, "i have told you that we are here on a trip for pleasure and nothing else." "you said you was here for your health, a little time ago," grinned the mountaineer. "well, what if we are?" snorted ned. "nothing only that i'm going to drill you full of holes. the two minutes is about up. you've lied to me pretty near every word you've said. you said you didn't know bill mckay when i know you do. you've said he hadn't given you any orders. you've---" "you're crazy," scoffed rector. "i reckon if i am that you're more so if you think i am going to gulp down all them fairy stories. you're young. mebby you don't know the kind of a game you've stacked up against, but---" "i ought to have some idea about it by this time," returned ned. "everything you have said is a lie and you know it. i don't know you, nor do i want to, being somewhat particular about the people i know. and now once more, are you going to let me go?" a sudden note of triumph had leaped into the tone of ned rector. ned had seen something that sent the blood coursing through his veins madly. that something was a figure that for a few seconds had been outlined in the faint light of the fire. the mountaineer caught the change of tone on the instant. his suspicions were aroused. his eyes narrowed. he slowly straightened up until he had risen to his full height. now the rifle came up to position, ready for work. it was at his chest again. the mountaineer had no need to bring the weapon to a level with his eyes. he could shoot equally well from almost any position. rector shot a quick glance over the mountaineer's shoulder. he could not resist one more look in tad's direction. but that look was fatal. with a roar the fellow wheeled like a flash. bang, bang! the shots were fired with such suddenness that ned did not realize the fellow had turned until after the rifle had spit two charges of fire and lead. ned's head dropped. everything grew black about him again. the lad was in a fainting condition. it was all up with him now. ned had tried to cry out, but the words would not come. he could not utter a sound if his very life depended upon so doing. ned found his voice at last. it rose in a mighty yell for help, a yell that carried far beyond the spot where those exciting scenes were being enacted. chapter v when the tables were turned at the instant when ned had shot his quick glance at the wondering tad, the latter with quick instinct, realizing that ned had made a serious mistake, threw himself flat on the ground. that move undoubtedly saved tad butler's life. at least, two bullets went ripping through the foliage over his head. the move served the further purpose of hiding him from the man who was shooting at him. the mountaineer had not even caught a sight of butler, quick as had been his turn about. the fellow swung to the right letting go two more shots, evidently believing that he had not fired in the right direction. in tad butler's right hand was gripped a piece of rock that he had grabbed when he threw himself to the ground. the boy came to his feet as if propelled by a spring. at that second the eyes of the mountaineer were fixed on a point several yards to the left of tad. without a sound tad let go the rock. but the movement caught the eyes of the ruffian. he swung toward butler at the same instant pulling the trigger of his rifle. once more the rifle roared its savage protest. but that was its last roar for the time being. almost at the instant when he pulled the trigger the mountaineer received tad's rock in the pit of his stomach. with such force had the missile been hurled that the fellow staggered back, the rifle falling from his hands, both of which were suddenly clasped over the part of his anatomy that had been struck. the fellow uttered a howl of pain. he swayed and staggered then fell over a dead limb, landing flat on his back with a crash. tad, without an instant's hesitation, sprang forward. the eyes of the plucky pony rider boy were flashing. tad had not even thought to draw his revolver. but his anger was kindled. he was dangerous in his present mood. he did not pause to think what a terrible chance he was taking in thus rushing forward. fortunately for tad, however, the mountaineer was suffering such agonies that he either gave no thought to the revolver that was hanging at his side, or else he was too weak to draw it. he staggered to his feet, swaying, groaning, shoulders hunched forward, chin on his breast. young butler was upon him like a whirlwind. whack! tad's fist caught the mountaineer squarely on the point of the jaw as the man raised his head half defiantly, one hand groping awkwardly for his pistol. the fellow went down in a heap. "whoop!" howled ned rector. "that's the blow that put the finishing touches to father. cut me loose! cut me loose! quick, tad! he'll be up in a minute!" butler had no need to be told this. he knew the first thing to be done was to secure the prisoner. ned could wait. the danger lay with the man stretched out there on the ground. tad worked rapidly. his rope was jerked free from his belt. three swift turns were made about the body of the prostrate man, binding the fellow's arms firmly to his sides. next tad jerked the mountaineer's revolver from its holster and cast it into the bushes. then he tied the man's ankles together, after which he straightened up and wiped the sweat from his face and forehead. "whew! warm, isn't it, ned?" "rather," drawled rector. "warmer for some folks than others. it came near being pretty warm for you. are you going to cut me loose, or am i to stay tied to this tree for the rest of the night?" "i guess we will let you up now. we shall have to wait until our friend there comes to his senses before going farther. tell me how you got into this mess." "the same way chunky gets into trouble. i blundered into it." ned then went on to relate briefly how he had been jumped on by the mountaineer and made prisoner. "what was he trying to get you to tell him?" "he accused me of being a texas ranger, a member of some fellow's band, a fellow named mckay." "the band or the man?" questioned tad. "that was the man's name. billy mckay. he's a captain of rangers, or something of the sort, it doesn't matter much what." "i rather think it does," answered butler dryly. "how so?" "why, don't you see, it means that if the texas rangers are after this fellow he must be wanted for something very serious. who is he?" "you may search me. stacy may be right after all. there are plenty of germans in mexico, so why not some of them up here to stir up trouble? he looks like pictures i have seen of some of those hun assassins," declared ned rector. "i think i will search him. he may have some more weapons about his person." tad found a bowie knife in the mountaineer's boot, but that was the only weapon left on his person. tad threw the knife away. about this time the prisoner began to show signs of returning consciousness. "you must have hit him an awful wallop," wondered ned, standing over the man and eyeing him narrowly. "i did. i hit him first with a stone, then with my fist. i skinned my knuckles, too." ned grunted. "i'd hate to have you land on me that way. that surely was a sockdolager. he has his eyes open." "oh, hullo!" greeted butler. "we rather turned the tables on you, didn't we?" "i'll kill you for this!" growled the prisoner hoarsely. "i don't think you will kill anybody to-night. what i would like to know is what you mean by trying to shoot us up." "i'll shoot up the rest of you before i get through with you, you and your whole gang. you can tell bill mckay what i say and---" "we don't know bill mckay. we have nothing to do with any of you people down here. we are here for pleasure." "that's what the other cayuse said. looks like you wuz, hey?" "you alone are to blame for present conditions. we were not looking for you. you began shooting at us before we got into the foothills. who were you shooting at the last time? i mean before you tried to pot me just now." a growl was the only answer. "the question is, what are we going to do with this fellow, tad?" asked ned. "surely it won't be safe to let him go, and we can't leave him here to starve to death." "no. i'll tell you what. we will fix up a litter---by the way, fellow, are there any more of your kind fooling about here?" "you'll find out whether there are or not," grunted the prisoner. "thank you. you have answered my question. i now know you are alone. ned, can you cut down a couple of saplings?" "where do you want to carry him?" "down to the fork." "then let's drag him. dragging is good enough for that ruffian---too good for him. he ought to be shot, then rolled down the hill." "don't be bloodthirsty. prisoners of war should be treated with the utmost courtesy and consideration. i guess perhaps we had better not take the time to make a litter. we can carry him down to the fork. take hold of the feet. i'll take the heavier end. and you, fellow! you will get along much better if you keep quiet. remember, no yells nor struggles, else i shall be obliged to put you to sleep as i did a short time since. do you understand?" there was no reply to the question. "all right. pick him up, ned," directed tad. "are you going to take his rifle?" "yes, i guess perhaps it would be best. the rifle is good evidence," decided butler. tad strapped the weapon to his own back. he did not bother to pick up the revolver or the bowie knife. the rifle was the evidence that he wanted to take with him. then they gathered their prisoner up. he proved a heavy burden, though fortunately the distance was short to the fork where tad had decided to carry the man. the fellow had nothing to say, but the expression in his eyes made up for what his lips did not utter. the two boys were glad enough when finally they reached their destination and dropped their burden, though none too gently at that. "now what?" demanded ned. "i want you to hurry over to where the ponies are tethered, then ride to the outfit. tell them to pack up and move over here at once." "give me a signal before you come into the gulch here. i'll answer it if all is right. then you may come in without fear." "what are you going to do?" "i am going to stay here to keep our friend company. he might get lonesome if we were to leave him alone," chuckled tad. "get back as soon as you can. i'll have a fire built, then we'll get supper. did you know this fellow took another shot at chunky?" "no. was that what he shot at?" "that was it." "i hope he didn't hit him." "i guess not." "chunky seems to be getting more than his share of lead to-day," answered rector with a chuckle. "serves him right. it'll teach him to be more prudent." "i don't think you are exactly in the position to say much yourself," replied tad, his eyes twinkling mischievously. ned flushed to the roots of his hair. "for goodness' sake, don't tell the crowd how i got jumped on. i am as easy as a baby. i'll never call myself a mountaineer again." "never mind. you showed your grit at any rate. you didn't appear to be the least bit scared." "i wasn't. but honest, tad, now that i've had time to think it all over, i'm scared stiff right this minute. i believe he would have shot me." "there is no doubt of it in my mind. so he thinks we are rangers?" "who are the rangers, anyway?" "the rangers are a body of men who did much toward clearing this state of the bad men that infested it for a long time." "they don't seem to have got them all," replied rector. "no, there are some near the border still. the rangers are a sort of police who range over the state wherever their services may be needed. i understand they are paid by the state. i guess there are not many of them left. the necessity for rangers is not what it was a few years ago." "so i should judge from what has just happened," answered ned somewhat ironically. "come, are you going to get started tonight?" demanded tad with a laugh. "i'm off this very minute." ned hurried away laughing. he bore evidences of his recent encounter with the mountaineer, but all this was forgotten now that the man had been taken and was safely tied up back there in the canyon with the ever vigilant tad butler on guard over him. a short time after that ned was riding his pony over the plain toward the camp at a fast gallop. he shouted as he neared the camp, where no fire had been lighted, uttering a subdued whoop as he rode in. chunky and the professor met him a few rods from the camp. "i---i got shot again!" cried chunky. "where is tad?" called the professor. "over on the fork waiting for us. you are to pack up and return with me at once." "but---but, the danger," protested professor zepplin. "the danger is past. i don't believe you will have to worry." "explain what you mean!" "i'll leave that for tad to do after we get over there. are you all ready?" "is tad all right?" demanded perkins. "fit as a fiddle. you can't put tad out of business for any length of time. you are to fetch everything. we are going into camp where we originally planned to spend the night," advised rector. the professor, very much relieved to learn that the boys had met with no harm, but still somewhat nervous from the hours of fretting he had passed when the lads failed to return, now hastened to get ready to accompany ned. on the way he explained bow stacy brown had been fanned by another bullet when the fat boy indiscreetly showed himself on the rise of ground between the camping place and the foothills of the mountains. "maybe you'll learn something one of these days," scoffed ned. "i---i've learned something to-day." "have you?" "i have." "well, what have you learned?" "that these fellows down here can shoot to beat the band." "i have observed something of the same sort myself," muttered ned, with the memory of the mountaineer's bombardment of tad butler. the party had set out at a slow trot with ned leading the way. ned's confidence assured them that all was as it should be, but the young man turned a deaf ear to all their questions, replying only now and then with the remark that tad would tell them all that was to be told when they got to the camping place. in the meantime tad had built up a fire, mainly for the reason that he wanted to keep his prisoner well in sight all the time. butler knew that the man was a tough customer and that were he to get free it would be a sad night for tad butler, and so, too, perhaps, for the rest of the party. the prisoner had nothing to say, nor did butler seek to draw the fellow into conversation. but the man was watching every move of the young rider who had so cleverly outwitted and captured him. the mountaineer now believed more firmly than before that these two young men were carrying out the orders of captain billy mckay of the texas rangers. he swore to be revenged on every man of them when once he had gained his freedom. at present that hour of revenge was a long way off. suddenly a loud "yip! yip! yahee!" sounded off on the plain. tad smiled broadly. "that's stacy brown, i'll wager my hat. i'll bet ned is scolding him, too." ned was. he was at that instant threatening to break chunky's head if he opened his mouth again before they reached the camping place. shortly after that butler's keen ears caught the sound of hoofbeats. he stepped back into the shadows, the prisoner eyeing him inquiringly. tad did not take the trouble to explain. let the prisoner think what he might. then the party rode in in single file. tad was not in sight. he was hiding in the bushes. professor zepplin pulled up short when his glances finally came to rest on the bound form of the mountaineer; stacy brown's eyes grew large and walter perkins gasped. chapter vi the camp in an uproar "tad! where is tad? what does this mean?" demanded the professor. "hullo, boys," cried butler stepping out into the light. "did you think that was myself tied up there?" chunky, in the excitement of the moment, forgot to tell tad that he had stopped another bullet out on the plain. "what do you think of our prisoner, professor?" "tad, will you be good enough to explain what this means?" "yes, sir. to be brief that's the fellow who shot at us. he tried to kill us both up here in the mountains." "are you sure?" "positive." "i guess i ought to know," grinned rector, "he jumped me, tied me to a tree, then was about to blow my head off when tad appeared just in time to save my precious life." by this time stacy had slipped from his saddle and striding over to the prisoner stood looking down at him. "so, you're the fellow who potted me twice to-day, are you?" demanded the fat boy sternly. the prisoner made no reply, but he gazed up at his tormentor so savagely that stacy instinctively took a step backward. "he is the man, but we landed him," answered rector proudly. "is there any objection to my giving the ruffian a good hard kick for luck?" asked stacy. "there certainly is objection to your doing anything of the sort," returned tad sharply. "we have not come to the point where we treat our prisoners of war the way the germans do theirs. you let the man alone or i'll have something to say to you." "stacy!" rebuked professor zepplin sternly. "yes, sir?" "you will keep away from the prisoner. tad, i want to hear all about this." "there is not much to tell, except that we got him, though he nearly got us. he caught ned napping. i should have fallen just the same had i been in ned's place, for this fellow is a bad man. ned has told you what happened to him, else i shouldn't have said anything about that part of the affair. while ned was trying to find where the shot came from that caught stacy last, this fellow spotted and captured him. i was hunting for the source of the shot at the same time, but went astray. i was finally attracted by the smell of smoke. i arrived on the scene about the time that fellow was getting ready to take ned's life. at least, that was the way it seemed to me." "yes, he was," interjected rector. "you were an easy mark!" jeered stacy. "at least i didn't stop two bullets," answered ned witheringly. "the fellow caught ned looking at me and knowing instantly that something was wrong he whirled and shot at me. he missed, then i shied a stone into his solar plexus," said tad. "that sounds like astronomy," ventured stacy. "you're wrong; it's geography," chuckled rector. "i'll finish the story. the ruffian fired twice more after the first two shots at tad; then he went down as the stone landed on him. by the time he had got up, tad was on the job and punched him in the jaw." "boys, boys!" rebuked professor zepplin. "one would think this was a prize fight you were describing." "it's the truth," protested ned. "of course it is," laughed tad. "that may be. but be good enough to moderate your language. you can describe the scene without using questionable language." "yes, it's disgraceful," added stacy, whereat ned gave the fat boy another withering look. "as i was about to say," continued rector, "this gentleman of the mountains had got to his feet when tad gently smote said gentleman on the tender part of his chin. the gentleman fell down and went to sleep like a little child after a full meal. when the gentleman woke up we had him hog-tied---" "during which time our friend ned remained tied to a tree," chuckled butler. "pshaw! i thought so," grunted stacy. "brave man is ned rector! if you were a scarred veteran like myself then you'd have a right to swell out your chest," added the fat boy, gingerly stroking the bullet mark on his cheek. "well, go on. we're listening." "that's all there is to tell, professor, except that we carried the man down here and there he is." professor zepplin stroked his bristling whiskers reflectively. "what is your name, my man?" he asked stepping up to the prisoner. but the fellow made no reply. "i said what is your name?" repeated professor zepplin. "what's that to you, old whiskers?" the professor started, a faint touch of color showing under his tan, while audible chuckles might have been heard from the boys in the background. "such language will not help you. what is your name?" "yours will be mud when i git out of this, you old scarecrow! don't you stand there jawing over me. i don't like it," added the prisoner, so savagely that the professor shrank back a little. "it's no use to question him, professor," spoke up tad. "he won't answer questions." "i question our right to hold him," said professor zepplin. "we have no proof that he is the man who shot at us." "i've got proof that he assaulted me," bristled ned. "and i that he shot at me four times," added tad. "i should think that were proof enough. what would you do, professor?" "i was thinking that we should let the man go with an admonition." "no, no, no," protested chunky. "i don't want to be shot up again to-day." "don't be afraid, little boy," urged rector. "we are not going to let the man go---not if i have to fight for it." "professor, this fellow thought us rangers," began tad. "rangers?" "yes. he admitted in his questioning of ned that he thought we were rangers, or that we had been employed by the rangers to run him down. that is why he sought to kill us." "but surely you assured him we were not," protested professor zepplin. "little stock did he take in our assurances," scoffed ned. "you might as well talk to the wind." "but what are we going to do with him, boys?" "i have thought of that," replied tad. "it is my idea that he is a bad man. he must be, else the rangers would not be looking for him. he has proved that he is a dangerous customer to be at large---" "yes, he's large, all right," mumbled stacy. "as i was saying, it seems to me to be our duty to turn him over to the officers of the law." "where?" "i don't know. is there any town near here?" "some twenty miles to the southeast, i believe," answered the professor. "then that is where we must take him." "we may find, then, that we have made a mistake," objected the professor, still doubtful about the wisdom of the course proposed by tad butler. "then we will make a complaint against him ourselves," answered tad firmly. "i don't propose to let him off after what he has done. why, were we to let that man go our lives wouldn't be worth a cent. he would shoot us before the night was over. no, professor, he must be held prisoner until we can get him to town." "but we can't go on to-night." "no. the morning will be time enough. we will give him some food." "let me feed the animal," urged stacy. "you have steady business performing that office for yourself," retorted ned rector. "in the morning we will take him to town. shall we get some supper now?" "yes. i will think over your proposal in the meantime. stacy, you might gather some more wood for the fire. ahem! this has been a most remarkable proceeding all the way through." "you would have thought so if that fellow had jumped on you as he did on me," growled ned rector. "i thought the mountain had fallen down on me. he is bad medicine." tad by this time was getting out the things for supper. they were late with this meal owing to circumstances over which they had not had full control, though matters were now pretty well in the hands of the pony rider boys. "you had better tell us who and what you are. you have heard what has been said here, my man," said the professor returning to the prisoner. "i reckon i've heard enough. i reckon, too, that you've made a mistake. i ain't what you think. i'll tell you, now that the fresh young feller isn't listening." "do so," urged professor zepplin, preparing to listen. "lean over so the others won't hear." "surely." "you're a right smart old party and i don't mind talking to you, for you've got right smart sense and you'll understand what i'm getting at." "say what you have to say, my man. i am listening." "between you and me i'm an officer. i'm looking for some parties that have been cutting up didoes down in these parts of late. when i saw your party i thought you were the lawbreakers, so i up and let go. i saw that there were too many for me and it was the only chance i had to---" "but surely you didn't have to kill us." "i didn't kill you, did i?" "true; true." "i was telling you, i thought you were they and i let go a few shots, just as a tickler. you see, i could have picked you off one at a time just as easy as eating pie. i'm a dead shot, i am." "then you only sought to drive us off?" questioned the professor. "yes, that's it. you're a wise old party. they're a bad lot, you know." "but what about this assault on my boys?" demanded the professor. "same thing. i thought they were them." "your grammar is shocking, my man, but what you say is deserving of careful consideration. you say you took us to be bad men?" "sure i did." "who did you think we were?" "tuck o'connor and his crowd." "who are they?" "well, you see, they do some smuggling over the rio grande. then again, they are up to a few other tricks that the public hasn't got on to yet. what i want to do is to get away from here, quiet-like, so the youngsters won't get wise in time to cut up. of course i ain't afraid of them. i don't want to hurt them, you see." "i see," observed the professor dryly. "i've got to get away to-night. if i'm held till morning i'll have to take you all in. you'll all have to go back with me to state line and you'll be locked up for interfering with an officer." "how comes it that you feared we were rangers then, if this be true?" "aw, i was jest bluffing. i wanted the youngsters to give theirselves away, you see." "i see," reflected the professor. "then you'll let me out?" "i am afraid i can't do that." "then lean over here and i'll tell you a secret that'll make you change your mind." the professor leaned closer. the man's hands, free from the wrists, were moving cautiously. all at once professor zepplin's revolver was snipped from its holster and a bullet tore through his clothes, taking some of the professor's skin with it. the professor fell back, staggering to one side out of range where he sank down to the ground holding a hand to his side. chapter vii receiving a late visitor so unexpected had been the shot that, for a few seconds, the boys stood dumbfounded. "i'm shot! i'm shot!" yelled the professor. bang! a bullet whistled close to the head of tad butler. stacy brown, who was just coming into camp with an armful of dry wood for the campfire, dropped his burden and with a howl made for shelter. tad and ned had sprung to one side so as to be out of range, while walter perkins had flattened himself on the ground. "lie still!" commanded tad sternly as the professor started to get up from where he had sunk down. "are you much hurt?" "i---i don't know." "drop that pistol, you!" commanded tad, glowering at the prisoner. the man laughed. "i've got you children now," he sneered. "i'll pick you off unless you do as i tell you. now you come over here. walk straight, one hand out. leave your guns behind. cut me loose or you're a dead one," commanded the prisoner. "oh, am i?" tad glanced around to make sure that all the boys were out of range. then with a quick leap he got entirely out of range of the revolver in the hands of the prisoner. tad had thought he was out of range before, but the man on the ground had twisted the weapon about until its muzzle was pointing in butler's direction. but this time the lad got out of range without question. but he was no better off than before. reaching for his revolver he made the discovery that he had thrown off his belt with revolver and cartridges before beginning to get supper. the others were in no better shape. not a boy had his revolver on, and the professor's weapon was in the hands of the prisoner. "i know a trick. i've played it once to-day and i can play it again," declared tad, searching for a stone, while the others got well out of the way, watching t. butler. in an emergency they always looked to him to get them out of their difficulties. "professor, you lie still. don't move. i'll fix this fellow. you had better get a good bit farther off," advised the lad, observing a movement on the part of the mountaineer. suddenly the latter braced his head and digging his heels into the ground ran around, pivoting on his head. tad anticipated the movement by running a few seconds in advance. for a few moments it was a race of wits. the lad as yet had not found a stone suited to his immediate requirements. he was using his eyes in this direction as well as watching the prisoner. once the latter tried a shot at the boy. the bullet passed butler rather too close for comfort, but the pony rider boy appeared not to have heard the shot. not a word was being said by the lad's companions. the professor lay where he had fallen, the perspiration streaming from his face and body up the side of the canyon the big eyes of chunky might have been seen peering through between the bushes at the exciting scene below. all at once tad stooped over. when he straightened up with a bound that carried him several feet to one side, he held a good-sized stone in his right hand. "now will you drop that pistol?" demanded the pony rider boy. "i'll drop you!" roared the enraged enemy. no sooner had he uttered the words than tad, with a well-directed toss, dropped the stone fairly on the stomach of the man on the ground. the prisoner uttered a yell that might have been heard a quarter of a mile away. ere the yell had died out another stone landed nearly in the same place. the weapon dropped from the hands of the fellow, falling between his legs where he could not reach it without changing his position materially. this he tried to do in a series of quick twists and wriggles, though the boys knew from the expression on his face that he was suffering great pain. it was not surprising, in view of the fact that two rocks, each weighing from eight to ten pounds, had been dropped on his stomach. the fellow found no opportunity to recover the lost weapon. tad was upon him with a rush. grabbing the mountaineer's feet he dragged the man roughly to one side. "i guess that will be about all for you, my man. you may push us too far. i shan't promise to let you off so easily if you try any more tricks. professor, are you much hurt?" "i---i don't know. i'm bleeding." "let's see what he did to you." a quick examination developed the fact that the professor had sustained merely a flesh wound. it was bleeding very little now. tad, at the professor's direction, washed and dressed the wound, binding a piece of cloth firmly about the waist. "there, i guess you will be all right now. you may come down, chunky. the fun is all over for the present. how did he happen to get you that way, professor?" professor zepplin explained how the prisoner had tricked him, declaring his belief in tad butler's statement that the prisoner was a bad man. the professor no longer urged the release of their prisoner. tad smiled mirthlessly. perhaps it was better that the professor should have had an object lesson. he would take no further chances with the fellow after that. as for the prisoner, he was fairly frothing at the mouth with rage. now that the excitement had come to an end for the moment stacy brown went about his task of gathering more wood for the fire. this time he went quite a distance down the canyon, carrying a torch that he might the better find that for which he was in search. stacy was busy gathering wood, muttering to himself as was his habit, when all of a sudden he straightened up, conscious that some one was standing beside him. as he rose the fat boy's nose nearly bumped into the muzzle of a revolver. the revolver was backed by a not unpleasant, but stern face. "wha---wha-----what---" stammered the fat boy. "wh---wh---who---" "not a sound, young man, if you value your life. who and what are you?" "i---i'm a pu---pu---pony rider boy." "a what?" "a pu---pony rider boy." "what are you doing here?" "ga---gathering firewood." "who is your party?" "pro---professor ze---zep---zepplin and the boys," stammered the fat boy, trembling at the knees. "i haven't done anything, but i'm a bu---bu---bad man when i get ma---mad." the stern-faced stranger grinned appreciatively. "you are not the fellows who came in at state line the other day, are you?" "ye---yes, we're the bu---bu---bunch." "oh, fudge!" groaned the stranger. "and to think i've been to all this trouble to round up a bunch of tenderfeet." the man thrust his revolver into its holster with a grunt of disgust. "i'm withem," he snapped. "so am i," answered chunky. "i said, 'i'm withem,'" repeated the stranger. "i said i was too," reiterated the fat boy. "look here, what are you trying to get at, young man?" demanded the newcomer with a slight show of irritation. "are you trying to make sport of me?" "n---n----no. you said you were with them---with us---with the crowd, you know. and i said i was too." the stranger tilted back his head and laughed softly. "you little cayuse, my name is withem. w---i---t---h---e----m!" he spelled. "oh!" a broad smile grew on the face of the pony rider boy as he asked: "what do you reckon you want here?" "i'm just looking around a bit. i think i'll go to your camp with you." stacy surveyed his companion critically from head to foot. "all right," he said. "if you want to take the chance, i'm willing." "what chance?" demanded the stranger. "tad butler might take it into his head to throw you out, or something, if he doesn't like your looks." "i'll take the chance." "all right; come on. but mind you, it'll be the worse for you if you try to start anything. we're a bad lot, we are, and don't you forget it." a moment or so later the pony rider boys were amazed to see stacy strutting in with a stranger in tow. "he's with us fellows," was the fat boy's announcement. "withem's my name," corrected the stranger. "yes, he's with 'em. but he hasn't said who it is he is with. i thought i was with him when he shoved a pistol under my nose." "good evening, sir," said tad stepping up, directing a quick, keen glance of inquiry into the eyes of the newcomer. in that one glance butler decided that the man was all right. it was a relief to see a face like that after their experience with the mountaineer. as for the prisoner himself, who lay back in a shadow now, he started violently the instant he beheld the man who had just come into the camp of the pony rider boys. the prisoner looked as if he had a severe case of ague for he fairly shrank within himself. "you are just in time to join us for a bite, mr. withem. that is your name, is it not?" "that's my name." "mine is tad butler. this is professor zepplin. the young man with whom you came in is stacy brown, otherwise chunky, and here are mr. rector and mr. perkins. if you will gather around the fire i'll serve the chuck." "thanks, young man. you certainly know how to do the honors, as well as how to fry bacon. i could smell that across a county and i'd ride to it as fast as horseflesh could carry me." "are you from these parts?" asked the professor after they had seated themselves on the ground. "yes, i'm from everywhere," laughed withem. "by the way, young man, that looks like the mark of a bullet on your cheek," he continued, bending a keen glance on stacy. "then it looks like what it is," muttered the fat boy. "i don't want to be inquisitive, but---" "no, it isn't considered good manners to be too curious down in this country, i've heard." "right you are, yonnker," laughed withem, in which the others joined heartily. "men have been known to get into trouble by being too curious, especially down on the rio grande. the-----" the visitor's conversation was interrupted by something falling over from beside the tree against which he was sitting. that something was the rifle the boys had taken from the prisoner. withem picked up the gun with the purpose of replacing it. he was just standing it against the tree when suddenly he stopped, bringing the gun around in front of him where he could get a better view of it. the pony rider boys were regarding him questioningly, tad almost suspiciously. chunky was wondering if their visitor was going to shoot. the fat boy was ready to run at the first sign of trouble. he had stopped enough bullets for one day. as for the prisoner, his bloodshot eyes were taking in every movement of the man withem. "you seem to be much interested," suggested tad. withem flashed a keen, searching look into butler's face. "i am." "why that's-----" began walter, then subsided at a warning look from tad. "pardon me, but will you be good enough to tell me where you got this rifle? i have good and sufficient reasons for asking the question," said withem almost sternly. "we took it from a man who had set out to shoot us up, sir," replied butler. "tried to shoot you up? when? where?" demanded the visitor with a trace of excitement in his tone. "this afternoon and to-night. stacy brown's cheek bears evidence of the fellow's marksmanship. it seems the man took us to be officers---rangers, he said." "then you---you talked with him?" "we did," answered tad with a twinkle in his eyes. "in fact we held quite a lengthy conversation with the gentleman." "explain what you are getting at." withem was deeply interested in the scant information that had been given to him. they saw that he was containing himself with difficulty. "tell, mr. withem. don't beat about the bush," advised the professor. "yes; tell me what became of the fellow who shot you up," urged the visitor. "what became of him, sir?" "yes, yes!" "why we caught and made him prisoner." "what!" "yes, sir, and we have him now," smiled tad butler. "you've got him now? where is he?" roared the visitor springing to his feet, permitting the captured weapon to fall to the ground. "he is over there in the bushes," said tad. "however, i think you had better wait until i get over there before you pay him a visit. i have a sort of proprietary interest in that fellow and i don't propose to have any monkey business. he nearly killed professor zepplin, bound though he is. wait one moment, please. why do you wish to see the man?" "because i think i know him. gentlemen, i am a ranger. i am lieutenant joe withem, and i have good reasons to believe your prisoner is a man whom i have been anxious to meet for some time. i am ready to be shown." tad wonderingly led the way over to their captive, the lieutenant following in quick, nervous strides, the others of the party bringing up the rear, chunky lugging a rifle which he kept in position for instant use in case the stranger should seek to liberate their prisoner. but there was little danger of lieutenant joe withem doing anything of the sort, chapter viii a much-wanted desperado tad had snatched a burning brand from the fire, carrying it along with him so that withem might get a good look at the prisoner. the lad considered it a fortunate coincidence that the ranger lieutenant should have visited their camp at that particular time. the instant withem set eyes on the prisoner he uttered an exclamation under his breath, while the prisoner glared up at him with menacing eyes. "hullo, dunk," greeted the ranger. "you seem to be in limbo. i reckon you bit off more'n you could chew, for once in your life. thought you were shooting up rangers, did you? instead you barked up against some tenderfeet who were too much for you. i guess you ain't quite so smart as you thought you were." "i reckon you've made a mistake," growled the prisoner. "i don't know what you're chewing about." "that's all right, dunk. i don't reckon it makes any difference what you think about it. we've got you hard and fast, and you're done for. i reckon, too, that the captain will be glad to see you. he'll have a warm welcome for you, you bet. they certainly have you tied up for keeps," laughed the lieutenant, bending over to examine the prisoner's bonds. "they certainly have. come on, let's finish that bacon," added the ranger straightening up. the party took its way back to the campfire, stacy disgustedly throwing his gun on the ground at the foot of the tree where lay the prisoner's rifle. "now, sir, perhaps you will explain who and what this man is? you appear to be well acquainted with him," said the professor. "i am that. but how did you get him?" "master tad there will answer that question. he and rector made the capture." "you two younkers caught that man?" wondered the lieutenant. "yes, sir," replied tad modestly. "but i'll admit that it was a pretty tough job. he nearly got us." "tell me about it." tad did so briefly, making as little of his own achievement as possible. he related also, how the prisoner had gained possession of professor zepplin's revolver and of the latter's narrow escape from death. "boys, you've done a big thing. the captain will be interested in you," said mr. withem. "he's been wanting this man for a long time." "you haven't told us who the fellow is, yet," reminded professor zepplin. "he is dunk tucker, sir, one of the most dangerous customers infesting the border. we have been on his trail for weeks, but he's managed to give us the slip every time. we never expected to capture him alive. we expected to have to shoot him on sight, which we probably would have done." "is it possible?" murmured the professor. "i did not suppose such conditions existed on the border at this late day." "they do not, ordinarily." "what has the man tucker done?" "done? it would be easier to tell you what he hasn't done. he's committed pretty nearly every crime in the calendar and some that aren't in the almanac. he is one of a band of thieves that has been operating on the border for months. they are smugglers and thieves. they have even gone back to the old style of stock stealing. up to date it is estimated that they have run across the border into mexico several hundred head of stock. the ranchers are up in arms. the rangers have been called in to put the border bandits out of business. this is the first one of the gang that we have captured. and, after all, we didn't capture him. that was left for a bunch of plucky young tenderfeet---two of them, to be exact. "furthermore, it is suspected that dunk and some of the other bad men of his crowd are in the pay of german agents in mexico. the germans are trying to stir up trouble on this side of the line, and these border ruffians are ready to do anything for the sake of easy money, even at the expense of being traitors to their country. it is believed that german money is finding its way into their pockets. the hounds!" raged the ranger. "surely these men have not resorted to force---committed murder or anything of that sort?" interposed the professor. "not that we know of, though some of them did have a pitched battle with a rancher over on the western border of the state. a few stopped bullets, but so far as we know no one was killed. i am telling you all this in confidence. there are a good many in this thing whose names we do not know." "you can make the prisoner confess, can you not?" asked professor zepplin. "confess?" the lieutenant laughed. "you don't know these border bandits. no, they never confess. there will always be more or less trouble down on the rio grande. it is so close to mexico, so easy to get across the border that bad men cannot resist taking advantage of it. that is why the rangers are still in business. if it were not for the border we all should be looking for other jobs. as it is there aren't many of us left." "how many?" asked the professor. "some thirty in the state, that is all. we are subject to the orders of the governor, though we're left pretty much to ourselves." "who is your commander?" "captain billy mckay." "that's the man dunk named. he accused us of belonging to mckay's band of rangers," said rector. "he did, eh?" "yes." "i thought so. still, he might have shot you up just the same, even if he had known you hadn't anything to do with us." "where is the rest of your party, mr. withem?" asked tad. "they're out on the trail," was the somewhat evasive answer. "i'll get in touch with them sometime to-night or to-morrow." "but you will take tucker with you, will you not?" asked ned. "i reckon i will," laughed the ranger. "shall we take him along for you? you have no horse?" asked tad. "my nag isn't far from here," smiled the lieutenant. "i'll load him on like a sack of meal. he'll get a good shaking up, but it won't hurt dunk. he's too tough to be bothered by a little thing like that. we'll land him in the calaboose in el paso by the day after to-morrow. where are you folks going?" "we planned to do the guadalupes, then go on down to the rio grande," answered professor zepplin. withem reflected. "i reckon the captain will be wanting to see you. there's a reward out for dunk. captain bill is on the square. he'll 'divvy' with you fairly." "we are not looking for any rewards," spoke up tad quickly. "you may tell him that whatever reward is paid, belongs to the rangers. we are glad to have served you, but remember, we did so to save our own skins." withem extended his hand, grasping tad's hand within it. "you're the right sort, young man. i wish we had you with us." "in the rangers?" "yes, of course." "i am afraid that would not be possible," smiled the pony rider boy. "wholly impossible," affirmed professor zepplin with emphasis. "i suppose so. however, i want you to see the captain. i'll tell you what to do." the lieutenant lowered his voice. "we will be in camp to-morrow night about twenty-five miles to the southwest of here. know where doble's spring is?" "no, sir." "you can find it. the water gushes out of the rocks pretty high up, falling in a sort of spray. you can't miss the place. you'll hear it if it's after dark when you get there." "and, further, you'll probably see a campfire, but sing out before you come in too close. some of our boys are rather sudden when they're interrupted at night," grinned the ranger. "i should call it violent," declared stacy. "the way you poked that pistol in my face back there was a caution. you nearly scared me out of a week's growth." no one paid any attention to chunky's interruption. "will your captain be there?" asked the professor. "i reckon he will but i can't tell for sure. mckay is a pretty busy man. you don't know where to find him. he may be here to-night. and to-morrow morning he may be sixty or seventy miles away. you can't tell about billy mckay." "is there any danger of our having difficulties with any of this fellow's companions?" asked the professor apprehensively. "i reckon not. at least there won't be after you have come up with our party. we'll see to that." "where are their headquarters---in these mountains?" questioned tad. "we don't know. that's what we're trying to find out. we have reckoned they had their hang-out here, but we haven't found it yet" "how many are in this band of border bandits?" asked butler. "there are some that we don't know. we do know a few of them, however. for instance, there's the mexican, espinoso, known as the 'yellow kid.' then there's greg. gonzales, a half-breed mex bandit, and willie jones." "willie jones! that's a funny name," laughed stacy. "that doesn't sound very savage. i shouldn't be afraid of a fellow with a name like that." "you would if you knew him. willie is a dude. he dresses like a city fellow with all the frills he can pile on, and he has the manners of a city chap too. but you look out for willie. there isn't a colder blooded man in the state than willie jones. he's quick as lightning on the gun and can hit a bull's-eye with his own eyes shut." "if he is any worse than our prisoner over there, i don't think i care to make his acquaintance," replied butler with a laugh. "he is, young man. you'd know dunk to be a bad man the first time you saw him. you wouldn't think it of willie and by the time you get him sized up, it's too late to do you any good. i hope you don't meet with willie and try to land him. if you do you'll be carried out on a litter, reduced to a pulp." "br---r----r---r!" shivered chunky. "where---where is this bad man supposed to hide himself?" asked the professor. "i wish i knew," sighed the ranger. "it would be worth a cold thousand dollars to me and perhaps some more. there's a price on willie's head. but what's the use speculating about it? we'll get him some day, but he'll be a dead one when we do. i'd a sight rather capture him alive." the boys listened to all this with deep interest. they had never come in contact with such cold-blooded discussion over human lives. they began to understand something of the things they had read concerning conditions in the lone star state in the early days when men's passions ran riot; when practically the only law of the land was the law of the gun. now, conditions had changed. it was only in certain localities that lawlessness reigned in texas, but these were bad spots, as evidenced by the presence of the rangers, that intrepid body of men that for thirty years had been the terror of evildoers. the rangers were pitted against a worthy foe in this instance, though it was a certainty that in time the rangers would get their men, either dead or alive. "and now i reckon i'll be going," decided the lieutenant, after having partaken heartily of the appetizing meal. "i'll be expecting you at the spring when we get there to-morrow." "thank you; we will endeavor to be there. it will be a pleasure to meet your commander. we may get some useful advice from him." "we'll bring up your horse if you will tell us where he is," offered tad. "thanks, pard. he's on the other side of the creek about fifteen rods from here." accompanied by ned, tad hurried down, but found some difficulty in locating the horse, so carefully had the animal been secreted. withem smiled when he saw them coming back. "i guess you boys are all right," he nodded. they helped him load the prisoner over the horse's back, after which, giving each of the party a cordial shake of the hand, lieutenant withem rode away. they observed that his rifle was resting across the body of the prisoner, as if the lieutenant were looking for trouble. the trouble came sooner than they expected. the ranger had been gone less than twenty minutes when a volley of rifle shots crashed out. "he's attacked!" cried tad. "quick! put out the fire!" shouted the professor. "don't wait for the fire. we must go to his assistance!" answered tad, snatching up his rifle and making a bolt for his pony. "come on, boys, we've got something to do this time." "stop!" commanded the professor. "what, sit here while a band of bandits are perhaps murdering lieutenant withem? i can't do that. you stay here, professor. we will take care of ourselves. don't worry about us. chunky, you'd better stay here with the professor. you haven't got sand enough to---" "what, me stay here?" shouted the fat boy, starting for his own mount. "i guess you don't know what kind of a man i am. come on, fellows. whoop!" stacy leaped into his saddle. ned rector and walter perkins already had taken to their saddles. the professor saw that it was useless to try to stop the boys. he groaned aloud. but professor zepplin was very active for his years. ere the enthusiastic pony riders had started to gallop away the professor had made a flying leap into his saddle and a few seconds later was pounding down the canyon, along the west fork, in the wake of the racing pony rider boys. "there they are!" cried tad, as bursting out on the plain they saw vicious flashes of light, accompanied by the crashing of guns. chapter ix showing good generalship rifles had been jerked from saddle boots as the boys swung to the left, sweeping down over the plain. tad assumed the leadership of the party, as he usually did in emergencies. "all hold your fire until i give the word. keep your heads. don't get excited!" wanted the lad. "that is good judgment. but try to keep out of the fire," shouted the professor. ned rector laughed. "we might better have stayed at the camp if that is all we are going to do," he answered. tad saw that several men were riding around in a circle shooting at a fleeing horseman whose rifle spoke often and spitefully. the lad knew that the solitary horseman was the ranger lieutenant. "the cowards---to attack one man that way!" gritted the boy. "now, fellows," he called, slacking up slightly, "i want you, when i say go, to yell like mad. whoop it up for all you're worth. then when i say fire, every man shake out his rifle, but shoot high. we don't want to hit anybody unless we have to. we'll make those fellows think the whole troop of rangers is turned loose on them. understand?" "good! excellent head work, tad. i'm proud of you. but i do hope none of you gets hit." "if you are afraid, drop back to the rear, professor," suggested stacy, whereat chuckles were heard from the others. the bandits had not discovered the advancing horsemen in the darkness, though had they been less interested in seeking to kill lieutenant withem they might have observed the little band that was now sweeping down on them. "now! whoop it up, fellows!" tad raised his voice to an exultant shout. chunky's piercing voice punctured the atmosphere in a blood-curdling shout, a wild warwhoop. "yip! yip! hiyi! hiyi! kyaw! kyeeaw! yip! yip!" despite the seriousness of the situation and the real desperateness of their position the pony rider boys laughed so that they were unable to yell for a full minute. then they let go their voices, to which the professor added his own. but his voice was almost wholly lost in the blood-curdling shouts of his young charges. "ready---chunky, aim at the moon or you'll be puncturing some of us. now fire!" a volley of shots followed tad's command. five rifles crashed out, but their leaden missiles went high, followed by another series of wild yells, whoops and scattering shots. about this time the border bandits discovered the oncoming party of horsemen. all at once they turned their rifles on the pony rider boys. at the first shot in the direction of the boys tad turned in his saddle. "lie low!" he yelled. "keep whooping and keep shooting. look out that you don't hit any one. ride straight at them. they'll give ground." "i hope to goodness they do," shouted ned rector. "if they don't it's me for the tall timber," cried stacy, who had overheard rector's remark. the bullets sang so close to the boys that the lads could hear them plainly. had the light been more certain some of them must have been hit, for those men out there knew how to handle rifles much better than did any of the pony rider boys. with wild whoops and yells, keeping up a continuous fusillade, the plucky band kept straight on. "it's the rangers!" they heard the words plainly, uttered by one of the bandits. "yip! yip! kyeeaw!" screamed the fat boy. "yip! yip! hiyi!" chorused the others. "we've got 'em on the run!" yelled tad, as the circling horsemen swung out into a straight line and began racing across the plains, turning in their saddles to shoot at their assailants. "can you see to let them have a few shots into the ground to hurry them along?" called butler. "yes, yes," yelled the boys. "be careful," warned the professor. bang, bang, bang, bang! answered the rifles of the pony rider boys. the horses of the bandits fairly leaped into the air. soon after that they faded into dark, uncertain streaks on the white of the plain. now the rifle of the solitary horseman began to speak again. joe withem was not afflicted with any scruples against shooting to hit. he tumbled one man out of his saddle, but the fellow's companions scooped up the wounded bandit, carrying him away with them. withem thought he saw a man go down, but he could not be sure. the boys swept past him some distance to the left of the ranger, still shooting, their purpose being to keep the bandits going until the latter should have been driven so far away that they would not be back that night. "swing back!" commanded tad. the boys pulled their horses down, and wheeling began trotting back. a little beyond they saw withem galloping toward them. "you were just in time, fellows. they had me on the hip for sure." "i'm glad of it," called tad, "for---" "what's that? who are you?" interrupted the lieutenant. then he pulled his horse up sharply. "well, i'll be jiggered, if it isn't you." "that's who it is," laughed tad. "are you hit?" "i stopped a couple, but it doesn't amount to anything. just flesh wounds, that's all. and you boys put the bandits on the run, eh?" wondered the ranger lieutenant. "that's another one i owe you. that's another one the cap'n owes you too." "don't mention it." "how did they happen to discover you?" asked the professor riding up beside the ranger. "that's what gets me. i don't understand it at all. they must have caught sight of me as i was riding out. they surely didn't know i had dunk with me or they wouldn't have begun shooting at me. they'd have tried to pot the pony in the legs and get me afterwards, though i might have stood them off till daylight." "bad, very bad!" muttered the professor. "i call it very good, sir. those fellows have had a fright that will keep them going for some hours yet. they think it is the rangers that's chasing them and they'll be hiking for cover at the rate of some miles an hour." "you are sure you are not badly hurt?" asked the professor anxiously. "if i never get any worse, i'll be satisfied. i'm a marked man, you know. some day, when my gun sticks in the holster, i may get mine." "come back to camp with us. surely you are not going on to-night?" "thank you, but i must be getting on. i've got to be at the camp by daylight." "if you think there is danger of your being attacked, we will ride with you," said tad. "no, pard, i'm better off alone. i'll know enough to dodge them now." "speaking of danger, you don't suppose these men will come back and visit our camp, do you?" asked the professor. "no, i don't think so. but were i in your place i think i'd put out my fire and set a guard for the rest of the night. it's always a safe thing to do. they won't touch you in the daytime; in fact, i think those fellows will be hiding. we'll set a couple of men on their trail just as soon as i get to camp; now that i know where the trail starts. they know i know, and that's what makes me think they won't let the grass grow under their feet." "i am glad to hear you say so," answered professor zepplin. "i am afraid we should not have mixed up in this affair at all, though naturally i am pleased that we have been able to be of some service to you when you might have been killed." "and some others with me," answered the ranger grimly. "well, so long. i'll talk with you to-morrow." "good night and good luck!" called the boys. "good night, pards," answered the ranger heartily. swinging his pony about he galloped away into the darkness, while the boys turned their own mounts toward their camp in the canyon. they had done a good night's work and tad's generalship alone had won the battle for the ranger lieutenant. but there were other equally exciting experiences ahead of them in the near future, in which the border bandits would play an active part. chapter x the pony rider boys initiated it was rather a solemn party that took its way slowly back to the pony rider boys' camp in the mountains. the boys realized that they had taken a rather active part in what might prove for them a serious affair. if, by any chance, the bandits learned who had interfered with them, it might be necessary for professor zepplin and his charges to make lively tracks for the border and seek other fields of adventure. the same thought was in the minds of all except chunky, who held his head erect, his chest swelled out. he was full of their great achievements and was telling what he would do if any of the bandits came to visit their camp. "i think we will put you on guard to-night, seeing that you are such a brave young man," said the professor with a twinkle. "on guard?" "yes." "yes, that's the idea. let him take the watch," approved rector. "you forget that i'm a wounded man. you forget i've been shot twice to-day. huh! some of you children take the trick. i've got to take care of my health." "i guess if we expect to get any sleep we had better let some one else do it," agreed tad. "chunky will have us out on false alarms all night long." they were agreed upon this, and by common consent butler was given the watch for the night. the boys slept with their rifles beside them that night. the night passed without incident, tad butler keeping a vigilant watch all during the dark hours of the night. he had plenty of time to think matters over. he realized that dunk tucker, the prisoner, had overheard all that had been said during their talk with withem out on the plain. tad knew that if dunk ever got into communication with his fellows it would go hard with the pony rider boys. soon after daybreak, tad awakened his fellows. he already had a brisk fire going, but before lighting it, the lad had walked down to the edge of the canyon for a survey of the plain. he saw a solitary horseman far out over the rolling plain. after some study he made up his mind that the man was going away instead of coming toward them. breakfast finished the party packed their belongings and started out for their long ride to join the rangers sometime late in the day. about noon they made camp for dinner and a rest, not taking up their journey until about four o'clock in the afternoon. darkness overtook them, finding them still without sight or sound of the spring where withem said they would find the rangers' camp. a consultation was held and it was decided to continue on until they picked up the party. about half an hour after night had fallen, they were riding along when suddenly they were stopped by a stern command. "halt! hands up! every man of you is covered!" "oh, wow!" gasped chunky. "they've got us again." "who are you?" demanded the voice. "who are you?" returned tad boldly. "i reckon my question gits the first answer, seeing as i've got the drop on you." tad all at once realized that the sound of falling water was in the air. with it came the thought that these must be the rangers. "we're the pony rider boys," he said, speaking confidently. "the which?" he repeated his answer. "wait a minute. send for joe," said the man in a lower tone. "you fellows stay just as you are if you don't want some daylight let through you." "i---i wish we did have a little daylight," stammered chunky, which elicited a short laugh from his companions. "yeow!" bowled the fat boy as a figure appeared beside him and a pair of iron arms grasped his hands pulling him down, nearly unseating him. "yeow! let go!" "it's all right, boys," spoke up the familiar voice of lieutenant withem. "i'd know this fellow in the dark as well as in the light. i'm withem." at the lieutenant's reassuring words the rangers---for the boys had stumbled upon the camp of the men of captain mckay's command---crowded forward, talking and laughing, three of them taking the horses as the party dismounted, then leading the way into the bushes and in among the rocks where the lads came upon a campfire, around which were seated five or six other rangers. withem introduced the professor and his charges. there were, besides the lieutenant, pete quash, "dippy" orell, cad morgan, bucky moore, "polly" perkins and several others, all of whom were introduced in turn, the rangers solemn as owls, making low bows, sweeping the ground with their sombreros, causing stacy to open his eyes in wonderment. lieutenant withem made the party feel at home at once. "just in time to have chuck with us. you see we have our chuck wagon here. of course we don't carry it wherever we go. we usually have some central point where we make headquarters. but we have to keep changing these headquarters for reasons you understand." all hands sat down to the evening meal after the men had washed up, in most instances without removing their hats. this attracted the attention of the fat boy. "say, do you fellows sleep in your hats as well as wash and eat in them?" he demanded. "do you sleep in your skin?" retorted dippy. "yes, unless it has been all skinned off from me. when i was fighting indians up in the grand canyon---" "chop it!" commanded a ranger. "men have been known to meet their death for less in this country." "can't i say what i've got to say?" demanded the fat boy indignantly. "are you going to brag about yourself?" demanded polly. "i'm telling you, and---" "well, don't tell us. we don't want to have to take you out and tie you to a tree. say, will you get wise to the dude with the red necktie?" scoffed the ranger, pointing to ned, who, in the place of the bandanna handkerchief, had put on a flowing tie of brilliant red, tying it about his neck, with the ends carelessly thrown over the left shoulder. "don't you like it?" asked ned, flushing. "like it? why, it's the hottest thing that ever crossed the staked plains since the apaches came down in---" "why don't you look the other way then?" interjected stacy. "oho! listen to the human monstrosity---the monstrosity as wide as he is long and as fresh as he is stale. what you got to say about it, young man?" demanded dippy, glancing at tad butler, who was smiling. "i haven't said anything yet." "but you're going to?" "i may." "can we stand for any more remarks, boys?" asked dippy. "no, we can't stand for any more," chorused the men, the professor and the lieutenant being too busy with a discussion to pay any heed to what was going on about them. "then he shall be washed clean so that he may take a fresh start?" "that's the idea!" "will you go peaceably or must we drag you?" "i reckon you'd better drag me. if you're going to have fun with me you'll have to earn it. i don't propose to help you out." "do you hear?" demanded dippy in a deep, hoarse voice. "we hear." "then do your duty!" two men grabbed the pony rider boy up, tad making no resistance whatever, a little to the surprise of the men who had taken hold of him. they expected the boy to resist, which would have given them still further excuse to handle him roughly. but tad was used to dealing with the rough and ready characters of plain and mountain. he didn't care particularly what they did. the other boys were delighted that tad was to be made the mark this time. they followed along laughing and jeering at their companion. the rangers fell in behind the two who were carrying butler, in solemn procession. to look at their faces one would have thought they were performing a solemn duty. the boys wondered where it was going to end. they discovered a few minutes later. tad was taken out where the gentle murmur of the spring falling over the rocks could be heard when the pony rider boys were not making too much noise. "do you withdraw the flippant words you used to a member of this august body?" demanded a deep voice. "no!" cried tad butler. "never! i'll die first!" "then take your punishment!" with that they gave the boy a swing, one holding to the feet the other the shoulders of the lad. when they let go, tad sailed several feet through the air. quick as a cat in his movements tad turned over before he landed, going down on all fours. he thought he was going to strike on the hard ground. instead he landed at the bottom of a deep pool of water cold as ice it seemed to him. he went in all over. not expecting anything of this sort the boy was not holding his breath. the result was that he got a mouthful of water. he came up choking, then pretended to go down again. instead he crawled up to the bank, under which he hid. a moment passed and the rangers began to be alarmed. dippy stepped to the edge of the pool and leaning over peered down somewhat anxiously. quick as a flash a pair of arms encircled his neck. dippy plunged in head first. he did not even have time to cry out. the others, discovering that dippy had fallen in, rushed to the edge shouting and laughing. two of them went the way of their companion, tad having jerked their feet from under them. within sixty seconds from that time half of the crowd were threshing about in the cold waters of the pool, while tad, who had crawled out, sat on the bank dripping, watching their struggles. stacy brown was rolling on the ground, howling with delight. all at once he was picked up in a pair of strong arms and tossed in bodily. stacy howled lustily. clambering out he squared off for fight, but the only fight he got was another ducking in the pool. "you---you----you fellows ought to be ashamed to pick on a wounded man that way. don't you know i've been shot?" "shot?" "yes, shot." "he's been shot," chorused the boys and the rangers together. "any of the rest of you kiddies been wounded in the fracas?" demanded folly. "no, but you've overlooked two of us," announced ned stepping out. "we haven't had our baths yet and i reckon we need them." without a word, two of the rangers got up and threw the two remaining boys into the pool. ned went in with a mighty splash, walter perkins landing on top of him, nearly taking away the breath of rector. they had a rough and tumble scrimmage in the cold water, coming out choking, dripping and laughing. all this made a favorable impression on the rangers. boys who could take rough handling such as this, without losing their tempers or even offering any objection, surely must be worth while. then, too, there was the story about tad and ned having captured the desperado, dunk tucker, who was now well on his way to the calaboose in el paso. "i reckon you kin go back and dry off now," drawled dippy. "anything else you cayuses reckon you want?" "yes, you might fetch me a piece of soap," answered butler laughingly. "i reckon you'll use sand, young man," answered orell witheringly. the pony rider boys made their way back to the camp, wet but happy, the only dissatisfied one in the crowd being stacy brown. but their troubles for the night were not wholly over yet. their initiation was not yet complete. the rangers had still other plans for their visitors. chapter xi bag-baiting the 'possums "guess you fellows are forgetting about that 'possum hunt?" drawled cad morgan as the boys came noisily into camp. "'possum hunt?" cried stacy, brightening at once. "i wasn't talking to you," answered morgan witheringly. "don't break in when men are talking." "men? where are your men? i want to go 'possum hunting, too." "so do i," chorused ned and walter. tad did not speak. he was watching the rangers to see if they meant it. evidently they did. "that's so," answered dippy. "we had plumb forgotten all about it. we better get a move on or we won't have that 'possum for breakfast. ever go bag-baiting for 'possum?" he demanded wheeling on tad. "i never did." "neither did i," interjected stacy crowding in between tad and the ranger. "i want to bag a 'possum." "better look sharp or the 'possum will bag you," warned pete quash. "i guess i'm not afraid of any 'possum that ever climbed a tree. haven't i killed lions and bob cats and fought indians, and---" "stop it!" roared dippy. "i'll be worse'n my name if you keep filling me up with that line of talk." "what's bag-baiting 'possum?" asked walter. "what! you never heard of bag-baiting?" demanded cad. "i never did." "well, you fellows are tenderfeet!" "may we go along and help?" asked chunky. "what do you say, fellows?" "we might let them on a pinch. i suppose they've got to learn some time." "all right, you fellows may go out and help us, but it's a job, mind you! you'll get sick of it before you've finished." "no we won't," cried the boys. "well, i reckon we'd better be getting the stuff together," said cad getting up wearily. "though i'm afraid the roly-poly will plumb scare every 'possum out of the community." "if they don't run at sight of you, they'll stand for anything short of a ghost," retorted stacy sarcastically. cad did not reply to this fling. he merely grinned. tad saw more in that grin than did his companions, but he held his peace. he wanted to see the fun, even if it were still further at his own expense. preparations for the 'possum hunt were at once begun. two burlap sacks were procured from somewhere in the camp. these, with several candles and some stout sticks, made up the outfit for the 'possum hunt. "where are you fellows going?" called withem as he saw the outfit starting away. "hunting 'possums," answered dippy. lieutenant withem smiled. "i hope you bring back some for breakfast," called the professor. "i am fond of 'possum." "you won't be of the 'possum they catch," warned the lieutenant, in a low tone. with pistol holsters slapping against their thighs, rangers and pony rider boys strode from the camp, circling to the left after leaving the rocky pass where they had their resting place. they followed around the base of the mountains for a half mile. the ground was thickly wooded with second growth and mesquite bush. cad finally called a halt. "i reckon we'll go in here," he said. "going to leave a bag here?" asked polly. "sure. here you, perkins, catch bold of the bag." "what do i do?" asked walter. "wait; i'll show you." morgan very carefully lighted a candle and stuck it into the ground, packing the dirt about it with his knife. "now you hold the bag open. don't move. don't jump if you see a 'possum light into the bag. you see the light draws them. it hypnotizes them and they jump right into the light. that means they jump into the bag. the minute one hops in all you have to do is to close the bag, sling it over your shoulder and hike back to camp with it." "that's easy. i could catch 'possums myself if that's all a fellow has to do," declared stacy. "it'll be your turn next, fatty." it was. after floundering through the bushes for some distance the rangers stopped. "now, fatty, it's your turn," announced cad. "you may have to wait around here for an hour or two while we beat up the bushes and drive the 'possum in, but you won't care. you'll be glad you stayed when you get a nice fat 'possum for your breakfast." "i'll catch him if he comes this way," replied the fat boy. "you bet you'll catch it," chuckled dippy. "how long do i stay here?" "till you git a 'possum," answered polly. "mebby that'll be in two minutes and mebby not in two hours, but you've got to stand very still. if you move you'll scare the whole pack of them back into their holes." stacy squared himself, holding the opening of the bag close up to the burning candle. "that's right. a little more to the left with the opening," directed cad, who had constituted himself the master of the hunt. "now hold it. you other two lads work around the outside. one of you go to the north, the other to the south about a quarter of a mile, then work gradually in, beating the bushes, slamming these clubs against every tree you come to big enough to hold a 'possum. in that way you'll drive them in." "yes, sir," answered tad and ned very solemnly. "and go slow. just take a step at a time, or some of the birds may get by you." "a 'possum isn't a bird," corrected stacy. "you'll think it is after you've hunted one for an hour or two. now git going, you beaters. imagine you're beating the bush for lions. that will keep you from going to sleep on the job." chunky's eyes grew large. "see here, you don't want to stand up straight," rebuked morgan. "you must lean over just like this," bending himself almost double with his nose close to the ground. for a half hour stacy brown maintained his position. by this time his back was aching, perspiration was running down his face and neck in rivulets. insects of many shapes and forms, attracted by the light, were hopping about, some getting into the fat boy's eyes, nose and ears, others getting under his clothing. but still he held the bag open. no 'possums came his way. some few thousands of insects did. a large part of these hopped into the bag. others crawled in. in the meantime tad, his face wearing a grin, had walked away, but instead of beating the bush for 'possum, he headed straight for the camp. he heard the rangers off to the left, as he emerged from the bush. the men were laughing and talking. butler reached the camp ahead of them. when they came in they were amazed to see him stretched out comfortably in front of the campfire, taking his ease. "i thought you were hunting 'possum," cried polly. "i thought you were hunting 'possum," laughed the others. the men looked into each others' faces, then burst out laughing. "where's the other one?" meaning rector, who like tad was to drive the 'possums in. "he's hunting 'possum," answered tad. an hour later ned rector came sauntering in. "hullo, did you drive out any 'possum?" called cad. "narry a 'poss," answered ned carelessly. "i thought i'd leave them for you fellows. i didn't want to hog the whole game, you know." "are the other two holding the bags open?" "i don't know. i suppose they are. they'll be even with you for that," answered ned. "by the way, mr. withem," said tad strolling towards him, "i thought we were going to meet captain mckay here." "the captain is not here," replied the lieutenant with some reservation in his tone. "will he be here before we leave?" "i can't say. captain billy may be here in the morning, then again he may not. if you miss him here, he will see you some other time. he wants to know you, pardner," smiled the lieutenant. "where is the fat boy?" "holding the 'possum bag down in the bush," answered tad with a grim smile. the rangers were pulling off their boots and one by one crawling into the single tent that did duty as a bedroom for all except the officers, who had a small tent to themselves. the boys were chuckling to themselves. they thought they had a good joke on at least one of the pony rider boys, and perhaps they had. about two hours after the men had returned to camp, walter perkins, with an exclamation of disgust, threw down his bag. "let them catch their own 'possums," he said. "i don't believe there are any 'possums in this country to catch. even if there were we never could get them in a bag this way. i'll bet they have been playing a joke on me. i'm going back to camp." half an hour later, chunky, his back aching like a sore tooth, straightened up with evident effort. the fat boy began to see a light, other than that furnished by the candle. "i guess i'm the goat," he said regarding the bag reflectively. "yes, i am the goat all right." picking up the candle, stacy peered into the bag, then he thought some more. the inside of the bag was literally alive with insects. the fat boy quickly closed the bag, twisting the mouth tight and tying it fast with a string. then blowing out the candle, he shouldered the bag, setting off for camp as walter had done some thirty minutes before. but stacy failed to observe the figure of a man near by as the boy stepped out on the plain. this figure followed along behind him at a safe distance, the man chuckling to himself as he watched the boy and the bag. the mysterious stranger was the ranger lieutenant. reaching the silent camp, stacy slunk in, apparently seeking to avoid being seen. the grinning lieutenant saw the boy slip cautiously to the tent occupied by the sleeping rangers. there the fat boy very carefully deposited his 'possum bag, first having opened the mouth of it, after which he slipped away to his own tent and crawled into bed. but stacy did not go to sleep at once. he lay there listening, gazing up at the roof of the tent through which he could make out the faint light of the sky. some twenty minutes elapsed when the boy sat up, thinking he had heard a sound from the other tent. this became a certainty just a few minutes later when a great uproar arose in the tent of the rangers. loud voices were heard, threats and shouts. the hundred and fifty-eight varieties of bugs that the fat boy had brought in in his 'possum bag, were getting in their deadly work on the persons of the rangers. chunky had turned the tables on his tormentors most beautifully. chapter xii insects win the battle the rangers, slapping, scratching and fighting against the armies of insects that were crawling over them, had finally got out of bed and gone out of doors to sleep. but there was no rest there either. their bodies were covered with ants and fleas, all with well-developed biters---and they bit! at first the rangers did not realize the trick that had been played upon them. one who went back to the tent for his hat discovered the burlap sack that had been used in the 'possum hunt. he brought it out, holding it up before his companions. the rangers eyed the bag, then gazed at each other solemnly. "stung!" groaned dippy. "bitten, you mean," answered cad morgan. "which one played that low-down trick on us?" demanded pete quash angrily. "i reckon it was fatty," said polly. "he's the one that would have thought of a thing like that. i reckon there must have been a million of those bugs crawling over me." "i'll tell you what, fellows. let's get fatty out and tie the sack over his head. we'll give him a dose of his own medicine," proposed dippy. "we can't stand for anything of this sort." "look here, boys," spoke up cad. "are you welchers? can't you take your medicine without squealing?" "what do you meant" demanded polly. "i mean that we fellows put up a job on the kids. the fat baby turned the joke on us, and right smart at that. we're it. we're full of bugs---the worst biters anywhere between the rio grande and the northern border. are we going to squeal? i reckon we aren't. we're going to stand here and let the biters do their worst. i'm mighty near eaten alive, but i'm taking my medicine and i reckon i'll be taking a lot more of the same dose before morning." "wal," drawled polly, "i reckon you're right at that, cad. but i'd like to wring that little cayuse's neck just for luck." the "little cayuse" referred to was sleeping sweetly in his tent, untroubled by the distress of the rangers. all that night the rangers walked up and down, slapping their thighs, scratching their legs, for the older the night grew the harder did those fleas seem to take hold. "i reckon their bills will be so dull by morning, after drilling our tough hides all night, that we won't feel them at all," observed polly. a low growl from dippy orell was the only reply to the remark. now and then a man would throw himself down hoping to get a brief nap, but a few moments later he would be up stamping and scratching and growling deeply, threatening vengeance on the boy who had played the trick on them. next morning, stacy brown, for reasons best known to himself, got up ahead of the others of his party. stacy took his time in dressing, then strolled out. "hullo, i guess the crowd is sleeping late this morning," he muttered. then he halted. his eyes rested on the 'possum sack that he had left in the tent of the rangers the night before. a broad grin spread over his face. "i guess they won't be playing monkeyshines on stacy brown right away. i wonder if they got bitten much? i'm all swelled up where the insects made a meal on my skin. hullo! hi, fellows!" tad butler and ned rector appeared at the door of their tent almost at once. "can't you let a fellow sleep?" demanded ned. "what's the row about? got a 'possum for breakfast?" "no, but i've got something else for you." "what's that?" questioned butler. "a surprise." "what kind of a surprise?" "just a surprise surprise, that's all. what do you think?" "too early to think. i'm going back to bed," growled rector. "and don't you dare wake me up again." tad stepped out. "the crowd has given us the slip," announced stacy. "what---why they've gone!" exclaimed tad. "yes, they've gone. gone where there aren't any pony rider boys to make life miserable for them." tad was mystified. the ranger company had disappeared utterly. they had slipped away silently and mysteriously. even the chuck wagon had disappeared. "why, what can it mean?" marveled tad butter. "you may search me. i don't know." "hey, ned!" "well, what is it?" growled rector appearing at the tent opening again. "they've gone and left us and without even saying good-bye," called tad. "shake out the others." the professor and walter, having been awakened by the talking, now appeared. they were quickly informed that the rangers had left, at which they wondered not a little. "i guess they got tired of our company. i'm going to start breakfast," declared butler. "this is most remarkable," bristled the professor. "i should have thought they would have left some word." "how about that 'possum, chunky?" jeered rector. "you better ask the rangers. they'll tell you about that," answered the fat boy with a grin. "there's the sack in which i fetched the animals back to camp." "what, did you catch any?" demanded the professor. "oh, i got some game, all right. i'm the champion hunter, i am. say, i wish i could cook like you," said chunky gazing admiringly at tad, who was confidently making some biscuit for breakfast. "i never could cook unless i had everything all down in writing before me. how do you do it?" "oh, he cooks by ear," scoffed ned. "that's why there's so many discords in our digestive apparatus." the pony rider boys groaned dismally. chapter xiii an inquisitive visitor breakfast the plans for the day were discussed. the professor was for remaining in camp, hoping that the rangers might return later in the day. tad did not believe this would be the case. he reasoned that the men had been summoned some time during the night to go on a hike, and that they might not return at all; therefore the pony rider boys would be losing time, whereas they might be exploring the guadalupe range, which stretched away for a hundred miles. "still, i can't understand this mysterious departure of our friends, the rangers," persisted professor zepplin. "perhaps it was the bugs," suggested stacy wisely. "the bugs?" questioned the professor. chunky nodded. tad eyed the fat boy suspiciously. "look here, what have you got up your sleeve, stacy?" he demanded. "nothing, i hope. but some of the fellows did." "did what?" cut in rector. "did have." "did have what?" urged walter. "a fellow has to have a map to follow you." "did have something up their sleeves." "what was it you think they had up their sleeves?" asked tad, eyeing the fat boy with growing suspicion. "oh, i don't know. maybe it was insects." "stacy!" rebuked the professor sternly. tad recalled that he had discovered thousands of insects crawling over the burlap sack when he came out in the morning. the lad's mind began to unravel the mystery. he thought he understood chunky's references now, but tad only smiled. he made no effort to explain, but instead, changed the subject. "do we start, or do we remain here, professor?" he asked. "it shall be as you boys wish. all in favor of going on will say 'aye.'" "aye!" howled the pony rider boys, a shout that caused the browsing ponies to look up in mild surprise. "then we move. i will say, however, that i don't exactly approve of the situation." "what situation, professor?" questioned butler. "there are too many rough men in these parts. i had no idea we were going to meet with any such condition of affairs in this enlightened state." "that's nothing. we have had some experience. experience is what we are looking for." "but the rangers were not," asserted stacy thickly, his mouth full of biscuit. "they got it, though." "i feel sorry for you," said tad leaning over to stacy. "sorry for what?" "for what you'll catch when they get hold of you again." "they'd better not. i've got something up my sleeve, or i will have, i mean. they'd better keep away from me." "come, fellows, are you going to strike camp while i clear away the breakfast things?" called tad. "let chunky do it. he hasn't done a thing this morning," cried ned. "yes, i have, too." "what have you done?" "i've done two things this morning." "that's news," grinned walter. "yes, name them. we don't want to do you an injustice, you know," urged rector sarcastically. "i made a discovery---i discovered that we had been basely deserted." "well, that's only one thing. you said you had done two things," persisted ned. "then i ate my breakfast. that's two things." the boys groaned. "he ate his breakfast. most remarkable," scoffed rector, imitating the professor's voice and manner, whereat the professor himself grinned broadly. tad, giving up expecting the others to do anything, was rapidly gathering their equipment together. the tent came down. he divided it into sections, placing the sections in piles preparatory to forming them into bundles to be packed on the ponies. "have you the map, professor?" he called. "in my saddle bag." "i want to study it a minute before we start. we don't know anything about the trails here and we have no guide to direct us. we've got to make our way the best we can." "we can't get lost," chimed in chunky. "why can't we get lost?" snapped ned turning on the fat boy. "because we don't know where we are anyway." "horse sense," laughed tad. "fat-boy drivel," jeered ned. "come, come, young men. you are not making much headway." stacy dragged his pack by the rope, over to his pony, instead of carrying the bundle as he should have done, professor zepplin observing the boy with disapproving gaze. "is that the way you have been taught to pack your pony, sir?" "no. i've never been taught. what i know i've had to pick up. nobody ever tries to teach me anything." scolding, joking, having all manner of sport with one another, the pony rider boys finally completed their tasks. the ponies were loaded, the pack pony was piled high so that its head and legs were about the only parts of its anatomy visible, and the boys climbed into their saddles, tad first having given the trail map a brief scrutiny. they started off up the canyon. for a little way the trail appeared to be no trail at all. the ponies threshed through the bushes, the sharp limbs smiting the riders in the faces, making disagreeable traveling. but the young men were used to this sort of thing. they did not appear to mind it at all. reaching a higher altitude they found the trail to be fairly good. from there they got a good view of the yellow plains below, that stretch away many miles to the northward. to the southwest, peaks that they judged must be all of four or five thousand feet high, towered blue and hazy in the yellow light. birds were singing, the air was soft and balmy and a gentle breeze stirred the foliage about them lazily. "this is what i call fine," cried tad. "good place for a nap," agreed chunky. "are you in need of sleep?" asked the professor. "i'm in a trance, sir." "you always are," laughed tad butler. "i think we had better take a rest here. the animals are tired after the climb. suppose we lie off for an hour?" the boys were all agreed on this, so the pack pony was unloaded. it now being near midday it was decided to wait for dinner before pressing on. a meal was a "dab" down there and the boys had fallen naturally into the vernacular of the men of the plains. it was ned's turn to cook the "dab," a task that never appealed to him. chunky at such times was always on hand while ned was getting the meal, that he might offer suggestions and make uncomplimentary observations. rector's method of making coffee came in for considerable criticism. he never could be induced to make coffee after the more approved methods. ned's way was to put a pint of coffee beans in a two-quart coffee pot and boil for half an hour. he made it the same way on this occasion. "that stuff would eat a hole through a piece of sheet iron if given half a chance," declared stacy. "don't worry. it won't hurt you," retorted ned. "your stomach is tough enough to withstand anything." "i guess it is or i'd have been dead long ago eating your dab," flung back stacy. they had to wait quite a time for the coffee, but at last the call to dinner was sounded in the usual way, the long-drawn cry of, "come and get it!" they had just sat down when they were startled by a voice calling from somewhere off in the bushes to the northward of them. "hoo-ee!" the boys started up, thinking that perhaps some of the rangers had returned. instead of the rangers a stranger rode in on a wiry little pony. he doffed his sombrero gracefully and sat regarding them smilingly. "howdy, pardners," greeted the newcomer. "got a smack for a hungry man?" "certainly, certainly. come right over, my friend," answered the professor cordially. ned stepped forward politely to take the stranger's horse. "never mind, lad. i'll look after the cayuse. he isn't over-fond of strangers. you're all strangers down here, eh?" "yes, yes. we are," admitted the professor. "you are just in time. we are ready for dinner and there's plenty to go round." "i'll promise not to eat you out of house and home," laughed the stranger. without taking off his broad-brimmed mexican sombrero he threw himself down by the piece of canvas on which the dinner had been laid, helping himself to a slice of bacon which he ate from his fingers in a most democratic fashion. "my name's conway. bill conway. what's yours?" professor zepplin introduced himself and the boys, which conway acknowledged by polite bows. the man was easy in manner, and his smiling face led the boys to warm to him at once---all save tad butler, who, without appearing to do so, was observing the visitor keenly. the man was slight, almost boyish in figure. his hair was dark, as were his eyes, the latter having a trick of growing suddenly darker than their natural color, seeming to sink further back in his head under some sudden stress of emotion. the brown fingers were slender and nervous in their movements. "i'll bet he would be quick on the trigger," was tad's mental conclusion. "are you from these parts?" asked the professor by way of starting the conversation. "el paso, when i'm at home. and you?" "from the north." "down here for your health?" "partly. mostly for an outing." "just so. i reckon i've heard something about you." "maybe it was i whom you heard about," suggested chunky. "can't say as i have," answered conway, directing a quick glance at the fat boy. "you don't know what you've missed," answered stacy solemnly, helping himself to five slices of bacon. "you didn't happen to meet with any of the rangers this morning, did you?" questioned professor zepplin. it was the professor's turn to get a sharp look now. "rangers? no. why do you ask?" "because we were looking for some of them." "what for?" "we wanted to see them about a little matter," hastily interposed tad butler. "what matter?" there was no stopping the professor. "why, we camped with a body of them last night. with lieutenant withem, a most affable gentleman. they ran away and left us early this morning. however, i suppose they had good reasons." "joe withem, eh?" "yes, that was the man." "how many rangers did behave with him?" "twelve, wasn't it, boys?" "something like that," replied tad, observing their visitor narrowly. "however, professor, i hardly think we should speak of them. you see they were on some secret mission and---" "it's all right, young man. you are safe in confiding in me. in fact, i am going to confide a little secret to you to show you that you have made no mistake." "we shall preserve your secret, sir," answered the professor with great dignity. "i thought you would. lean closer and i'll tell you," almost whispered the visitor. chapter xiv when the air grew chill "i'm a ranger, too," confided the visitor. "what, you a ranger?" exclaimed the professor. "of captain mckay's band?" "you've hit it, pard." "well, well, this is indeed a pleasure. we have not had the honor of meeting captain mckay as yet, but we hope to do so, ere long. he had promised to meet us last night, but i understand was called away on some business pertaining to his calling." "you would like to meet captain mckay?" "indeed i should. i understand he is a most remarkable man, that he has performed many deeds of valor." "pray stop!" laughed conway. "you actually make me blush." the outfit gazed at the visitor inquiringly. "now that you have said so much i am going to confide another little secret to you. i'm mckay." "what? not captain mckay, the leader of the rangers?" "the same." professor zepplin thrust a brown hand across the table, grasping the hand of their visitor. "well, this is indeed a surprise. i can't begin to tell you how glad we are to see you," answered the professor with enthusiasm. "same to you, pardner," grinned the captain. "you see i didn't want to open up too freely until i was sure to whom i was talking. of course if you and withem are cahoots, it's all right." "it certainly is all right. we had the pleasure of being of some service to lieutenant-----" "ouch!" howled stacy. tad had tipped the pot of hot coffee into the fat boy's lap, and for a few moments confusion reigned. "don't talk too much," whispered butler leaning over to brush away some drops that had fallen on the professor's shirt. "eh? eh? what's that?" tad was embarrassed. he began speaking of something else. professor zepplin did not repeat his question. "i understand my men picked up a fellow named dunk tucker a night ago?" asked the captain. "yes, yes, indeed. mr. butler there is the one who is really responsible for the capture of tucker, however." "you don't say!" wondered the visitor. "exactly. tad, will you tell the captain how you came to capture the man tucker?" "if you will pardon me, i would rather not." "he's too modest. i'll tell you about it," chimed in stacy brown. stacy, once wound up, would continue to operate until he had run down. he told the whole story from beginning to end, including the fact that he himself had been wounded twice, ere he stopped. "fine, fine!" the captain leaned back and laughed uproariously. "you are a funny boy. i wish i had you with me. i could teach you a lot about dodging bullets." "i'm a pretty good dodger already or i shouldn't be here at this minute," answered the fat boy pompously. "where did they take the prisoner? are you informed as to that?" asked the captain. "they took him to el paso, i believe," replied professor zepplin. "i thought you were aware of what had been done." "i got wind of something of the sort. you see i have been away in another part of the state on a secret mission for the governor." "exactly." "did my men say where they were going before they left you this morning?" "no. as i have said, they left most mysteriously." "which direction did they take?" "we do not know that either. they disappeared utterly." "just like withem," nodded the guest, smiling. "but i'll pick him up some time to-night. i suppose they are on the track of some of the fellows who have been raising trouble around these parts of late." "yes, that's what the lieutenant said. they are after what they call the border gang. but i have no need to tell you about it. you surely are familiar with the subject." "i reckon i know all about it, professor. was it some of my men who shot up the bandits the other night and---" "no, that was us fellows," interjected stacy suddenly. "we did give them the run. and they thought it was the rangers too. oh, that was a good joke. i nearly laugh myself sick every time i think about that funny scrape. we bluffed them and they ran away." for the briefest part of a second the eyes of the visitor darkened. they grew almost filmy, then the old sparkle came into them and a grim smile appeared on the face of their owner. "you sure are a fine crop of youngsters. you probably will be claiming the reward for the capture of tucker, eh?" "not at all, not at all," protested professor zepplin. "my young men are not looking for rewards. it is reward enough that they were able to serve the authorities in the capture of a very bad man. we shall do whatever we can in our small way to help the rangers round up the rest of this disreputable gang." "of course, of course," answered the captain reflectively. tad had taken no part in the conversation. he did not like this freedom of speech on the part of the professor. what they had learned were better kept to themselves according to tad butler's reasoning. then again there was a faint suspicion in the mind of the pony rider boy, that he could not clearly explain to himself. what did strike him as peculiar was that so much of the rangers' movements should be unknown to their commanding officer. mckay had ever since coming into their camp been seeking information. still, as he had said, he had been away. tad knew that the rangers took long rides, sometimes hundreds of miles, using relays of horses and making almost as good time as they could have done going by trains. the lad decided that he was unduly suspicious. suddenly, as mckay was talking, a shot sounded somewhere off on the plains. the ranger sprang to his feet, his eyes darkened. "is---is something wrong?" stammered the professor. "there may be. i must investigate. you will say nothing about having met me," commanded the stranger sternly. "certainly not, certainly not." "i will bid you good day. i'll see you again when i may have something more to say." with that mckay ran to his pony, and leaping into the saddle tore through the brush at a perilous pace. tad observed what the others failed to see. he noted that the ranger had returned in the direction from which he had come, rather than riding off toward the direction from which the shot had sounded. this struck tad as a peculiar thing for a texas ranger to do. "that's queer," muttered butler. "what is queer, tad?" questioned the professor. "the way he went." "his leave taking was rather abrupt. but we know that is a way these rangers have. besides he thought there was trouble in the air," guessed the professor. "yes, but then why did he run away from it?" urged butler. "that's so, he did go the wrong way," wondered ned. "maybe he's going to take a roundabout course," suggested stacy. "exactly. you do think now and then, don't you?" smiled the professor. "however, it is not for us to criticize. captain mckay knows his business perhaps much better than do we. and now, if you are ready we had better be on our way. we have lost no little time here." the packing up was not a long job for not much of their equipment had been unloaded. the rest of the day passed uneventfully, the pony rider boys continuing along the range of mountains. about five o'clock they decided to make camp in a valley, beside a stream of clear, cold water. the place was thickly covered with brush and small trees, excepting for a small open space on which the grass grew high and green. they pitched their tent near the stream. this done the boys began gathering dry wood for the campfire which would need a lot of it before the evening came to an end. wood was scarce and darkness had overtaken them ere they succeeded in getting enough for their needs. in the meantime the professor had been laboring with the tent. he had finished his job quickly, rather to the surprise of the boys, who were chuckling over the mess professor zepplin would make of it. the professor, however, was far from helpless. he might not be suspicious of every one he met, but he was a man of brains. he knew how to get along with his young charges, as perhaps few men would have done. and he did get along, without friction, retaining the love of every one of the pony rider boys. they were always ready to play pranks on the professor, yet there was not a lad of them but would have laid down his life, if necessary, for him. he insisted on getting the supper, "just to keep my hand in," as he expressed it. no one offered strenuous objection to this, though no cook ever had a more appreciative audience. the professor's biscuits were beautiful to behold, but when the boys came to sample them they shouted. "too much soda, professor," cried tad. "no, baking powder," corrected ned. "wow! i know what you're trying to do. you're trying to blow us up!" howled stacy. "why don't you use dynamite in the biscuit while you are about it? i think i'll go out and browse with the ponies. it's much safer and i'll bet will taste better." "young man, if you don't like the cooking, you don't have to eat, you know," rebuked professor zepplin. "yes, i do, too. what, not eat, and with an appetite like mine? why, i'd eat my pistol holster if i couldn't get anything else. speaking of eating that reminds me of a story---" "will some one please muzzle the fat boy?" begged ned. "you can go out and hide in the bushes while i'm telling the story," returned chunky. "this is a nice ladylike story. it's about a fellow---a clerk who was out with a party of surveyors, running a line across the desert. the water holes had gone dry and they were choking for water when the clerk saved them and---" "ring the bell! ring the bell!" shouted ned rector. "yes, you have told us that story twice to my positive knowledge," spoke up the professor. "of course he has," agreed walter. "the clerk found water for them and they were saved," added tad, laughing immoderately. "did he?" demanded chunky eyeing them soulfully. "yes, of course he did. you ought to remember the story. you have told it often enough." "how did he save them?" "he had a fountain pen, of course, silly! have you forgotten your own story?" scoffed tad. "he didn't have anything of the sort. this was another clerk. this one had a watch." stacy glanced around expectantly. not a face was smiling. all were as solemn as owls. "he had a watch," nodded rector. "he had a watch," added tad. "i wonder if the watch was running?" piped walter. "no, it was stagnant," retorted stacy. "young gentlemen, for the sake of bringing a long-winded discussion to a close, i will offer myself as---as what you call a 'mark.' what had the watch to do with their thirst?" asked the professor gazing sternly at stacy. the boys shouted. "come down with the answer, chunky." "the watch had a spring in it," answered the fat boy solemnly. "i think it's going to snow," observed tad consulting the skies reflectively. "yes, the air is very chill," returned ned rector solemnly. "shouldn't be surprised if some one perished in this outfit." chapter xv making a startling discovery stacy brown looked from one to the other of his companions in disgust. "ho, ho! ho, ho!" he exploded. "hard luck when a fellow's company is so thick that he has to laugh at his own jokes. ho, ho, ho! ha, ha, ha! it is to smile, but nobody smiles. you make me tired." "as i have already observed, i think it is going to rain," said tad. "must be getting warmer, then. a minute ago you said it was going to snow. it's my private opinion that you don't know what you think. ned doesn't know any more. the professor is the only one in the outfit who has a sense of humor. _he_ knows when it's time to laugh. ha, ha!" professor zepplin was smiling broadly. stacy's joke was just dawning upon the professor. but tad's mind at that juncture was in another direction. the lad had raised his head in a listening attitude, his glance fixed keenly on the other side of the camp ground. "did you see something?" whispered walter. tad shook his head. "you heard something?" "never mind. go on with the fun. get chunky to tell you when it is time to laugh." about this time stacy got up, still chuckling to himself, and started for a cup of water. "time to laugh. ha, ha! what! ha, ha; ho, h---" the fat boy paused abruptly. he was down on his knees about to dip up a cupful of water when chancing to raise his eyes he saw something that caused the word to die on his lips. a man stood just on the other side of the stream, lounging against a tree, observing the fat boy with an amused smile. "oh, wow!" howled the fat boy, in such a tone of alarm that the rest of the outfit sprang up and ran toward him. "wow! look!" at this juncture the stranger leaped the narrow stream and was standing beside stacy facing toward the camp when the others came up. "i suppose i should introduce myself before matters go any further," smiled the newcomer. "i know you, but you do not know me. you are the pony rider boys. i am captain billy mckay of the rangers." stacy uttered a shrill laugh, whereat the captain shot an inquiring glance at him. "you---you are---are captain mckay?" stammered professor zepplin. "yes. i had hoped to see you when you camped with lieutenant withem---" "yes, we were with 'em," muttered stacy. "and i guess we've got 'em now." "unfortunately i was called away on that occasion. i promised myself that i should look you up at the first opportunity. i got on your trail this afternoon and as you were going in my direction i considered this an excellent opportunity to make your acquaintance. so here i am." "but---but---" stammered the professor. tad was smiling, the others gazing at the newcomer blankly. "well, sir, what is it? one would think you had seen a ghost," laughed the captain. "but, sir, you are the second man who has introduced himself to us as captain mckay of the ranger troop, to-day." the captain's blue eyes twinkled. "indeed! then i must have a double. i should like to meet him." "you look like the real thing," observed stacy. "thank you. then the other man did not?" "he did not---to me," answered tad butler. "how are we to know that you are the captain in person?" asked the professor suspiciously. "i wear the badge and then here's my open countenance," answered the ranger with another hearty laugh. "professor, there can be no doubt that this is captain mckay. i should know him now from the description given to me by lieutenant withem. won't you join us? we have just about finished the grub, but there is more. i'll cook something for you," proposed tad. "i'll join you in a cup of coffee, thank you," replied captain mckay. "lucky for him that ned didn't make the coffee for supper," muttered stacy, but so low that the captain did not hear the remark. captain mckay, the real captain mckay this time, was almost boyish in appearance. he was of about the same build as the other man who had declared himself to be the captain, but the real captain had light hair and laughing blue eyes, as opposed to the dark hair and eyes of the other man. the captain's skin was fair. it seemed not to have suffered from exposure to the sun and storm of the plains. tad led the way to the camp, followed by the visitor and the rest of the pony rider outfit. "most remarkable, most remarkable," muttered the professor, taking keen sidelong glances at captain mckay. "you are butler, aren't you?" called the captain. "yes, sir," answered tad, glancing back. "i knew you the instant i set eyes on you. you're a sharp young man. you discovered me before i got into your camp." "discovered you?" exclaimed the professor. "yes. he heard me. i stepped on a stick that bent down under my foot. the stick didn't snap and how that young scout ever caught the faint sound is more than i can explain." "so, that was what you were looking at?" laughed ned. "tad's got ears in the back of his head," added stacy. "i observe that all of you have pretty keen senses," smiled the ranger captain. "something smells good." "it's the coffee that tad's making for you," answered the fat boy solemnly. "how's the going?" "pretty fair. how is it with you?" returned the captain. "so, so," answered stacy carelessly. "you heard about my getting shot, didn't you?" "oh, yes, i heard all about it." "i got wounded in the fracas, i did. i'm going to france one of these days to fight the huns. then i suppose i shall get shotted up some more. you take it from me, though, i'll put some of those savages on the run before they get me," declared chunky belligerently. "perhaps you will explain why your men ran away from us the other night, sir?" spoke up walter. "they were called away. i guess the 'possum hunt was too much for them," answered the ranger with twinkling eyes. "you rather put it over my boys, young man," he said nodding at stacy, whose face flushed a rosy red. "what's that?" demanded the professor. "drove them out of their tent by unloading a bag of fleas on them. ha, ha, ha! i guess you got revenge on them, young man. by the way, you're brown, aren't you?" "i was done brown down there in the bush that night. mosquitoes were worse than a volley of rifle bullets." "but---i don't understand," protested the professor. captain mckay laughingly explained. he told them how the rangers had been so pestered by the fleas and other insects that stacy had captured in the 'possum bag that the men were forced to get up and walk all the rest of the night, until a messenger had come from their commander, ordering them to go on a hurry scout some forty miles from where they were camped. the pony rider boys laughed uproariously at this. once more they sat down with a captain, but the same thought was in the mind of each---who was the first man who had passed as captain mckay? mckay himself did not appear to be over curious as to this. however, after the meal was finished he turned to the professor. "now tell me about my double," he said. "i don't know what to tell you except that he was about your age and build, dark hair and dark eyes, a very pleasant gentleman, i should say." "did behave a scar on his left ear lobe?" "i must say that i did not notice." "yes, he had," spoke up tad. "it looked as if he had been shot there." "exactly, young man. you are very keen. i put a bullet through that ear myself, more than a year ago. i suppose you do not know who the gentleman is whom you entertained?" "no, sir," chorused the boys. "that, my friends, was the infamous willie jones, one of the most desperate characters on the texas border." chapter xvi joining out with the rangers exclamations of amazement greeted the announcement of the ranger captain. "willie jones!" gasped the professor. "that is the man. you see what a sharp fellow he is. i suppose he pumped you gentlemen pretty thoroughly?" "i guess he learned all he wanted to know," replied tad, flushing. "i don't recall much of anything that he missed." professor zepplin wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "this is most disturbing, sir. i see now that tad was right. he counseled caution. i gave no heed to his words of warning." "master tad is a very shrewd young man, professor. i guess i shall have to take him in with us." "impossible! impossible!" "why impossible?" "i could not permit it." "let me tell you something. willie jones now knows all about the part you and your young men have played in capturing dunk tucker. he knows that it was your party that drove off his men when they were trying to get lieutenant withem. do you think willie will overlook that? not willie! willie will be on your trail from now on. he will watch his opportunity and when he thinks he is safe from the rangers he will strike---he or his men. then you young men will need to be resourceful, indeed, if you get off with whole skins." "oh, wow!" groaned stacy. "i'll get it! i'll stop some more bullets. i'm the mark for all the lead that's flying around in these parts, i am!" "i am of the opinion that we had better leave the border then," declared the professor. "oh, don't do that, don't do that," begged the boys. "we never ran away yet. let's not do it now. we have taken care of ourselves before this and we can do so again." "of course i do not wish to influence you. it is for you, professor, to do what seems best to you. if you decide to remain i think i shall be able to protect you." "what would you suggest, sir?" "i was about to ask if you look to spend most of your time in the mountains here?" "that was our intention, later journeying down to the rio grande." captain mckay nodded reflectively. "that will suit my plans very well. i have come to the conclusion, from certain things that have come under my notice, that the headquarters of this band of border bandits is here in the guadalupes. search as we might we have been unable to locate their cache." "you mean where they hide?" "yes, that and something else. you see their plan of operation is this. these men indulge in various forms of rascality. in the first place they steal stock when possible. this they drive over the border and exchange for mexican goods, which they smuggle across the river and store away until such time as they are able to dispose of it. of course there are some people higher up who are receiving and disposing of these goods. we are on their track, but we haven't sufficient evidence to convict any of them. the first thing to be done is to capture jones and his band. when they are safely behind the bars the traffic will stop short. perhaps when we get them all in limbo one or another of the newer ones will confess. that will make our work easier. in fact it is what we are depending upon at the present time." "i understand. but will there not be danger in our remaining here?" "perhaps. there's always more or less danger, and jones will never let up on you until either he gets you or we get him." "i think i understand," nodded tad. "you think we shall be able to assist you?" "exactly." "will you please explain?" begged professor zepplin. "you can help us a great deal, by remaining here. it is safe to suppose that the band will devote no little effort toward getting even with you. that means that they are quite likely to hover about in your vicinity. that will narrow down our field of operations considerably. we shan't be faraway from you at any stage of the game; in fact, i think it might be well to have two or three of our men in your party all the time. do you understand?" "i begin to," nodded the professor. "that will be fine," answered tad with glowing face. "then we will be rangers, too," exclaimed walter. "yes, you will be rangers, too," laughed the captain. "you are pretty good rangers already. by assisting in rounding up these men you will be serving your country, for, if we can put these border bandits out of business, we shall be destroying some of the kaiser's worst trouble makers on the border." "and get shot full of holes," added the fat boy. "that will do you good. it will give you an appetite," jeered rector. "he doesn't need a tonic," spoke up tad. "his appetite is quite enough for this outfit now. it's all we can do to keep enough supplies to keep him going. my, it's an awful thing to have such an appetite." "well, professor, what do you say?" "i am agreeable, if the boys are." "hurrah!" shouted the pony rider boys. "of course, with the understanding, captain, that you will see that we are properly protected?" "you shall be. of course there may be occasions when you will be going on alone. you will expect that. generally we shall be somewhere in the vicinity. when we are all away it will mean that your enemies are also away." "the man tucker is safe behind the bars, is he not?" "he was at last accounts," smiled the captain. "i am sorry jones knows what happened to dunk. i had hoped to keep him in ignorance of that until we had rounded up the rest of the gang. however, what's done cannot be undone." "where is your horse?" asked tad. "a little way down the creek. he's all right. don't worry about him." "by the way, when shall we see your men?" asked the professor. "you should see some of them soon now. they know where i am, and a half dozen or so will be riding this way before morning, i think." "you will remain with us to-night, of course?" urged tad. "if you insist," smiled the ranger captain. "certainly we insist," emphasized the professor. "of course we do," added chunky. "maybe if there are any bullets flying about you will stop them instead of my doing it. i'm tired of stopping bullets. it hurts." "having stopped a few in my time i think i know all about it, young man." they could not believe that this sunny-tempered, soft-spoken young fellow was the most dreaded of all the officers of the law who hunted down the desperadoes of the border. it was also difficult to believe that captain mckay was a marked man who had been condemned to death by these same desperate characters. something of the resourcefulness of the man was shown to the boys in a most marked manner later in the evening. all hands had been sitting about the fire, the boys trying to draw out captain mckay to tell of his experiences, which the ranger was loth to do. what experiences he did tell them were such as chiefly concerned others than himself. according to his version captain mckay had played a most inconspicuous part in the splendid work of the texas rangers. not once did he refer to the fact that he was the terror of every evil-doer in the state of texas. finally it came time to turn in for the night. the captain lazily rose and stretched himself. the others were still seated, but were preparing to rise and prepare for bed when the interruption came. a flash and a report from the bushes toward which the ranger's back was turned caused every one of the boys to jump. tad had his wits about him. "down!" he commanded. "oh, wow! there it goes again," moaned stacy. "they're shooting at me again!" professor zepplin had rolled into a depression in the ground, thus concealing his body from the unseen shooter. but in the meantime captain. mckay had not been inactive. it seemed as if the bullet that had been fired at him from the bushes had barely shrieked past his ear, when the captain wheeled. his revolver---two of them---had appeared in his hands as if by magic. bang, bang! crashed the captain's weapons as he whirled. a yell sounded off there. captain mckay dashed toward the spot, followed by tad on the jump. "stay back!" shouted the ranger, but tad did not obey. he proposed to have a share in whatever trouble was before the brave ranger captain. chunky had taken to the bush. the others were lying flat on the ground. as the captain ran he let go two more shots. this time there was no answering yell from the bushes. but he distinctly heard a crashing in there and drove in two more shots. he charged the bushes utterly regardless of the peril to himself, with tad butler close behind him. tad had his revolver in hand, but he was cool headed enough not to indulge in any indiscriminate firing. it was evident that either more than one man had been in the attacking party or else one who had been wounded had not been badly enough hurt to prevent his getting away. not a sign of a human being was the ranger able to find, though his keen eyes soon picked up the trail. he followed it a short distance, finally having reached soft ground, getting down on his knees and examining it critically. when he looked up he found tad standing over him. "i thought i told you to stay back, young man?" he said sharply. "i don't like to stay back when there's anything going on. what do you find?" "there were two of them. here's where they mounted their ponies. i wish i knew who they are. you see those fellows are watching." "watching you?" "no. they came here to clean out the pony rider boys, i reckon," laughed the ranger. "they didn't expect to find me here. but when they saw me they couldn't let the opportunity go without taking a pot shot at me. i moved---i stretched---just at the right second, or i'd have been a dead man before now." "the cowards!" breathed tad, his eyes glowing angrily. "oh, yes, they're all of that. they shoot when the other fellow isn't looking, and they shoot to kill. but we might as well go back. i could follow them, but it hardly is worth while. they will be hidden long before we can run them down. they'll leave a blind trail pretty soon after they get far enough away to make it safe for them to stop and cover their tracks." "but, will they not come back again?" urged butler. "not to-night. they know i am on my guard now. they will put off their attack on you until some other time. lucky i chanced to be here when they first came. i hope they don't take the alarm and keep away from you now." butler grinned. he hoped so too, though the others of his party might not share this hope with him, especially professor zepplin who was getting rather more excitement out of this journey than he had looked for. by the time the two had returned to the campfire the others had mustered courage enough to stand up. the professor, his whiskers bristling, had crawled from the depression into which he had rolled at the first sign of trouble, and chunky was making his way cautiously from the bushes. "captain mckay, how much of this sort of thing shall we have to face?" demanded the professor. "you might have had to face a good deal more of it, had i not been here," answered the ranger shortly. "what do you mean?" "that had i not been here you would have got the bullets fired at me. as i have already said to butler, those men were after your party. when they saw me they knew they would not dare to waste a shot on any one else." "while they were shooting you up, they knew my arsenal would get into action. they figured on killing me the first shot. but they didn't," added the captain with a mirthless grin. "i don't like this at all," declared professor zepplin with a slow shake of the head. "neither do i," agreed chunky. "i'd as soon be shot to death as scared to death. i'll bet my hair is turning gray already. oh, wow!" "all hands, turn in," commanded the ranger briskly. "i will stand watch over the camp for the rest of the night, though you will not be disturbed." chapter xvii fun on the mountain trails confident in the watchfulness of captain mckay the pony rider boys slept soundly all through that night. even chunky forgot to talk in his sleep, thus saving himself from sundry digs in the ribs from his companions. but when the morning came again the lads were treated to still another surprise. captain mckay was sleeping in front of their tent door, rolled in his blanket, using one arm for a pillow. still further out lay three other men, with one sitting up. the latter was none other than dippy orell, one of the rangers. a second glance showed the boys that the other three men were also of the ranger band. "hullo, bugs," greeted dippy upon catching sight of the fat boy. "hullo. you here?" demanded stacy. "i'm here, what's left of me." "bring any 'possum for breakfast?" grinned chunky. "no, but i've a rod in pickle for you." "all right. keep it in pickle for yourself. i don't like sour stuff." "hey, there, bugs!" greeted another ranger sitting up. "my name's brown," stacy informed him with dignity. "when did you come in?" "we blew in with the dawn," answered dippy. "and we're going to blow out with the sun," added polly perkins. "say, kid," growled cad morgan, rubbing his eyes sleepily as he sat up blinking. "his name is bugs," interrupted dippy. "all right. say, bugs, i've got some news for you." "i don't care about any news you've got to give out it's probably got a bullet in it somewhere. i'm sick of bullets. what i need is a little rest from chunks of lead. i'm coming down with nervous prostration as it is. everything seems to happen around me. no matter what i do, i always get the worst of it. why, that reminds me---" "is chunky going to tell a story?" cried ned, stepping over the sleeping captain as he came out. "it sounds that way," laughed tad. "go on the rangers are here to protect us if you tell another watch story. i reckon they'll arrest you if you try anything like that on them." "as i was saying that reminds me of a couple of years ago when my uncle bought a lawn mower because the grass was getting so long in our front yard that the cats couldn't chew it---" "cats chew it?" jeered dippy. "yes, before a rainstorm. they always do." "go on, go on. i'm pretty tough," urged polly. "but don't drive me too far or i'll buck." "as i was about to say---" "you said that once before." "i offered to run the lawn mower. uncle thought that was fine. you see work and i never had hitched very well together. but i thought that would be some fun. so i started in mowing the yard the next morning," finished chunky thoughtfully. "well, what happened?" "would you believe it, be---before i'd been at work half an hour, the town constable came up and arrested me for exceeding the speed limit. now---now wasn't that hard luck?" the rangers gazed at each other hopelessly. no one laughed, though walter perkins was heard to chuckle under his breath. "if it might be proper, i reckon i'd like to ask what being arrested for exceeding the speed limit has got to do with catching bugs in a 'possum bag?" demanded dippy orell. "why---why---the---the constable came up in a buggy, don't you see? ha, ha. don't laugh. it might hurt your countenance. i'm used to laughing at my own jokes and---" "hee---haw, hee---haw!" wheezed polly in imitation of a donkey. "what'd we better do with him, fellows?" "i reckon i'd better tell him the news i was going to," answered morgan. "i reckon that'll take the starch out of him right smart," nodded polly. "dunk tucker has got away, bugs." "em" chunky was interested at once. "don't make me say it so many times. it hurts me. i said that dunk tucker has got away. he 'busted' out of the calaboose over at el paso some time yesterday morning and he's on the warpath." "g---g---g---got away?" gasped chunky. "yep, and he's heading in this direction to get even with you fellows for taking him up. what d'ye think of that, bugs?" "oh, help!" groaned the fat boy. "is this right?" questioned tad. "has tucker really escaped?" the rangers nodded. "that's what we're here for, to catch him up when he makes connections with his crowd again. i reckon he'll be on the trail of this outfit, first of all, before he joins out with his own outfit. he'll never rest till he puts a bunk of cold lead under the skins of the fellows who got him." "this is where i---i get shot again," wailed stacy. "i knew it. i knew something else would come along to spoil all my fun!" "no use trying to sleep in this bedlam," cried captain mckay springing to his feet. "saddle up. i want to make the ten-mile cross-trail before noon. we'll find two men waiting there for orders. professor, can you get under way at once?" "of course we can," answered tad for the professor. "don't we get any breakfast?" cried chunky. "yes, but you'll eat it cold this morning." "oh, pooh!" "if you are going to be a ranger you must be willing to take a ranger's fare," smiled the captain. "i haven't said i wanted to be a ranger. i don't. i want to be a peaceful citizen." "with four square meals a day and a whole pie thrown in," suggested tad. "something like that," smiled stacy. the tent was already coming down. the pony rider boys showed the rangers that they were used to quick work. twenty minutes later the boys were ready. the rangers had watched their preparations with interest. "good work," said captain mckay approvingly. "anybody'd think you had traveled with a one-hoss circus," grinned dippy. "we've got some of the animals left yet," laughed tad. "the fattest boy on earth and---" began polly when chunky shied a tent stake at the head of the ranger, thus sharply ending the discussion. a few moments later they were on their way. the boys had to ride rather fast to keep up with their escort, for the rangers were rapid riders under all circumstances. a great deal of their success was due to their ability to cover long distances between daylight and dawn or sunrise and sunset, appearing in localities where they were not in the least expected. in this way they had been enabled to make many important captures. but the riders did not move so rapidly in this instance that they were not able to poke fun at the fat boy. stacy was the butt of almost every joke. to all of this stacy brown did not give very much heed. he was planning how he could turn the tables on the rangers again, amusing himself with whistling, making queer noises in his throat, trying to imitate birds that he passed. but all at once there came a sudden end to his practice. stacy's pony suddenly leaped to one side, planting its front feet firmly on the ground and arching its back like an angry cat at bay. stacy did a beautiful curve in the air, landing on his shoulders on the hard ground. he had a narrow escape from breaking his neck. the rangers howled. they were still bowling when stacy, getting his breath back, sat up, bunching his shoulders to get the kink out of them, and rubbing himself gingerly. the pony stood looking at its young master sheepishly. "what's the trouble, stacy?" cried tad riding back. "i---i fell off." "i know you did. there couldn't be any mistake about that, but what caused him to throw you?" "i---i don't know." "that pony was frightened at something. what was it?" demanded the captain of cad morgan. "i'm blest if i know, captain. there wasn't anything that i saw." "take a scout around through the brush, you and polly. there may be some one taking a parallel trail." "yes, there may be some german raiders hiding out there in the bush, laying for us. we ought to have some bombs. they would clean those fellows out in short order," declared stacy. the two men trotted from the line and disappeared among the trees, while the fat boy got back in his saddle, somewhat more sad, but no wiser than before. but he was thinking a great deal. "he must have got scared at some of my imitations," decided the lad. "i don't blame him." "but which one was it? i'll see if i can do them again." letting his horse drop back a few rods behind the others, chunky went over his list of accomplishments in the imitation line, trying each one cautiously, keeping a watchful eye on the ears of the pony. all at once the eyes of the fat boy lighted up. something struck him as funny. he laughed aloud. "chunky's got them again," chuckled ned rector. stacy waited until all hands were looking ahead when he tried the imitation that he believed had caused his mount to halt. his success was instantaneous. the pony leaped clear of the ground, coming down with a jolt that made the boy's head ache. "what's the matter with that horse?" called captain mckay. "guess he's feeling his oats," flung back chunky. the boy hugged himself delightedly. what he had done was to give a trilling tongue movement accompanied by a hiss. it was a perfect imitation of the trilling hiss of the rattlesnake. when stacy had first given the imitation he did not realize what he was doing. he had fooled his pony. the pony rider boy was delighted. he tried it again with equal success, though this time he was thrown forward on the neck of his mount. this jolt nearly broke stacy brown in two. "that was the blow that near killed papa," grinned the lad. "i never knew i could do that. i reckon. i'll be having some fun with this outfit. yes, i'll try it on right now." stacy spurred his pony close up to the leaders. the lad's face was solemn, but it shone like an eskimo's after a full meal of blubber. ned rector was next ahead of the fat boy. chunky pretended not to see rector. riding close up to him, the fat boy softly gave his rattlesnake imitation. ned rector made a high dive, landing head first in a thicket of mesquite brush, while his pony was left kicking and bucking on the trail. stacy was having more trouble with his own pony. "whoa, there, you fool! whoa! what's got into this beastly pinto?" howled the fat boy. "that's what i'd like to know too," snapped the captain, wheeling his horse, giving the fat boy a quick, sharp glance. ned, having picked himself out of the mesquite bush, was limping back. "you hit him, stacy brown!" shouted rector. "i never touched him. what's the matter with you?" protested chunky indignantly. "no quarreling, boys," warned the professor. "well, he doesn't want to be poking my pony!" "well, he doesn't want to be accusing me of poking his old bundle of bones." "pretty lively critter for a bundle of bones, i should say," answered the captain grimly. "nobody trailing," announced the scouts returning a few minutes later. the captain may have had a suspicion, but if so he kept it to himself, making no reply to the report of his two scouts. for reasons best known to himself stacy did not give his rattlesnake imitation again. but every little while a broad grin would grow on his countenance, which the fat boy would suppress as quickly as possible. "this is too good a thing to be nipped in the bud," he muttered. "no, sir, i don't give my secrets away yet awhile. mebby i never shall." stacy well knew that swift punishment would be meted out to him if the others caught him at his new trick, so the fat boy kept silent, looking the picture of innocence. chapter xviii one hiss too many the ten-mile cross trail was made about half past one o'clock in the afternoon. walter perkins entered the camp on his head, tad butler hanging to the mane of his bucking pony, both feet out of the stirrups, stacy brown making desperate efforts to quiet his own mount. the ponies had heard the soft hiss of a rattlesnake, but the ears of rangers and pony riders had failed to catch the sound. perhaps it was the yell that the fat boy had uttered instantly after giving the imitation that had too suddenly attracted the attention of the party. "what's the matter with those fool cayuses?" shouted dippy orell. "what---" dippy did not finish his remark. he landed on his back thoroughly shaken down. he was up with a roar, starting for the pony with blood in his eye. "that'll do, dippy!" commanded the leader sternly. "if you'd been riding as you should have, you never would have fallen off. now you're off, stay off." the captain uttered a bird-call which was answered in kind. the boys understood at once that the rangers were exchanging signals. a few moments later, a bronzed, weather-beaten ranger rode into camp. he held a few moments' conversation with the captain, after which he rode away. "anything doing, cap?" asked morgan. the leader shook his head. "something may turn our way to-night. joe has been detained. i don't know what is keeping him. but we'll wait here till he comes in. professor, it is possible that we may have to make a hard night ride to-night. do you wish to go along?" "of course we do!" shouted the boys. "we don't want to miss a single thing." "no, we don't want to miss a thing," agreed chunky solemnly. "i see i've been missing a great deal lately. i don't propose to miss another thing as long as i'm out on this cruise." "he thinks he's on a canal boat," jeered dippy. "maybe if i do it's because we've got some mules to pull it," retorted stacy. "ouch! but that one landed below the belt!" exclaimed dippy. "our fat friend has a sharp tongue," observed polly. "i guess we'll have to file it. might hurt himself on it if he happened to stumble over a root and fall," added cad morgan. "chunky, are you going to get busy and help settle this camp?" demanded tad. "i don't have to work. i'm a guest of the management," answered stacy. "the management disowns you. you're out in the cold world," laughed butler. "all right. that's good. then i don't have to work." "no, he doesn't have to work," agreed the professor. "nor does he have to eat. no work, no eat, is the motto of this outfit." chunky got busy at once. captain mckay had little to say. he was very thoughtful, evidently perplexed by some word that his scout had brought him. the other men made no further effort to learn what was disturbing their chief. they knew he would tell them if he wanted them to know. at mckay's suggestion, nothing was unpacked save the stuff necessary for their meal. of course all the packs were removed from the ponies to give the little animals a rest. the ponies apparently had ceased from their tantrums and were as docile as if they had never known what it was to buck off a rider. polly was getting the dinner while tad and ned were starting and keeping up the fire. the others occupied themselves with various duties about the camp, all save the captain who sat on a rock some little distance from the scene of operations. suddenly captain mckay leaped from the rock, taking a long spring away from it, at the same time drawing a revolver and whirling. chunky, who was passing at the time, was bowled over by the captain's sudden spring. "look out for the rattler!" commanded the ranger sharply. "oh, wow!" howled chunky springing back apparently in great terror. "snake, snake!" he cried waving his arms to the others near the campfire. "look out for the snake!" mckay saw no snake to shoot at. deciding that the reptile must have squirmed away, the captain, his face wearing a sheepish smile, shoved his weapons back into their holsters and strode back to the camp, where stacy had preceded him. there were no further indications of the presence of rattlers, and in a few moments the adventure was wholly forgotten. shortly after dinner the captain sent his men out on a long scouting expedition, himself riding from the camp, taking tad butler with him. tad was proud to be thus singled out. while they were on their ride, some twelve miles to the southward, the ranger captain taught the northern lad many things about trailing human beings. this was all new to tad. he listened with rapt attention, though he hoped it never might fall to his lot to have to trail men for a livelihood. the captain also told him many things about the bad men of the texas border in the old days. captain mckay was a lad then, but he was out with his father much of the time, the father also having been a ranger, having been killed in a battle with a desperado whom he had been sent to capture. captain mckay's two brothers had shared a similar fate. now there remained only captain billy. "and i expect one of them will get me one of these days," he concluded steadily. "why not stop then before they do get you?" questioned tad. "a fellow's got to die some time, hasn't he?" "i suppose so." "and he won't die till his time comes, will he?" "i couldn't say as to that, sir. i guess we are not supposed to know about those things here on earth." "no, a fellow doesn't go till his time's come," answered the ranger with emphasis. "so what's the use in dodging? why, if my time had come and i had quit and gone to the city to live i'd most likely be run over by a trolley car or something of that nature. i'd a sight rather die in a gun fight with a real man than to get bucked over by a hunk of wood and iron and lightning, called a trolley car. no, i'll take my medicine, as i always have and---but let's go back." "still it is no worse than fighting the germans," observed tad. "i have wondered why you have not enlisted and gone to france, you and your men? what splendid fighters you would make." "every man of them wants to go---i want to go. i can hardly hold myself down, kid. every one of us has offered his services, but the government would not hear to it. because of the activity of the kaiser's agents in mexico and on the border, uncle sam decided that we could best serve him right here on the border, and here we are," answered the ranger thoughtfully. "have you found what you came out here for?" asked butler. "surely i have," smiled the captain. "haven't you?" "i haven't found much of anything unless you mean that a couple of horsemen crossed back there some few hours ago." "how'd you know that?" exploded the captain. "i saw the trail they left." "shake!" cried the captain leaning from his saddle. "you're the alfiredest sharp youngster i've ever come up with. oh, it's too bad that you have to waste your talents in a city! too bad, too bad! you ought to be out here on the plains and in the mountains where one's manhood counts for something." "did you come out to pick up that trail, sir?" "that's what i came for, my boy. i reckoned those two fellows who got after us in camp last night would take this trail and head for the lower end of the mountain range. that's what they've done. this trail proves that. of course they may get sidetracked, but that's their idea up to this point. i think we are safe in following our original plans now." captain billy did not say what those plans were, nor did tad ask him. they now turned about and started toward home at a slow jog trot, riding side by side where the trail permitted and in single file where it did not. on the way back the captain asked tad many questions about himself, the members of his party and their experiences during their various journeyings into the wilder parts of their native land. "ever think of joining the army yourself, tad?" questioned the ranger. "have i? i am thinking of it most of the time. oh how i wish i were old enough. i know i could give my country good services now." "you bet you could, kid. you would make a wonderful scout over there," declared the captain, nodding. "some day, if the war lasts, i shall go," asserted tad in a low voice, tense with emotion. billy said he had been east to chicago once, where he had been robbed of everything he had on except his clothes. "funny, isn't it? i'd like to see a fellow go through me out here in my native pastures. but back there in the city---" billy shook his head. the subject was too great for words. they found the camp quiet and in order. the three boys and the professor had been sleeping a good part of the afternoon, and without having put out a guard, either. the captain shook his head, glancing significantly at tad as he heard this. in fact the two had to shout to awaken the party. then to learn that they had been sleeping all day---well, there was nothing to be said. "do we move to-night, sir?" asked the professor. "can't tell you. not until i hear the reports of my men, and the messenger or scout whom i looked for to meet us here at noon. seen. anything of that rattler around these diggings, professor?" "no, we haven't seen any rattler." "we don't want to see any rattler," piped chunky. "i'd snip his head off with my pistol if i caught sight of him." "yes, you would!" grinned tad. "you'd have to learn to shoot first," scoffed rector. "perhaps captain mckay will give us some lessons in revolver shooting," suggested tad. "from what i hear i guess you boys are pretty handy with both rifle and pistol as it is. however, if there are any drawing or sighting tricks i can show you i'll be glad to do so." "thank you. if we are where it is safe we will ask you to make good that promise to-morrow," declared tad butler. while they were preparing the supper that night the rangers whom the captain had sent out on a scouting expedition rode into camp, tired and gloomy. it was a personal and keen disappointment to every man of them that some ruffian hadn't shot at him once during the ride. not once had the rangers' weapons been out of their holsters. whatever their mission the men merely shook their heads in reply to a questioning glance from their commander. that was all. no words were wasted in explanations. the captain knew that his men had done their work thoroughly. no explanations were necessary. this perfect confidence and understanding between commander and men was not lost on tad butler. it was an object lesson that made a deep impression on him. the men had returned with sharp edges on their appetites, but they ate in silence. stacy had little to say at dinner. he was observing the rangers with wide eyes, stuffing his cheeks with food and listening while the professor, tad butler and captain mckay discussed a variety of subjects. "i don't understand why joe hasn't come in, boys," said the captain finally. "he had passed tonka gulch at four o'clock this afternoon. he should have arrived here a long time ago." the men nodded. "perhaps he's come up with withem," suggested cad morgan. "i don't think so. the lieutenant isn't due there until some time to-morrow. he will have to finish investigating the el paso end before he can come along and join up with us." tad wondered how the captain knew that his scout had reached a certain point in the mountains when none had seen him or heard from him. but there were many mysteries connected with the work of these brave men. they worked in mysterious ways that added to the awe in which they were held by those whose ways were dark. the night was warm and soon after supper the rangers threw themselves down on the ground wrapped in their blankets. in view of the fact that the whole party might be called out all turned in early. the men had barely closed their eyes when suddenly there sounded the menacing hiss of a rattler right among them. "look out!" yelled polly, jumping up. "what is it?" cried half a dozen voices, as their owners sprang up with drawn weapons. "there's a rattler in camp. get a torch, somebody!" tad, who had snatched an ember from the dying campfire, was poking about cautiously, the torch in one hand, a club in the other ready to dispatch the reptile on sight. the ranger who had been on guard duty hurried in upon hearing the uproar. he said he had heard a snake just after leaving the camp. the men jeered when they saw stacy half way up a small tree, peering down at them with scared eyes. "afraid of the snake, eh, bugs?" "no, i'm not afraid of any snake. i just thought i'd get out of your way so you could work better." the men jeered again. morgan stepped over and gave the tree a shake, whereat the fat boy came sliding down to the ground. the search for the reptile was a fruitless one. after a time the rangers turned in again. they had not been rolled in their blankets more than five minutes when that same fearsome, trilling hiss smote their ears again. this time the men were mad. they declared they'd find the "pizen critter" before ever they turned in again. "pile on some wood. we've got to have light here," ordered the captain. "where was he?" "that's what we're trying to find out, captain. it isn't any easy matter to locate a sound like that. the critter may be 'most anywhere." "have---have you looked in your pockets?" stammered stacy. "yes, maybe he's crawled in your clothes to get warm," grinned tad. "oh, close up!" growled a tired ranger. "i was just trying to help you," answered chunky indignantly. "you needn't get mad about it." "no, don't grouch," laughed the captain. "we are losing too much time as it is. better roll in your blankets and go to sleep. the fire will drive the fellow away." some of the men tried to sleep standing, leaning against trees. others took the chance and rolled in their blankets. but there was little rest in the camp that night. about the time the men had settled down, they would be awakened to their surroundings by that same trilling hiss. it was beginning to get on the nerves of the rangers. they were getting mad. the pony rider boys felt a sense of discomfort too, though none showed any nervousness. it was not the first time the young explorers had passed through such an experience. just the same they would have preferred to be in some other locality just then. finally stacy went to sleep. when he woke up with a start, he tried to recall what had been going on when he dropped off. then he remembered. he had been indulging in his famous imitation of an angry serpent. had any of the men been awake at the moment he might have seen the fat boy's blanket shaking as if the boy were sobbing. but stacy brown was not sobbing. it was some moments before he had subdued his merriment sufficiently to hiss again. the hiss was unheard. stacy opened his eyes as he saw the captain striding into camp. he saw mckay awaken the rangers, then start to arouse the pony rider boys. in his wonderment at the proceeding stacy forgot to hiss again for some time. "saddle up," commanded the captain sharply, but in a low tone. the camp, so silent a few moments before, was now a scene of orderly activity. every man in it was packing his pony and in less than ten minutes after the alarm had been given the men were in their saddles. the pony rider boys were full of anticipation. it looked to them as if something were going to develop that was worth while. starting off in single file the men dozed in their saddles, but the pony rider boys did not. the latter were too much excited for sleep. all at once that trilling hiss came again. two dozing rangers landed on their backs in the bush. the party was in an uproar, but as suddenly quieted by a stern word from the captain. the latter wondered at their being followed by a rattler. it was peculiar to say the least. stacy hissed again. then the boy shivered, for a heavy hand was laid on his arm, closing over it until the fat boy yelled. "ouch! let go of my arm!" he cried. "young man, i think i've got the rattler this time," said the stern voice of captain billy mckay, as the fat boy fairly shrank within himself. chapter xix surrounding the enemy "what's that?" roared dippy. "here's your rattler. i've been suspecting him ever since early in the evening. this young man has been imitating a rattler's hiss and i must say he did it mighty well." "what's that? 'bugs' been causing us all this trouble?" demanded dippy. "let me at him! let me at him!" "here, take him, but don't make too much noise about it," grinned the ranger captain. "and don't be too rough about it, either." dippy had stacy by the collar. with a powerful hand he jerked the fat boy across his saddle and such a spanking as stacy brown got that night he had not had since he was considerably younger. the other rangers clamored for a chance at him, but after dippy had finished the captain decided that the fat boy had had enough. there was stern business on hand. still mckay thought a lesson might not come amiss at that time, so he had permitted the little diversion. growling and threatening, stacy was dropped back into his saddle. "remember, we haven't had our turn yet," warned cad morgan. "remember, you've spoiled a few hours of sleep for us fellows." "yes and re---re---remember you made me stand in the mesquite bush for three hours waiting for the 'possum to jump into the bag," reminded stacy. "i guess we are about even now. but, if you want some more trouble, i'll think some up for you. if i can't think it out alone tad will help me." "i don't believe you need any assistance," laughed the captain. "no more disturbance now. gentlemen, i am going to divide up our party. the time has arrived for me to tell you my plans. i have received information from one of my scouts that some half dozen of the men we want are heading for a point yonder in the mountains. they are to rendezvous at a place about three miles from here where they are to meet others of their outfit. it is my intention to surround them. one of my men is now on their trail, following them as closely as possible. there may be some shooting. if any of you wish to stay back you may go into camp right here and we will pick you up later." "no, no! take us along," begged the boys. "we don't want to be left behind. how about you, chunky?" called tad. "no, i don't want to be left. i---i guess i'd be afraid to stay here all alone." the captain quickly disposed of his forces, directing tad butler to come with him. upon. second thought he decided to take stacy along also, perhaps believing that it would be safer to have the fat boy under his own eyes, as there was no telling what chunky might otherwise do. the party broke up, leaving the spot in twos, after having received their orders, but in each case the pony rider boys were accompanied by one or more of the regulars. in a few minutes all had left the place, except mckay, tad and stacy. these waited for the better part of half an hour. "now forward and no loud talking, boys," the captain directed, touching his pony's sides with the spurs. "be ready to obey orders quickly. and, brown, no more imitations on your part. this is serious business. a slip and you're likely to stop a bullet 'most any time." the three men started away, with the captain in the lead. they traveled all of two miles when mckay called a halt. "butler, you will go to the right, straight ahead. stop after you have gone about a quarter of a mile as nearly as you can judge. when you hear an owl hoot, move slowly forward. don't use your gun, no matter what happens, unless some one shoots at you. even then don't shoot unless you have to. but let no one get past you. we hope to get those fellows in a pocket and hold them up without any shooting. but we may have to waste some powder. do you understand?" "yes, sir." "you are not afraid?" "i am not." "i thought you wouldn't be." "where do i go?" asked stacy apprehensively. "you will remain with me. i'll take care of you. all right, butler." tad without another word rode away. finally after having gone what he thought was the proper distance, he halted and sat his pony silently, head bent forward listening for the signal. it came at last, sounding faint and far away. the boy smiled, shook out his reins and the pony moved forward almost as silently as the boy could have done himself. the night was dark, but tad was able to make out objects with more or less distinctness. he used his eyes and ears to good purpose. once tad thought he heard a twig snap a short distance ahead of him. he halted abruptly and sat steadily for fully ten minutes. there being no further sounds he moved forward again. it was a trying situation for a boy. tad butler felt the thrill of the moment, but he was unafraid. it is doubtful if tad ever had realized a sense of fear, though he was far from being foolhardy, nor was there the faintest trace of bravado about him. he was simply a steady nerved, brave lad who would do his duty as he saw it no matter how great the obstacles or how imminent the peril. the boy had gone forward for some thirty minutes when all at once his quick ears caught a peculiar, low whistle some distance ahead. tad with ready resourcefulness answered the whistle, imitating it as nearly as possible. but he made a mistake. that whistle was not the right whistle. bang! a flash of flame leaped toward him and he heard the "wo-o-o-o" of a bullet over his head. the boy was off his pony. then tad tried the tactics of an indian. quickly and silently tethering his pony, he fired a shot high enough so that he did not think it likely to hit any one. skulking a few paces farther on, he fired again. several shots were in this manner fired, and in quick succession, giving the impression that there were several men shooting. half a dozen answering shots were fired at him, then the lad caught the sound of hoofbeats. he knew the other man was riding away. tad gave the hoot of an owl as best he could. rather to his surprise the signal was answered off to the left. tad repeated it and received the same answer. he rode forward, on the trail of the fleeing man. in a few minutes he was joined by captain mckay and stacy, both riding hard. "did you draw them out?" demanded the captain sharply, but without a trace of excitement in his tone. "yes." tad explained what had occurred. "that was one of the outposts. the others will begin to stir soon. we are too early. all the ruffians are not in yet. well, it's too late now. the alarm has been given. there they go!" a succession of shots followed from distant points, widely separated. mckay listened. "our men are shooting. it's time to close in. stick behind me. don't try to ride off to one side. keep your eyes and ears open." the ponies leaped forward. the man and the two boys were riding a dangerous pace considering the roughness of the trail, but none gave a thought to the danger. the captain's voice was raised in a long-drawn hoot, which was answered by another from some distance away. then the firing broke out afresh. it seemed as if no one could escape that fusillade of bullets. tad could hear the bullets screaming overhead. he sat his pony, his eyes glowing, firing rapidly into the air. stacy brown also sat his own pony, but he couldn't have moved a muscle to save him. the fat boy was literally "scared stiff." stacy really was suffering, but no one, unless he had observed his eyes, would have thought him afraid. "close in, boys. ride and shout!" commanded the captain. butler exercised his lungs. chunky's lips moved, but no sound came from them. his pony, however, followed the others, nearly causing its stiffened rider to fall off. every few moments the captain would utter his owl-call, which would be answered by other similar calls pretty much all around the compass. in this way the rangers were able to locate each other's positions, thus avoiding shooting each other. the shots of the enemy were now scattering. it was only occasionally that mckay was able to determine that one of the bandits had fired a gun. how he could tell the difference between the rifles of friends and foe was a mystery to young butler. ere long the rangers had narrowed down their circle until they were able to see each other. for the past twenty minutes, they had been stalking cautiously. now they paused, after having exchanged signals. deep growls were heard on all sides. "what does it mean?" questioned tad. "it means those fellows have given us the slip again," grunted the captain. "they've managed to slip through our lines somehow. well, never mind, we'll get them one of these times. i thought we had them pocketed this time so there would be no escape." tad had thought so, too. he was convinced that there was more to this escape than even the ranger captain realized. the boy did not wish to make suggestions so he kept silent. yet he determined to make an investigation on his own hook on the following morning, provided they were anywhere in that vicinity. there was nothing more that the rangers could do. their prey had eluded them, disappearing as suddenly as if through a hole in the earth. it was the first time that such a thing had occurred to captain mckay and his failure bothered him, but he presented a smiling face when, after having withdrawn a mile or so, the men went into camp for the rest of the night, building up a campfire and putting out a heavy guard to prevent a surprise during the night. "don't you think the rascals have a hiding place there where they evaded us so neatly?" asked tad, upon getting the captain's ear. "there is no hiding place there. i know the locality well," was the terse reply. "but surely they could not have got through your lines," objected the boy. "yet they did. that's all there is to it." not a man of the rangers had been hit, nor was it believed that any of the enemy had been wounded. night shooting at skulking figures in a forest is uncertain work. tad realized a sense of thankfulness for this. he was not anxious to see bloodshed, but now that the danger was over, chunky grew very brave. he told them all about it and how "we" had driven the bandits off. the story grew and grew with the telling until stacy was convinced that he had fought a very brave battle. tad lay awake a long time that night thinking over the occurrences of the evening, pondering and seeking for a solution of what he considered was a great mystery. on the following morning the greater part of the band were off at an early hour, before the boys had risen, on a day's scout, to try to pick up the trail of the bandits. it was to be a day of excitement for some of the party and hard work for others, for many miles would be covered by the rangers before their grilling ride came to an end. chapter xx learning some fancy shots after breakfast captain mckay took an hour's ride alone over the surrounding country. in the meantime the boys pitched a more permanent camp as it was more than likely that they would remain there for another night, since mckay did not seem to want to leave the place just yet. what he had in mind the boys did not know. returning from his ride the captain appeared to be in much better spirits. his was a strange make-up. none wholly understood captain billy. perhaps that was one of the reasons for his success in his perilous calling. "well, i promised to give you boys some lessons in revolver shooting," he said, tossing the reins to tad who had come forward to take the pony. "who can put a hole through my sombrero?" cried the ranger sending his broad-brimmed mexican hat spinning up into the air. a flash and a bang followed almost on the instant. the pony rider boys howled. the shot had been fired by professor zepplin and he had drilled a hole right through the ranger's sombrero. "well, now, what do you think of that?" gasped chunky, his eyes growing large. "i didn't think you could hit the side of a barn unless you were inside the barn." the professor smiled grimly. "i used to be counted the best revolver shot in my regiment when i was in the army. but i'm a little slow these days." "humph! i see you are," grunted billy. "lucky for me that you aren't quick or i wouldn't have had any hat left by this time. anybody else want to try to put a hole through my hat?" he asked looking about. "i was going to suggest that we throw up the professor's hat and let you take a shot at it," suggested tad, coming up at this juncture. "here it goes," cried the professor sending the hat spinning away from them, with the edge of the brim almost toward them. the hat was spinning low and a very difficult mark to hit. tad thought the ranger was going to take a shot at it, but instead of doing so, mckay nodded to tad, with a merry twinkle in his eye. tad whipped out his revolver with a quickness that amazed the ranger, and let go. his bullet snipped a piece from the edge of the rim. the force of the bullet turned the hat crown toward the shooter. bang, bang, bang! tad bored three holes through the crown to the captain's amazement. "there! i guess we are even with you now, professor," laughed the boy. "that old hat of yours won't hold water next time you go to the spring." "i thought you folks didn't know how to shoot," wondered the ranger. "i guess i'd better take some lessons from you instead of you from me. that certainly was mighty fine gun work. where did you learn?" "since we have been out. i am not much of a shot with the revolver, though. i think i can do better with the rifle." "how about the rest of you?" questioned the captain. "do all of you shoot like that?" "i suppose i am about the best shot in the outfit," answered stacy pompously. "i can hit a penny---" "yes, if the penny is glued to the muzzle," interrupted ned. "we'll see what you can do." stacy, after three shots, failed to hit the hat once. walter and ned each succeeded in placing a bullet through the professor's hat. chunky insisted that his bullet went through one of the holes made by tad butler. he declared that he had never missed an easy shot like that in his life. "here, hit my hat," commanded tad, tossing his sombrero into the air. the fat boy watched the soaring hat with longing eyes. "shoot, shoot, why don't you?" jeered the pony rider boys. "all right if you say so." stacy's pistol stuck in the holster and by the time he had freed the weapon the sombrero was only some seven or eight feet from the ground. "yeow!" howled the fat boy letting go two bullets with a speed that they had no idea he possessed. "it's a hit!" cried the professor. tad ran forward and picked up the hat. "well, what do you think of that?" he wondered. "did he hit it?" called walter. "of course he did." "oh, pooh! that hole was in your sombrero before he shot," scoffed ned rector. "you are wrong. there were no holes in the hat. now there are two. stacy sent two bullets through my hat instead of one." "hooray!" shouted the boys. "i didn't think it of you, brown," smiled the captain. "i take back all i have said against your character and your ability." "oh, don't mention it. that's nothing. i usually shoot my hat full of holes before breakfast every morning when i'm home. anybody else want his hat transformed into a sieve?" "i think you have done quite enough," returned the professor. "you have done fully as well as i could have done. ahem!" "really remarkable shooting for tenderfeet," declared the captain. "tenderfeet? well, i like that!" grumbled stacy. "why, i'm a lion fighter, i am!" "and a snake man as well," grinned the ranger. "yes. i'm no tenderfoot. did i run away when the shooting was going on last night? i guess not. i-----" "no, he was too scared to run," snorted rector. stacy regarded ned solemnly. "ned rector, i don't usually acknowledge you to be right in matters like this, but i'm going to admit before the whole company that you've told the truth for once in your---" "i always tell the truth," broke in ned. "---life," finished the fat boy. "i was, as our distinguished fellow---tenderfoot says, scared stiff. but if the truth were known, i'll wager that he was hiding behind a rock when that same shooting was going on." rector flushed a rosy red, which brought a howl from the boys. it was plain that chunky had touched him in a tender spot. "come now, you boys, if you want to try some more," called the ranger. "what now?" asked tad. "i want to see how you are on the draw---quick." the captain trimmed a piece of paper down to about the size of a silver dollar. this he pinned to a tree, then measuring off twenty paces, faced the mark, spun about on his toes, making two complete whirls and drove a bullet right into the center of the target, having drawn his revolver as he turned. it was a splendid piece of shooting. the professor missed. he did not even hit the tree. tad took a piece out of the edge of the target the first time. the second he placed a bullet just inside the outer edge, which mckay pronounced to be excellent shooting. that was high praise from a man like billy mckay. ned did not know whether he wanted to try that shot or not. mckay explained how to draw quickly and at what point of the whirl to draw, but try as he would rector could not hit the mark. once he chipped a piece of bark from the tree, which brought a yell from the boys. "the trouble with you lads is that you grip your guns too tightly. take a light hold on the butt of your revolver. toy with it. it's the fellow with the feather-weight touch that does the best work with the revolver. he is the man to look out for." "that's the way i always shoot," declared chunky pompously. "if there's one shot that i can make better than another it's that one you fellows have been trying. why, i could pink that target with my eyes shut." "try it. see what you can do. perhaps you may beat us all, who knows?" grinned mckay. "i don't say that i can beat _you_, but i can shoot as well as these amateurs who have been trying it. i can---" "look here, are you going to make that shot, chunky?" demanded rector. "yes. got any objections?" asked chunky turning to rector with great deliberation. "not the least, if you'd kindly hold your fire till i can get behind a rock or a thick tree." "yes, that's the place for you, i reckon. all ready, mr. mckay?" "it's up to you," smiled the ranger. "does it make any particular difference to you which way i whirl?" asked the fat boy. "not in the least. you may stand on your head and whirl if it will suit you better." "for goodness' sake, do something," begged tad. "you've taken enough time already to shoot the tree clean off the map." "who's doing this shooting, you or i?" asked chunky. tad sat down helplessly. stacy was not to be hurried. the more one urged him, the slower did he become. "look out, i'm going to shoot now. everybody lie low!" stacy spun himself around like a top. he had whirled three times when the ranger shouted to him. "shoot before you get so dizzy you can't see!" bang! "stop it---" bang! "stop it, you idiot!" mckay struck the fat boy's revolver just in time to prevent getting a bullet through his own body. over yonder the professor lay flat on the ground with a frightened look on his face, shouting at the top of his voice. "hold him! hold him! he'll have us all riddled!" "wha---what's the matter?" demanded stacy looking around innocently. "matter? see what you have done." "di---did i wing the professor?" questioned the fat boy innocently. "did you wing him!" jeered tad butler. "come here, young man. but leave that pistol behind you," commanded professor zepplin. "i think we will equip you with a small bow and a blunt arrow after this. even. then i fear our eyes will be in danger. do you see what you did?" one of stacy's bullets had bored a hole through the crown of the professor's sombrero. the other had plowed a neat furrow through professor zepplin's grizzled whiskers, close to the chin. "ho, ho, ho! haw, haw, haw!" roared the fat boy with head thrown back as far as it would go without dislocating his neck. chapter xxi a hole in the mountain the professor gave stacy a shaking that the fat boy did not forget at once, the others shouting their approval. the fat boy grinned after his punishment. "i'm a regular william tell, eh?" he asked looking about. it was still a good joke to him. even the professor permitted a grim smile to show itself at the base of his whiskers. "you came near killing professor zepplin," answered the ranger. "that would have been too bad," replied stacy almost anxiously. "i shouldn't have had anybody to tease then. do i try that shot again?" "you do not!" was the firm reply from mckay. "i guess i knew what i was about when i hid behind that rock," laughed rector. "according to chunky, you knew what you were about when you got behind the rock during the shooting yesterday," cut in tad. "come, come, boys, if you are going to shoot any more you'd better get busy. i shall soon have to leave you. who shoots next?" demanded the captain. "i do," announced stacy. "you shoot no more in this camp, young man," insisted the professor. "it's all right for those who know how, but you endanger our lives with your irresponsible actions." "all right, butler, i will now throw my hat up from behind you. you will turn and shoot at it when i give the word," said the captain. the first shot tad missed the hat by some three or four rods. how the boys did shout and jeer at him! "i did better than you. i trimmed the professor's whiskers," declared chunky. tad nodded to mckay that he was ready for another shot. "don't shoot this time until you see the hat. shoot a little under rather than over it. the natural tendency is always to overshoot, whatever one is shooting at." bang! the hat in the air jumped as if it had received a sudden blow as tad whirled and let go. "you've graduated. next!" rector missed five shots. walter fanned the rim, then they called a halt in the practice. "altogether i am well satisfied with your shooting, boys. even brown accomplished something," said mckay. stacy grinned broadly. "i---i could hit a german, couldn't i?" he stammered. "yes, i think you could," laughed billy. "especially if you were to turn your back to him before shooting," added tad. "professor," said mckay, "i must go away for part of the day. i do not believe your party will have any difficulty. the bandits are no longer here. i should not be at all surprised if my men were to round them up, as they are on the track of the enemy at this very moment. if you want to move, you may do so, but i would suggest that you make this your camp for the night" "i am quite well satisfied here. the boys will no doubt want to go out exploring. i am somewhat interested in the geological formation of the canyon at this point, so we shall all be well occupied during the remainder of the day. you plan to return here to-night?" "i think so." "we will see if we can't pick up the trail of the enemy," laughed tad. "do so by all means. who knows but that you may discover something worth while? i am sure you have an idea in your mind," answered mckay, giving butler a shrewd glance. "i will confess that i have, sir." the ranger captain did not say where he was going. but shortly after that he rode out of camp and was seen no more until late that evening. after the departure of mckay the professor cleared his throat and stroked his damaged whiskers. "i trust you young men will try to keep out of trouble to-day. i am sorry to say that you are becoming rather too venturesome. be good enough to keep in mind that we are in what appears to be a hostile country." "it strikes me that chunky is more hostile, more to be feared, than anything else about here," chuckled tad. "i agree with you, and for that reason i am going to place stacy under your charge for the day, tad." "oh, what a responsibility!" mocked butler. "i'm glad it isn't up to me," declared ned. "you will look after walter." "i don't need any looking after," protested perkins. "that's why he's put you in charge of ned," scoffed stacy. "shake hands. we will take a fresh start, chunky," said ned, extending a friendly hand. chunky regarded ned suspiciously. he wondered what rector had in mind to induce him to become so friendly all at once. as it chanced ned felt that perhaps he had been rather too hard on the fat boy. but the fat boy had never thought of it in that light. each was supposed to take the jokes played on him and without losing his temper. as a rule each one did, though chunky seemed to get more than his share of such abuse. perhaps he brought his troubles on himself. "well, if i am going to have charge of you, stacy, i think i'll take you out in the woods where you can't do any damage to any one but myself. bring your gun and we'll go shooting." "my rifle?" "no. your pistol." "that suits me. i am too delicate to tote a rifle around on my shoulder all day." "be back early, and do not go far away," ordered the professor. "shoot off a rifle if you want us before we get back," suggested tad. "which way are you going?" asked ned. "south. which way do you go?" "i guess we will go west if you are going south. i want to get a good distance away if you fellows are going to shoot at a mark." "come on, stacy." the fat boy and his companion strolled off. they were going to take their ponies, but the professor had decided against this, fearing that the boys would stray too far from camp were they to ride. being on foot he felt reasonably certain that they would not get far away, knowing how averse they were to walking, which is usually the case with those used to riding a horse. a cowboy will mount his pony if he wants to go across the street, just the same as a fire chief will get into his buggy if he goes to a fire on the same block. stacy and tad engaged in a friendly conversation on the way out. tad was giving his companion some advice. they were talking seriously and for a wonder stacy was giving serious consideration to what butler was saying. they had been going along aimlessly for nearly an hour, halting now and then to sit down on a rock or a log, when stacy paused, looking about him curiously. "isn't this the place where we were shot at last night?" "yes, this is the place, i guess," answered tad, looking about him inquiringly. "over yonder is where we were stationed. let's go over and look about a little." stacy was willing, so they strolled over. tad sat down, a thoughtful look on his face, taking a survey, forming a mental picture of the scene as it had appeared during the bloodless battle with the border bandits. "according to my idea those fellows must have fallen into a hole in the ground about where that tree is down," declared stacy wisely. "that is my idea too," answered tad. "i can't understand how they could have slipped by us as easily as they did." "maybe they didn't." "they must have done so. there is no hole in the ground over there, as you can see for yourself. even if there were, what good would it have done the men? let's go over and see if we can pick up a trail of some sort." "i'm with you. where shall we begin?" "you go to the left and i'll go to the right. we will meet somewhere near the fallen tree unless we get side-tracked." the tree referred to was a huge one. it lay at the base of a great pile of rocks, from which it evidently had slipped. in falling it had carried its roots with it. these roots, massed with dirt and stone, stood up in the air all of fifteen feet. the top of the tree was a hundred feet further out. it must have been a magnificent tree when it stood towering from the top of the rocks there and no doubt was a landmark for all that part of the guadalupe range. the trunk at the top stood free of the ground several feet, the trunk nearer the roots resting on an almost knife-like edge of rock that had cut deeply into the trunk when the tree fell. stacy gazed at the tree and decided that it would make an excellent thing to climb. he stepped up on the trunk at the roots, walking out toward the top. "come on up. the walking's great, tad," he cried. "i'll be there pretty soon." after looking about for several minutes butler followed his companion. but tad paused before climbing up. he eyed that towering mass of roots, dirt and stones with interest. "see anything funny?" called stacy. "no, nothing particularly funny. i do see the print of a horseshoe here on the rocks where some dirt has stuck to the shoe and been left on the stone. it isn't any of our stock as nearly as i can determine. i guess it must have been some of those fellows last night. they evidently were shooting from behind the tree here." "they weren't shooting from behind much of anything, as well as i could judge," answered the fat boy. tad climbed up and made his way slowly along the tree trunk. as he neared his companion, he felt the tree settle a little. this at the moment did not make any particular impression on the pony rider boy. their combined weight might cause the outer end to give a little. then all at once a howl from chunky caused tad to grasp a branch to save himself. the tree top was settling slowly. "look, look!" cried the fat boy. tad turned, amazement growing on his face. the roots of the tree had slowly risen several feet into the air, disclosing a hole in the rocks. chunky was so excited that he fell off before tad could say a word. the tree settled back, closing the hole in the rocks. chapter xxii the cave of the bandits the top of the tree sprang up with such force, when relieved of the weight of the fat boy, that tad butler lost his hold and was catapulted to the ground, which he struck with a force that made his bones ache. the two pony rider boys sat up rubbing themselves and looking into each others' faces. "well, what do you think of that?" jeered stacy brown. "i think we got a fine tumble," replied tad, grinning. "and i think something else, too." "yes, we've made a discovery!" "a great discovery," breathed stacy tensely. "i think so, but that remains to be seen. who would have thought it? but get away from here! we may have disturbed some one." the lads quickly scrambled up and, skulking into the bushes, crouched down, watching the roots of the tree, almost expecting them to rise into the air again. nothing of the sort happened. the birds were singing in the trees, the sun was shining brightly, the heat was intense. "i'm going to investigate," declared tad. "maybe we've discovered another gold mine, or perhaps a german dugout," suggested chunky. "perhaps, but not in the way you think." "how do you mean?" "wait until we investigate. there may be more to this than either of us think. i wonder if we can weight that tree down so the roots will stay up in the air?" "i saw some rocks there near the top. perhaps we can make them stay on so the top will be held down." "you get up on the tree again and i'll pass the rocks up to you. place them so they won't slide off. i don't want to get crushed by them falling on me." "neither do i want to get thrown off again. i'm black and blue all over, right this minute." "i think i must be by the feel of my skin. hurry!" stacy ran back to the roots, once more clambering to the trunk, along which he ran clear to the outer end. tad was ready with a heavy, flat rock which he carefully raised by main strength. "now, don't you dare let that drop on me or i'll be mashed flat, stacy brown." "i---i won't let it d-d-rop un---unless i---i fall off." the rock nearly got away from the fat boy. butler leaped back out of the way, but stacy recovered himself in time and after some effort succeeded in placing the rock in the limbs of the tree. "fits as if it had been here before," declared chunky. "perhaps it has. we shall see. are you ready?" "yep." "here's another." by the time the third stone had been put in place the top of the tree began to settle. the fourth rock brought the tree down to the ground, exposing the opening in the rocks once more. "hurrah!" "keep still. don't move till i get enough up there to equalize your weight. then you may come down." the remaining stones were quickly laid in place. tad motioned for chunky to descend. the fat boy leaped down. the tree top remained on the ground leaving a wide opening in the rocks. "now, chunky, keep your nerve. you may need it." "what are you going to do?" "i'm going in there. i think perhaps it might be the wiser plan for you to remain out here and keep watch." "no, sir, i guess not! i've helped discover that hole and i'm going to reap my reward by exploring the inside." "come along then. it is taking long chances, but i guess the tree is safe unless some one should come along and trip the stones. then we would be in a fine fix, shouldn't we?" "i reckon we would. we wouldn't be getting out of that hole, right smart, should we, tad?" "i guess not. we should be buried alive." "still, there may be some other opening to the place. we will take a chance. got your matches?" "yes." "then you light a match when we get inside. i'll have my revolver ready in case there is anything in there." taking a final glance about, tad moved toward the opening in the rocks with brisk step. chunky was trotting along behind him, the fat boy full of importance over the discovery they had made. at the opening they paused, glancing apprehensively at the great roots towering above them. were the butt of that giant tree to settle down now, it would crush them. the boys stepped inside. they could see but a few feet ahead of them, but saw that they were in a huge crevice in the rocks, a sort of cave formed by the splitting apart of the rocks themselves, perhaps from some long past earthquake disturbance. "light a match, stacy." the fat boy did so. "there have been horses in here," announced tad. "yes, i guess there have, but there aren't any here now." "fortunately for us." the air was cool, though a little damp in the cave. to this the boys gave no heed. they had more important matters on hand than observing the atmosphere of the place. the cave they found was much larger than they had had any idea of. in places the roof was all of ten feet high. but as they penetrated further in, moving cautiously, lighting the way with every step, the walls sloped toward the back, approaching nearer to the floor. except for the light from the matches, the boys were in darkness, so that they were not able to observe that the opening to the cave had closed. a strong breeze, swaying the upper limbs of the tree, had dislodged the stones and allowed the roots to slip quietly into place again. the boys, without knowing it, were prisoners. "you aren't throwing your matches on the floor, are you?" demanded tad turning sharply. "yes, why not?" "show me a light here," commanded tad going down on his knees and gathering up all the burnt matches he could find. "that is a fine trail you are leaving. why, were any one to come in here, he would discover instantly that strangers had been here." "i---i never thought of that," stammered chunky. "we must think of everything. our very lives may depend on our doing so." "wha---what do you mean, tad?" "don't you understand yet?" "i---i guess i begin to. some---somebody's been here." "yes. it is my opinion that the very men captain mckay is looking for have been here. come, we must be quick! we are likely to be interrupted at any time, though i hardly think any of them would come here in the daytime." the boys were obliged to stoop in order to continue their explorations further. after creeping under the low-hanging rock they found that they were able to stand erect once more. then they discovered something else. there were bales piled on top of one another, packs securely tied lying about, guns, rugs, in fact a miscellaneous assortment of goods which the boys believed to be of great value. in one corner stood a chest securely padlocked. it was a rough chest, bound with iron bands that looked as if they might have been used on cotton bales. "well, we have made a discovery, stacy brown!" breathed tad. "we have," agreed the fat boy, his eyes growing large with wonder. "what do you suppose is in that chest?" "i don't know." "let's open it," suggested stacy eagerly. tad shook his head. "in the first place we have no business to do anything of the sort. in the second place i don't want to stay here much longer. we had better be getting back to camp as quickly as we can. of course we can't do anything until captain mckay returns, but the more quickly we get away from here the better it will be for us." "i---i'm scared. aren't you?" stammered the fat boy apprehensively. "no, i am not scared, but i realize that we are in danger every minute we stay here. those men wouldn't trifle with us, were they to catch us. do you know what they would do to us if they caught us here, chunky?" "nu---nu---no." "they would fill us full of lead, that's what they would do. light another match while i look into this niche. then we will be making tracks for the outside." tad was back by stacy's side a moment later. he motioned that they were to go back. the boys started briskly for the opening. the instant they had crawled out into the outer chamber they realized that all was not as it should be. at first they did not understand what had occurred. tad was the first to make the discovery of what had occurred. "we're caught!" he cried. "h---ho---how?" "the tree has closed the opening to the cave. now we are in a nice pickle." stacy was speechless. he held a burning match in his hand until the match burned up to his finger, whereat chunky dropped the match with an exclamation. "i---i'll tell you what let's do. let's dig through the roots. we can do it. come on." tad laid a restraining hand on the fat boy's arm. "we won't do that just yet. this may have been an accident. those stones may have slipped off. i am inclined to think that is what has happened. if so, we don't want to leave any clues---" "i'd rather leave clues than to leave my dead body in here," wailed chunky. "buck up! don't show a yellow streak, chunky!" commanded tad sharply. "i'm not yellow. but i know enough to know when i've got enough. i know i've got enough of this bandit-chasing business. i ought to have known better than to go out with you. they think i can't keep out of trouble. i can keep out of trouble all right if other folks don't lead me into it. now see what a fix you've got me into, tad butler!" "it strikes me that i am in the same fix. but we're going to get out of it, stacy---" "yes, but how?" "i don't know, but i'll find a way." "why, we'll starve to death in here. they'll find our bones here a few years from now and they'll wonder---i wish i had something to eat." "tighten your belt. remember, whatever occurs, you are to leave your revolver in its holster. don't you dare to draw it unless i tell you to. one little slip might be the death of us. for once in your life be prudent." "i'll be prudent, but i wish i had a sandwich. have you looked to see if there's anything to eat in this hole?" "no, i have something of more importance than food to think about at present." tad struck a match, taking a long, careful look about the outer chamber of the cave. he saw nothing to encourage him. rocks everywhere, with here and there a discolored spot where tiny streams had trickled through, perhaps during a heavy rainstorm. tad was thinking with all his might, trying to devise some plan by which they might protect themselves in case they were surprised by the return of the bandits, which he did not think would occur before night, even if then. he reasoned that the bandits were far away else the rangers would not have gone on a long journey in search of them. that meant that the bandits would not be likely to return until matters had quieted down and the rangers had left the locality. "i am afraid we are in here for a long stay, old chap," butler said finally. "another case of being buried alive, eh?" questioned stacy. "i told you so. i always am right. but i wasn't when i trusted myself to you. you can get into more trouble, and faster than---" "at least i don't try to shave the professor with my revolver," retorted tad sharply. "hark! what was that?" "i---i didn't hear anything." "sh-h-h!" tad gripped the arm of his companion. stacy repressed an "ouch" with some difficulty. the two lads stood listening. particles of dirt were rattling from the roots of the fallen tree, sounding like hailstones as they fell to the rocks in the cave. then a faint ray of light appeared under the bottom of the mass of roots. "somebody is coming," whispered tad. "stand perfectly still until i tell you to move." "they can't see us at once. don't make a sound on your life." "wha---what are you going to do?" whispered stacy, his teeth chattering audibly. "duck, if i get half a chance. but i don't think i shall. there it goes!" the great mass of roots rose clear of the ground, exposing the full height of the opening, and the eyes of the two pony rider boys grew large at what they beheld there in the framed circle of light, chapter xxiii in a perilous position as root mass swung upward, a man with a vicious slap on the animal's thigh, sent a horse bounding in. he followed the horse. then after him came five other men, crowding in with every appearance of haste. not a word had been spoken up to this time. "now run for your life!" whispered tad in the ear of his companion. "no, this way. stoop low. i don't want to get pinned in that other place." tad had been using his eyes while glancing about the compartment, and using them to good purpose. he had espied a heap of blankets, either discarded ones or some that had been used for the ponies. he was inclined to the former opinion. he was quite sure that blankets would not be used for the animals at this time of the year. at any rate there was now no time for reflection. it was a time for quick action. leading chunky to the heap, which lay under a projecting ledge of rock some four feet from the floor, tad forced his companion over behind the pile, then himself crawled in, puffing the blankets over them. stacy's teeth were still chattering. "stop it!" commanded tad, giving the fat boy a violent pinch. this time chunky did say "ouch!" but before the word was out of his mouth tad had clapped a blanket over the offending mouth. "do you want to be killed?" "n---n---no." "then keep still!" "wha---what are they doing?" "that is what i want to find out if you will lie quiet and not give me any further trouble. they are staking their horses. this must be the stable. the men, as i thought, will go back further. i hope we can hear what they say." "i don't care what they say. i want to get out of here." "you never will if you don't muzzle yourself. now do try to keep quiet while i listen." tad raised his head cautiously, but quickly drew it back. what he had seen was the face of the man who had passed himself off as captain of the rangers when visiting the camp of the pony rider boys a few days before that. this was willie jones, the man for whom every ranger in the state was searching at that moment. and then---tad shivered in spite of himself when he made the discovery---stepping up to the leader to ask him a question was dunk tucker, the fellow whom tad had captured. dunk had regained his freedom and had joined his band. his presence here indicated that it was not a good place for the pony rider boys. tad hoped his own fellows might keep close to their camp. he wondered if the rangers would be able to trace the bandits to their lair, or if the former even knew the outlaws had returned to that locality again. the words of tucker answered his question. "well, we outrode them, cap," said tucker. "yes, but if you hadn't made a fool of yourself and tried a pot shot on mckay they wouldn't have known we were anywhere about. that was a fool play on your part, dunk. your temper will be the death of you. we'll be lucky if it isn't the death of the whole outfit. i don't want any more of it. if you can't control yourself better, the word will go out that you aren't safe. you know what that means?" dunk grinned maliciously. "i reckon i do. how long we going to stay in here this time?" "i'll let you know when i am ready to go." "but ain't you going to clean out that camp?" "if you mean the boys, i am not. i am looking for bigger game just now. when we get through you can settle your little grudge if you want to. i reckon you'll get your fingers burnt, the same way you did before, if you try it. those boys are pretty slick." tucker's face grew black. no need to tell tad of what the outlaw was thinking at that moment. he was thinking of the time when the boys had made him a prisoner and how they had been responsible for his having been taken to el paso and locked up. there was murder in the heart of dunk tucker at that moment, as tad butler well knew. the men had lighted candles and stuck them in crevices in the rocks, so that the chamber was fairly well lighted. the horses were white with foam, showing that they had been ridden hard. the watching boy understood. the bandits had been hard pressed by the rangers. jones walked away, leaving tucker standing there nursing his deadly rage. after a time dunk followed into the other chamber, where the men fell to discussing their escape in tones plainly audible to the boys hidden under the blankets. from the conversation tad drew that the men had been on a raid and that they had been forced to throw away much of their plunder because of having been so hard pressed by the pursuing rangers. still, three small packs had been unloaded from the ponies in the cave and carried to the inner chamber. the outlaws were not in good humor. their leader was the only one whose face reflected a smile. willie could smile even when facing a gun. that smile had upset more than one man's aim and saved willie's life. jones fully realized the value of his disconcerting smile. tad's reflections were interrupted by the voice of one of the outlaws. "they're here," said the voice. "i'd like to take a pot at them." "it'll be your last if you try it," threatened jones. "this is the only safe retreat we've got. we don't propose to give it away by any, such fool play as shooting at a ranger from it, much as we'd like to get rid of some of those fellows. they're crowding us pretty close. and right here, i've got a proposition to make. by the way, gregg, what are they doing?" "looking for trails." the outlaw captain smiled grimly. "let 'em look. precious little trail they'll find, and precious little good it'll do them if they do find it." "joe said those stones weren't where he'd left them." "that's all right. probably some of those boys have been fooling around here. they're a nosey crowd. but there's no chance that they have discovered anything yet. give them time and they may. once we break up the ranger camp the boys will take french leave mighty quick. it will be too warm for them here. as i was about to say, i have a proposition to make to you. until things quiet down a little it is my suggestion that we get across the rio grande and go into retreat there in our old joint. we've got a lot of valuable stuff here that we can't get out at present and we'll have to leave it here. the rangers are watching this locality altogether too closely for comfort so far as we are concerned. withem is nosing around el paso as you know, lying low for some folks that we know of there. no use to take chances when we don't have to. if you're all agreed we'll just slope to the other side of the river and lie low for a month. what's your idea?" "i'm agreed, if you'll give me a chance to get even with that gang of boys first," spoke up tucker. "you mean that you want to stay here after we've gone?" smiled captain willie. "i reckoned i'd like to until i'd done what i told you." "well, i reckon you won't do anything of the sort. when we go out of here, none of us comes back till the whole crowd returns. is that clear, dunk?" the outlaw growled an unintelligible reply. "the rangers have drawn off, captain," called the lookout. "which way?" "toward the camp." "they're going to stay there all night," decided the leader. "well, we'll watch our chance and perhaps we'll be able to get away some time late in the night. are you all agreed on getting across the river if we can make it?" the men said they were. "then that's settled. get out the grub. we'll feed up while we've got the chance." no fire was built. the men munched their food cold. little was said among them. and now tad began to ponder over certain other phases of his situation. how were these outlaws going to get out? there surely must be some way of opening the way to the outside. still, the boy did not see how they could move the tree from the inside. if they could do it he could. he decided, however, that it would not be safe to trust to his finding the secret of the opening. far better would it be to bolt at the first opportunity. stacy had kept unusually quiet, though his eyes had grown large when he heard the conversation of the men. at least there was a peep-hole through which the lookout was keeping watch. it occurred to chunky that he could yell after the men left, and thus attract the attention of his own fellows. tad had a different idea in mind, though he had not yet fully formulated his plans along this line. the outlaws having finished their lunch, some rolled up in their blankets and went to sleep undisturbed by the fact that a band of rangers was encamped within a short quarter of a mile of them. as for the boys who were in such a tight place, they hardly dared move for fear of frightening the horses and thus exciting the suspicions of the outlaws further down the underground passage. when the boys did change their positions it was done as cautiously as they knew how. one pony near them evidently scented them, for it grew restless and kept snorting, but that was all. the hours dragged on wearily. the boys did not know whether it were night or day. finally the lookout came down to where jones was pacing steadily back and forth. "well?" "something going on over there," answered the lookout, jerking his head toward the opening. "what do you think?" "i don't know. they're running around out there with torches." "where are they?" "on the other side of the clearing." "got their rifles with them?" "no." "mckay there?" "the whole crowd's there." "they've missed us," whispered chunky. "they're looking for us." "sh---h---h---h," warned tad softly. jones pondered for a moment, then he turned to the lookout sharply. "wake up the men," he said. "i reckon something is going to be did," whispered the irrepressible chunky. something was. chapter xxiv conclusion the waking of the men was a matter of seconds merely. a touch on the shoulder and the man touched was on his feet as if propelled by springs, hand instinctively going to the revolver dangling from his belt. tad, now keenly alive to what was going on, had partially thrown the blankets off, chunky having done the same. "don't stir. i'll tell you when it is time to move," warned tad. "men, i've changed my mind," announced the leader. "are you ready for a fight?" "sure we are if it's rangers you want us to fight," answered a voice. "yes, it's the same old crowd, and a bunch of youngsters thrown in. i don't know what the trouble is, but they're racing around out there with torches---" "mebby they've found the trail," suggested one. "no, i reckon some of the youngsters have strayed away and got lost. all the better for us. the rangers won't be looking for us." "they have left their rifles in the camp. they've got their revolvers with them, of course. take your rifles. put out all the lights, then while the watch is being kept we'll step out and give them a volley. be careful to get to one side of the opening so we don't draw their attention too sharply to the opening. that might leave some marks and lead them to investigate when day comes. we'll be a long way from here by that time, but i hope we'll leave a few dead rangers behind us." dunk tucker was grinning broadly. this was the opportunity for which he had longed. "sneak out quietly. take a good aim. give them a rattler of a volley. every man pick his mark. you can't miss. i'll look for mckay. but don't all aim at the same mark or you won't do much damage." tad could not repress a shudder. he realized the desperateness of willie jones' character fully now. a man who could plan such a cold-blooded crime could have no heart. and the worst of it was that tad saw no way to prevent the crime. "how about it up there?" "they're over in the bush now." "i want them when they are just outside the bush. if their backs are turned toward us, all the better. we'll give them a hot dose that will give them something to think about," jeered willie. "well, isn't he the cold-blooded fish?" whispered chunky. "i'd like to take a pot shot at him right where he stands." "so should i," answered tad. "but i couldn't do it, bad as he is." "no, i guess it wouldn't be exactly prudent," returned the fat boy. "that wasn't what i meant. prudence hasn't anything to do with it. it would be cold-blooded." "ready! work the lever," commanded the captain as the voice of the lookout called down the one word "right!" "get ready," whispered tad. "i'm going to bolt. don't make a sound. we may lose our lives, but i'm going to save the others. if i shoot, drop in your tracks, but be careful not to drop in the opening. now think as you never thought before!" "wha---what are you going to do?" stammered the fat boy. "watch me. i can't explain it to you now. there goes the tree." the operation of the huge bulk was very simple. one of the men procured a long pole from a crevice in the rock. this he thrust down under the roots of the tree, adjusted it and then began working the pole as one would a pump handle. the tree began to rise at once. tad saw that the outlaw was working a pneumatic jack, on which he figured a piece of timber had been placed so as not to crumble the dirt from the roots when the bulk was raised by the jack. from the outside the bandits no doubt used the same method that the pony rider boys had used to gain an entrance. "keep clear of the opening and don't shoot until we're all ready. one volley will be enough, then back and trip the jack. all ready!" the men began creeping out, willie jones in the lead. "now!" whispered tad. "follow me! look out for squalls! things will happen rapidly when they begin." the boys crept out, following the outlaws as closely as they dared. once outside the bandits quickly skulked off to one side or the other. "get down quick!" whispered tad. "bang, bang, bang!" tad butler fired three shots from his revolver, then threw himself on the ground. almost with the first shot he heard the voice of the ranger captain. mckay, ever on the alert, was not caught napping. "throw torches away! down!" he roared. a thundering volley crashed from the rifles of the outlaws, answered by a rattling fire from the revolvers of the rangers. tad heard an outlaw utter an exclamation of pain and knew that one at least of the bad men had been raked by a bullet. "back!" came the command from the leader of the bandits. the word was not spoken loud enough to be heard far away, but every man there heard it, and back they rushed into the cave. a shower of dirt fell over the two pony rider boys, who were by this time crawling on all fours to get away from the tree that they knew would come down with a bump. it did. the rangers were still shooting. tad and stacy were in a dangerous position. the rangers were firing right over them. the instant the boys heard the base of the tree fall into place, tad uttered the owl call. "don't shoot, don't shoot!" howled chunky. "it's the boys! stand fast. lie low!" commanded the ranger captain. "something is going on here that we don't know about." a moment later tad and chunky came staggering into the arms of their friends. "surround the base of the tree. they're in the cave," cried tad. "wait, wait!" commanded the ranger. in the cave the outlaws were beginning to think. tad's shots had been laid to the carelessness of one of the men. each one denied that he had fired them. "that was a signal. somebody here is a traitor!" cried the leader. out there in front of the cave tad was rapidly whispering to the ranger captain what had occurred. he told him the bandits were all in the cave and that he believed the only exit was there behind the roots of the big tree. "boys, we've got 'em!" cried billy. "we've got 'em in a trap. hurrah! tad, you've saved the lives of some of us. that was as brave a thing as ever a ranger did and i'll tell you what i think about it after we have smoked those ruffians out." the smoking-out process was a matter of some time. at the captain's direction, a row of fires was built in front of the cave so that none of the outlaws could escape. on each side of the row of bonfires mckay placed flanking parties who stood with rifles ready to train on the opening should the bandits seek to escape. all that night and the following day did the rangers keep silent watch over the cave. the second night fires were built up as before, and part of the force stood watch while the others slept on the ground with rifles for pillows. it was not until about noon of the third day that any sign of life was observed in the cave. willie jones hailed the captain, declaring that he was ready to surrender. terms were quickly made. the men were to walk out singly, leaving their arms in the cave. there was no need to caution willie jones as to what would follow the least sign of treachery. he knew without being told. grim rangers were standing on one side so that they should have a clear shooting space in front of them. billy mckay stood directly facing the opening, as if for the purpose of tempting one of those desperate men in there to take a shot at him. none had the pluck to try it. jones was the first one out. he was manacled and searched. one by one the bandits emerged until every man was a prisoner. that afternoon all were on their way to el paso. it would be many years before they would again terrorize the rio grande border if at all, for there were many charges against them. among the charges preferred against the bandits was that of aiding the germans by stirring up trouble on the border. not a man confessed, but while the government was unable to prove this particular charge, it was positive that in the arrest of this desperate gang a nest of dangerous traitors had been broken up. the entire credit for the capture was given to the two pony rider boys, tad butler and stacy brown. the pony rider boys party accompanied the rangers to el paso, whence, later on, they continued their journey down the rio grande. the boys were praised by every one for their bravery, and especially were tad and stacy, who had so bravely risked their own lives to save the lives of their young companions and the rangers. a big reward was earned by the rangers, but at captain mckay's suggestion, a thousand dollars was turned over to professor zepplin to be divided between tad and chunky later on. the professor's protests availed him nothing. mckay said the professor might throw the money in the gutter if he didn't want it, so the professor sent the thousand dollars to the father of walter perkins. that gentleman deposited it to the credit of the two plucky young lads, though it was some time ere they knew the existence of this special fund, all their own. it was the last night in camp before ending their wonderful outing, and every one was solemn-eyed and thoughtful. their playspell was at an end and they were sad. tad and ned were speaking of the war, each confiding his desire to the other, to get into the fight, and expressing his intention of doing so soon. "professor," called tad. "we know of course how you feel on the subject, but this is a good time for us all to make our confessions, on this the last night of our season's outing, and know where we stand on the war." "we are all patriots here," interjected walter perkins. "all but one and he's a german," spoke up stacy brown. "i refer to that noble man, professor zepplin, first cousin to the airship known as a zeppelin---" professor zepplin's whiskers fairly bristled. "young man, that will do!" he thundered. "i am an american citizen, and you have no right to question my loy-----" "there, there, professor, don't you know chunky by this time? all he wished was to draw your fire and stir you up, which i reckon he's done," soothed tad laughingly. stacy chuckled under his breath, at the same time keeping a weather eye out for any hostile move that professor zepplin might make, for the professor plainly was excited. "that is all very well, young men," returned the professor. "i know that you know what my americanism is. i have no need to tell you that, but, as tad says, this is a good time for us all to declare our loyalty, and we should reiterate it every day of our lives." "that's the talk," cried ned rector. "as you boys know, i was born in germany. i attended a german military school and, to cut the story short, i became a german officer. i fought in many battles---" "at the battle of the nile he was fitting all the while," murmured the fat boy under his breath. tad rebuked stacy with a look. "one day, after i had served my time, i emigrated to america. it was not until then that i realized that i had been wrong, that i had been upholding an unworthy cause. that was years ago. soon i had absorbed the spirit of american liberty and became at one with its ideals. i became a citizen. of course i looked back on my army experience with a certain amount of pride. no one who has fought and bled can help doing that---up to a certain point." "i can well understand that," murmured tad. "i think i know how you felt." "when germany made war on little belgium and france my pride of service turned to regret. i was sorry deep down in my heart that i had served the fatherland, but i rejoiced that i was then an american, a loyal american. it was when---when the despicable huns sank the lusitania, the most dastardly crime in the world's history, that my soul was suddenly filled with loathing. i offered my services to the country of my adoption, believing that they would go to war at once, but i was too old, and then america was not yet prepared for the great conflict. since we went to war i have again offered my services. i can still fight, young men." "i should say you can," interjected tad. "my name, at this time, is an unfortunate one," continued the professor. "it is not the name, but the heart that counts, and my heart is in and for america, and my life and all that i have or ever shall have is hers for the asking." the pony rider boys with one accord sprang to their feet and, tossing their hats in the air, uttered a wild cowboy yell. professor zepplin held up a hand. "wait!" he commanded. "there is something yet to be done and now is the time to do it." thrusting a hand into a pocket he drew forth a leather case and opened it with unsteady fingers. from the case he drew a small object wrapped in tissue paper. "the iron cross," murmured the boys. "yes, it is the iron cross," agreed the professor. "time was when this was my most priceless possession. now i loathe it. its possession has troubled me greatly of late and it has been my intention to rid myself of the hateful thing. boys, what shall be done with it?" "that is for you to say, professor," answered tad in a low voice. "get an axe," advised chunky. "yes, yes, the axe," agreed the professor. tad handed the tool to the professor. the latter placed the once prized decoration on a stone and with one blow from the axe smashed the cross. blow after blow he rained on the medal until it lay scattered in pieces. these the professor gathered up and hurled far from him. "that is what i think of germany, monarchial germany, the assassin of innocent women and children." "boys, 'the star-spangled banner,'" cried tad after a moment of impressive silence. the youthful voices of the pony rider boys rose in the national anthem, the deep bass voice of professor zepplin booming out above all the rest. when next we meet our boys we shall find them in utterly different surroundings. in the next volume of the present series our readers will find an extremely fascinating tale. it is published under the title, _the pony rider boys on the blue ridge; or, a lucky find in the carolina mountains_. the end the pony rider boys in new mexico or the end of the silver trail by frank gee patchin, chapter i something in the wind "what was that?" "only one of the boys in the seat behind us, snoring." "sure they're asleep?" "yes, but what if they're not? they are only kids. they wouldn't understand." "don't you be too sure about that. i've heard about those kids. heard about 'em over in nevada. there's four of them. they call themselves the pony rider boys; and they're no tenderfeet, if all i hear is true. they have done some pretty lively stunts." "yes, that's all right, bob, but we ain't going to begin by getting cold feet over a bunch of kids out for a holiday." "where they going?" "don't know. presume they'll be taking a trip over the plains or heading for the mountains. they've got a stock car up ahead jammed full of stock and equipment." "scarecrows?" "no. good stock. some of the slickest ponies you ever set eyes on. there's one roan there that i wouldn't mind owning. maybe we can make a trade," and the speaker chuckled softly to himself. a snore louder than those that had preceded it, caused the two men to laugh heartily. the snore had come from stacy brown. both he and tad butler were resting from their long journey on the atlantic and pacific train. further to the rear of the car, their companions, ned rector and walter perkins, also were curled up in a double seat, with professor zepplin sitting very straight as if sleep were furthest from his thoughts. they were nearing their destination now, and within the hour would be unloading their stock and equipment at bluewater. "they're asleep all right," grinned one of the two men who occupied the seat just ahead of stacy and tad. "is old man marquand going to meet us at the station?" "oh, no. that wouldn't be a good thing. might attract too much attention. told him not to. we'll get a couple of ponies at bluewater and ride across the mountains. but we've got to be slick. the old man is no fool. he'll hang on to the location of the treasure till the last old cat's gone to sleep for good." "any idea where the place is?" "no. except that it's somewhere south of the zuni range." a solitary eye in the seat behind, opened cautiously. the eye belonged to stacy brown. the last snore had awakened him, and he had lain with closed eyes listening to the conversation of the two men. he gave tad a gentle nudge, which was returned with a soft pressure on stacy's right arm as a warning that he was to remain quiet. "do you know what the treasure consists of?" "maybe a mine, but as near as i could draw from marquand's talk it is jewels and spanish money which one of the old franciscan monks had buried. the pueblos knew where it was, but they sealed the place up after the pueblo revolution in , and it's been corked tight ever since." "how'd marquand get wise to it?" "from an old pueblo chief whose life he saved a few months ago. the old chief died a little while afterwards, but before he went, he told marquand about the treasure." "didn't suppose a redskin had so much gratitude under his tough skin. does the old man know where the place is?" "no, not exactly. that's where we come in," grinned the speaker. "we are going to help him find it." "and then?" "oh, well. there's lots of ways to get rid of him." "you mean?" "he might tumble off into a canyon, or something of the sort, in the night time. here's the place." the train was rounding a bend into the little town of bluewater. "sit still," whispered tad. "i want to get a look at those fellows so i'll know them next time i see them." the pony rider boy left his seat, and hurrying to the forward end of the car, helped himself to a drink of water from the tank; then slowly retraced his steps. as he walked down the car, he took in the two men in one swift, comprehensive glance, then swung his hands to his companions at the other end of the car, as a signal that they were arriving at their destination. "know 'em?" whispered stacy as tad began pulling his baggage from the rack. "never saw either before. better get your stuff together. this train is fast only when it stops. it drags along over the country, but when it gets into a station it's always in a hurry to get away," laughed tad. a few minutes later the party of bronzed young men sprang from the car to the station platform, where they instantly became the center of a throng of curious villagers. readers of the preceding volumes of this series are already too well acquainted with the pony rider boys to need a formal introduction. as told in "the pony rider boys in the rockies," the lads had set out from their homes in missouri for a summer's vacation in the saddle. that first volume detailed how the lads penetrated the fastnesses of the rockies, hunted big game and how they finally discovered the lost claim, which they won after fighting a battle with the mountaineers, thus earning for themselves quite a fortune. in "the pony rider boys in texas," the boys were again seen to advantage. there they joined in a cattle drive across the state as cowboys. they played an exciting part in the rough life of the cowmen, meeting with many stirring adventures. it will be remembered how, in this story, tad butler saved a large part of the herd, besides performing numerous heroic deeds, including the saving of the life of a member of the party from a swollen river. at the end of their journey, they solved a deep mystery--a mystery that had perplexed and worried the cattle men, besides causing them heavy financial loss. in "the pony rider boys in montana," the scene shifted to the old custer trail, the battle ground of one of the most tragic events in american history. the story described how tad butler overheard a plot to stampede and kill a flock of many thousand sheep; how after experiencing many hardships, he finally carried the news to the owner of the herd; then later, participated in the battle between the cowmen and sheep herders, in which the latter emerged victorious. it will be recalled too, how the pony rider boy was captured by the blackfeet indians and taken to their mountain retreat, where with a young companion he was held until they made their escape with the assistance of an indian maiden; how they were pursued by the savages, the bullets from whose rifles singing over the heads of the lads as they headed for a river into which they plunged, thus effectually throwing off the savage pursuers; and finally, how in time they made their way back to the camp of the pony riders, having solved the mystery of the old custer trail. after these exciting adventures, the lads concluded to cut short their montana trip and go on to the next stage of their journeyings, which was destined to be even more stirring than any that had preceded it. how tad butler and stacy brown proved themselves to be real heroes, was told in "the pony rider boys in the ozarks." for a long time, an organized band of thieves had been stealing stock in the ozark range, baffling all efforts to apprehend them. the boys had been warned to guard their own stock carefully, but despite this, their ponies were stolen from camp, one by one and in a most mysterious manner, until not an animal was left. then, one by one, the pony rider boys became lost until only tad and stacy remained. they were facing starvation, and it will be recalled how tad butler made a plucky trip to the nearest mining camp for assistance. there the boys were imprisoned underground by a mine explosion; escaping from which, they met with perils every bit as grave, and from which they were eventually rescued by stacy himself. through the disaster, the lads solved the secret of the ruby mountain, thus putting an end for good to the wholesale thieving in the ozark range. though the pony rider boys had suffered many hardships in their journeyings, those that lay before them were destined to try them even more. in "the pony rider boys in the alkali," they faced the perils of the baking alkali desert. it will be recalled how they fought desperately for water when all the usual sources of supply were found to have run dry; how tad and stacy brown were captured by a desert hermit and thrown into a cave; how, after their escape, they were lost in the desert maze, and how after many hardships, they finally succeeded in making their way to camp, dragging behind them a wild coyote that tad had roped when the boys were beset by the wild beasts in the dead of night. nothing daunted by their trying experiences the pony rider boys set out on the concluding trip of the season--a journey over the historic plains and mountains of new mexico. after a long railroad ride, they had finally arrived at the town of bluewater, from which they were to begin their explorations in the southwest. a guide was to meet and conduct them across the mountains of the zuni range and so on to the southern borders of the state. by the time they reached the platform of the station, the stock car had been uncoupled and was being shifted to a side track where they might unload their belongings at their leisure. "i wonder where that guide is," said tad. "he was told to be here," answered the professor. "never mind; we can unload better without him," averred ned, starting off at a brisk trot for their car which had been shunted alongside the platform at the rear of the station. with joyous anticipation of the new scenes and experiences that lay before them, the lads set briskly to work, and within an hour had all the stock and equipment removed from the car. there was quite an imposing collection, with their ponies, their burros, tents and other equipment, the latter lying strewn all over the open level space beyond the station. "looks as if a circus had just come to town," laughed walter. "we've got a side show, anyway," retorted ned. "what's our side show?" "chunky's that." "no; he's the clown. the rest of us are the animals, only we're not in cages." "hey, fellows, see that funny mexican on the burro there," laughed chunky. "guess he never saw an outfit like ours before." the lads could not repress a laugh as they glanced at the figure pointed out by stacy. the man was sitting on the burro, his feet extended on the ground before him, hands thrust deep into trousers pockets. he was observing the work of the boys curiously. the fellow's high, conical head was crowned by a peaked mexican hat, much the worse for wear, while his coarse, black hair was combed straight down over a pair of small, piercing, dark eyes. the complexion, or such of it as was visible through the mask of wiry hair, was swarthy, his form thin and insignificant. stacy brown strode over to him somewhat pompously. "you speak english?" questioned the boy. "si, señor." the mexican's lips curled back, revealing two rows of gleaming, white teeth. "i'm glad to hear it. i didn't think you could. we are looking for a guide who was to have met us here to conduct us over the mountains. his name is juan. it'll be something else when he does show up. do you know him?" "si, señor." "isn't he coming to meet us?" "si, señor." "well, i must say he's taking his time about getting here. where is he?" "juan here, señor." "here? i don't see him," answered the lad, looking about the place. "me juan," grinned the mexican. "you?" "never mind the señor. i'll take for granted i'm a señor, or whatever else you think. say, fellows, come here," commanded stacy. "well, what's the matter?" demanded ned, approaching, followed by the other boys. "this is it," announced stacy, with a wave of his hand toward the mexican. "what is it?" sniffed ned. "this." "chunky, what are you getting at?" questioned walter. "perhaps this gentleman will know where we may find our guide," interrupted the professor, coming up. "señor, do you know one juan--" "yes, he knows him," grinned stacy. "he's very well acquainted with the gentleman." "then where may we find this juan "that's juan--that's your guide," stacy informed the professor. "you--are you the guide?" "si, señor." the professor opened his eyes in amazement. the burro, on the other hand, stood with nose to the ground sound asleep, oblivious to all that was taking place about him. "why didn't you make yourself known--why haven't you helped us to unload?" demanded the professor in an irritated tone. "me no peon. me guide." "he's a guide," explained stacy. "guides don't work, you know, professor. they are just ornaments. he and the burro are going to pose for our amusement." the boys laughed heartily. professor zepplin uttered an exclamation of impatience. "sir, if you are going with this outfit you will be expected to do your share of the labor. there are no drones in our hive." "no; we all work," interposed stacy. "and some of us are eaters," added ned. juan shrugged his shoulders and showed his pearly teeth. at the professor's command, however, juan stepped off the burro without in the least disturbing that animal's dreams and lazily began collecting the baggage as directed by the professor. after the equipment had been sorted into piles, the boys did it up into neat packs which they skillfully strapped to the backs of the burros of their pack train. juan, lost in contemplation of their labors, forgot his own duties until reminded of them by stacy, who gave the guide a violent poke in the ribs with his thumb. juan started; then, with a sheepish grin, became busy again. it was no small task to get their belongings in packs preparatory to the journey; but late in the afternoon the boys had completed their task. they had had nothing to eat since early morning. but they were too anxious to be on their way to wait for dinner in town. after making some necessary purchases in the village, the procession finally started away across the plain. "you'll never get anywhere with that sleepy burro, juan," decided the professor, with a shake of the head. "him go fast," grinned the mexican. "so can a crab on dry land," jeered ned. just then the guide utter a series of shrill "yi-yi's," whereupon the lads were treated to an exhibition such as they never had seen before. the sleepy burro projected his head straight out before him, while his tail, raised to a level with his back, stuck straight out behind him. the burro, seemingly imbued with sudden life, was off at a pace faster than a man could run. it was most astonishing. the boys gazed in amazement; then burst out in a chorus of approving yells. but it was the rider, even more than the burro, that excited their mirth. his long legs were working like those of a jumping jack, and though astride of the burro, juan was walking at a lively pace. it reminded one of the way men propelled the old-fashioned velocipedes years before. a cloud of dust rose behind the odd outfit as the party drew out on the plains. their ponies were started at a gallop, which was necessary to enable them to keep up with the pace that juan had set. "here! here!" shouted the professor. juan never looked back. "we're leaving the pack train. slow down!" laughingly the lads pulled their ponies down to a walk; then halted entirely to enable the burros to catch up with them. by this time the pack animals had become so familiar with their work that little attention was necessary on the part of the boys. now and then one more sleepy than the rest would go to sleep and pause to doze a few minutes on the trail. this always necessitated all hands stopping to wait until the sleeper could be rounded up and driven up to the bunch. juan had disappeared. they were discussing the advisability of sending one of the boys out after him when he was seen returning. but at what a different gait! his burro was dragging itself along with nose to the ground, while juan himself was slouching on its back half asleep. "you must have a motor inside that beast," grinned tad. "him go some, señor?" "him do," answered stacy, his solemn eyes taking in the sleepy burro wonderingly. "better not waste your energy performing," advised the professor. "we shall need what little you have. we will make camp here, as i see there is a spring near by. help the boys unpack the burros." "si, señor," answered the guide, standing erect and permitting his burro to walk from under him. with shouts and songs the lads, in great good humor, went to work at once, pitching their camp for the first time on the plains of new mexico. there was much to be done, and twilight was upon them before they had advanced far enough to begin cooking their evening meal. chapter ii in the zuni foothills a sudden wail from the guide attracted the attention of the party to him at once. "now what's the matter?" demanded tad, hurrying to him. the guide had thrown himself prone upon the ground and was groaning as if in great agony, offering no reply to the question. "are you sick?" "si, si, señor," moaned juan. "where?" "estomago--mucho malo." "your stomach?" "he's got a pain under his apron," diagnosed stacy solemnly. "been working too hard," suggested ned. in the meantime the guide was rolling and twisting on the ground, glancing appealingly from one to the other of them. "professor, hadn't you better fetch your medicine case and dose him up?" asked tad. "yes, i'll attend to him." "give him a good dose while you are about it," urged ned. "something that will cure his laziness at the same time." the professor brought his case; then, remembering something else in his kit that he wanted, he laid the case down and hurried back to his tent. however, stacy opened the case, selecting a bottle, apparently at random, drew the cork and held the bottle under juan's nose. "smell of this, my son. it'll cure your estomago on the run." "be careful, chunky, what are you doing there?" warned tad. "you shouldn't fool with the medicines. you--" his further remarks were cut short by a sudden yell of terror and pain from juan. the guide leaped to his feet choking, gasping, while the tears ran down his cheeks as he danced about as if suddenly bereft of his senses. "now you've gone and done it," growled ned. "he never moved so fast in his life, i'll wager." juan was running in a circle now, shrieking and moaning. professor zepplin approached them in a series of leaps. he could not imagine what new disaster had overtaken the lazy mexican. "here, here, here, what's the trouble now?" he demanded sternly. "stop that howling!" "chunky's been prescribing for your patient in your absence," ned informed him. the professor grabbed the wild guide by the collar, giving him a vigorous shake. when he released his grip, juan sank to the ground in a heap, moaning weakly. "what's that you say? stacy prescribed--" "i--i let him smell of the bottle," explained stacy guiltily. "what bottle?" stacy slowly picked up the offending bottle and handed it to the professor. "ammonia! boy, you might have put his eyes out! never let this occur again. remember, you are not to touch the medicines under any circumstances whatever!" "yes, sir," agreed chunky meekly, while ned rector strolled away, shaking with laughter. "drink," begged the patient. "fetch him some water," directed professor zepplin. "no, no, no, señor," protested juan, gesticulating protestingly. "what do you want?" "guess he wants something stronger than water," suggested ned. "si, si, si," agreed the guide, showing his white teeth in an approving grin. "you won't get anything stronger than that in this outfit, unless you cook yourself some coffee," muttered tad. "that's what's the matter with him," decided chunky, who had been observing the sick man keenly. "guess we drew a prize when we got juan," announced walter. "give him some medicine, anyway," urged ned. "he is sick--let him take the dose." "let him have the worst you've got in your case, professor," added tad, with a laugh. a grim smile played about the corners of professor zepplin's mouth as he ran his fingers over the bottles in his medicine case. finally, selecting one that seemed to fit the particular ailment of his patient, he directed chunky to fetch a spoon. by this time juan was protesting volubly that he was "all better" and did not need the medicine. the professor gave no heed to the fellow's protestations. "open your mouth," he commanded. juan shut his teeth tightly together. "open your mouth!" commanded the professor sternly. "we want no sick men about this camp. it will fix you in a minute." but the guide steadfastly refused to separate the white teeth. "boys, open his mouth while i pour the medicine down him," gritted the professor. they required no urging to do the professor's bidding. tad and ned ranged themselves on either side of the patient, while chunky sat on the guide's feet. almost before he was aware of their purpose the boys had pried his jaws open and into the opening thus made professor zepplin dropped the concoction he had mixed. the effect was electrical. juan leaped to his feet as if elevated by springs, uttering a yell that might have been heard a mile or more on the open plain. but juan did not run in a circle this time. acting upon the mathematical theory that a straight line is the shortest distance between two points, the guide made a break for the spring, howling like a madman. the pony rider boys looked on in amazement. juan fell on his knees before the spring, dipping up the water in his hands. "what did you give him, professor?" grinned tad. "hot drops!" answered the man of science tersely. "not that stuff you fed me when i ate too much honey in the rockies?" questioned stacy. "the same." "wow! i had ten drops and it felt like a pailful when it got inside of me." "how much did you give juan?" questioned walter. "twenty drops," answered professor zepplin without the suspicion of a smile on his face this time. the pony rider boys added their yells to those of the guide, only with a difference. the more juan drank of the spring water, the more did the hot drops burn. all at once he sprang up and started for the plain. "catch him!" commanded the professor. with a shout the lads started in pursuit. they overhauled the guide some twenty rods from camp, he having proved himself fleet of foot. then again, the fire within him perhaps helped to increase his natural speed. "i burn! i burn!" he wailed as the boys grabbed and laughingly hustled him back to camp. "you'll burn worse than that if you ever ask for liquor in this outfit," retorted ned. "we don't use the stuff, nor do we allow anyone around us who does." "how do you feel now?" grinned the professor as they came up to him with their prisoner. "he's got a whole camp-fire in his little estomago," announced chunky solemnly, which sally elicited a loud laugh from the boys. "give him some olive oil," directed the professor. "i think the lesson has been sufficiently burned into him." but considerable persuasion was necessary to induce juan to take a spoonful of the professor's medicine. he had already had one sample of it and he did not want another. yet after some urging he tasted of the oil, at first gingerly; then he took it down at a gulp. "ah!" he breathed. "is it good?" grinned tad. "si. much burn, much burn," he explained, rubbing his stomach. "think you want some liquor still, juan, or would you prefer another dose of my magic drops?" "no, no, no, señor!" cried juan, hastily moving away from professor zepplin. "very well; any time when you feel a longing for strong drink, just help yourself to the hot drops," said the professor, striding away to his tent, medicine case in hand. the guide, a much chastened man, set about assisting in getting the evening meal, but the hot drops still remained with him, making their presence known by occasional hot twinges. supper that night was an enjoyable affair, though it was observed that the guide did not eat heartily. "do you think he really had a pain?" asked walter confidentially, leaning toward ned. "pain? no. he wanted something else." "and he got it," added stacy, nodding solemnly. a chorus of "he dids" ran around the table, stopping only when they reached juan himself. chapter iii indians! "juan, did you see two men get off the train at bluewater yesterday when we did? one of them had a big, broad sombrero like mine?" asked tad, riding up beside the guide next day while they were crossing the range. "si." "know them?" "si," he replied, holding up one finger. "you mean you know one of them?" the guide nodded. "who is he?" "señor lasar." "lasar. what's his other name?" "juan not know." "did they stop in the village?" "no. señors get ponies, ride over mountain," and the guide pointed lazily to the south-west. "where did they go? do you know?" juan shrugged his shoulders, indicating that he did not. "what is mr. lasar's business?" again the guide answered with a shrug. he seemed disinclined to discuss the man in whom tad butler was so much interested. up to that time the lad had been too fully occupied with other matters to think of the conversation he and stacy had overheard on the atlantic and pacific train. now it came back to him with full force. "know anybody by the name of marquand in this country?" he asked, taking another tack. juan said he did not, and then tad gave up his questioning. "i was asking juan about the two men who sat ahead of us in the train yesterday," he explained to chunky, as the fat boy joined them. "wha'd he say?" "one is named lasar, but he did not know the other one. i can't help believing that those fellows were plotting to do some one a great injury." "so do i," agreed chunky. "i guess we had better not say anything about it to the others, but we'll try to find out who this man lasar is, and who mr. marquand is. then we'll decide what to do next." their further conversation was interrupted by the voice of the professor, announcing that they would halt for their noonday meal. all other thoughts left the mind of stacy brown when the question of food was raised. he quickly slipped from his pony, running back to hurry the burros along so as to hasten the meal for which he was yearning. only one burro was unpacked, as it was the intention of the outfit to push on soon after finishing their lunch. while the guide, under ned's direction, was making it ready, tad and chunky strolled off to climb a high rock that they had seen in the vicinity and which, they thought, might give them a good view of the plains to the southwest on the other side of the range. they had promised to be back in half an hour, but circumstances arose that caused them to delay their return considerably. after threshing through the bushes, over sharp rocks and through miniature canyons, they gained at last the object of their quest. the distance had been further than they had imagined. "we'll have to make a short trip of it up to the top and back," said tad. "it has taken us almost all our time to get here. but we'll have a look, anyway." they soon gained the top of the rock, which stood some twenty feet higher than the crest of the mountain on which it rested. "isn't this great?" exclaimed tad. "might think we were in the rockies." "or the ozarks." "i hope we don't have as much trouble here as we did in that range. our guide is not much better than the shawnee we had for a time on that trip. i can't see the foothills, but the plain on beyond is pretty clear." "hope we don't have to chase all over the desert for water. i--" tad grasped his companion by the sleeve and jerked him violently to the rock. "what's up? what's the matter with you?" protested stacy. "keep still, some one's coming." the lad's keen ears had caught a sound which stacy had entirely failed to hear. it was the sound of horses making their way through the bushes. there were several in the party, tad could tell by the sounds, and having in mind the man lasar, he thought he might perhaps learn something of advantage by remaining quietly on the top of the rock. all this he explained in a few brief words to his companion. then both boys crouched low, peering over the cliff, having first removed their sombreros. what they saw, a few moments later, surprised them very much indeed. the horsemen in single file suddenly appeared out of a draw to the east and headed for the rock where the lads were in hiding. "look! look!" exclaimed tad in a low, suppressed voice. "i-n-d-i-a-n-s!" breathed chunky. they seemed to rise right up out of the ground, as one by one they emerged from the draw to the more level rocks that lay about the hiding place of the pony rider boys. "i wonder who they are?" questioned tad. "they look savage. i wonder if they'd hurt us, tad?" "i don't know. i do know, though, that i wouldn't trust those ugly faces one second. i thought the blackfeet were savage, but they're not to be compared with these redskins." a full dozen of them had, by this time, come into view. they sat huddled on their ponies, their painted faces just appearing above the gayly colored blankets in which they were enveloped. "they must be cold," muttered chunky. "shouldn't think they'd need bed clothes around them this time of the year." "not so loud, chunky," warned tad. "know what they are, tad?" "i wouldn't say positively, but somehow they look to me like apaches." tad's surmise was correct. the twelve warriors were members of the savage band that had in past years caused the government so much trouble and bloodshed. "they're off their reservation, if they are apaches," whispered the lad. "what does that indicate, tad?" "i don't know. they may be on the warpath; then, again, they may be down here after game. i'm not sure even, if there is any game here. we'll lie still until they get by us. that's the best plan; don't you think so?" "yes." "lie perfectly still, chunky. the little bushes in front of us will screen us, providing we don't move about. indians have quick eyes, though they do look as if they were half asleep." "they're getting off their horses, tad. what does that mean?" "i don't know." tad peered through the bushes, noting every move that the redskins made. at first he thought they had discovered him and were about to surround the rock and take him prisoner. but he soon saw that such was not their intention. tethering their ponies, the indians cast their blankets on the ground, after having first picked out a suitable place. "they're making camp," whispered tad. one after another of the savages took out his pipe, and soon the odor from burning tobacco was wafted to the nostrils of the hidden pony rider boys. "guess they're going to get some dinner," decided stacy, observing that the strangers were gathering brush. this was the case. the ponies had been staked where they could browse on the green leaves, and now their masters were about to satisfy their own appetites. tad groaned. "what is it?" questioned stacy apprehensively. "they will be here half of the day at least. i know a little about indians, having been captured by them once. the difference is that my indians were in a hurry to get somewhere. these fellows seem to have all the time in the world. they're waiting--killing time for some reason. you'll see, after they finish their dinner, that they will smoke some more, then lie down for a catnap." "and--and what'll we be doing?" "we'll be hiding on the top of this rock, chunky." "wish i had my rifle." "lucky for both of us that you haven't." the lads had been talking in whispers, but the words fairly froze in their mouths, when, upon glancing down they saw the eyes of a savage fixed upon them. "on your life, don't move a muscle, chunky," whispered tad, as soon as he had recovered his wits. tad was not sure that the indian saw them, yet there could be no doubt that the savage eyes were burning into their very own. soon, however, the indian dropped his glances to his pipe bowl and the boys breathed a sigh of relief. "don't move yet, chunky," directed tad. it was a wise command, for almost instantly the indian glanced in their direction again, and, as if satisfied, emptied his pipe and stretched out on his blanket. the two lads breathed sighs of relief. "did he see us, do you think, tad?" "no. at first he thought he saw something up here, but he changed his mind after a little, as you observed." by this time the redskins were cooking their midday meal, and the odor nearly drove stacy frantic. it made him realize how hungry he was. he pulled a leaf from a bush and began chewing it in hopes of wearing off the keen edge of his appetite. "how long we got to stay here?" he demanded. "i've a good notion to get up and walk back to camp. they don't dare hurt us." "lie still!" commanded his companion sternly. "i have a plan that we may be able to put into operation. we can't do it now, though." the lads waited, tad almost with the patience of an indian, chunky ill at ease and restless. "can't you lie still? what ails you?" "my stomach's fighting my appetite. hear 'em growl at each other?" "s-h-h-h." "i don't care. i'd 'bout as soon be scalped as to starve to death." the braves had by now filled their stomachs, gulping their food down without the formality of chewing it at all. stacy's amazement was partly mixed with admiration as he observed the food disappear with such rapidity. now the braves had begun puffing at their pipes. after a time, one by one laid down his smoking bowl and stretched himself out for a nap, just as tad had said they would. the savages were spread out so that they had a very good view of three sides of the rock on which the two lads were perched, but the fourth side was hidden from them. tad decided that, as the indians showed no intention of moving, they were going to remain where they were until night. "i want you to follow me, chunky," butler said, determined to try his plan. "you will have to move absolutely without a sound. look before you put down foot or hand. be sure where you place them. we'll wait a few minutes until they're sound asleep." "what you going to do--sneak?" "try to get back to camp. the others will be coming along looking for us pretty soon, if we don't get away. the indians might resent being disturbed, and perhaps make trouble." "tell me when you're ready, then." some minutes had elapsed and the lads could plainly hear the snores of their besiegers. "now!" whispered tad. at the same time he began crawling toward the edge of the rock at their rear. stacy was close upon his heels. the side which the boys were to descend was much more precipitous than the one they had come up by, but offered no very great difficulties for two nimble boys. proceeding with infinite caution, they gained the ground without a mishap. "we'll walk straight on in this direction, until we get out of sight; then we can turn to the left and hurry to the camp." stacy nodded. as he did so his eyes were off the ground for a few seconds. those few seconds proved his undoing. the lad stepped on a stone that gave way under him, turning his ankle almost upon its side. "ouch!" yelled chunky. "now you've done it," snapped tad. "we'll have the whole pack of them down on us. can you walk?" "i--i don't know. i'll try." "take hold of my hand. you've got to run." the redskins were on their feet in an instant. a few bounds carried them around the rock whence the exclamation had come. by this time tad had dragged his companion into the bushes but not quickly enough to elude the keen eyes of the savages. the indians uttered a short, sharp cry, then aimed their rifles at the figures of the two fleeing pony rider boys. tad saw the movement. he threw himself prone upon the ground, jerking chunky down beside him. they were screened from the eyes of the enemy, for the moment. "crawl! crawl!" commanded tad. on hands and feet the boys began running rapidly over the ground, on down into a narrow gulch. if they could gain the opposite side they would be safe, as it was unlikely that the indians would follow them there. to do so, the boys were obliged to cross an open space. they had just reached it, when their pursuers appeared behind them. once more the indians raised their rifles, their fingers exerting a gentle pressure on the triggers. chapter iv on the trail of juan "look out! they're going to shoot!" cried tad. the lads quickly rolled in opposite directions. "hallo-o, tad!" the call was in the stentorian voice of professor zepplin, to which ned rector added a shout of his own. fearing that some ill had befallen tad and stacy, the others had started out after them. following them came walter and the lazy mexican. "we're down here! look out for the indians!" warned tad in a loud voice. "you're crazy!" jeered ned. "come out of that. what ails you fellows? the dinner's stone cold and professor zepplin is all in the stew." tad scrambled to his feet, with a quick glance at the top of the ridge, where, but a moment before, half a dozen rifles had been leveled at chunky and himself. not an indian was in sight. tad was amazed. he could not understand it. grabbing stacy by an arm he hurried him up the other side of the gulch, where they quickly joined their companions. "what does this mean?" demanded the professor. "hurry! we must get out of this. it's indians!" "they--they wanted to scalp us," interjected stacy. "but you runned away, eh? brave man!" chuckled ned. "indians! there are no indians here. "i'll tell you about it when we get to camp. they were just about to shoot at us when you appeared up here." "'pache bad injun," vouchsafed juan. "were those apaches?" questioned tad. the guide shrugged his shoulders. "i was sure they were, though i do not think i ever saw an apache before. they don't live about here, do they, juan?" "'pache off reservation. him go dance. firewater! ugh!" making a motion as if scalping himself. "i'm hungry," called stacy. "yes; so am i," added tad. "but i think we had better not wait to eat. we can take a bite in the saddle while we are moving." stacy protested loudly at this, but tad's judgment prevailed with the professor, after the boys had related their experience in detail. all hands began at once to pack up the few belongings that had been taken from the burro, and once more they started on their way, moving somewhat more rapidly than had been the case in the early part of the day. "i don't suppose there will be much use in our hurrying, professor," said the lad, after they had been going a short time. "i know enough about indians to be sure those fellows will follow us until they satisfy themselves who and what we are. they are up to some mischief, and they thought we were spying on them. otherwise, i do not believe they would have tried to shoot us. don't know as you could blame them much." "i am inclined to agree with you, master tad. it will be good policy not to pay any attention to them if we discover any of them. just go right along about our business as if we didn't see them at all." "and you're not likely to," grinned tad. "where did you say they were going, juan?" "'pache, go dance." "he means they're bound for a pow-wow somewhere. that explains it," nodded the lad. the rest of the day passed without incident. not a sign of the indians did the boys see. as a matter of fact, the roving redskins were as anxious to keep out of the sight of the pony riders as the boys were to have them do so. the party enjoyed the trip over the mountains immensely; and, when, a few days later, they made camp in the foothills on the southern side of the zuni range, the boys declared that they had never had a better time. professor zepplin decided that they would remain in that camp for a couple of days, as he desired to make some scientific investigations and collect geological specimens. this suited the rest of the party, who were free to make as many side trips as they wished, into mountain fastnesses or over the plains to the south of them. early in the day the guide asked permission to go away for an hour or so. they noticed that he had been uneasy, apparently anxious to get away for some reason unknown to them. "he's got something up his sleeve," decided tad, eyeing juan narrowly. "you may go, but we shall expect you back in time for the noon meal," the professor told him. "give me money," requested the guide. "certainly. let me see, you have worked a week. i gave you five dollars when we started out. you were to have ten dollars a week while you were with us. that leaves five dollars due you," announced the professor. "me work week. me want ten dollars." "but, my man, i've already paid you five dollars, which pays you for half of the week. here is the five dollars for the other half. that's all i owe you. do you understand?" "si señor. but juan work one week," protested the guide. "let me show him," interrupted tad. he drew ten marks in the sand with a stick, separating them into two groups of five. "here are ten marks, juan. we'll call them ten dollars. understand?" "si." "well, here are the first five marks in the dirt that the professor paid you. how many does that leave?" "five," gleamed the white teeth. "right. go to the head of the class," interrupted stacy. "chunky, you keep out of this. you'll mix him up." "guess somebody's mixed up already," retorted the fat boy. "five is right," continued tad. "five dollars is what we owe you. is that clear now?" "si, señor. but i work one week. juan earn ten dollar--" "i'll tell you what to do," interjected ned. "start all over again. you begin work to-day; juan, and we'll pay you ten dollars for every week from now on. you haven't worked for us before to-day, you know." the lads laughed heartily, but juan merely showed his teeth, protesting that he had earned ten dollars. "here," said tad, thrusting a five dollar bill at him. "you take this. it's all we owe you. if you see any of your friends, you ask them how much we owe you. they'll tell you the professor is right." juan took the money greedily, still protesting that they owed him ten dollars, because he had worked a week. mounting his burro, he rode away; at once falling into the marvelous speed that he had shown them on the first day out. the lads shouted with laughter as they saw burro and rider disappear among the foothills, both running for all they were worth, juan uttering his shrill "yi-yi's," as he pedaled the ground. that was the last they saw of the mexican guide that day. the rest of the day was employed in games, trick riding, rope throwing and the like. stacy found some horned frogs, which were of considerable interest to the boys. chunky made the discovery that the frogs liked to have their backs scratched with a stick, and the frogs of the foothills probably never spent such a happy day in all their lives as chunky and his stick provided for them that afternoon. late in the day, it dawned upon the boys that juan was still absent. they consulted with the professor about this, upon his return from a collecting trip along the foot of the mountains. but the professor was sure juan would be in in time for supper. such was not the case, however. after the meal had been finished tad announced his intention of riding off in the direction juan had gone, to see if the guide could not be found. "i'll go with you," announced stacy. "all right; come along," said tad, tightening his saddle girths. "we'll have a fine gallop." "be careful that you do not get lost, boys," warned the professor. "can't get lost. all we have to do is to follow the foothills. we shall probably find juan and his burro sound asleep on an ant-hill somewhere. he's positively the laziest human being i ever set eyes on." "better take along five dollars to bait him with," suggested ned. "i've got my stick," said stacy. "i'll tickle the back of the burro and its rider, just as i did the frogs." "you try that on the burro and he'll kick you into the middle of next week," warned walter. "yes," laughed tad. "did you see him kick when juan tossed a tomato can against his heels this morning? kicked the can clear over a tree and out of sight." "he'd make a good batter for the chillicothe baseball team," suggested chunky. "he'd be the only real batter in the nine. they could turn him loose on the umpire when they didn't need him on the diamond. wouldn't it be funny to see some umpires kicked over the high board fence?" "come along if you are going with me." stacy swung into his saddle, and, galloping off, caught up with tad, who was in a hurry to get back to camp before dark. "keep your eyes to the right, chunky, and i'll look on the left. if you see anything that looks like a lazy mexican and a lazy burro, just call out." "i'll run over them, that's what i'll do," declared the fat boy. "hello, there's a fellow on horseback." "i see him." the lads changed their course a little so as to head off the solitary horseman, who was loping along in something of a hurry. "howdy," greeted the lad. "evening, stranger. where you hail from and where to?" "we're in camp back here. i'm looking for our guide, a mexican named juan. he went away this morning and we haven't seen him since." "and you won't so long as his money holds out," laughed the horseman. "then, you've seen him? will you tell me where i may find him?" "sure thing, boy, but i reckon you'd better not be going any further?" "why not?" "he's over yonder, gambling with some renegade apaches." "apaches!" exclaimed the lads in one voice. "those must be the same fellows we saw up in the range. but how do you suppose he knew they were over there?" "he? those greasers know everything except what they ought to know--especially if there's any games of chance going on." "will you please tell me how we can reach the place? we want to make a very early start in the morning, and i don't like to take a chance of his not getting back in time." "if ye're bound to go, keep right along the edge of the foothills. you can't miss the place. better keep away if you don't want to be getting into a mix-up. there's going to be lively doings over there pretty soon," warned the stranger. "how do you mean? i've seen indians before. guess they won't hurt us if they let juan pow-wow with them." "this is different, young man. they're going to hold a fire dance to-night--" "a fire dance?" "yes." "i thought they weren't allowed to do that any more?" "they ain't, but they will. there's a bunch of sabobas from over the line. they're the original fire eaters. they come over here kind of secret like. then there's pueblos, 'paches, and bad ones from every tribe within a hundred miles of here. been making smoke signals from the mountains for more'n a week past--" "i saw that yesterday and thought it was intended as a signal." "right." "but you don't think there will be any danger in just going after our guide, do you?" "boy, they'll be letting blood before morning, even if the government doesn't drop down on the picnic and clean out the whole bunch of them. there is sure to be trouble before morning." "thank you," said tad, touching his pony; "going on?" questioned the horseman. "yes; i'm going to fetch juan," replied tad, touching spurs to his pony and galloping away, followed by stacy brown. the horseman sat his saddle watching the receding forms of the two pony rider boys until they disappeared behind a butte in the foothills. "well, if those kids ain't got the sand!" he muttered. chapter v a daring act "if you don't want to go with me you may go back, chunky. perhaps one would not be as likely to get into trouble as two. you can find your way, can't you?" "i go back? think i'm a tenderfoot? huh! guess i ain't afraid of any cheap wild west indians. i'm going with you, tad." "very well; but see to it that you keep in the background. you have a habit of getting into trouble on the slightest provocation." "so do you," retorted stacy. the ponies had been urged to their best pace by this time. twilight had fallen and darkness would settle over them in a very short time now, though a new moon hovered pale and weak in the blue sky above. tad knew this, so he did not worry about the return trip. "we should be sighting the place pretty soon," he muttered. "i see a light," announced stacy. "where?" "to the right. over that low butte there." "yes; that's so. i see it now. you have sharp eyes," laughed tad. "i can see when there's anything to see." "and eat when there's food to be had," added tad. "think those are the indians that wanted to shoot us, tad?" he asked, with a trace of apprehension in his voice. tad glanced at his companion keenly; "getting cold feet, chunky?" "no!" roared the fat boy. "i beg your pardon," grinned tad. "i didn't mean to insult you." "better not. look out that you don't get chilblains on your own feet. may need a hot mustard bath yourself before you get through." they rounded the butte. a full quarter of a mile ahead of them flickered a large fire, with several smaller blazes twinkling here and there about it. shadowy figures were observed moving back and forth, some with rapid movements, others in slow, methodical steps. "there must be a lot of them, tad." "looks that way. i wonder where we shall find the guide." both boys fell silent for a time, and as they drew nearer to the scene pulled their ponies down to a walk. tad concluded to make a detour half way round the camp in order to get a clump of bushes that he had observed between them and the redskins. from that point of vantage he would be able to get a closer view, and perhaps locate the man for whom he was looking. riding in, they were soon swallowed up in the shadows. "hold my pony a moment," directed tad, slipping to the ground. "where are you going?" "nowhere, just this minute. i'm going to look around." the lad peered through the bushes until, uttering a low exclamation, he turned to his companion. "i see him. he's over on the other side--" "who? juan?" "yes. now i want you to remain right here. don't move away. i'll tie my pony so he won't give you any trouble. sit perfectly quiet, and if any indians come along don't bother them. i'm going around the outside, so i don't have to pass through the crowd, though they seem too busy to notice anyone." tad slipped away in the shadows until he came to a spot opposite where he had caught a glimpse of the lazy mexican. he discovered juan in the center of a circle of dusky indians who were squatting on the ground. some of the braves were clothed in nondescript garments, while others were attired in gaudy blankets. these were the gamblers. at that moment their efforts were concentrated on winning from juan the wages of his first week's work with the pony rider boys. a blanket had been spread over the ground, and on this they were wagering small amounts on the throw of the dice, a flickering camp-fire near by dimly lighting up the blanket and making the reading of the dice a difficult matter for any but the keenest of eyes. the sing-song calls of the players added to the weirdness of the scene. tad waited long enough to observe that the guide lost nearly every time, the stolid-faced red men raking in his coins with painful regularity. "it's a wonder he has a cent left. but they're not playing for very large amounts, as near as i can tell." each time the mexican lost he would utter a shrill "si, si," then lured by the hope that dame fortune would favor him, reached greedily for the next throw. "it's time for me to do something," muttered tad. stepping boldly from his cover, he walked up to the edge of the circle. "juan!" he called sharply. "si," answered the mexican, without looking up. "juan!" this time the word was uttered in a more commanding voice. "you come with me!" the guide, oblivious to all beyond the terrible fascination of the game he was playing, gave no heed to tad butler's stern command. three times did tad call to him, but without result. one of the red men cast an angry glance in the tad's direction, and then returned to his play. without an instant's hesitation, tad sprang over into the center of the circle, and grasping juan by an ear, jerked him to his feet. red hands fell to belts and dark faces scowled menacingly at the intruder. "you come with me, juan!" juan sought to jerk away, but under the strong pull on his ear, he did not find it advisable to force himself from his captor's grip. "you ought to be ashamed of yourself. you're lucky if professor zepplin doesn't give you another dose of hot drops for this. i suppose these indians sat down to rob you," growled tad. "no, no, no," protested juan. by this time the indian gamblers had leaped to their feet, an ugly light in their eyes that boded ill for the pony rider boy who had interrupted them in the process of fleecing the mexican. with one accord they barred the way in a solid human wall. tad found himself hemmed in on all sides. it had been easy to gain an entrance to the circle, but getting out of it was another matter. "this man belongs to me," he said with as much courage in his tone as he was able to command. "you will please step aside and let us go. you're breaking the law. if you offer any resistance i'll have the government officers after you in short order." he could not have said a worse thing under the circumstances. at first they took him for a spy, possibly a government spy. now they were sure of it, for had not the lad told them so himself? with a growl, one who appeared to be the most important personage in the group drew his sheath knife and sprang straight at the slender figure of tad butler. tad acted without an instant's hesitation. stepping aside quickly; he cleverly avoided the knife-thrust. at the same instant, while the indian was off his balance, not yet having recovered from the lunge, the pony rider boy's fist and the indian's jaw met in sudden collision. the impact of the blow might have been heard more than a rod away. the red man's blanket dropped from his shoulders; he staggered backward, made a supreme effort to pull himself together, then dropped in a heap at the feet of the boy who had felled him. without waiting for the astonished red gamblers to recover their wits, tad grasped an arm of the mexican and sprang away into the bushes. he had done a serious thing, even though in self-protection. he had knocked down an apache brave with his fist. the sting of that blow would rest upon the savage jaw until the insult was wiped out by the victim himself. chapter vi the fire dance of the red men the indians made a sudden move to pursue the lad who had done so daring a thing. one of their number restrained them, pointing to the fallen brave, as much as to say, "revenge is for him!" with a shrug of their shoulders the indians sank down and resumed their game as stoically as before. they gave no further heed to the unconscious apache, who still lay just outside the circle where he had been knocked out by tad's blow. "hurry! hurry!" commanded the lad, fairly dragging his companion along. "they'll be after us in a minute." yet before the minute had elapsed tad had halted suddenly, his wondering eyes fixed upon the scene that was being enacted before him. about a pit of red hot coals, naked save for the breech clouts they wore, swayed the bodies of half-a-dozen powerful braves. they were the fire dancers and tad was gazing upon a scene that probably never will be seen again in this country--the last of the fire dances--a secret dance of which it was to be supposed the government agents knew nothing. back and forth waved the copper-colored line, right up to the edge of the pit of glowing coals, uttering a weird chant, which was taken up by others who were not in the dance. the voices of the chanters grew louder, their excitement waxed higher, as the thrill of song and dance pulsed through their veins. all at once, tad was horrified to see one of the dancers leap into the air, uttering a mighty shriek. while still clear of the ground the dancer's body turned, then he dove head first into the bed of hot coals. he was out in an instant. the chant rose higher as the remaining dancers followed the leader into the burning pit and out of it. so quickly did they move that they seemed not to feel the heat, and from tad's point of vantage, he was sure that none was burned in the slightest. juan tried to pull away. but tad held him in a firm grip. now that the dancers had passed through the fire unscathed, others followed them, some no more than touching the live coals, then bounding out on the other side of the pit; others remaining long enough to roll swiftly across the glowing bed. excitement was rapidly waxing higher and higher. the red men were in a dangerous mood. it boded ill for the paleface who sought to interfere with their carnival at this moment. "come!" whispered tad in a low, tense voice. "we've got to get out of this mighty quick! chunky's probably half scared to death, too." tad did not go far. he had scarcely taken half a dozen steps when a frenzied yell, a series of shrill shrieks sounded in the air. the sounds seemed to come from all directions at once. "what's that?" "me not know." "somebody's running a pony. i hear it coming. it's headed right for that bunch of crazy savages. probably an indian gone mad." it was not an indian who was the cause of this new disturbance, as the lad discovered almost immediately afterward. "yip, yip! y-e-o-w! w-o-w!" the yells were uttered in the shrill voice of stacy brown. "it's chunky!" groaned tad. "here's trouble in earnest!" they never knew just how it happened, and chunky could not tell them, but in all probability the excitement had been too much for the fat boy! he had moved closer when the dancing began, and the fever of it got into his veins until his excitement had reached a pitch beyond his control. with a series of howls and yells, the fat boy drove the rowels of the spurs deep into his pony's aides. the animal dashed forward at a break-neck pace. stacy headed straight for the glowing pit, yelling with every leap of the pony. tad gazed spellbound. he seemed powerless to move. he had been deeply affected by the scenes he had seen; but this was different. the lad held his breath. reaching the edge of the pit, stacy's pony rose in the air, clearing the bed of coals in a long, curving leap. two red men had just risen from their fiery bath. the hind hoofs of the pony caught and bowled them over. "run to the camp and get help! take my pony! ride for your life! don't lose a second!" gasped tad, giving the lazy mexican a shove that sent him stumbling until he had measured his length upon the ground. juan picked himself up slowly; and, crawling away into the bushes, lay down to rest or hide. stacy's pony landed fairly in the center of a bunch of half-clothed savages; some of whom went down under the pony when it landed on them so unexpectedly. the next instant the fat boy had been jerked from the animal's back, to which he was clinging desperately. with a yell the redskins hurled him toward the fire. but the force of the throw had not been quite strong enough. stacy landed on the edge of the pit, rolling half into it, the upper part of his body being on the ground to which he was hanging, yelling lustily. his shod feet were in the fire, however, but as yet he did not realize that his clothes were burning. tad butler sprang quickly from his hiding place. "crawl out!" he roared. "you'll be burned alive!" "i--i can't. i fell in," piped stacy, all his bravery gone now. tad leaped across the intervening space and bounded to the side of his companion. "ouch! i'm on fire!" shrieked stacy. tad grabbed and hauled him from his dangerous position. one of tad's feet slipped in while he was doing so. by this time the clothes of both lads had begun to smoulder. "run for it! better be burned than scalped!" shouted tad. holding to chunky's arm the pony rider boy started to run. he was tripped by a moccasined foot before they had gone ten feet. both boys fell headlong. ere they could rise half a dozen mad savages were upon them. the lads were jerked roughly to their feet, chunky shivering, tad pale but resolute. there was nothing that he could say or do to repair the damage that his companion had done. one whom the lad took to be a chief, from his head-dress and commanding appearance, pushed his way into the crowd about the two boys, hurling the red men aside with reckless sweeps of his powerful arms. "ugh!" he grunted, folding his arms and gazing sternly at the two prisoners. "who you?" tad explained as best he could. "why you do this?" "my friend here got excited," tad declared. "huh! lie!" tad's face burned. he could scarcely resist the impulse to resent the imputation that the savage had cast upon him. he conquered the inclination with an effort. "sir, we had no wish to interfere with you. we came here to get one of our men who had come here to gamble. if you will release us we will return to our camp and give you no further trouble. i promise you that." "t-h-h-h-at's so," chattered chunky. "keep still," whispered tad. "you'll get us into more trouble." the chief appeared to be debating the question in his own mind, when one of the men, whom tad recognized as a member of the gambling circle, whispered something to the chief. the chief's eyes blazed. uttering a succession of gutteral sounds, he gave some quick directions to the red men near him. "he makes a noise like a litter of pigs," muttered chunky. acting upon the chief's direction two braves grabbed the lads, and hurried them away, tad meanwhile watching for an opportunity to break away. had he been alone, he felt sure he could do so safely. but he would not leave his companion, of course. the apaches took the boys a short distance from the camp, planked them down roughly with their backs to a rock. "now, i wonder what next?" muttered tad. while one of the braves stood guard over them, the second trotted back to the camp, returning after a few minutes with a third savage who carried a rifle. the boys were sure then that they were to be shot. "huh! you run, brave shoot um!" warned one of the first pair, after which parting injunction the two captors strode away, leaving their companion to guard the boys. for a few moments the indian walked up and down in front of them, keeping his eyes fixed on the lads. tad noted that he walked rather unsteadily. finally, the guard sat down facing them, some ten feet away. "well, you've certainly gone and done it this time, chunky," said tad in a low voice. "what on earth made you do a crazy thing like that?" "i--i don't know." "well, it's too late for regrets. all we can do will be to make the best of our situation and watch for an opportunity to get away." for several minutes the boys sat gazing at the stolid figure before them. tad's mind was working, though his body was not. "make believe you're going to sleep, but don't overdo it," whispered tad. this was something that stacy could do, and he did it with such naturalness that tad could not repress a smile. "that indian is dazed from his excitement, and if we make him think we're asleep he's likely to relax his vigilance," mused tad, as the two boys gradually leaned closer together, soon to all appearances being wrapped in sleep. little by little the indian's head nodded. finally he toppled over to one side, the rifle lying across his feet. tad and chunky remained motionless. the indian snored. the boys waited. soon the snores became regular. the moment for action had arrived. tad pinched chunky. "huh! wat'cher want?" the fat boy had in reality been asleep. "for goodness sake, keep quiet!" begged tad in a whisper. "don't you know there's an indian with a gun guarding us? he's asleep. come, but be quiet if you value your life at all. anyway; remember that i want to save mine." stacy was wide awake now. together the lads crawled cautiously away, every nerve on the alert. over by the pit of live coals the uproar was, if any thing, louder than before. the boys gave that part of the camp a wide berth. "now get up and run!" commanded tad. "raise your feet off the ground, so that you won't fall over every pebble you come to." tad and chunky clasped hands and scurried through the bushes, making as little noise as possible, and rapidly putting considerable distance between them and the sleeping red man who had been set to watch them. "having lots of fun, ain't we, tad?" "fun! you're lucky if you get off with a whole scalp--" "wow!" exclaimed stacy. the lads brought up suddenly. at first they were not sure what had disturbed them, that is, tad was not. this time stacy had seen more clearly than his companion. "ugh!" grunted a voice right in front of them, and there before their amazed eyes stood an indian. to their imaginations, he was magnified until he appeared nearly as tall as the moonlit mountains in the background. for one hesitating instant the lads stood staring at the figure looming over them. with an angry growl the red man bounded toward them. he had recognized the boys and was determined that they should not escape him. it was stacy brown's wits that saved the situation this time. as the indian came at them the fat boy dived between the savage's naked legs, uttering a short, sharp yelp, for all the world just like that of a small dog attempting to frighten off a bigger antagonist. there could be only one result following chunky's unexpected tactics. mr. redskin flattened himself on the ground prone upon his face. somehow the fellow was slightly stunned by the fall, not having had time to save himself from a violent bump on the head. "run for it, chunky! he'll be after us in a second." the lads made a lively sprint for the open. in a moment, observing that they were not being followed, they halted, still in the shadows of the bushes. all at once tad stumbled over an object in the dark. at first he thought it was another indian, and both boys were about to run again, when the voice of the prostrate man caused them to laugh instead. "si, si, señor," muttered the fellow. "juan? it's juan! get up! you here yet?" they pulled the lazy guide to his feet, starting off with him, when all at once tad happened to think that one of the ponies was back there somewhere among the indians. "you stay here, and don't make a fool of yourself this time!" commanded tad. "where are you going?" "after your pony. you hang on to juan. i'll hold you responsible for him, chunky." "guess i can take care of a lazy mexican if i can floor a redskin," answered stacy proudly. but tad was off. he had not heard the last remark of his companion. in picking his way carefully around the camp to where he had seen a lot of ponies tethered, tad found a navajo blanket. he quickly possessed himself of it, throwing it over his head, wrapping himself in its folds. he was now in plain sight of the wild antics of the dancers, who, still mad with the excitement of the hour, were performing all manner of weird movements. for a moment, the lad squatted down to watch them. he had been there but a short time when a voice at his side startled him, and tad was about to take a fresh sprint when he realized that it was not the voice of a savage. "young man, you'd better light out of here while you've got the chance," said the stranger. turning sharply, tad discovered a man, who, like himself, was wrapped in a gaudy blanket. he was unable to see the man's face, which was hidden under the navajo. "who are you?" demanded the lad sharply. "i'm an indian agent. i only got wind of this proposed fire dance late this afternoon. these men will all be punished unless they return to their reservations peaceably. if they do, they will be let go with a warning." "do they know you're here?" "they? not much," laughed the agent. "but supposing they ask you a question?" "i can talk all the different tribal languages represented here. you'd better go now. where are you from?" tad explained briefly. "well, you have had a narrow escape tonight. if they catch you again they'll make short work of you." "they won't catch me. thank you and good-bye." "don't go that way. strike straight back; then you will have an open course." "i'm going after my companion's pony. i think i know where to find it," answered tad, wrapping the blanket about himself and stealing across an open moonlit space without attracting attention. the indian agent watched him curiously for a moment; then he rose and followed quickly after tad. "that boy is either a fool--which i don't think--or else he doesn't know the meaning of the word 'fear.'" tad did not find stacy's pony where he had expected. indian ponies were tethered all about, singly and in groups, while here and there one was left to graze where it would. "what sort of a looking pony is yours?" questioned the agent, coming up to him. "a roan." "then i think i know where he is. he was not like the horses in this vicinity, which attracted my attention to him." the agent led the way, in a roundabout course, to the south side of the camp, where they began looking over the animals. occasionally a redskin would pass them, but no one gave either the slightest heed. "here he is," whispered tad. "lead him off. don't mount just yet." tad did as the agent had suggested. but all at once something happened. tad's blanket had dropped from his shoulders, revealing him in his true colors. an indian uttered a yell. tad sprang into his saddle and put spurs to the pony. in a moment more than a dozen redskins had mounted and started yelling after him, believing he was stealing a pony. tad headed away to the south to give his companions a chance to get out of the way, and the savages came in full cry after him. chapter vii fleeing from the enemy a shrill cry was wafted to the boy. after a few moments tad realized that they were no longer on his trail. he knew the cry had been a signal, warning them to halt. what he did not know, however, was that the indian agent had been responsible for the signal; that he in all probability had saved the boy's life. the lad, after satisfying himself that the indians had abandoned the chase, at once circled about, coming back to the point where he had left chunky and the mexican. they were both there waiting for him. "what was all that row?" demanded the fat boy. "we were having a little horse race, that's all," grinned tad grimly; "hurry along, now." they reached their own camp in safety an hour later. the two boys had much to relate, and as the narration proceeded, professor zepplin shook his head disapprovingly. "young gentlemen, much as i have enjoyed this summer's outing, it's a wonder i haven't had nervous prostration long before this. it'll be a load off my mind if i get you all back in chillicothe without anything serious happening to you." "i think," suggested tad, "that we had better strike camp at once and move on. the moon is shining brightly, and juan ought to have no trouble in leading the way." "yes; that will be an excellent idea. you think they may give as further trouble?" questioned the professor. "they may before morning. they're getting more ugly every minute." "everything worth while seems to happen when i am not around," protested ned. "good thing you weren't along," replied stacy. "you'd been scared stiff. it was no place for tenderfeet." "you--you call me a tenderfoot?" snapped ned, starting for him. "stop quarreling, you two!" commanded tad. "we've had all the fighting we want for one night. get busy and help strike this camp. guess none of this outfit could truthfully be called a tenderfoot. we've all had our share of hard knocks, and we'll have enough to look back to and think about when we get home and have time to go over our experiences together this winter." the thought, that at any minute the half-crazed savages might sweep down on them hastened the preparations for departure. the pony rider boys never struck camp more quickly than they did in the soft southern moonlight that night. all at once juan set up a wail. "what is it--what's the trouble now?" demanded tad. "my burro. i go for him." "you'll do nothing of the sort. you'll walk, or ride a pack animal," answered stacy. "you don't deserve to have a burro." "here's his old burro now," called walter, as a shambling object, much the worse for wear, came stumbling sleepily into camp. the boys set up a shout that was quickly checked by tad. "if the burro can find the way what do you think an indian could do, fellows?" "that's right," agreed professor zepplin. "we had better keep quiet--" "and hit the trail as fast as possible," added tad. "daylight must find us a long ways from here." "and ride all night--is that what you mean?" complained stacy. "yes; it'll give you an appetite for breakfast." "i've got one already." "that goes without saying," agreed ned. "come, come, juan!" urged tad, observing that the guide was doing nothing more in the way of work than rubbing the nose of his prodigal burro. "aren't you going to help us?" "yes; what do you think we're paying you good american dollars for?" demanded ned. "i think some of the professor's hot drops would be good for what ails him," observed stacy brown. "i'll get the professor to give him a dose right now." "no, no, no! juan no want fire drops." "all right; get busy, then." he did. not since the last dose of the professor's medicine had he shown such activity. very soon after that the camp had been struck and the party was ready to take up its journey. tad took a last look about, to make sure that nothing had been left. "i think i'll put out the fire," he said, tossing the bridle reins to stacy, while he ran over to the dying camp-fire, whose embers he kicked apart, stamping them out one by one. "no use leaving a trail like that for any prowling redskin." they were quickly under way after that, juan leading the way without the least hesitancy. he and the burro worked together like a piece of automatic machinery. "he might better walk and lead the burro," said stacy, who had been observing their peculiar method of locomotion. "should think it would be easier." the moon was dropping slowly westward, and the party was using it for a guide, keeping the silver ball sharply to their right. juan on the other hand had hitched his lazy chariot to a star. by this star he was laying his course to the southward. the pony rider boys enjoyed their moonlight trip immensely; and a gentle breeze from the desert drifting over them relieved the scorching heat of the late afternoon and early evening. "guess the indians are not going to bother us," said walter, riding up to tad just before daylight. "probably not. they will be in too much trouble with the government, after last night's performances, to give much thought to chasing us. and besides, i don't see why they should wish to do so. had they been very anxious to be revenged on us, most likely they would not have allowed us to get away as they did." "was it very terrible, tad?" asked walter perkins. "what, the dance, or what happened afterwards?" laughed the lad. "both?" "well, i'm free to confess that neither was exactly pleasant. when they caught chunky i thought it was all up with us. hello. there's mr. daylight." glancing to the left the boys saw the sky turning to gray. a buzzard screamed overhead, laying its course for the mountains where it was journeying in search of food. "what's that?" demanded stacy, awakening from a doze in his saddle. "friend of yours with an appetite," grinned ned. "i thought it sounded like breakfast call," muttered stacy, relapsing into sleep again, his head drooping forward until, a few minutes later, he was lying over the saddle pommel with arms thrown loosely about the pony's neck. ned, observing the lad's position, suddenly conceived a mischievous plan. unnoticed by the others, he permitted his own pony to fall back until he was a short distance behind stacy. the others were a little way ahead. ned rode slowly alongside his companion, as he passed, bringing the rowel of his spur sharply against the withers of chunky's mount. the effect was instantaneous. the fat boy's mount, itself half asleep, suddenly humped its back, and with bunching feet leaped clear of the ground. "hello, what's the matter back there?" called ned, who by this time was a full rod in advance of his companion. stacy did not answer. he was at that moment turning an undignified somersault in the air, his pony standing meekly, awaiting the next act in the little drama. the fat boy landed on the plain in a heap. "are you hurt, chunky?" cried tad anxiously, slipping from his saddle and running to his companion. "i--i dunno, i--i fell off, didn't i?" "you're off, at least," grinned ned. "what was the matter?" "i--i dunno; do you?" "how should i know? if you will go to sleep an a bucking broncho, you must expect things to happen." stacy, by this time, had scrambled to his feet; after which, he began a careful inventory of himself to make sure that he was all there. he grinned sheepishly. satisfying himself on this point, stacy shrugged his shoulders and walked over to his pony with a suggestion of a limp. "now that we have halted we might as well make camp for a few hours, get breakfast and take a nap," suggested the professor. the boys welcomed this proposition gratefully, for they were beginning to feel the effects of their long night ride, added to which, two of them had had a series of trying experiences before starting out. in the meantime, stacy brown had been examining his pony with more than usual care. tad observed his action, and wondered at it. a moment later, the fat boy having moved away; tad thought he would take a look at the animal. he was curious to know what stacy had in mind. "so that's it, is it?" muttered tad. he found the mark of a spur on the pony's withers. while it had not punctured the skin, the spur had raked the coat, showing that the rowel had been applied with considerable force. tad, with a covert glance about, saw ned rector watching him. "you're the guilty one, eh?" he demanded, walking up to ned. "s-h-h-h," cautioned ned. "he'll be redheaded if he knows i am to blame for his coming a cropper." "chunky's not so slow as you might think. but that wasn't a nice thing to do. it's all right to play tricks, but i hope you won't be so cruel as to use a spur on a dumb animal, the way you did, even if he is an ill-tempered broncho. you might have broken chunky's neck, too." ned's face flushed. "it was a mean trick, i'll admit. didn't strike me so at the time. shall i ask chunky's pardon?" "do as you think best. i should, were i in your place." "then, i will after breakfast." ned got busy at once, assisting to cook the morning meal, while juan led the ponies out to a patch of grass and staked them down. while the pony rider cook was thus engaged, he felt a tug at his coat sleeve. turning sharply, ned found stacy at his side. stacy's face was flushed and his eyes were snapping. "what is it, chunky?" "come over here, i want to talk with you." they stepped off a few paces out of hearing of the others, tad smiling to himself as he observed stacy's act. "well, what's the matter, chunky?" "i can lick you, ned rector!" "wha--what?" "said i could lick you. didn't say i was going to, understand. just said i could--" "like to see you try it." "all right; it's a go." ere ned could recover from his surprise, stacy brown had launched himself upon his companion. one of stacy's arms went about ned's neck, one foot kicked a leg from under ned, and the two lads went down in the dust together. it had happened in a twinkling. "here, here! what's going on over there?" shouted the professor, starting on a run, while the other lads were laughing. chunky was sitting on the chest of his fallen adversary, ned struggling desperately to throw the lad off. "cock-a-doodle-doo!" crowed chunky, in imitation of a rooster, flapping his hands on his thighs, in great good humor with himself. professor zepplin grabbed him by the collar, jerking stacy brown from the fallen pony rider boy. ned scrambled to his feet, and, with a sheepish grin on his face, proceeded to brush the dust from his clothes. "downed you, did he?" questioned tad. "it wasn't fair. i didn't know he was going to try." "neither did the russians when the japs sailed into them at port arthur," laughed walter. "and they got what was coming to them." "so did i. chunky, i deserve more than you gave me. if you want to, beat me up some more." "now, isn't that sweet of him?" chortled stacy. "i fell off my pony, then i fell on you, and we'll call it quits, eh, ned?" ned put out a hand, which stacy grasped with mock enthusiasm. "we sure will." "i'd like to know what this is all about?" questioned walter. "something's been going on." "i made his pony throw him over," admitted ned. stacy nodded with emphasis. "he found it out and jumped on me." "i'll turn you both over my knee if you try to repeat these performances," warned the professor. linking arms, stacy and ned started for the breakfast table, humming, "for he's a jolly good fellow," and a moment later all four of the lads were standing about the breakfast table, singing the chorus at the top of their voices. chapter viii asleep on the sleepy grass the slanting rays of the sun got into the eyes of the pony rider boys. four arms were thrown over as many pairs of eyes to shut out the blinding light. "ho-ho-hum!" yawned chunky. cocking an impish eye at his companions, he observed that each had fallen into a deep sleep again. the fat boy cautiously gathered up a handful of dry sand and hurled it into the air. a shower of it sprinkled over them, into their eyes and half-opened mouths. three pairs of eyes were opened, then closed again. encouraged by his success, stacy chuckled softly to himself, then dumped another handful of sand over his companions. but he was not prepared for what followed. three muscular boys hurled themselves upon him. instantly the peaceful scene was changed into a pandemonium of yells. down came the tent poles, the canvas rising and falling as if imbued with sudden life. professor zepplin, startled by the racket, roused himself and sprang from his own tent. observing the erratic actions of the tent in which the boys had been sleeping, he instantly concluded that something serious had happened. "boys! boys!" he cried, running to the spot, frantically hauling away the canvas. "what has happened? what has happened?" they were too busy to answer him. when finally he had uncovered what lay below, he found his charges literally tied up in a knot, rolling and tumbling, with stacy brown lying flat on his back, each of his three companions vigorously rubbing handfuls of sand over his face, down his neck and in the hair of his head. "i think i'll take a hand in this myself," smiled the professor. he ran to his tent, returning quickly. in his hands he carried two pails of water. unluckily for the boys, they had failed to observe what he was doing. nor did they understand that they were in danger until the contents of the two pails had been dashed over them. there were yells in earnest this time. the water turned the dirt into mud at once, and their faces were "sights." stacy's face had been protected, in a measure, by the other boys who were bending over him rubbing in the sand. the unexpected bath put a sudden end to their sport, and they staggered out shouting for vengeance. they did not even know who had been the cause of their undoing. the professor, as he walked away smiling, had handed the pails to the grinning juan with instructions to refill them. the unfortunate juan, bearing the pails away, was the first person to catch the eyes of the lads, as they rubbed the sticky mud out of them. with a howl they projected themselves upon him. juan's grin changed instantly to an expression of great concern. he went down under their charge, with four boys, instead of three, on top of him. "duck him!" shouted some one. "yes! douse him in the spring!" chorused the boys. juan cried out for the professor, but his appeals were in vain. shouting in high glee the lads bore him to the spring from which they got their water. they plumped him in, not any too gently, again and again. "now roll him in the sand," suggested ned. they did so. the wet clothing and body made the sand stick to him until the lazy mexican was scarcely recognizable. at this point professor zepplin took a hand. he came bounding to the scene and began throwing the boys roughly from their unhappy victim. perhaps he was not greatly disturbed over the shaking up the guide had sustained, but of course he confided nothing of this to the boys. "you ought to be ashamed of yourselves--for four of you to pitch on to one weak mexican! i'm surprised, young gentlemen." "but--but--he ducked us," protested ned. "he did nothing of the sort." "what--didn't duck us? guess i know water when i feel it," objected walter. "you were ducked, all right, but it is i, not juan, who am responsible for that." "you?" questioned the lads all at once. the professor nodded, a broad grin on his face. "but he had the pails." "i gave them to him, after pouring the water over you. that's what is known as circumstantial evidence, young gentlemen. let it be a lesson to you to be careful how you convict anyone on that kind of evidence." "fellows," glowed chunky, "we've made a mistake. let's make it right by ducking the professor." the boys looked over professor zepplin critically. "i guess we'd better defer that job till we grow some more," they decided, with a laugh. the next fifteen minutes were fully occupied in cleaning up and putting on their clothes. they were all thoroughly awake now, with cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling after their violent exercise. the guide had rather sullenly washed off the wet dust that clung to his face and hands. "never mind the clothes, juan," advised ned. "it'll brush off as soon as it gets dry. we'll take up a contribution to buy you a clothes brush. ever see one?" juan grinned. "you promise not to gamble the money away if we give it to you?" "si." "shell out, fellows. ten cents apiece. that ought to salve his injured feelings." ned passed the hat, all contributing. "that makes forty cents. here, professor, you haven't put in your ten yet. it'll take just fifty cents to paste up juan's injuries." "that reminds me of a fellow i heard about once," announced stacy. "are you going to tell a story?" questioned ned. "if you will keep still long enough," replied stacy. "then me for the bunch grass. it's like going to a funeral to hear chunky try to tell a story." "let him tell it," shouted the lads. "go on, chunky. never mind ned. he'll laugh when he gets back to chillicothe," jibed walter. "i heard of a fellow once--" "yes; you told us that before," jeered ned. "not the one we ducked in the spring, was it?" grinned tad. "who's telling this story?" demanded stacy belligerently. "you are, i guess. i won't interrupt again." "well, did i say this fellow was a boy?" "no." "well, he was--he's grown up now. he rushed into a drug store--" "was anything chasing him?" asked ned innocently. stacy gave no heed to the interruption. "and he said to the man in the store, 'please, sir, some liniment and some cement?'" "'what?' asked the clerk all in a muddle. you see, he'd never had a prescription like that to fill before. it made him tired, 'cause he thought the kid was making fun of him." "'what--what's the trouble? what do you want liniment and cement for?' "'cause,' said the boy to the pill man, ''cause mom hit pop on the head with a plate.'" for a moment there was silence, then the boys roared. but ned never smiled. "laugh, laugh! why don't you laugh?" urged walter. "laugh? huh! i laughed myself almost sick over that a long time ago. read it in an almanac when i was in short trousers." "the ponies! the ponies!" cried juan, rushing up to them, waving his arms, then running his fingers through his long black hair until it stood up like the quills of a porcupine. "what!" queried the pony rider boys in sudden alarm. "what's the matter with the ponies?" juan pointed to the place where the stock had been tethered after they arrived at the camp. there was not an animal to be seen anywhere on the plain. "gone!" gasped the lads, with sinking hearts. "no, no, no. there!" stammered the guide. with one accord the boys ran at top speed to the spot indicated by juan. there, stretched out in the long grass lay bronchos and burros. "they're dead, the ponies are dead, every one of them!" cried the lads aghast. chapter ix the midnight alarm "what's this, what's this?" demanded the professor, striding up. "look! look! the ponies are dead!" exclaimed ned excitedly. "what do you suppose could have happened to them?" stammered walter. "is it possible? what's the meaning of this, guide?" juan shrugged his shoulders and showed his white teeth. in the meantime tad had hurried to his own pony, and was down on his knees examining it. placing his hands on the animal's side, he remained in that position for an instant, then sprang up. "they're not dead, fellows! they're alive!" "asleep," grumbled ned disgustedly. "but there's something the matter with them. something has happened to the stock," added tad. "only a false alarm," nodded stacy. "think so? try to wake your pony up," advised tad. stacy had already hurried to his own broncho, and now began tugging at the bridle rein, with sundry pokes in the animal's ribs. "i can't. he's in a trance," wailed stacy, considerably startled. that expression came nearer to describing the condition of the stock than any other words could have done. "guide, what do you know about this?" questioned the professor. "has some one been tampering with our animals?" juan shrugged his shoulders with an air of indifference. "no bother bronchs." "then will you please tell us what is the matter with them?" "sleepy grass!" "sleepy grass?" chorused the lads. "of course they're asleep all right," added ned. "but whoever heard of sleepy grass?" "he means they're sleeping on the grass," stacy informed them. "ah! i begin to understand," nodded the professor. "i think i know what the trouble is now. the guide is no doubt right." the boys gathered around him, all curiosity. "tell us about it, professor. we are very much mystified?" said the pony riders. "a long time ago i remember to have read, somewhere, of a certain grass in this region that possessed peculiar narcotic properties--" "what's narcotic?" interrupted stacy. "something that makes you go to sleep when you can't," explained tad butler, rather ambiguously. "when eaten by horses or cattle it is said to put them into deep sleep. the rockefeller institute, i believe, is already making an analytical test of the grass." "please talk so i can understand it," begged stacy. "yes; those words make my head ache," scowled ned. "even the guide is making up faces in his effort to understand." "he does understand. he understands only too well. for many years this grass has been known. cows turned out for the day would fail to return at night--" "to be milked," interjected stacy. "and an investigation would disclose them sleeping in some region, where the sleepy grass grew and the fat boy hummed: "down where the sleepy grass is growing." "travelers who have tied out their horses in patches of the grass for the night have been unable to continue their journey until the animals recovered from their strange sleep. thus the properties of the grass became known." "indians use 'em to tame bad bronchos," the guide informed them. "just so." "but, when will they wake up?" questioned tad. "mebby sun-up to-morrow," answered juan, glancing up at the sky. "what, sleep twenty-four hours?" demanded ned. "si." "preposterous." "then, then, we've got to remain here all the rest of the afternoon and night--is that it?" demanded tad. "it looks that way." "and you knew about this stuff, juan?" questioned tad. "si." "well, you're a nice sort of a guide, i must say." "you ought to be put off the reservation," threatened stacy, shaking a menacing fist in front of the white teeth. in the meantime, tad had gone over to the animals again, and, taking them in turn, sought to stir them up. he found he could not do so. the ponies' heads would drop to the ground after he had lifted and let go of them, just as if the animals were dead. "gives you a creepy feeling, doesn't it?" shivered walter. "i should say it does," answered ned. "well, what is it, chunky?" asked tad, who observed that stacy had something on his mind that he was trying to formulate into words. "i've got an idea, fellows," he exploded. "hold on to it, then. you may never get another," jeered ned. "what is it, master stacy?" asked the professor. "then--then--then--that's what juan and his burro have been eating all the time. i knew there was something the matter with them." a loud laugh greeted the fat boy's suggestion. "guess he's about right, at that," grinned tad. "a brilliant thought," agreed the professor. "boys, i must have some of that grass. i shall make some experiments with it." "experiment on chunky," they shouted. "no; he sleeps quite well enough as it is," smiled the professor. "i want some of it too--no, not to eat," corrected the fat boy. "i'll feed it to my aunt's cat when i get back; then he won't be running away from home every night." "better unload the rest of the equipment, boys," advised the professor. "if we must remain here all night we might as well make the best of it." without their ponies, the lads spent rather a restless afternoon. they had not fully realized before how much a part of them their horses had become until they were suddenly deprived of them. in the meantime, the bronchos slept on undisturbed. "i've got another idea," shouted stacy. "keep it to yourself," growled ned. "your ideas, like your jokes, graduated a long time ago." "is there sleepy grass in the catskill mountains!" persisted stacy. "we don't know, and we don't--" "i know there is, and that's what put rip van winkle to sleep for twenty years," shouted the fat boy in high glee. "see, i know more than--" "yes; you're the original boy wonder. we'll take that for granted," nodded ned rector. tad, however, was not inclined to look upon their enforced delay with anything like amusement. to him it had its serious side. he had not forgotten that they had been fleeing from the indians. when he got an opportunity to do so, without his companions overhearing, he approached the professor. "i think it would be a good plan for us to have a guard over our camp to-night." "on account of?" "yes." "very well; i think myself that it would be a prudent move. have juan sit up, then." "no, he's a sleepy bead. suppose we boys take turns?" "very well; arrange it to suit yourselves. i presume we ought to do something of the sort every night. it might have saved us some trouble on our ozark journey had we been that prudent. arrange it to suit you. i'll take my turn." "no; we can do it, professor. you go to bed as usual. we'll draw lots to see who takes the different watches. with the four of us we'll have to take only two hours apiece. that won't be bad at all." the other boys, after the plan had been explained to them, entered into it enthusiastically. walter was to take the first trick, ned the next, chunky the third and tad the fourth. and they were to take their guns out with them. the professor agreed to this, now that they had become more familiar with firearms. as a matter of fact, all the boys had developed into excellent marksmen, though tad was recognized as the best shot of the party. professor zepplin, during the afternoon, gave each of them a lesson in revolver shooting, using for the purpose, his heavy army revolver. they did pretty well with this weapon, but, of course, were not nearly as expert with it as with the rifle. evening came and the stock was still sleeping soundly. there was nothing the boys could do but let them sleep, though the fact of all the ponies and burros lying about as if dead began to make the pony riders nervous. night came, and with it semi-darkness, the moon being overcast with a veil of fleecy white clouds, which cast a grayish film over the landscape. the lads joked each other about having the "creeps," but none would admit the charge. walter, with rifle slung over his right shoulder, went out on the first watch with instructions to go at least two hundred yards from camp and keep walking around the camp in a circle. this would protect them from surprises on all sides. ned decided not to retire until he had taken his guard trick, in view of the fact that he was to go on at eleven o'clock. but stacy, proposing to get all the sleep he was entitled to, turned in early. the rest did not disturb him. the boys were unusually quiet that evening, perhaps feeling that the responsibility of the safety of the camp rested wholly upon their youthful shoulders. ned came in at one o'clock, after having taken his turn, unslung his rifle, drew the cartridges then put them back in the magazine again. "i might need them before morning," he told himself. chunky being sound asleep, ned grabbed him by a foot giving him a violent pull. "wat'cher want? get out!" growled the fat boy sleepily. "get up and take your watch!" commanded ned. "who's afraid of indians?" mumbled stacy. this time ned took the lad by the collar, jerked him to his feet and shook him until stacy yelled "ouch!" so loudly as to awaken the entire camp. it took some time, however, to get stacy himself awake sufficiently to make him understand that he had a duty to perform. finally, however, he shouldered his rifle, after surreptitiously helping himself to a sandwich from the cook tent. then he marched off, munching the bread and meat. "see here," snapped ned, running after him. "you're not measuring off your distance. come back and pace it off." "how many?" "two hundred yards. stretch your fat legs as far as they'll go, then you'll have a yard, more or less." stacy started all over again, forgot the count, came back, then tried it again. even at that he was not sure whether he had gone one hundred yards or five. he was awake enough, now, to observe his surroundings. the cool breezes of the night were tossing the leaves of the cottonwoods near the water course to the west of them, while here and there in the foliage might be heard the exultant notes of a mocking bird. stacy shivered. "guess it's going to freeze to-night," he decided, beginning his steady tramp about the camp of the pony rider boys. muttering to himself, as was his habit when alone, stacy kept on until finding himself opposite the ponies, he decided to go over and look at them. all were asleep. not one had awakened since going down under the powerful influence of the "sleepy grass." "i'd like to eat some of that stuff myself, right now," chunky decided out loud. "i'd have a good excuse for going to sleep then. now i can't without getting jumped on by the fellows. wonder what time it is--only half-past one. must be something the matter with my watch. i know i've been out more'n two hours." this trip he circled out further from the camp, growing a little more confident because nothing had happened to disturb him. in the meantime the camp slept in peace--that is, the lads did until nearly time for the change of guard. then the whole party was aroused with the sudden, startling conviction that something serious had happened. all at once the crack of a rifle sounded on the still night air. it was followed by another shot, and another, until four distinct reports had rolled across the plains. in wild disorder the pony rider boys tumbled from their cots, and, grasping their weapons, leaped from the tents. "what's the row?" inquired the professor. "wow! wow! wow! yeow!" shrieked a shrill voice to the northward. "it's chunky. he's giving the alarm! we're attacked!" cried the lads. bang! bang! they saw the flash of the fat boy's weapon before the report reached their ears. a moment later the other boys caught sight of stacy dashing into camp, hatless, waving his rifle and yelling as if bereft of his senses. "what is it? what is it?" cried the boys with one voice. "indians! indians! the prairie's full of them!" chapter x meeting the attack instantly the camp was thrown into confusion. the lads ran here and there, not knowing what to do. "get behind the ponies! that's the only cover we can find here. run for it!" and run they did, the professor outdistancing all the rest in his attempt to secrete himself where the enemy's weapons would not be likely to reach him. in a moment more, the camp of the pony rider boys was deserted, and behind each sleeping pony lay a boy, with rifle barrel poked over the animal's back, ready to shoot at the first sign of the redskins. stacy, in his excitement, had forgotten that not a cartridge was left in his magazine, and the others were too fully occupied to remember to tell him. for all of half an hour did the party lie protected. the boys began to grow restive. tad's suspicions were being slowly aroused. "i'm going to do a little scouting," he told them, slipping from behind the pony and skulking along back of the tents. the moon was shining brightly now. he could see a long distance. not a human being was in sight. "i thought so," he muttered, retracing his steps. "see here, stacy brown, what did you see--what did you shoot at?" he demanded sternly. "i--i shot the chute--i--i mean i chuted the shot--i mean--" "say, what do you mean?" "i--i mean--say, leggo my neck, will you?" roared chunky. "fellows, he doesn't know what he means." "guess he's been feeding on crazy grass out on the prairie," was ned's conclusion. "there isn't an indian anywhere around here. i know it. they would have been after us long before this, if there had been." one by one the boys came from their hiding places, the lazy mexican last. disapproving eyes were turned on stacy. "chunky, you come along and show us where you were when you shot--did you shoot at an indian?" asked tad. "yes, and i--i--i shot him." "show us. we're all from chillicothe," demanded ned. stacy, with a show of importance, led the way, keeping a wary eye out for the enemy. it was noticed, however, that each of the lads held his rifle ready for business in case there should be an enemy about. "there! i was standing right over there--i guess." "you guess! don't you know?" questioned the professor. "yes; that's the place." the lad walked over to the identical spot from which he had first fired his rifle. "he was over there and i shot at him, so," said stacy, leveling the weapon. "ye-ow! there he is, now!" shrieked the boy. every weapon flashed up to a level with the eyes. "there is something over there on the ground," decided the professor. "put down your guns so you don't shoot me," said tad. "i'm going to find out what it is." keeping his own weapon held at "ready," the lad walked boldly over to where a heap of some sort lay on the plain. it surely had not been there during the afternoon--tad knew that. he reached it, stooped, peered, then uttered a yell. "what is it?" they cried, hurrying up. "you've done it now, chunky brown. you certainly have gone and done it." "what--what is it?" cried the others in alarm. "you've shot the lazy mexican's burro. that's your indian, stacy brown." juan, who had followed them out on the plain, uttered a wail and threw himself upon the body of his prostrate burro. the animal, it seemed, had recovered consciousness during the night, and in a half-dazed condition had wandered out on the plain. stacy, while crouching down on the ground, had seen the head and long ears of the burro. he thought the ears were part of the head dress of a savage and let fly a volley of bullets at it. "he--he isn't dead," shouted the fat boy. "see, i just pinked him in the ears." and, surely enough, an examination revealed a hole through each ear. the holes were so close to the animal's head that it was reasonable to suppose the shot had stunned him, being already in a weakened condition from the sleepy grass. the boys set to work to rouse the burro, which they succeeded in doing in a short time. juan, with arm around the lazy beast's neck, led it back to camp, petting and soothing it with a chattering that they could not understand. there was no more sleep in camp that night, though the boys turned in at the professor's suggestion. every little while, laughter would sound in one of the tents, as the others fell to discussing stacy's indian attack. the next morning they were overjoyed to find that the ponies had awakened and were trying to get up. "lead them out of that grass, fellows," shouted tad, the moment he saw the ponies were coming around. "we don't want them to make another meal of that stuff." "nor take another of chunky's rip van winkle sleeps," added ned. never having had a like experience, none of the lads knew what to do with their mounts after getting them sufficiently awake to lead them to a place of safety. they appealed to juan for advice, but the lazy mexican appeared to know even less than they. tad, after studying the question a few moments, decided to give them water, though sparingly. this they appeared to relish and braced up quite a little. but the boy would not allow them to graze until nearly noon, when each one took his pony out, making sure that there was none of the sleepy grass around. the animals were then permitted to graze. about the middle of the afternoon tad decided that all were fit to continue the journey, and that it would be safe to travel until sunset. everyone was glad to get away from the spot where they had had such unpleasant experiences, and the boys set off, moving slowly, the stock not yet being in the best of condition. late in the afternoon, when they had about decided to make camp, one of the boys espied an object, something like a quarter of a mile away, that looked like the roof of a house. ned said it couldn't be that, as it appeared to be resting on the ground. they asked juan if he knew what it was, and for a wonder he did. he said it was a dug-out--a place where a man lived. "is he a hermit?" asked stacy apprehensively, at which there was a laugh. stacy had not forgotten his experiences in the cave of the hermit of the nevada desert. for the next hour, the lads were too busy, pitching tents and unloading the pack animals, to give further thought to the dug-out or its occupant; but when, after they had prepared their evening meal, they saw some one approaching on horseback, they were instantly curious again. the newcomer proved to be the owner of the dug-out. he was a tall, square-jawed man, with a short, cropped iron-gray beard and small blue, twinkling eyes. "will you join us and have some supper?" asked tad politely, walking out to greet the stranger. "thank you; i will, young man," smiled the stranger. tad introduced himself and companions. "you probably have heard my name before, young men. it is kris kringle; i'm living out here for my health and doing a little ranching on the side." stacy looked his amazement. "is--is he santa claus?" he whispered, tugging at tad's coat sleeve. "no, young man. i am not related to the gentleman you refer to," grinned mr. kringle. there was a general laugh at stacy's expense. after supper, the visitor invited all hands to ride over to his dug-out and spend the evening with him. the boys accepted gladly, never having seen the inside of a dug-out, and not knowing what one looked like. professor zepplin had taken a sudden liking to the man with the christmas name, and soon the two were engaged in earnest conversation. the distance being so short, tad decided that they had better walk, leaving the ponies in charge of juan so they might get a full night's rest. then all hands set out for the dug-out. a short flight of steps led down into the place, the roof of which was raised just far enough above the ground to permit of two narrow windows on each side and at the rear end. the room in which they found themselves, proved to be a combination kitchen and dining room. its neatness and orderliness impressed them at once. "and here," said kris kringle, "is what i call my den," throwing open a door leading into a rear room and lighting a hanging oil lamp. the pony rider boys uttered an exclamation of surprised delight. on a hardwood floor lay a profusion of brightly colored navajo rugs, the walls being hung with others of exquisite workmanship and coloring, interspersed with weapons and trophies of the chase, while in other parts of the room were rare specimens of pottery from ancient adobe houses of the pueblos. at the far end of the room was a great fire-place. book cases, home-made, stood about the room, full of books. the professor realized, at once, that they were in the home of a student and a collector. "this is indeed an oasis in the desert," he glowed. "i shall be loath to leave here." "then don't," smiled mr. kringle. "i'm sure i am glad enough to have company. seldom ever see anyone here, except now and then a roving band of indians." "indians!" exclaimed tad. "do you have any trouble with them?" "well, they know better than to bother with me much. we have had an occasional argument," said their host, his jaws setting almost stubbornly for the instant. "most of the tribes in the state are peaceful, though the apaches are as bad as ever. they behave themselves because they have to, not because they wish to do so." "i saw their fire dance the other night," began tad. "what?" demanded mr. kringle. "fire dance." "tell me about it?" tad did so, the host listening with grave face until the recital was ended. he shook his head disapprovingly. "and this--this indian that you knocked down--was he an apache?" "i don't know. i think so, though. he had on a peculiar head dress "that was one of them," interrupted mr. kringle, with emphasis. "and i'll wager you haven't heard the last of him yet. that's an insult which the apache brave will harbor under his copper skin forever. he'll wait for years, but he'll get even if he can." the faces of the pony rider boys were grave. "have you a reliable guide?" "far from it," answered the professor. "if i knew where i could get another, i'd pack him off without ceremony." kris kringle was silent for a moment. "i need a little change of scene," he smiled. "how would you like to have me take the trail with you for a week or so?" "would you?" glowed the professor, half rising from his chair. "i think i might." "hurrah!" cried the pony riders enthusiastically. "that will be fine." "of course, you understand that i expect no pay. i am going because i happen to take a notion to do so. perhaps i'll be able to serve you at the same time." the professor grasped mr. kringle by the hand impulsively. "i'll send that lazy juan on his way this very night--" "let me do it," interposed stacy, with flushing face. "i'll do it right, professor. but i'll put on my pair of heavy boots first, so it'll hurt him more." the boys shouted with laughter, while the new guide's eyes twinkled merrily. "i think, perhaps, the young man might do it even more effectively than you or i," he said. "have you weapons, professor?" "rifles." "that's good. we may need them." "then you think?" "one can never tell." chapter xi riding with kris kringle a slender ribbon of dust unrolling across the plain far to the northward marked the receding trail of juan and his lazy burro. they had given him a week's extra pay and sent him on his way. the burro was making for home, aided by the busy feet of its master, while stacy brown, shading his eyes with one hand, was watching the progress of the guide, whom he had just sent adrift. "well, he's gone," grinned stacy, turning to his companions, who were busy striking camp. "and a good riddance," nodded tad. "he'll probably join the indians and tell them where we are," suggested walter. "i hadn't thought of that," replied tad. "still, if they wish to find us they know how without juan's telling them." "how?" "they can follow a trail with their eyes shut," said ned. "that's right. they do not need to be told," muttered tad. everything being in readiness, the boys started with their outfit for the dug-out, where they were to be joined by kris kringle. they felt a real relief to know that they were to have with them a strong man on whom they were sure they could rely to do the right thing under all circumstances. tad, however, believed that mr. kringle had decided to join them, fearing they would be attacked by the apaches and come to serious harm. yet he hardly thought the redskins would dare to follow them, after the latter had once gotten over the frenzy of their fire dance. by that time the indian agents would have rounded them all up on the reservations, where the indians would be able to do no more harm for a while. after picking up the new guide the start was made. the party had water in plenty in the water-bags, so that no effort was made to pick up a water hole when they made camp late in the afternoon. the guide had brought in his pack a tough old sage hen, at which the lads were inclined to jeer when he announced his intention of cooking it for their supper. "you'll change your mind when you taste it, young gentlemen. it depends upon the cooking entirely. a sage hen may be a delicious morsel, or it may not," answered mr. kringle, with a grin. they were encamped near a succession of low-lying buttes, and to while away the time until the supper hour, the boys strolled away singly to stretch their legs on the plain after the long day's ride in the hot sun. when they returned an hour or so later, stacy, they observed, was swinging a curious forked stick that he had picked up somewhere a few moments ago. "what you got there?" questioned ned. "don't know. picked it up on the plain. such a funny looking thing, that i brought it along." "let me see it," asked mr. kringle. stacy handed it to him. "this," said the guide, turning the stick over in his hand, "is a divining rod." "divining rod?" demanded stacy, pressing forward. "yes." "never heard of it. is it good to eat?" "looks to me like a wish bone," interjected ned. "do you eat wish bones, chunky?" "might, if i were hungry enough." "a divining rod is used to locate springs. some users of it have been very successful. i couldn't find a lake with it, even if i fell in first." "indeed," marveled the professor. "i have heard of the remarkable work of divining rods. what rind of wood is it?" "this is hazel wood. oak, elm, ash or privet also are used, but hazel is preferred in this country." "then--then we won't have to go dry any more--i can find water with this when i'm dry?" questioned stacy. "you might; then again you might not." "better take it away from him," suggested ned. "he might find a spring. if he did he'd be sure to fall in and drown." the stick, which was shaped like the letter y, was an object of great interest to the pony rider boys. one by one they took it out on the plain, in an effort to locate some water. the guide instructed them to hold the y with the bottom up, one prong in each hand and to walk slowly. but, try as they would, they were able to get no results. "the thing's a fraud!" exclaimed ned disgustedly, throwing the divining rod away. stacy picked it up. "i know why it doesn't work," he said. "why?" demanded the other boys. "'cause--'cause there isn't any water to make it work," he replied wisely. the boys groaned. shortly after returning to camp, they found the fat boy standing over a pail of water holding the stick above it. he was talking to the stick confidentially, urging it to "do something," to the intense amusement of the whole outfit. "now, where's your theory?" questioned the professor. "why, it doesn't have to work, does it? don't we know there's water here? if we didn't the stick would tell us, maybe. take my word for it, this outfit won't have to go dry after this. stacy brown and his magic wand will find all the water needed," continued the fat boy proudly. "your logic is good, at any rate, even if the rod doesn't work at command," laughed the professor. supper was a jolly affair, for everyone was in high spirits. the sage hen, contrary to general expectation, was found to be delicious. chunky begged for the wish bone and got it. he said he'd use it for a divining rod when he wanted to find a little spring. "mr. kringle, i am commissioned by the fellows to ask you a question," announced tad, after the meal had been in progress for a time. "ask it," smiled the guide. "we thought we'd like to call you santa claus, seeing you've brought us so much cheer. then again, it's your name you know. kris kringle is santa claus." "oh, well, call me what you please, young men." from that moment on, kris kringle was santa claus to the pony rider boys. they had now come to a rolling country, with here and there high buttes, followed by large areas of bottom lands which were covered with rank growths of bunch grass. traveling was more difficult than it had been, and water more scarce. it was on the second day out, after they had been skirmishing for water in every direction, that the lads heard the familiar yell from chunky. "there goes the trouble maker," cried ned. "he's at it again." the guide bounded up, starting on a run for the spot where chunky's wail had been heard. the others were not far behind. they saw the red, perspiring face of the fat boy above a clump of grass, his yells for help continuing, unabated. "what is it?" shouted the guide. "i've got it, santa claus! i've got it!" "got what?" roared the professor. "the stick!--i mean it's got me. help! help!" stacy was wrestling about as if engaged in combat with some enemy. they could not imagine what had gone wrong--what had caused his sudden cries of alarm. "it's the divining rod!" called the guide. "he's found water!" shouted the boys. "i've got it! i've got it! come help me hold it. the thing's jerking my arms off." to the amazement of the pony rider boys, the forked stick in the hands of the fat boy was performing some strange antics. breathing hard, he would force it up until it was nearly upright, when all at once the point of the triangle would suddenly swerve downward, bending the rod almost to the breaking point. "see it? see it?" "most remarkable," breathed professor zepplin. "yes, there can be no doubt about it," nodded the guide. "he's bluffing," disagreed ned. "doesn't look to me as if he were," returned tad. "take hold with me here, if you don't believe me," cried stacy. "no, not on the stick, take hold of my wrists." ned promptly accepted the invitation. instantly the tug of the divining rod was felt by the new hands. ned let go quickly. "ugh! the thing gives me the creeps." "let me try it, master stacy," said professor zepplin. "i can't let go of it," wailed chunky. "step off a piece," directed the guide. stacy did so, whereupon the divining rod immediately ceased its peculiar actions. the professor took hold of it, but the rod refused to work for him. "let santa claus try it," suggested ned. the guide did so, but with no more success than the professor had had. "i told you it wouldn't work for me," mr. kringle grinned. "here, master tad, you try it." tad, with the rod grasped firmly in his hands, walked back and forth three times without result. on the fourth attempt, however, the stick suddenly bent nearly double. all were amazed. "why were we unable to get results, mr. kringle?" questioned the professor. "according to some french writers as much depends upon the man as on the divining rod. where one succeeds another fails absolutely. supposing the others take a try?" walter and ned did so, but neither could get the rod to move for him. "i guess chunky is the champion water-finder," laughed ned. "would it not be a good idea to find out whether or not there is water here?" asked the professor. "yes," agreed the guide. "it may be so far down that we cannot reach it, however. you know in some parts of this region they are locating water with the rod and sinking artesian wells." "why--why didn't we think to bring some down with us?" demanded chunky. "can't we get any in some of the towns down here?" "some what?" questioned the guide. "artesian wells." a roar greeted the fat boy's question. "bring down a load of artesian wells!" jeered ned. "an artesian well, my boy, is nothing more than a hole in the ground," the guide informed him, much to chunky's chagrin. the spot where the divining rod had so suddenly gotten busy was about midway of an old water course, covered with a thick growth of bunch grass. "get some tools, boys," directed the professor. tad ran back to camp, which lay some distance to the east of where they were gathered. searching out a pick and two shovels, he leaped on his pony, dashing back to the arroyo. "that was quickly done," smiled santa claus. "are all of you lads as quick on an errand as that?" "only chunky," answered ned solemnly. the guide began to dig, in which effort he was joined by stacy brown, who, with a shovel, caved in about as much dirt as he threw out. "here, give me that shovel," commanded ned. "you'll fill up the bole before we get it dug." tad, having tethered his pony, took the extra shovel and went to work. "guess it's a false alarm," decided ned, after they were up to their shoulders in the hole. "don't be too sure. the ground is quite damp here. try your rod, young man." "chunky held the divining rod over the excavation, whereupon it drew down with even greater force than before. "dig," directed the guide. they did so with a will. "here's water!" shouted kris kringle. they crowded about the hole, amazement written on every face. a fresh, cool stream bubbled up into the hole, causing those in the pit to scramble out hastily. "some of you boys run back to camp and fetch pails and water-bags," directed the guide. "i'll go. i've got the pony here," spoke up tad. "no; i want you to do something else for me." "we'll all go," offered walter. the three lads started on a run, chunky holding his precious divining rod tightly clasped in both hands. "what is it you wish?" questioned tad. "i wish you would ride over toward that small butte and cut a load of brush. want to rip-rap the outer edge of this water hole, so the bank will not cave in and undo all our work! have you a hatchet?" "yes, in my saddlebags." "good. hurry, please." tad leaped into the saddle, and putting spurs to his broncho, tore through the high bunch grass, above which only his head was now observable. in a short time he was back with the green stuff piled high on the saddle in front of him, with a large bundle tied to the cantle of the saddle behind. unloading this, butler started back at a gallop for more. when there was work to be done, tad butler was happy. activity to him was a tonic that spurred him on to ever greater efforts. this time he found himself obliged to climb higher up the butte in order to get branches of available size. these he cut and threw down. after having procured what he thought would be all he could carry the lad scrambled down, and, dropping on his knees began tying them into bundles. the heat was sweltering, and occasionally be paused to wipe away the perspiration. "i smell smoke," sniffed tad. "i wonder where it comes from?" the odor grew stronger, but so interested was he in his labor that he did not at once understand the significance of his discovery. "w-h-o-o-e-e!" it was a long-drawn, warning shout. "it's a signal!" exclaimed the lad, straightening up. "i wonder what's the matter?" as he looked toward the camp a great wall of flame seemed to leap from the ground between him and his companions. there it poised for one brief instant, then, with a roar swooped down into the tall bunch grass, rushing roaring and crackling toward him. for an instant he stood unbelieving, then the truth dawned upon him. "the prairie's on fire!" cried tad. chapter xii the dash for life the shouts of the pony rider boys and of the guide were swallowed up in the roar of the flames. "they'll be burned alive!" whispered the lad. then, all at once he realized that he himself was in dire peril. "i'll have to go the other way and be quick about it at that," he decided, making a dash for the pony, that already was whinnying with fear and tugging at its tether. tad did not wait to untie the stake rope. with a sweep of his knife he severed it and vaulted into the saddle. whirling the animal about he headed to the west. to his alarm he suddenly discovered that the prairie fire was rapidly encircling him, the flames running around the outer edge of the bottoms with express train speed, threatening to head him off and envelop him. had it not been for the long grass, which, tangling the feet of the pony, made full speed impossible, the race with the flames would have been an easy one to win. as it was, tad knew that the chances were against him. but the dire peril in which he found himself did not daunt the pony rider boy. perhaps his face had grown a shade paler underneath the tan, but that was all. his senses were on the alert, his lips met in a firm pressure and the hand gripped the bridle rein a little more firmly, perhaps, than usual. uttering a shrill cry to inform his companions that he was alive to his peril, and at the same time to encourage the broncho, tad dug in the rowels of his spurs. the frightened pony cleared the ground with all four feet, uttering a squeal, and launching itself at the rapidly narrowing clear space ahead of him; and urged to greater and greater endeavor at every leap by the short, sharp "yips" of his rider. for all the concern that showed in his face, tad butler might have been running a horse race for a prize rather than fleeing for his life. "if i make it i'm lucky,"--commented tad grimly. he found himself wondering, at the same time, how the fire had started. he knew that the flames first showed themselves midway between where he was at work and the place where his companions were engaged at the water hole. he could not understand it. fire was necessary to use to start fire, and he knew that none of them had been foolish enough even to light a match in the dry bunch grass of the prairie. the flames were reaching mountain high by this time, great clouds of smoke rolling in on the breeze and nearly suffocating him. at times tad was unable to see the opening ahead of him. when, however, the smoke lifted, giving him a momentary view, he saw that the gap was rapidly closing. all at once his attention was drawn from the closing gap. "yeow! yeow! yeow! y-e-o-w!" a series of shrill, blood curdling yells from out the pall of smoke and flame at the rear, bombarded his ears. at first he thought it was indians; then the improbability of this being the case came to him. "yeow! yeow! yeow!" persisted the voice behind, and it was coming nearer every second. tad slackened the speed of his pony ever so little, despite the peril of his position. "there's somebody in there behind me, and, he'll never get out alive if he loses his way." the moment this thought occurred to him, tad began to yell at the top of his voice. suddenly from out the thick veil of smoke burst a pony with a mighty snort, coming on in bounds, each one of which cleared many feet of ground. on the pony's back was stacy brown, hatless, coatless, his hair standing up in the breeze, his face as red as if it had come in actual contact with the flames. "yeow!" he roared, as his pony shot past tad as if the latter's mount were standing still. where stacy had come from, how he had passed through that wall of flame, tad had not the slightest idea. as a matter of fact the explanation was simple enough. the guide had sent chunky out to assist tad in bringing in the rip-rapping material. stacy had made a detour from the camp, having gotten just inside the danger zone when the fire broke out. guided by the butte where he knew his companion must be, stacy headed for that point. there he came upon tad's trail, and began yelling to attract his attention. he had heard tad's answering cry, and this inspired the fat boy to renewed efforts. stacy, now that he had passed tad, slowed up ever so little. he had passed his companion so swiftly that he was unable to determine whether or not tad were in distress. the latter came up, overhauling stacy in a few moments. both ponies were steaming from the terrific gruelling they were giving themselves. "what you doing here?" exploded tad. "same thing you are." "what do you mean?" "trying to save myself from being burned alive--" "don't slow up! don't slow up!" shouted tad. "keep going!" "i am. wat's matter with you?" "i don't see what you had to come tumbling into this mess for," objected tad. "didn't tumble in. rode in. came to help you--" "precious lot of help you'll be to me. lucky if we're not both burned with our boots on. see! the flame's narrowing in on us. more steam, chunky! more steam!" urged tad. "can't. blow up the boiler if i do," stacy could not be other than humorous, even under their present trying situation. "that's better than burning out your fires, and it's quicker too--" all at once, chunky uttered a terrible howl. his pony had stepped into a hole and gone down floundering in the long grass, chunky himself having been hurled over the animal's head, landing several feet in advance. "help! help!" the rest was lost as the fat boy's face plowed the earth filling mouth, eyes and nostrils. tad did not lose his presence of mind, though events had been following each other in such quick succession. changing the reins to his right hand and bunching them there, he grasped the pommel of the saddle, driving his own pony straight at the kicking, floundering chunky. the pony swerved ever so little, tad's body swept down, and when it rose, his fingers were fastened in the shirt collar of his companion, with chunky yelling and choking, as he was being dragged over the ground at almost a killing pace. tad had no time to do more than hold on to his friend. he dared not stop to lift him to the saddle just then. the flames were roaring behind them and on either side, leaving a long, narrow lane ahead, through which lay their only hope of safety. "buck up! buck up, chunky!" shouted tad, himself taking a fresh brace in the stirrups, for the weight of the fat boy's dragging body was slowly pulling tad from the saddle. stacy was howling like an indian, not from fear, but from anger at the rough usage to which he was being subjected. he did not stop to think that it was the only way his life might be saved--nor that his own pony lay back there in the bunch grass amid the flame and smoke. tad knew it. now, by a mighty effort tad righted himself again, and, leaning forward, threw one arm about the pony's neck, trusting to the animal to follow the outward trail to safety of its own accord. tad felt a sudden jolt that nearly caused him to slide from his pony on the side opposite chunky. at the same time, the strain on the lad's arm was suddenly released. tad was up on his saddle like a flash. his right hand held the fat boy's shirt, while a series of howls to the rear told him where the owner of the shirt lay. tad groaned. pulling his pony fairly back on its haunches, he dashed back where stacy lay kicking, entangling himself deeper and deeper in the bunch grass. had tad not had presence of mind they both might have perished right there. he was off like a flash. with supreme strength, he grasped the body of his fallen companion, raising him into the saddle. "hold on!" he shouted. "don't you dare fall off!" stacy clung like a monkey to a pony in a circus race. "y-i-i-p!" trilled tad. he had no time to mount. already he could feel the hot breath of the flames on his cheek. the broncho was off with a bound. "tad! tad!" cried chunky in sudden alarm, now realizing that he was alone. "whe--where are you?" "h-h-h-h-e-r-e!" "w-w-where?" "h-h-h-holding to the b-r-r-oncho's t-tail." "wow!" howled stacy, as, turning in the saddle, he discovered his companion being fairly jerked through the air, holding fast to the pony's tail, the lad's feet hardly touching the ground at all. the broncho, that ordinarily would have resented such treatment, too fully occupied in saving his own life from the flames, gave no heed to the weight he was dragging, and it is doubtful if he even realized there was any additional weight there. with a final, desperate leap, the broncho shot out ahead of the narrowing lane. like the jaws of some great monster, the two lapping lines of fire closed in behind them, roaring as if with deadly rage. the pony dashed out into a broad, open water course, whose dry, glistening sands would prove an effectual barrier to the prairie fire. tad, though everything was swimming before his eyes, realized quickly that they were now well out of danger. "st-t-t-top him. i c-c-c-an't let go if you d-d-don't." "whoa! whoa! don't you know enough to quit when you're through?" chided chunky, tugging at the reins. the broncho carried them some distance before the lad was able to pull him down. finally he did so. "leggo!" he shouted, at the same time whirling the pony sharply about, fairly "cracking the whip" with tad butler. chunky's clever foresight probably saved tad butler's life, for, instantly the pony found itself free, it began bucking and kicking in a circle, kicking a ring all round the compass before it finally decided to settle down on all fours. finishing, it meekly lowered its nose to the ground and now, as docile as a kitten after having supped on warm milk, began dozing, the steam rising in a cloud from its sides. "well, of all the fool fools, you're the champion fool!" growled stacy, slipping from the saddle and surveying the broncho with disapproving eyes. "hah! i guess we'd been done to a turn by this if it hadn't been for you, just the same. hello, tad!" tad had doubled up in a heap where the tail of the broncho had flung him. he was well-nigh spent, but he smiled back at his companion, who stood on a slight rise of ground, almost a heroic figure. chunky's shirt was entirely missing, his skin red from the heat, ridged with scratches where he had come in violent contact with cactus plants, his hair tousled and gray with dust. "well you are a sight," grinned tad. "you wouldn't take a prize at a baby show yourself," retorted stacy, spicily. tad's clothes were torn, and his limbs were black and blue all the way down where the hoofs of the broncho had raked them again and again. "my arms feel a foot longer than they did. what are you looking at?" stacy's eyes grew large and luminous as he gazed off over the plains. "look! look, tad!" he whispered. chapter xiii following a hot trail "fire! fire!" cried professor zepplin, leaping up from where he had been leaning over, watching the water bubbling in the bottom of the excavation they had made. the guide had been hanging over the hole, dipping water to ned, who was turning it into the water-bags. "where, where?" demanded mr. kringle explosively. he also sprang to his feet. "it's a prairie fire!" "the boys are caught. they'll perish!" exclaimed professor zepplin, with blanching face. "go to them, go to them, mr. kringle!" he begged. "no living thing could get through that wall of fire, professor," announced the guide impressively. "we'll shout and perhaps, if alive, they'll bear us." they did so, with the result already known. "which direction did master stacy take?" mr. kringle asked. "i saw him riding down that way," replied walter, pointing excitedly. "then, perhaps he is safe outside of the fire zone. some of you hurry back to the camp, the stock may take fright and stampede. no, we'll all go. the wind may shift at any moment, and while i do not think the flames could reach the camp, all our animals might be suffocated, even if they did not succeed in getting away." "but you're not going to desert tad and chunky, are you?" demanded walter indignantly. "certainly not. what can we do here? we must get the ponies first; then we'll hurry to them. i'm afraid they've been caught," answered the guide. "if there's any way of escape you may depend upon it that master tad has discovered that way," answered the professor. "he is a resourceful boy, and--" but the rest were already dashing madly toward the camp and professor zepplin began to do so with all speed to catch up with them. the hot breath of the prairie fire had brought the color to his blanched cheeks. "how--how do you think the fire started?" stammered the professor, when he at last came up with the guide. "it was set afire," answered kris kringle grimly. "set!" shouted the professor and the two boys all in one breath. "yes." "by whom?" "that remains to be seen." "do you mean that one of the boys was imprudent enough to build a fire in that grass? surely they would not have been so foolish as to do a thing like that." "as i said, that remains to be seen. the first thing to be done is to get to them as quickly as possible, though i don't know that we can do any good. they're either out of it, by this time, or else they're not," added mr. kringle suggestively. "professor, i wish you and one of the boys would get out your rifles, mount your ponies and watch the camp, while two of us go in search of the lost ones." "watch the camp?" "yes." "for what reason?" "merely as a precaution." "i'll attend to that. i want all of you to get after tad and stacy. we don't care about the camp particularly, when compared with two human lives." the smoke was rolling over them in such dense clouds that the camp was wholly obscured from view until they were upon it. "quick! get the horses before they break away!" commanded the guide. "i can't find them!" shouted ned, who had bounded on ahead and disappeared in the great suffocating cloud. walter was only a few steps behind him, both boys groping, blinking and coughing as the smoke got into eyes and lungs. "lie down when it gets stronger than you can stand. there's always a current of fresh air near the ground," called the guide. both lads adopted his suggestion instantly, and they were none too soon, for already they were getting dizzy. after a few long breaths, they were up, groping about once more in search of the stock. "over to you right," called the professor. "we've been there. they're not there at all," answered ned. by this time the guide had dived into the cloud. "the stock has gone," they heard him shoat. "have they stampeded?" roared the professor. "i don't know. i'll find out in a minute." "queer that this smoke blows two ways at once," said walter. "there is a slight breeze blowing this way," explained ned. "not enough, however, to turn the fire back. it has got too good a start." suddenly a weird "c-o-o-e-e" sounded to the right of them. "what's that?" "it's the guide, walt. he's trying to call the boys, to see if they are alive," explained ned. "i don't think so. that cry is for some other purpose. i'm going over where he is to find out what it does mean. come on." together the lads ran as fast as they could in the direction from which the guide's voice had come. they found him with hands shaped into a megaphone, uttering his shrill cries. he made no answer to their questions as to what he was trying to do. all at once off in the cloud they heard rapid hoofbeats. the boys glanced at each other in surprise. "it's the ponies returning," breathed walter perkins. ned shook his head. the cries now took on a more insistent tone, and a moment later two ponies came whinnying into the camp, snorting with fear. kris kringle spoke to them sharply, whereupon they came trotting up to him with every evidence of pleasure. the lads were amazed. "can you boys shoot a rope?" "yes," they answered together. "which one is the better at it?" "ned is more expert than i am." "take one of my ponies. we've got to go after the stock. rope and bring them in as fast as possible. it's getting late, and it will be dark before we know it. there's not more than two hours of daylight left." "i can take my pony and help," began walter. "you haven't any pony. they're all gone." ned and the guide dashed from the camp at break-neck speed. emerging from the dust cloud they saw some of the stock far off on the plain. "there they are!" cried ned "thank goodness, they're all together. and they are not running. we've got them bunched." "were they afraid of the smoke? what made them break away?" "they didn't break away." "what?" "their tethers were cut and they were sent adrift," answered the guide grimly. ned was speechless with surprise. some of the ponies, objecting to being roped, ran away, necessitating a lively chase. kris kringle worked with the precision of an automatic gun and with proportionate speed. in half an hour they had roped all the ponies, and, with the burros trailing along behind, started back to camp as rapidly as possible. a heavy pall of smoke still hung over the camp and all the surrounding country. once more they staked down the ponies and pack animals, and urging vigilance on the part of professor zepplin, ned and the guide dashed away at full gallop in search of the two missing lads. "are we going through the fire?" questioned ned apprehensively. "we're going to try it. the worst of it must have passed before this, but we may have to turn back or turn out for spots. it's the shortest way, and the only course to follow if we want to know what has become of them." spreading out a little they continued on their way, the ponies snorting, threatening to whirl about and race back into the open plain. the ground was like a furnace and the grass smouldered beneath them, heating their feet and singeing their fetlocks. suddenly ned's pony reared into the air, bucked and hurled its rider far over into the smouldering bunch grass. ned uttered a yell of warning as he felt himself going. the guide wheeled like a flash. ned's mount had whirled and was away like a shot. but the guide was after him with even greater speed. the chase came to an abrupt ending some few rods farther on, when kris kringle's lariat squirmed out, bringing the fleeing pony to the ground with its nose in the hot dust. without dismounting, the guide turned his own mount, and fairly dragging the unwilling pony behind him, pounded back to the place where ned had been unhorsed. "grab him!" commanded the guide to ned, who had quickly scrambled to his feet. "what was it that he saw?" "i don't know. guess he made up his mind to go back." "no; he saw something. hang on to him and cover the ground all about you till you find it." "wha--what do you--" "never mind. look!" "here! here it is!" cried ned aghast. the guide was at his side instantly. "it's a pony," gasped the pony rider boy. kris kringle was off his own mount instantly, and bidding ned hold the animal, he made a brief examination of the fallen horse, after which he darted here and there, unheeding the fact that the still burning grass was blistering his feet through the heavy soles of his boots. for several rods kringle ran along the faint trail that tad and stacy had left, or rather, that the fire had left after passing over it. "they beat their way out here. we may find them later. come on!" again ned and the guide dashed away, both keeping their gaze on the smoking prairie about them. the smoke now was almost more than they could bear. "do--do you think they are alive?" asked ned unsteadily. "so far. if they are not, it's not their fault. the professor is right. those boys have pluck enough to pull them through, but sometimes pluck alone will not do it. a prairie fire is no respecter of pluck." they burst out into an open space. there were no signs of either of the missing boys. "something has happened to them. we must have missed them," announced the guide. chapter xiv against big odds "what is it, chunky?" "there!" tad jerked his companion flat on the ground, flattening himself beside stacy at the same instant. what had caused their sudden alarm was the sight of two indians, sitting on their ponies without saddles, some distance out on the open plain. the redskins were wrapped in their brightly colored blankets, which enveloped them from head to knees. even the hands were invisible beneath the folds of the blankets. "d-d-do you think they saw us, tad?" "i don't know. it's safe to say they did. indian eyes don't miss very much. you ought to know that, by this time. i wish we could make that pony lie down." "why don't you?" "he's too afraid of the ground--thinks it's still hot, and i don't blame him. the fire has singed him pretty well as it is." the indians sat their mounts as motionless as statues, the ponies headed directly toward where the two lads were lying. "i'll bet they're got guns under those blankets," decided tad. "you can't trust an indian even while you are looking at him." "anybody'd think you'd been hunting indians all your life," growled stacy. "they've been hunting me mostly," grinned tad. "and usually caught you," added chunky. "i don't like this lying here as if we were scared of them." "but, what else can we do, tad?" "i don't know." "neither do i. wish i had a shirt. i'll spoil my complexion clear down to my waist. resides, i'm not fit to be seen." "you're lucky to be alive," growled tad. "i'm going to get out of this." "how?" "listen, and you'll know. i'm going to get on the pony; then, as soon as i'm in the saddle, you jump up behind me and we'll start back to camp." "not--not through that fire?" protested stacy. "no; i don't dare try it. i'm afraid we'd get lost in the smoke and perhaps get burned as well. we'll ride out some distance, then turn to the left and try to go around the burned district." "what if the indians chase us?" "i don't believe they will. they'll hardly dare do that. and, besides, these may be friendly indians." "huh!" grunted stacy. "they look it." tad got up boldly, and without even looking toward the silent red men, began fussing about his saddle, cinching the girths, and straightening the saddle. his last act before mounting was to see that the coils of his lariat were in order. "all right," announced the lad, vaulting into the saddle. stacy scrambled up behind him without loss of time, and they rode out into the open, the fat boy peering apprehensively over his companion's shoulder. "you keep watch of them, chunky, but don't let them see you doing it. i won't look at them at all. we don't want them to think we're afraid." stacy fidgeted. "you bet i'll watch 'em. wish i had my rifle." "i don't." "huh!" "you have distinguished yourself quite enough with that rifle as it is. we don't want any more of your fancy shooting." "there they go," warned stacy. "i see them." tad had been cautiously observing the horsemen out of the corners of his eyes. "moving in the same direction we are. i don't like the looks of it. still, if they don't get any nearer we may be thankful." the pony carrying the boys was walking easily, and the mounts of the indians were doing the same. "jog a little," suggested stacy. "that's a good idea. it will tell us quickly whether they are trying to keep up with us." he touched the pony lightly with his spurs. the little animal switched its tail, for its sides were tender, and started off. "there they go, tad! jogging the same gait as ours!" tad's face took on the stubborn look it always wore when he had determined upon a certain course of action. "i'll beat them yet, even if there are only two of them. i wish there weren't two of us on this nag." "i'll get off and walk," suggested. stacy. "you'll do nothing of the sort. that would be a nice thing to do, wouldn't it? they'd round you up quicker'n they could a lame burro." "say, tad." "what?" "i've got an idea." "what is it?" "you know that sage hen we had?" "yes, what's that got to do with our present predicament?" "i was wondering why there aren't any sage roosters?" "you'll be a sage rooster, with your head off, first thing you know," snapped tad in disgust. "can't you be serious for a minute? don't you see we are in a fix?" "uh-huh!" "there, that fellow is trying to head us off." one of the indians had shot away from his companion, running obliquely toward the point to which tad was headed. the red man had gotten quite a start before the boys caught the significance of his manoeuvre. tad dug in the spurs. at that instant the fat boy's hands had been removed from tad, to whose body they had been clinging. the pony leaped forward, and stacy slid over its rump, hitting the ground with a jolt that jarred him. "wow!" howled stacy. tad, instantly divining what had happened, pulled up sharply; wheeled and raced back to where his companion was still complaining loudly and rubbing his body. "get up!" roared tad, leaning over and grasping stacy by the hair of his head. the fat boy was jerked sharply to his feet. "quick! quick, climb up here!" with the help of his companion, the lad scrambled up behind tad again, muttering and rubbing himself. by this time the leading horseman had wholly outdistanced them, and his pony was now loping along easily, while the second indian appeared to be riding directly toward them, at right angles to the direction in which they were traveling. all at once the two indians began riding about the boys in a circle, uttering short little "yips," intended to terrify the lads, but not loud enough to be heard any great distance away. "hang on! we're going to ride for keeps now!" warned tad. the fat boy threw both arms about his companion's waist as the pony let out into a swift run. at first tad thought he had gotten safely out of the circle, only to discover that they had headed him again. the circle was narrowing, and the indians were gradually drawing in on them. stacy's eyes were growing larger every minute, perhaps more from astonishment than from fear. then, too, he could not but admire the riding of their pursuers. even the blankets of the indians appeared not to be disturbed in the least by their rapid riding, the horsemen sitting a little sideways on the ponies' backs, the reins bunched loosely in their left bands. "they've got us, tad." "they shan't get us!" retorted tad stubbornly. "if they don't use their guns--and i don't believe they will--we'll beat them yet." if stacy was doubtful he did not say so. "if they get close to us, you be ready to let go of me when i give the word," cautioned tad. "what for? what you going to do?" "i don't know yet. that depends upon circumstances. i'm not going to let them have it all their own way while i've got a pony under me. we may get help any minute, too, so the longer we can put off a clash the better it will be for us." "who you mean--santa claus?" "yes." "they're closing in now," said stacy. "take your hands away from my waist." "but i'll fall off, tad." "slip one hand through under my belt and take hold of the cantle with the other. sit as low as you can so as not to get in my way." stacy obeyed his companion's directions without further comment, but he was all curiosity to know what was going to happen next. the indians were drawing nearer every second now. the boys could see the expressions on their evil faces, intensified by the streaks of yellow and red paint. "they look as though they'd stuck their heads in a paint pail," was chunky's muttered comment. the blankets fell away from the racing savages, flapped on the rumps of the bobbing ponies for a few seconds and then slipped to the ground. a rifle was reposing in each man's holster, as tad observed instantly. he was thankful to note that the guns were not in the hands of the indians. the lad's right hand had dropped carelessly to the saddle horn, the fingers cautiously gathering in the coils of the lariat that hung there. the red men did not appear to have observed his act. "lie low!" commanded tad, scarcely above a whisper. stacy settled down slowly so as not to attract attention. one horseman shot directly across tad's course, striking the lad's pony full in the face as he did so, and causing the animal to brace himself so suddenly as to nearly unseat both boys. tad's rope was in the air in a twinkling. a warning shout from the second indian, who was just to the rear of them, came too late. the rope shot true to its mark and the first savage, with back half-turned, had failed to observe it coming. the great loop dropped over his head. the pony braced itself and tad took a quick turn of the rope about the pommel of his saddle. the result was instantaneous. the indian was catapulted from his saddle with arms pinioned to his aide. "ye-ow!" howled chunky; unable to restrain his enthusiasm. tad did not even hear him. "look out! here comes the other one!" warned the fat boy. but tad was too busily engaged in keeping the line taut about the roped indian. the fellow was struggling on the ground, fighting to free himself, while the boy with the rope was manoeuvring his pony in a series of lightning-like movements that made the fat boy's head swim. "take care of him, chunky!! i can't," gasped tad. stacy's eyes took on a belligerent expression as the second savage bore down upon them, with knees gripped tightly against the side of his pony, half raising himself above the animal's back, reins dropped on the pony's neck. the indian was guiding his mount by the pressure of legs and knees alone. the angry redskin was making futile attempts to get into a position where he might grab the active tad. he did not seem to take into account the cringing figure behind the boy who had roped the other indian. all at once, at the opportune moment, his pony forging ahead, the indian's hand shot out. the red, bony fingers were closing upon tad butler's right shoulder, when all at once something happened. the cringing fat boy rose. the right hand that had been clinging to the cantle was launched out. his body, thrown forward at the same time, lent the blow added force. chunky's fist came into violent contact with the indian's jaw. mr. redman disappeared from the back of his pony so quickly that, for a second, stacy could scarcely believe his eyes. "y-e-o-w! w-o-w!" howled the fat boy. "beat it for the tall grass, tad!" a quick glance behind him, revealed the true state of affairs to tad butler. he dug in the spurs, clinging to the lariat for a few feet, then suddenly releasing it, as the pony leaped away under the stinging pressure of the spurs. "duck! duck! they're going to shoot!" shouted tad. chapter xv hit by a dry storm "there it goes! lower, chunky!" a rifle had crashed somewhere to the left of them. stacy's curiosity getting the better of him, he had twisted his body around, and was peering back; but he was bobbing up and down so fast that he found it difficult to fix his eyes on any one point long enough to distinguish what that object was. "look! look!" he cried, when in a long rise of the pony his eyes had caught something definite. the roped indian was running for his pony, which he caught, leaping to its back and dashing away madly. "hold up! hold up! there's something doing," shouted the fat, boy. tad swerved a little, turning to his left. rifles were banging, and the dust was spurting up under the feet of the savage's racing pony. by this time, the second indian had recovered from the blow that stacy had landed on his jaw, and he too was in his saddle in a twinkling, tearing madly cross the plain. stacy brown uttered a series of wild whoops and yells. he knew their assailants were running and that some one was shooting at the indians, but who it was the fat boy could only guess. two ponies suddenly dashed out from the low-lying smoke cloud. one of their riders was swinging his sombrero and cheering; the other was firing his rifle after the fleeing savages. "hooray, it's santa claus," howled stacy, fairly beside himself with excitement. even tad caught something of his companion's spirit of enthusiasm. he swung his hand and started galloping toward the two horsemen. "shoot 'em! kill 'em!" howled chunky. but santa claus merely shook his head, and after refilling the magazine of his rifle slipped it into the holster. "it would only make trouble and probably cause an uprising if i did. they know i could have winged them both had i wanted to," he grinned. "well, you boys are a sight." "i--i lost my shirt," interjected stacy. "and i suppose you fell in," chuckled ned. "no; i fell off." "we're lucky to be alive," laughed tad. "you are that. i see now that professor zepplin was right when he said you could take care of yourself. never saw anything quite so slick as the way you roped that redskin--" "and--and i punched the other one," glowed chunky. "did you see us?" questioned tad. "yes, we saw the whole proceeding. but you were so mixed up that we couldn't fire without danger of hitting one of you boys. wonder what those apaches think struck them," laughed the guide. "how did you get through the fire?" tad explained briefly; at the same time accounting for the loss of stacy's shirt. "i bet that the fellow with the canary-wing face has a sore jaw," bubbled stacy. "no doubt of it, master stacy. i didn't suppose you had such a punch as that. you're a good indian fighter." "always was," answered the fat boy, swelling with importance. "come, we'll have to hurry back it will be dark before we reach camp, as it is, and the professor will be worrying about you." they turned about, and, heading across the burned area, started for camp. fitful blazes were springing up here and there, but all danger had, by this time, passed, though the smoke still hung heavy and the odor of burned vegetation smote the nostrils unpleasantly. stacy sniffed the air suspiciously. "tastes like a drug store fire i smelled once in chillicothe," he averred. "i haven't made up my mind, yet, how that fire started, mr. kringle," wondered tad. "i have," replied the guide tersely. "how?" "it was set afire!" "by whom?" "by one of those savages, or by somebody who was with them. they must have been watching you all the time. did you recognize either of them as the fellow you knocked down the other might?" "no; i don't think i would know the indian. the light was too uncertain at the fire dance, and then again, all indians look alike to me." "it was a narrow escape." "do you think they'll come back again?" questioned ned. "i doubt it. they won't if they recognized me. they know me. they've done business with me before." professor zepplin and walter were overjoyed when at last the party rode into camp and they learned that both boys were safe. the lads were obliged to go all over their experiences again for the benefit of the professor and walter. "it's getting worse and worse," decided the professor helplessly. "i don't know where all this is going to end. i thought when we got a new guide--but what's the use? do you think we had better start to-night, mr. kringle?" "no. there is no necessity." "what am i going to do for a pony?" asked chunky. "you can ride one of mine. i always take two when on a long journey," replied the guide. chunky's first act after reaching camp, was to provide himself with a shirt. after donning it, he announced that he had an appetite and wanted to know when they were going to have supper. "why, you had supper hours ago," scoffed ned. "want another one already?" "that wasn't supper, that was four o'clock tea. indian fighters must have real food." "stop teasing. we'll give the 'ittle baby his milk," returned ned. that night, kris kringle remained on guard himself. he would not trust the guardianship of the camp to any of the boys, for he fully expected that they would receive a visit from one or more of the indians, though he did not tell the others so. but nothing occurred to disturb the camp, and the boys, despite their trying experiences, slept soundly, awakening in the morning fresh and active, ready and anxious for any further adventures. the party set out shortly after sunrise, and traveled all day across the uneven plains, across short mountain ranges, through deep gorges and rugged foothills. crossing an open space the guide espied a bottle glistening in the sunlight. "there's a bottle," pointed the guide. "want it?" stacy glanced at it indifferently; "what do i want of a bottle?" "then i'll take it," decided the guide, dismounting and stowing the abandoned piece of glass in his saddle bags. "bottles are good for only two things." "and what are they, master stacy?" questioned the professor. "to keep things in and to shoot at," replied the fat boy wisely. everybody laughed at that. "i guess that embodies everything you can say about bottles," smiled the professor. "your logic, at times, young man, is unassailable." chunky nodded. he had a faint idea of what professor zepplin meant. late that afternoon the travelers came upon a shack in the foothills, where an old rancher, a hermit, lived when not tending his little flock of sheep, most of which, kris kringle said, the old man had stolen from droves that came up over the trail going north. he was an interesting old character, this hermit, and the boys decided that they would like to make camp and have him take supper with them. this the professor and the guide readily agreed to, for everyone was hot and dusty and the bronchos were nervous and ill-natured. the boys found the old rancher talkative enough on all subjects save himself. when chunky asked him where he came from, and what for, the old man's face flushed angrily. at the first opportunity the guide took the fat boy aside for some fatherly advice. "in this country it isn't good policy to be too curious about a man's family affairs. he's likely to resent it in a way you won't like. most fellows out here have reasons for being out of the world, beyond what's apparent on the surface." chunky heeded the advice and asked no more personal questions for the next hour, though he did forget himself before the evening was ended. "you seem to be having pretty dry weather down here," said the professor, by way of starting the old man to talking. "yep. haven't had any rain in this belt fer the last two years." "two years!" exclaimed the boys. "yep. had a few light dews, but that's all," replied the hermit. "looks to me as if you were going to get some to-night," announced tad. "reckon not." "then i'm no judge of weather." even as tad spoke there was a low muttering of thunder, and the far lightning flashed pale and green, and rose on the long horizon to the southwest. kris kringle heard the far away growl. springing up, he began staking down the tents. "that's a good idea. we lost our whole outfit on our last trip. think they'll stand a blow?" "i guess they will when i get through with them. have we any more stakes in camp?" "there should be some in the kit." tad searched until he found several more stakes, and with these and the emergency ropes, they made the tents secure. by the time they had done so, the heavens had grown black and menacing. they could see the storm sweeping down on them. it was a magnificent sight, and the lads were so lost in observing its grandeur that they forgot to feel any alarm. a cloud of dust accompanied the advance guard of the storm. "reckon there ain't any rain in them clouds," commented the old man. "there's plenty of the other thing, though." "what's the other thing?" questioned chunky. "lightning." even as he spoke a bolt descended right in the center of the camp, tearing a hole in the earth and hurling a cloud of dirt and dust many feet up into the air. the force of the explosion knocked some of the party flat. chunky picked himself up and carefully brushed his clothes; then, solemnly walked out and sat down on the spot where the lightning had struck. "here, here! what are you doing out there?" demanded the guide. "sitting on the lightning." "you come in here! and quick, at that!" "huh! guess i know what i'm doing. lightning never strikes twice in the same place. i'm--" by this time kris kringle had the fat boy by the collar, hustling him to the protection of one of the tents. no sooner had they reached it than a crash that seemed as if it had split the earth wide open descended upon them. balls of fire shot off in every direction. one went right through the tent where they were huddled, hurling the pony rider boys in a heap. they scrambled up calling to each other nervously. the shock had extinguished the lantern that hung in the tent. the guide relighted it, and, stepping outside to see what had happened, pointed to the place where chunky had been sitting but a few minutes before. the bolt had struck in the identical spot where the previous one had landed. "now, young man, there's an object lesson for you," mr. kringle said, with a grim smile. "and there's another!" replied chunky, pointing to the outside of the tent. there lay the old rancher, whose absence they had not noted. he had been in the tent with them when they last saw him and how he had gotten out there none knew. the rancher had been stripped of every vestige of clothing by the freaky lightning. "he's dead," crooned stacy solemnly. "get water, quick! he's been struck by lightning!" commanded the guide, making systematic efforts to bring the old man back to consciousness. stacy ran for the water-bags. "i am afraid it is useless, mr. kringle," warned, the professor, failing to find a pulse. the boys were standing about fanning the victim, having one by one dumped the contents of their canteens in his face. stacy returned with a water-bag after a little. "i--i--i've got an idea," he exploded, as with eyes wide open he attempted to tell them something. "keep still. we've got something else to do besides listening to your foolishness," chided ned. "chunky, we're trying to save this man's life. give me that bag," commanded tad. the two older men were working desperately on the patient. stacy stood around, fidgeting a little, but making no further attempt to enlighten them as to what his new idea was. after a time the rancher began to show signs of recovering. he gasped a few times then opened his eyes. "what kicked me?" he asked, with a half-grin. they could all afford to laugh now, and they did. the rancher refused their offer of clothes, saying he had another suit in his shack. "that's twice the stuff has knocked me out. next time it'll git me for keeps," he said. "does it strike here very often?" questioned the professor. "allus." "then, there must be some mineral substance in the soil." "no, ain't nothing like that. jest contrariness that's all. hit my shack once, and 'cause 'twas raining, bored holes in the roof so the place got all wet inside." "but it isn't raining now. doesn't it usually rain when you have a thunder storm here?" asked the professor. "no. ain't had no rain in nigh onto two year," the hermit reiterated. "you'd better go and put on some clothes," suggested kris kringle. "guess that's right." the old man seemed to have forgotten his condition. the others had wrapped a blanket around him, which seemed to satisfy his demand for clothes. gathering up the blanket he strolled leisurely toward his cabin, undisturbed by his recent experience. "nothing like getting used to it," chuckled stacy. "hello, now we'll hear what your new idea is, chunky?" jeered ned. "yes, what is it?" urged tad. "nothing much." "never is," cut in walter perkins, a little maliciously. "i--i got an idea the ponies tried to kick holes in the lightning." everybody laughed loudly. they could well afford to laugh, now that the danger had passed. "what makes you think that?" asked the guide, eyeing him sharply. "'cause they're dead!" "what!" shouted the boys. all hands dashed from the tent, stacy regarding them with soulful eyes, after which he surreptitiously slipped a biscuit into his pocket and strolled out after them. chapter xvi chunky's new idea three of the ponies, they found, had been knocked down and so severely shocked that they were only just beginning to regain consciousness. "why didn't you tell us?" demanded ned, turning on stacy savagely. "you wouldn't let me. maybe next time i've got an idea, you'll stop and listen." kris kringle's face wore a broad grin. "master stacy is right. he tried hard enough to tell us," he said. chunky was humming blithely as the party set out next morning. he was pretty well satisfied with himself, for had he not been through a prairie fire, knocked a savage apache off his horse, saved himself and his companions, besides having just escaped from being struck by lightning? stacy swelled out his chest and held his chin a little bit higher than usual. "chunky's got a swelled head," said ned, nodding in the direction of the fat boy. "swelled chest, you mean," laughed walter. "nobody has a better right. chunky isn't half as big a fool as he'd have everybody believe. when we think we are having lots of fun with him he's really having sport with us. and those indians--say, ned, do you think they will bother us any more?" "ask chunky," retorted ned. "he's the oracle of the party." "i will," answered walter, motioning for stacy to join them, which the latter did leisurely. "we want to know if you think we've seen the last of the apaches? will they bother us any more?" the fat boy consulted the sky thoughtfully. "i think there's some of them around now," he replied. "what?" stacy nodded wisely. "santa claus ought to have shot them." "why, you cold-blooded savage!" scoffed ned. "the idea!" "you'll see. i'd have done it, myself, if i'd had my gun," declared stacy bravely. "good thing for you that your gun was in camp, instead of in your holster." "yes; i'd have lost the gun when the pony went down. poor pony! say, walt," he murmured, leaning over toward his companion. "well, out with it!" "this pony of santa claus's can jump further than a kangaroo." "ever see a kangaroo jump?" sneered ned. "no; but i've seen you try to. i'll show you, walt, when we get a chance to go out and have a contest." "that would be good sport, wouldn't it, ned?" "what?" "a jumping contest!" "if we didn't break our necks." "can't break a pony rider boy's neck. they're too tough," laughed walter, to which sentiment, stacy brown agreed with a series of emphatic nods. "say, tad," called walter, "what do you say to our jumping our ponies some time to-day?" tad grinned appreciatively. "if the stock isn't too tired when we make camp, i think it would be great fun. we haven't had any real jumping contests in a long time." "wish we had our stallions here, tad." "they're better off at home, chunky. altogether too valuable horses for this kind of work. i'll speak to the guide." "well, what is it, young man?" smiled kris kringle. "if you can find a level place for our camp we want to have a contest this afternoon. professor, will you join us?" "what kind of a contest?" "jumping." "no, thank you." "we will camp in the foothills of the black range. you will find plenty of level ground there for your purpose," said the guide. in order that they might have more time for their games, an early halt was called. the first work was to pitch the camp, the ponies being allowed to graze and rest in the meantime, after which the lads started out on a broad, open plain for their sport. their shouts of merriment drifted back to the camp where kris kringle and professor zepplin were setting things to rights and preparing an early supper, the sun still being some hours high. "that's a great bunch of boys, professor." "great for getting into difficulties." "and for getting out of them." "i'll put them against any other four lads in the world for hunting out trouble," laughed the professor. the result of the afternoon's sport was a total of several spills and numerous black and blue spots on the bodies of the pony rider boys. stacy brown on kris kringle's pony, carried off the honors, having taken a higher jump than did any of his companions. then stacy did it again, after the others had tried--and failed to equal the record. the games being finished, tad and walter rode off to get a closer view of some peculiar rock formations that they had discovered in the high distance, while ned and chunky started slowly for the camp. the table had been set out in front of the tents when the fat boy and his companion came in sight of the camp. "whew! but i'm hungry!" announced stacy brown. "but you didn't think of it until you saw the table set, did you?" "it wasn't the table, it was the shaking up i got back there that made me feel full of emptiness." "huh!" "i've got an idea, ned." "for goodness' sake, keep it to yourself, then. when you have an idea it spells trouble for everybody else around you." "bet you i can." "can what?" snorted ned. "bet you i can jump the dinner table and you can't." "bet you can't." "bet i can, and without even knocking a fly off the milk pitcher." "go on, you! you try it first, and, if you don't make it, you lose. i don't have to try it if i don't want to," agreed ned, with rare prudence. chunky was fairly hugging himself with glee, but he took good care that ned rector did not observe his satisfaction. "if you don't you're a tenderfoot," taunted stacy. "i'll show you who's the tenderfoot. you go ahead and bolt the dinner, table and all, if you dare. now, then!" stacy gathered up his reins. there was mischief in his eyes, which were fixed on the table, neatly set for the evening meal. "you start right after me. they'll be surprised to see a procession of ponies going over the table, won't they?" "somebody'll be surprised. may not be the professor and santa claus, though," growled ned. stacy had his own ideas on this question, but he did not confide them to his companion. the fat boy clucked to his pony, and the little animal started off. as they moved along, stacy used the persuasive spurs resulting in a sudden burst of speed. "come on!" he shouted. he heard ned's pony pursuing him. "hi-yi-yi-y-e-o-w!" howled the shrill voice of the fat boy. professor zepplin and kris kringle were sitting at opposite ends of the table, with elbows leaning on it, engaged in earnest conversation. there had been so much yelling out on the plain ever since the boys left camp that the older men gave no heed to this new shout--did not even turn their eyes in the direction whence stacy brown and his pony were sweeping down on them at break-neck speed. suddenly the two men started back with a sudden exclamation, as a shadow fell athwart the table and a dark form hurled itself through the air, while a shrill, "w-h-o-o-p-e-e!" sounded right over their heads. the fat boy cleared the table without so much as disturbing the fly to which he had referred when making the arrangement. kris kringle's face wore an expansive grin as he discovered the cause of the interruption. but, professor zepplin's face reflected no such emotion. he was angry. he started to rise, when a second shadow fell across the table. ned rector, not to be outdone by his fat little friend, pursed his lips tightly, driving his broncho at the dinner table and pressing in the spurs so hard, that the pony grunted with anger. up went the broncho in a graceful curving leap. but the pony or its rider had not calculated the distance properly. both rear hoofs went through the table, whisking it off the ground from before the astonished eyes of professor zepplin and kris kringle. both men drew back so violently that they toppled over backwards. 'mid the crashing of dishes and the sound of breaking wood, the dinner table shot up into the air, while the pony ploughed the ground with its nose. ned rector struck the ground some distance farther on; he slid on his face for several feet skinning his nose, and filling mouth, eyes and nose with dirt. then dishes and pieces of table began to rain down on them in a perfect shower. a can of condensed milk emptied itself on the head of professor zepplin, while a hot biscuit lodged inside the collar of santa claus's shirt. "wow! oh, wow!" howled the fat boy, falling off his pony in the excess of his merriment and rolling on the ground. chapter xvii in the home of the cave dwellers ned rector sat up just in time to meet the wreck of the descending table. down he went again with stacy's howls ringing in his ears. a firm hand jerked rector free of the debris as kris kringle laughing heartily hauled ned to his feet. at the same moment professor zepplin had laid more violent hands on the fat boy, whom he shook until stacy's howls lost much of their mirth. about this time tad and walter rode in, having hurried along upon hearing the disturbance in camp. "stacy brown, are you responsible for this?" demanded the professor sternly. "i'm more to blame than he is," interposed ned. "no, i--i had an idea," chuckled stacy, threatening to break out into another howl of mirth. "next time you have one, then, you will be good enough to let me know. we will tie you up until the impulse to make trouble has passed." tad and walter could not resist a shout of laughter. kris kringle was not slow to follow the example set by them, and all at once professor zepplin forgot his dignity, sitting right down amid the wreck and laughing immoderately. ned washed his face, and when, upon facing them, he exhibited a peeled nose and a black eye, the merriment was renewed again. supper was a success, in spite of the fact that many of their dishes were utterly ruined, as well as some of the provisions. but the lads gathered up the pieces and made the best of a bad job. fortunately they carried another folding table that they had had made for their trip, and this was soon spread and a fresh meal prepared. "well, have you two been getting into difficulties also?" questioned the professor, after they sat down to supper. "no; we've been exploring, walter and i," answered tad. "exploring?" "yes. we discovered something that i should like to know more about." "what is that?" asked kris kringle, looking up interestedly. "we were over yonder, close to the mountains, which are straight up and down, and half way to the top, we saw three or four queerly-shaped rocks that looked like houses or huts. did you ever see them, mr. kringle?" "no; but i think i know what you mean. they must be some of the cave dwellings of the ancient pueblos, or perhaps as far back as the toltecs. they built their homes in caves on the steep rocks for better protection against their enemies." "and nobody ever discovered these before?" questioned. walter. "how queer!" "perhaps these dwellings, if such they are, have been seen by many a traveler, none of whom had interest enough in the matter to investigate. then again, they may have been fully explored. there's not much in this part of the country that prospectors have not looked over." "may we explore these caves, professor?" asked tad. "please let us?" urged walter. "i see no objection if mr. kringle will be responsible for you. i rather think i'll look into them myself. i'll confess the idea interests me. are they easy to get at?" "i'm afraid not," answered tad. "santa claus will show us the way," interrupted stacy enthusiastically. he was frowned down by the professor. "why not start now?" urged tad. the guide consulted the sun. "we might. it lacks all of three hours to dark." there was much enthusiasm in camp. the idea that they were to visit some unexplored caves, dwellings of an ancient people, filled the lads with pleasant expectancy. before starting, mr. kringle sorted out some strong manila rope and several tent stakes all of which he did up into two bundles. then he filled the magazine of his rifle, throwing this over his shoulder. "what's that for?" questioned ned. "the gun?" "yes." "can't tell what we may run into in a cave, you know." after a final look at the camp all hands set out for the place indicated by tad. it was only a short distance, so they decided to walk. reaching the base of the mountain they gazed up. "yes, those are cave dwellings," declared kris kringle. "and they are still closed. probably they haven't been opened in two hundred years." "i'd hate to live there and have to go home in a dark night," mused chunky. "yes, how did they get to their houses?" wondered the other boys. "the question is, how are we going to get near enough to explore them? how shall we get up there, mr. guide?" asked the professor. "we'll find a way. we shall have to climb the mountain, first." all hands began clambering up the rocks. to do so they were obliged to follow along the base of the mountain for some distance before they found a place that they could climb. reaching the top, the guide examined their surroundings carefully. "see those little projections of rock slanting down toward the shelf?" he asked. "yes." "well, in the old days they probably felled a tree so it would fall on them. the occupants of the cave probably cut steps in the tree trunk over which to travel up and down. the tree has rotted away many years since." "and we can't get down, then?" "we'll find a way, master walter. i thought i should be able to make a rope ladder that would work, but i see it is not practicable." "how shall we do it?" "try the old way, i guess, master tad." "what's that?" "the tree." "but there are no trees near here?" "yes, there are, a few rods back. we are all strong and i guess we shall be able to make a pretty fair pair of steps." kris kringle had brought an axe with him. with this he cut some long, straight poles which, he explained, were intended for pike poles such as woodsmen use to roll logs. this done, he began industriously chopping at the tree after deciding upon the exact position in which he desired it to fall. "it won't reach," declared chunky, who, with hands in pockets, legs spread wide apart, stood looking up at the flaring top of the great tree. the guide stopped chopping long enough to squint at the fat boy. "it'll reach you all right, if you stay where you are," he said, then resumed his vigorous blows. stacy promptly took the hint and moved a safe distance away. "get from under!" shouted the guide finally. one more blow would send the tree crashing downward. all hands scrambled for safety. one powerful blow from the axe, and with a crashing and rending, the great tree began its descent. when it struck the onlookers fully expected to see it broken into many pieces, but the bushy top, hitting the rocks first, broke the blow, and the body of the tree settled down gently without even breaking its bark. "fine! hurrah!" shouted the boys. "it won't reach to the edge. going to pull it over?" questioned stacy. "not exactly, but we're going to get it there. perhaps we shall not have it in place in time to explore the caves to-night, but we shall be ready to do so early in the morning. it took our friends longer to do this job, two hundred years or more ago, than it will take us. we have better tools to work with." "and better bosses," suggested stacy. some little time was consumed in chopping the tree loose from its stump, after which the guide worked the pike poles under the trunk at intervals near the base. the others watched these operations with interest. "now here is where you young gentlemen will have a chance to show how strong you are. each one grab a pike pole," kringle directed. "shan't i go hold the top down?" asked stacy. "you just grab a pike pole and get busy!" laughed mr. kringle. "can't get out of work quite so easy as you thought," scoffed ned. "this is where we make you earn your supper." "i don't have to earn it. had it already." "there are other meals coming," smiled the professor. "now, heo--he!" all raised on the pike poles at the same time with the result that the tree was forced down the gentle incline several feet. this was repeated again and again, the boys pausing to cheer after every lift. the tree being now perilously near the edge of the cliff kris kringle called a halt. next he fastened a rope around the top and another around the base, taking a turn around a rock with each. one boy was placed on each rope, the others at the pike poles, while the guide stood at the edge giving directions. the tree trunk gently slipped over under his guidance and a few minutes later rested on the projecting rocks, that were just high enough to hold it in place. "wouldn't take much to send it over, but i guess it will be perfectly safe," he mused. "may we go down now?" cried the boys. "no; i'll make some steps first." he did so with the axe, chopping out scoop-shaped places for steps, until finally he had reached the rock in front of the cave dwellings. the tree lay at an easy slope, its bushy top partly resting on the ledge, the latter being some eight feet deep by ten feet wide. running up the log mr. kringle made another rope fast at the top, throwing the free end over. "hold on to the rope while you are going down and you'll be in no danger of falling," he warned. the boys scrambled down the tree like so many squirrels, the professor following somewhat more cautiously. the explorers found themselves not more than twenty feet from the ground. "not much of a door yard. where's the garden?" wondered stacy, looking about him curiously. the entrance to the cave dwelling was blocked by a huge boulder, that completely filled the opening. how it had been gotten there none could say. the only possible explanation was that the boulder had been found on the shelf and applied to the purpose of protecting the cave dwellers' home. "now we're here, we can't get in," grumbled ned. "nothing is impossible," answered kris kringle. "except one thing." "what's that, master ned?" "to hammer the least little bit of sense into the head of my friend, chunky brown." "you don't have to, that's why," retorted stacy quickly. "it has all the sense it'll hold, now." "i guess that will be about all for you, ned," laughed walter. "at least, chunky didn't foul the dinner table when he jumped it." the guide, in the meantime, was experimenting with the boulder, inserting a pike pole here and there in an effort to move the big stone. it remained in place as solidly as if it had grown there. "there's some trick about the thing, i know, but what it is gets me. better stand back, all of you, in case it comes out all of a sudden," mr. kringle warned them. all at once the boulder did come out, and it kept on coming. "look out!" bellowed the guide. "low bridge!" howled stacy, hopping to one side and crouching against the rocks. the guide had sprung nimbly to one side as well. the big rock had popped out like a pea from a pod. instead of stopping, however, it continued to roll on toward the edge. "hug the rocks! she's going down!" shouted the guide. go down it did, with a crash that seemed to shake the mountain. rolling to the edge of the shelf, it had toppled over, taking a large strip of shelving rock with it. "wow!" howled chunky; the other boys uttered no sound, though their faces were a little more pale than usual. kris kringle stepped to the edge, peering over. "no one will get that up here again, right away," he said. "the cave, the cave!" shouted walter. everyone turned, gazing half in awe at the dark opening that the removal of the stone had revealed--an opening that had been closed for probably more than two centuries. chapter xviii facing the enemy's guns "do we go in?" asked the professor. "wait, i'll get some light inside first," answered the prudent guide. "can't tell whether we shall want to go in or not." he built up a small fire within, then called to the others that they might enter. they crowded in hastily, finding themselves in a fairly large chamber, at the far end of which was a sort of natural alcove in the rocks. the remnants of a fire still lay at one side, where the last meal of the ancient dweller had probably been cooked. several crude looking utensils lay about, together with a number of pieces of ancient pottery. "this is, indeed, a rare find!" exclaimed the professor, carrying the precious jars out into the light for closer examination. chunky, about that time, pounced upon an object which proved to be a copper hatchet. "hurray for george washington!" he shouted, brandishing the crude tool. "the man who never told--" "we've heard that before," objected ned. "give us something new, chunky, if you've got to talk." the professor came in, searching for other curios just as stacy went out to examine his "little axe," as he was pleased to call it. he tried the edge of it on the ledge to find out if the stone would dull it, but it did not. "i'll use that to cut nails and wire with when i get back home," decided the boy. "guess i'll chop my name in the side of the mountain here." stacy proceeded to do so, the others being too much engrossed in their explorations to know or care what he was about. he succeeded very well, both in making letters on the wall and in putting several nicks in the edge of his new-found hatchet. he was thus engaged when all at once something struck the axe hurling it from his hand. at the same instant a rifle crashed off somewhere below and to the southeast of him. "ouch!" exclaimed the fat boy holding his hand. "wonder who did that?" his mind had not coupled the shot with the blow on the hatchet. bang! a bullet flattened itself close to his head, against the rock. with a howl, the lad threw himself down on the ledge. at that instant kris kringle sprang to the opening of the cave. "what does this mean?" he snapped. "i don't know. somebody knocked the axe out of my hand then shot at me." the guide discovered the trouble right there. a bullet snipped his hat from his head; and, striking the ceiling of the cave-home, dropped to the floor with a dull clatter. kris kringle ducked with amazing quickness. crawling back into the cave, he reached for his own rifle and then sought the opening, taking good care not to expose himself to the fire of the unseen enemy. stacy, on his part, had lost no time in getting to a place of safety inside, though he was prudent enough to crawl instead of getting up and walking in. "what does this mean? it can't be possible that anyone is deliberately shooting at us?" questioned professor zepplin in undisguised amazement. "if you doubt it step outside," suggested kris kringle. "master stacy and myself know what they tried to do, don't we, lad?" "we do." the fat boy again swelled with importance. "look out you don't swell up so big you'll break your harness," warned ned. "better break it than have it shot off," mumbled stacy. "who can it be?" "i can't say, professor." "it's our friends from the fire dance," was tad's expressed conviction. "told you they'd be here," nodded chunky. "why don't you shoot at them?" "going to, in a minute. got to find out where they are first." now the lads were excited in earnest. some one was shooting at them, and the guide was going to fire back. this was more than they had expected when they visited the home of the cave-dweller. "let me take a crack at 'em," begged chunky. "i owe 'em one." "master stacy, you will do nothing of the sort," reproved the professor sternly. "the idea!" "no; if there's any shooting to be done i'll do it," announced kris kringle. "and santa claus isn't shooting with any toy gun, this time," chuckled chunky. "can you see the camp, to know if anyone is there?" "yes, but only part of it, professor. i wish you would all get over into the right hand corner there and lie flat on the floor. i'm going to try to draw their fire so that i can locate them. can't afford to waste ammunition until we are reasonably sure where our mark is." the others quickly got into the position indicated. placing his hat on one of the pike poles, kringle slowly pushed it outside. there was no result, the ruse failed to draw the enemy's fire. "oh, they've gone. we're a lot of babies," jeered ned, jumping up and starting for the opening. kris kringle gave him a push with the butt of the rifle. "want, to get shot full of holes? wait! i'll show you." the guide sprang up, showing himself out on the ledge for one brief instant then throwing himself flat. a sharp "ping" against the rocks, followed by a heavy report, told the story. the guide had been not a second too soon in getting out of harm's way, for the bullet would have gone right through him had he remained standing. quick as a flash kringle's rifle leaped to his shoulder, and he fired. he had taken quick aim at a puff of smoke off toward the camp. not content with one shot he raked the bushes all about where the puff of smoke had been seen, emptying the magazine of the rifle in a few seconds. stacy brown was fairly dancing with glee. "did you hit anything?" asked the boys breathlessly. "of course, i hit something; but whether i winged an indian or not, i don't know. if i did, he probably is not seriously wounded. you'll hear a redskin yell when he's hit bad." "that one i punched didn't. he was hit hard," volunteered stacy. "he didn't have time," grinned tad. "you were too quick for him." "look out! there comes a volley!" warned mr. kringle. the boys, led by the professor tumbled into the corner in a heap, while the lead pattered in through the opening, rattling with great force like a handful of pebbles. "they're getting in a hurry," averred the professor. "it's growing dark. they want to finish us before then, so we can't play any tricks on them after that. but, if they only knew it, and they probably do, they've got us beautifully trapped. one man below and another at the other end of our tree would be able to keep us here till the springs run dry. if there's only two of them there, as i suspect is the case, they may not want to separate. we'll see, the minute it gets dark enough so that we can move about without being observed." some of the sage brush that kris kringle had brought down to light up the cave lay outside on the ledge. using one of the poles, he cautiously raked the stuff inside, heaping it up not far from the entrance. "what you doing that for?" questioned stacy, unable to conceal his curiosity. "you'll see, by-and-by, when we get ready to do something else. you don't think i'm going to stay here all night, do you?" there was no further firing on either side, though mr. kringle showed himself boldly several times. finally tad tried it, and was greeted with a shot the instant he appeared in the opening. "must be me they're after," he suggested, with a forced grin, falling flat on the ledge, and wriggling back into the cave. the twilight was upon them now. the guide had been able to see the flash of the rifle below him, and had taken a quick shot at it when the enemy attempted to wing tad butler. kringle had no means of knowing whether his shot had been effective or not. "i'm going to try something else in a few minutes, now," the guide told the professor and the boys, "and i hope you all will do just as i tell you." "you may depend upon our doing exactly that," answered the professor. "i am going to crawl out of here. the rest of you remain here until i call to you to come out, no matter if it is until morning. after i have been gone about ten minutes, light a match and toss it into the heap of sage there, but watch out that you don't get into the light. throw the match. you're liable to be shot if you show yourselves." "why should we make a fire and thus make targets of ourselves?" protested ned. "that is to cover mr. kringle's retreat," tad informed them. "exactly. master tad, you may come along with me if you wish." tad jumped at the offer. "but not a sound. ask me no questions. follow a rod or so behind me, and walk low down all the time. if you make a mistake it may result seriously for you and your friends. and, another thing." "yes?" "should there be any shooting, throw yourself on the ground. you will not be as likely to be hit there." "i'll obey orders, sir." "i know it." "when do we start?" "i guess we can do so now, as safely as at any time. the rascals will not be likely to be on the mountain just yet, because it is not dark enough. yes; we'll go now." tad waited until kris kringle had crawled from the cave, then lay down on his stomach and wriggled out on the ledge. there were no signs of the enemy and the camp-fire of the pony rider boys glowed dimly down below. tad, peering off into the gloom, for the moon had not yet risen, thought he saw a figure flit by the fire. he could not be sure, however. he wished he might tell the guide of his fancied discovery; but, remembering the injunction for absolute silence, he said nothing. by this time, tad's arms were about the log. from the slight vibration he knew that kris kringle was somewhere between himself and the top, yet not a sound did the guide make. tad made no more, and they would have been keen ears, indeed, that could have detected our friends' presence by sound alone. when the lad finally reached the top a hand was laid on his shoulder. the touch gave him a violent start in spite of his steady nerves. "you're all right," whispered the voice of kris kringle. "you'd make a good indian. i want to explain something that i didn't wish the others to hear." "yes?" whispered tad. "i have only one shell left in my rifle. that's why i wanted you to go along. if, by any chance, the rascals should get me, you lie low. they'll make for the cave, as they know, by this time, that there is only one rifle in the party. the minute they do, should such an emergency arise, slide for the camp and get your gun. you'll know what to do with it. it'll be a case of saving the lives of your companions if it comes to that." "i understand," answered tad bravely; and without a quaver in his voice. "mind you, i don't think for a minute that it will happen. i can handle these fellows if i get the lay of the land. keep close enough to hear me." "that's not so easy." "no; but you'll know. when i stop you do the same." chapter xix outwitting the redskins kris kringle moved away without another word. his abrupt departure was the signal for the pony rider boy to start, which he did instantly. in a few minutes tad was skulking along the top of the mountain, when he ran into the guide again. just then the report of a rifle sounded down below them. "are they shooting at us?" whispered tad. "no; the boys have lighted the fire in the cave. our friends down below took a pot shot at the blaze. hope they didn't hit anybody." "chunky would be the only one to get in the way, and i imagine the others would hold him back." "come this way; we'll go down by a different trail. the redskins are watching the fire in the cave, but they may be keeping an eye on the trail at the same time." silently the man and the boy took their way along the rough, uneven path, slowly working down into the valley. they soon reached this, for the range was low there. reaching the foothills, the two scouts once more fell into single file, tad butler to the rear. he knew that the guide's rifle ahead of him was ready for instant use, and at any second now tad expected to see the flash of a gun. the lad was not afraid, but he was all a-quiver with excitement. this stalking an enemy in the dark, not knowing at what minute that enemy might make the attack, was not the same as a stand-up fight in broad daylight. tad wondered why the guide had not permitted the rest of the party to escape while they had the opportunity. he did not know that kris kringle fully expected an ambush, nor that two would stand a better chance to get through and out-wit the savages than would half a dozen of them. the pair had approached nearly to the camp, for which the guide was heading, when suddenly a hand was laid on the boy's arm in a firm grip. tad knew the guide had seen or heard something. "what is it?" "there!" in the faint light of the camp-fire the lad, gazing where kris kringle had pointed, was astonished to see a figure seated at their table. from his motions it was evident that the intruder was stowing away the stolen fool at a great rate. "is that one of them?" "yes." "he'll have indigestion, the way he's eating. hope he doesn't swallow the dishes, too." "i'm going to find the other one. you crawl as close to the camp as you can with safety. if you hear a disturbance, dive for the tents the instant that fellow starts. he'll move if he hears any noise. get a gun and hurry to me, but be quiet about it." "yes." "remember your instructions. i may be able to handle both of them, but if i don't get the missing one at the first crack i shan't be able to take care of them both. you'll have to help me. got the nerve?" "i'm not afraid," whispered the boy steadily. "and i've got some muscle as well." "that's evident. i'm off now." tad was left alone. this time he could feel the guide's movements, as the latter slipped away on the soft earth. but in a moment all sound was lost. "i think i'll crawl up nearer, so as to be handy if anything occurs," decided the lad, creeping along on all fours. he could not see the light in the camp now, but he reasoned that the man at the table was sitting with his back to it, as near as tad could judge of direction in the dark. the indian seemed not to fear a surprise. "that's what comes from overconfidence," grinned the lad. "i wish i had something to defend myself with," he added after a pause. tad had no sooner expressed his wish, than his fingers closed over some object on the ground. he grasped it with about the same hopefulness that a dying man will grasp at a straw. what he had found was a heavy tent stake, one that kris kringle had dropped from his bundle on the way to the cliff dweller's home. the lad breathed a prayer of thankfulness and crept on with renewed courage. he proceeded as far as he dared; then, lay still, listening for the noise of the expected conflict between the guide and the other red man. it came. the sound was like that of a body falling heavily. once more the indian at the table turned his head, listening inquiringly. he made a half motion to rise, glanced at the table, then sat down again and began to eat. "his appetite has overcome his judgment," grinned tad. the lad could hear the faint sound of conflict somewhere to the rear of him. he was getting uneasy and began to fidget. all at once the red man sprang up, starting on a run, trailing stacy's rifle behind him. he was headed directly for the place where tad lay flattened on the ground, though the lad felt sure his enemy did not see him. but when the indian suddenly sprang up into the air to avoid stepping on the object that lay there, tad knew that further secrecy was useless. the redskin had jumped right over him, dropping chunky's rifle as he leaped. the gun fell on the pony rider boy and for a second hindered his movements. but tad was up like a flash, while the indian whirled no less quickly, knife unsheathed, ready for battle. this was where tad's tent stake came in handy. without it he would have been in a much more serious fix. it was bad enough as it was. without an instant's hesitation the lad brought the stake down on the wrist of the hand that held the knife. the knife fell to the ground, while the indian, with a half-suppressed howl, sprang at the slender lad. though the fellow's wrist was well-nigh useless at that moment, he was as full of fight as ever. tad stepped nimbly aside and tried to trip his adversary, but the indian was too sharp to be caught that way. "if he ever gets those arms around me i'm a goner," thought tad, taking mental measure of his antagonist. suddenly the indian swooped down, making a grab for the rifle that he had dropped. as the redskin stooped, tad hit him a wallop on the head with the tent stake. it must have made the savage see a shower of stars. at least, it staggered him so he was glad to let the weapon remain where it was. for a few seconds the air was full of flying legs and arms, during which the boy landed three times on the red man, being himself unhurt. then the indian succeeded in rushing into a clinch, and tad found himself gripped in those arms of steel. wriggle and twist as he would he could not free himself from their embrace. his adversary, on the other hand, found himself fully occupied in holding on to his slippery young antagonist, giving him neither time nor opportunity effectually to dispose of the slender lad. tad was unusually muscular for his years, to which was added no little skill as wrestler. the indian soon discovered both these qualities. and, at about that time, the lad was resorting to every trick he knew to place the indian in a position where he could be thrown. the moment came with disconcerting suddenness, and mr. redman uttered a loud grunt as he landed on the ground, flat on his back. with a spring he lifted himself up, and the next instant he had thrown the slight figure of the pony rider boy so heavily that everything about tad grew black. he felt himself going. then all at once he lost consciousness. when finally he awakened, tad found a figure still bending over him. quick as a flash the boy's arms went up, encircling the neck of the man kneeling by him. the next instant the fellow was on his back, with tad sitting on his chest. "here, here! what's the matter with you?" gasped a muffled voice, which tad instantly recognized. "kris kringle!" he gasped. "yes; and you nearly knocked the breath out of me," grinned the guide, struggling to his feet. "well, you certainly are a whirlwind." "i--i thought you were the indian," mattered tad in a sheepish tone. "if it had been, there would have been no need for my interference." "where is he?" "over there, tied up. both of them are. we'll decide what to do with them when we get the party together." "tell me what happened," begged tad. the other fellow was so busy watching the cave that he forgot to keep his ears open. i was able to approach him without being detected. when i got near enough i laid the butt of my rifle over his head. no, i didn't hurt him much. just made him curl up on the ground long enough to enable me to tie his hands and feet. "about that time i caught the sound of something going on over here. i made a run, suspecting that you were mixing it up with the other redskin. guess i was just in time, too, for he had you down and was reaching for something--" "his knife," nodded tad. "it's somewhere around here now." "well, i gave him the same medicine that i had given the other. now we'd better go and call the others." "thank you. i'd have been in a bad fix, if you hadn't come as you did." "so might i, had you not stopped the second one. we're quits then," said the guide, extending his hand, which tad grasped warmly. "i'll call the others, if you wish." "yes." tad ran over to the base of the cliff, and shouted loudly for his companions. in half an hour the party had gathered about the camp fire, engaged in an animated discussion over the stirring experiences of the evening. it was decided that the indians should be placed on their ponies, to which they were to be tied, with hands free and provisions enough to last them until they reached their reservation in the northern part of the state. the guide restored their rifles to them after first taking their ammunition and transferring it to his own kit. "i've wasted nearly that much on you," he said. "and, if ever you ride across my trail again, i'll use your own lead on you in a way that will stop you. you won't need bullets like these in the happy hunting grounds, where you'll be going. now, git!" and they did. the redskins rode as if a ghost were pursuing them. "that's the last, we shall see of those gentlemen," laughed kris kringle. "to-morrow morning we shall be on our way in peace." but the trail of the pony rider boys was not to be all peace. before them--ere they reached the end of the silver trail--they were to find other thrilling experiences awaiting them. chapter xx tilting for the silver spurs their journey led the young horsemen across the plains, over low-lying ranges, across broad, barren table-lands and down through the bottom lands until the wide sweep of the rio grande river at last lay before them. after the weeks of arid landscape the sight of water, and so much of it, brought a loud cheer from the pony rider boys. the next thing was to find a fording place. this they did late in the afternoon of the same day, and their further journey took them to the little desert town of puraje. they camped on the outskirts of the village. "here's where we get a real bath. who's going in swimming with me?" asked tad. "i am," shouted all the boys at once. the professor and kris kringle concluded that they, too, would take a dip, and a merry hour was spent in a protected cove of the big river, where the boys proved themselves as much at home as they were in the saddle. in the evening, they purchased such supplies as the town afforded. the night passed with-out disturbance, the boys taking up their journey next morning before the sleepy town had awakened. it was a week later, when, tired and dusty, the outfit pulled up at la luz, a quaint hamlet nestling in the foothills of the sacramento mountains. the place they found to be largely mexican, and it was almost as if the visitors had slipped over the border to find themselves in mexico itself. decorations were in evidence on all sides; bright-colored mantillas, indian blankets and flags were everywhere. "hello, i guess something is going on here," laughed tad. "we are in time, whatever it is," nodded the guide. "probably it's a feast of some kind. you will be interested in it, if that is what it is." the feast, they learned, was to be celebrated on the morrow with games, feats of strength and horsemanship. "do you think they will let us take part?" asked tad, as the party made camp in the yard of a little adobe church, where they had obtained permission to camp. "i'll see about it," answered the guide. "there may be reasons why it would not be best to do so." "maybe i can win another rifle," suggested chunky. "these people don't give away rifles. they're too--too--what do you call it?--too artistic. that's it." the camp being on the main street of the village, attracted no little attention. after sundown, crowds of gayly bedecked young people strolled up and stood about the church yard, watching the american boys pitching their tents and preparing for their stay over night. the villagers were especially interested in watching the boys get their supper, which was served up steaming hot within fifteen minutes after preparations had begun. chunky had bought several pies at the store, which, with a pound of cheese brought in by ned, made a pleasant change in the daily routine. chunky started in on the pie. ned calmly reached over and took it away from him; then the supper went along until it came time for the dessert, when chunky fixed his eyes on the cheese suspiciously. "see anything wrong with that cheese?" demanded ned. "no, but i've got an idea." "out with it! you won't rest easy until you do. what's your idea?" "i was thinking, if i had a camera, i could make a motion picture of that cheese. i heard of a fellow once--" "that will do, master stacy," warned professor zepplin. "can't i talk?" "along proper lines--yes." "cheese is proper, isn't it?" "depends upon how old it is," chuckled tad. "you needn't make fun of my cheese. here give it to me; i'll eat it." "you're welcome to it, ned," laughed the boys. the fun went on, much to the amusement of the villagers, who remained near by until the evening was well along and the lads began preparing for bed. next morning the visitors began coming in to town early. there were men from the ranches, mexican ranch-hands arrayed in bright colors and displaying expensive saddle trimmings. there were others from the wild places on the desert, far beyond the water limits, whose means of livelihood were known only to themselves. it was a strange company, and one that appealed considerably to the curiosity of the pony rider boys. the early part of the day was given over to racing, roping, gambling and other sports in which the lads were content to take no part. but there was an event scheduled for the afternoon that interested tad more than all the rest. that was a tilting bout, open to all comers. a tilting arch had been erected in the middle of the main street, and had been decorated with flags and greens. the tilting ring, suspended from the top of the arch, was not more than an inch in diameter. the horseman who could impale it on his tilting peg and carry the ring away with him the greatest, number of times, would be declared the winner. each one was to be given five chances. the prize, a pair of silver spurs, was to be presented by the belle of the town, a dark-eyed señorita. the guide had entered tad in this contest; but, as the lad glanced up at the ring only an inch in diameter, he grew rather dubious. he never had seen any tilting, and did not even know how the sport was conducted. kris kringle gave the lad some instructions about the method employed by the tilters, and tad decided to enter the contest. only ten horsemen entered, most of these being either mexicans or halfbreeds. the first trial over, five of the contestants had succeeded in carrying away the ring. tad had waited until nearly the last in order to get all the information possible as to the way the rest of the contestants played the game. a pole had been loaned to him, or rather a "peg," they called it, eight feet long, tapered so as to allow it to go through the brass ring for fully two feet of its length. the pony rider boy took his place in the middle of the street, and without the least hesitancy, galloped down toward the ring, which, indeed, he could not even see. when within a few feet of the arch he caught the sparkle of the ring. his lance came up, and putting spurs to his broncho, he shot under the arch, driving the point of the peg full at the slender circle. the point struck the edge sending the ring swaying like the pendulum of a clock. a howl greeted his achievement. tad said nothing, but riding slowly back, awaited his next trial. the rule was that when one of the contestants made a strike, he was to continue until he failed. he would be allowed to run out five points in succession if he could. "rest the peg against your side, and lightly," advised a man, as tad turned into the street for another try. the man was past middle age, and, though dressed in the garb of a man of the plains, tad decided at once that he was not of the same type as most of the motley mob by which he was surrounded. the lad nodded his understanding. with a sharp little cry of warning, the boy put spurs to his pony. he fairly flew down the course. no such speed had been seen there that day. the northern bronchos that the boys were riding were built for faster work and possessed more spirit than their brothers of the desert. as he neared the arch, this time, the lad half rose in his stirrups. he knew where to look for the ring now. leaning slightly forward he let the point of the peg tilt ever so little. it went through the ring, tearing it from its slender fastening and carrying it away. loud shouts of approval greeted his achievement. once more he raced down the lane, this time at so fast a clip that the faces of the spectators who lined the course were a mere blur in his eyes. he felt the slight jar and heard the click as the ring slipped over the tilting peg. "two," announced the scorer. he missed the next one. then the others took their turn. only one of these succeeded in scoring. he was one of the mexicans who made such a brave show of color in raiment and saddle cloth. "that gives the señor and the boy three apiece. each has one turn left. the others will fall out. if neither scores in his turn, both will be ruled out and the others will compete for the prize," announced the scorer. the mexican smiled a supercilious smile, as much as to say, "the idea of a long-legged, freckle-faced boy defeating me!" the mexican was an expert at the game of tilting as it was practised on the desert. the man took the first turn. he sat quietly on his pony a moment before starting, placing the lance at just the proper angle--then galloped at the mark. he, too, rose in his stirrups. the spectators were silent. the ring just missed being impaled on the tilting peg, slipping along the pole half way then bounding up into the air. the spectators groaned. the mexican had lost. now it was tad's turn. he rode as if it were an everyday occurrence with him to tilt, only he went at it with a rash that fairly took their breath away. just as he was about to drive at the ring, some one uttered a wild yell and a sombrero hurled from the crowd, struck tad fairly across the eyes. of course he lost, and, for a moment, he could not see a thing. he pulled his pony to a quick stop and sat rubbing and blinking his smarting eyes. a howl of disapproval went up from the spectators. none seemed to know whether the act had been inspired by enthusiasm or malice. tad was convinced that it was the latter. his face was flushed, but the lad made no comment. "you are entitled to another tilt," called the scorer. to this the mexican objected loudly. "under the circumstances, as my opponent objects, and as we all wish to prevent hard feelings, why not give him a chance as well? if he wins i shall be satisfied." a shout of approval greeted tad's suggestion. this was the real sportsman-like spirit, and it appealed to them. the proposition was agreed to. but again the mexican lost. "if the young man is interfered with this time, i shall award the prize to him and end the tournament," warned the scorer. though tad's eyes were smarting from the blow of the sombrero, he allowed the eyelids to droop well over them, thus protecting them from the dust and at the same time giving him a clearer vision. on his next turn, tad tore down the narrow lane; he shot between the posts like an arrow, and the tilting peg was driven far into the narrow hoop, wedging the ring on so firmly that it afterwards required force to loosen and remove it. without halting his pony, tad rode on, out a circle and came back at a lively gallop, pulling up before the stand of dry goods boxes, where the young woman who was to award the prize stood swinging her handkerchief, while the spectators set up a deafening roar of applause. tad was holding the tilting peg aloft, displaying the ring wedged on it. he made the young woman a sweeping bow, his sombrero almost touching the ground as he did so. another shout went up when the handsome spurs were handed to him, which the enthusiastic young woman first wrapped in her own handkerchief before passing the prize over to him. and amid the din, tad heard the familiar "oh, wow! wow!" in the shrill voice of stacy brown. chapter xxi the fat boy's discovery "i saw him! i saw him, tad!" "saw who, chunky?" "i tell you, i did. don't you s'pose i know what my eyes tell me in confidence. don't you to go to contradicting to me." stacy had fairly overwhelmed tad butler with the importance of his discovery; but, thus far, tad had not the least idea what it was all about. "when you get quieted down perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me who it is you saw?" "the man, the man!" "humph! that's about as clear as the water in an alkali sink. what man?" "the one we saw on the train. don't you know?" tad thought a moment. "you mean the one we heard talking just before we got to bluewater?" butler had entirely forgotten the incident. "yes; that's him! that's him," exploded stacy. "you say that fellow--lasar, that's his name--is he here!" "uh-huh." "where?" "he got off the stage down by the postoffice, just when i was coming up here." "was he alone?" "the other fellow wasn't with him, if that's what you mean?" "yes." tad went over in his mind the conversation the man lasar had held with his companion, in which the pair were plotting against some one by the name of marquand. "oh, well, chunky, it's none of our concern. i think we must have magnified the incident. i--" "he'll bear watching, tad. he will and it's muh--muh--you understand who's going to do it," declared chunky, swelling out his chest and tapping it with his right fist. "all right, go ahead," laughed tad. "it's time some of us get into more trouble. the professor will begin to think we've got a fever, or something, if we let two days in succession pass without stirring up something." "i've got an idea," exploded stacy. "there you go. it's coming now." "i'll go tell the policeman." "why, you ninny, there are no policemen here. perhaps there is a sheriff. hello, here comes the gentleman who gave me the advice that helped me to win those handsome spurs. he's introducing himself to the professor and mr. kringle. let's go over." forgetting for the moment the subject they were discussing, tad and stacy strolled over to the camp-fire. "o tad, this is mr. marquand, mr. james marquand from albuquerque. he wants to know you. and this is another one of our pony rider boys, master stacy brown," said the professor, presenting his boys. "marquand!" exclaimed both boys under their breaths. "i am glad to know you, master butler. that was a very fine piece of work you did this afternoon. you've steady nerves." "if there's any credit due it is to you. your suggestion helped me to win the prize. without it i should have failed," answered tad generously. "which way are you headed?" asked mr. marquand. "guadalupes," answered the guide. "the boys want to explore some of the old pueblos." "and i also," spoke up professor zepplin. "i understand there is much of interest in them." "i should say so," muttered their guest. "i'd like a few moments to speak with you in private, if you can spare the time," said tad in a low voice, at the first opportunity. "at your service now, sir." "no; not here." "then come to my room at the hotel. i'll fix it with the others," said mr. marquand, observing at once that the lad had some serious purpose in mind. "my friend chunky will go with me, if agreeable to you?" "that's all right. professor, if you have no objection i should like to have these two young men go to my quarters with me for a little while. i--" "certainly. don't stay out too late, boys." "no, sir." "wonder what they've got up their sleeves?" muttered ned, watching the receding figures of his two companions and mr. marquand. "you may talk," smiled the latter after they were well started. "i'd rather not until we are where we shall not be overheard," answered tad promptly. all three fell silent. the boys followed their host to his room, apparently without having been observed. the little village was too full of its own pleasures to notice. "be seated, boys. i take for granted that neither of you smoke?" "oh no, sir." "now, what can i do for you? i am sure you have something of importance to yourselves on your minds." "not to us specially. perhaps to you, though," replied tad. "indeed?" "we may be foolish. if so, you will understand that we have no motive beyond a desire to serve you." "that goes without saying." "do you know a man by the name of lasar--bob lasar, mr. marquand?" mr. marquand started, eyeing both lads questioningly. "yes; he is associated with me in a business venture." "told you so," interjected stacy. "what of him?" tad wished he was well out of it all. to be obliged to tell all he knew of bob lasar, and to the latter's partner, was rather a troublesome undertaking. plucking up courage, tad briefly related all that he and his companion had overheard on the train as they were approaching bluewater to all of which their host listened with grave attention and increasing interest. "the incident probably would not have come back to me again but for certain things that happened to-day," tad continued. "would either of you know lasar were you to see him again, do you think?" "my friend chunky brown saw him here to-day." "saw him get out of the stage in front of this very hotel," nodded stacy. "you are right. he is here. mr. lasar had stopped off at a near-by town on a personal matter. can you describe the man whom you saw with him on the train?" "as i remember him, he was slightly taller than mr. lasar, with red hair and a moustache of the same shade." "yes, that's joe comstock. no doubt about that," nodded mr. marquand. "you didn't hear them say what their plan was, then?" "not definitely. only that they intended to rid themselves of you after having obtained possession of your plans for finding the treasure, or at least learning where it is hidden." "hm-m-m!" mr. marquand sat thoughtfully silent for several minutes, the lines of his face growing tense and hard. the boys could see that he was exerting, a strong effort to control himself. "you--you haven't told them your plans?" questioned tad, in a subdued voice. "no. i was going to do so to-night, if comstock had arrived. he may get in yet." "but you won't do so now--will you?" "no! i thank you, boys," exclaimed their host, extending an impulsive hand to each at the same time. "then--then our information is going to be of some use to you?" "more than you can have any idea of. you have done me a greater service than you know. i thank you--thank you from the bottom of my heart! perhaps, ere long i may be able to show my appreciation in a more substantial manner." marquand ceased speaking abruptly and began pacing back and forth, hands thrust deep into his coat pockets. he was a man of slight build, but strong and wiry. he was well past middle age, erect and forceful. looking at him, tad found himself wondering how such a man could have gotten into the clutches of two such rascals as bob lasar and joe comstock. tad hoped their host would offer some explanation, while chunky was nearly bursting with curiosity. mr. marquand appeared to have forgotten their presence entirely. "i think we had better be going now," suggested tad, rising. "wait!" commanded their host. "sit down! i have something to say to you. then, perhaps, i'll walk back to your camp and have a talk with the professor. what sort of man is your guide?" "he's a very fine man--" "that's my idea. what you heard on the train is borne out by several little things that have come under my observation within the last few days, but i did not think they would go as far as you have indicated. i will tell you frankly, that i expect the treasure which we hope to find to be a big one. how i happened to take these men in with me, in the search for it, is unnecessary to state. however, i am done with them, now, for good. they know that i have not put my information on paper, or else they might have made an end of me before this." "is the treasure near this vicinity, mr. marquand?" asked tad. "about two days' journey. i expect to find it at or near the ruins of an old pueblo house. you know they built their homes one on top of another. some of their adobe houses are six and seven stories high. even if we locate the place, we may experience great difficulty in finding that of which we are in search. how would you boys like to join me? it will be an interesting experience for you?" "help--help you find the buried treasure?" questioned chunky, his face red with suppressed excitement. "yes." "great!" chorused the lads. "i'll talk with professor zepplin. come, we will go over to the camp now." when mr. marquand and the professor had finished their conference, tad and chunky leaned forward eagerly to learn the result. "yes," nodded mr. marquand; "you're all going to help me find the ancient pueblo treasure." chapter xxii in hand-to-hand conflict "i'm done with you, bob lasar! and you, too, comstock!" thundered mr. marquand, as the rascals stood at the door of his room some two hours later. mr. marquand had been waiting for them, and with him was tad butler, whom he had urged to accompany him back to the hotel that he might be a witness to what took place. perhaps, too, mr. marquand reasoned that his former associates might not take the same attitude toward him in the presence of the boy that they might otherwise take. the two men had halted in the doorway as mr. marquand hurled his decision at them. lasar shoved his companion into the room and closed the door. "sit down, both of you! so you thought to hoodwink me--to get the secret of the treasure and then put me out of the way, eh? that was your game, was it? well, it's all off now. i'll have nothing further to do with you." "why--why, mr. marquand, it's all a mistake!" began one of the pair. "perhaps you'll deny having plotted against me on a train on your way to bluewater." "i deny ever having tried to put up a game on--" "master tad, did you ever see these men before?" they turned on the lad quickly. neither man had previously observed him. "yes, sir." "where?" "on the train, as you mentioned just now." "and they were plotting my life?" "so it seemed to me, sir." "what have you to say to that?" demanded mr. marquand. "that the boy lies!" tad's face flushed angrily. "that'll do," said marquand, more quietly. "then you believe him--you do not believe me?" "i believe him. i know he has told me the truth. now, it isn't necessary to explain to you. you deserve no explanation and you'll get none further than what you already have." "but--" "no 'buts' about it. i said i was done with you. now, i want you to get out of my sight! you're a couple of rogues--so crooked that you can't walk straight." bob lasar's face had grown livid with rage. his anger was rapidly getting beyond all bounds. tad observed it and saw the storm coming. it arrived a moment later when lasar whipped out a revolver. before mr. marquand could make a move to draw his own weapon bob had aimed his weapon and pulled the trigger. tad, instantly divining the purpose of the man when he saw his hand fly to the pistol holster under his coat, sprang forward. there was a deafening report. a bullet buried itself in the ceiling of the room. tad had struck up the desperado's arm just in the nick of time, thus preventing a terrible crime. but the end was not yet. there were five more bullets in the cylinder of the weapon, as the lad knew full well. he grabbed lasar's arm, hanging on desperately, at the same time trying to get a wrestling hold. the weapon went off again, this time sending a bullet into the floor. "look out for the other fellow!" shouted tad. mr. marquand already had done so. comstock had just made an attempt to draw his own weapon when marquand threw himself upon the man. the two went crashing to the floor, while tad and lasar were battling all over the room, the latter's weapon barking viciously every little while. lasar was much more powerful than his slender antagonist, but tad being very quick on his feet managed to keep out of the way of the revolver and at the same time to avoid being thrown. suddenly, the boy gave the gun-hand of his opponent a quick twist. lasar uttered a sharp exclamation of pain. the revolver clattered to the floor. quick as a flash, tad threw a leg behind the knee of his antagonist, gave it a quick jerk, with the result that lasar went to the floor with great violence. by this time, occupants of the hotel were running down the hall, while others were hammering at the door. lasar had turned the key upon entering the room. those within did not have time to listen to the demands of those in the hall, who were demanding admission. mr. marquand, as soon as he got his opponent down, quickly disarmed him. "get up!" he commanded. "i don't want to kill you. i ought to do so, but i won't." he sprang from comstock, and jerking tad from lasar, whom the lad was making heroic efforts to hold down, pulled the fallen rascal to his feet. "get out, both of you!" he commanded, covering both his visitors with his weapon. lasar, in struggling to his feet, reached for his revolver. "drop it or i'll fill you full of lead!" at that instant, the door burst open and half a dozen men sprang into the room. lasar, seeing that he was caught, leaped through the open window. he was followed closely by comstock. he, too, made a clean leap, landing on the soft ground below. "what's the meaning of this shooting?" shouted the proprietor, his face flushed with anger. "two men tried to murder me," replied marquand coolly. "it looks as though you were doing your share of it," snapped the proprietor, noting his guest's belligerent attitude and drawn weapon. just then three shots in quick succession were fired from the outside. two of the bullets narrowly missed some of the men, who had forced their way into the room. as the third shot was fired, tad threw one hand to his head; then drew it away grinning. "those rascals have evidently gotten a new supply of fire arms," he said. a bullet had gone through his hair and his scalp burned where the lead had brushed it. all of the newcomers drew their revolvers and sprang to the window. "don't shoot!" cried the pony rider boy; "you'll hit the wrong one. there are a hundred people down there." "he's right!" shouted mr. marquand, pushing his way between the men and the window, at the imminent risk of getting a bullet in his back from either lasar or comstock. "let 'em go. they'll be running for home about this time. they are a couple of scoundrels, sir." "but the damage. look at my fine room." "i'll pay for the damage, and i'll quit your hotel now. i've had enough of the place," retorted mr. marquand, pulling a roll of bills from his pocket. "how much is it?" "well, you see--" "how much is it?" "well, i guess twenty-five would be about right. you see--" "here's your twenty-five. clear out!" with many apologies the proprietor, accompanied by the others, backed from the room. "we came pretty near having a fight, didn't we?" marquand smiled, looking at tad for the first time since the disturbance began. "almost." "he would have got me if you hadn't knocked up his gun-hand. that's another one i owe you. well, maybe we'll have a pay day soon." "you had better go back to camp with me, and bunk in with us to-night," suggested the lad, "we shall want to make an early start in the morning, anyway. i think it will be safer there, too. that pair won't dare come fooling around our camp, knowing they can't trifle with us," added the lad, with a note of pride in his tone. "i'll do it. not that i'm afraid of anything that walks on two legs, but the sooner we hitch up the better it'll be. got room enough?" "plenty. where's your pony?" "up near your camp. come on." the man and the boy walked from the hotel, the former looking neither to the right nor to the left, tad observing their surroundings half suspiciously. he was sure they had not yet heard the last of bob lasar and joe comstock. in this he was right. marquand and the boy had gone no more than ten rods from the hotel, when the report of a revolver was heard, and a bullet fired from the corner of an adobe building passed within an inch of mr. marquand's head. with wonderful quickness the latter drew and sent three shots at the flash. whether he had hit any thing or not he did not know. "run! i don't want you to get hit," cried the boy's new friend, grasping tad by the hand and starting off at a brisk pace. "bullets don't scare me, so long as they don't hit me," laughed young butler. chapter xxiii moonbeam points the way "the moon will be here in a moment." "what was it the old pueblo chief said, mr. marquand?" "'when the full of the moon has come and shoots its first arrow over the crests of the guadalupes, it points the way to the treasure of my ancient people,'" quoted mr. marquand. "i presume that would be taken to mean that, at a certain phase of the moon, one of its beams points to where the treasure is hidden," explained professor zepplin. "but what leads you to believe this is the pueblo village of your particular chief's ancestors?" "yes; i don't see why it might not be any of the ruined adobe houses in this valley?" said ned rector. they had journeyed rapidly over mountain and plain to the valley of the guadalupes, where mr. marquand had informed them that he expected to find the treasure. in the three days consumed on the journey, the travelers had seen nothing of either lasar or comstock. evidently the pair had decided to leave the country while they still had the chance, fearing that perhaps mr. marquand might invoke the aid of the law to rid himself of them if they remained. the pony rider boys and their outfit had arrived that afternoon, and during the remaining hours of daylight they had been excitedly exploring the ancient dwellings, most of which were in a dilapidated condition. there was one, however, two stories in height, that was in an excellent state of preservation. in fact it appeared as if it had only recently been vacated. after an examination of all the ruins mr. marquand had discovered what led him to believe that this was the structure which the old pueblo chief referred to in his description of the resting place of the treasure. the chief had said he had never been near the spot. he was the only member of his tribe to whom the secret had been handed down, and he in turn had transmitted it to the white man who now stood within the shadow of the ancient dwelling place. "i have my reasons for believing this is the place," answered mr. marquand, in response to the professor's question. "if i am wrong, we shall have to wait until the moon rises to-morrow night. come inside now, and we will close the door." all hands crowded into the cool chamber, closing the heavy wooden door that barred the entrance. "don't see how moonlight can get through solid walls," muttered stacy. "ought to leave the door open." no one answered him. in the darkened chamber, with its peculiar, musty odors, the boys did not feel in the mood for hilarity or even for speech. there was something about their situation that seemed to impress them profoundly. "stand over against the wall on the side, so as not to obstruct any light that might possibly get in here," directed mr. marquand. the others moved silently to the side of the room indicated by him. they had stood thus for fully five minutes when an exclamation from stacy broke the stillness harshly. "look! look!" cried the fat boy. a slender shaft of light had suddenly pierced the blackness, coming they knew not whence. it was there. "must be a pin hole through the wall up near the ceiling," suggested kris kringle. the silver thread shot across the chamber, ending abruptly on the adobe floor some three feet from the back wall. "that's the spot!" shouted mr. marquand triumphantly. he threw himself on the floor, and with his knife scratched a cross on the spot where the moonbeam rested. scarcely had he done so when the delicate shaft of light disappeared as suddenly as it had come. "it's gone," breathed the boys. "but it has pointed the way." "and we have followed the silver trail to its end," added ned rector poetically. "bring the tools!" cried mr. marquand. while they were doing so, he struck a match and lighted the lantern that they had brought with them from their camp in the foothills. his first care was to bar the door with the heavy wooden timber that he had cut and which he now slipped into its fastenings. a close examination of the floor revealed no marks save those put there by the treasure-hunter's knife. "this house seems to be built on the solid ground. i do not think you will find anything under it," protested the professor. "there are houses under every one of these buildings," answered mr. marquand. he held a short, keen edged bar in place, while kris kringle swung the maul. gradually they cut a ring about two feet in diameter about the cross. the material of which the floor had been made had been tempered with the years and was almost as hard as flint. the steady thud of the heavy maul, accompanied by the click, click of the cutting bar, the dim light, the silent, expectant faces, formed a weird picture in this silent desert place. after a full half hour of this the two men paused, and stood back, drawing sleeves across their foreheads to wipe away the perspiration. stacy brown walked pompously over to the circle. "maybe i can fall through it. if i can't, nobody can," he said, jumping up and down on the spot where they had been cutting. there followed a rambling sound, and with a yell, stacy brown suddenly disappeared from sight. in place of the circle in which he had been standing was a black, ragged hole, from which particles of the mortar were still crumbling and rattling to the bottom of the pit. "are you there?" cried kris kringle, leaping to the spot, thrusting the lantern down through the opening. "master stacy!" "wow!" responded the boy from the depths. "did it hurt you?" "how far did you fall?" this and other questions were hurled at the fat boy, as his companions crowded about the opening. "i'm killed. that'll answer all your questions," replied stacy. "hurry up! get my remains out of this place." the rays of the lantern disclosed a short stairway, built of the same material of which the house itself had been constructed. mr. marquand forced himself past the guide and was down the steps in a twinkling. he was followed by the wondering pony rider boys, professor zepplin and kris kringle in short order, for all crowded down through the narrow opening. chunky had hit the top step and rolled all the way down. he had scrambled to his feet and was rubbing his shins by the time his friends reached him. his clothes were torn and he was covered with dust. "fell down the cellar, didn't i?" he grinned. but no one gave any heed to him now. mr. marquand had snatched at the lantern and was running from point to point of the chamber in which they found themselves. he was laboring under great excitement. "here's another opening," he shouted. "we haven't got to the bottom yet." another flight of stairs led to still another and smaller chamber below. mr. marquand let out a yell the moment he reached the bottom. the others rushed pell-mell after him. there, with it's top just showing above the dirt was a long iron chest. "give me the maul!" shouted the excited treasure seeker. he attacked the rusty iron fastenings; at last the cover yielded to his thunderous blows and falling on its edge, toppled over to the floor with a crash. "somebody's old clothes," chuckled stacy, peering into the open chest. the garments, priestly robes that lay at the top, fell to pieces the instant mr. marquand laid violent hands on them. "look! look! was i right or was i wrong?" he cried, beside himself with joy. there, before their astonished eyes, lay a chest of gold--coins dulled by age, small nuggets and chunks of silver, all heaped indiscriminately in the treasure chest. "i did it!" shouted chunky. "i did it with my little feet! i fell in and discovered the treasure!" the tongues of the pony rider boys were suddenly loosened. such a shout as they set up probably never had been heard before in the ancient adobe mansion of the pueblos. cheer after cheer echoed through the chambers and reached the ears of a dozen desperadoes who were skulking amid the sage brush without. professor zepplin scooped up a handful of the coins and examined them under the lantern. "old spanish coins," he informed them. "pure gold. and look at these nuggets! where do you suppose the indians found them?" "there are hidden mines in the state," informed mr. marquand. "some of these days they will be discovered. i have been hunting for them myself, but without success. boys, what do you think of it now? if it had not been for you i might never have seen this sight." their eyes were fairly bulging as they gazed at the heap of gold. chunky squatted down scooping up a double handful and letting the coins run through his fingers. then the other boys dipped in, laughing for pure joy, more because their adventure had borne fruit than for the love of the gold itself. "must be more'n a bushel of it," announced stacy. "those old franciscans must have been saving up for a rainy day. and it never rained here at all," suggested ned humorously. "shall we count it?" asked mr. marquand. "just as you wish," replied the professor. "were i in your place, mr. marquand, i should get the stuff out of here as soon as possible. you can't tell what may happen. i would suggest that we secure the treasure and be on our way at once. you will want to get it to a bank as quickly as possible. this is one of the things that cannot be kept quiet." "you are right. will somebody go over to the camp and get those gunny sacks of mine? i don't want to lose sight of my find for a minute. you know how i feel about it--not that i do not trust you. you know--" "surely we understand," smiled tad. "and you all have an interest in it--you shall share the treasure with me--" "no, we don't," shouted the boys. "we've had more than a million dollars worth of fun out of it already." "certainly not," added the professor. "we'll discuss that later," said mr. marquand firmly. "just now we must take care of what we have found. who will get the bags?" "we will," answered the boys promptly. "no; you stay here. i'll get them," answered kris kringle. "light me up the stairs so i don't break my neck in this old rookery." one of the boys lighted the way to the next floor, then stepped back into the cellar, where mr. marquand was turning over the treasure in an effort to find out if the pile extended all the way to the bottom of the chest. in the meantime kris kringle unbarred the door and threw it part way open. he did it cautiously, as if half expecting trouble. he threw the door to with a bang, springing to one side, and dropping the bar back into place. the reason for his sudden change of plans was that no sooner had the door opened than several thirty-eight calibre bullets were fired from the sage brush outside. kris kringle waited to learn whether those in the cellar had heard the shots. but they had not. they were some distance below ground, and their minds were wholly taken up with the great treasure before them. after a few moments the guide once more removed the bar, first having drawn his revolver in case of sudden surprise. then he cautiously opened the door an inch or so. at first nothing happened. the moonlit landscape lay as silent and peaceful as if there were not a human being on the desert. there were six distinct flashes all at once and a rain of lead showered into the door. kris kringle took a pot shot at one of the flashes, then slammed the door shut and barred it. "well; i hope that would get you," he muttered. hastily retracing his steps he called the party up to the second cellar. "did you fetch the sacks?" called mr. marquand. "no, but i've fetched trouble. it's coming in sackfuls." "what do you mean?" "we're besieged." "besieged?" wondered the professor. "yes; there's a crowd outside, and they've been trying to shoot me up. must be some of your friends, mr. marquand." "lasar and comstock? the scoundrels!" growled mr. marquand. "but we'll make short work of them." "not so easy as you think there are more than two out there--there's a crowd and they've got rifles. our rifles are over in the camp. i've got a six-shooter and so have you, but what do they amount to against half a dozen rifles?" "i'll talk to them, if i can get any place to make them hear," announced mr. marquand, starting up the stairs. "i reckon there's a window on the second floor, but you'd better be careful that you don't get winged," warned the guide. mr. marquand went right on, and the others followed. as the guide had said there was a small window on the floor above the ground, apparently the only one in the house. mr. marquand hailed the besiegers. "who are you and what do you mean by shooting us up in this fashion?" he demanded. "you ought to know who we are, jim marquand, and you know what we want!" "yes, i know you all right, lasar, and i'll make you smart for this." "the place is as much mine as it is yours," answered lasar. "and i propose to take it! if you'll make an even divvy of what you have found, or expect to find, we'll go away and let you alone. if you don't we'll take the whole outfit." "take it, take it!" jeered marquand. "you couldn't take it in a hundred years--not unless you used artillery." "then we'll starve you out," replied the man in the sage brush. "look out!" warned the guide. mr. marquand sprang to one side just as a volley crashed through the opening, the bullets rattling to the floor after bounding back from the flint-like walls. "i guess they've got you, mr. marquand. we can't hold out forever. if we had rifles we could pick them off by daylight. but when morning comes they'll draw back out of revolver range and plunk the first man who shows himself outside. have you any title to this property?" "yes. i have bought up a hundred acres about here. the deeds are in my pocket. i guess nobody has a better title.". "his title is all right," spoke up professor zepplin. "i made sure of that before i decided to come with mr. marquand." "then there's only one thing to be done." "what's that?" "get a sheriff's posse and bag the whole bunch." mr. marquand laughed harshly. "if we were in a position to get a posse we should be able to get away without one. i think we had better go below. this is not a very safe place with this open window." "i'll remain here." "what for, kringle?" "somebody's got to watch the front door to see that they don't play any tricks on us. it's clouding up, and if the night gets dark they'll try to get in." "how far is it to a place where we could get a sheriff?" asked tad, who had been thinking deeply. "hondo. fifteen miles due east of here as the moon rises. why?" "if i were sure i could find my way, i think i might get some help," answered the lad quietly. "you!" snapped mr. marquand, turning on him. "if i had a rope. perhaps i can do it without one." "i'd like to know how?" mr. marquand was inclined to treat the proposition lightly, believing that such a move as proposed by tad butler was an impossibility. kris kringle, however, was regarding the boy inquiringly. he knew that tad had some plan in mind and that it was likely to be a good one. "the rascals are all out in front of the house, aren't they?" "yes, master tad. there's no reason why they should be behind the house. they know we can't get out that way; because there is no opening on that side." tad nodded. "then i can do it." "tad, what foolish idea have you in mind now? i cannot consent to your taking any more chances." "professor, we are taking long enough chances as it is. unless we are relieved soon, we shall be starved out and perhaps worse." "what's your plan?" interrupted kris kringle. "see that hole in the roof up there?" tad pointed. they had not seen it before, but they did now. a light suddenly dawned upon kris kringle. "boy, you are the only level-headed one in the outfit. you would have made a corking indian fighter." "i'm the indian fighter," chimed in stacy. "you can boost me up to the hole and i'll go over the rear of the house, get to the camp and from there ride to hondo." tad's three companions started a cheer, which the guide sternly put down. "i can't consent to any such plan," decided the professor sternly. the rest reasoned with him until, finally, he did consent, though he knew the lad would be taking desperate chances. tad understood that as well as the rest of them, but he was burning to be off. kris kringle gave him careful directions as to how to get to the place. "take your rifle with you, if you can get it. after you get half a mile or a mile away shoot once. that will tell us you are all right." "you can help me in getting away from here, if you will do some shooting to cover my escape," suggested tad. "that's a good idea," agreed the guide. "you wait on the roof until we begin to rake the sage with our revolvers. then drop. take a wide circuit, so that you won't stumble over the enemy." tad gave his belt a hitch, stuffed his sombrero under it and announced himself as ready. the guide stepped under the hole. tad quickly climbed to his shoulder and stood up like a circus performer. he could easily reach the roof with his hands. a second more and his feet were lifted from the shoulders of the guide. they saw the figure in the opening; then it disappeared. a slight scraping noise was the only sound they heard. tad flattened himself out and wriggled along toward the rear of the roof. peering over the edge he made sure that there was no one about. he then lay quietly waiting for the shooting to begin. "let 'em have it," directed kris kringle. a sudden fusillade was emptied into the sage brush. tad swung himself over the edge of the roof, hung on for a few seconds, then dropped lightly to the ground. chapter xxiv conclusion the enemy answered the shots with a volley, and for a few moments a lot of ammunition was wasted while the odor of gunpowder assailed nostrils on both sides. after that, the shooting died away. as the minutes lengthened into an hour, and no word of tad's mission had been received, the defenders began to grow restless. they were under a double tension now. mr. marquand was pacing up and down the floor. suddenly, forgetful of the danger that lurked out there, he poked his head out of the window. a sharp pat on the stone window frame beside him, after the bullet had snipped off the tip of his left ear, caused mr. marquand to draw back suddenly. he stalked about the floor, holding a handkerchief to the wounded ear, "talking in dashes and asterisks," as chunky put it. kris kringle's face wore a grim smile. he was taking chances of being shot, every second now, but he insisted in holding his place at the side of the window so he could listen and watch. a thin, fleecy veil covered the moon, but it was not dense enough to fully hide objects on the landscape. "all keep quiet, now," warned kris kringle. "we should get a signal pretty soon." "i'm afraid something has happened to the boy," muttered the professor. then all fell silent. "there it goes!" exclaimed the guide in a tone of great relief. the crack of a rifle afar off sounded clear and distinct. "he's made it. thank heaven!" breathed mr. marquand fervently. chunky leaped to the opening, swung his sombrero as he leaned out, and uttered a long, shrill "y-e-o-w!" a bullet chipped the adobe at his side. stacy ducked, throwing himself on the floor, sucking a thumb energetically. "wing you?" inquired kris kringle. "somebody burned my thumb," wailed the fat boy. "it was a bullet that burned you. served you right too. somebody tie that boy up or he'll be killed," counseled the guide. the besiegers could not have failed to hear the shot from tad's rifle, but it did not seem to disturb them. they evidently did not even dream that one of the party had escaped their vigilance and that he was well on his way for assistance. the wait from that time on was a tedious and trying one, though each felt a certain sense of elation that tad butler had succeeded in outwitting the enemy. it was shortly after two o'clock in the morning when kris kringle espied a party of horsemen slowly encircling the adobe house. the riders were strung out far off on the plain. those hiding in the sage in front of the house could not see the approaching horsemen. "there they come," whispered kris kringle. "begin shooting!" the two men started firing, while the besiegers poured volley after volley through the window. the posse at this, closed in at a gallop. their rifles now began to crash. in a few minutes it was all over. the sheriff's men surrounded the besiegers, placing every man of them under arrest. after this the officers quickly liberated the pony rider boys. three of the besiegers had been wounded. among them, was the mexican whom tad had defeated in the tilting game a few days before. when all was over, the boys hoisted tad butler on their shoulders and marched around the adobe house shouting and singing. mr. marquand decided to go back with the posse, using these men as a guard for his treasure. it was understood that the pony rider boys were to follow the next morning. before leaving, mr. marquand called the professor aside. "there is, on a rough estimate, all of sixty thousand dollars in the treasure chest. had it not been for you and your brave boys i should have lost it. so, when you reach hondo to-morrow, i shall take great pleasure in presenting to each of you a draft for two thousand dollars." professor zepplin protested, but mr. marquand insisted, and he kept his word. after the posse, with their prisoners and the treasure, had started, the pony rider boys, arm in arm, started off across the moonlit meadows toward their camp. it was their last night in camp. their summer's journeyings had come to an end--a fitting close to their adventurous travels. not a word did they speak until they reached the camp. there, they turned and gazed off over the plain which was all silvered under the now clear light of the moon. "it has been a silver trail," mused tad butler. "it has indeed," breathed his companions "and we've reached the end of the silver trail," added the professor, coming up at that moment. "to-morrow i'll breathe the first free breath that i've drawn in three months." the boys circled slowly around him and joined hands. then their voices rose on the mellow desert air to the tune of "home, sweet home." a week later saw the wanderers back in chillicothe. their welcome was a warm one. banker perkins found his once ailing son now transformed into a sturdy young giant. we shall meet them again in the next volume of this series--in a tale of surpassing wonders--published under the title: "the pony rider boys in the grand canyon; or, the mystery of bright angel gulch." it will be found to be by far the most interesting volume so far published about the splendid pony rider boys. the end. by the same author. _the campaign of chancellorsville._ it is not easy to say which part of this book is best, for it is all good.--_the nation._ we do not hesitate to pronounce it one of the ablest, fairest, and most valuable books that we have seen.--_southern historical papers._ _a bird's-eye view of our civil war_ is all that could be desired: gives perhaps a clearer, more vivid view, a more accurate outline than any other available record.--_london saturday review._ the material of the work well serves to consolidate and orient the knowledge of what was done in the great rebellion and of those who did it.--_journal military service institution._ we do not hesitate to commend the book most warmly as the work of an able, painstaking soldier, who has honestly endeavored to ascertain and frankly to tell the truth about the war.--_southern historical papers._ the book is written in a spirit of impartiality and of just discrimination concerning the merits and defects of the generals who led the armies of the north and south.--_army and navy journal._ [illustration: plate i. patroclus.] patroclus and penelope _a chat in the saddle_ by theodore ayrault dodge brevet lieutenant-colonel united states army, retired list; author of "the campaign of chancellorsville," "a bird's-eye view of our civil war," etc., etc. boston houghton, mifflin and company new york: east seventeenth street the riverside press, cambridge copyright, , by theodore ayrault dodge. _all rights reserved._ _the riverside press, cambridge_: electrotyped and printed by h. o. houghton and company. to the country club of boston, which has fostered a true appreciation of good horsemanship in our city of beautiful environments, and whose generous and able administration has afforded the lovers of the saddle so many occasions of rare entertainment, these pages are inscribed by a member. _since--as it has been our fortune to be long engaged about horses--we consider that we have acquired some knowledge of horsemanship, we desire also to intimate to the younger part of our friends how we think that they may bestow their attention on horses to the best advantage._ xenophon on horsemanship, i. i. transcriber's note: the table of contents have been moved from the back of the book to the front. contents. page i. patroclus and i ii. saddles and seats iii. patroclus on a rack iv. the rack and single-foot v. patroclus trotting vi. thoroughbred or half-bred vii. the saddle mania viii. park-riding ix. a fine horse not necessarily a good hack x. soldiers have stout seats xi. a gate and a brook xii. the old trooper xiii. instruction in riding xiv. chilly fox-hunting xv. is soldier or fox-hunter the better rider? xvi. the school-rider xvii. patroclus happy xviii. photography versus art xix. a one-man horse xx. baucher's favorite saddle horse xxi. patroclus sniffs a friend xxii. riding-schools and school-riding xxiii. is schooling of value? xxiv. manuals of training xxv. result of training xxvi. qualities of the horse xxvii. dress, saddles, and bridles xxviii. mounting xxix. how to hold the reins xxx. how to begin training xxxi. penelope's unrestrained courage xxxii. hints before beginning to train a horse xxxiii. guiding by the neck xxxiv. what an arched neck means xxxv. flexions of the neck xxxvi. flexions of the croup xxxvii. the canter xxxviii. leading with either shoulder xxxix. the horse's natural lead xl. the best way to teach the lead xli. change of lead in motion xlii. suggestions xliii. how to begin jumping xliv. the reins in the jump xlv. odds and ends of leaping xlvi. hunting and road-riding xlvii. advantages of true rack xlviii. who is the best rider? xlix. vale! list of illustrations. . patroclus _frontispiece._ . a quiet amble . the rack or running walk . a sharp single-foot . an easy canter . a ten-mile trot . rising to a hurdle . flying a hurdle . clean above it . taking off at water . doing it handily . a twenty-foot jump . about to land . landing before mounting. but a few months since, the author, whose thirty odd years in the saddle in many parts of the world have, he trusts, taught him that modesty which should always be bred of usage, was showing some of the instantaneous photographs of his horse patroclus to a group of club men. most of the gentlemen were old friends, but one of the photographs having been passed to a by-stander, whose attire marked him as belonging to the most recently developed boston type of horsemen, elicited, much to his listeners' entertainment, the remark that "naw man can wide in a saddle like that, ye know, not weally wide, ye know! naw _fawm_, ye know! wouldn't be tolewated in our school, ye know!" the author was informed by a mutual acquaintance that the gentleman was taking a course of lessons at the swellest riding academy of the city, and had recently imported an english gelding. in deference to such excellent authority, whose not unkindly meant, if somewhat brusquely uttered, criticism may be said to have inspired these pages, otherwise perhaps without a suitable _motif_, an explanation appears to be called for, lest by some other youthful equestrian critics the physician be advised to heal himself. the exclusive use of the english hunting-rig and crop for all kinds and conditions of men at all times and in all places is well understood by old horsemen to be but a matter of fashion which time may displace in favor of some other novelty. for their proper purpose they are undeniably the best. but to the newly fledged equestrian who makes them his shibboleth, and who discards as "bad form" any variation upon the road from what is eminently in place after hounds, the author, with an admiration for the excellencies of the english seat derived from half a dozen years' residence in the old country and many a sharp run in the flying-counties, and with the consciousness that, if tried in the balance of to-day's anglomania, his own seat, as shown in some of the illustrations, may chance to be found wanting, desires to explain that, during the civil war, outrageous fortune, among other slings and arrows, sent him to the rear with the loss of a leg; but that far from giving up a habit thus become all the more essential because he could no longer safely sit a flat saddle, he concluded to supplement his lack of grip (as the marquis of anglesea for a similar reason had done before him) by the artificial support which is afforded in the rolls and pads of a somerset or demi-pique, as well as to adopt the seat best suited to his disability. and it was such a saddle, of a pattern perhaps too pronounced to suit even the author's eye, however comfortable and safe,--particularly so in leaping, which provoked the censure, perhaps quite justifiable according to the light of the critic, which has been quoted above. this variation, however, by no means conflicts with the author's belief in, and constant advocacy of, the flat english saddle _in its place_. but he has seen so many accomplished riders in quite different saddles, that he became long ago convinced that the english tree by no means affords the only perfect seat. in fact, the saddle best suited to universal use, that is, the one which might best serve a man under any conditions, approaches, in his opinion, more nearly the modified military saddle of to-day than the hunting type. nor because a local fashion, set but yesterday, prescribes strict adherence to a style he cannot follow, is the author less ready to venture upon giving a friendly word of advice to many of our young and aspiring riders. there are not a few gentlemen in boston, whose months in the saddle number far less than the author's years, to whose courage and discretion as horsemen he yields his very honest admiration, and whose stanch hunters he is happy to follow across country, nor ashamed if he finds he has lost them from sight. he regrets to say that he has also seen not a few who affect to sneer at a padded saddle or a horse with a long tail, who seem incapable of throwing their heart across a thirty inch stone wall in a burst after hounds, although upon the road they seek to impress one as constantly riding to cover. it is unnecessary, however, to say that the author has too long been a lover of equestrianism _per se_ not to admire the good and be tolerant of the bad for the total sum of gain which the horseback mania of to-day affords. he is old enough to remember that human nature remains the same, however fast the world may move, and is firm in the belief that we shall soon grow to be a nation of excellent horsemen. [illustration: plate ii. a quiet amble.] there is no pretense to make these pages a new manual for horse-training or for riding. there are plenty of good books on horsemanship now in print; but unfortunately there are few riders who care for anything beyond a superficial education of either their horses or themselves. more than rudimentary--if viewed in the light of the high school--the hints in this volume can scarcely be considered. if any incentive to the study of the real art and to the better training of saddle beasts is given, all that these pages deserve will have been gained. the plates are phototype reproductions from photographs of patroclus, taken in action by baldwin coolidge. their origin lay in the belief that a fine-gaited horse could be instantaneously photographed, and still show the agreeable action which all horse-lovers admire, and have been habituated to see drawn by artists, instead of the ungainly positions usually resulting from the instantaneous process. the object aimed at--to show an anatomically correct and artistically acceptable horse in each case--has, it is thought, been gained, so far, at least, as motion arrested can ever give the idea of motion. out of thirty photographs taken, the fourteen herein given, and one or two others, much resembling some of these, showed an agreeable action. the best positions of the horse were often the poorest photographs. in enlarging them by solar prints for the phototype process, the shadows of the horse have been darkened, or in some instances, where a negative has been blurred or injured, an indistinct line has been strengthened. in some plates the photograph was so clear (as plates iv. and v.) that no darkening of the shadows was necessary. in others (as plates vii. and viii.) the negative, though showing excellent position, was so weak as to require a good deal of treatment. but in even the most indistinct ones the outline and crude shadows were clearly shown by the negatives, and followed absolutely in treating the solar prints. the plates are thus obtained intact from the original instantaneous negatives, and faithfully represent the action and spirit of the horse. the jumping pictures were taken against the natural background, the others against a screen or building. in the latter, the entire background has been made white, for greater distinctness. the water-jump was in reality a dry ditch of eleven feet wide from bar to bank. but being hidden in the original negatives by the heaps of earth thrown up in digging it, and several of the negatives being blurred in the foreground, the water was added in the solar prints. to preserve anatomical accuracy, the finer results of both photography and of the phototype process have had to be sacrificed. to state that the author has often witnessed the prize leaping at the agricultural hall horse show in london, as well as watched the contest of many a noted english steeple-chase, will absolve him from any suspicion of parading these photographs as examples of excellent performance. they were all taken in cold blood on one occasion, and patroclus was ridden alone over the obstacles at least a dozen times for each good picture secured. every horseman knows that this is a pretty sound test of a willing jumper, if not a crack one. moreover, the author has been acquainted with too many masters of equitation, at home as well as abroad, to harbor any but a very modest opinion of his own equestrian ability. he would be much more sensitive to criticism of patroclus than of himself, for he knows the horse to be an exceptionally good one within his limitations, while always conscious that his own seat lacks the firmness of ante-bellum days. it used to be said in the old country that an englishman keeps his seat to manage his horse, and that a frenchman manages his horse to keep his seat. the author is obliged to confess that to-day he is often reduced to the latter practice. the hurdles were somewhat over four feet high; behind each was a bar just four feet from the ground. the water-jumps were from fifteen to eighteen feet from taking-off to landing. on a number of occasions (as in plate xii.) patroclus covered over twenty measured feet in this jump. as is manifest from a few of the plates, it was the action of the horse, and not the "form" of the rider, which it was aimed to secure. it is easy to make engravings in which the seat of the rider shall be perfect; but in all the wood-cut illustrations of books on equitation the horse is usually anatomically incorrect, however artistically suggestive. one never sees the photograph of a horse clearing an obstacle in which the rider's form is as perfect as it is apt to be depicted in engravings or paintings. and in some of the within illustrations of road gaits there is apparent a carelessness in both seat and reins which would scarcely do in the accomplishment of the high airs of the _manège_, but into which a rider is sometimes apt unconsciously to lapse. no one is probably better aware of what is good and bad alike in these plates than the author himself. he appreciates "form" at its exact value, but is constrained to believe that the true article comes from sources far removed from, and of vastly more solid worth than the pigskin which covers a rider's saddle, or the shears which bang his horse's tail. the searching power of photography, however, is no respecter of form or person. a word of thanks should not be omitted to mr. coolidge, whose excellent judgment and keen eye in taking these pictures, without other apparatus than his lens, is well shown by the result, nor to the lewis engraving company for their careful reproductions from material by no means perfect. perhaps it should be said that master tom and penelope, who figure in these pages, are as really in the flesh as patroclus, and by no means mere fictions of the imagination. there is no instruction pretended to be conveyed by these plates, as there is in the similarly obtained illustrations of anderson's excellent "modern horsemanship." their purpose is less to point a moral than to adorn a tale. but an apology to all is perhaps due for the very chatty manner in which the author has taken his friend, the reader, into his confidence, and to experienced horsemen for the very elementary hints sometimes given. the pages devoted to penelope are meant for young riders who, like master tom, really want to learn. theodore ayrault dodge. brookline, mass., _april, _. patroclus and penelope. a chat in the saddle. i. we are fast friends, patroclus, and many's the hour since, five years ago, i bought you, an impetuous but good-tempered and intelligent three-year-old colt, whom every one thought too flighty to be of much account, that you and i have spent in each other's company upon the pretty suburban roads of boston. and many's the scamper and frolic that we've had across the fields, and many's the quiet stroll through the shady woods! for you and i, patroclus, can go where it takes a goodish horse to follow in our wake. i wonder, as i look into your broad and handsome face, whether you know and love me as well as i do you. indeed, when you whinny at my distant step, or rub your inquisitive old nose against my hands or towards my pocket, begging for another handful of oats or for a taste of salt or sugar; or when you confidingly lower your head to have me rub your ears, with so much restful intelligence beaming from your soft, brown eyes, and such evident liking for my company, i think you know how warm my heart beats for you. and how generous the blood which courses through your own tense veins your master knows full well. if i had to flee for my life, patroclus, i should wish that your mighty back, tough thews, and noble courage could bear me through the struggle. for i never called upon you yet, but what there came the response which only the truest of your race can give. no, pat! you've got all the sugar you can have to-day. my pockets are not a grocer's shop. stand quiet while i mount, and you and i will take our usual stroll. * * * * * patroclus is said to have been sired in the old country out of a cavalry mare brought over by an english officer to quebec, and there foaled in her majesty's service. even this much i had on hearsay. but he has the instincts of the charger in every fibre,--and perhaps the most intelligent and best saddle beasts among civilized nations belong to mounted troops. as old hiram woodruff used to say, patroclus makes his own pedigree. i know what he is; i care not whence he came. no need to extol your points. though there be those of higher lineage, and many a speedier horse upon the turf, or perchance a grander performer after hounds, thrice your value to whoso will find fault or blemish upon you, my patroclus! you are blood-bay and glossy as a satin kerchief. you are near sixteen hands; short coupled enough to carry weight, and long enough below to take an ample stride. you tread as light as a steel watch-spring quivers. a woman's face has rarely a sweeter or more trusting look than yours in repose; a falcon's eye is no keener when aroused. you will follow me like a dog, and your little mistresses can fondle you in stall or paddock. you have all the life and endurance of the thoroughbred, the intelligence of the arab, the perfect manners of the park, and the power and discretion of a midland counties hunter. like the old song, you have "a head like a snake, and a skin like a mouse, an eye like a woman, bright, gentle, and brown; with loins and a back that would carry a house, and quarters to lift you smack over a town." may it be many a year yet, patroclus, before i must pension you off for good! * * * * * you stand for me to mount as steady as a rock. and you know your crippled master's needs so well that you would do it in the whirl of a stampede. i will leave the reins upon your neck and let you walk whither your own fancy dictates, for i am lazily inclined; though indeed i know from your tossing head that you fain would go a livelier gait. so long as you can walk your four full miles an hour, you will have to curb your ardor for many a long stretch, while your master chews the cud of sweet and bitter fancies. * * * * * as we saunter along, the reflections bred of thirty odd years in the saddle come crowding up. from a shelty with a scratch-pack in surrey a generation since, to many a cavalry charge with bugle-clash and thundering tread on old dominion soil now twenty years ago, the daily life with that best of friends,--save always one,--the perfect saddle horse, brings many thoughts to mind. what if we jot them down? ii. the most common delusion under which the average equestrian is apt to labor in every part of the world is that his own style of riding is the one _par excellence_. whether the steeple-chaser on his thoroughbred, or the indian on his mustang is the better rider, cannot well be decided. the peculiar horsemanship of every country has its manifest advantages, and is the natural outgrowth of, as well as peculiarly adapted to, the climate, roads, and uses to which the horse is put. the cowboy who can defy the bucking broncho will be unseated by a two-year-old which any racing-stable boy can stick to, while this same boy would hardly sit the third stiff boost of the ragged, grass-fed pony. the best horseman of the desert would be nowhere in the hunting-field. the cavalry-man who, with a few of his fellows, can carve his way through a column of infantry, may not be able to compete at polo with a newport swell. the jockey who will ride over five and a half feet of timber or twenty feet of water would make sorry work in pulling down a lassoed steer. each one in his element is by far the superior of the other, but none of these is just the type of horseman whom the denizen of our busy cities, for his daily enjoyment, cares to make his pattern. the original barbarian, no doubt, clasped his undersized mount with all the legs he had, as every natural rider does to-day. when saddle and stirrups came into use, followed anon by spurs, discretion soon taught the grip with knee and thigh alone, the heels being kept for other purposes than support. it must, however, be set down to the credit of the original barbarian that he probably did not ride in the style known as "tongs on a wall." this certainly not admirable seat originated with the knight in heavy armor, and has since been adhered to by many nations, and, through the spaniards, has found its way to every part of the americas. but as a rule, wild riders have the bent knee which gives the firmest bareback seat. the long stirrup and high cantle must not be condemned for certain purposes. when not carried to the furthest extreme they have decided advantages. it is by no means sure that any other seat would be equally easy on the cantering mustang for so many scores of miles a day as many men on the plains customarily cover. and though for our city purposes and mounts it is distinctly unavailable, one must be cautious in depreciating a seat which is clung to so tenaciously by so many splendid riders. it is a mistake to suppose that the southerners and mexicans, as well as soldiers, all ride with straight leg. while you often see this fault carried to an extreme among all these, the best horsemen i have generally observed riding with a naturally bent knee. and it takes a great deal to convince a good rider of any of these classes that a man who will lean and rise to a trot knows the a b c of equestrianism. [illustration: plate iii. the rack or running walk.] whether the first saddle had a short seat and long stirrups, _à la militaire_, or a long seat with short ones, _à l'anglaise_, matters little. though the original home of the horse boasts to-day the shortest of stirrups (and even in xenophon's time this appears to have been the asiatic habit), a reasonably long one would seem to have been the most natural first step from the bareback seat. if so, what is it that has gradually lengthened the seat of the englishman, who represents for us to-day the favorite type of civilized horsemanship, and if not the best, perhaps nearest that which is best suited to our eastern wants? no doubt, in early days, horses were mainly ridden on a canter or a gallop. if perchance a trot, it was a mere shog, comfortable enough with a short seat and high cantle. the early horse was a short-gaited creature. but two things came gradually about. dirt roads grew into turnpikes; and the pony-gaited nag began, about the days of the byerly turk, nearly two hundred years ago, to develop into the long-striding thoroughbred. the paved pike speedily proved that a canter sooner injures the fetlock joints of the forelegs and strains the sinews of the hind than a trot, and men merciful unto their beasts or careful of their pockets began to ride the latter gait. but when the step in the trot became longer and speedier as the saddle horse became better bred, riders were not long in finding out that to rise in the stirrups was easier for both man and beast, and as shorter stirrups materially aid the rise, the seat began to grow in length. it has been proved satisfactorily to the french, who have always been "close" riders, that to rise in the trot saves the horse to a very great percentage, put by some good authorities at as high a figure as one sixth. moreover, it was not a strange step forward. that it is natural to rise in the trot is shown by there being to-day many savage or semi-civilized tribes which practice the habit in entire unconsciousness of its utility being a disputed point anywhere. another reason for shortening the leathers no doubt prevailed. the english found the most secure seat for vigorous leaping to be the long one. of course a little obstacle can be cleared in any saddle; but with the long seat, the violent exertion of the horse in a high jump does not loosen the grip with knees and calves, but at most only throws one's buckskin from the saddle, as indeed it should not even do that. for the knees being well in front of, instead of hanging below, the seat of honor, enables a man to lean back and sustain the jar of landing without parting company with his mount, while a big jump with stirrups too long, if it unseats you at all, loosens your entire grip, or may throw you against the pommel in a highly dangerous manner. moreover, with short stirrups, the horse is able on occasion to run and jump "well away from under you," while, except during the leap itself, the weight for considerable distances may be sustained by the stirrups alone, and thus be better distributed for the horse over ground where the footing is unsteady, as it is in ridge and furrow. no better illustration of the uses of these several seats than an english cavalry officer. on parade he will ride with the longest of stirrups compatible with not sitting on his crotch. to rise in the saddle is a forbidden luxury to the soldier. despite some recent experiments in foreign service, and the fact that on the march the cavalry-man may be permitted to rise, nay, encouraged to do so, what more ridiculous than a troop of cavalry on parade, each man bobbing up and down at his own sweet will? the horse suitable for a trooper is a short, quick-gaited, handy animal, chosen largely for this quality, and made still more so by being taught to work in a collected manner by the _manège_. you can very comfortably sit him with a military saddle at a pretty sharp parade trot. now, suppose our cavalry officer is going for a canter in rotten row,--he will at once shorten his stirrup-leathers a couple of holes; and if he were going to ride cross-country, he would shorten them still a couple more. experience has taught him the peculiar uses of each position. some writers claim that one seat ought to suffice for all occasions. and so it can be made to do. this one seat may, however, not always be the best adapted to the work immediately in hand, or to the animal ridden. a slight change is often a gain. every one has noticed that different horses, as well as different ground ridden over, vary the rider's seat in the same saddle. but excellent as is the long hunting-seat in its place, one can conceive no more ridiculous sight than the english swell i once saw in colorado, who had brought his own pigskin with him, and started out for a ten days' ride across the prairie on an indian pony, the only available mount. the pony's short gait was admirable for a long day's jaunt in a peaked saddle, but so little suited to a cross-country rig, that the swell's condition at the end of the first fifty miles must have been pitiable. this unusual "tenderfoot" exhibition elicited a deal of very natural laughter, and its butt, who was an excellent but narrow-minded horseman, though he stuck with square-toed british pluck to his rig for a few days, came back to denver equipped _à la_ cowboy. his piccadilly saddle had been abandoned to the prairie-dogs. iii. patroclus watches his rider's mood. he has become contemplative too, and has taken kindly to our sober pace. but you shall have your turn, my glossy pet. let us get off this macadamized road where we can find some cantering ground. as i shorten the reins, 'tis indeed a pleasure to see your head come up, neck arched, eye brightening, alternate ears moving back to catch your master's word, feet at once gathered under you, and nerves and muscles on keenest tension. every motion is springy, elastic, bold, and free, as full of power as it is of ease. no wonder, patroclus, that eyes so often turn to watch you. no wonder that you seem conscious that they do. for though we both know that the first test of the horse is performance, yet having that, there is pleasure to us both in your graceful gaits. to give the reins the least possible shake will send you into the most ecstatic of running walks, as fast as one needs to go, and so easy that it is a constant wonder how you do it. this is no common amble or bumping pace, but the true four beat rack. and as you toss your head and champ your bit, patroclus, with the pleasure of your accelerated motion, how well you seem to know the comfort of your rider. iv. this running walk or rack, by the way, is one of the most delightful of gaits. its universal adoption in the south by every one who can buy a racker is due to the roads, which, for many months of the year, are so utterly impassable that you have to pick your way in and out of the woods and fields on either side, and rarely meet a stretch where you can start into a swinging trot. but a horse will fall from a walk into a rack, or _vice versa_, with the greatest of ease to himself and rider, and if the stretch is but a hundred yards will gain some distance in that short bit of ground. if you have a fifty mile ride over good roads in comfortable weather, perhaps a smart trot, if easy, of course alternating with the walk, is as good a single gait as you can ride. but you need to trot or canter a goodly stretch, not to shorten rein at every dozen rods, for the transition from a walk to either of these gaits or back again, though slight, is still an exertion; while from the walk to the rack and back the change is so imperceptible that one is made conscious of it only by the patter of the horse's feet. here again, the country's need, roads, and climate have bred a most acceptable gait. but it has made the southerner forget what an inspiriting thing a swinging twelve-mile trot can be along a smooth and pretty road; and you cannot give away a trotting horse for use in the saddle south of mason and dixon. the rack soon grows into the single-foot, which only differs from it in being faster, and the latter is substituted for the trot. to go a six or eight mile gait, holding a full glass of water in the hand, and not to spill a drop, is the test of perfection in the racker. and for a lazy feeling day, or for hot weather, anywhere, it is the acme of comfort. or it is, indeed, a useful gait in winter, when it is too cold for a clipped horse to walk and your nag has yet not stretched his legs enough to want to go at sharper speed. it must, however, be acknowledged that it is very rare that a horse will rack perfectly as well as trot. he is apt to get the gaits mixed. a rack is half way between a pace and a trot. in the pace, the two feet of each side move and come down together; in the trot, the two alternate feet do so. in the running walk, or in the single-foot, each hind foot follows its leader at the half interval, no two feet coming to the ground together, but in regular succession, so as to produce just twice as many foot-falls as a trot or a pace. hence the _one_, _two_, _three_, _four_, patter of the horse gives to the ear the impression of very great rapidity, when really moving at only half the apparent speed. the result of the step is a swaying, easy back, which you can sit with as much ease as a walk. rackers will go a six-mile gait, single-footers much faster. i once owned a single-footing mare, who came from alexander's farm and was sired by norman, who could single-foot a full mile in three minutes. as a rule, the speed is not much more than half that rate. and either a rack or single-foot is apt to spoil the square trot; or if you break a horse to trot, you will lose the other gaits. a perfect all-day racker or a speedy single-footer can scarcely be aught else. v. i did not mean to apply that rule to you, patroclus! we both of us know better. for the exceptional horse can learn to rack or single-foot without detriment to his other paces, if he be not kept upon these gaits too long at any time. half a mile ahead of us is the little grass-grown lane, where we can indulge in a canter or a frolicsome gallop. shall we quicken our speed a trifle? simply a "trot, pat!" and on the second step you fall into as square and level a trot as ever horse could boast. i know how quickly you obey my voice, old boy, and but one step from my word i am ready to catch the first rise, and without the semblance of a jar we are in a full sharp trot. how i love to look over your shoulder, patroclus, and see your broad, flat knee come swinging up, and showing at every step its bony angles beyond the point of your shoulder; though, indeed, your shoulder is so slanting that the saddle sits well back, and your rider is too old a soldier to lean much to his trot. and you will go six to--i had almost said sixteen--miles an hour at this gait, nor vary an ounce of pressure on your velvety mouth. how is it, patroclus, that you catch the meaning of my hands so readily? vi. the fancy of to-day is for the daisy-clipping thoroughbred. and when they do not run to the knife-blade pattern, they may be the finest mounts a man can throw his leg across. but my fancy for the road has always been for the higher stepping half-bred. granted that on the turf or across a flying country blood will tell. granted that brilliant knee action is mainly ornamental. still, in america, the half-bred will average much better in looks, and vastly more satisfactory in hardy service. where shall we again find the equivalent of the morgan breed, now all but lost in the desire to get the typical running horse? for saddle work, and the very best of its kind, there was never a finer pattern than the morgan. alas, that we have allowed him to disappear! his worth would soon come to the fore in these days of saddle pleasures. the thoroughbred's characteristic is ability to perform prodigies of speed and endurance at exceptional times. but the strong, every-day-in-the-year good performer is usually no more than half-bred, if even that. moreover, you can find a hundred daisy-clippers for one proud stepper, be he thoroughbred or galloway. there is such a thing as waste of action. no one wants to straddle a black hanoverian out of a hearse. but the horse who steps high may be as good a stayer as the one who does not, and high action is a beauty which delights men's eyes and opens their purses. because the long stride of the turf is better for being low, it is not safe to apply this rule to the road. there are many more worthless brutes among thoroughbreds than among the common herd. while it is easy to acknowledge that the perfect thoroughbred excels all other horses, the fact must also be noted that he is of extremest rarity, and even when found is infrequently up to weight. if we use the word advisedly, only the horse registered in the stud book is a thoroughbred. these have no early training whatever, except to allow themselves to be mounted, and to run their best. if they stand the initial test of speed, they are reserved for the turf, and there wholly spoiled for the saddle or for any other purpose of pleasure. if they do not, they are turned adrift, half spoiled in mouth and manners by tricky stable-boys, and may or may not fall into good hands. for one thoroughbred with perfect manners, sound, and up to weight, there are a score of really good half-breds, as near perfection as their owners choose or are able to make them. what we in america are apt colloquially to call a thoroughbred is only a horse which, in his looks, shows some decided infusion of good blood, or is sired by a well-bred horse. but it is to be remembered that of two horses with an equal strain of pure blood, one may have reverted to a coarse physical type, and the other to the finer. and the one who has inherited the undeniable stamp of the common-bred ancestor may also have inherited from the other side those qualities of constitution, courage, intelligence, and speed, which sum up the value of high english blood. not one fine-bred horse in one hundred--i speak from the ownership of, and daily personal intimacy for considerable periods with, over fifty good saddle beasts,--has as many of the admirable qualities of pure blood as patroclus. and yet (_absit omen_), he has a wave in his tail, and though his feet and legs are perfect in shape, and as clean as a colt's, they are far beyond the thoroughbred's in size. he shows that his ancestry runs back both to the desert and the plough. in america, surely, handsome is that handsome does. let us value good blood for its qualities, not looks, and ride serviceable half-breds, instead of sporting worthless weeds because they approach to the clothes-horse pattern, or have necks like camels. vii. one of the most distinctly promising features of the athletic tendencies of to-day is the mania for the saddle. fifteen years ago, the boys along the boston streets used to hoot at your master, patroclus. not, indeed, that he had a poor seat or needed to "get inside and pull down the blinds," as the london cad might phrase it, for a good or bad seat was all alike to them; rather at the wholly unusual sight of a man on horseback--outside of politics. but the number of good horsemen, and horsewomen too, is growing every day. here comes a couple at a brisk round trot. how can we notice the lad, patroclus, when the lassie looks so sweetly? in her neat habit, with dainty protruding foot and ankle, sitting her trappy-gaited mount with ease and grace, the bloom of health fairly dazzling you as she rushes by, so that you doubt whether it be her pretty eye and white teeth or her ruddy skin and happy face which has set even your ancient heart a-throbbing, how can a woman look more attractive? [illustration: plate iv. a sharp single-foot.] but the alluring sight is not long-lived. following hard upon them comes, not the first rider who has chased a petticoat, a young anglomaniac. he fancies that his hunting-crop, his immaculate rig, and his elbows out-britishing the worst of british snobs, as he leans far over his pommel, make him a pattern rider. you can see the daylight under his knees. a sudden plunge would send him, lord knows where! haply his dock-tailed plug remembers the shafts full well and steadily plods ahead. but bless his little dudish heart! he will learn better. as his months in the saddle increase, he will find his seat as well as his place. we americans are the making of an excellent race of horsemen. it is a pleasure to see the increase in the number of promising riders who seek the western suburbs every day. we shall all ride, as we manage to do everything, well,--after a while. there is of course a lot of rubbish and imported--rot, shall we call it? but what odds? so there is in art, music, politics, religion. viii. you see the corner of the lane, patroclus, while i have been thus musing, and your lively ear and instinctively quickened gait rouse my half-dazed thoughts. here we are. shall we take our accustomed canter? you always wait the word, though you are eagerness itself, for you do not yet know when i want you to start, or which foot i may ask you to lead with. though, indeed, you will sometimes prance a bit, and change step in the alternate graceful bounds of the passage, to invite and urge my choice. the least pressure of one leg, and off you go, leading with the opposite shoulder. and you will keep this foot by the mile, patroclus, or change at every second step, should i ask you so to do. you need but the slightest monition of my leg, and instantly your other shoulder takes the lead. i see you want to gallop, boy! but not quite yet. you must not forget that you have been taught, as they say in kentucky, to canter all day long in the shade of an apple tree, if so be it your master wishes. you shall have your gallop anon. but you must never forget that a horse who can only walk or go a twelve-mile trot or hand-gallop, though he may lead the hunt cross-country, is an unmitigated nuisance on the road. slow and easy gaits are as valuable to the park-hack as long wind and speed to the racer. and although boston, as yet, boasts no rotten row, are not the daily rides through its exquisite environments the equivalent of the canter in that justly celebrated resort, rather than the mere country tramp upon a handy roadster or the ride to cover on a rapid covert-hack? and yet our imitation of our british cousins has approximated less to the pleasure ride than to the cross-country style. perhaps, in our eagerness to convince ourselves that we have learned all there is worth knowing in the art, we have aped what is confessedly the finest of horseback sports, and forgotten the more moderate fashion of hyde park. let us remember that we can saunter on the road every day, while riding to hounds is for most of us a rarish luxury. ix. because a horse can go well to hounds, it does not follow that he is fit for park or road work any more than the three-year-old who wins the derby or st. leger is fitted for a palfrey. a horse whose business it is to run and jump must have his head; while a horse, to be a clever and agreeable hack, should learn that the bit is a limitation of his action, and that the slightest movement of the hand or leg of the rider has its meaning. what is impossible in galloping over ploughed fields is essential to comfort on the road. in the field, everything must be subservient to saving the horse; the rider's comfort is the rule of the park. it is every day that we may see a rider who deems his excellent hunter a good saddle beast, when, however clever cross-country, he is absolutely ignorant of the first elements of the _manège_. he forgets that each is perfect in his own place and may be useless in the other's. i am the owner of a fine-bred mare, whom i have as yet had no opportunity to school. she is the perfect type of a twelve-stone hunter. after hounds she will attract the eye of the whole field for distinguished beauty, and ridden up to her capacity, can always be in the first flight. she has speed, endurance, and fine disposition, is as sound and hardy as a hickory stick, and in her place unsurpassed. almost any of the horsemen of to-day's modern athens would select this mare in preference to patroclus. and yet, a four-in-hand of her type, as she now is, tantivy coach thrown in for make-weight, are not worth one patroclus for real saddle work, because she has no conception of moderate gaits. she is bound to go twelve miles an hour if you let her out of a walk, or fret at the restraint. i can ride patroclus twenty-five miles without fatigue. if i ride the mare ten miles, i come in tired, drenched with heat, and probably with my temper somewhat ruffled, while she has fretted to a lather more than once, and we have both been so hot during the entire ride that, if the day is raw, it has been dangerous to ease into a walk. if i ride patroclus over the same ground in the same time, we shall both come in fresh as a daisy, dry, and each well-pleased with the other. while this mare can gallop fast and is easy and kind, a man must work his passage to make her canter a six-mile gait. she has no more ambition than patroclus, but she does not curb it to the will of her rider. with a knowledge of all which, however, most of our young swells would select the mare for simple road-riding, because she looks so like a thoroughbred hunter, and rather suggests the impression that they habitually ride to hounds. as well saunter in the park in a pink coat and with "tops carefully dressed to the color of old cheddar." x. the _manège_ need not mean all the little refinements of training which, however delightful to the initiated, are unnecessary to comfort or safety. but no horse can be called a good saddle beast whose forehand and croup will not yield at once to the lightest pressure of rein or leg. most horses will swing their forehands with some readiness, if not in a well-balanced manner. but not many are taught to swing the croup at all; very few can do so handily. the perfect saddle horse should be able to swing his croup about in a complete circle, of which one fore foot is the immovable centre, or his forehand about the proper hind foot, in either direction at will. he should come "in hand," that is, gather his legs well under him, so as to be on a perfect balance the moment you take up the reins and close your legs upon him. he should in the canter or gallop start with either foot leading, or instantly change foot in motion at the will of his rider. he should have easy, handy gaits, the more the better, if he can keep them distinct and true. these accomplishments, added to a light mouth and a temper of equal courage and moderation, or, in short, "manners," make that rare creature,--the perfect saddle horse. it is in this that the english err. in their perfect development of the hunter and the racer they neglect the training of the hack. though it be heresy to the mania of the day to say so, it is none the less true that while you seek your bold as well as discreet and experienced cross-country rider in england, you must go to the continent, or among the british cavalry, to find your accomplished horseman. it is the general impression among men who ride to hounds, and still more among men who pretend to do so, that leaping is the _ultima thule_ of equestrianism; and that a man who can sit a horse over a four-foot hurdle has graduated in the art of horsemanship. the corollary to this error is also an article of faith among men who hunt, that is, that no other class of riders can leap their horses boldly and well. but both ideas are as strange as they are mistaken. the cavalry of prussia, austria, and italy show the finest of horsemanship. more than a quarter century ago, the author spent three years in berlin under the tuition of a retired major-general of the prussian army, and saw a great deal of the daily inside life, as well as the exceptional parade life, of the army. he has often seen a column of cavalry, with sabres drawn, ride across water which would bring half the myopia hunt to a stand-still on an ordinary run after hounds. why should not men whose business it is to ride, do so well? think you there was not good horsemanship at vionville, when von bredow (one of the author's old school friends, by the way) with his six squadrons, to enable bruddenbrock to hold his position till the reinforcements of the tenth corps could reach him, rode into the centre of the sixth french corps d'armée? in slender line, he and his men, three squadrons of the seventh cuirassiers, and three of the sixteenth uhlans, charged over the french artillery in the first line, the french infantry in line of battle, and reached the mitrailleuses and reserves in the rear, where they sabred the gunners at their guns. what though but thirteen officers and one hundred and fifty men out of near a thousand returned from that gallant ride? though no tennyson has sung their glorious deed, though we forget the willing courage with which they faced a certain sacrifice for the sake of duty to the fatherland, think you those men rode not well, as a mere act of horsemanship? think you that the handful of men of the eighth pennsylvania, at chancellorsville, when they charged down upon stonewall jackson's victorious and elated legions, riding in column through the chapparal and over the fallen timber of the wilderness, carving their path through thousands of the best troops who ever followed gallant leader, sat not firmly in their saddles? think you that the men who followed sheridan in many a gallant charge, or fitz hugh lee, forsooth, could not ride as well as the best of us across a bit of turf, with a modest wall now and then to lend its zest to the pleasure? neither we nor our british cousins can monopolize all the virtue of the world, even in the art equestrian. as there is no doubt that fox-hunting is one of the most inspiriting and manly of occupations, or that the english are preëminent in their knowledge of the art, so there is likewise no doubt that equally stout riders sit in foreign saddles. and though each would have to learn the other's trade, i fancy you could sooner teach a score or a hundred average cavalry officers of any nation to ride well across country, than an equal number of clever, fox-hunting englishmen to do the mere saddle work of any well-drilled troops. leaping is uniformly practiced and well-taught, in all regular cavalry regiments of every army with which i have been familiar in all parts of the world. xi. well, patroclus, you have earned your gallop. i loosen in the least my hold upon the reins, and shaking your head from very delight, off you go like the wind. never could charger plunge into a mad gallop more quickly than you, patroclus. your stride is long, your gather quick, and the reserve power in your well-balanced movements so inspiring, that i would almost ride you at the charles river, in the expectation that you would clear it. but the lane is all too short. steady, sir, steady! and down you come in a dozen bounds to a gait from which you can fall into a walk at word. but what is that? a rustling in the woods beside us! that sounds indeed frightsome enough to make you start and falter. you are not devoid of fear, patroclus. no high-couraged horse can ever be. but though you may tremble in every limb, if i speak to you, i may safely throw the reins upon your neck. so, boy! to face danger oftener insures safety than to run from it. to the right about, and let us see what it means. steady, again! now stand, and let it come. there, patroclus, despite your snort of fear, it is only a couple of stray calves cutting their ungainly capers as they make their way towards home. their bustle, like that of so many of the rest of us, far exceeds their importance. was not this much better seen than avoided? you would have hardly liked this pleasant lane again had we not seen the matter through. i have never kept you in condition, patroclus, to stand heavy bursts after hounds, or indeed any exceptionally long or sharp run. that means too much deprivation of your daily company. nor indeed, be it confessed, is your master himself often in the condition requisite to do the sharpest work. it will generally be noticed that the clear eye and firm muscle of the rider is a factor in the problem of how to be in at the death, as well as the lungs and courage of the hunter. and yet, patroclus, you are, within your limits, a model jumper, and always seem to have a spare leg. no horse delights more in being headed at a wall or ditch than you, even in cold blood. for any horse worthy the name will jump after a fashion in company. at the end of our lane we can take the short cut towards the great highway, over the gate and the little brook and hedge. as i talk to you, i can see that you catch my purpose, for as we draw near the place, the might of conscious strength seems to course through all your veins. perhaps i have unwittingly settled into my seat as i thought of the four-foot gate. here we are, and there is just enough bend in the road to ride at the gate with comfort. head up, ears erect, eyes starting from out their sockets, no need to guide you towards it, my patroclus! no excitement, no uncertainty, no flurry. you and i know how surely we are going over. a quiet canter, but full of elastic power, to within about fifty feet of the jump, and then a short burst, measuring every stride, till with a "now boy!" as you approach the proper gather, i give you your head, and you go into the air like a swallow. just a fraction of a second--how much longer it seems!--and we land cleverly, well together, and in three strides more you have fallen into a jog again. and now you look back, lest, perchance, the lump of sugar or seckel pear which used to reward you when you were learning your lesson should be forthcoming now. but no, patroclus, my good word and a kindly pat for your docility and strength must be your meed to-day. canter along on the soft turf till we come to the little brook. we will call it a brook, and think of it as a big one, though it is barely eight feet wide. but never mind. we can jump thrice its width just as well as across it. remember, patroclus, water requires speed and well-set purpose, as height does clean discretion. at it, my boy! take your own stride. there's lots of room this side and more on the other bank. "harden your heart, and catch hold of the bridle, steady him! rouse him! over he goes!" in the air again; this time it seems like a minute almost. there, patroclus, if it had been twenty feet of water, you would not have known the odds. now for the road and company. xii. the same reasoning may be applied to saddles as to gaits. to pull down a bull, the texan must be furnished with a horn-pommel, which would have been highly dangerous to his rider if patroclus had happened to come down over the gate just leaped. indeed, nothing but the flattest of saddles is safe to the steeple-chaser. on the contrary, the soldier rides a trot, or uses his sabre to much better advantage with a cantle sufficiently high to lean against. and any man is liable to have some physical conformation requiring a peculiar saddle. [illustration: plate v. an easy canter.] the present generation of new-fledged riders would fain tie us down to the english hunting-seat by laws like the medes and persians. this is a good pattern for our eastern needs, but let us not call it the only one. it is, of course, well when in rome to do as the romans do, or at least so nearly like them as not to provoke remark. but every one cannot do this, and the old trooper is not apt to ride this way. and yet, there are thousands of ancient cavalry soldiers all over this country, north and south, who, naked weapon in hand, have done such feats of horsemanship as would shame most of the stoutest of to-day's fox-hunting, polo-playing riders. i do not refer to the obstacles they used to ride at,--which meant a vast deal more than merely an ugly tumble over a three-foot stone wall; i refer to their stout seats in the saddle, and the rough ground they were wont to cover when they rode down upon and over a belching wall of fire. for all which, whenever we see one of these old troopers out for a ride, modestly (for he is always modest) airing his army saddle, strong curb, and long and hooded stirrups, we may, perchance, notice the jeer of the stripling, whose faultless dress and bang-tailed screw are but a sham which hides his lack of heart. it always gives one's soul a glow of pride to see the well-known seat, and one is fain tempted to ride up to the old comrade and grasp him by the hand. a thorough rider will recognize his equal under any garb. it is pretense alone which merits a rebuke. you cannot make a poor rider a good one by mounting him in a fashionable saddle, any more than you can make a worthless brute a good horse by giving his tail the latest dock. xiii. until within no great time the modified military seat has been the one which formed the basis of instruction. the riding-master, i presume, still insists, with civilian and recruit alike, on feet parallel with the horse, heels down, toes in, knee grip, and a hold of reins utterly unknown in the hunting-field. and with a certain reason, though indeed the old whip's rule of "'eels and 'ands down, 'ead and 'eart 'igh," is the whole of the story, after all. for the man who begins with a knee grip will never forget what his knees are for, and will not, like the good little dude we passed a while ago, show daylight between them and the saddle-flap at every rise. but the knee grip alone will not suffice for all occasions, despite our military or riding-school friends. a madly plunging horse or a big leap will instinctively call out a grip with all the legs a man can spare. moreover, the closer you keep your legs to the horse without clasping him, the better. go into the hunting-field or over a steeple-chase course, and you will find that the inside of your boot-tops--and not only yours, but every other jockey's as well--have been rubbed hard and constantly against the saddle. there lies the proof. at west point, and in fact at every military school, the cadets are sometimes practiced to ride with a scrap of paper held to the saddle by the knee while they leap a bar, and at the same time thrust or cut with the sabre at a convenient dummy foe. i have seen a silver dollar so held between the knee and saddle. but the bar is not a succession of high stone walls, nor is the cadet riding a burst of several miles. and with a longer stirrup it is more natural to keep the foot parallel with the horse's side. to-day, the best riders do not so hold their feet. cross-country a man certainly does not. the proof is forthcoming at the country club on any race-day, or at every meet here or in england, that a man riding over an obstacle of any size will use all the legs he can without digging his spurs into his horse's flanks, in a way he could not do with the feet parallel to the horse's sides. the modern dispensation differs from the old one in not being tied to the military seat. the rev. sydney smith objected to clergymen riding, but modified his disapproval in those cases when they "rode very badly and turned out their toes." a generation ago, a man was always thinking of the position of his feet, as he cares not to do to-day, if he sits firmly in the saddle, and boasts light hands. xiv. while on this subject, one cannot refrain from indulging in a friendly laugh at the attempt to bend our unreasonable eastern weather to the conditions of a fox-hunting climate. the hunting season is that time of the year when the crops are out of the ground. in england, during the winter months, the weather is open and moist, and the soft ground makes falling "delightfully easy," as dear old john leech has it. and the little hedges and ditches of some of the good hunting counties, or indeed the ox-fences and grassy fields of leicestershire, are such as to make a day out a positive pound of pleasure, with scarce an ounce of danger to spice it, if you choose to ride with moderation. for the best rider in the old country is not the hare-brained cockney who risks both his horse's and his own less valuable neck in the field; it is he who chooses discreetly his course, and makes headway with the least exertion to his hunter compatible with his keeping a good place in the field. the man who appreciates how jumping takes strength out of a horse, or who is any judge of pace, is apt to save, not risk him. few men willingly jump an obstacle which they can readily avoid without too much delay. read the legends of the famous hunting-men of england, and you will find discretion always outranking valor. any fool can ride at a dangerous obstacle. courage of that kind is a common virtue. but it takes a make-up of quite a different nature to be in, as a rule, at the death. how many five-barred gates will a man jump when he can open them? how much water will he face when there is a bridge near by? does not every one dismount in hilly countries to ease his horse? a good rider must be ready to throw his heart over any obstacle possible to himself and his horse, when he cannot get round it. but a discreet horseman puts his horse only at such leaps as he must take, or which will win him a distinct advantage. england is naturally a hunting country. but here, lord save the mark! there are no foxes to speak of. scent won't lie, as a general thing, with the thermometer below thirty (though scent is one of those mysterious things which only averages according to rules, and every now and then shows an unaccountable exception), and the obstacles are snake fences or stone walls with lumpy, frozen ground to land on, or, belike, a pile of bowlders or a sheet of ice. a bad fall means potentially broken bones or a ruined horse, and while you are beating cover for the fox who won't be found, you are shaking with the cold, and your clipped or over-heated beast is sowing the seeds of lung-fever. you, patroclus, were once laid up five months by landing on a snag the further side of a most harmless-looking stone wall, and tearing out some of the coronal arteries. there are plenty of good horseback sports without a resort to what is clearly out of the latitude. if you wait for good hunting weather, the crops interfere with your sport, and our farmers have not the english inducement to welcome the hunt across the fields, tilled at the sweat of their brow. in the south, both weather and much waste land make fox-hunting more easy to carry on. but even there it does not thrive. here in the east it will not be made indigenous. not but what, on a bright sunny day, a meet at which equine admirers can show their neat turn-outs and glossy steeds and discuss horseflesh in the general and the particular is a delightful experience. and indeed, wherever crops and covers do not monopolize the country, a good drag-hunt may often be had before cold weather mars the sport. perchance, in time, reynard may take up his abode with us, when vulpicide shall be punished by real ostracism. for has not the ettrick shepherd proven conclusively that reynard loves the chase? but far from underrating the caged fox or anise-seed bag, hare and hounds would seem to afford the better sport. for the hares, an they will, can carry you across a country where each one can choose his own course, instead of being obliged to follow a leader through wood-paths, and through second growth which is all but jungle, where, if one happens to blunder at an obstacle, your follower will come riding down atop of you, and where you are bound to be "nowhere" unless you get away with the first half-dozen men. but spite of all its drawbacks, patroclus, you and i enjoy in equal measure a run under fair conditions as much as the best of them. and let us hope the hunting fever will be kept up in healthy fashion, for we two can select our weather, and we are not afraid of our reputation if we drop out before the finish. this kind of work soon shakes our novices into the saddle, and its many excellencies far outweigh its few absurdities. let him who runs it down try rather a run with the pack some sunny day. if he does not find it manly sport, and stout hearts in the van of the field, he can tell us why thereafter. the outcome of to-day's riding mania is well ahead of the young men's billiard-playing and bar-drinking of twenty years ago. xv. there are good riders in every land and in every species of saddle. facts are the best arguments. the north american indian and the follower of the prophet each performs his prodigies of horsemanship, the one bareback with hanging leg, the other in a peaked saddle with knee all but rubbing his nose. whoso has laughed over leech's sketches of mossoo, who makes a _promenade à cheval_, or indeed has watched him in the bois, is fain to doubt that a frenchman can ride well. and yet he does. was not baucher the father of fine horsemanship? a rough and tumble, plucky rider, or one who is experienced and discreet after hounds as well, is more frequently found in great britain; a highly skilled equestrian (is the author nearing a hornet's nest?) in france, or elsewhere across the channel. but we naturally must seek the continental rider in the camp, for is not the continent itself one vast camp? it is perhaps hard to decide whether the cavalry officer who is master of the intricacies of the _manège_ or the country gentleman who has won a reputation with the pytchley or the belvoir may be properly called the more accomplished horseman. each in his place is unequaled. but is it not true, that the former can more quickly adapt himself to the habits of hunting than the latter to those of the haute ecole? and do not the methods of the school give us more capacity for enjoying our daily horseback exercise, than any amount of experience with hounds? xvi. it is sometimes said in england that a school-rider reining in his steed never looks as if he were having a thoroughly good time, as does the man who lets his horse go his own inspiriting gait along the road. but why not? is inspiration only found in excess of physical motion? if so, to use an exaggerated comparison, why does not paddy at donnybrook fair, trailing his coat and daring some one to tread on the tail of it, enjoy himself more thoroughly than the man who quietly plays a game of chess or whist? or to use a more nearly equal simile, may not a man find as great enjoyment in a skilled game of tennis, as in the violent rushes of foot-ball, where two hundred and twenty pounds of mere blubber will assuredly bear down all the prowess and aptness of his own say one hundred and forty? it is as certain that the pleasure of riding a trained horse is greater than that of merely sitting a vigorously moving untrained one, as that the delight of intellectual study exceeds the excitement of trashy reading. _omne ignotum pro magnifico_ seems not to be uniformly true, for riders unfamiliar with the training of the high school almost as invariably run down its methods, as self-made business men are apt to discountenance a college education as a preliminary discipline for the struggles of life. it is a fact that no man who has once been a school-rider ever abandons either the knowledge he has gained or its constant practice. no one can underrate the pleasure of simple motion upon a vigorous horse. but the school-rider has this in equal degree with the uneducated horseman, coupled with a feeling of control and power and ability to perform which the mere man on horseback never attains. moreover, all the powers of the school-rider's horse are within the grasp of his hand; and that the powers of the high-strung steed of the average equestrian are all too often resident mainly in the animal itself is shown by the chapter of accidents daily reiterated in the news-columns. the school-man is apt to ride more moderately, and to indulge in a bracing gallop less frequently, because to him the pleasure of slow and rhythmic movement on a fleet and able horse is far greater than mere rapidity can ever be; the untrained rider resorts to speed because this is the one exhilaration within the bounds of his own or his horse's knowledge. i do not wish to be understood as advocating the school habit of _always_ keeping a horse collected. however much for some purposes i admire it, i do not practice it. i often saunter off a half-dozen miles without lifting the rein, while patroclus wanders at his own sweet will. i often trot or gallop at my nag's quite unrestrained gait. but if i want to collect him, if i want that obedience which the school teaches him to yield, he must, to be to me a perfect horse, at my slightest intimation give himself absolutely to my control, and take all his art from me. i feel that i am a good judge of either habit of riding, as i have well tried both, and absolutely adhere to neither. i pretend by no means, in school-riding, to have carried my art so far as to be even within hail of the great masters of equitation; but i have not for many years been without one or more horses educated in all the school airs which are applicable to road-riding, and i know their value and appreciate it. because, then, the cowboy is nowhere in the hunting-field; or because the hard-riding squire and m. f. h. cannot drop to the further side of his horse while he shoots at his galloping enemy, or pick up a kerchief from the ground at a smart gallop; or because the frenchman has to learn his racing trade from an english jockey, it will not do to say that each is not among the best of horsemen, or that either is better than the other. the style of riding is always the outgrowth of certain conditions of necessity or pleasure, and invariably fits those conditions well. with us in the east the english habit is no doubt the most available; but it can only be made the test of our own needs or fashions, not of general equestrianism. xvii. while all this has been buzzing through your master's brain, you, patroclus, knowing full well that the loosely hanging rein has meant liberty within reason to yourself, have wandered away to the nearest thicket, and begun to crop the tender leaves and shoots as peacefully as you please. to look at your quiet demeanor at this moment one would scarcely think that you were such a bundle of nerves. you can be as sedate as rosinante till called upon. but when the bit plays in your mouth, you are as full of life and action as the steeds of diomed with flowing manes. your eye and ear are an index to your mood, and you reflect your rider's wish in every step. no man ever bestrode a more generous beast than you. do you remember, patroclus, the days when you carried your little twelve-year-old mistress, and how her first lessons in fine equitation were taken in your company? and cleverly did she learn indeed. do you remember how we used to put you on your honor, though you were only a five-year-old and dearly loved to romp and play? ay, patroclus, and fairly did you answer the appeal! with the gentle burden on your broad, strong back, her golden-red hair streaming behind her in the breeze from under her jaunty hat, you would have ridden through fire, my beauty, rather than betray your trust. however tempted to a bound, or however startled at some fearsome thing, one word--a "quiet, pat!"--from that soft girlish voice, now hushed for both of us, would never fail to keep you kind and steady. and you were ever willing, with even more than your accustomed alacrity, to perform your airs at the slightest encouragement of the soft hands and gentle voice; and having done so would lay back your ears and shake your head with very pleasure at the rippling laughter in which your pretty rider's thanks were wont to be expressed. i knew, patroclus, that in your care the little maid was quite as safe as with her doll at home. [illustration: plate vi. a ten-mile trot.] xviii. and now a word about the horse in action, as shown by instantaneous photography, and about the war waged between artists and photographers. some disciples of muybridge would fain have the artist depict an animal in an ungainly attitude, because the lens is apt to catch him at a point in his stride which looks ungainly, there being many more such points than handsome ones. it is the moving creature which we admire. the poetry of motion is rarely better seen than in a proudly stepping horse. but arrest that motion and you are apt to have that which the human eye can neither recognize nor delight itself withal. arrested motion rarely suggests the actual motion we aim to depict. the lens will show you every spoke of a rapidly revolving wheel, as if at rest. the eye, or the artist, shows you a blur of motion. and so with other objects. the lens works in the hundredth part of a second; the eye is slower far. to a certain extent photography, _quoad_ art, is wrong and the limner is right. there are some horses which possess a very elegant carriage. in their action there are certain periods--generally those at which one fore and one hind leg are slowing up at the limit of their forward stride--when the eye catches an agreeable impression which is capable of being reduced to canvas,--though it is after all the proud motion itself which pleases, and this can only be suggested. now, photography robs you of almost all the suggestiveness of the horse's action, unless you select only those photographs which approach the action caught by the human eye. even after long study of the muybridge silhouettes, the artistic lover of the horse feels that he must reject all but a small percentage of these wonderful anatomical studies. if there are periods in the horse's stride which are agreeable to the eye, why should the artist not select these for delineation? why indeed does his art not bind him to do so? * * * * * you, patroclus, are peculiarly elegant in motion. it is difficult to pick a flaw in the symmetry of your gaits. slow or fast, fresh or tired, your motion is always proud and graceful. and yet out of many photographs, few suggest your action at all, fewer still even passably; none convey to its full extent what all your intimates well know. * * * * * to photograph well, a horse must have a good deal, but not an excessive amount of action, and with unquestioned grace of curves. the reason why horses in very rapid motion photograph illy is to be found in the too extreme curves described by their legs in the powerful strides of great speed, any position in which, arrested by the lens, looks exaggerated,--sprawling. the reason why, on the other hand, the photograph of a daisy-clipper moving slowly looks tame is the lack of action to suggest the motion which the eye follows in real life. many of the best performers are plain in action. some of the most faultless movers, so far as results or form are concerned, even when agreeable to the eye, will show unsightly photographs. let any one who desires to test this matter have a half-dozen instantaneous photographs of his pet saddle beast taken. he will surely be convinced that a horse must be extremely handsome in motion to give even a passable portrait. if he gets one picture in four which shows acceptably, he may be sure that he owns a good-looking nag. among the silhouettes in the stanford book, scarcely one in twenty shows a handsome outline. this seems to be owing, as above explained, to the speed exhibited in almost all the performances; and in the slow gaits, to the want of action in the subjects. still, if the pictures had shown the light and shade which instantaneous photography is now able to give, many of the plates would have made artistic pictures. there are certainly many minutiæ in which the artist can learn from the photograph. to give an instance: before reaching the ground, the leg in every gait must be stiffened, and the bottom of the foot brought parallel to the surface traveled over, or a stumble will ensue. this, at first blush, may look awkward; but it is not really so. the artist often forgets that a horse must sustain his weight on stiff legs, and that these straighten from their graceful curves to the supporting position in regular gradation, and reach this position just before the foot comes down. some in other respects most attractive sketches fail in this. often one sees the picture of an otherwise handsomely moving horse whose fetlock joint of the foot just being planted is so bent forward as to make a drop inevitable. this is certainly without the domain of true art. the origin of such drawing lies probably in the fact that the eye catches the bent rather than the straight position of the fetlock, because the former occurs when the foot is higher above the ground, while the latter position is not so noticeable as being more out of the line of sight. but such stumbling pictures are as much a worry to the horseman's eye as the ugliest of the muybridge gallopers is to the artist's; and they are wholly unnecessary. there are many such minor points of criticism of the usual artistic work, which the artists should not deem beyond consideration. it is quite possible to make the truthful and the artistic go hand in hand. except, perhaps, in the gallop. this most disheartening gait _will_ not be reduced to what we have been taught to like. there is but one of the five "times" of the gallop which suggests even tolerable speed,--the one when all four feet are in the air and gathered well under the horse. at the instant when one of the hind legs is reaching forward to land, there is sometimes a suggestion of great speed and vigor. but the successive stilted strides when the straightened legs in turn assume the body's weight oppress the very soul of the lover of the racing plates. it must fain be left to the wisest heads, and perhaps better to time, to bring daylight from this darkness. the late john leech, as far back as the forties, essayed to draw running horses as his very keen eye showed him that they really looked; but he was laughed out of the idea, and thenceforth stuck to the artist's quadruped, though he had been, in his new departure, much more nearly approaching anatomy than any one was then aware. and thirty years ago, on epsom downs, it was revealed to the author, as it has no doubt been to thousands of others, that it is the gathered and not the spread position of the racer which is impressed upon the eye. this is most clearly shown by watching the distant horses through a glass. but still we stick to the anatomically impossible spread-eagle stride of the turf, and feel that it conveys the idea of speed which is not compassed by the set _fac-similes_ of photography. it has been alleged that a horse never does, nor can take the spread position of the typical racer of the artist. this is true enough, for he never does extend himself to so great a degree. but at one part of the leap he may do this very thing, though by no means to the extent usually depicted (see plate xi.). it is, however, certain that he cannot do so at all in the gallop. at the only time when all his feet are off the ground in this gait, they are all close together under his girths. at all other times there are one or more feet on the ground, with legs straight, and at greater or less inclination to the body. from front to rear the legs move almost like the spokes of a wheel. what the pictures of the turf in the future may be it is hard indeed to say. and yet, the longer one examines the many hundred silhouettes of running horses, so well grouped for anatomical study in the stanford book, the more reconciled to what there is of truth in them one may become. many years ago, i sat during the forenoon in the turner room of the national gallery in london, in the company of a friend, herself no mean artist, and of decidedly strong artistic taste and correct judgment, whose ideas of turner had been founded solely on what she had read, or seen and heard in america, and whose prejudice against his apparently overwrought work was excessive. for a full hour few words were passed. then, rising to go: "if i sit here any longer, i shall end by liking the man!" quoth she. it seems to me that the power in these muybridge photographs grows upon you. it is universally acknowledged that one does not see the running horse as he is usually drawn; in other words, that the artist's run is incorrect. now, if the retina has anything impressed upon it, it must assuredly be either one of the positions actually taken by the galloping animal, or else a mere blur of motion. the artist draws a blurred wheel because he sees it blurred, and it suggests rapid motion. but he will not draw blurred legs, because such drawing will not suggest what he desires to convey in his picture. and yet, if he is true to what his eye has seen, he must draw some of the positions the horse has been in, and not positions which he cannot by any possibility have passed through in this gait. i take it for granted that the eye catches the gathered positions, and these are the ones in which the horse is entirely in the air, with his legs under his girths, and with hind feet reaching forward to land. why should not the artist draw these positions, in their thousand variations, in lieu of the one single impossible position now universally in vogue? without alleging that he should do so, will the artist tell me why he should not? for unless it be assumed that the usually drawn position is a sort of geometrical resultant of the rapid series of positions passed through, and is hence adopted because the eye mathematically and unconsciously reduces these positions to the resultant, where is the truth which the artist aims to produce? for i understand art to be the reproduction of what the eye can see, or at least its close suggestion. and though there may be room to doubt what the eye may see, there is no room to doubt what the horse actually does in the gallop. it is probable that the spread-eagle position is a mere outgrowth of the canter, which in a slight degree approximates to the action of the artist's run, and that the latter has been exaggerated as a means of conveying the idea of increased speed. i have yet heard no allegation that the eye catches any but the gathering positions of the horse's gallop. now, given this, given an artist equal to and interested in the task, and the anatomical results of photography, and it would seem as if a sincere desire to reconcile the eye with positions which the retina must certainly catch as the horse bounds by might evoke more satisfactory results. here is a life-work worthy of the best of animal painters. who will take it up? i plead for "more light." xix. to return to our muttons, it is not too much to aver that any well-trained horse knows much more than the average good equestrian. it requires a light and practiced hand to evoke patroclus' highest powers. he has never refused an obstacle with his master, or failed to clear what he fairly went at. but the least uncertainty betrayed in the hand, and patroclus knows something is wrong, and acts accordingly. i learned a good lesson about spoiling him for my own comfort not long ago, when asked the privilege of riding him over a few hurdles on my lawn by a friend who had an excellent seat in the saddle, but liked, and had been used to a horse who seized hold of the bridle. patroclus took the first, but to my own and my friend's surprise quite refused the second, and could by no means be persuaded to face it. on my friend's yielding me the saddle, i mounted, and walked patroclus up to the hurdle with a firm word of encouragement; and though he wavered, he took it on a standing jump. the slight reward of a tuft of grass and a pat made him do better on the second trial, but for weeks afterwards he was nervous at that particular hurdle, though at anything else he went with his accustomed nerve. my friend and i were both unaware of how his hands had erred, but the horse's fine mouth had felt it. patroclus is essentially a one-man horse. he will always serve well for the wage of kindness, but it would take a hard taskmaster but a short week to transform him into the semblance of the biblical wild ass's colt. he will change his gaits at will from any one to any other. but his rider's hands must be steady and as skilled as his own soft mouth, or how can the lesser mind comprehend? he may, at the bidding of uncertain reins, change from gait to gait and foot to foot, seeking to satisfy his ignorant rider, who, meanwhile, unable to catch his meaning, will dub him a stupid, restless brute. a well-trained horse needs an equally well-trained rider. xx. there are two kinds of "perfectly trained" saddle horses. one is the well-drilled cow of the riding-schools, fit only to give instruction to class after class of beginners, and who is safe because worked beyond his courage and endurance. the other is the school-horse, of perfect vigor and fine manners, who is obedient to the slightest whim of the clever rider, but who is so entire an enigma to the untrained one, that he is unable to ride him at even his quiet gaits. one of my friends in touraine used in his youth to be a pupil of the famous baucher. he once told me how, at the instigation of his classmates, he begged hard for many days to be allowed to ride the master's favorite horse, with whom he was apt to join his higher classes. my friend flattered himself that he could manage any horse, as he had long ridden under baucher's instruction. as an example to the class, the master finally gave way. but the experiment was short. my friend soon found that he was so much less accomplished than the high-strung beast that he was utterly unable to manage or control him, much less to perform any of the school airs, and he was by no means sorry when his feat of equitation was terminated by so dangerous a rear that baucher deemed it wise to come to the rescue. my friend's hands, though well-drilled, were so much less delicate than the horse's mouth, that the latter had at first mistaken some peculiar unsteadiness as the indication for a _pirouette_, to which he had obediently risen; but then, on feeling some additional unsteadiness of the reins, he had, in his uncertainty and confusion, reared quite beyond control. yet under the master this horse's habit of obedience was so confirmed that he was apparently as moderate as any courageous horse should be, though actually of a hyper-nervous character. nothing but time will make a thorough horseman; but a few months will make a tolerable horseman of any man who has strength, courage, intelligence, and good temper. if a man confines his ambition to a horse whom he can walk, trot, and canter on the road in an unbalanced manner, and who will jump an ordinary obstacle, so as to follow the hounds over easy country, it needs but little time and patience to break in both man and beast to this simple work. if a man wants what the high school calls a saddle beast, a full half year's daily training is essential for the horse, and to give this the man must have had quite thrice as much himself. fix the standard at an 'alf and 'alf 'unter and your requirements are soon met. raise the standard of education to a horse well-balanced, who is always ready to be collected and always alert to his rider's wants and moods, and who can do any work well, and you need much more in both teacher, pupil, and rider. no horse can be alike perfect in the field and in the park. but the well-trained road horse can always hunt within the bounds prescribed by his condition, speed, and jumping ability; the finest hunter is apt to be either a nuisance on the road or too valuable for such daily work. it will not do to quote this as an invariable rule. but it certainly has few exceptions. [illustration: plate vii. rising at a hurdle.] moreover, a hunter requires many weeks to be got into fine condition, and can then perform well not exceeding half a dozen days a month, and needs a long rest after the season. and it is not the average man who is happy enough to own a stable so full or to boast such ample leisure as to tax his horseflesh to so very slight an extent. xxi. but what is that, patroclus? up goes your head, your lively ears pricked out, with an inquisitive low-voiced whinny. what is it you sniff upon the softly-moving air? well, well, i know. that neigh and again a neigh betrays you. as sure as fate it is one of your stable-mates coming along the road. perhaps our young friend tom, upon his new purchase, penelope. we will go and see, at all events. i never found you wrong, and i never knew your delicate nose to fail to sniff a friend before the eye could catch him, or your pleasant whinny fail to speak what you had guessed as well. sure enough, there he comes and nell has heard you too. both tom and she are out for the lesson which either gives the other. now for a sociable tramp and chat in the company you like so well. and you and i will try to give penelope and master tom a few hints which he has often asked, and of which all young horses and riders are apt to stand in need. xxii. good-morrow, tom, and how are you, sleek nelly? a fine day this for a tramp. patroclus sniffed you a long way off, and now is happy to rub his nose on nelly's neck, while she, forsooth, much as she likes the delicate attention, lays back her ears with a touch-me-not expression characteristic of the high-bred of her sex. a lucky dog are you to throw your leg across such a dainty bit of blood! you, tom, are one of numberless young men who want to learn that which they have not the patience to study out of technical books and will hardly acquire in a riding-school; who, in other words, rather than learn on tan-bark, have preferred to purchase a horse and teach themselves. a man may do well in a school or on a horse hired in a school, and yet not know how to begin the training of a horse which has been only broken in to drive, as most of our american colts are, however eager to improve him for the saddle. let us compare notes as we saunter along the road. do not understand me to depreciate the value of riding-schools, nor the training which they inculcate. on the contrary, school-training carried far enough and properly given is just what i do advocate. but between the riding-school and school-riding, there is a great gulf fixed. the capital letter is advisedly used. a horse which has been given a good mouth, and has been taught as far as the volte and demi-volte, simple and reversed (though indeed the riding-school volte and the volte of the haute ecole are different things), certainly knows a fairish amount, and may be able to teach his rider much of what he knows. but riding in a school is not road-riding, although a school-horse may have profited well by his education. leaping a school hurdle is not riding to hounds. a thoroughly good riding-school horse may be a very brute when in the park. perfect manners within four walls may disappear so soon as the horse gets a clear mile ahead of him. assuredly, it is well enough to learn the rudiments at a good riding-school. but if you ever want to become a thorough horseman and have equally good horses, study the art for yourself,--there is no mystery about it,--and learn what a horse should know and how to teach him. when you have done this, you will have a satisfactory saddle beast. if you expect a groom or a riding-school master to train your horses for you, you will not have a perfect mouth or good manners once in a hundred times. if the master is expert, he will be too busy to do your horses full justice short of an exorbitant honorarium. the groom is, as a rule, both ignorant and impatient, if not brutal. xxiii. i know of no better foundation for a man to begin upon than the breaking-in to harness, which an american horse has usually received at the hands of an intelligent farmer, before he is brought to the city for sale. starting with the horse, then, say at five years old, if you will learn how to give him his saddle education, and do it yourself, you will have, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, a better saddle beast in six months than any groom can, or any riding-master is apt to make. there is somewhat of a tendency among the english, and much more among their american imitators, to decry as unnecessary the training of horses beyond a mouth somewhat short of leather and two or three easy road gaits; or, in hunters, the capacity to do well cross-country. but there is vastly more to be said on the side of high school training. by a three months' school course stubborn horses may be made tractable, dangerous horses rendered comparatively safe, uncomfortable brutes easy and reliable. vices may be cured, stumbling may be made far less dangerous, if the habit cannot be eradicated, physical defects, unfitting a horse for saddle work, may often be overcome, and the general utility of the average horse vastly increased. all this, and much more, may be done, without touching upon the gain in ease to the rider, the pleasure to be derived when both man and beast are enabled to work in unison, the ability schooling gives to the weakest hand to hold the most high-strung horse, and the great variety of motions, speeds, and paces which may be taught to subserve the comfort and delight of the rider. whoso will claim that the reader of the last french play enjoys as great a privilege and pleasure as the student of hamlet, or that the day laborer is the equal of the skilled artisan, may deny the utility of schooling the horse for saddle work. no reference is here intended to be made to racing-stock, or to hunters kept as such. these stand in a class by themselves, requiring different aptitudes and treatment. an interesting proof of the general value of training has been recently developed in the sixth u.s. cavalry, stationed in new mexico. in some of the troops the horses have been drilled to lie down and allow the men to fire over them,--a most valuable bit of discipline, peculiarly suited to indian warfare. from the course of training necessary to bring about this end has resulted an unexpected but very natural docility in the horses, which are californian bronchos, and a poor class of animal. horses formerly considered dangerous have become quite gentle, and the entire condition of the command has been changed. so far as the belief goes that what are called the high school airs are unessential, it is easy to agree with the english opinion; but it is clear that the saddle horse should have far more training than he generally receives in england, and certainly than he receives here. it would seem that the better position lies midway between the haute ecole of the continent and the half and half training of great britain. i do not mean to imply that there are not many beautifully trained saddle beasts in england. you see in rotten row, among a vast lot of brutes, probably more fine mounts than you will find in any other known resort of fashion, more than anywhere in the world outside of cavalry barracks. but the ordinary run of english hacks are taught to trot and canter, and there their training ceases. and so entirely is the education of horses left to grooms and riding-masters, that even the most elaborate english works on equitation, while they say that a horse should be taught to do thus and so, and give excellent instructions for riding a trained horse, afford no clue to the means of training. on the other hand, the high school manuals go far beyond what most men have patience to follow or a desire to learn, excellent as such an education may be for both horse and rider. i should be sorry indeed to be understood to underrate the horsemanship of england. i do not suppose that the excellence and universality of the equestrianism of englishmen has any more sincere admirer than myself. but it is true that equitation as an art exists only among the military experts of the old country, and that the training of english horses is not carried beyond bare mediocrity among civilians for road work. for racing or hunting, the english system is perfect. the burden of my song is that we americans shall not too closely imitate one single english style for all purposes. if we will truly imitate the best english methods, each in its appropriate place, and not pattern ourselves solely on the fox-hunting type, we shall do well enough; though in riding, as in all the arts, it is wisest, as well as most american, to look for models in every direction, and select the best to follow. what i wish to protest against is the dragging of the hunting-field into the park, and what i wish to urge is the higher education of--horses. one has only to go back to the thirties in england to find all the niceties of the haute ecole in full bloom. not only the young swells, but the old politicians and the celebrated generals, used to go "titupping" down the row, passaging, traversing, and piaffing to the admiration of all beholders. but the age which, in the race for the greatest good to the greatest number, has brought about simplicity in men's dress, and has reduced oratory to mere conversation; which has given the layman the right to abuse the church, and the costermonger the privilege of running down royalty, has changed all this. and as we have doubtless gone too far in many directions, in our desire to make all men free and equal, may we not have also gone too far in discarding some of the refinements of equestrianism? and is it not true, and pity, that the old-fashioned outward courtesy to women (for the courtesy of the heart, _dieu merci_, always remains to us), whose decrease is unhappily so apparent to-day, and among the young is being supplanted by a mere _camaraderie_, is being swept from our midst by the same revulsion towards the extremely practical, which has discarded the beruffled formalities of our forebears and the high airs of equitation? we have, in the east, been so imbued with an imitative mania of the hunting style of england, that if one rides a horse on any other than an open, or indeed an all but disjointed walk, trot, or canter, he is thought to be putting on airs, in much the same measure as if he should dress in an unwarranted extreme of fashion upon the street. but if we are to ape the english, why not permit on commonwealth avenue--or by and by, we trust, the park--what is daily seen in rotten row? no one who has tasted it can deny the exhilarating pleasure given you by a horse who is fresh enough to bound out of the road at any instant, who conveys to you in every stride that glorious sense of power which only a generous heart as well as supple muscles ever yield, and who is yet well enough schooled to rein down to a five-mile canter, with his haunches well under him; while, though he is burning with eagerness to plunge into a gallop, he curbs his ambition to your mood, and rocks you in the saddle with that gentle combination of strength and ease to which an uneducated gait is no more to be compared than pierce's cider (good as it is in its place) to mumm's cordon rouge. when one is riding for the pleasure of riding, why not use all the art which will add zest to your pleasure, rather than aim to give the impression that you are sauntering to cover, well ahead of time, and don't want to tire your horse, because you expect to tax him severely during the day with the myopia beagles across the pretty country near weld farm? a celebrated english horseman says: "the park-hack should have, with perfection of graceful form, graceful action, an exquisite mouth, and perfect manners." "he must be intelligent, for without intelligence even with fine form and action he can never be pleasant to ride." "the head should be of the finest oriental type; the neck well arched, but not too long." "the head should be carried in its right place, the neck gracefully arched. from the walk he should be able to bound into any pace, in perfectly balanced action, that the rider may require." and yet such a horse, though esteemed a prize in rotten row, would be all but tabooed on the streets of boston, because he is not the type of a fine performer to hounds. xxiv. there are so many manuals of the equestrian art from which any aspiring and patient student of equitation may derive the information requisite to become an expert horseman, that beyond a few hints for the benefit of those who, like you, tom, know nothing and want to learn a little about the niceties of horseback work, it would be presumptuous to go. if a man desires to learn how to train a horse thoroughly, he must go back to baucher, or to some of baucher's pupils. all the larger works which cover training contain the elements of the baucher system. the recent work of colonel e. l. anderson, late of general george h. thomas' staff, written in england and published by david douglas of edinburgh, is a most excellent work. i have found as a rule that abstruse written explanations are very difficult to understand. in a recent excellent book on riding-school training (not school-riding mind you), though i know perfectly well what the riding-school volte and demi-volte are, as well as the school-volte and demi-volte, simple and reversed, i have read certain paragraphs dozens of times, without being able to make the words mean what the movement really is. colonel anderson's book is very clear, though it goes fully into the refinements of the art, except the quasi-circus tricks and airs, and from it, with time and patience, a man can make himself an accomplished rider and his steed equal to any work--outside the sawdust ring. but you, tom, do not aspire to go so far in the training of penelope. xxv. you must not suppose that a man who teaches his horse all the airs of the haute ecole constantly uses them, any more than an eminent divine is always in the act of preaching, or a _prima donna assoluta_ is at all times warbling or practicing chromatic scales, when each ought to be engaged in the necessary but prosaic details of life. the best results of school-training lie in the ability of the horse and rider to do plain and simple work in the best manner. because a horse can traverse or perform the spanish trot, his rider need not necessarily make him traverse or passage past the window of his inamorata, while he himself salutes her with the air of a grandee of aragon. for this would no doubt be bad style for a modern horseman in front of a beacon street mansion; though truly it might be eminently proper, as well as an interesting display of horsemanship, for the same rider to traverse past his commanding general while saluting at a review on boston common. nor because a horse can perform the reversed pirouette with perfect exactness will a school-rider stop in the middle of a park road and parade the accomplishment. but this same reversed pirouette is for all that the foundation of everything that a well-trained horse should be able to do, and if he knows it, he is ready to make use of it at all times for the greater ease, safety, and pleasure of his master. [illustration: plate viii. flying a hurdle.] you may ask of what use it can ever be. suppose you were riding with a lady, on her left,--which is the safe and proper, if not the fashionable side,--and her saddle should begin to turn, say toward you, as it is most apt to do. if your horse minds the indication of your leg, you can keep him so close to your companion's as to afford her suitable assistance, even to the extent of bodily lifting her clear of her saddle. if your horse is only half trained, you cannot, perhaps, bring him to the position where you want him in season to be of any service at all. have you never seen a man who was trying to open a gate at which a score of impatient, not to say objurgatory, riders were waiting, while the field was disappearing over the hills and far away, and who could neither get at it nor out of the way, because his crack hunter didn't know what the pressure of his master's legs meant, and fought shy of the gate, while keeping others from coming near it? have you never stood watching a race at the country club, with a rider beside you whose horse took up five times the space he was entitled to, because he could not be made to move sidewise? has not every one seen occasions when even a little training would have been a boon both to himself and his neighbors? talking of opening gates, one of the best bits of practice is to unlock, open, and ride through a common door and close and lock it after you without dismounting. let it be a door opening towards you. if your horse will quickly get into and stand steady in the positions necessary to enable you to lean over and do all this handily at any door, gates will cease to have any terrors for you. nor must you suppose that every schooled horse is of necessity kept in his most skilled form at all times. as few college graduates of twenty years' standing can construe an ode of horace, though indeed they may understand the purport and read between the lines as they could not under the shadow of the elms of alma mater, so patroclus, for instance, is by no means as clever in the intricate steps of his school performances as he was when fresh from his education. but the result is there; and for all the purposes of actual use in the saddle, the training he has had at all times bears its fruit. after this weary exordium of theory, tom, for which my apologies, let us turn to a bit of practice. xxvi. and first about the horse himself. if you buy one, do so under such advice as to get soundness, intelligence, courage, and good temper. our american horses, unless spoiled, generally have all these in sufficient measure, and can be made everything of. you have been exceptionally fortunate in your purchase of penelope. she is light gaited, not long and logy in her movements, and carries her own head. she has remarkable good looks, an inestimable quality after you get performance; but beware of the may-bird which has good looks alone. she is fifteen three, nearly as high at the rump, and with tail set on right there, fine-bred, but with barrel enough to weigh about a thousand and twenty pounds. she looks like a thoroughbred hunter, tom, every inch of her. this is a good height and weight for you, who ride pretty heavy for a youngster, and are apt soon to run up to "twel' stun eight." you say penelope is six years old. from five to eight is the best age, the nearer five the better. an old horse does not supple so readily. and she was well broken to harness? a good harness training is no harm to any horse, nor occasional use in light harness, whatever pride one may take in a horse which has never looked through a collar. in fact, many hunters in the old country are purposely used as tandem, or four-in-hand leaders during the summer, to give them light work, and bring them towards the season in firmer condition than if they had run at large and eaten their heads off. it is only the pulling or holding back of heavy weights which injures saddle gaits, and this because a saddle beast should be taught to keep his hind legs well under him, and remain in an elastic equilibrium; and dragging a load brings about the habit of extending the legs too much to the rear, while holding back gives a habit of sprawling and stiffening which is sadly at variance with a "collected" action. xxvii. you ask about dress. wear anything which is usual among riders. enamel boots as now worn are convenient to the constant rider, as the mud does not injure them as it does cloth, and water at once cleanses them. but plain dark trousers, cut a mere trifle longer than you wear them on the street, and strapped under the feet, are excellent to ride in. if cut just right they are the neatest of all gear for park riding in good weather. the simpler your dress the better. gentlemen to-day dress in boots when riding with ladies, and fashion, of course, justifies their use now as it did fifty years ago. but within half that term, in england, a man who would ride in boots with a pretty horsebreaker considered trousers _de rigeur_, if he was going to the park with his wife or daughters. to saddle and bridle your horse, you must know your own needs and his disposition and mouth. but the english saddle and a bit and bridoon bridle, such as you have, are the simplest, and meet most wants, providing they fit the back and mouth. we do not have to suit such varying tempers and mouths in this country as they do abroad. our horses are singularly tractable. it is rather a stunning thing to be mounted on the fashionable type of horse who "won't stand a curb, you know,"--and there are some such,--but, as a fact, ninety-nine american horses out of one hundred will work well in a port and bridoon bridle properly adjusted. always buy good things. cheap ones are dear at any price. your saddle should fit so that when you are in it you can thrust your riding-whip under the pommel and to the cantle along the horse's backbone; otherwise you may get sore withers. the bits should hang in the mouth just above where a horse's tush grows. penelope's sex, you see, tom, precludes her having any. xxviii. when you bought penelope, she knew nothing of saddle work, and i told you to ride her a few times on a walk or a trot, anywhere and anyhow, so as to get used to her, and her used to you, before you began to teach her anything. she had presumably always been ridden to and from the blacksmith's shop, and worked kindly under saddle. you have got good legs, tom, and any man with average legs can keep his seat after a fashion on a decently behaved horse. you were afraid you could not sit penelope when you first bought her, and had not ridden for so long that you felt strange in the saddle. so i advised you to hire an old plug for a few rides until you were sure you would feel at home when you mounted her, meanwhile exercising her in harness. the better part of valor will always be discretion, now as in falstaff's time, while the best of horses will get a bit nervous if kept long in a half-dark stable. regular exercise is as essential to a horse as oil is to an engine, if either is to work smoothly. you ask me the proper way to mount. let us stop while you dismount, and i will show you the usual way. it is simple work. stand opposite nelly's near shoulder, a foot or so away from her, and facing towards the cantle of your saddle. gather up your snaffle reins just tight enough to feel, but not pull on her mouth, and seize a part of her mane with your left hand. insert your toe in the stirrup, just as it hangs, using your right hand if necessary. then seize the cantle of the saddle with your right hand, and springing from your right foot, without touching the horse's flank with your left toe, raise yourself into the stirrup, pause a moment, and then throw the leg across the horse, moving your right hand away in season. if you were shorter, you might have to spring from your foot before you could touch the cantle. as in everything else, there are other and perhaps better ways to mount, and pages can be written upon the niceties of each method. but the above suffices for the nonce. you can choose your own fashion when you have tried them all. an active youngster, like yourself, should be able to vault into the saddle without putting the left foot into the stirrup at all. in all continental gymnasiums, this is one of the usual exercises, on a horse-block with imitation saddle, and is an excellent practice. by all means learn it. xxix. you do not seem to hold your reins handily, tom. of all the methods of holding reins i prefer the old cross-country way of a generation back, still recommended, i was pleased to see, in the very excellent article "horse" of the edition of the "cyclopædia britannica" now publishing, and i fancy yet much in vogue. the school method is different; but the school requires that the curb and snaffle shall be used for different indications or "aids" to convey the rider's meaning to the horse, and not at the same time. in ordinary saddle work it is generally convenient to employ the reins together. gather your reins up with me. the near curb outside little finger, near snaffle between little and third fingers, off snaffle between third and middle, off curb between middle and index, all four gathered flat above index and held in place by thumb, knuckles up. or easier, take up your snaffle by the buckle and pass the third finger of left hand between its reins; then take up the curb and pass the little, third, and middle fingers between its reins. the snaffle reins, you see, are thus inside the curb reins, each is easily reached and distinguished and you can shift hold from left hand to right, or _vice versa_, more readily than in any other way, by merely placing one hand, with fingers spread to grasp the reins, in front of the other. by having the loop of each rein hanging separate so that the free hand can seize it quickly, either can be shortened or lengthened at will, or they may be so together. moreover, this hold affords the easiest method of changing from one to both hands and back. for if you insert your right little finger between the off reins, and your third finger inside the snaffle rein, and draw the off reins from your left hand slightly, you have a very handy means of using both hands, with the additional value that you can either drop the right reins by easing the length of the left ones to equalize the pressure on the horse's mouth; or by grasping the left reins with right middle finger over snaffle and first finger over curb, you can shift to the right hand entirely. when in this position you can again use the left hand by inserting its fingers in front of the right one and closing upon the reins, as already indicated. in fact, without lengthening the near reins, but merely by placing the right hand in any convenient way on the off ones, you may be ready to use both hands in entirely proper fashion. and in this day of two-handed riding, it is advisable to be able to follow the fashion quickly. for school airs, this also affords an easy way of using separately curb and snaffle, as is often necessary. if you are riding with single reins, you will place them on either side of third or little finger, or embracing little, third, and middle fingers and up under thumb in similar manner. a single rein may be held in many ways. with all other double-rein methods, except the one described, you have to alter the position of reins in shifting from hand to hand. with this one the order of reins and fingers remains the same. any other system of holding the reins which you prefer will do as well, if you become expert at it. i have tried them all, from baucher's down, and have always reverted to what was shown me thirty odd years ago. your curb chain should be looser than it is, tom. a horse needing a stiff curb is unsuited to any but an expert rider, and must have a great many splendid qualities to make up for this really bad one. some people like a mouth they can hold on by, but they do not make fine horsemen. never ride on your horse's mouth, or, as they say, "ride your bridle." many men like a hunter who "takes hold of you," but this won't do on the road, if you seek comfort or want a drilled horse. you see that nelly keeps jerking at the curb. let out a link, at least. an untrained horse seeks relief from the curb by poking out his nose, the trained one by giving way to it and arching his neck. it is better at first only to ride on your snaffle rein, leaving your curb rein reasonably loose; or else you may use only a snaffle bit and single rein for a while. but unless you very early learn that your reins are to afford no support whatever to your seat, you will never be apt to learn it. don't use a martingale unless your horse is a star-gazer, or else tosses his head so as to be able to strike you. it tends to make you lean upon the rein and confines your horse's head. xxx. you have now been out a half-dozen times with your new purchase, tom, and you have managed to get along much to your own satisfaction. you have neither slipped off, nor has penelope misbehaved. but you are intelligent enough to see that there is something beyond this for you and her to learn. i do not know how ambitious you are. if you want to make nelly's forehand and croup so supple that you can train her into the finest gaits and action, you must go to work on the stable floor with an hour a day at least of patient teaching, for a number of weeks. for this purpose you must have a manual of instruction, such as i have shown you, and quite a little stock of leisure and particularly of good temper. the ordinary english trainer thinks that a good mouth may be made in two weeks, by strapping a colt's reins to his surcingle for an hour or two daily, and by longeing with a cavesson. but excellent as cavesson work may be, this means alone will by no means produce the quality of mouth which the baucher method will make, or which you should aim to give to nelly. still i know that you have but limited time, tom, and that you want your daily ride to educate both yourself and your mare. this can be accomplished after a fashion; but it is only what the primary school is to the university,--good, as far as it goes. the trouble with beginning to supple a horse's neck when in motion is that you ask him to start doing two things at once, that is, move forward at command and obey your reins, and he will be apt to be somewhat confused. he will not as readily understand what you want him to do, as if standing quiet and undisturbed. with plenty of courage, tom, penelope seems to have a very gentle disposition. almost all of our american horses have. they are not as apt to be spoiled in the breaking-in as they are abroad. and i fancy she is intelligent. you should have no difficulty in training her, and in teaching her a habit of obedience which she will never forget. it is all but an axiom that an unspoiled horse will surely do what he knows you want him to do, unless he is afraid to do it, or unless, as is generally the case, you yourself are at fault. the difficulty lies in making him understand you. remember this, and keep your patience always. if a horse is roguish, as he often will be, it is only a moment's play, and he will at once get over it, unless you make it worse by unnecessary fault-finding. i generally laugh at a horse instead of scolding him. he understands the tone if not the words, and it turns aside the occasion for a fight or for punishment. never invite a fight with a horse. avoid it whenever you can accomplish your end by other means. never decline it when it must come. but either win the fight or reckon on having a spoiled horse on your hands, who will never thoroughly obey you. and remember that a horse who obeys from fear is never as tractable, safe, or pleasant as one who has been taught by gentle means, and with whom the habit of obeying goes hand in hand with love for his master and pleasure in serving him. i do not refer to those creatures which have already been made equine brutes by the stupidity or cruelty of human brutes. one of these may occasionally need more peremptory treatment, but under proper tuition even such an one needs it rarely. [illustration: plate ix. clean above it.] xxxi. let us have a trot, and see how penelope moves, and how you sit. you, tom, will take your pace from me. there is nothing more unhorsemanlike and annoying than for a rider to keep half a horse's length in front of his companion. your stirrup should be even with mine. a gentleman can be a foot or two in front of a lady, for safety and convenience, but men should ride as they would walk, all but arm in arm. now you can see the effects of education. penelope insists on trotting a twelve-mile gait, and no wonder, for she has such fine, open action, that a sharp gait is less effort to her than a slow one. on the contrary, i, who, as the senior, have the right to give the pace, am satisfied with two-thirds that speed; and patroclus, who, as you well know, can easily out-trot, or, i fancy, out-run your mare, and would dearly like to try it, yields himself to my mood without an ounce of pull or friction. look at his reins. they are quite loose. now look at yours. nelly is pulling and fretting for all she is worth, while you are working your passage. two miles like that will take three out of her and five out of you. she will fume herself into a lather soon, while pat will not have turned a hair. she certainly is a candidate for training. you appear to need all the strength of your arms to pull her down to a walk, whereas a simple turn of the wrist, or a low-spoken word, should suffice. by the way, always indulge in the habit of talking to your horse. you have no idea of how much he will understand. and if he is in the habit of listening for your words, and of paying heed to what you say, he will be vastly more obedient as well as companionable. patroclus and i often settle very knotty questions on the road. we think we helped elect cleveland. and i must confess that occasionally a passer-by fancies that i am talking to myself, whereas, if he but knew the meaning of patroclus' lively ears, he would see what a capital comrade i have, and one, moreover, who, like one's favorite book, is never impertinent enough to answer back, or flout you with excessive wisdom. it is certainly a very pleasant study to see how many words or phrases a horse can learn the meaning of, and act intelligently when he hears them. xxxii. what, then, shall you do first in the way of education? well, let us see. as nelly has been broken to harness, she can probably only walk and trot. you, yourself, seem to stick fairly well to the saddle. but how about your own position? your leathers are a trifle long. they should be of just such length that, when you are in the middle of the saddle, on your seat, not your crotch, with the ball of your foot in the stirrups, your feet are almost parallel with the ground, the heel a trifle lower than the toes. your toes are below your heels, you see. you should be able to get your heels well down when you settle into your saddle. the old rule of having the stirrups just touch the ankle-bone when the foot is hanging is not a bad one. the arm measure is unreliable, and physical conformation, as well as different backed horses, often require, even in a sound man, odd lengths of leathers. you should not attempt to ride with your feet "home" until you can keep your stirrup under the ball of your foot without losing it, whatever your horse may do; and when you do ride "home," you should occasionally change back to the ball of your foot, so as to keep in practice. moreover, you can train a horse much more easily, riding with only the ball of the foot in the stirrup, for you can use your legs to better advantage. my disability obliges me to ride "home" at all times, and i have always found it much more difficult to teach a horse the right leg indications than the left. i have to employ my whip not infrequently, in lieu of my leg. your stirrup should be larger and heavier, for safety. i don't like your fine, small stirrups; and your saddle should have spring bars, which you should always keep from rusting out of good working order. they have saved many a man's collar-bone. be in the habit of using your knees and thighs alone for grip, though the closer you clasp the saddle without getting your legs _around_ the horse, the better. in the leap, or with a plunging horse, you may use the upper part of the calf, or as much more as your spurs will allow you to use. but of all equestrian horrors the worst is the too common habit of constantly using the calves instead of the knees to clasp the saddle-flaps. to such an extent is this often carried by a tyro (and no man gets beyond this stage who does it), that you can see an angle of daylight between the points where his thigh and calf touch the saddle, showing that his knee, which ought to be his main and constant hold, does not touch the saddle at all. the stirrup-leathers, especially if heavy, as they should be, often hurt the knee, if you are new to the saddle, and perhaps are the main inducement to this execrable habit. but you must either get your knees hardened, or else give up the saddle. keep a steady lookout for this. you will never ride if you don't use your knees. if you do use them properly, your feet will look after themselves. ride with the flat of the thigh and the knee-bone at all times close to the saddle. sit erect, but avoid rigidity. it is good practice to sit close, that is, without rising, on a slow jog-trot. let us try. sit perfectly straight and take the bumping. on a jog-trot, it is an unpardonable sin to lean forward at all. you will find that shortly it does not bump you so much, and by and by it will not at all. but don't lean back either. that is the country bumpkin's prerogative. nelly is evidently easy enough, only she has not been taught to curb her ambition. nothing shakes a man into the saddle better than this same jog-trot. nothing is more absurd than the attempt to rise when the horse is only jogging, or, as it were, the attempt to make your horse begin to trot by beginning to rise. it looks like an attempt to lift yourself up by your boot straps. teach him some other indication to start a trot. it is useless to rise unless a horse is going at least a six-mile gait. some school-riders taboo the jog, but all the cavalry of the world use it; it is the homeward gait of the tired hunter, and it does teach a man a good, easy, safe seat. it is true that a horse who won't walk at speed, but who falls from a slow walk into a jog whenever you urge him, is a nuisance. moreover, the uneducated jog is neither a fashionable nor a desirable gait. but a schooled jog, which the horse does under your direction and control, is quite another thing, and a jog greatly relieves a tired horse. it seems to be unjustly tabooed. unless, then, you are ultra-fashionable, make a habit of jogging now and then. by this i mean jogging with your horse "collected," so that you have not an ounce of hold on his mouth, and he is still under your absolute control, your seat meanwhile being firm and unshaken. but never let the horse jog of his own motion. that may spoil his walk. make him jog only when you want him to do so, and when walking, do not let him fall into a jog unbidden. the jog i mean should be almost a parade gait; too slow to rise to, but still perfect in action, and so poised that from it your horse can bound into any faster gait at word. your hands are too high. they want to be but a couple of inches above the pommel, better lower than higher. a man whose reins wear out the pigskin on his pommel is all right. a horse who carries his head high needs lower hands. some low-headed horses require the hands to be held a bit higher to stimulate the forehand. it is difficult to say thus much without saying a great deal more; for this is but a hint of what is essential to correct such a physical defect as a low-carried head. but what i tell you will whet your appetite for a thorough knowledge, and this you will find in the books of baucher's followers. the use of snaffle and curb, each for its best purpose, is very delicate. let me again repeat, of all things never hang on your horse's mouth. you may have to do so on penelope's, or rather penelope may hang on your hands, till you get her suppled, but you must try to do that soon. you don't want to be a "three legged rider." if you cannot learn to ride at any gait and speed smoothly and well, with your reins so loose that you might as well not have them in your hands, you will never do anything but "ride the bridle." this applies to your seat, not to penelope. it is not wise habitually to ride with reins too loose; you should always feel your horse's mouth. but you can feel it without a tight rein. good driving horses often pull. a good riding horse should never do so. nelly seems to be sure-footed. if she is apt to stumble, sell her. your neck is worth more than your pocket. by school-training and its consequent habit of keeping the hind legs well under him, a stumbler will learn instinctively to bring up the succeeding hind foot to the support of the yielding fore foot, so as to save himself a fall; but you don't want an imperfect horse, tom. if nelly can trot without stumbling, it is excellent practice for you to tie the reins in a knot on her neck, and to ride along the road without touching them. when you feel as secure this way as any other, your seat is strong. you do not want to do this _en evidence_. but get off on the country roads and practice it. this is one advantage of a careful riding-master and a good school; a pupil is taught the seat apart from and before the uses of the reins. xxxiii. as i think you have already mastered all that i have told you, you may begin to teach penelope a bit. but remember that, as you are both intelligent, she will be teaching you at the same time. i notice that you have to use two hands to guide your mare, and i presume you want to learn some better way, for however necessary two hands may occasionally be, a horse must at times be managed by one. there are three methods of guiding a horse under saddle. the simplest, and the one requiring the least education, is the same which you are using, and which is the common way of driving, by holding the rein or reins of each side in one hand, and by pulling rein on the side you wish nelly to turn to. it is possible to guide this way with one hand by a suitable turn of the wrist, but unless the horse is well collected, as few of our horses nowadays are, it is a poor reliance in any unusual case. the next method is guiding by the neck, by which the horse is made to turn to the right if you draw the rein across or lay it upon the left side of his neck, and _vice versa_. the third method combines the two others, and the horse obeys either indication. it requires the highest art in man and beast, and is superb in results when learned. the animal may be guided by the bit with the reins held in one hand, applying the pressure by the turn of the wrist, or may be turned by the neck while the bit is used to lighten one or other side. but this requires a hand and mouth of equal delicacy, and a horse always in a state of equilibrium. you will need only the first two to begin with, and nelly already knows the first. most horses now and then require you to use both hands, and school-riding calls for their use in the more difficult feats. but an agreeable saddle beast should guide by the neck readily at all times. stonehenge calls this a "highly desirable accomplishment," but it is really only the beginning of the alphabet of the horse's education; and indeed in the school airs, though both hands be used, the forehand is constantly thrown to one or the other side by the neck pressure, the direct tension of the rein being used to give the horse quite a different indication at the same moment. moreover, you will not always be able to devote two hands to nelly. you may need one of them for something else. it would be embarrassing not to be able to use your whip or crop, or to button your glove, or to take off your hat, and at the same time to turn a corner or avoid a team. i have often ridden with people who so entirely relied upon both hands, that they had to draw rein for so simple a thing as the use of their handkerchief, lest their horse should fly the track while their right hand was so engaged. and while i am to a certain extent an advocate for the use of two hands, i cannot agree with the habit of the day of so constantly employing two that the horse and rider both lose the power of doing satisfactory work with one. by all means teach nelly to guide by the neck. when you have done this, you may resort to both hands again whenever you desire. and the habit of using both hands is certainly more apt to keep your shoulders, and hence your seat straight. but a horse who cannot be guided with one hand under all but the most exceptional conditions is not fit for saddle work on the road. in the more intricate paces of the school, indeed, the soldier uses but one hand; and though often more delicate hints can be imparted to a horse's mind by two, yet all except the greatest performances of the _manège_ can be accomplished with one, and a horse who is unable to rehearse perfectly all the road gaits and movements with the indications of one hand and two heels is sadly lacking in the knowledge he should boast. you very naturally ask how this is to be taught. it is by no means difficult. have you never noticed a groom riding a horse in a halter? any steady horse can be so ridden. the halter rope is usually on the left side of the neck because the man has it in his hand when he jumps on, and he guides the horse by a pull on the halter rope if he wants him to turn to the left, and by laying the rope upon and pulling it across the neck pretty well up if he wants him to turn to the right. now you will notice that if you hold the reins far up on nelly's neck, half way from withers to ears, and pull them across the left (near) side of her neck, she will, after a little uncertainty, be apt to turn to the right, although the pull is on the left side of the bit. try it and see. there,--she has done it, after some hesitation. and she did it because she felt that her head was being forced to the right and she very naturally followed it. the reverse will occur if you will pull the reins across the right (off) side of the neck. some horses seize this idea very quickly, and it is only a matter of practice to keep them doing the same thing as you gradually bring the reins farther and farther down the neck till they lie where they should be, near the withers. if nelly will thus catch the idea, a week or ten days will teach her a good deal, and in a month she will guide fairly well by the neck;--after which, practice makes perfect. if she had not seemed to catch the idea, and had turned the other way, it would have been because the pull on the bit impressed her mind rather than the pressure on the neck acting in the opposite way. under such circumstances you should, when you press the rein on the near side of her neck, take hold of the off rein also and force her to turn to the right, trying to make the neck pressure a little more marked than that on the bit. a horse quickly learns to appreciate the difference between the direct pull of the rein on the bit and the indirect one made across the neck. none of the neat movements of the _manège_ can be executed unless a horse has learned absolutely to distinguish between an indication to turn, and one which is meant to lighten one side in order to prepare for a school movement, or to enable him to lead or exhibit pronounced action with that side. [illustration: plate x. taking-off at water.] at first you had perhaps better teach penelope to guide only one way by the neck, using the rein alone for the other turn. but you can determine this by her intelligence. if there is any place where you can ride in an irregular circle or quadrangle, you can, after nelly gets used to turning in a certain direction at the corners, press the reins on the opposite side of her neck as she is about to turn, so that she may get to associate this pressure with the movement in the direction away from it. this is the way horses learn in a riding-school. or if she is going towards home and knows the corners she has to turn, do not let her make them of her own accord, but hold her away from them until you give her the neck pressure. or you can zig-zag along the road if you are in a quiet place where people will not think that you are _toqué_, or that your mare has the staggers. it will thus not be long before nelly gets the idea, and the mere idea, once caught, is quickly worked into a habit. sometimes i have got a horse to guide passably well by the neck in a day. oftener, it takes a week or two, while delicacy comes by very slow degrees. xxxiv. when you have got nelly to the point where she guides fairly well by the neck, what next? it is evident that the muscles of your mare's neck are rather rigid, for she carries it straight, though her crest is well curved. from this rigidity springs that resistance to the bit which she so constantly shows. a neck which arches easily means, as a rule, obedience to it. it is extremely rare that a horse will arch his neck, except when very fresh, so as to bring his mouth to the yielding position and keep it there, of his own volition; and then he is apt to pull on your hands. you must not suppose that an arched neck means that the horseman is worrying his beast to make him appear proud or prance for the purpose of showing off. it is precisely this which a good horseman never does. he always uses his bits gently. it is cruelty, as well as ruin to the horse's mouth, to hold him by the curb until his neck tires, and he leans upon it, held suspended by the equal torture of the chain and the aching muscles. a horse never should pull on a curb. if your hands are light, the curb rein may be loose and still the horse's head be in its proper position, that is, about perpendicular. the well-trained horse, without the slightest effort, arches his neck to the curb or snaffle alike, and keeps it so. it is only when his rider releases it, or chooses to let him "have his head" that he takes it. often, in fact, a horse will not do so when you give him the chance. patroclus here will get tired out, certainly completely tire me out, long before his bit becomes irksome. when trotting, or when galloping across the fields or in deep snow, i am often apt to let him carry his head as he chooses on account of the change or the extra exertion. but with his well-suppled neck i always feel certain that the slightest intimation of the bit will bring his head in place instead of meeting resistance. and he generally seems to prefer to bring his head well into the bit, so, as it were, to establish agreeable relations with you. i often notice that he feels unsteady if i give him his head too much. and when tired, he seems to like the encouragement given by light and lively hands all the more. the first thing, then, to do is to get penelope's neck suppled. this means that the naturally rigid muscles of the neck shall be by proper exercises made so supple as to allow the mare to bring her head to the position where there can be a constant "give and take" between your hands and her mouth. the usual outward sign of such suppleness is an arched neck, though as occasionally an habitual puller will arch his neck naturally, this is not an infallible sign. and some horses, especially thoroughbreds, however good their wind, will roar if you too quickly bring their heads in. this is because the wind-pipe of such horses is compressed too much by arching the neck. thoroughbreds on the turf are wont to stick their noses out while running, because this affords them the best breathing power at very high speed. this habit becomes hereditary, and among them there are not a few who cannot readily be brought in by the bit. sometimes, except as a feat, you can never supple such necks. oftener, it only needs more time and patience,--in other words a slower process. a limber-necked thoroughbred has, however, the most delightful of mouths, except for the fact that he seems occasionally to draw or yield almost a yard of rein, owing to the length of his neck, and your hands have to be watched accordingly. if he has such a neck, the only safety, if he is high-strung, is never to let him beyond the hand. the result of the suppling of the neck is a soft mouth under all conditions. how shall you begin to supple nelly's neck, you ask, without the long process of the schools? you cannot perfectly, but you may partially do this under saddle. whenever you are on a walk you may, as a habit, let your horse have his head, and encourage him to keep at his best gait. a dull walker is a nuisance. a little motion of the hands or heels and an occasional word will keep him lively and at work, and get him into the habit of walking well, if he has enough ambition. the school-rider keeps his horse "collected" on the walk at all times, and though the steps are thus shortened, they become quicker and more springy, and the speed is not diminished. i do either way, as the mood takes me, for though i incline to the method of the school-riders, i do not think that it hurts a horse to have entire freedom now and then. some amblers are slow walkers, but the five-mile amble takes the place of the rapid walk, and is often more agreeable. few horses walk more than three and a half miles an hour. a four-mile walk is a good one. exceptionally, you may reach the ideal five miles. i once knew a horse in ohio who walked (and not a running walk either, but a square "heel and toe" walk) six miles in an hour, on wagers. but our confab, tom, often gets too diffuse. let us go on with our lesson. xxxv. here we are quietly walking along the road. suppose you draw up the reins a bit, the curb somewhat the more. nelly will at once bring up her head, and very naturally stick out her nose in the endeavor to avoid the pressure of the curb chain. at the same time, as you see, she will shorten her steps. don't jerk or worry her, but still exert a gentle pressure on the curb, and keep up a slight vibrating movement of the hands, speaking to her kindly. in a moment or two, she will arch her neck, and the bit will hang loosely in her mouth. there, you see, her nose comes down, and a handsome head and neck she has! now pat her, and speak caressingly to her, and after a few seconds release her head. when these exercises are done on the stable floor, the use of the snaffle will accomplish the same result, and this is very desirable. but if you begin these flexions on the road you must use the curb, because nelly now understands the snaffle to be for another purpose. the use of the curb is apt to lower a horse's head, and with some horses too much. the snaffle may be employed to correct this low carriage, but this use of it involves more than i can explain to you now. if nelly's head gets too low, raise your hands a bit. try it over again, and each time prolong the period of holding her head in poise. but never hold it so long that her neck will ache and she begin to lean upon the bit. if she should do so before you release her head, play gently with the rein for an instant to get her back to the soft mouthing of the bit, caress her, and then release her head. this is on the principle that you should always have your way with a horse, and not he his. and kindness alone accomplishes this much more speedily and certainly than severity. if the occasion ever comes when you cannot have your way with nelly, give a new turn to the matter by attracting her attention to something else, so as not to leave on her mind the impression that she has resisted you. notice two things, tom, while nelly is thus champing her bit. she has an almost imperceptible hold of your hands and her gait is shorter and more elastic. this has the effect of a semi-poised position, from which she can more readily move into any desired gait than from the extended looseness of the simple walk. this is one step towards what horsemen call being "in hand," or "collected;" and grooms, "pulled together," though indeed the "pulling together" of the groom but very distantly approaches the fine poise of the schools. of all means of destroying a good mouth, to allow the horse to lean upon the curb is the surest. avoid this by all means. but so long as nell will bring in her head and play with the bit, keep her doing so at intervals. after a week or two she will be ready to walk quite a stretch with her head in position, and you will both of you have gained something in the way of schooling her mouth and your hands. you can then try her on a trot, and if you can keep your seat without holding on by the reins, she will learn to do the same thing at this gait too, and later at the canter and the gallop. but unless your own seat is firm and your hands are light, you will only be doing her future education an injury. every twitch on her sensitive mouth, occasioned by an insecure seat or jerky hands, will be so much lost. moreover, your curb chain must neither be too long nor too short. if too long, nelly will not bring down her head at all. if too short, it will worry her unnecessarily. you can judge of it by her willingness gradually to accustom herself to it without jerking her head or resisting it, and without lolling her tongue. this suppling of nelly's neck which you will give her on her daily ride is only of the muscles governing the direct up and down motion of the head and neck. you are not overcoming the lateral rigidities. this requires stable exercises. if you have leisure for these (and you very likely will make some when you find the strides in comfort and elegance nelly is making), you will buy one of the manuals i have told you about. what you have taught her, however, is excellent so far as it goes, and is time well employed. it will serve its purpose upon the road, if it does not suffice for the more perfect education. xxxvi. the next step will be for you to try to supple the croup or hind-quarters of your mare. the two things can go on together, though it is well to get the forehand fairly suppled before beginning on the croup. the flexions of the croup are fully as important, if not more so, than those of the forehand, and in their proper teaching lies the root of your success. if you wear spurs, you should be absolutely sure you will never touch nelly with them by accident. spurs need not to be severe in any event. it is uselessly cruel to bring the blood, except in a race, where every ounce of exertion must be called for. spurs in training or riding should never be used for punishment. they will be too essential in conveying your meaning to penelope for you to throw away their value in bad temper. the horse should learn that the spur is an encouragement and an indication of your wishes, and should be taught to receive its attack without wincing or anger. the old habit of the _manège_ was to force all the weight of the horse, by the power of a severe curb bit, back upon his haunches, and oblige him to execute all the airs in a position all but poised upon his hind legs. the modern dispensation endeavors to effect better results by teaching the animal to be constantly balanced upon all four legs, and, by having his forces properly distributed, to be in a condition to move any of them at the will of his rider in any direction, without disturbing this balance. moreover, the element of severity has been eliminated from training altogether. suppose, then, that you are walking nelly and are holding her head in poise. now bring your legs gently together, so as to slightly touch her sides. you will see that she at once moves quickly towards the bit. here she must find herself held in check by it. the result of the two conditions will be that she will get her hind legs somewhat more under her than usual. it is just this act, properly done, which produces the equilibrium desired. when a horse is what is termed "collected," or "in hand," he has merely brought his hind feet well under him, and has yielded his mouth to your hands in such a way that he can quickly respond to your demands. this he cannot do when he is in an open or sprawling position. it were better to teach nelly this gathering of the hind legs under her by certain preliminary exercises on foot; but you can by patient trial while mounted accomplish a great part of the same result. and between bit to restrain her ardor and spur to keep her well up to it, the mare will get accustomed to a position of equilibrium from which she can, when taught, instantly take any gait, advance any foot, or perform any duty required. she will be really in the condition of a fine scale which a hair's weight will instantly affect. do not suppose that bit and spur are to be used harshly. on the contrary, the bit ought to play in her mouth loosely, and with the trained horse the barest motion of the leg towards the body suffices. the spur need very rarely touch her flank. the delicacy of perception of the schooled horse is often amazing. but the co-efficient of a balanced horse is a rider with firm seat and light hands. either is powerless without the other. moreover, a generous and intelligent beast, reasonably treated, learns the duty prescribed to him without the least friction. to respond to a kindly rider's wants seems to be a pride and a pleasure to him instead of a task. among the most agreeable incidents of horse-training is the evident delight which the horse takes in learning, the appreciation with which he receives your praise, and the confiding willingness with which he performs airs requiring the greatest exertion, and often a painful application of the spur, without any idea of resistance or resentment, even when his strength, endurance, intelligence, and good temper are taxed to the severest degree. i have sometimes wondered at a patience, which i myself could never have exhibited, in a creature which could so readily refuse the demands made upon him, as well as at the manifest pleasure he will take in the simple reward of a gentle word. there is much difference in the nomenclature of horse-training. unless one needs to be specific, as in describing the methods of the haute ecole, "in hand" and "collected" are frequently used interchangeably. but they should really be distinct in meaning, "in hand" being the response to the bit, "collected," the response to bit and legs, and "in poise," a very close position of equilibrium, preceding the most difficult movements of the school. now, in order to get penelope accustomed to respond to the pressure of the legs, you must practice bringing your legs towards her flanks while her head is well poised, at frequent intervals. whenever she responds by bringing her hind legs under her--and you will notice when she does so by her greater elasticity and more active movement--speak a good word to her, and keep her gathered in this way only so long as she can comfortably remain so, gradually prolonging the terms during which you hold her thus "collected." you will find that her step will soon become lighter and the speed of her response to your own movements a great contrast to the sluggishness of the horse moving his natural gait in the saddle. her carriage will begin to show the same equilibrium in which the practiced fencer stands "in guard," or more properly, it will show that splendid action of the horse at liberty which he never exhibits in the restraint of the saddle, except when trained. whoever has watched a half-dozen fine horses just turned loose from the stall into a pretty paddock, will have noticed that, in their delighted bounds and curvetings, each one will perform his part with a wonderful grace, ease, and elegance of action. you may see the passage, piaffer, and spanish trot, and even the passage backwards, done by the untrained horse of his own playful volition, urged thereto solely by the exuberance of his spirits. under saddle he will not do this, unless taught by the methods of the school. but so taught, he will perform all these and more, with readiness and evident satisfaction to himself. [illustration: plate xi. doing it handily.] i must again impress upon you, tom, that for perfect success, even in little things, you will need vastly more careful training than this; and that what i am discussing with you is but a very partial substitute for the higher education. i am indeed sorry to feel tied down to such simple instruction. but i want to tell you just enough to lead you to experiment for yourself, and to catch sufficient of the fascination of the art to study it thoroughly. i am, however, anxious that you should by no means understand me to say that you can, by any such simple means as i shall have detailed to you, perfect the education of your mare. you can improve her present condition vastly, and make her light and handy compared to what she naturally is. but the best results involve far other work. xxxvii. you tell me that nelly can only trot and walk, and you want to teach her the canter and hand-gallop. many horses will naturally fall into a canter if you shake the reins; but some who come of trotting stock will not do so without considerable effort; and still such a horse is often the best one to buy. now the easiest way to get nelly into a canter, if she persists in trotting, is to push her beyond her speed, for which purpose you should select a soft piece of ground. so soon as she has broken into a gallop, unless she has been trained to settle back into a trot, you can readily slow up without changing her gait. if it has been attempted to train her as a trotter, you will have harder work to do this. but there is a little vibrating movement of the hands, sometimes called "lifting," which tends to keep a horse cantering, just as a steady pull keeps him trotting. this movement is in the little what the galloping action of a horse is in the great. the hands move very slightly forward and upward, and pass back again on an under line. apparently, nelly has been broken in the usual way, for she trots naturally on a steady rein or on the snaffle. now, you will find that a moving rein or the curb is apt to break her trot, and make her do something else,--either prance, or trot with high unsettled steps, or canter. it is for your own hands, when she gets to the canter, to hold her there. this may take you some time, but you can certainly do it by repeated trials. having accomplished it, you may, between curb bit and spurs, both gently used, mind you, gradually teach her to carry her head properly at this pace, and get her haunches well under her; and it will give you pleasure to notice how much more natural it is for her to come "in hand" than on the trot. as the canter is the natural gait of the horse, you will find nelly soon keep to it if she understands that you so desire. but remember that you should canter or gallop habitually only on soft ground. hard roads soon injure the fore feet and fetlock joints if a horse is constantly cantered or galloped upon them, because the strides are longer and the weight comes down harder, and always more upon the leading fore foot than upon the other. moreover, the canter with the hind legs well gathered is apt to be somewhat of a strain to the houghs of the horse unless it is properly--rhythmically--performed, and unless the animal is gradually broken in by proper flexions. but to canter is one thing. you have yet to teach penelope to canter on either foot at will, leading off with left or right and changing foot in motion. this is quite another matter, and you will find that it will take some time and a vast deal of patience in both of you. let us suppose that you have brought nell down to a fairly slow canter. until you can, without effort to her or you, rein her down to quite a slow one, she does not know the rudiments of the gait. to canter properly, she must, without resistance, pull, or fret, come down to a canter quite as slow as a fast walk, even slower, and not show the least attempt to fall into a jog; all this while so poised that she can bound into a gallop at the next stride. any plug can run. few of the saddle horses you meet on the road seem to canter slowly, and yet it is one of the most essential of gaits and a great relief from a constant trot, especially for a lady. it may perhaps look more sportsmanlike--i don't like to use the word "horsey"--for a lady always to trot; but no lady, apart from this, begins to look as well upon the trot as when sitting the properly timed park canter of a fresh and handsome horse. moreover, it requires vastly less art to ride the trot usually seen with us than to bring a high-couraged horse down to a slow parade canter and keep him there, not to dilate upon the gloriously invigorating and luxurious feeling of this gait when executed in its perfection. some lazy horses find that they can canter as easily as walk and nearly as slowly, but this disjointed, lax-muscled progress is a very different performance from the proud, open action of the generous horse, whose stride is so vigorous that you feel as if he had wings, but who curbs his ardor to your desires, and with the pressure of a silken thread on the bit will canter a five-mile gait. xxxviii. you have probably noticed that nelly sometimes canters with one shoulder forward and sometimes with the other. almost all sound horses will change lead of their own accord, but not knowing why. when a horse shies at a strange object, or hops over anything in his path, or gets on new ground, or changes direction, he will often do this. if a horse does not frequently change, it is apt to be on account of an unsound foot, hough, or shoulder, which makes painful or difficult the lead he avoids. but occasionally a sound horse will always lead with the same leg, until taught to change. for a lady the canter is generally easier with the right shoulder leading, and some horses are much easier with one than the other lead. in fact, on the trot, many horses are easier when you rise with the off than when you rise with the near foot, or _vice versa_; and some writers have said that a horse leads with one or other foot in trotting. but as the trot should be a square and even gait, the peculiarity in question is owing to excess of muscular action in one leg and not to anything approaching the lead in the canter or the gallop. it is possible to teach a horse to start with either or to change lead in the canter without more flexing of the croup than you can give him on the road; but it is worth your while to put nelly through some exercises which i will explain to you. it will save time in the end. their eventual object is so to supple the croup as to render the hind-quarters subject to the rider's will, and absolutely under the control of the horse as directed by him. the flexions of the croup are in reality more important than those of the forehand. unless a horse's hind-quarters are well under him and so thoroughly suppled as to obey the slightest indication of the rider's leg, he is lacking in the greatest element of his education, if he is to be made a school-horse. at the same time a supple croup and a rigid forehand cannot work in unison. both should be elastic in equal degree. for the purpose of beginning the croup flexions, you can best use the stable floor, or other convenient spot, say after mounting as you start, or before dismounting as you return from your ride, or, better, both. and this is what you should do. suppose you are standing on the stable floor, mounted. any other place will do, but you want to be where you are quite undisturbed. bring nelly in hand by gathering up the reins quietly, so as not to disturb her equanimity or her position. perhaps you had better hold the reins in both hands for these exercises. at all times, indeed, it is well that a horse should be kept acquainted with the feel of the two hands. in many respects, and for many purposes, i am an advocate of two hands in riding. do not misunderstand me on this point. my plea is for such education that one hand may suffice for all needs, when the other can be better employed than with the reins; but i myself often use both my hands, perhaps even half the time. nelly being collected, gently press one foot towards her flank, if need be till the spur touches her. she will naturally move away from it by a side step with her hind feet. you should have kept her head so well in hand that she will not have moved her fore feet. so soon as she makes this one side step, stop and caress her. try once more with the same foot. same result, and you will again reward her with a kind word. do not at first try to make her take two steps consecutively. if you do so, she may, having failed to satisfy you with one step, and imagining that you want something else, try to step towards the spur instead of away from it, and you will have thus lost some ground. a horse argues very simply, and if one course does not seem to comply with his rider's will, he almost always and at once tries the other. after a few days, you will find that nelly will side step very nicely, one or two steps at a time, and before long she will do so in either direction. you cannot, however, consider her as perfect until she can handily complete the circle, with the opposite fore foot immovably planted, in either direction at will, and without disturbing her equilibrium. but this is much harder to do, and if you propose to give nelly a college education you must first qualify yourself as professor. you should now at the same time test how well you have taught penelope to guide by the neck. if you will use the pressure of your legs judiciously, so as to prevent her from moving her hind feet at all, you should be able to describe part of a circle about them by such use of the reins as to make her side step with the fore feet. when she can take two or three steps with fore or hind feet to either side quickly, and at will, keeping the hind or fore feet in place, you have made a very substantial gain in her training. there can be, of course, only one pivot foot. it is the one opposite the direction in which you are moving the croup or forehand. but to teach nelly to use the proper pivot foot you must begin much more carefully, and it is perhaps not necessary, if you aspire only to train her for road use, to be so particular. properly speaking, you ought about this time to give nelly a little side suppling of the neck, so as to make the parts respond readily to your will. this is done first on foot, by gently turning the mouthpiece of the curb bit in a horizontal plane, so as to force her head to either side and make her arch her neck, without allowing her to shift feet. later, it is done by drawing one curb rein over her neck so as to bring her head sidewise down towards the shoulder, while steadying her with a less marked pressure on the other rein. to do this properly, the baucher diagrams, or a longer description, would be useful. when the neck is in this exercise perfectly flexed, she will be looking to the rear. with some little practice nelly will thus readily, at call, bring her head way round to the saddle-flap, with neck arched, and mouthing her bit. later still, you can practice this flexion mounted, by holding both reins, and pulling a trifle more strongly on one curb than on the other, and steadying her by voice and leg to prevent her from moving. this exercise will make it physically easier for nelly by and by to respond to your demands, for her neck will be flexible enough for her to hold her head in any desired position without undue effort. and the same thing can be done in motion, if this is not too rapid. as already said, the circular movement described (termed a pirouette about the hind, and a reversed pirouette about the fore feet) should be made on one absolutely unmoved fore or hind foot as pivot. for, plainly, both feet cannot act as one pivot without twisting the legs. this pirouette is really a "low pirouette," the pirouette proper being a movement by the horse poised on his hind legs alone, describing the circle with fore legs in the air, which is a vastly finer performance. it will suffice for you, though, tom, if nelly will make the pirouette, simple or reversed, without substantially shifting the position of the two pivot feet. but you must remember that if you start with a half-and-half education, it is more difficult to perfect the training than if you start in a more systematic manner; and i do not pretend that these are the proper, but only easy methods. it is by the union of the side steps of forehand and croup, the former always a trifle in advance, that a horse is taught to "traverse," that is, to move sideways at a walk, trot, or gallop. but the traverse is a school gait rarely needed on the road, and a horse may be trained to entire usefulness without being able to traverse, _as a gait_, if he can willingly make a few quick side steps in either direction. moreover, to properly traverse, a horse should be taught the passage, which is a gait in which the feet are raised much higher, by the inducement of the spur and the indication of the rein, than the horse would naturally lift them. the passage is put to use in very many of the airs of the _manège_. xxxix. to revert now to the canter, for which the pirouettes are preparations. there are two or three ways of teaching a horse to lead with either foot, but the best way is to begin with the flexions which i have just described to you, and the more perfect these are, the easier and quicker the progress, and the more satisfactory the result. if you have not patience to wade through all these, you may try the following plan, which is founded on the natural instincts and balance of the horse, but for the execution of which, with your load on his back, he has not been prepared. a horse will lead with the off foot most readily if he is going round a circle to the right; with the near foot, if circling to the left. in other words, the foot which will quickest sustain his weight against the centrifugal motion is the one which is planted first, that is, the foot not leading. the way a horse is taught in a riding-school to lead with either foot is by associating the proper indication to do so with the lead he naturally takes as he canters around the right or left of the ring, or changes direction in what are called the voltes in teaching pupils. but i have seen many horses who would do this very readily inside school walls, who were very stupid or refractory on a straight bit of road. i think this is universally true, in fact, and that is why i recommend road teaching whenever practicable. it cannot be alleged that every horse will always use the proper foot in the lead. a horse unused to cantering with a rider's weight upon his back may do all kinds of awkward things which at liberty, or when trained, he will not attempt to do. but the above way of leading is the natural thing, and that which a horse generally does when at liberty; and it is not hard to induce him to do what comes naturally to him, nor by practice to strengthen the habit. [illustration: plate xii. a twenty-foot leap.] the action of the legs of the leading side is higher in the canter and the gallop than that of the other pair. a horse is said to be "false" in his canter or gallop if he turns with a wrong lead, that is, if he turns to the right until he alters his lead to the right shoulder, unless he is already so leading, or _vice versa_. this is true of sharp turns, which may indeed cause a dangerous fall if "false," but a horse can safely make turns with a long radius and good footing without altering his lead, and this is often convenient to be done. but if the ground is slippery, it is a risk to turn a sharp corner with a wrong lead. i have often seen men punish a horse for slipping at such a turn, when it was solely owing to the false lead that he did so; and the false lead was either the lack of education in the horse or the rider, or both. sometimes a horse will be leading with one shoulder, and following with the alternate hind leg. he is then said to be "disunited," or "disconnected." the leg or spur, applied on either side to bring him to the proper lead, will soon correct this error, as it is equally disagreeable to horse and rider, and it is a relief to both to change it. now, acting on this theory of the horse having a natural lead, suppose you canter nelly about in a circle small enough to induce her to use the proper leg in the lead. a circle fifty feet in diameter will do. at the same time apply a constant but slight pressure of your leg on the side opposite her leading shoulder. she will by and by associate this pressure with what you want her to do. stick to one direction long enough, say three or four days, to impress the idea on her mind, and she will be rather apt to keep it in memory. then try the other direction with opposite pressure, and you will gradually get the opposite result. again, a horse canters best with off shoulder leading, if moving along the side of a hill which slopes up to his right, and _vice versa_. thus, if you keep on the left side of most roads, where the grade slopes towards the gutter, you will find that nelly will lead best with her right shoulder. this is for the same reason. she wishes to plant quickest that foot which will keep her from slipping down hill. if she is on the right of the road she will lead best with the left shoulder. she will, perhaps, not do this as readily as on the circle, but she will be apt to do it. if you should watch a horse in the circus ring, you would notice that this is apparently not true. but the slanting path of the circus ring is really not on a slant at all, when we calculate the centrifugal force of the motion around so small a circle. it is as if a horse were moving on a horizontal plane, for he is really perpendicular to the slanting path; and its tipped position is governed by the same mathematical rule as the road-bed of a railroad curve. you may utilize this slanting instinct also in the same fashion as the circle first mentioned for getting the elementary idea into nelly's head that pressure on one side means leading with the opposite shoulder. moreover, the side of the road, which is the slope most handy, has the additional advantage of being generally the softest cantering ground. there is an upward play of the rein, which can be explained only to the student who has advanced some distance in the art, which tends to lighten, or invigorate one or the other side of a horse, and thus induce him, coupled with other means, to make the long strides, that is, lead, with the lightened or active shoulder. but you, tom, will not be able to use this until you have devoted more time to study as well as practice. after you have tried the circle to your satisfaction, try cantering in a figure eight of sufficient size. nelly will thereby learn instinctively to change step as she comes to the loops. you can probably find a field or lawn somewhere on which you can practice. out-of-door instruction is always preferable to riding-school work, if equally good, both for man and beast. and such instruction as these hints are intended to enable you to give, will teach you more than the average riding-school ever does. i by no means refer to those schools which teach equitation as a true art, instead of merely drilling you in the bald elements of riding. nor is there any better place to give nelly proper instruction than a riding-school, unless it be the lawn or field. what you teach nelly out-of-doors you will find her much more willing and able to put into use on the road than if she had gone through the same drill in a school. xl. the above is, of course, the crudest of methods compared with the best school systems, but if you have taught nelly her side steps (or pirouettes), as i have described them to you, or in other words have to a certain extent suppled her forehand and croup by the proper flexions, you can start in a more certain way. you must not expect to succeed at once. success depends upon nelly's intelligence, your own patience, and the delicate perceptions of both. i assume that you will have already taught nelly to canter whenever you wish her to do so, though she may have been selecting her own lead. now, you can, of course, see, when you want her to canter, that if you keep her head straight with the reins and press upon her near flank with your leg, she will throw her croup away from your leg, and be for the moment out of the true line of advance. this is bad for the walk or the trot, but just what you want to induce her to start the canter with the off shoulder leading. for if you can keep her in this position until she takes the canter, she will be more apt to lead off with her right shoulder, because the forcing of her croup to the right has also pushed this shoulder in advance of the other. if at the same time she is traveling along a slope which runs up from her right, say the left side of the road, or on a circle turning to the right, she will be all the more apt to do this. you can aid her also by a little marked play with the right rein, which will tend to enliven that side, and by giving it increased action, aid in bringing it forward, even if not done with entire expertness. a number of english writers state that the proper indication for the lead with the right foot is a tap of the whip on the right side, but this appears to be lacking in good theory, and might prove very confusing to a horse, despite the fact that the animal can be made to learn anything as an indication. a tap of the whip under the right elbow would be more consistent with the horse's action, although it is quite possible, as a feat, to teach a horse to lead with the off shoulder by pulling his off ear, or his tail, for the matter of that. but indications are best when they tally with a sound theory of the horse's motions. reverse causes will induce nelly to lead with the left shoulder. not, of course, at once. for though she will do it in a circle or figure eight, on the road she may still be often confused. it requires much time and practice to make her perfect. but once nelly catches the idea, you can surely succeed in impressing it on her for good and all, and though she will blunder often enough, she will in the end learn it thoroughly. when you start out to make nelly lead off with one shoulder, be sure you accomplish your object. if she leads off with the other, stop her at once, and try again. always succeed with a horse in what you undertake. if you cannot, on any given day, make nelly lead right, do not let her canter at all, but keep her on a trot or a walk. it requires a number of successful trials to make it plain to the intelligence of a horse that he has done what you want, and is to do it again on similar indications. it is, therefore, well for him not to have to learn too many new lessons at once. xli. to change lead in motion is harder for the horse and rider both to learn, and there is no better test of a well-trained horse than an immediate and balanced change of lead on call. a canter is a gait somewhat similar to the gallop, though the feet move and come down in different progression. but at certain times one or more of the four feet are successively sustaining the weight, and there is an interval when the horse is unsupported in the air, or has only one hind foot upon the ground. it is this last period which the horse chooses in which to change his lead. now, suppose you are cantering with nelly's right shoulder leading, and want her to change to the left. if you press upon her right flank with your leg, she will want to shift her croup to the left. this will incline her naturally to turn her head to the right, which inclination you must counteract with as little motion as possible of the reins. nelly will thus find that she is cantering uncomfortably to herself, and if you will keep along in this way for a few strides, she will very likely shift to her left lead, because the constraint of your leg and the bit are irksome while she continues to lead with the right, and she will try what she can do to get rid of the restraint. she certainly will change after a while, particularly if aided by the circle or slope, even if she does it because she does not know what else to do. and by rousing or lightening the left shoulder by a play of the left rein you will materially aid the change. so soon as she has changed, reward her by a few words, and canter along on the new lead. the reverse accomplishes a similar result. it will probably take you many weeks to bring about all this. if you do it in a few weeks, you will succeed far beyond the average. but the process of teaching an intelligent horse, if you are patient, is as pleasant as the result of the lessons is agreeable, after they have had their due effect. a horse should be so well trained as to be ready to turn with a "false" lead if you ask him to do so. left to himself, he should take the proper lead at the moment of turning. but he must obey you to the extent of doing what he would otherwise not do, and should properly not do, if you give him the indication. and this without becoming confused, so as to fail to do the proper thing on the next occasion. though i by no means hold up patroclus to-day as a model performer of school-paces, which i am perhaps too lazy to keep him as perfect in as i ought to do, the results of good training still remain. i sometimes, when out of sight, canter him quite a stretch, say quarter of a mile, changing lead, first every fourth stride, then every third stride, then every second, in regular rhythmic succession. if patroclus fails to do this feat with exactness, i can always recognize my own error in too late an indication, rather than his in obeying it. it is possible to canter him very slowly with a change of lead at every stride, but such work is very exhausting to a horse, and i have not often done it. this latter feat must be done so slowly that the gait is properly not a canter; but patroclus can perform the true canter, and change at every second step readily for several hundred yards. there are undoubtedly many well-trained horses in boston, very likely more highly trained ones than i am aware of; but certainly the great majority of saddle beasts possess scarcely the rudiments of an education. this seems to be a pity, when it requires so little labor to give them one, if their owners will but learn how to do so. not long ago a friend of mine, and an old rider too, was exhibiting to me a recently purchased horse, for whom he had paid a high price, because he was said to have come fresh from the hands of some noted trainer. the horse would fall into a canter with his own lead readily enough, but when, after a struggle of some hundred yards, he was made to lead with the foot selected by the rider, it was thought to be a triumph of cleverness. is not this a common case? and would it not be well to rectify it? xlii. there are a number of little exercises which you ought by no means to omit, as, for instance, practicing nelly in backing quickly, handily, and without losing her balance. this is only to be done by slow degrees, a few steps at a time, and by generously rewarding progress as she increases her number of backward steps. never force her. use persuasion only. in doing this, watch that she is always well poised. otherwise she cannot back properly. you must also teach her, by that use of the reins and legs which you will already have learned, to change direction as she backs, as easily as she does in moving forward. these necessary things she has already been crudely taught in her breaking-in. if nelly has the pride of a courageous horse, as i should judge by her bright eye that she had, she will be fairly greedy of kind words and caresses. and i trust you will never allow her to become afraid of the whip. you should be able to switch your whip all about her face without her heeding it. reward goes much farther than punishment. the latter needs very rarely to be resorted to. i have never used it, barring in isolated cases, but what afterwards i was ashamed of it, and not infrequently i have made most sincere apology and amends to the sufferer. but the harm done has always been hard to eradicate. an impatient man quickly loses his standing in the confidence and affection of an intelligent horse. in your training, a whip will be much more useful than a crop. the latter is but a badge of fashion, of absolutely no use on the road, and of but little in education. now, tom, i have suggested to you a number of very crude rules for training your mare. like captain jack bunsby i ought to add that "the bearings of this observation lays in the application on it." but by the patient aid of even these simple methods, intelligently used, you will have given nelly an easy mouth, you will have suppled her forehand and croup, and you will have taught her to canter with either foot in the lead. everything which i have told you can be put to use by a lady as well as a man. but a lady needs preliminary teaching in a school, because it is neither pleasant nor safe for her to be on the road quite untaught. but having acquired a seat and some little control of her horse, she can apply all the rules i have given you, using her whip as a man would use his right leg. the short skirts of the day enable her to use her left leg as readily as you can. the gallop comes of itself, and needs but care that your own position is good and does not lose firmness or interfere with your hands. better sit down to the gallop. the jockey habit of galloping in the stirrups is rarely of use except as a means of changing your own seat and sometimes of easing your horse across ploughed fields or bad ground. it is never proper for the road. xliii. having got thus far, you will surely want to teach the mare to jump and yourself to sit her firmly when she does so. perhaps you may choose to defer the tedious processes described and go at jumping at once. if you think you can sit a fairish jump, probably the best plan is to follow the hounds in a quiet way some day, if it happens to be in their season. a great many horses will jump imitatively when in company and do pretty clean simple work. there is a bit of a chance for a blunder this way, because a horse unused to jumping cannot gauge his work and may come down. but by taking him slowly at his fences, perhaps at a walk, there is comparatively little risk. it is the exceptional horse who will jump well in cold blood, like patroclus in the illustrations. but any horse can be taught to do so in a measure, and no horse can be called a hunter unless he will do so cleverly. if you first go out with the hounds, there is some danger that if your seat is insecure you will drag nelly back from her leaps, and worry or confuse her so much that you will lose a deal of ground. though, indeed, she will be less readily spoiled if she gets excited by the chase, than if put at equally high jumps as a lesson, because her eagerness to keep up with the other horses will exceed her annoyance at your unsteady hands. i would advise you, on the whole, to have a little practice in some quiet spot all by yourself. a horse who will only jump in company is far from perfect in this accomplishment. a well-trained horse should jump a three and a half foot gate or an eight foot ditch at any time as willingly as start into a sharp gallop. [illustration: plate xiii. about to land.] i assume that nelly knows nothing of leaping. wander off into the fields somewhere. find a place where there is a gate or fence of several bars. let all these down but one or two,--leaving enough in height for nelly to step over if she lifts her feet way up,--say twenty inches. a fallen log is an excellent thing to try on. make her cross and recross the bar or log a number of times, by persuasion only. any horse will step over a high bar if you stand him in front of it and encourage him. don't scold or strike her. nothing disheartens the learning or courageous horse so much. from the days of xenophon down, any one who loses his temper in training a horse, or uses any but gentle means, violates the precept, practice, and experience of all successful horsemen. "but never to approach a horse in a fit of anger is the one great precept and maxim of conduct in regard to the treatment of a horse; for anger is destitute of forethought, and consequently often does that of which the agent must necessarily repent." xen. horsemanship, vi. . curiously enough, in spite of this rule, xenophon advocates the use of the whip and spur in teaching a horse to leap--the gravest error, i think, of this exceedingly sensible horseman. it has been said that you should not make a horse keep on jumping the same obstacle, because he sees no reason for doing it, and feels that you are making a fool of him. but my experience is that a horse likes to jump at any well-known thing, if he has been petted or rewarded for cleverly clearing it. a horse who has been given a bit of sugar or apple after jumping is far from feeling that he has been made a fool of, even if he is jumped a dozen times over the same obstacle. and every horse goes with double confidence at a thing he has leaped before. it is the horse who knows the country who makes easiest headway and quickest after hounds, and is oftenest in at the death. at the same time it is true that a horse can be spoiled by leaping him in cold blood much more easily than when in the company of many others. and it is also true that if a horse is ridden at different things in succession, if such can be readily found, he learns to take whatever comes in his path more handily than if he is confined to only one jump. still, after once learning to jump any one obstacle, the lesson is easily carried farther by riding across simple bits of country. as soon as nelly walks right over the bar without hesitation or any pause longer than enough to lift her feet, walk or jog her up to it a bit faster. she will soon find that it is less exertion for her to rise to it with both feet at once, and hop over it, than to lift her feet so high. as soon as she has caught this idea, reward her with a nibble of something, for she has made her first step in learning the lesson. a little sugar, salt, or a bit of apple, or a green leaf or two, or a bunch of grass you will find to be wonderful incentives. don't raise the bar too soon or too much. when nelly is quite familiar with the small jump at a slow gait, trot her at it. most horses can jump well from a trot. in fact some of the best riders always trot up to timber. it is a temptation of providence to try to fly a stiff bit of timber, unless you have a wonderful jumper who knows you well, or unless you are at the beginning of a run, when your horse is in his best condition; and providence should never be tempted except when a considerable result lies trembling in the balance. when nelly takes the obstacle cleverly from a trot, canter her at it, and gradually she will take pleasure in hopping over it, particularly if she now and then gets a tidbit at the other side. moreover, this tidbit will accomplish another object. it will teach your mare not to rush as soon as she clears her fence, which a horse who is whipped at his jumps almost always does. by insensible degrees and within a few weeks you will get nelly to jump three feet high, or even three and a half. if she can do this in cold blood, "clane and cliver," she will be able to do anything within reason which you need when in company. you can try her in just the same way at small, then at large ditches, always keeping to the familiar place and rewarding success, until nelly learns what jumping in the abstract is. after that, try her at all kinds of things in moderation. there is more than a grain of good sense in the idea that a horse does not want to be made to jump unnecessarily. and it is true that some horses get stubborn if always put at the same obstacle without an object. but if a horse associates praise and reward with jumping, he will be ready for it at any proper time. you should, however, avoid making a tired horse leap except when it is absolutely necessary. let him do this work when he is fresh. you of course know that a really stanch horse is usually fresher after five or ten miles of average speed than at the start. the best of stayers are often quite dull until they get their legs stretched and their bodies emptied. this particularly applies to aged horses. and perhaps the very worst time to jump a horse is when he is just out of the stall. xliv. how about holding the reins in the jump? well, now we come to debatable ground. to-day's fashion tells you to use both hands. the old-fashioned english habit, as well as the necessary habit of the soldier and of all other riders who have work to do, is to use the bridle hand alone. i prefer the latter habit. only a half-trained horse needs both hands. a good jumper ought to want to jump, not have to be steered and shoved over an obstacle. i am willing to allow that some brutes have to be so steered; but if a horse is well-taught, likes to leap, and can be safely ridden at an obstacle with one hand, why use two? if a man is astride a horse who must be steered, let him use both. if he can teach his horse to be true at his jumps with but one hand, both will have gained a point, and be one hand better off. for two hands may be used at any time, if called for. a sound and vigorous horse, who has been properly taught to jump, will take anything which he feels that his rider himself means to go over. if you want utterly to spoil your nelly, ride her at things you yourself feel uncertain about clearing. she will quickly find out your mood from your hands. the only rule for keeping your mare true to her work is never to ride at anything which you have not made up your mind to carry her over. be true to yourself in your ambition to jump, and nelly will be true to you. it is usually the horses that have been fooled by uncertain hearts and tremulous hands who fail you at the critical moment, or who have to be steered over their fences. so long as your horse has jumping ability, and you have a "warm heart and a cool head," you can go anywhere. a generation ago no one was ashamed of even letting his right arm fly up now and then, for it was not in olden times the extremity of "bad form" which it is now pronounced to be. look over doyle or leech for proof of this. but the main argument against the unnecessary use of two hands is that you may absolutely require your right hand for something else, while it certainly argues a poor training or character in a horse to make it a _sine qua non_ for you to employ both at every leap. of what avail would a trooper be in a charge, with his horse bounding over dismounted companions, dead, or, worse still, wounded and struggling horses, and all manner of obstacles, if he had to steer his horse with his sword-hand? and not infrequently you will find, in the peaceful charge after harmless reynard, that your right arm is better employed in fending off blows from stray branches or in opening a passage through a close cover, than in holding on to one of your reins. have you never been through a bullfinch where you must part the clustering branches if you were to scramble through and avoid the wondrous wise man's bramble-bush experience? have you never felt your hat going at the instant your horse was taking off? have you never seen just the neatest place in the hedge obstructed by a single branch, which your right arm could thrust aside as you flew over? have you never, o my hunting brother, had to make an awfully sudden grab at your horse's mane? and while i am happy to defer to the opinion of some of the most noted steeple-chasers and first-flight men in this controversy, when they call single-hand jumping a hateful practice, and ascribe to it half the bad habits of the hunter and the crooked seats of the rider, i am satisfied to look at the portraits of such wonderful equestrians as captain percy williams, or tom clarke, huntsman of the old berkshire, and a dozen others that could be instanced, all using the bridle hand alone, and some of them even forgetting that it is "bad form" to let the right elbow leave the side. bad form, forsooth! these portraits would scarcely have been thus painted if the habit had met the disapproval of the celebrated horsemen in question. so far as you are concerned, tom, you will learn while penelope is learning. use your snaffle bit alone. a man needs light hands to jump with a curb, or else his horse must have a leather mouth. whenever nelly has made up her mind to jump, let her have her head. don't try to tell her when to take off. leave that to her, and don't flurry her while she is making up her mind when and where to do it. leave that to the very experienced rider. if she is jumping from a stand, or slow trot, you can say a word of encouragement to her, but by no means do so at a gallop, when within a stride or two of the jump. be ready, however, to draw rein sufficient to give her some support as soon as she has landed. you will find that when nelly jumps, the strong and quick extension of her hind legs will throw you into the air and forward. to obviate this settle down in your seat, in other words, "curl your sitting bones under you," use your legs (not your heels), and lean back just enough not to get thrown from your saddle. don't try any of the fancy ideas about first leaning forward to ease her croup while she takes off. you will come a cropper if you do. lean back. it will not take you long to find out how much, and the leaning forward will come of itself. xlv. it is often alleged by old cross-country riders that the best hunters land on their hind feet. many no doubt land so quickly and so well gathered that they give to the eye the appearance of so doing. but i doubt if photography would really show them to land other than on one fore foot, instantly relieved by the second one planted a short stride farther on, and followed by the corresponding hind ones in succession. plate xiv. shows what i mean, and the same thing appears in all the muybridge photographs. but your eye can by no means catch patroclus in this position. his hind legs seem to follow his fore legs much more closely; and he always lands cleverly and so well gathered as to make not the slightest falter in his new stride. it is also said that the best water-jumpers skim and do not rise much to the jump. but i fancy that every horse rises more to water than the fancy drawn pictures show. gravitation alone, it seems, would make this necessary. photography would prove the fact, but there are probably not enough such photographs extant to-day to decide upon the question. you may read a dozen volumes about jumping, tom, but a dozen jumps will teach you a dozen times as much as the printer's ink. and remember that a standing or an irregular jump, even if small, or that the leap of a pony, is harder to sit than a well-timed jump of twice the dimensions on a full grown horse. i have been nearly dismounted in teaching a new horse much oftener than in the hunting-field. it is only when your horse comes down, or when a bad jumper rushes at his fence and then swerves or refuses suddenly, that there is any grave danger of a fall in riding to hounds. don't be afraid of a fall. it won't hurt you much in nineteen cases out of twenty. if you find you are really going and can't save yourself, don't stiffen. try to flop, the more like a drunken man the better. it is rigid muscles which break bones. this is a hard rule to learn. many falls alone teach its uses. a suggestion will by no means do so. but hold on to your reins for your life, tom, when you fall. this is one of the most important things to remember. it has saved many a man from being dragged. a man who brags that he has never had a fall may be set down as having never done much hard riding. many a time and oft have the very best riders and their steeds entered the next field in tom noddy's order: tom noddy . t. n.'s b.g. dan . and yet how few bones there are broken for the number of falls. a good shaking up is all there is to it, as a rule. when a man mellows into middle life--(how much farther on in years middle life is when we are well past forty than when we are twenty-five!)--he is apt to feel discreet, because conscious that a bad spill may hurt him worse than in his youth, and he will look upon a "hog-backed stile" as a thing requiring a deal of deliberation, if not a wee bit jumping-powder. he will avoid trying conclusions whenever he can. but at your age and with your legs, on that mare of yours, tom, you should go anywhere, if she will learn to jump cleverly. your feet should be "home" in the stirrups, and you will naturally throw them slightly backward as you hold on, toes down, because it both gives you the better grip and keeps your stirrup on your foot. in this particular, tom, i bid you heed my precept, and not study my example, which is by no means of the best, as i am reduced to jumping with a straight leg, and to fastening my stirrup to my foot, lest i should not find it when i land. xlvi. the englishman's method and seat for cross-country riding is undeniably the best, and perhaps is hardly to be criticised. but a good seat or hands for hunting are not necessarily good for all other saddle work. that firmness in the saddle which will take a man over a five-foot wall may not be of the same quality as will give him absolutely light hands for school-riding. for as a rule, englishmen prefer hunters who take pretty well hold of the bridle, and work well up to the bit. and for this one purpose, perhaps they are right. such a hold will not, however, teach a man the uses of light hands in the remotest degree. in a sharp run to hounds, a horse must have his head. for high pace or great exertions of mere speed, the horse must be free. a twitch on the curb may check him at a jump and give him a bad fall. as in racing, a horse has to learn that his duty is to put all his courage, speed, and jumping ability into his work, subject only to discreet guidance and management. but on the road, the exact reverse should be the rule. there is surely less enjoyment in your penelope, who to-day can only walk, or else go a four-minute gait without constant friction, than there will be when she can vary her gaits and keep up any desired rate of speed, from a walk to a fifteen-mile trot or a sharp gallop, at the least intimation of your hands and without discomfort to herself. i know of nothing more annoying than to be forced by a riding companion of whichever sex into a sharper gait than either of you wish to go, because mounted on a fretting horse, who cannot be brought down to a comfortable rate of speed until all but tired out. in the hunting-field you expect to go fast for a short time, and it is alone the speed and the occasional obstacle which lend the zest to the sport. but for the ride on the road, which to many of us is a lazy luxury, you need variety in speed as well as gaits for both comfort and pleasure. patroclus here will walk, amble, rack, single-foot, trot, canter, gallop, and run, or go from any one into any other at will; and every one of these gaits is unmistakably distinct, crisp, and well performed. nor have i ever found him any the less accomplished cross-country, within his limitation of condition and speed, for having had a complete education for the road. when i give him his head and loosen my curb, i find him just as free as if i had never restrained him from choosing his own course. who can deny that the pleasure to be derived from such a horse for daily use does not exceed that to be got from one who can only trot on the road, or run and jump in the field? [illustration: plate xiv. landing.] perhaps nelly will never learn so much, for patroclus is an exceptionally intelligent and well-suppled horse. but she can learn a good deal of it. patroclus had no idea of any gait but a walk or trot when i bought him, nor did he start with any better equipment than penelope; and in less than a year he knew all that he knows now, and much that he has forgotten. for in the many high school airs which he once could at call perform, he is altogether rusty from sheer lack of usage. but the "moral" may remain, though the fable may have long since passed from the memory. xlvii. some horses, who trot squarely, will go naturally from a walk into a little amble or pace, which is sometimes called a "shuffle." often this is an agreeable and handsome gait, but not infrequently far from pleasant. often, too, it will spoil the speed of the walk, as the horse will insensibly fall into it if pushed beyond his ease. a slower rate at a faster pace is always easier to a horse than the extreme of speed at the lesser gait. it is scarcely worth while in the east to try to teach a horse to amble or rack if he does not naturally do so, though it can often be done. apart from the agreeable and useful side of the true rack as a gait, it has not a few further advantages. in coming from a canter to a walk, a horse may be taught to slow up into a rack, and then drop to the walk, or to stop in the same manner. this enables him to come down without the least suspicion of that roughness which almost all horses show when stopping a canter, particularly if done quickly; unless, indeed, they be "poised" before being stopped, as a school-ridden horse always is from every gait. moreover, when you rein a cantering horse down within the slowest limit of his speed at that pace, as to allow a team to pass, or for a similar purpose, if he knows how, he will fall into a rack, from which he can with much more comfort to himself and you resume the canter, than if he had fallen into a walk. a rack is not an interruption of the canter, as is a jog or walk, but a mere _retardando_, as it were. still a rapid walk, a trot which varies from six to ten miles, and a well-collected canter suffice for any of our eastern needs. these, and the gallop, moreover, are considered the only permissible paces by the school-riders of europe. in our southern states rackers are bred for, and the instinct is confirmed by training. in many warm countries, ambling is bred for. i do not think that any horse with practically but a single gait, as is usually the case with the ambler or racker, comes up to the requisite standard of usefulness. of the two, i should give my preference, in our latitude, to a mere trotter, if easy, who had a busy walk beside. but in addition to the trot and canter, any comfortable gait may often be a relief, and it is eminently desirable, if the horse can learn it without spoiling his proper paces. such a gait adds vastly to a horse's value for the saddle. i cannot agree with the school-riders that a rack may not be a good school gait. patroclus' rack, when collected, is certainly as clean a performance as any of his other gaits. from it he will drop back to a walk, or fall into a canter or gallop with either lead, or into a square trot. and this more quickly than from another gait, for if, in a canter, the indication to trot be given him out of season, he may be obliged to complete one more stride before he can execute the order; whereas, from a rack, which is always a mid-stride for any gait, he can instantly fall into the one commanded. the indication and execution are often all but instantaneous from the rack. he is really more neatly collected on the rack proper than on any other gait, except the canter; and though the rack is unrecognized as a school pace, i feel certain that i could convince any master of the haute ecole that within proper limits it is an addition, not a loss, to the education of a horse. what school-riders mean when they exclude the rack from school-paces is that a racker has rarely any other gait; and in the usual loose-jointed rack of the south a horse is certainly not well enough poised for use in school performances. xlviii. to come back to our original text, then, it is quite impossible to say, as a whole, what seat is intrinsically the best, or what nation furnishes the best of riders. it appears to me that there is such a thing as a _natural_ seat. such a seat is clearly shown on the frieze of the parthenon, and in a less artistic way may be seen among any horsemen riding without stirrups. although xenophon has been misunderstood in this particular, i feel convinced that his description calls for what i understand to be the natural seat. and the best military riders make the nearest approach to this position. by military seat i by no means intend to convey the idea of a straight leg, forked radish style. that is not the military seat proper. it is only in spite of such a seat, or in spite of the short stirrup of the east, and because they are always in the saddle, that the mexican gaucho and the arab of the desert both ride as magnificently as they do. the best military rider should, and does, carry the leg as it naturally falls when sitting on his breech, not his crotch, on the bare back of a horse. the steeple-chaser, or cross-country rider, for perfectly satisfactory reasons, has a much shorter stirrup. but on the road, he should, and generally does, come back more nearly to the natural length. the main advantage in the very long stirrup which obtains among so many peoples lies in the possibility of sitting close on a trot with greater ease, and of using the lasso or whip, or in having a free hand for their sundry sports or duties. and a high pommel and cantle are advantageous in helping the rider preserve his seat when he might be dragged--not thrown--from it in some of his peculiar experiences. but the perfectly straight leg always bears a suggestion of the parting advice of the groom to a sunday rider just leaving the stable: "look straight between his hears, sir, and keep your balance, and you _can't_ come hoff." on the other hand, the advantages of an extremely short stirrup, such as prevails in the orient, are very difficult to be understood at all. the military riders of every civilized country, where enlistments are long enough, and where proper care is given to the instruction in equestrianism, are excellent. it would be curious indeed if men who devote their lives to the art should not be so. some of our old army cavalry officers rode gloriously. our volunteer cavalry, late in the war, rode strongly, though not always handsomely. during the past twenty years the severe work and long marches of our regular mounted troops have militated greatly against equestrianism as an art. some of the most accomplished riders i have ever known have been in the united states army. philip kearny, that _preux chevalier_, the "one-armed devil," was in every sense a superb rider. i have seen him with his cap in one hand, his empty sleeve blowing outward with his speed, and his sword dangling from his wrist, ride over a virginia snake fence such as most of us would want to knock at least the top rail off. "how he strode his brown steed! how we saw his blade brighten in the one hand still left,--and the reins in his teeth! he laughed like a boy when the holidays heighten, but a soldier's glance shot from his visor beneath!" and a man who could not follow him did not long remain upon his staff. one of my lost opportunities occurred for such a reason during pope's campaign, when general kearny, who had dispatched right and left all his aides, beckoned to me at dusk one evening to ride out and draw the fire of some of the enemy's troops supposed to be on the edge of a wood, some half a mile or so distant. my own horse had been shot, and my equipments lost. i had captured an old farm-horse without a saddle, and had extemporized a rope bridle. the course lay athwart some open fields, with a number of fences still standing. my desire to do this work stood in inverse ratio to my steed's ability to second me. and no sooner had i ridden up and touched my cap for orders, than the general had gauged the poverty of my beast and rig, and speedily selected a better mounted messenger. during the war, among the volunteer troops, we used in some of the divisions to organize steeple-chases during a long term of inactive operations, and good ones we frequently had; the old style steeple-chase over an unknown course being the fashion, and the steeple generally a prominent tree, at a distance of a couple of miles. often the course was round a less distant tree and back again. not a few good riders and horses were forthcoming to enter for such an event, and i have rarely seen better riding than there. an unknown course over virginia fences, and through patches of virginia second growth, especially after heavy rains, when mere gutters became rivers for a number of hours, and the ground was much like hasty-pudding, could be a test to try the best of horses and horsemen. these are but isolated examples, instanced only as showing that every species of hard saddle work is very naturally apt to be cultivated among men whose duty keeps them in the saddle the better part of every day. and it is well known that english army officers are among the very best cross-country riders, and not a few have occupied the dignity of m. f. h., and done it credit. surely such a rider, trained in the niceties of the _manège_, as well as experienced in riding to hounds, may fitly be placed at the head of the equestrian roll of honor. * * * * * after excluding professionals, then (and exceptional individuals), i am afraid i must brave criticism in calling the officers of civilized mounted troops distinctly the best class of riders. next--perhaps you will say in the same category--comes that class in england which makes its one pleasure the prosecution of the most splendid of all sports, fox-hunting, and has reached perfection in the art. excluding all riders who do not belong to the classes available for our imitation, there comes next, _longo intervallo_, the civilian rider everywhere. it is impossible to draw any comparison between the above classes and even our own cowboys, whose peculiar duties and untamed mustangs prescribe their long leathers and horned pommel. nor can the equatorial style be fairly contrasted with what meets the wants of the denizens of the civilized cities of the temperate zone. in this country, the southerner is the most constantly in the saddle, and a good rider in the sunny south is a thoroughly good rider. but i have often wondered at the number of poor ones it is possible to find in localities where everybody moves about in the saddle. many men there, who ride all the time, seem to have acquired the trick of breaking every commandment in the decalogue of equitation. using horses as a mere means of transportation seems sometimes to reduce the steed to a simple beast of burden, and equestrianism to the bald ability to sit in the saddle as you would in an ox-cart. i think i have seen more graceful equestriennes in the south than anywhere else,--than even in england. but i must admit that all women who ride well possess such attractions for me as perhaps to warp my judgment in endeavoring to draw comparisons. who but a paris could have awarded the apple? although the southern woman refuses to ride the trot, she has a proper substitute for it, and her seat is generally admirable. though i greatly admire a square trot well ridden in a side-saddle, it is really the rise on this gait which makes so many crooked female riders among ourselves and our british cousins. this ought not to be so, but ladies are apt to resent too much severity in instruction, and without strict obedience to her master, a lady never learns to ride gracefully and stoutly. in the south, ladies ride habitually, and moreover a rack, single-foot, and canter are not only graceful, but straight-sitting paces for a woman. it is not to-day risking much, however, to prophesy that within the lapse of little time our eastern cities will boast as many clever amazons as are to be found in the south. who can contend that our yankee women have not the intelligence, courage, vigor, and grace to rank with the riders of any clime? xlix. and now, master tom, let me again impress upon you that i have been giving you only the most rudimentary idea of how to train your mare. by no means expect that nelly will ever execute the traverse, pirouette, spanish trot, or piaffer, let alone trot or gallop backwards, as these airs should be performed, by any such superficial education. but you will certainly find her more agreeable, more tractable, safer, and easier, and you will have both enjoyed the schooling. and i feel assured that having gone so far you will not stop short of the next step, the study and practice of the art in its true refinements. i may, moreover, safely assume that after you have once owned a school-trained horse, you will never again be content with what might be appropriately termed the "perfect saddle horse" of commerce. our roads part here,--yours towards the studious shades of harvard, mine towards the rolling uplands of chestnut hill. fare you well! * * * * * patroclus and penelope _a chat in the saddle_ by theodore ayrault dodge brevet lieutenant-colonel united states army (retired list); author of "the campaign of chancellorsville," "a bird's-eye view of the civil war," etc., etc. illustrated with fourteen phototypes of the horse in motion _since--as it has been our fortune to be long engaged about horses--we consider that we have acquired some knowledge of horsemanship, we desire also to intimate to the younger part of our friends how we think that they may bestow their attention on horses to the best advantage._ xenophon _on horsemanship_ houghton, mifflin and company boston and new york patroclus and penelope: a chat in the saddle. by theodore ayrault dodge, brevet lieutenant-colonel, u.s.a. (retired list), author of "the campaign of chancellorsville," "a bird's-eye view of the civil war," etc. illustrated with fourteen phototypes of the horse in motion. in one volume, octavo, gilt top, half roan, $ . . contents: patroclus and i; saddles and seats; patroclus on a rack; the rack and single-foot; patroclus trotting; thoroughbred or half-bred; the saddle mania; park-riding; a fine horse not necessarily a good hack; soldiers have stout seats; a gate and a brook; the old trooper; instruction in riding; chilly fox-hunting; is soldier or fox-hunter the better rider? the school-rider; patroclus happy; photography versus art; a one-man horse; baucher's favorite saddle horse; patroclus sniffs a friend; riding-schools and school-riding; is schooling of value? manuals of training; result of training; qualities of the horse; dress, saddles, and bridles; mounting; how to hold the reins; how to begin training; penelope's unrestrained courage; hints before beginning to train a horse; guiding by the neck; what an arched neck means; flexions of the neck; flexions of the croup; the canter; leading with either shoulder; the horse's natural lead; the best way to teach the lead; change of lead in motion; suggestions; how to begin jumping; the reins in the jump; odds and ends of leaping; hunting and road-riding; advantages of true rack; who is the best rider? vale! _this book is written from an experience extending over thirty years,--in the english hunting-field, the prussian army, the plains of the west, active service during the civil war, and daily riding everywhere. the author has studied equestrianism as an art, and, although believing in the haute ecole of baucher, enjoys with equal zest a ride to hounds or a gallop on the western prairies._ _the experienced equestrian will be delighted by the author's breezy talk and thorough knowledge of his subject. the young horseman who may have purchased a colt just broken to harness can by the use of its hints make him as clever as patroclus. even the man who rides but a dozen times a year will be interested in the book, while the every-day reader will be charmed by its simplicity, geniality, and heartiness._ notices of the press. the reader must feel that he is in distinctively good company. it is a running commentary on saddle-riding, and gives the reader much the same advantages he would have from a season's riding in company with a gentleman who has ridden in all countries, on all sorts of animals, and under all sorts of conditions.... one of the most attractive of recent books.--_boston advertiser._ we all love isaak walton's talks about fish or john burroughs's essays on birds; in the same spirit is this delightful book of col. dodge's.... it is a familiar chat of a man who knows all about horsemanship and can tell you how to mount or ride, what saddle or bridle to use, and, at the same time, touch upon life in the saddle with words which will make your blood tingle.--_saturday evening gazette_ (boston). it consists of a series of essay-like chapters written in a lively, chatty, conversational manner which makes it charming reading. the advice is full of hints and suggestions to the experienced horseman as well as of instructions of the utmost value to the new initiate in the equestrian art. we are in sympathy with the author before the first page is turned.--_yale literary magazine_ (new haven). the volume consists of a most charming series of chats about horses and horsemanship by a man who is thoroughly in the spirit of his subject, and who is not a hidebound partisan of any school of equestrianism, holding to the catholic belief that there are good riders in every land and in every species of saddle.--_army and navy journal_ (new york). it abounds in excellent suggestions, the fruit of sound experience, accurate observations, and good common sense. it is an excellent book for the amateur. withal it is told in a pleasant, easy way, as if it had been written in the saddle instead of at the desk.--_christian register_ (boston). col. dodge combines to an altogether uncommon degree the merit of a close acquaintance with and real enthusiasm in his subject, and the quality of a trained literarian. the aspiring equestrian will gain instruction from the lips of a masterly instructor.--_christian union_ (new york). col. dodge has given the beginner in the art of horsemanship the best possible introduction to his pleasurable task. the author has had a much wider store of practical experience in horsemanship than his predecessors in this field of instruction.--_new york evening post._ the practical horseman cannot fail to admire the firm, easy seat which the beginner will do well to copy. "patroclus" is ably described, and, if up to what is said of him, must be a gem of the first water.--_new york times._ one who has had some experience in the saddle will derive from it the same sort of profit and entertainment which might be expected from an accomplished, observant, clear-headed, and good-natured companion on the road.--_new york tribune._ col. dodge rode his horse at the time the photographs were taken, and his skill in horsemanship is exhibited by a seat that was undisturbed by even the most violent exertions of his steed.--_sporting and dramatic news_ (london). his horse "patroclus" is his hero, his mare "penelope" his heroine, and the adventures undertaken with the aid of these two good animals make a story which will fire the blood of every reader.--_brooklyn union._ col. dodge has succeeded in giving much excellent advice on the management of the horse, while at the same time holding the reader's attention by the interest of the narrative.--_herald-crimson_ (cambridge). the beginner who will follow the excellent and simple rules of training given by our author will be sure to win success in the art and a great deal of pleasure by the way.--_the nation_ (new york). considerable as is the space allotted to jumping, it is not too great in view of the popularity of cross-country riding. we find in it nothing to criticise.--_philadelphia record._ written in a pleasant, sympathetic vein and in almost conversational form, it has an abundance of keen hints and graceful thoughts on horseback riding as an art.--_cincinnati commercial gazette._ he covers the whole ground of good horsemanship, not as an amateur or theorist, but as one who knows all the facts with which he deals.--_san francisco chronicle._ col. dodge is an expert in all the finesse and paraphernalia of horses and horseback-riding.... the advice is sound and simple and very direct.--_the critic_ (new york). the chapters on the training of horse and rider are full of sound information, clearly stated, and practical to the last.--_journal of military service institution_ (new york). a lover of horses will find in this volume a book which will give him unlimited pleasure.--_the book-buyer_ (new york). this book will be given an enthusiastic welcome by all lovers of equestrianism.--_chicago journal._ the hearty animal spirits which gallop through its pages are catching.--_new york mail and express._ col. dodge is a charming teacher.--_boston herald._ houghton, mifflin and company, _publishers_, boston and new york. the ranch girls series the ranch girls and their heart's desire by margaret vandercook illustrated by wilson v. chambers the john c. winston company philadelphia copyright, , by the john c. winston co. [illustration: before leaving, she explained to the old half-indian woman that she would not return until dinner time] contents i. the branch of the tree ii. the younger set iii. old pastimes iv. a former acquaintance v. jean, olive and frieda vi. jean and ralph merritt vii. the tea party viii. an interview ix. a year later x. a maiden speech xi. the proposals xii. a decision xiii. the campaign xiv. in the thick of the fight xv. consequences xvi. the election xvii. the heart's desire illustrations before leaving she explained that she would not return before dinner time _frontispiece_ with a single swift motion she lifted little peace into the saddle jack reined in her horse and sat still, silhouetted against the sky not a bouquet of flowers but of evil-smelling weeds and tied with a rag instead of a ribbon the ranch girls and their heart's desire chapter i the branch of the tree across a wide prairie a man and woman were riding side by side at an hour approaching twilight on a september afternoon. moving slowly they appeared to be studying the landscape. toward the west the sky was banked with gold and rose and purple clouds, while the earth revealed the same colors in the yellow sand of the desert spaces, the wide fields of purple clover, and the second blooming of the prairie roses. "strange to have you living at the old rainbow ranch again, jack, and yet under the circumstances perhaps the most natural thing in the world! long ago when i was a young fellow i learned that when human beings are hurt they follow the instincts of the homing birds who seek the nest. you have always loved the old ranch better than any place in the world, more than the other girls ever loved it, so with the news of your husband's death i knew you would return from england and bring your son with you, lady kent, once jacqueline ralston of the rainbow ranch. somehow i never have learned to think of you, jack, by your title of lady kent." "no, jim, and why should you?" the girl answered. "i never learned to think of myself in that fashion. i am going to confide something to you, jim colter. i always have confided my secrets to you since i was a little girl. i never learned during the years of my married life in england to feel that i was anything but a stranger there. yet for my husband's sake i did my best to like england and try to make english people like me. i was never specially successful. i presume i am hopelessly an american and, what may be worse, hopelessly western. at present i feel that i wish to spend all the rest of my life in wyoming. but one is not often allowed to do what one wishes. this morning i received letters from england, all of them asking when i intended to return and settle down as dowager lady kent at kent house, to bring up little jimmie in a manner becoming a future british lord. the worst of it is i don't want to go back and i don't want to bring up my son as an aristocrat. my husband was an englishman, but i am an american and have never believed in titles. frank had no title when i married him. i want little jimmie to be half an american anyhow and wholly a democrat. what must i do, jim colter, stay here on the ranch with my own people and lead the life i love, or go to england and spend half my time amid the conventional society existence i loathe, and the other half playing lady bountiful to the poor people of a small village?" jacqueline ralston, who _was_ lady kent, regardless of her own protest, now reined in her horse, and rising in her saddle let her glance sweep the wide horizon. in the wide, gray eyes, in the low, level brow, in the full, generous lips and abundant vitality one might have recognized the pioneer spirit, infrequent in human beings, but more infrequent in women than in men. yet this jacqueline ralston kent, one of the original four "ranch girls of the rainbow lodge," possessed. all her life she had loved personal freedom, wide spaces, a simple, every-day, outdoor existence without formality. she felt a natural intimacy with the people who attracted her without consideration for their social position. yet in so contrary a fashion does fate deal with us that jack had spent the greater part of her married life under exactly opposite conditions. "for my part i don't dare advise you, jack, i so want you to stay on at the rainbow lodge, more than i wish anything else in the world at present. with ruth gone, i don't see how i shall ever get on with my four new little rainbow ranch girls without you to help mother them. yet i had pretty much the same experience once before! odd how circumstances repeat themselves! you must first do what you think best for jimmie. what does the boy himself wish to do, stay here at the ranch and learn to be a ranchman under my training, or go back to kent house?" laughing jack shook her head, crowned with gold brown hair; she was without a hat, after her old custom. "you know the answer to that question as well as i do, jim. jimmie adores the ranch. he is named for you, and you have done everything in your power to make him love it. then i must have implanted my own affection for the freedom of our western life in my little son. jimmie insists that he wants nothing better in the future than to stay on here and run the ranch and the mine when you and i have grown too old to be troubled with such responsibilities. he is only eight years old at present and so we need not feel laid on the shelf at once." "no, but i am not young as i was, jack, hair is turning pretty gray these days," jim colter answered. "i have never mentioned this to the boy, but i have wanted the same thing he does. i would like jimmie to live here and perhaps marry one of my four girls and keep the old ranch in the family through another generation or so. sentiment of course, yet so far jimmie is the only son on the horizon! here i am with four daughters, jean and ralph merritt with two, olive and captain macdonnell with no children, and frieda's and professor russell's little girl so frail that it is hard to count on any future for her." at this jack's expression clouded. a moment later she again arose in her saddle, this time pointing toward the eastern portion of the rainbow ranch. to the west and north lay the gold mine discovered years before, though no longer yielding a supply of gold as in its early days. the mine had never interested either jacqueline ralston or jim colter as it had the other members of the family. they had been horse and cattle raisers before a mine was ever dreamed of, and it was the rearing of the livestock for which jim and jack cared intensely to this day. riding through the ranch, every half hour or so they had passed a herd of cattle browsing amid the purple alfalfa grass, seen the sleek brown cows standing with their young calves close beside them. less often they had run across a small drove of horses and young colts, as horses were no longer so good an investment as in the old days. yet the present rainbow ranch owners would prefer to have lost money than be without them, the horses having always received jack's especial affection and attention as a girl and upon her occasional visits home to the ranch after her english marriage. "can that be a herd of horses or cattle stampeding there toward the east, jim? we are too far off to see distinctly; suppose we ride in that direction," jack said unexpectedly. wasting no time in words jim colter nodded. the following moment both horses, their noses pointing eastward, were galloping across the open prairie fields and away from the road. experienced ranchmen, he and his companion appreciated that the cloud of dust and the grouping of dark bodies advancing toward them with unusual rapidity represented trouble of some kind. at this time of the year it seemed scarcely possible that a wolf had stolen from the pack and frightened one of the herds. yet there was no accounting for the tricks of nature. moreover, frequently a number of horses or cattle suffered from group fear, the one transmitting the fright to the other without apparent reason. half a mile away the drove of young horses, which jim colter had finally located with his field glasses, turned and swerved south. almost as swiftly the two riders moved off in the same direction, hoping they might be able to divide the frightened animals and drive them apart. a quarter of a mile farther along, riding at no great distance from each other, jim colter heard an exclamation from his companion, so sudden, so terrified and so unexpected that he reined his own horse sharply until for an instant it stood trembling on its hind legs, its slender nose snuffing the soft air. "tell me, jim, is that jimmie's pony ahead of us? the saddle is on the pony, but no one is riding. jimmie can't have ridden over here alone? he can't be anywhere near-by?" yet even as the question was being asked, the man and woman saw and, seeing, understood. the pony which jack had spied with the bridle dangling over its head was moving from place to place nibbling at the most luxurious patches of clover. beyond, and closer to the trampling herd of panic-stricken animals, lay a small figure, outstretched on the ground and probably until this moment asleep. whether he now heard the oncoming horses or the cries of his mother and guardian, in any case, awakening, he jumped to his feet and the same instant turned, beheld, and understood his own danger. in a few moments, seconds perhaps, the frightened animals would be upon him, trampling, snorting, unconscious of his presence in their frenzy. as the boy ran across the field toward his pony, he had the consciousness that the two persons for whom he cared most in the world were coming toward him to save him from harm. yet he also appreciated this would not be possible, as they could not reach him in time. but jimmie kent was not to make the whole effort alone. as he ran he called his pony's name. "whitestar! whitestar!" the boy's tones remained firm and commanding. whitestar had observed her own danger. the pony's head went up, showing the mark upon her pretty nose which had given her the name. a single time she pawed the earth in front of her, appearing about to rush _away_ without her master, and then she cantered toward the boy. the oncoming drove of terrified animals was now only a few yards away. "don't lose courage, jack, he is your son, remember! he will win out," jim colter shouted, his own horse scarcely appearing to touch the earth as it ran. "drive straight toward them, jimmie, don't try to cross their path," jim called, his voice sounding unfamiliar to his own ears. yet either the boy heard or recognized his one chance. without hesitation the little figure lying close to his saddle was riding straight toward the center of the drove of twenty or thirty frightened animals. the leader, a few feet in advance of the others, apparently ran in a direct line with the boy. her eyes never turning for an instant from the little figure, now not thirty yards away, jack understood what must take place. should the leader come on without swerving jimmie would be unseated, his pony struck down and the other horses would pass over them both. but, should jimmie possess the courage or, greater than courage, the strength of will to force the horse in advance of the drove to swerve either toward the right or left, the others would follow. a moment later and jack's arms were about her son. "you've turned the trick, jimmie," jim colter was saying roughly. "but it is the front yard of the rainbow lodge for you for the next week. how dared you ride over the ranch alone when i have told you it was forbidden? now you and your mother get home as soon as you can and send whatever men you come across in this direction. i suppose the horses will have tired themselves out after a few more miles of running, but it is just as well to see they are quieted down." so jim colter rode away in one direction and jimmie and his mother in the other toward the rainbow lodge. chapter ii the younger set the front yard of the rainbow lodge appeared an extremely small playground for a boy accustomed to covering many miles of the broad ranch and the adjoining country in the course of each day. yet as jim colter's word was law on the rainbow ranch jimmie kent had no thought of breaking parole. he glanced up at the double rows of tall cottonwood trees which led from the lodge to the gate. almost impossibly difficult trees to climb because of their tall, smooth trunks and the branches so high overhead! a warm september day and rainbow creek not half a mile away! jimmie taxed his imagination until he could well-nigh feel himself swimming about in the cool freshness of the little stream, deeper than usual at the present time because of the abundant september rains. when one's swim ended, not far away were his mother, his aunt jean and her husband ralph merritt, a clever mining engineer. the family was to meet this afternoon to discuss the possibility of sinking a new shaft into the old rainbow mine with the hope of striking a new lode. moreover, jim colter (and jimmie and the big man were so intimate as to use each other's first names) was attending to the branding of a herd of calves at one of the ranch houses. any one, or all, of these entertainments might have been his, except for an unfortunate impulse to investigate the rainbow ranch alone a few afternoons before. a week of the front yard of the lodge appeared an interminable time to jimmie kent, yet even a week would pass in time. and one had better be half a prisoner at the old ranch than free in any other part of the world. six weeks before having arrived at the ranch after a long journey from england, at present this was jimmie kent's earnest conviction. was there anywhere else in the world such a wide sweep of country, such plains and prairies and desert sands covered with sage brush and cacti? in the prairies there were wolves and deer and bear. since his arrival at the ranch jimmie believed he had heard one night the call of a wolf, the leader of the pack, and coyotes he had seen with his own eyes, sniffing about the edge of the woods not far from rainbow creek. jim colter had suggested that the buffalo were not all destroyed, but might be found roaming in certain western portions of the state, now inhabited only by wandering indian tribes. he had hinted at mountain lions as not wholly a figment of a boy's dreams, but as realities, creatures jim colter had beheld with his own eyes long years before, when the west was the west indeed. yet here he was, jimmie kent, late of kent house, kent county, england, suddenly transformed into an american boy, but shut up within an acre of ground for a week and, moreover, face to face with the tragic possibility that within a month or more he might be forced to return to england. he had nothing against england except that it was too small for a boy's energies and hopelessly devoid of wild animals outside the london zoo. india of course was a possession of the british empire, and south africa, but jimmie felt that probably for a number of years he might not be permitted to explore these regions. so why the present discussion? if he and his mother both desired to remain at the rainbow ranch at least for a number of years, they ought to be able to decide for themselves. nevertheless his mother had explained that she must continue to think the situation over and to ask the advice of her family. to-night the grown-up members of the family were even to dine together for this purpose. discovering a cottonwood tree not far from the gate, jimmie now climbed up and seated himself upon one of the lower branches. here he was enabled to have a wide outlook. behind him was the rainbow lodge where he and his mother were living at the present time. so often jimmie kent had been told its history! here his mother with her sister, frieda ralston, and her cousin jean bruce, had lived when the three of them were little girls and under the guardianship of jim colter, the manager of their father's ranch after his death. later the fourth ranch girl had found refuge with them, escaping from an indian woman in whose charge she had been for so many years that her early childhood was enshrouded in mystery. from his present viewpoint jimmie kent was able to observe two figures not at a great distance away. they were captain macdonnell and his wife, who had been olive to the other ranch girls until the discovery of her parentage. captain macdonnell, injured in the great war, later had developed his talent as an artist. jimmie possessed the ordinary small boy's attitude toward pictures, nevertheless he had something to say in favor of captain macdonnell's, since _his_ reputation had been acquired through his painting of western scenes. at the present moment he was sketching a mustang pony, which one of the ranch boys was leading back and forth in an effort to persuade the pony to remain within the range of the artist's vision. jimmie would have enjoyed changing places with the other boy. in spite of captain bryan macdonnell's lameness he had an especial understanding and love of the outdoors, to such an extent that he and his wife were spending a year or more at the rainbow ranch, living in a tent, regardless of the fact that at the great house built after the discovery of the rainbow mine there was room for any number of guests. jimmie now glanced over toward the splendid mansion which had been christened "rainbow castle" by frieda ralston years before. his aunt frieda and her distinguished if eccentric husband, professor henry tilford russell and their one little girl were at present visitors at rainbow castle, having arrived only a day or so before. jimmie was no more interested in relatives as relatives than most small boys. yet had his preference been asked he would have said freely that he liked best his aunt jean and his uncle ralph merritt, possibly because a famous engineer who had been not only the engineer of the rainbow mine but of several other mines would appeal to any masculine imagination. then possessing no sons of her own and greatly desiring one, his aunt jean was particularly kind to him. at this moment jimmie became especially grateful to fate for his exalted position in the tree top. advancing toward him he beheld his seven girl cousins. "eight cousins!" some one was always muttering this tiresome exclamation, as if there was any special point in it. personally jimmie considered the one drawback to his residence in the united states was the possession of such an affliction. not that he disliked the seven girls; two or three of them were fairly agreeable. one could not dislike the little girl, who was scarcely more than a baby, and whose name was peace, she was so pretty and so gentle. she had been called peace though named for her mother, because no one wished to repeat the name frieda during the war. the seven cousins and two nurses were now entering the yard of the rainbow lodge and jimmie kent wondered if he preferred not to be discovered. he guessed their errand: they intended gathering violets from the violet beds on either side of the house, planted years before by frieda ralston in an effort to increase the family fortunes, and now famous throughout the neighborhood. in advance were the four daughters of jim colter, whom he described as the four new rainbow ranch girls and whose names were also jacqueline, jean, olive, and frieda, although called lina, jeannette, olivia, and eda, to distinguish them from the original "ranch girls of the rainbow lodge." the three visitors with the maids were following. an instant jimmie considered whether it might not be a good idea to allow jeannette colter to observe his present elevation. she was the one of the seven girls he most disliked. a few months his elder, she boasted that she could ride and run and climb equally well with the new english boy visitor. she could learn to shoot equally well if her father offered her an equal opportunity. the truth was that if jimmie considered he disliked jeannette, she cordially hated him. before jimmie's coming she had been her father's constant companion, riding with him about the ranch as jacqueline ralston had done in the years past. but three times of late had her father left her at home with her sisters, saying that he wanted to ride alone with jimmie in order better to make his acquaintance. now jimmie felt a reasonable pride in the fact that jeannette would not be able to occupy such a position as his present one without assistance. "hello," he called down. the other girls waved and returned his greeting, but jeannette colter laughed. "up a tree, aren't you, in more ways than one, jimmie kent! i am sorry you cannot leave the front yard for a week," which was not kind or truthful in jeannette, who was especially pleased by jimmie's captivity since it restored her to her father's uninterrupted companionship. at the close of the day, having finished his solitary dinner--his mother was dining at the big house--jimmie came out on the veranda of the lodge and went to bed in the big porch hammock where he often spent the night. several hours later, half awakened by the return of his mother and jim colter from the family dinner party, but too drowsy to speak, nevertheless jimmie overheard his mother announce in a tone of relief: "well, jim, thank goodness i have been able to make up my mind at last! indecision, you know, always has annoyed me more than anything else in the world. so it is to be the rainbow ranch and my own country for as many years as i can arrange it. and may they be as many years as you need me, jim." his friend's reply made jimmie kent smile and settle himself more comfortably in his hammock bed. the reply gave one a pleasant sense of permanency. "then if you never leave the united states until i cease to need you, jack, you won't go away until i am removed to broader fields than the rainbow ranch. but do you think you will be happy, that is the main thing? what will you do with yourself? these are restless days for most women and you have more energy than any woman i have ever known. want a career, jacqueline ralston kent? are you staying in your own country because you wish to be a famous woman some day and the united states offers the best opportunity?" "suppose we sit down a while, jim," jack answered. "you are not sleepy, are you? it is too lovely a night!" walking over to the hammock, jack pulled up a warm covering over her son and as he smiled up at her, whispered, "we won't disturb you, will we, jimmie?" and jimmie only shook his head, not wishing to speak, yet enjoying the distant sound of the two voices he loved best. a moment later jim colter and jack were sitting together upon one of the front steps of the rainbow lodge as they had sat together so many times in years past, always preferring to be in some spot where there were no walls closed about them but where there was a wide view of sky and land. "don't laugh, jim, but i don't know, yet laugh a little if you like, as it may be good for me. yes, i have sometimes thought since frank's death that i should like a career of my own, besides just being jimmie's mother, proud as i am of that honor. inside the secret corners of my mind the thought has influenced me a little in my desire to remain at home." "but what is the great career to be?" jim colter answered smiling, and yet with a sufficient interest in his tone to take away any lack of sympathy that might have been conveyed by his amusement. "you aren't going to turn poet, or painter, or actress, jack, after displaying no fondness for the arts in all these years?" "no, jim colter, and no talents either," jack returned. "i appreciate your veiled sarcasm. no, the good fairies who bestow the artistic gifts were not present at my birthday. what do you think i might be able to do, jim? tell me." there was a short silence and then the man answered: "help me manage the rainbow ranch, jack, or a larger ranch if you like." jack shook her head. "no, jim, you have managed the ranch successfully without me and though i may bore you by interfering now and then, to help you when you do not need help will not be the thing i am after. would you hate it if i should take an interest in politics? it is an exciting world these days and after all wyoming was the first state to give the vote to women! i wonder if i am still an american citizen. in marrying an englishman i know i became a british subject while my husband was alive, but now he is dead and i have returned to my own country, the point is, what am i, jim? a woman without a country?" "jack, i don't know. however, i should dislike your entering political life, but suppose you are old enough to decide for yourself." jim colter laughed. "you always did decide for yourself in the end, jack, even when you were pretty young. but you will marry again some day! suppose we ask an old friend of yours, peter stevens, whether at present you are an american citizen or a british subject? stevens has become one of the distinguished young lawyers in the state, or in the west for that matter. but look out for him, jack, he is an old bachelor and a woman hater. now it must be nearly midnight. good-night." chapter iii old pastimes one saturday afternoon several days later jacqueline kent, escaping from her family, rode alone down to the great ranch house a mile or more from the rainbow lodge. she had not had an opportunity to visit the ranch house since her arrival at her former home. yet as a young girl she always had enjoyed slipping off to the big ranch house unaccompanied by the other ranch girls and usually without jim colter's knowledge or consent. in the ranch house lived the ranchmen, or the cowboys who looked after the livestock on the great place. to-day as jack rode up to the house only three or four of the ranchmen were visible and they were standing on the rough log porch smoking and talking to one another. but the four sombreros were immediately lifted, and one of the men came forward. "glad to see you, lady kent. is there any order you wish to give, or any message? sorry the greater number of the fellows are not here at present. this is saturday afternoon, you see, and a half holiday. they are off entertaining themselves, but we'll have the laugh on them when we tell them that we have had a visit from you." the wyoming cowboy spoke with a courtesy and self-possession jack had often seen lacking among more distinguished persons. however, perhaps "distinguished" is not the proper adjective, since her present companion possessed, stored inside his kit, among the personal treasures in his rough, pine-wood chamber a distinguished service medal presented him by the united states government and a croix de guerre, the gift of a grateful france. jack shook her head. "no, i haven't a message or an order. i merely wanted to see the old ranch house and be introduced to the men. but don't call me lady kent. i am mrs. kent; now that i have returned to my own country a title strikes me as an absurdity. it is hard enough to remember, these days, that i am not jacqueline ralston; the ranch is so like it used to be when i was a young girl. i am sorry not to find the other men, as i rode over this afternoon knowing it was saturday and hoping i might meet them. may i be introduced to the three men who are here, if they don't mind?" jack spoke with a mixture of shyness and friendliness entirely natural to her, but in the present circumstances, perhaps unusual. the man to whom she was speaking was john simmons, one of the assistant managers of the rainbow ranch to whom jim colter had introduced her shortly after her arrival at her old home. at a summons from him, the three other men rushed forward as if only awaiting the opportunity, and leaning from her horse, holding the bridle in her left hand, jack shook hands cordially with her new acquaintances. "more sport this, ma'am, than lassoing a wild colt!" one of the cowboys drawled, as jack smiled upon him. his three companions, after first shouting with laughter, proceeded to frown upon the young fellow. he was only a boy not yet twenty-one, from the kentucky mountains, who nevertheless had served with the american expeditionary forces in france for eighteen months. "but are the men practicing lassoing this afternoon? if they are, please do take me to see what is going on. is there to be a contest?" jack inquired. "i used to know something about the business myself, long ago when i was a girl. i have even tried using the lasso, although i was never a great success according to jim colter, who did his best to teach me." "if you'll wait until we get our horses," john simmons replied. a few moments later jack and her four masculine companions were galloping toward one of the farther boundaries of the rainbow ranch. after half an hour's steady riding they came upon from twenty to thirty young ranchmen gathered about an open stretch of country. a third of the men were employees of the rainbow ranch, the others were from neighboring places. the men were grouped together, some of them on horseback, others at present afoot. not far away were a dozen western ponies still unbroken either for riding or driving, but captured and brought to this particular spot. firmly tethered to stakes, they were now pawing the earth, tossing their pretty heads in the air and kicking and bucking if any one approached. if the men were astonished by the appearance of jacqueline kent upon the scene, they were sufficiently polite to make no mention of the fact. if they exchanged glances of surprise or whispered comments, jack was too little self-conscious and too interested in the spectacle before her and what was about to take place to consider her own position. apart from the group, facing a broad, flat prairie field were two of the ranchmen, a few yards separating them. over their right arms hung their long lariats, coils of rope with a slip noose at the end. a pony unloosed at a given signal would make a plunge for liberty. then the two men with the lassos would be after him. the pony has a fair start in open field, and the race for freedom lies before him. in her eager interest, scarcely realizing what she was doing, jack made her way to the front line of the group of spectators, the men giving way to her partly from amusement and partly from courtesy. the larger number of them had no personal acquaintance with her, yet she was well enough known by reputation. one of the owners of the famous rainbow ranch, herself a ranch girl until her marriage to an englishman, the fact that since her husband's death jacqueline ralston kent had returned home with the avowed intention of resuming her american citizenship was already become a subject for gossip, for approval or disapproval among her neighbors. staring at her secretly when the chance offered, there was in all probability the usual difference of opinion concerning her among the onlookers. but with one fact they would all have agreed: lady kent, or mrs. kent, as she was said to prefer being called, looked younger than any one who had heard her history could have thought possible. in truth, this afternoon, in her usual informal fashion, jack was wearing an old corduroy riding habit which she had left behind her at the rainbow lodge several years before upon the occasion of her previous visit home. it was of dust color, plainly made with a long, close fitting coat and divided skirt. her riding boots and gloves, however, were of the softest and most beautiful english manufacture; her hat of brown felt, with a broad brim. this afternoon jack's cheeks were a deep rose color, her eyes were glowing, her full red lips were parted from excitement and pleasure as she watched. away toward the outermost bounds rushed the little untamed colt, his pursuers close on his track. then a long rope swung through the air, coil on coil unloosed, rose beautiful as bubbles afloat, with the noose ready to capture and bring the pony to a standstill. the first man is unsuccessful and the bystanders raise a shout of derision. this changes to applause when the second man slips his noose easily over the pony and gently draws it until the four protesting feet are held fast. then the pony is brought back, again tied to its stake and a second contest begins anew. there was no cruelty in this sport, only a test of courage and skill, since sooner or later the wild ponies must be captured and tamed and taught to do their portion of the world's work. had she forgotten how exhilarating, how thrilling the lassoing was? jack felt her heart pounding, her blood coursing more swiftly in her veins as she half stood in her saddle waving her applause at each victory. "i suppose i should not dare attempt to find if i have altogether lost my skill?" she asked of her companion, the assistant manager of the rainbow ranch, who had managed to keep near her all afternoon. "would it bore the men dreadfully to have me take part, do you think? of course i ought not to be willing to disgrace myself before so many people." as a matter of fact, jack was talking to herself, arguing with her own desire, as well as asking the advice of her companion. "i don't know. do you realize that if one is out of practice roping is a fairly dangerous sport, mrs. kent? i don't think i would undertake it," john simmons protested. but jack found an unexpected ally. without her being aware of it, the young kentuckian whom she had met for the first time at the ranch house a short while before, had remained as faithful an escort as the assistant manager of the ranch, and a more devoted one, since john simmons regarded the protection of mrs. kent under the present circumstances as his duty, while with billy preston there was no question of duty but of pleasure. "you don't mean you've got the nerve to git into the present game, mrs. kent?" he queried, his manner perfectly respectful, in spite of the oddity of his speech. "i've been ridin' all my days, was pretty nigh born on a horse, anyhow used to hang on when i couldn't 'a' been more'n two or three years old, 'cause there wasn't no other way of gittin' up or down our hills in them days. but this here lassoing game, i'm not on to _it_ yet. seems like it would be kind of worth while to see you go after one of them colts and rope her and lead her in same as one of the men. i can't come to believe a woman could ever manage it." "maybe i could not," jack answered, but both her interest and vanity were stimulated. it was a curious fact that she had so little personal vanity in most things, and yet like a boy had a boy's ambition if not a boy's vanity with regard to outdoor pastimes. disappearing a moment, billy preston rode up again soon after with one of the other ranchmen, who happened to be in charge of the afternoon's contest. "if you would like to try your hand, mrs. kent, and are not afraid of getting into trouble, why of course there is no objection. any one of the fellows will be glad of the chance to ride beside you and give you the first throw." jack laughed, hesitated and weakened. as a matter of fact, she should have known better than to make an exhibition of herself before a group of strange young men; her instinct, her experience, her judgment, should have taught her better. they did whisper their protest, it was jack's fault that she did not heed them, this being her particular failure in life that she could not see that things which were not intrinsically wrong in themselves were oftentimes wrong when done at the wrong time and in the wrong place. "you don't think i would be too great a bore? then may i borrow some one's horse? my own is not accustomed to the lassoing." a short time after, actually unconscious of the unconventionality of her behavior, jacqueline kent with the lariat swung over her arm, before an audience of perhaps thirty or more amused and absorbed spectators, was awaiting the moment to ride forward. the soft prairie winds blew against her face, bringing their familiar fragrances, the circle of mountains far away on the dim horizons had their summits crowned with snow. about her, whinnying and neighing, their slender nostrils quivering with interest in the sport, were the western horses she had loved almost as she loved people from the time she was little more than a baby. as for her audience, jack really gave it scarcely any thought so keyed was she to the business in hand. had she altogether forgotten her past prowess? a moment before she had not been entirely truthful, for she had possessed an unusual skill in every phase of western riding as a young girl, and especially skilful in what she was about to undertake. yet at present the rope hung slack on her arm with an odd feeling of unfamiliarity. an instant later jack flung it in the air, saw it coil and uncoil, heard the singing noise it made, and then drew it back into place, feeling an added confidence. the following instant she was after the pony, her companion riding a few feet behind her, but making no effort with his own lasso. jack had asked for no quarter, yet was to be afforded every chance. once her rope rose, sailed forward and then dropped slack to the ground, the pony cantering on ahead undisturbed, and uncaptured. in her accustomed fashion laughing at her own failure, jack settled more firmly to her task, spurring her horse ahead. a second time her rope shot forward and now the pony crumpled and went down upon its forelegs, jack drawing the lasso and holding it until her companion took the rope from her hand. then she turned to ride back to her former place. now jack felt herself blushing warmly and for the first time became aware of her conspicuous position. her audience was laughing and shouting their surprised applause, hats were being waved in the air. there in front of the others and on foot, jack beheld jim colter, and only a few times in her life could she recall having seen his face reveal such an expression of disapproval. "making an exhibition of yourself, jack?" he asked after she had dismounted and stood beside him. then he turned to one of his own ranchmen. "will you bring mrs. kent's horse back to the rainbow lodge? she will drive home with me." led away as if she were a disgraced school-girl, jack suffered a number of conflicting emotions--anger, rebellion, embarrassment, and repentance and some amusement. surely the time had arrived when her former guardian should recognize that she was a woman and not a child. then jack appreciated that she should have recognized the fact herself and not made an exhibition of herself as jim had just said. "you won't tell the family what i have done, will you, please, jim?" jack asked when they were a safe distance away. "i know i have behaved badly and i suppose it does no good to say that i never appreciated the fact until i had the first look at your face. i hate to have you angry, jim." "you will be the talk of the countryside, jacqueline kent, and who knows where else?" jim colter answered. "it's incredible that you did not realize this. in less than an hour it will be on every tongue that lady kent has returned to wyoming to seek the society of the cowboys and ranchmen and to engage in their rough sports, and please remember it also will be reported that she seeks their companionship with no other women present. fine beginning, jack." "you are pretty hateful, jim. i thought you used to tell me not to mind idle gossip." "i did, jack, but not when the gossip was justified by your behavior. as for my keeping your recent act a secret from the rest of the family, it is not possible. frieda and professor russell, olive and captain macdonnell, and your former acquaintance, peter stevens, are in the motor car waiting for you, unfortunately so near as to be aware of your proceedings. we motored over to laramie this afternoon and asked stevens if he knew what steps you should take in order to resume your american citizenship. he was not altogether sure and explained he thought it would be wiser to look the question up. as he was free for the evening frieda invited him to motor to the ranch with us and meet you again. finding you had gone down to the ranch house, we went in search of you. ching lee, who is the present cook at the ranch house, informed me you had ridden over here with simmons, which was in itself sufficiently unconventional, jack, without the unexpected addition i saw when i left the motor and came to look for you." "good gracious, frieda will never let me hear the last of this!" jack exclaimed. "it is rather too much to have an old acquaintance like peter stevens, who never liked or approved of me even in my youth, as another witness to my discomfiture. perhaps you would prefer i return to england after all, jim! can't you forgive me before i join the others; i'll have sufficient disapproval to endure then without yours. i wonder if i dare face frieda. i'll never make a mistake like this again." but for once jim colter refused to yield to jack's pleading, being more deeply disturbed by her action because of its consequent reaction upon her than he had been in some time past. beautiful, young and daring, with unusual wealth, perhaps it might be wiser if jack should marry again, hard as it would be for him to give her up a second time. chapter iv a former acquaintance "i was never so ashamed of any one in my life." jack flushed, but, ignoring her sister's speech, extended her hand to the young man who was seated in the motor car beside her. "i am afraid you don't remember me," she began, "it has been a long time, and we never knew each other intimately in the past. but it is kind of you to have driven over to the ranch." then getting into the car, jack sat down in the vacant place which had been saved for her between her sister and their visitor. "just the same, i believe i should have known you," peter stevens returned, looking at her with what jack considered was certainly not an expression of admiration. "do you think, mrs. kent, a fellow is apt to forget a girl who could ride and hunt and shoot better than nearly any young man in wyoming? i was a bookworm in those days and have remained one, but that did not prevent my jealousy of you." "please don't refer to my dreadful outdoor accomplishments," jack murmured, "not after i have gotten myself into such disfavor with my family." the little glance, half of appeal, half of humor which she at this instant bestowed upon her companion made the muscles of his face suddenly relax and his blue eyes less cold, so that jack caught at least a fleeting likeness to the boy she had once known. as a matter of fact, peter stevens, who was still in the early twenties, had appeared so much older than she had dreamed possible that jack would not have recognized him without first having been told his name. then his face hardened again. "well, most of us grow up, mrs. kent, but perhaps you are one of the persons who do not. i am told you prefer not to use your title in the united states." to jack's mind, as there was plainly no answer to this speech with its scarcely courteous reference to her recent impulsive action, she turned toward her sister. frieda ralston had developed into the type of matron one might have expected from her spoiled girlhood and--more important--her childish and self-satisfied temperament. she dearly loved her older sister; except for her husband and baby, she loved no one so well; but she also loved the opportunity to assume an attitude of offended dignity which usually had succeeded in making the members of her family do as she wished. moreover her sister's recent escapade had seriously shocked and annoyed her, not for her own sake, but for her sister's. she had wished jack to make a charming impression among their neighbors and old friends. no one, as she believed, could be handsomer or more delightful than her sister, lady kent, and frieda declined to lay aside the title. yet here was jack, after having probably disgraced herself by her latest performance, meeting one of the most prominent of the younger men in wyoming, dressed in an old, discarded riding habit, dusty, her hair blown about her face, looking at least ten years younger than she actually was; in fact, as if she had never left the ranch, never been married or seen anything of the outside world. as a matter of fact, frieda now and then felt slightly resentful of the suggestion, occasionally made by strangers, that she was the older of the two sisters. but this frieda thought must be because she was getting just the tiniest bit stouter than she would have preferred to be. however, she did not care seriously. this afternoon, as jack tried to catch her sister's eye, she thought that frieda looked prettier than usual, in her beautifully made blue cloth tailor suit and the little blue feather hat which made her eyes appear even bluer and the fairness of her skin more conspicuous. she also considered that frieda was partly justified in her anger, but that she must not be allowed to display her temper or to lecture her older sister before a stranger. the next instant, leaning over, jack whispered a few words to olive macdonnell, who with her husband, captain macdonnell, was occupying the seat in front of her own. professor henry tilford russell, frieda's husband, was next to jim colter, who was driving the car. what jack whispered was: "you'll stand by me, olive, you and bryan; as usual, i seem to have gotten into more troubled waters than i realized." and olive had nodded with the sympathy and understanding which jack had always been able to count upon from the days of their earliest acquaintance when olive had taken refuge at the rainbow lodge and jacqueline ralston had sheltered and protected her. the following moment jack stretched out her arms toward frieda's little girl, who was sitting in her mother's lap. "let me hold the baby, please, frieda dear, you must both be tired." then as peace climbed over into her aunt's lap, jack pressed her cheek for an instant against the little girl's head. she and peace had a deep affection and understanding of each other. but then the child was captivating to everybody. inheriting frieda's exquisite blonde coloring, peace had a spirituality her mother never possessed. she was several years old, but so frail that she seemed younger in spite of her wise, old-fashioned conversation. "tired?" she murmured. jack shook her head. "there is nothing the matter." it often troubled her and frieda, the little girl's curious knowledge of what was going on in the minds of the people about her without an exchange of words. frieda now glanced at her sister and her own little girl and her expression altered. she loved seeing them together and had no feeling of jealousy. indeed she used to hope that some of jack's vigor, the extraordinary and beautiful vitality which made her different from other persons might be transferred to her own little girl. "we will leave you at the lodge, jack, to dress for dinner, if you will come up to the big house later;" frieda remarked with a change of tone. "mr. stevens has been kind enough to say he will remain all night and motor back to laramie in the morning." was it natural vanity on jacqueline ralston's part or an effort to reinstate herself in the good graces of her family that she bathed and dressed with unusual care, brushing every particle of dust from her long, heavy, gold brown hair which waved from her temples to the low coil which she wore at the back of her neck? jack's evening dress was black chiffon without an ornament or jewel and was the first change she had made from her mourning. to any one less physically perfect than jacqueline kent, the severity of the dress might have been trying. but her skin was clear, her color, without being vivid, gave a sufficient flush to her cheeks, her lips were a deep red, her eyes gray and wide and with a singular sincerity. moreover, jack's outdoor tastes, into whatever indiscretions they might lead her, had kept her figure erect, beautifully modeled and well poised, and a beautiful figure is far more rare than a beautiful face. walking up with jimmie as her escort to the big house, jack confessed to herself that she felt slightly bored. unexpectedly she had grown a little tired, or if not tired, not in the mood to endure any more family criticism at the present time, and would much have preferred spending the evening alone with her son. she had confessed her offence to jimmie, wishing him to hear from her what she had done. but jimmie, not appreciating the social error she had committed, had appeared immensely proud, even jealous of her prowess, insisting that she should begin to give him lessons in the art of lassoing early the following morning. personally jack wondered just to what extent her family had been unnecessarily critical in their attitude. would her neighbors judge her action so harshly that it would interfere with their friendliness toward her? it was always hard for jack to live in an atmosphere of unfriendliness. so far as her former acquaintance was concerned she had no vestige of doubt. peter stevens had been absurdly shocked and offended by her exhibition of what had seemed to him unwomanliness. but personally jack did not care a great deal for his opinion, she had not liked him particularly, and it had occurred to her that it might be just as well if he were shocked occasionally. he looked prim and too much an old bachelor for so comparatively young a man. however, what really startled peter stevens was jacqueline kent's appearance, when he came into the drawing room a few moments before dinner and found her standing alone before a small fire. he controlled with difficulty an exclamation of surprise, having not thought her even handsome earlier in the afternoon. and he had disapproved of her action more keenly than he believed himself to have revealed. now as jack began talking to him he appreciated not only her beauty, but the fact that she had become a charming woman of the world and probably had seen more of life than he had seen in spite of his success in his profession and his political ambitions. "you are a republican, aren't you?" jack asked, and then added: "i believe you have been elected a member of the state legislature in wyoming and the people are talking about you for one of our united states congressmen. politics seem to me a great career, perhaps the greatest of all careers, these days, so may i congratulate you?" peter stevens smiled, pleased of course, as any one might have been. "perhaps it is a bit premature to talk of my running for congress, mrs. kent, but if i do may i count on your support?" laughing, jack shook her head. "no, at least i can make no promises. you see, i don't know whether i am a republican or a democrat, or what my politics may be until i have been in my own country sufficiently long to study conditions. maybe my vote will go to a woman candidate, if there happens to be one in my district." "you don't intend by any chance to be my opponent?" smiling over the impossible aspect of his suggestion but in an unusually pleasant frame of mind, peter stevens pushed a large chair over toward the fire so that jack might sit down. an instant later he drew his own chair up beside her. "oh, perhaps i may be your opponent some day, who knows?" jack returned, accepting the challenge good-naturedly. "but first it might be as well for me to learn whether i am an american citizen. may an american woman who has married a foreigner after the death of her husband assume her former nationality if she so desires?" "you do desire it, wish to give up your title and all it means in england, and even in the united states for that matter? you will be much admired in any case, i am sure, mrs. kent, but after all, lady kent has a more romantic sound! you feel sure you will not regret your decision? i have not yet had an opportunity to look up the question you have just asked me and i don't want to answer you without being positive as to the exact law in the matter. my impression is, however, that the choice lies with you; that a woman may resume her former citizenship in the united states if she so wishes and returns to her own country to live." at this instant frieda and professor russell entered the drawing-room, and a little later, when the rest of the family had joined them, dinner was announced. afterwards, although sitting beside each other at dinner, as the conversation was general peter stevens had no opportunity for any further personal conversation with jacqueline kent. he was by no means convinced that he liked her. he found most girls and women tiresome after a short acquaintance. however, the girl he had formerly known had at least developed into what appeared to be two conflicting personalities. chapter v jean, olive and frieda one afternoon about ten days later jean bruce, who was mrs. ralph merritt; olive, who was mrs. bryan macdonnell; and frieda ralston, the wife of the eminent scientist, professor henry tilford russell, were sitting with their sewing under one of the big trees not far from the big house, built after the discovery of the gold mine on the rainbow ranch and christened the "rainbow castle." jack, as was often the case when they were thus quietly engaged, was not with them, but was riding somewhere over the ranch with her son, jimmie, and jeannette, one of the four new ranch girls, to some spot where jim colter was apt to be found, in order that he might ride back home with them. the other little girls were playing at no great distance away, except little peace, who was sitting in a small chair watching them. "i do think jack might have remained at home with us," frieda remarked petulantly. "here i have traveled all the way from chicago, closed my home for a year, partly of course because the doctors thought it best for peace to be in the west and outdoors as much as possible, and because henry needed a change, but also because jack was to be with us at the old ranch and i had not seen her since frank's death. and yet nearly every afternoon off she goes riding like a whirlwind and deserting the rest of us as if she cared nothing for our society. jack has changed a great deal i think, or else is more like she was as a girl than as a married woman, now her husband's influence is removed. i particularly wished her at home this afternoon because, as it is such a perfect afternoon, some of the neighbors are sure to call. after jack's unfortunate performance the other afternoon i am convinced people are talking about her, so i would like her to make a pleasant personal impression upon some of the best people." leaning back in a big wicker chair, jean merritt put down her embroidery for a moment. "oh, jack will make a pleasant impression upon some people and not upon others, as she used to do as a girl and has probably done all her life. of whatever else one may accuse jack, no one can say that she has not a forceful personality, so that people either like or dislike her. i often think of the contrast between jack and me, now we are women, although i presume it was just as conspicuous when we were girls. i create no such affection and no such antagonism as jack does, but a kind of mild liking or mild admiration as the case may be." jean laughed, adding: "i don't know whether i am glad or sorry, whether i envy jack or feel she should envy me. one thing i am sure of, i should never have turned my back upon the title and position jack could have continued to hold in england for the simplicity of the old life here at the rainbow ranch, at least not for any great length of time. i believe i was always a little envious of jack's opportunities, the very things for which she cared so little. i would like to have been lady kent, to have entertained in kent house, to have been a leader in english society. people talk of ralph as a successful engineer, but i wonder if they realize this means we have never had a home, and i have simply dragged myself and the children after him wherever he has been employed. then, ralph never has made the money most persons believe he has; as a matter of fact, he is a much more successful engineer than he is a business man. not that i am intending to complain," jean said, hastily resuming her work, "but of course one cannot help thinking of how strange life is and how often it gives things to the people who don't wish for them and withholds from those who do. i have wanted to be a prominent society woman all my life and jack has always had an aversion to such an existence, therefore the opportunity has been hers, not mine." "jean, please do not speak in such a pessimistic fashion," olive interrupted. "the truth is that you have the social gift and jack, charming and brilliant as she is, has not. of course i think this is because she does not care to possess it. jack loved her husband more than the character of life she was obliged to live on his account," olive continued in the tone which always created a calmer atmosphere in any family discussion. "as for jack's riding off and leaving us at home, you must try and understand, frieda dear, that jack is possessed of infinitely greater energy than the rest of us, and that all her days when she has been troubled she has not kept still and brooded as most girls and women do. at present, in spite of what she has been through, she remains cheerful and agreeable whenever she is with us, and when she is unhappy tries to wear herself out with physical exercise. i wonder if any one of us would be as courageous in her present circumstances? as for what jack did the other afternoon, frieda, of course you know i agree with you that it was indiscreet of her, but suppose we do not mention the fact any more." frieda's red lips closed in a finer line than one might have expected of her dimpled countenance. "one is obliged to continue to mention one's attitude on such matters to jack, else she forgets and does again exactly what she likes regardless of consequences," frieda replied with primness. "but of course, olive, i appreciate that you have never found any fault in jack for as long as you have known each other. i wonder sometimes how your husband feels, except that he has pretty much the same point of view. but i have not been disagreeable to jack over her latest escapade except because of its possible effect upon her. i am sure you understand this, jean, if olive does not. jack is planning to live in this neighborhood for a number of years, until jimmie should be taken home to england, therefore it is most important that she should have a good reputation among our neighbors and friends. i am sure i love jack better than either of you can, as she is my own sister. even she realizes that it is for her sake that i have been so annoyed." "certainly, frieda," jean merritt returned soothingly, having always had more influence upon the youngest of the original four ranch girls than the others even in their girlhood, "olive does understand your attitude and has said she agreed with you. but i also agree with olive that we must not scold jack any more for this particular offence. i have never seen jim colter so displeased with jack before. after all, it was nothing more than an indiscretion, which my wretch of a husband refuses to take seriously and declares was rather sporting of jack. he insists jack is one of the few persons in the world who dares to do what she wishes when there is no harm in it and therefore other people must come round to her way of thinking in the end. now, if there is gossip, frieda, don't you think it might be wiser to have jack's family take the position that she has done nothing so extraordinary? goodness, is that one of our formidable neighbors approaching? shall we go indoors to enjoy her visit? i agree with you, frieda, i wish jack _had_ stayed at home this afternoon. if she could have made a friend of mrs. senator marshall half the battle in this neighborhood would have been won. at least we shall be able to find if what we have been fearing has come true. if i remember the lady at all well, if she has been told of jack's indiscretion, we are sure to learn of it." before jean had finished speaking she had arisen, laid her work aside and was moving graciously forward to greet a woman who was driving up the avenue toward the house. she was driving a new electric machine beautifully upholstered in a bright blue. mrs. marshall was herself dressed in a costume of almost the same color, and was rather stout with a mass of sandy colored hair turning gray, and a florid complexion. she was the second wife of a united states senator. "no, i should of course prefer to remain out of doors. you do look too comfortable and delightful," she began in a manner which was perhaps a little too cordial to be perfectly sincere. then when she had shaken hands with frieda and olive, she murmured: "so lady kent is not at home. i am so sorry. you will understand if i say my visit is made especially to her, as i hear she intends remaining among us for the present. but there, i had forgotten. i was not to say lady kent, so my stepson informed me. strange for an american woman voluntarily to resign a title! i am so little of the time in wyoming and so much of the time in washington perhaps i fail to understand mrs. kent's more western point of view. but as we are to be in wyoming for some time now, in fact until my husband is renominated and i presume re-elected to the senate, he was anxious i should meet mrs. kent, whom i believe he knew as a girl." "you are very kind," frieda murmured. "i am sure my sister will be disappointed at not seeing you and will look forward to the pleasure a little later. indeed, i hope she may return before you leave." but whatever frieda's tone and manner, she was not so convinced that her sister jack would enjoy the acquaintance of their present visitor. mrs. marshall was as unlike jack as one could well imagine two persons being. she had the reputation for being both a gossip and a snob and yet a woman of whom for these very reasons a number of persons were afraid. personally frieda felt a little afraid herself and preferred that she should be their friend rather than enemy. "your sister seems to spend a great deal of her time on horseback since her arrival in the neighborhood," mrs. marshall remarked in a casual fashion. nevertheless both frieda and olive experienced slight sensations of discomfort, wishing that jean merritt, who was better able to answer their guest, had not disappeared at this moment to ask one of the maids to serve tea. "yes, my sister has been devoted to horseback riding all her life," frieda answered a little too warmly. "she rode always as a girl and never gave up riding after marrying and living in england." "yet she must have ridden in a very different fashion. one can scarcely imagine an english lady riding with a lot of cowboys and ranchmen and engaging in a lassoing contest with no other women present. my husband and i were much amused when we heard the story. mrs. kent is known to be such a western enthusiast there is a report that she may be intending to enter a wild west show. however, i believe the commonest report of the story is that mrs. kent is thinking of joining the movies. well, it is the most popular thing one can do these days!" and the older woman laughed as if she only half believed her own suggestions. nevertheless, she could hardly have failed to realize that neither of her companions were enjoying her remarks. frieda had flushed until her big blue eyes were half full of tears which she was doing her best to restrain. her voice shook during her reply, yet she also endeavored to summon a smile. "one is so glad to find something or some one to talk about in a small community, isn't one?" she returned. "i should have supposed you would have lost interest in gossip yourself, mrs. marshall, living so much of your time in a city like washington," frieda added. "of course you must know personally that my sister is not interested in any of the picturesque suggestions you seem to have had brought to your attention. as a matter of fact, she has not yet entirely given up wearing mourning. she has a rather large fortune and later must find some way of interesting herself, although at present she appears content merely with her own family. yet i am sure after a time people must realize what her coming into a community like this one may mean." then realizing that she was not making the situation any better, and that their visitor was annoyed by the suggestion she had intended to convey, that her sister, mrs. kent, might become a more important person in the neighborhood than mrs. marshall herself, frieda grew suddenly silent. after all, why was jack not at home to explain her own eccentricity? now as olive entered the conversation frieda experienced a sensation of relief. olive's manner was so gentle and quiet one was seldom antagonized by it. "we are _so_ glad of what you have just told us, mrs. marshall," she began. "i confess we have been interested to know whether mrs. kent's action the other afternoon was of sufficient importance to interest her neighbors and what story had been told concerning it. mrs. marshall, i am sure, will be glad to hear what actually took place and tell other people the exact truth. you are quite right; mrs. kent did ride over with several of our ranchmen to watch a lassoing contest among the cowboys. she used to take a deep interest in all western sports as a girl and never has lost her interest apparently. then i confess, to our regret, mrs. kent did try to discover if she had forgotten her old-time skill with a lasso. we were frightened, as she might so easily have been injured. but nothing of the kind occurred and there is no more to the story. mrs. kent will be sorry to disappoint her neighbors if they have imagined a more interesting set of circumstances." returning at this instant, followed by a maid with tea, the conversation altered. a short time after, without any further reference to jacqueline kent except to repeat that she was sorry to have missed her, the visitor withdrew. however, the three former ranch girls did not immediately go indoors. it was still not five o'clock in the afternoon of a beautiful late september day. beyond the broad fields of wheat and oats were golden and ripe for harvesting. nearby the new little ranch girls were still at play, spinning around in a gay circle at the game of "drop the hand-kerchief," little peace in her chair looking on. "it is just as i feared, jack is going to be the talk of the neighborhood before any one has even seen her or been introduced to her. i presume the cowboys discuss her skill around their camp fires at night as well as our richer neighbors; mrs. marshall probably spared us as much of the gossip as possible," frieda declared irritably. but at this instant glancing up, she saw the figure of a woman on horseback outlined against the blue horizon and at the same instant jack waved to her and came cantering in their direction. no one, except an extremely stupid or self-absorbed person, ever beheld jacqueline kent on horseback without a distinct sensation of pleasure. frieda, in spite of the many times she had seen her in such a position, was not proof against the fascination. "how wonderfully jack rides! no wonder she loves it," she exclaimed. "i am glad she is at home at last!" a few moments after, having cleared the gate of the farther field without descending to open it, jack rode swiftly up the avenue. the eyes of frieda, olive and jean remained fastened upon her. having added to the disapproval of her family by being seen in an old and discarded riding habit upon the afternoon of her unfortunate adventure, jack had since appeared only in an extremely new and smart riding costume made for her by her london tailor shortly before sailing for the united states. it was of black cloth with a close fitting coat and riding trousers. this afternoon she also wore black riding boots of soft leather and a little derby hat. her hair in the yellow afternoon light was much the same color as the ripened wheat. so intent was the small audience upon watching jack's return and so intent were the new little ranch girls upon their game, that no one saw a small figure rise suddenly from her chair, clap her hands together and then dart across the little space of grass toward the rapidly galloping horse. a moment later, and she was directly in the horse's path, not three feet away. there the baby stood stock still, her little white frock fluttering in the wind, her yellow curls flying, her face upturned, frightened now and quite still. the horse seemed to rear so high above her head that she caught no vision of the loved figure she had run forward to greet. her mother saw her, and olive and jean, and they were not many yards away, and also the other children, who suddenly had quit their play and remained standing in a long line, still holding one another's hands, breathless, intent, terrified, unable in the surprise and terror of the moment to offer aid. "baby!" frieda called and darted forward, yet knowing instinctively she could not be in time. olive and jean would have run after her except for a swift call from jack. they saw jack hold her bridle easily in one hand, and then lean over from her saddle until her arm could sweep the ground, when with a single swift motion she lifted little peace into the saddle, as she drew her horse to a standstill. "don't frighten peace, please, frieda," she said, as she gave the little girl safe and smiling and pleased with her adventure into frieda's outstretched arms. [illustration: with a single swift motion she lifted little peace into the saddle] "and to think, jack dear," frieda murmured, still tearful half an hour afterwards although peace was safe in bed, "that i sometimes have criticized you for keeping on with your riding when you might be doing such stupid indoor things as jean and olive and i enjoy. had you been one of us, why, peace might have been killed or worse this afternoon. i never saw any one do anything so quickly or so skilfully, jack, as you lifted little peace out of danger. why, i--i had forgotten that you used to be able long ago to lean from your horse and pick up anything you wished from the ground. one would not have supposed that such an accomplishment could be so valuable as actually to save my baby's life. say you forgive me for being so hateful about that other thing for the past ten days." jack's arm was about her sister as they walked up and down before the house waiting for professor russell's return from the small hut situated about a mile away where he spent the greater part of each day engaged in scientific investigations. "but, frieda dear, i was to blame and i am sorry," jack replied. "jim has not forgiven me yet. i was to blame this afternoon too, for i should not have ridden up to the house so swiftly when i knew the children were playing near. but i grew suddenly lonely for you and olive and jean and left jimmie and jeannette with jim and rode quickly home to find you. here comes your husband, i'll leave you and go home to the lodge. no, i don't want any one to come with me and i won't see you again this evening. good-night." chapter vi jean and ralph merritt the marriage between jean bruce, the cousin of frieda and jacqueline ralston and one of the four original ranch girls, and ralph merritt, the young engineer of the rainbow mine, had only taken place after a long and frequently interrupted friendship, since between them there were many differences of opinion, of taste and of ideals. frankly as a young girl jean always had cared greatly for wealth, for social position and for fashionable people, a viewpoint which had not altered with the years, as jean freely announced. true that her husband had made a reputation for himself as an expert mining engineer and at different times in a small way had shared in the profits of the enterprises which his skill and ability had made valuable to the owners. yet never at any time had ralph merritt acquired a large fortune for himself and his family. notwithstanding his many fine traits of character he suffered from one weakness. in his effort to gratify and please his wife now and then he had speculated with jean's private fortune and with his own, and although never confessing the fact, his speculations more often than not had been unsuccessful. in returning to the old rainbow ranch to spend a few months, jean and ralph had been glad to say that the opportunity to be reunited for a short time with their old friends and former associations was not to be resisted. however, there was another motive, if they preferred not to speak of it. at the time of jacqueline kent's homecoming from england to the ranch after the death of her husband, jean and ralph were passing through a period of financial stress so that the visit to the big house with their two little girls would be a relief as well as a pleasure. there was a chance ahead, in which ralph merritt thoroughly believed, sure to put him on his feet again. like most other patriotic americans, at the outbreak of the war in europe he had volunteered for service overseas and been captain in a mining corps in france. returning home, if he were rich in experience, he was poor in worldly goods. there was nothing unusual in this, but unfortunately jean and ralph were not willing to begin over again by living simply and economically until ralph could make new business connections. and the fault was actually more jean's than her husband's, although she was not aware of the fact. nevertheless, among the four ranch girls, jean, who loved money more than any one of them, was the only one without it. naturally the war and the high taxes it entailed had decreased the value of the english estate which jacqueline ralston kent had inherited from her husband, yet the estate was still large enough for jack and her son to be entirely comfortable apart from her own private fortune, due to her share of the output of the rainbow mine, which had been wisely and conservatively invested. moreover, jack's own tastes were simple and she wished to bring up her son in a simple fashion. captain macdonnell possessed only a small estate of his own, but olive had inherited wealth from the grandmother who had appeared so mysteriously in her life during the year spent by "the ranch girls at boarding school." moreover, captain macdonnell and olive apparently cared only for each other, for captain macdonnell's art, and the effort to forget his injury in the war in his new work and life. the truth was that a large part of her fortune olive had devoted to the establishment and upkeep of an indian school not far from the neighborhood of the rainbow ranch. she and her husband preferred to live out of doors in a tent in the western country whenever the weather made it possible, partly because of captain macdonnell's health and also that he might constantly study the western types and scenes which he was painting to the exclusion of all other subjects. frieda and her husband, professor henry tilford russell, were not rich; in fact, professor russell, having resigned his professorship at the university of chicago, was at present making no income. yet his parents were wealthy and adored frieda and her little girl, and moreover, professor russell was at this time engaging in scientific experiments which might bring him fame and fortune or else achieve no result of importance. an expert chemist who had made several valuable discoveries during the war, professor russell believed that he had earned a year's holiday at the ranch and the opportunity to indulge in one or two of his private hobbies. so jim colter had offered him one of his small unused ranch houses in a comparatively isolated spot where the professor could conduct his experiments with danger only to himself. frieda worried over this possibility, but in the main allowed her professor husband to have his way, having found out that without his work he was restless and miserable. there was a new frieda in her relation to her husband following their disagreement and reconciliation told in "the ranch girls and their great adventure," and the birth of their little girl. now frieda seemed to care only for her husband and child, and had become an almost too punctilious married woman and housekeeper in that she wished everyone else to conform to her ideas. money problems therefore did not at this time trouble frieda, whose interest was concentrated in her little girl's health and in her husband's success, not for any possible wealth it might bring them, but that he might enjoy the honors frieda felt so sure he deserved. in the meantime she had her own income and knew that at any moment henry's mother and father were more than anxious to supply any of their wishes or needs. so it was a little cruel that jean, who cared so much for money, was the only one of the ranch girls to endure not alone the pinch of a present poverty but a painful uncertainty with regard to the future. in fact, during the weeks of the reunion of the rainbow ranch girls, jean merritt had been under a good deal more of a strain than the others dreamed, for, except for her few general remarks to olive and frieda, she had made no mention of her anxieties. ralph merritt had accompanied his wife and little girls to the ranch and remained with them a few days. afterwards he had gone away, announcing that he had important business which must be looked into, but that he might come back at any time. there was nothing exceptional in this, as ralph's interests had always required that he move about from place to place, seeing a number of men who oftentimes wished him to look at a mine before agreeing to undertake the engineering work in connection with it. at present among the interests that called ralph away was the discovery of a gold mine concerning which his advice was desired. ralph merritt was a decided favorite with jim colter, the former manager of the rainbow ranch and one of its present owners. among the husbands of the four ranch girls he always had liked ralph best. but even he had not suspected that ralph was in any difficulty, since the younger man had said nothing which might cause one to suspect the fact. one day, about a week after the visit from mrs. marshall, a note arrived asking that the former ranch girls drive over to her home and have tea with her and a few of their neighbors. at first jack insisted upon declining the invitation, saying that she had not been out of mourning for any length of time and felt a hesitancy in meeting strangers. but frieda protested, declaring her sister must accept or appear unfriendly. mrs. marshall had stated that her other guests would be neighbors, some of whom jack had known as a girl, and the others she should learn to know as she contemplated living at the ranch. so jack had yielded as she ordinarily did to frieda in all small matters, in a way trusting frieda's judgment rather than her own, besides not wishing to appear selfish. without the subject being mentioned between them again, jack understood that her sister wished her to counteract if possible a former unfortunate impression. but jean merritt's refusal of the invitation was more unexpected and more determined, as usually jean welcomed every social opportunity. however, she had a much better excuse to offer than jack. she announced that she had received a letter from her husband saying that he might be expected to reach the ranch some time during the afternoon chosen by mrs. marshall, for her tea party and so there was no question but that jean must not be argued into leaving home if she preferred to remain rather than run the risk of not being able to greet her husband upon his arrival. apparently in her usual state of mind, jean helped the other girls to dress, talking to frieda about a number of casual subjects and walking half way toward the lodge to meet jack, who came up to the big house a little earlier than the hour for starting. senator and mrs. marshall's summer home was only a few miles away in the direction of the city of laramie. after the others had gone and jean was alone in her own room, her nervousness began to reveal itself first in a number of small ways. restlessly she walked up and down her large and beautiful bedroom, which had been especially designed for her as a girl when rainbow castle was built after the discovery of the gold mine and before the marriage of any one of the four ranch girls. the room was upholstered in rose, jean's favorite color, with cretonne hangings of rose and white and a low couch by the window filled with cushions of the same material. the rooms set apart for frieda, olive and jack in the big house were kept as nearly as possible as they had been arranged in the old days and frieda was at present occupying her own apartment. but jack had never loved the new place as she had the rainbow lodge of the days before their fortune, and moreover preferred her own private establishment. olive and captain macdonnell chose to enjoy more freedom and seclusion in their tent than had they lived with the rest of the family. this afternoon jean for a time made no pretense of sitting down. when the motor had disappeared down the avenue of cottonwood trees she continued to walk up and down, now and then glancing out her open window. ralph had written that no one was to attempt making an effort to meet him, as he was uncertain upon what train he would arrive. he would either find some one to drive him over to the house or else telephone. jean had not dressed since lunch, yet her costume chanced to be a pretty brown skirt and a cream voile blouse, open at the throat and rather unusually becoming. however, in the midst of her restless movement, stopping for an instant, she gazed at herself in the mirror with distinct disfavor. "i am afraid i am losing the small claim i once had to good looks," she announced to herself with a frown of disapproval. "certainly i am the least good looking of the four of us! i wonder if jack is the beauty these days or olive? frieda is pretty, but she has not the air or the distinction of jack, or olive's rare coloring. oh, well, i suppose i ought not to mind except for ralph's sake! yet if ralph only brings home the good news i expect him to bring, i know i shall become a more attractive person! sometimes i am afraid i have made things harder than i intended, yet ralph knew my weakness before we married. he understood that i cared more for worldly things than i suppose one should. oh, at the time we were engaged perhaps i did seem to care less for them and to think only of our life together, but one can't always live up to the best in one. now i do intend to be more loving and considerate." rapidly jean began changing her simple costume for an afternoon dress, a rose-colored crêpe de chine, by no means new, but one which her husband especially liked. and as jean dressed, in spite of the fact that pallor was usual with her, a warm, cream-colored pallor extraordinarily attractive with her dark-brown hair and eyes, this afternoon her cheeks flushed to a deep rose. at the same time her eyes turned from the mirror to the window, hoping she might see her husband driving toward the house. her ears also were listening for the sound of a telephone which might announce the fact that ralph was at the station waiting to be sent for. she had decided not to drive over to meet him herself, as she would prefer to hear the news he must bring when they were alone. it could not be possible that the news would be bad news! jean put this idea away from her at once. this could not be! ralph had been so sure of the new gold mine in which he had lately invested almost everything they possessed. perhaps he should not have made the investment before examining the mine himself, yet he had not been able to wait. the owners had insisted that he must take the same chance along with them or they would find some one else to make the investment. if the new mine was what they hoped and believed, large fortunes would accrue to them all; if not ralph merritt must share the fortunes of war. the afternoon passed, yet jean continued to await in vain the appearance of her husband or the sound of the telephone. not once did it ring during the long hours. four o'clock and then five and still no ralph. "after all, it would have been wiser to have gone with the others to mrs. marshall's tea, as it would have been far more interesting, and she would have felt less nervous than waiting alone," jean concluded. then by and by, woman like, jean began feeling aggrieved. if ralph were unable to return home as he had anticipated why had he not telegraphed? surely he must appreciate her anxiety! picking up a magazine, jean dropped down upon the couch by the window, attempting to read. at first she found it impossible to concentrate her attention, but later became fairly interested. a quarter of an hour after, her door opening abruptly, jean looked up with a quick exclamation. "ralph!" "what's the trouble, jean?" ralph merritt demanded with an irritation in his voice and manner most unusual with him, "i have been trying to telephone the house for the past two hours and finally gave up and have walked over from the station--three or four miles, isn't it? it felt like ten. seems as if some one might have been interested enough to answer the telephone, especially as i wrote you i'd try to get the house in case i could not find any one to drive me." "but, ralph, the telephone has not rung, i have been listening and expecting to hear it all afternoon. the connection must be broken. yet what does it matter, now you are at home? what is the news?" "matter is that i am dead tired," ralph merritt answered, flinging himself down upon the couch jean had just vacated. his shoes were covered with dust, his face and hands were soiled, his clothes rumpled. in a flash jean thought of the ralph who had returned to the ranch in this same condition a number of years before and of their interview together on the porch of the rainbow lodge. ralph had promised her then never to speculate again, never to risk his hard earned money in a gamble, which is all that speculation is. then jean put the memory quickly away from her, as there could be no reason to recall it upon this occasion. she was standing looking down upon her husband. "tell me quickly, ralph, things are all right; they must be," she argued, her voice hoarse, her eyes having a peculiar hard brightness unlike their usual velvety softness. "think i would not already have told you, jean, if they were?" ralph merritt answered. "suppose i would have spoken first of being tired, although i am tired straight through, if things had worked out as we hoped? the new mine is not worth the money it has required to buy the machinery. it is my fault. i should have known better and taken more time to consider and investigate. i was suffering from the same trouble that's taken hold of a good many young american fellows these days, trying to get rich in too great a hurry. i am sorry, chiefly for your sake, jean dear, and the little girls, but more for you because the little girls won't mind seriously. i'll be able to make a living all right, but for a while i'm afraid not a big one, and these are hard times to make money go very far. i have an offer to go into new mexico and look over another mine, and if it's any good i am to have the job of engineer." ralph was now sitting up, his look of fatigue and discouragement a little less apparent as he continued to talk. he was a splendid looking young fellow, a typical american with a fine, clear-cut face, a strong nose and a sensitive mouth. the eyes he turned toward jean were wistful at this moment. but jean was white with disappointment and anger. "the old story with you, ralph, always something in the future, nothing for the present. i trust you are not expecting the little girls and me to go with you on your wild goose chase into new mexico. i suppose when i tell jim colter and jack that we have not a cent to live upon, they will allow us to remain at the ranch for a time anyhow. if i were only as clever as jack perhaps i might be able to support the family without your help. i have little faith left in you." chapter vii the tea party "jack, you will try to make yourself as agreeable as possible." jacqueline kent laughed: "frieda dear, don't i always try? and is it fair of you to blame me when i am unsuccessful? but i know you want me to be as staid and well behaved this afternoon as if i were the dowager lady kent, in order to conquer the reputation i seem already to have acquired in the neighorhood. do they think me a kind of wild west show? well, i will make my best effort." the motor in which olive, frieda and jack were driving had by this time entered the grounds of the summer home of senator and mrs. marshall. the house was a big frame building with a wide porch filled with attractive porch furniture and shaded by striped awnings of brown and yellow. the afternoon was a warm and lovely one and apparently the guests were preferring to remain out of doors, as several of them were wandering about in the yard before the house and a number were seated upon the veranda. as the motor from the rainbow ranch stopped, senator marshall himself, accompanied by peter stevens, came forward to greet the newcomers. he spoke cordially of his pleasure in seeing them to frieda and olive, but his attention was attracted by jacqueline ralston kent, whom he had known as a young girl. senator marshall was a middle-aged man of distinguished appearance, over six feet tall, with white hair, bright blue eyes and an aquiline nose. ordinarily his expression was one of good-humored tolerance. yet senator marshall had the reputation for being a dangerous enemy and a man of strong will whom no one dared oppose upon a matter of importance. notwithstanding the fact that his wife was feared by her neighbors as a woman whose authority no one was allowed to dispute, it was said that, although her husband gave way to her in all small issues, in larger ones she was compelled to do as he wished. to-day jack was wearing an afternoon dress of black tulle over black silk, and a large black hat, which made her skin appear exceptionally clear and fair and her hair a deeper gold brown. "it was kind of you to come to see us the other afternoon, mrs. marshall, and i am sorry to have missed you," jack said a little shyly a few moments later, when senator marshall had taken her to speak to his wife, leaving peter stevens to follow with frieda and olive. it was a misfortune from which jacqueline ralston had suffered as a girl and which she never had entirely conquered, that she was apt to feel less at ease with women than with men, as if they understood her less well and criticized her more severely. now as mrs. marshall returned her greeting, although perfectly polite and cordial, jack had an instinctive impression that the older woman saw something in her which she did not like, or else had heard something previously which had prejudiced her. "i am glad to meet you at last, mrs. kent. considering the fact that you have been in the neighborhood so short a time i seem already to have _heard_ a great deal of you." if there was no double meaning in the words which were simple in themselves, nevertheless jack flushed slightly. "but i am not a stranger in this neighborhood, mrs. marshall. i knew your husband a long time ago when my father was alive and i was a little girl trying to help manage our ranch. i don't think i forgave you for many years, senator marshall, because you were one of the lawyers on the other side when we had a difficulty over the boundary line of our ranch." "no, you were quite right not to forgive me, but remember you won the case and i lost, so that should make it easier for you to forgive and forget. i am sure i shall never have the bad taste or the poor judgment to take sides against you a second time upon any subject." smiling, jack glanced around her. seated upon the porch were half a dozen or more persons whose faces were dimly familiar, some of whom she had not seen in a number of years, others fairly intimate friends, and a few complete strangers. leading her about the circle, mrs. marshall introduced her to the persons whom she had never met and jack herself paused to shake hands and talk to the others. there was something in her manner which the older woman observed with a sensation of envy, never having seen anyone before apparently so sincere and straightforward as jacqueline kent. an hour later jack found herself at one end of the long veranda surrounded by a group of half a dozen persons including her host. "it is growing late, i am afraid we shall soon have to say farewell," jack suggested, looking about to discover frieda and olive. she had done her best to make herself appear as agreeable as possible according to her sister's direction, but already she was a little tired and anxious to be back at the ranch, seldom really enjoying conventional society as she believed she should. "but you must not think of leaving us, mrs. kent, until you have seen my son," senator marshall insisted. "he was forced to go to laramie this afternoon upon some business for me, but i promised to keep you until his return. i suppose you don't realize that the girls in the neighborhood are already beginning to be a little jealous of you, now that you have the reputation of being the best horsewoman in the state. i am glad you are not a young man instead of a young woman, or you might become stevens' or my political rival some day. do i hear correctly that you mean to resume your american nationality as soon as you can go through the necessary formalities?" jack nodded. "yes, mr. stevens has been helping me, telling me what i must do. yet i think it is not gallant of you, senator, to suggest a woman has no chance in politics in wyoming, the first state in the union to allow women the vote." senator marshall leaned back in his chair, eyeing jack with a smile. "so you are thinking of playing lady nancy astor in the united states? who knows but the idea is a good one. if the british parliament accepted an american woman married to a british peer, i don't see why an american woman married to an englishman, resuming her former allegiance to her own country because she loves it best, would not make a first-class member of congress, perhaps defeat you, stevens." "why not you, senator, if mrs. kent is elected to office from wyoming? for that matter, i do not see why she should not have the highest honor in the gift of the state." as the two men were joking with one another, jack rose and at the same instant saw a young man of about twenty-one coming hurriedly across the porch in their direction. she held out her hand at once, recognizing him as john marshall, senator marshall's son, although never having met him at any time. "i am so glad you have not run away, mrs. kent, i want to ask you a great favor. i hear you can beat any ranchman in wyoming swinging a lasso. try it with me some day, won't you? it is great sport, but i've yet to see a girl outside the circus or a wild west show who is any good at it." absurd under the circumstances, yet jack blushed furiously and then laughed: "am i never, never to cease to hear of my ridiculous exploit? you see, mr. marshall, i thought i was safe from observation that day, or perhaps it is more than probable i did not think what i was doing at all. and since that ten minutes of simply having a good time and trying to find out if i had forgotten what i learned as a girl, i have heard of little else. but you are mistaken in thinking i have any great skill with a lasso. i have forgotten the little skill i once possessed." "but you will let me see you attempt it again? it is the greatest sport in the world, beats tennis or baseball, or even polo. the girls in this part of the country are either afraid or else insist lassoing isn't ladylike or proper, some funny nonsense! a good many of them say it was shocking of you and that no well-bred girl would ever have been alone with a lot of cowboys watching their contest, let alone taking part. but i----" "see here, don't you think you have said enough, john?" senator marshall protested. but jack only laughed and held out her hand. "i deserve nearly anything that may be said of me, but i thought i had come home to live in the west where one did not have to be conventional. apologize for me, won't you? yes, i'll ride with you with pleasure if you don't mind my bringing jimmie and several little girls along to act as our escort. you see, i ordinarily ride with them every afternoon. i do wish we could try the lassoing, but i am afraid i don't dare." "still, you will some day. i've an idea you would dare anything that you thought the right thing to do," john marshall added so enthusiastically and making so little effort to conceal his admiration for jacqueline kent, who was several years his senior, that the group of older people about them laughed. a few moments later, thrusting his father and peter stevens aside, he insisted upon seeing jack to the motor and handed her in with amusing and most unnecessary gallantry, as she was more than able to look after herself. ten minutes later, leaning back in the car with her eyes closed, jack demanded: "were you pleased with me this afternoon, frieda ralston russell? goodness knows, i am tired enough with the struggle to be agreeable! i wonder why society wears me out and i can be outdoors and busy all day without fatigue." "you got on pretty well, jack, only i was not with you all of the time and don't know everything you said. i do hope you said nothing indiscreet; but i am afraid senator marshall and his son liked you better than mrs. marshall did, and that is a pity." jack yawned. "olive, was there ever so much worldly wisdom possessed by any one person as by mrs. henry tilford russell? i am sorry if you think mrs. marshall did not like me, but she cannot be blamed for the fact and neither can i. as for the son, john marshall, he is a nice boy, nicer than his father. i don't know why, but i never altogether trust senator marshall. however, i am talking nonsense; one talks so much nonsense at a tea party it is hard to stop immediately after. i hope ralph is safely at home by this time. i was sorry jean was not with us. it is so wonderful for the four rainbow ranch girls to be living together at the old ranch after all these years and all our experiences that i don't like our being parted except when it is unavoidable." "don't talk as if we were patriarchs, jack, and as if john marshall were a small boy and you were old enough to be his mother," frieda protested. "you are only a few years older than he is, after all! but it is nice to be together and i trust ralph's arrival will cheer jean up. she has tried not to show it, but jean and i always have understood each other and i have seen lately that she is more worried over something than she wants anyone to know." "well, please give my love to ralph if he has returned and say i shall look forward to seeing him in the morning. no, i won't come to the house. jimmie and i want to have dinner together and an evening alone," jack answered. about ten o'clock she was sitting out on the porch of the rainbow lodge feasting her eyes on the golden glory of the october moon floating in a heaven of the deepest blue, when she heard some one walking toward the house. jack was rarely afraid of the conventional things which most women fear, yet the steps seemed furtive and uncertain, so that she got up hastily. a moment later the figure of a young fellow appeared wearing the costume of a cowboy. the moonlight shone full upon his face, yet jack did not at once recognize him. "'pears as if ye didn't know me, yet i ain't surprised," he drawled. "i ain't seen you but the once when we rid over to the lassoing from the ranch house. my name's billy preston, come from the kentucky mountains. the boys sent me up here to make you a little present. i was going to leave it on your front porch and sneak away again, expectin' to find you indoors or mebbe not at home." "why a present for me? what is it? no one ever gives me a present any more, and who is it from?" jack demanded as eagerly as a little girl. the young mountaineer thrust something toward her, rather a large bundle it appeared in the moonlight. "it's a new lasso, made of the finest horsehair in the market and sent you by the fellers who saw you ride that time. they say with a little more practice you'll learn what you set out to do. anyhow, the fellers want me to say they are with you in anything you may be thinkin' about undertakin' out in these here parts. and say, you needn't be afraid, no matter what happens. we are all your friends; we like a woman who don't put on side and who kin ride straight and think straight and act straight. you know, i was brought up in the kentucky mountains, and besides i fit two years in france. so i kin shoot, as we used to say down south, i kin shoot a fly off a telegraph pole, so if ever you should need any one to look after you, why, count on me." "good gracious, thank you and thank everybody!" jack murmured. "i am delighted to own the new lasso, although i'm afraid i shall never learn to use it properly. but if the rainbow ranchmen wish me to know they are glad i am at home again, i don't know how to thank them enough. please say i love every inch of this old ranch in the greatest country in the world. but i'm not thinking of any special undertaking except to live here and help a little with the care of the ranch as i once did as a girl. just the same, i am deeply grateful for the honor you have paid me and the protection i feel sure every one of you would offer me if i should ever need it. i don't know what i should say to express my gratitude, but you'll see that the men understand." billy preston nodded. "don't you worry, miss--mam," he added quickly. yet he must be forgiven his mistake for jack looked so like a young girl standing there on the old porch in her soft black dress in the yellow radiance of the moon. "i'll see they know you're pleased, but you ain't to disremember the rest of what i said. one ain't ever able to guess how things may turn out in this world or what troubles folks may git into." chapter viii an interview immediately following breakfast the next morning jack and jimmie went out to the tennis court near the rainbow lodge, which they had recently been trying to get into condition. there they began batting balls back and forth across the net. not old enough to play a good game of tennis for the present, nevertheless jimmie kent was determined to make as good a beginning as possible and to learn whatever his mother might be able to teach him. he was very like jack rather than his english relatives, a straightforward, determined little fellow, self-willed and frank, with a vigorous body and an ardent love of outdoor sports. "you've missed that ball and it was such an easy one!" he called out in an annoyed tone, and then saw his mother run across the court waving her racquet. "excuse me for the present, jimmie, but here comes frieda from the big house and it is so early for her to be out that i am afraid there is something the matter." frieda russell was walking a little more rapidly than usual and seemed to be slightly out of breath when her sister joined her and slipped an arm through hers. "nothing has happened, frieda? peace is all right, and professor russell and the others?" the younger woman nodded and yet her face remained grave and there was a suggestion of a frown between her large clear blue eyes. "yes and no, jack. oh, i know you hate any one to speak in so non-committal a fashion and yet one can not always be so direct and so certain about things as you are. everybody is well at the big house, physically well i mean, and yet there is something i felt i wanted to discuss with you this morning before any one else sees you. i particularly want to talk to you alone, so suppose we sit down in the hammock on the front porch and you can see and tell me if any one draws near." a moment later, frieda spread out her plaid blue gingham skirt with as much care as if it had been of silk and took off her big blue shade hat, holding it in her lap. she had always been extremely careful of her costume and her physical appearance as a young girl and now devoted even more attention to them, with the result that she had an air of daintiness which was very pleasing and that her skin remained as fair and soft as a baby's. "you are rather a comfort, you know. jack, when one is in a difficulty, not that i always rely upon your judgment, but i do like to talk things over with you and get your point of view," she began. "the truth is i am worried about jean and ralph. ralph returned to the ranch late yesterday afternoon and saw jean while we were away. i did not see either of them until later when they came in to dinner together and then i have never seen ralph or jean look as they did. even henry noticed it, and you know he notices very little that has to do with human beings. he actually inquired if they were feeling ill, which was most unfortunate, since they both said 'no,' and then tried to behave as if there was nothing the matter. they were neither of them successful. i know jim saw there was some trouble, but jim is so wonderful, he never has interfered in any way with us since we married. we must first give him our confidence, and even then he is very careful. "of course i do not understand whether the trouble is between jean and ralph or whether it is due to some outside cause. but i must say, jack dear, that though she has confided nothing to me, i did think jean's manner toward her husband a strange one. and yet perhaps i am a little suspicious or just over anxious because--well, because," frieda hesitated a fraction of a second and then went on, "because henry and i had that misunderstanding after we were married which made us both so dreadfully unhappy and except for an accident might have wrecked our lives. it's a funny thing, isn't it, jack, when one marries one thinks one's problems are over. i suppose that is because one is very young, and then naturally one finds out that if the old problems are over, there is an entirely new set. even you and frank used to have little differences now and then! and yet here you are still little more than a girl, and a widow, with a wholly different life to live until you marry again. don't shake your head. one never knows. you always insisted, jack, that you would not marry when you were a girl, and yet you were married before any one of us. "but i am wandering from my subject. you see, about jean and ralph, i don't know what to do, or whether any one of us has the right to attempt to secure their confidence unless they first offer it to us. at breakfast this morning ralph merritt announced that he was leaving the ranch again to-day and might be gone for some time. he was going to some frightfully hot place in new mexico to see about a lately discovered gold mine, but jean and the children would not go with him. and jean made no protest of any kind. she did not even try to persuade ralph to stay on at the rainbow ranch for a few days until he had a chance to rest and they could be together for a little while. i never saw jean behave so queerly or look so strangely. she was white and cold and severe, although she does look so unhappy, almost as if she were ill. you know she has always cared for me more than for you or olive, and yet when i put my arm around her this morning and asked if she felt badly, she almost pushed me away and said that i would soon grow too tired of her to care whether she were well or ill. of course she will probably talk to me later on, yet it is funny. one might not think it, yet jean is really more reserved than the rest of us. "but what i am worrying over is, that by the time jean makes up her mind to confide in any member of her family, ralph will have gone. and if he goes, somehow i have a strange presentiment that it may be a long while before we see him again. do you suppose you could speak to him? ralph said this morning that he was coming to the lodge to have a talk with you as he really has never seen you alone since your arrival in this country. you and ralph are pretty good friends! i don't know why it is, jack, but boys and men talk to you more freely than they do to most girls or women, so will you undertake to find out what is the difficulty between jean and ralph before ralph goes away? try to learn if the trouble is some outside thing in which we could be useful. i know jim colter wants to offer to help ralph, if he needs help, he admires and likes him so much, but i don't think jim dares, ralph looks in such an uncomfortable mood." without even an exclamation to interrupt her sister's story, jacqueline kent had listened intently, her gray eyes a little clouded, her sympathetic face responding to every suggestion. "yet, frieda, you feel i ought to question ralph when jim, who is his dear friend, is unwilling? i am afraid not, frieda dear. you realize i have seen so little of ralph and jean since their marriage, as i have been living in england and they have been in the united states except while ralph was in service in france. secretly i confess i am a little afraid of ralph, more than i am of either your husband or olive's, ralph is so quiet and apparently so self-sufficient. if he has made up his mind to a certain action i cannot believe that any one save jean _could_ influence him." "yes, but jean won't _try_ to influence him this time, at least this is my impression," frieda added hastily, "and ralph feels sorry for you at present, jack dear, and admires the way you are facing things. he said so last night at dinner, said quite plainly that he admired you more than any one of the former ranch girls, which was not especially polite of him, although i did not mind, even if henry was there and might feel he had made a mistake in marrying me instead of you, not that he could have married you, as you were engaged already. but i must get back home now, or else ralph may arrive and perhaps believe i have been gossiping about him." hastily frieda jumped up. "good gracious, jack, isn't that ralph on his way here this instant? it is either ralph or some one like him! let me slip into the house and stay there until you persuade ralph to go for a walk, then i'll run home. i hope jean will be too much engaged to miss me, i did not mention to any one i was coming over to the lodge. good-by, dear; anyhow, you can do your best to follow my advice." scarcely a moment after frieda had disappeared jacqueline kent went quickly forward to greet ralph merritt, who was walking slowly across one of the fields in the direction of the rainbow lodge. at once jack believed that even had frieda not forewarned her, she must nevertheless have observed the trouble in ralph's face. "i have come to say good-by and hello at the same time, jack," he announced. "sorry not to see more of you, but i'm off for new mexico this afternoon, i don't know for how long a time." perhaps there are occasions in this life when frankness may not be desirable. but the spiritual frankness of jacqueline kent, which did not consist of saying unkind things to people under such a guise, but of going directly to the heart of what she felt and believed and of expecting the same thing of other human beings, nearly always served. she did not hesitate at this instant. "ralph, i believe you are in some kind of difficulty. i think i have guessed partly by your expression and also because you would not leave the ranch so abruptly and with the suggestion that you may not return for many months without an important reason. i wonder if the trouble is a money one, ralph, because if it is, you must let me help you. you know i have a fairly large estate and it is costing jimmie and me almost nothing to live here at the lodge, and jean,--jean has been like my sister since the days when we spent our girlhood here as the 'ranch girls of the rainbow lodge.'" ralph shook his head. "you're a trump, jack, but that is out of the question. suppose we walk down to the rainbow mine. i had not intended talking to any one, but perhaps it is best i should, and somehow, jack, it is not so hard to confess one's mistakes to you as to most persons. i can't take your money because i have already lost most of jean's and all of my own. jean hates poverty and has lost faith in me besides. i don't altogether blame her, yet it has been hard for a good many of us to get started in the old fashion since the war ended, and these days the government has so many regulations about mining gold that only where the output is large does the work pay. what i want to ask you, jack, is to look after jean and the little girls while i am away. i'll come back when i have made money, not before." the man and girl had come to the neighborhood of the old rainbow mine and stood near the edge of one of the disused pits. "yes, i understand, ralph. moreover, you have decided that it will not be worth while to attempt any more work in the rainbow mine, at least not unless a new lode is discovered. now i wonder, ralph, if it has ever occurred to you how much olive and frieda and jean and i owe to your former skill in working the rainbow mine in the past, how much of our fortunes are actually due to you? does that not make a difference? are you not more willing to let me be of assistance to you until you are able to repay me? won't you at least promise me to talk to jim colter and to ask his advice before you leave?" ralph shook his head. "no, and even if i were willing, and i am not, jean would never consent. many times she has told me how deeply she appreciated that fact that you and frieda shared alike with her the output of the rainbow mine when she was only your cousin and with no legal right to your inheritance. having lost jean's money, although she gave me her consent, even urged me to the investment, she has lost faith in me. what is more serious, i am even beginning to have less faith in myself. yet i don't know why i am telling you all this, jack, i had not intended to do more than say good-by. what hurts worse is that jean does not care for me any more; i wonder now if she ever did care as i did. you know how important she has always counted wealth and position and i believed once i could give them to her, but lately i have failed and so jean is disappointed. funny thing marriage, jack!" "funny thing life, ralph, one is just a part of the whole! i think you are mistaken about jean, but i have no right to express an opinion. only if you do consider it wiser to fight it out alone, don't worry over jean and the little girls. jim would look after them even if i were not here. queer that jim, who came to us first as a cowboy and then the manager of the rainbow ranch, should have been even kinder than an own father! not that i think of jim as so much older than i am! however, stand by jean through whatever comes, ralph! and after a time, even if she is disappointed and hurt for the present, she is sure to change. i wish i dared to tell her the mistake she is making, only i don't dare. in any case, i'll do my best." ralph merritt held out his hand. "shake hands, jack, and let us say good-by. but before i leave you i want to say to you something else, something which may surprise you. i believe you came back to this country for some good purpose, jacqueline kent, some purpose none of us recognizes at present and you least of all. but if the day should come when you feel that some work calls you, don't be afraid to undertake it. life has a queer fashion of preparing people for what she wishes them to accomplish, without their knowing." jack smiled. "i wonder what there can be ahead for me, ralph? yet some day i must find something, as i shall never marry again. life on the old ranch is restful and charming, yet i suppose it won't continue to be enough. so let us wish each other good luck here in the shadow of the old mine where we discovered the 'pot of gold.' there must be other kinds of gold at the end of other rainbows." chapter ix a year later "it is harder to endure, jack, because so much my own fault, all my life i must feel in a measure responsible, and i cannot feel hopeful as you insist you do, perhaps for that very reason. however, we must not talk too much of this now, to-morrow will be time enough. you must keep all the strength and self-control you possess for to-night." it was more than a year later, and jean merritt and jacqueline ralston were in jean's beautiful bedroom in the big house on the rainbow ranch. jean was sitting on a low couch with her hands clasped tightly together, while jack was moving restlessly up and down the large, fragrant room. "but i can't make a speech to-night, jean, not after the bewildering news we have just received, although i will not believe it to be final. why did i ever think i could? yet surely there is a sufficient reason now for me to be excused!" "sit down for a few moments please, jack," jean answered with such an evidence of self-control and of unselfishness that her companion suffered a swift emotion of shame and compunction. "now there isn't any question but you must go on to-night with what you intended doing. remember we all have decided that, for the time at least, it will be wiser to keep secret the information we have just received. therefore you cannot make this your excuse for failing to speak as you planned. if you fail to speak this evening it will appear either that you are afraid to say what you think, or else that you have changed your opinion." jack flushed. "but i _am_ afraid. am i not the last person in the world you would ever have dreamed attempting a public speech? and here i am involved in the effort to make one to-night, simply because i began talking first to our own ranchmen and then to the men on the neighboring ranches of some of the work i thought we ought to undertake in wyoming. when i first began i did not know i was making a speech. to-night i shall probably know it without being able to make it. still, i don't want to talk about myself in the face of your problem, jean. now let us go over the news you have received and see if we both understand. ralph has been away over a year, hasn't he, working always at the mine in new mexico and writing regularly? the mine so far has not proved a success, but ralph insisted that he still had faith in it and never spoke of leaving, or changing his work. now word arrives that two weeks ago he had a serious fall into a pit which had been left uncovered, but that he seemed not badly hurt, only a little bruised and shaken and that he had continued with his duties that same day as if nothing had occurred. then next morning, as he failed to appear, one of his men going to look for him found his tent empty. he has not been seen since. yet no one had heard him go away in the night and there was nothing to suggest that he had intended remaining away, as his clothes and private papers were left behind. naturally the people at the mine believed we had heard some word of him, and i believe we soon shall hear. ralph will write or come to the rainbow ranch, i am convinced of it. what is it you really think, jean?" jean shook her head. "i don't know what to think. some tragedy may have happened to ralph, or he may simply have grown too weary and discouraged to remain where he was any longer." getting up, jean began walking up and down the big room with its rose-colored carpet as if her uncertainty and unhappiness must have a physical outlet. "i have never told you in so many words, jack, although i must have said enough for you to guess that ralph and i parted without the tenderness and faith i should have shown him even if i believed he had made mistakes, because the mistakes were made chiefly for my sake. i thought i had learned a good deal in this year of his absence, but perhaps it was not enough, so i must bear this new anxiety. ralph would have been happier married to you, jack, than to me; i have thought this a good many times. you care nothing for wealth and society; i have always cared too much until lately. now after this year with all of you at the old ranch i was learning a new set of values; except for wanting ralph i have been so happy here just as we used to be as children, even if we have a new group of younger ranch girls. now, unless i hear from ralph within the next twenty-four hours i mean to go to new mexico to find him. i should have been with him through this year, enduring the hardships he has been forced to endure, instead of living in comfort and idleness here at the ranch." "but you have not lived in idleness, jean, whatever else you may accuse yourself of. managing this big place, keeping house for jim and his little girls and for frieda and her family is hardly being idle. jim says he has not been so at ease since ruth died. it's funny jim told me he thought it wiser for professor russell to go in search of ralph unless we receive word immediately than that he should go, although jim and ralph are devoted friends. jim says that henry is a scientist, but a more practical man of affairs than the rest of us give him credit for being. yet somehow i don't believe jim is willing to leave us alone at the ranch, not only his own little girls, but you and frieda and olive and me. he insists on driving me over to laramie to-night, although i do not feel he likes my speaking in public. however, when i asked his advice he merely said: 'go ahead, jack, do what you wish to do; your life is your own. if i am an old fogy and should prefer you to stay quietly at the lodge, i never have expected it of you since you came back and resumed your american citizenship. as long as you don't go too far i'll stand behind you.'" jack smiled. "of course i don't know what jim means by 'too far,' but i suppose he will tell me in time. now i am going away, jean dear, and leave you to try to rest. remember, i believe firmly that we shall hear from ralph within the next few days, or the next few hours, who knows? but olive and captain macdonnell will stay with you to-night, as frieda and professor russell wish to drive over to the woman's club with me. at least if i am to make a speech i am glad it is to be made there. frieda is too funny. she is torn between being rather proud of my being a sufficiently prominent person in the neighborhood for people to be willing to listen to me, and thinking it unwomanly of me to attempt to speak. besides, i think she shares my present conviction that i am going to break down and so disgrace myself and all of us. yet it is such a simple thing i wish to talk about, and anyone ought to be able to say what one thinks." as jack rose, jean placed her hands on her cousin's shoulders, her brown eyes gazing steadfastly into jack's gray ones. "no, it is not going to be difficult for you to-night, jack, not after you have once started with your speech. it will be difficult at first, of course, to face an audience of men and women for the first time in your life. you have said a good many times just what you will say to-night, but i know that you have never considered before that you _were_ making a speech. but it will be a success, jack, because to you it is always a simple thing for people to be straightforward and honest and public-spirited. now go and lie down yourself for an hour or so. i am going to see what the little girls are doing." jack laughed. "no, i am going off for a ride alone, jean. it is funny, but billy preston, one of our cowboys, told me i should not ride alone, not even over our own ranch. already there seems to be a good deal of feeling against me because of what i have been advocating. as if i were of enough importance to be considered dangerous! but please don't speak of this to any one else; i must ride alone now and then, and i have promised jim never to leave our ranch without an escort. it is curious that i can think better on horseback than at any other times. other people manage the same thing by lying down, or walking through the country, or in crowded city streets. i believe some writers can only dictate when they are striding up and down their rooms. but i am off now, really this time, jean. i'll have a light supper at the lodge, as we start about seven. in the morning i'll tell you the worst, or probably frieda will tell you before i can see you." a moment after jacqueline kent was gone. after her departure jean suffered a stronger sensation of discouragement. it was always true that jacqueline kent possessed a vitality so keen and a sweetness of character so inherently sincere, that one was apt to be stimulated and cheered by her companionship. later in the same day driving toward town, jack remained unusually quiet. she was riding in the front seat of a ford car seated beside jim colter and listening with some amusement to her sister frieda's conversation with her husband, which frieda had not the slightest objection to having overheard. "i feel perfectly convinced that jack is going to break down, henry, or perhaps not even be able to begin her speech when she faces her audience. i do wish i had not come. of course you and jim won't mind so much because you are no real relation to jack, so i shall feel much more embarrassed than anyone else. however, my one comfort will be that if jack does make a complete failure to-night she will never attempt to speak in public again. i don't see why she should care so much what the other ranchmen in wyoming do, so long as we are successful with our own ranch. but then one never has been able to count upon what jack would think or do. we are not in the least alike." "but my dear frieda," professor russell expostulated, speaking in a hushed voice intended only for frieda's ears, "don't you think it unkind of you to suggest failure to your sister at this late hour? if you did not wish her to speak you should have remonstrated earlier." "oh, i did talk to her; indeed i am sure i have discussed nothing else for the past week. sometimes i have told jack i would never forgive her, if she went on with what she had been doing, and then again i advised her to make a perfectly wonderful speech at the woman's club to-night, just to show the stupid people who object to her how clever and charming she is, and how right. of course i think jack is right about a few things now and then." in answer to jack's gay laughter from the front seat and jim colter's chuckle, even to her husband's amused smile, frieda continued undisturbed. "frieda dear, you are a tonic and i won't dare fail if you feel as you do about me," jack called back over her shoulder. "you are more refreshing than jim, who tells me i am sure to succeed in convincing my audience to-night, when deep down inside of him he is sure i will not. yet you won't desert me if the worst happens, frieda?" frieda shook her blonde head. "no, jack, i shall never turn my back upon you really, no matter what you do, even if i disapprove of it most dreadfully, perhaps not even if you should run for some public office in the state of wyoming as if you were a man. of course the suggestion is absurd, but i did hear some one say you might become an influence in the state of wyoming." "yes, that was absurd, frieda dear," jack returned, resting her head lightly on jim colter's shoulder and closing her ears to frieda's patter in order to try to think more clearly of the task ahead of her. the subject upon which jacqueline kent was to speak to-night was a simple one, so simple that she had not understood why there should be any opposition to her suggestion. in the beginning it had been only a suggestion. jacqueline kent desired the ranchmen of wyoming to increase the number of their livestock and to have larger herds of cattle, and droves of sheep, with a view of making the state of wyoming the most important ranch state in the country. the world was never before in so great need of food and clothing. yet soon her little talks with the rainbow ranchmen and the men from the adjoining ranches became known throughout the neighborhood. then to her surprise jack discovered that a large number of the prominent men in wyoming opposed her suggestion. among these men were senator marshall and her former acquaintance, peter stevens, who was employed as an attorney to limit the supply of livestock raised in wyoming. to-night jack had been asked to present her view of the question before a group of men and women in the woman's club in laramie. the building was a large one. later, when jack stepped out upon the platform she faced an audience of several hundred persons. an instant the faces swam before her and her courage failed. then she appreciated that her first sentences could not be heard beyond the first few rows of chairs. chapter x a maiden speech nevertheless jack looked very young, attractive and frightened. her color had vanished, her wide gray eyes held an expression of appeal for patience and understanding. she was dressed in the costume she ordinarily preferred in the evening, a black tulle over black silk, cut with a square neck and with elbow sleeves, and, although of exquisite material, made in a simple fashion. usually caring little for jewelry, to-night she was wearing a pearl and amethyst star which her husband had given her years before. as her glance now swept the audience she beheld the faces she especially wished _not_ to see, jim colter's, her sister frieda's, and her neighbors, senator and mrs. marshall's. not far away and staring fixedly at her was the somewhat grim countenance of her former acquaintance, peter stevens. upon jim colter's fine, deeply lined face--his coal black hair was now turning slightly gray--was a look with which jack had been familiar since her girlhood. the look said more plainly than words that jim was always there to fight her battles and whether she succeeded or failed, she could count upon him. frieda's face was set and white and miserable, her blue eyes open to their fullest extent, announcing as plainly as her lips could have stated: "why, why did i ever permit jack to make such a spectacle of herself? have i not warned her that she could never make a public speech? yet after all, the fault is partly mine, as i should never have allowed her to undertake such a task!" it was frieda's honest conviction that, as she had a great deal more common sense than either her sister or husband, it was not only their duty but their privilege to yield to her judgment in practical matters. the expression with which senator marshall regarded her, jack believed she recognized as one of amused tolerance, not unmixed with satisfaction. he had talked seriously to her of the mistake she was making in her present ideas. he also thoroughly disapproved of women attempting public speeches under any conditions whatsoever, and of this jack also had been kindly informed. mrs. marshall's attitude did not affect jacqueline kent in any fashion. long before she had accepted the fact that mrs. marshall did not like her and resented any influence she might have gained in the neighborhood. especially mrs. marshall had seemed to dislike her stepson john marshall's boyish friendship and admiration for his neighbor. if john had come to hear her speak to-night he was not seated with his parents, for jack's subconscious mind was registering these small and unimportant impressions even as her lips moved almost inaudibly in the address she was endeavoring to make. however, the one face which seemed to arouse jack more completely than the others was that of her former acquaintance, peter stevens. in the past year peter stevens had become more than an acquaintance. if they were not friends he appeared to enjoy calling at the rainbow lodge, for one could count upon seeing him there probably once a week. his expression at present was undoubtedly one of pleasure at her failure. jack felt distinctly angry. "louder," some one called from the back of the hall, and hearing the call, she paused and an instant remained silent. speaking again, it was apparent that both her manner and voice had changed. the self-command which had in a measure deserted her was slowly being regained. "i am sorry, i fear a good many members of my audience have not been able to hear what i have been saying," she answered, speaking in a fashion which seemed to take the men and women who were her listeners into her confidence, making the greater number of them her advocates rather than her critics. "i suppose it is scarcely worth while confessing that i have never made a public speech before and have no idea how much one should raise one's voice. yet the subject i want to talk about to-night is such a simple and direct one that i really and truly don't see why it should be discussed in any public fashion. i am only here because some of you felt it might be wise for me to state my opinion. nevertheless, i am sure i agree with any of you who feel my opinion may not be valuable. "most of you know that i came back from england more than a year ago and because i loved my own country better than my adopted one, i have resumed my american citizenship. yet when i speak of loving my country i think i mean first of all that i love my state, the state of wyoming, where i was born and lived as a girl, and that the parts of wyoming i love best are her great and beautiful ranches. "on my return, to my surprise i discovered that instead of the ranches in wyoming having increased in the last few years and the quantity of livestock become greater, they now cover less acreage and the livestock is smaller in number. i was sorry; our state is so lovely, with its broad stretches of fertile prairies, our rivers and streams, and our hills set like a rim of jewels about them. so first i began talking to the men on our own ranch, the rainbow ranch, asking them if it would not be possible to increase the number of our cattle and sheep. since the close of the war we have heard of nothing but of how hungry the world is, at least the european world. so i did not dream there could be any objection if i talked to other ranchmen beside our own and asked them what their plans for the future were to be. we all know that many of the men who are now working on the ranches in the united states intend owning their own places as soon as possible. many of them are soldiers who, having returned from the war in europe, now wish to lead an outdoor life and enjoy the freedom and the independence which the ranch life offers. and wherever and whenever i have talked to the former soldiers who have come to dwell in wyoming they have seemed to agree with me. "the views of the people who oppose the idea of increasing the number of our ranches and the supply of our livestock i confess i am too stupid to understand. they seem to feel that wyoming's future lies in her cities, in her mineral deposits, and even in her recent large manufactories. "they believe we will receive less for our cattle and horses if we raise a greater number. yet say this is true, and i do not accept its truth, how will the ranchmen be injured if the cost of the increase in his expenses is covered by the greater number of his stock? and this we have found to be the case in the past years' experiment with the livestock on the rainbow ranch." jack paused again, but this time not because she was either frightened or embarrassed. she had given up the effort to make a speech after having undertaken it, having discovered that she was not being successful. since then she had been talking to her audience in the same fashion that she would have spoken to any single individual who might have expressed an interest in her subject. "i wonder," she remarked clearly and distinctly, "if there is any one present who is entirely unprejudiced and is willing to state the other side of this question, to explain why the state of wyoming should cease to be a great ranch state. perhaps senator marshall or mr. peter stevens will speak upon the subject." as jack ceased there was a momentary pause followed by a ripple of laughter. the word "unprejudiced" had amused her audience. peter stevens was known to be employed by the interests who wished to decrease the supply of cattle in the state, while senator marshall's political party advocated the same point of view. however, senator marshall so far accepted jacqueline kent's challenge as to arise in his place. bowing, he said blandly: "i never argue a point with a woman." and first his retort was greeted with a murmur of indignation and then of renewed laughter. gazing directly into his face, jack protested: "but, senator marshall, do you not consider that the day has passed for failing to argue points with women? we are voters and if points cannot be argued, at least certain questions must be made plain. to-night we are in a woman's club built largely with the idea of offering women the opportunity to find out some of the problems they intend to understand." a few moments later, having received no reply from peter stevens, who seemed to have chosen to ignore her request, closing her speech more eloquently than she had begun it, in the midst of friendly applause, jack bowed and withdrew from the platform. a little later amid a group of friends and acquaintances unconsciously she still held the center of the stage. "you were not so bad as i expected, jack, although i was a little disappointed in you," frieda found time to murmur, feeling in the midst of her pessimism a great sense of relief. not only was the speech over, but in spite of it jack was looking extremely pretty and no less feminine than she had previously. jim colter simply nodded his head to reveal his satisfaction, while her brother-in-law, professor henry tilford russell, shook hands, announcing frankly: "you did yourself credit, jack, not to _attempt_ to make a speech. it is better to talk simply upon a subject until you know more about it, and afterwards for the matter of that." but outside jacqueline kent's own family, many of her friends were enthusiastic. "i do not see why we should not ask you to run for an office in the gift of the state of wyoming some day, mrs. kent," the president of the woman's club declared in a tone sufficiently loud to be heard by a large group of persons. "no one denies that an american woman, lady nancy astor, is making an excellent member of the british parliament. why should we be so much more conservative than england? moreover, lady astor is an american woman." in return jack laughed, failing to attach any seriousness to the suggestion. "yes, but unfortunately i have none of lady astor's gifts," she responded. "nevertheless there may be some one in wyoming who has, and perhaps it would be interesting if wyoming, one of the first states to give the vote to women, should be represented by a woman in washington. you would dislike the idea very much, wouldn't you, senator marshall?" senator marshall, who had come up to shake hands with jack, nodded vehemently. "i should indeed dislike it; i still am sufficiently old-fashioned enough to believe that woman's place is the home." a voice behind his shoulder interrupted. "nonsense, father, you are simply afraid of mrs. kent as your possible rival, for if ever she is elected to congress the next step will be to defeat you for the united states senate." the voice was john marshall's, the senator's son and jack's devoted friend. "thanks, but don't make the senator disapprove of me any more than he does at present. i must live in peace with my neighbors." a little to jack's surprise peter stevens made no effort to shake hands with her or to speak to her, although she remained half an hour in the woman's club after her poor effort at speech-making was concluded. peter stevens was there also talking to other friends. she was standing alone out on the sidewalk waiting for jim colter to drive up with the car, frieda and her husband having moved a few feet away to speak to some one, when peter stevens' voice said unexpectedly: "good-night, jack. i suppose it would make no difference to you to realize how intensely i disliked your speaking in public this evening." he and jack within he past year had returned to their youthful custom of calling each other by their first names. however, jack's answer surprised him. "oh, i don't know; perhaps you are right. i might consider you an old fogey, peter, to object to girls and women speaking what they believe to be true, but it is probably true that at least no one should speak in public who has no more talent than i possess. you were kind not to make me appear worse by displaying your learning and eloquence afterwards. no, i am not being sarcastic; every one says you are learned and eloquent. yet in spite of your reputation, i have the courage to think you are mistaken about a number of matters. but here is jim with the car, so good-night. why, yes, of course i'll be glad to see you at the lodge; differences of opinion need not destroy friendship." chapter xi the proposals one spring day an automobile containing four men and two women drove up and stopped before the rainbow lodge. the half dozen guests must have been expected, because within a few moments after they were ushered into the big living-room of the lodge, which had altered but little in character in many years, jacqueline kent, who had been jacqueline ralston in the old days, came downstairs to greet her visitors. the call could not have been merely a social one, else jack would scarcely have appeared so pale and preoccupied and so unlike her usual radiant and vital self. slowly she had descended the stairs, and entering her own living-room had shaken hands with four of the six persons whom she knew and had then been introduced to the other two. afterwards she sat down in a chair and listened quietly, rarely doing more than introduce a sentence now and then. at the close of nearly an hour, when the visitors, declining to remain for dinner, had risen to say farewell, jack also stood up, facing them. she stood with the mantel and the bookshelves forming her background. upon the mantel were several of the possessions she had treasured in her childhood, indian bowls of strange shape and antiquity, her father's pistol, the first nugget of gold she and frank kent, who was afterwards to be her husband, had discovered in the rainbow mine. in the old bookshelves were the self-same books she and olive and jean and frieda had read and studied in their girlhood, studied far too little until the coming of ruth to act as their governess. outside the big living-room windows jack could see the long double row of tall cottonwood trees now grown through the years to mammoth proportions and away and beyond the purple fields of the blossoming alfalfa and the newly sprouting tender green spears of grain, all her own beloved and familiar background. "i am sure you realize i appreciate the honor you have done me," she said finally, speaking in hesitating fashion. "yet i do not believe i dare give you my answer this afternoon. you have been kind enough to say that i may have two more days for considering your proposal, and within that time i shall of course let you hear. you are sure you cannot stay longer, not even for tea?" ten minutes later, on the porch of the lodge jack stood alone, watching the automobile containing her six callers roll down the avenue between the cottonwood trees and pass out the gate which separated the lodge grounds from the rest of the rainbow ranch. for a short time jack continued her watch, glancing first in one direction and then in another as if expecting some one else to approach with an evident wish to see her. the afternoon was in early may. the air blowing from the snow-capped hills closer to the western horizon brought with it the fragrances of damp wooded places, mingled with the wealth of prairie flowers over which it had more lately passed. jacqueline ralston kent threw back her shoulders, lifted her head and inhaled a deep breath. "i wonder why jim, jean, frieda and olive do not come to find out what decision i have reached," she remarked aloud. "this must be some prearranged plan that i am to be left alone for a time. and yet it is unlike my younger sister, frieda, not to continue to express her opinion and insist i agree with it whether or not it happens to be my own. perhaps being left alone may be more effective than the usual family opposition toward bringing me around to their way of thinking. yet the family is divided in their viewpoint, and so whatever i may do i must please some of them and displease others. if i am to be left alone i think i'll go for a ride. i wish jimmie were here to go with me; i intend to talk my problem over with jimmie--this and every problem we ever have to face. but of course with jim looking after the branding of the new calves this afternoon what chance have i of jimmie's being anywhere near?" not long after, with her costume changed to her riding-habit, jack went back to the stable of the lodge and finding no one there, saddled her own mare, a present from jim colter several years before, and rode off. before leaving, she explained to the old half-indian woman who looked after her small household that she would not return until dinner time. if she were late jimmie was to eat his dinner and not wait for her. it was true that jacqueline kent felt she was facing this afternoon one of the greatest decisions of her life, almost as important a decision as her marriage. perhaps in some persons' eyes a more important decision, since it was more unusual than marriage in the lives of most women. it was so strange and so unexpected that at present jack herself was scarcely able to accept the momentous fact. yet here it was before her staring her in the face, awaiting her judgment and shutting out the dim spring loveliness of the sky and plains. "should she or should she not? would she or would she not?" the refrain had a stupid sound in jack's ears. she caught herself wondering which was grammatical and then concluded that both expressions were right in her case, since both her future and her will were involved in her present conclusion. who would have believed that upon her return to wyoming, her simple desire to become an american citizen again and later her interest in the prosperity and happiness of her state could involve her in such a situation? within the last hour, was it really possible that she, jacqueline ralston kent, one of the four original "ranch girls of the rainbow lodge," had been asked to accept the nomination for the united states congress and become among the first women representatives in the country? jack bit her lips, put her hand to her face to feel the sudden flush which had suffused it at the thought of her own unfitness for so great a responsibility. then she gave her horse its head and started upon a swift canter; for a little while she must put away the question which so troubled her. appreciating her own lack of knowledge and of training for the task ahead, why not decline at once and for all time ever to consider it? yet on the other hand, had she the right to evade so wonderful an opportunity? she was young and could learn a good deal of what she should know in order to meet such a responsibility. moreover, she did have the interest of her state at heart and some of her friends and acquaintances must have believed in her, else the nomination would never have been offered her. besides, if she were honest, frank, and open-minded, would it not be a wonderful experience? jack was only lately a girl, and in her heart of hearts felt it would actually be great fun to be among the early vanguard of the women who were to hold important political offices in the united states. "yet of course, even if i conclude to accept the nomination, i won't unless jim colter finally gives his consent. i refuse to be regulated by frieda. besides, why worry? after all, there is not one chance in a hundred that i shall ever be elected!" lightly jack touched her horse with her riding whip; she had believed an ordinary gait would suffice to distract her thoughts for a little time, but evidently this was not sufficient. her horse was moving quickly and evenly over the smooth road and still her thoughts had continued unchanged. he must break into a run--a run so swift and headlong, as if in a race for a goal, that all her thought should be centered upon his control. she needed to feel the strong rush of the wind in her ears, the splendid sensation of being a part of the movement which she so enjoyed. she had promised not to ride outside of the rainbow ranch alone, an absurd promise which several of the cowboys had suggested, and which jim colter had insisted upon. she had made enemies within the last year by the outspoken position she had taken upon a number of questions. at present there were rumors that if she accepted the nomination to congress she would be forced to regret it. yet these rumors appeared to jack as nothing save stupid gossip and sensationalism and not to be regarded. however, boring as it might be upon occasions like this afternoon, when she would like to have gotten as far away from the rainbow ranch as her horse could take her within a two hours' ride, nevertheless she intended keeping her promise. the outermost borders of the rainbow ranch were enclosed by a high paling fence to prevent the escape of the cattle. when she had ridden a little more than an hour jack arrived at one of the borders of the ranch, in the same vicinity where at one time there had been a serious dispute with a neighbor over the boundary line. this was near the end of the rainbow creek, at one time considered chiefly valuable for the watering of the stock and afterwards found to contain valuable gold deposits. those had been strenuous and fighting days at the rainbow ranch. first there was the effort to make a living for the family and then to achieve a certain amount of education for the four ranch girls. afterwards had come the adjustment of their legal rights to the ranch, in the days when the possibility that gold might be discovered made the possession too valuable to pass to four obscure young girls. how the manager of their ranch, a fellow named jim colter, who so far as the neighbors knew at that time had sprung from nowhere, had fought and won their battles for them! well, those old days had passed and this afternoon jack concluded that no such perilous times could ever return, whether or not she chose to be among the pioneers and enter the political arena. by this time she had ceased her rapid gait and had come to the bridle path which led along the far side of rainbow creek. the path ascended among high rocks and crags, almost the only hilly portion of the entire ranch. at the top there was an especially fine view. at present jack rode slowly, allowing her horse opportunity to rest now and then after his swift run. [illustration: jack reined in her horse and sat still silhouetted against the sky] jack herself felt in better spirits, more exhilarated. not having fully reached a decision, nevertheless she had managed for a brief time to banish the question to her subconscious mind, hoping it was still wrestling with the problem and might later help her with its solution. she glanced among the rocks and crags, remembering how she and the other ranch girls had played hide and seek among them as children. long before when wyoming was largely inhabited by indian tribes the indians had lived among these rocks sheltered from their enemies. indian treasures had been discovered buried under the earth or fallen between crevices of stone. reaching a level space of ground, jack reined in her horse and sat still, silhouetted against the sky. behind her the sun was setting in purple and gold clouds. below she caught a glimpse of another figure on horseback approaching in her direction. putting her hand to her lips jack called "hello." she was under the impression that the rider was either jim colter or one of the rainbow ranch cowboys, and they were all her friends. as it was growing late it might be pleasant to have an escort home. a lifting of a hat and a wave of a hand returning her greeting, jack uttered a little exclamation of surprise. she waited until peter stevens had climbed up the bridle path and was beside her. "i have come to ask you, jack, if there is any possibility of your accepting the offer which was made you to-day? please understand that it is no secret. there has been talk of your nomination for congress for a good many months, not weeks. i presume you realize that if you accept you will be my opponent? i also am to run for the same office, unless you would like me to withdraw. i am willing if you wish to have me do so. yet i would give up a good many more important things in my life if i could persuade you to refuse this nomination. i know you think i am old-fashioned, narrow, dogmatic, yet with all my heart and all my intelligence i oppose the thought of our american women holding public office. and you of all women, jack! why, with all the experience of life you think you have had, you are little more than a girl. it must be impossible for you to realize the jealousies, the calumnies and feuds that will be aroused by your action. in this past year i have seen you fairly often; never so frequently as i desired, yet you must have learned to know whether you like or dislike me. won't you be my wife, jack, and go with me to washington in that capacity and not as my political adversary? i would do a great deal to prevent your making such a mistake." more surprised than she cared to show, jack shook her head, her face slowly flushing. "i am sure you are very kind, peter, and i do appreciate the honor you have done me, because i do realize how great a sacrifice you are making. yet perhaps you need not have been put to such a test, for although i cannot accept your offer, perhaps i shall not accept the other offer either. i know my own limitations for such a distinguished office as well as even you can know them. however, i make no promise. will you ride back to the lodge to dinner with me?" peter stevens shook his head and an hour after jack arrived at the rainbow lodge alone. chapter xi a decision jack, however, did not reach a decision that night, although many hours she lay awake continuing to revolve the subject in her mind. the next day the opposition she again encountered was even keener than any that had gone before. not long after breakfast frieda made the first family appearance, bringing her little girl with her. seeing her sister approach, jack, who had stepped out of doors for a moment for a breath of fresh air, feeling more fatigued than she scarcely ever recalled being at this hour of the morning, gave a quickly suppressed sigh and then held out her arms to peace. thoroughly she and frieda had gone over this question of her possible nomination when the matter simply had been under discussion. frieda had then aired her views as fully as it seemed possible that any expression of opinion could be aired. not for a single instant was jack even to allow her mind to rest upon the idea. "a woman politician in the family!" personally frieda felt and announced that she could not endure the disgrace. from the first had she not warned her sister that public speech making would lead to something more disastrous? now as jack greeted her sister she was painfully aware that frieda's face wore the familiar expression it was wont to wear when she had appointed herself both judge and jury in a case and allowed no counsel for the defendant. pretending to ignore the expression, nevertheless, jack felt a little ominous sinking of the heart. she was not prepared to allow frieda to make this decision for her, and had so informed her, as gently and firmly as possible, in their previous talks together upon the self-same topic. and jack did not wish to be drawn into any further argument this morning, and certainly not with her sister. all her life she had hated argument more than any one of the four ranch girls, and in the old days used often to run away for a ride or a long walk, leaving the matter to be settled by the other three, who discussed the point to exhaustion. "glad to see you, frieda dear, it is nice to see you so early in the morning and with the baby, especially when i am tired, which does not happen often to me. will you come indoors or shall we walk about among your old violet beds? they are blooming in special abundance. perhaps it may amuse peace to gather some and take them home to the big house. i always feel as if i were selfish having so much more enjoyment from your flower beds than the rest of the family. remember, frieda dear, when you planned to be a florist and to rescue the family by selling violets? it was sweet of you." "i'll stay outdoors and peace can gather the violets if she wishes, but i did not come down to the lodge at this hour to discuss violets. i never do anything early in the morning, as you know, unless it seems to me excessively important. i know those people appeared here yesterday afternoon, jacqueline ralston kent, to offer you the nomination for congress; they want you to become a congressman, or congresswoman. who ever heard of such a foolish title? now i wish to know precisely what answer you gave them. i would have walked down to the lodge last night with henry, except that both henry and jim colter insisted i should leave you alone and give you time to think the matter over for yourself before i spoke to you again." "but you haven't anything _different_ to say, have you, frieda, so why let us talk of it at all?" "to that i will agree only upon _one_ condition, jacqueline kent. you must promise me to refuse this nomination once and for all time and never so long as you live have anything to do with politics either in this country or in england." "that is rather a tall order, don't you think, frieda?" jack answered, purposely looking in another direction rather than toward her sister's face. frieda always would appear to her a grown up and glorified baby, so long, when they were little girls together, had she looked upon frieda almost more as a mother than as an older sister. "yet unless you do promise, jack, it can never be the same between us again. so please listen carefully before you reply. "i know at other times i have objected to small things that you wished to do and sometimes you went ahead and did them without regard to my feelings or my judgment and i never said anything much afterwards even if they did not turn out successfully. but this is a _big_ thing and a _different_ thing, and if you act against my wish i told henry last night i should never really forgive you, even if for the sake of appearances we pretended that things were the same. i have been much embarrassed recently at your becoming a prominent person in the neighborhood; of course i wished you to be prominent socially and to become a leader, like mrs. senator marshall. she would then be obliged to take second place, in spite of her husband's distinguished position. but the idea that you, my sister, could actually become interested in politics!" frieda pronounced the word as if it were a deadly poison. "why, it simply never dawned upon me, not for the longest time! when we went about to parties together after you had been in wyoming a year i began to hear people say laughingly that wyoming needed a young and charming woman to represent her in political life so that she should not fall behind the other states. so why were you not the person, as lady astor was in england? the cases were a little alike, you had married an englishman and had the title of lady kent, but after your husband's death had preferred to return to your own country, renounce your title and resume your american citizenship. you had gone through all the necessary legal formalities to attain that end, you were clever and good-looking and your actions had proved you were a thoroughly patriotic american. the fact that you said you did not belong to any party was perhaps best of all, as women needed to be independent in politics. they were the new voters and should not be slaves to parties as so many american men were. "this is as nearly as i can remember what was said about you, jack. there were other things, not so flattering, but i presume most persons would not like to mention them before me. however, i paid little attention at first, as i thought it was all just talk, because most people have so little to talk about really. even when you began making speeches about the things you wish to have accomplished in the state of wyoming (as if your opinion was of any value), why, i did not trouble specially! it all seemed so absurd! indeed, when you spoke to me a few days ago of what might occur and declared that the nomination for the congress of the united states might actually be given to you, though i said everything against it i could at the time, i did not really believe it. then yesterday afternoon actually it happened! but perhaps you refused to consider the suggestion, jack. indeed, i feel sure after what i have said to you and knowing jim colter's attitude, even if he has said but little, you must have refused. if so, i am sorry to have tired you by talking so much; i am sure i hate talking at any length unless i feel it my duty." "and you do feel it your duty this time, don't you, frieda?" jack answered, slipping her arm through her younger sister's. "still, having done your duty, don't you think that after all i may be allowed to use my own judgment in this decision? suppose i happen to think that life just now is offering me a great and surprising opportunity! it is surprising for me to have been chosen for this distinction; i feel this as keenly as any one of my family or friends, knowing my deficiencies, can feel it! now don't you think it's unfair to threaten me, frieda, to threaten in the one way which you know hurts most, the loss of any part of your affection, if i cannot make up my mind to do what you think best for me, not what i may think best for myself? i have never in all our lives, frieda, suggested that any act of yours could possibly make me care for you less." frieda's voice wavered a little. "yes, i know, jack, but then i would never do anything so rash and so foolish as what you contemplate. to see your name in the newspapers, to know that people are everywhere discussing your private affairs, making up disagreeable stories about you if they wish, for you know you are unconventional, jack, and sometimes do give people opportunities to misjudge you, well, i simply can't bear it. so come on, baby, let us go back home, i see we are in the way here. i apologize, jack, for wasting your time and mine. i had some socks of henry's i wished to darn, and i should have been much better employed, as i see you already have reached your decision. well, jack, i am sure something very unfortunate will come of any such decision; when you become a public character you will certainly never be the same person to me." frieda had slipped her hand inside her little girl's and was about to move away when jack's arms went round her and her gray eyes, filled with tears, gazed into frieda's implacable blue ones. "frieda, in spite of all your sweetness, don't you realize that you are rather hard sometimes? i wonder if life will ever teach you to be different?" frieda's eyes wavered an instant. "i see nothing to be gained by discussing my weaknesses of character. so long as i satisfy my husband and child i can manage without your good opinion, especially now i know that my interest and my wishes have not the slightest effect upon you." frieda walked resolutely away. several minutes after her departure jack continued standing in the same spot. frieda had opened her eyes. she had been thinking that she was still uncertain of her decision and now knew that unconsciously her mind was made up. she intended to accept the nomination which had been offered her and to do everything in her power honestly to win the election. returning to wyoming where she had lived as a child and young girl, she had confided to jim colter that she must look for some new and absorbing task to fill her life now that her married life was over. what this interest would be she had not then conceived. what it might be in the future was still uncertain. yet the next step lay straight ahead. never in all their lives had she and frieda had so serious a difference of opinion, and frieda's words and manner had hurt more than anything that had happened since her return to the security of her former home. she could only hope that frieda would relent, that professor russell would use his influence in her favor. nevertheless, although frequently led by frieda in small matters, on this occasion she had not been in the slightest degree affected. this was a big decision which she faced, a decision in which frieda had but scant right to interfere. of course she must allow for prejudice, certain suggestions which her sister had put forward had made her wince more than she cared to show. but over and against the small things was there not the one big opportunity that she might serve both her country and other women if she did not fail too completely in the work which might or might not lie ahead? then in a boyish fashion wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, jack laughed. "oh, frieda will probably forgive me if i make a success, never if i am a failure! people forgive nearly everything to success." "jimmie," she called a little later, running around the side of the lodge where her small son was engaged in playing with a magnificent st. bernard dog which had been a recent gift from jim colter, "won't you go up into the woods behind the rainbow creek with me and spend the day? we will take our lunch and i'll take my rifle. i don't believe there are many animals left in our woods these days, but there used to be years ago and at least we can play at being pioneers." but jack and jimmie were not to escape so easily. opening the gate which led from the front yard half an hour later, they came face to face with jean merritt and olive macdonnell. "trying to run away into your beloved outdoors in the usual fashion, jack?" olive said, smiling. "well, you may go after a while, but jean and i wish to talk to you first." "please don't," jack murmured, slipping a hand into the hand of the two other original rainbow ranch girls. "frieda has already reduced me to tears by overmuch conversation this morning. one could scarcely describe the conversation as argument, as i was allowed to say nothing. oh, i know, olive, that you and jean will not be so obdurate as frieda and will allow me a point of view on the subject, but just the same, spare me, because i have made up my mind, provided jim colter does not positively refuse his consent. i shall not go against jim's command, although i may against his wish. otherwise i mean to accept the nomination, poor, uneducated, inefficient, stupid female person that i am and ever must remain." "jack, you have _one_ member of your family who will stand by you whatever comes, as you have stood by me in the past year," jean merritt announced. "i have not said a great deal while the rest of the family has been doing so much talking and yet i believe i am glad of your decision. i know one is prejudiced against the idea, not so much of women in politics as of a young woman like you, jack, who is so beautiful and charming and sincere and one who happens to be so near one's own affections. i suppose disagreeable things will be said of you, yet i know of few women so brave and so straightforward, or better able to bear calumny. and i don't see why people think that marriage always protects a woman from unhappiness; it has not protected me." jean rarely spoke of her own sorrow and only in moments of the deepest emotion, so that olive and jack both flinched at the close of her little speech, and temporarily at least jack's problem took second place. in more than a year, since ralph merritt's departure to act as mining engineer in a gold mine in new mexico, no human being who had ever known him before had laid eyes upon him. in all the time since, no word had arrived of his mysterious disappearance from the mine, and no word had ever been received from him addressed either to jean or to any one of his family or friends. utterly and completely he had vanished. months had been spent by professor russell in investigating his whereabouts, every clue had been followed, yet from the moment ralph was known to have gone into his own tent to lie down until the present, no other news of him had been unearthed. "i still have faith that things will adjust themselves for you some day, jean, i don't know exactly why. i appreciate i have no possible evidence to support the idea, but i have always believed and do still believe that ralph will come back some day and be able to explain the mystery of his disappearance." jack gave jean's hand a tight squeeze. "jean, it does help a lot to have you say you will stand by me. i may be brave to-day, but to-morrow i shall probably turn coward. olive, what about you and bryan?" olive let go her friend's hand and did not answer for a moment. she was always quieter and more reserved in her manner than the other rainbow ranch girls. "bryan and i talked over your possible decision until after midnight, jack. bryan argued you would accept, i argued you would not. bryan seems to have known you best. he says you are made of the right material for what you are to undertake. yet he dreads it all for you as much as i do, the fatigue, the misunderstanding. it seems impossible to me, jack, as you must appreciate, and yet you and i are wholly unlike. but i believe you are the most courageous woman i have ever known, just as you were the most courageous girl. one thing bryan wanted me to say both for him and for me. he believes you will not care for the notoriety, not even for the fame, if it should come to you, but only for the opportunity. and he and i both want you to understand that we will do _everything_ in our power to help you, whatever course you may pursue. you see, dear, bryan insists i feel toward you like the old axiom, 'my country, right or wrong, but still my country.' however, i told him the old axiom was not only stupid but wrong. one's country must be right, and so must your choice be." "hero worship, or rather heroine worship," jean remonstrated. "olive had that same absurd attitude toward you as a girl, didn't she, jack? so small wonder you think you are a sufficiently important person to be nominated for the congress of the united states! but don't let us keep you any longer from your beloved woods. jimmie evidently does not know the poem about the small boy: 'who was never bad, but always good, who never wriggled, but always stood.' so good-by and a happy day." "you'll tell jim to come in to speak to me before he goes to bed," jack called back over her shoulder, as she and jimmie started off together. "i must send word in the morning what my decision is and so i must see jim first." after a day in the woods jack was undressing for bed, having decided that it was too late to expect jim colter, so she must try to get hold of him before he left home next morning, when she heard a familiar whistle. "i'll be down in a minute, jim," she called, thrusting her head out the open window. "will you come in? the door is open." "no, i'll wait out here," came the answer back. "don't dress, i shall only stay a moment. some business detained me." a little later, with her hair in two gold braids and holding a violet dressing gown close about her, jack faced the real test of the long day. "may i, or may i not, jim?" she demanded. jim colter shook his head. "you are a full grown woman, jacqueline kent, not a child, not even a very young girl. not that i remember having reached decisions for you even in those days." "which means i was always obstinate, jim." "always a bit obstinate, jack." "but i am not obstinate to-night, jim colter, and i won't if you say no." jim shook his iron-gray head. "i shall not say no, jack; you must decide as you think best." "and if i go wrong you'll help me meet the consequences, even though you would rather i chose the other way?" "so help me, yes, jack kent." "all right, jim, unless you forbid me, i have decided. if i am elected, and in ninety-nine chances in a hundred i won't be, do you suppose i will have to spend the greater part of my time away from the old ranch?" chapter xiii the campaign a few weeks later, had jacqueline kent been altogether outspoken, there were many hours when she would have confessed her regret at not having obeyed her sister frieda's command. one could hardly describe frieda's attitude otherwise. certainly jack had not been able to imagine the degree of excitement and controversy aroused by the simple fact that a comparatively unknown young woman had been nominated for membership in the congress of the united states. if it were in her power and the power of the men and women voters supporting her she intended to be elected. nevertheless, jack had not understood either the amount or the character of work that would be required of her personally to accomplish this result. in the past electioneering had appeared as a fairly amusing pastime. living in england, she had often seen englishwomen engaged in it. they had not at that time been electioneering for themselves, but for their husbands or brothers, fathers or friends. their method had been to drive about from one village to another talking to the village people and asking their support, or else stopping to argue or plead with the passers-by along the country roads. at big political meetings, which men and women attended together, speeches were made and questions put to the speakers. in the past jack had frequently accompanied her husband to these gatherings, where she had been greatly entertained. then she had been a spectator with no personal rôle to fill. now the situation was wholly changed. a curious fact, but in the united states, supposedly less conservative a country than england, the nomination of a woman for a high public office was creating a greater storm of protest and of indignation than had been aroused in england by the same act. true, jack was not the first woman chosen for this same office in a western state. but the fact that the number should increase, many persons in wyoming declared to be alarming. now when jack went to political gatherings, she found herself not only a center of attention and of controversy, but more often than not was compelled to make a speech. never regarding herself as a good speaker, and always frightened, she never learned to enjoy the opportunity. moreover, as frieda had warned her and as she had not fully appreciated, there was hardly an issue of the daily papers in which some information or misinformation concerning her personal history did not appear. at first jack refused to allow her photograph to be reproduced, insisting that people might wish to know what she thought and why she thought it, but certainly could have no interest in her appearance. yet this was so absurd a position, as her friends and acquaintances agreed, that jack was obliged to surrender. afterwards she was forced to see photographs of herself, or at least what claimed to be photographs, in papers and magazines throughout the entire country, so that if ever she had possessed any personal vanity jack considered that it would have been hopelessly lost. now and then she used to carry the newspapers containing her pictures to members of her family, asking them if it were really true that she looked as the pictures indicated? sometimes the family cruelly said the likeness was perfect and at others they were as annoyed as jack herself. but she really did not enjoy the political meetings as she had expected, or the notoriety, or the personal enmity oftentimes directed toward her. since the afternoon of her meeting with peter stevens by the rainbow creek he had declined to do more than bow to her in public. the reason jack did not fully comprehend. she had not intended to be frivolous or ungrateful concerning his proposal. she had not believed for a moment that he really cared for her. peter was a confirmed old bachelor and always freely expressed himself as disapproving of her from the afternoon of their first re-meeting after many years. at the time she had been engaged in an escapade which had annoyed peter stevens almost as much as her present one. peter had not resigned as her political opponent. the only remark he had made to jack which was at all friendly was to say to her one day when they were passing each other on the street in laramie, that the greatest kindness he could pay her was to defeat her in the present election. yet notwithstanding all the worry and the work, jack did not agree with him. she did not intend to be defeated. she meant to win, else why the struggle and the fatigue and, more often than she confessed, the heartache? frieda had never forgiven her. this jack had not at first believed possible, yet as the days passed frieda did not relent. instead she appeared more annoyed and more unyielding, continuing to insist jack was disgracing not alone herself but her family by running for a political office as if she were a man. in fact, had it not been for her little girl, jack feared that frieda would have declined speaking to her. but peace continued to adore her and frieda would do nothing to frighten or grieve the child. the year or more spent at the ranch for the sake of the little girl's health had not been successful. peace seemed to grow more ethereal, more fairylike with each passing day. she was like a spring flower, so fragile and delicate one feared the first harsh wind would destroy her. yet if she were at all seriously ill, it was jack she wanted, jack who seemed able to give a part of her vitality to the child, when frieda was oftentimes too frightened to be helpful. therefore during the spring and summer of jack's political campaign, if frieda was not entirely estranged from her sister, it was only because peace was occasionally ill and needed her. moreover, jack had to endure jim colter's regret. little as jack had known what experiences she would be forced to pass through in a political campaign, jim apparently had known even less. now, although he was not given to looking backward when no good could come of it, more than once he had been driven to confess to jack that he wished to heaven he had opposed her acceptance of the political nomination with every bit of influence he possessed. jack could see that it was agony to jim to hear her name and character discussed as it had to be discussed were she to win enough popularity to elect her to office. not that he talked to her upon the subject during the few evenings when they were at home and saw each other a short time alone. "you need a rest from the plagued thing, jack, and so do i. to think that i actually agreed to allow one of my little rainbow ranch girls to enter a campaign for office in washington, d. c!" if jim colter had been speaking of a much worse place his tone could not have been drearier. however, what worried jack even more was that jim insisted upon accompanying her wherever and whenever she was forced to attend any kind of political meeting. for this purpose he was neglecting his own work on the two ranches, and growing older and more haggard, chiefly, jack thought, through boredom and the effort to hold his temper. he did not always manage to keep his temper, however; on several occasions, although jim never reported the fact, he came to blows over remarks he overheard. when jack asked questions he simply declined to answer, and as jim colter was the one person in the world of whom jacqueline kent was afraid, she did not dare press the matter. naturally jack made enemies, as every human being does who enters political life, and she was unusually frank and outspoken with regard both to her principles and ideas. but there was one enemy she made whom both she and jim colter especially disliked and distrusted. he was a young man who had been employed as a private secretary by senator marshall and was helping to manage peter stevens' election to congress. senator marshall had made a friendly call upon jacqueline kent at the time of her nomination, protesting in a fatherly fashion against her permitting herself to be put up as a candidate. afterwards he declared he had the right to oppose her election in favor of peter stevens. this right jack never disputed. mrs. marshall led the opposition against jacqueline kent among the conservative women in wyoming. in fact, among her own family and her more intimate friends and acquaintances jack possessed only three staunch and always enthusiastic supporters, her own small son, jimmie kent, who accompanied her to most of the day-time political meetings, billy preston, the young kentucky mountaineer who after soldiering in france had decided to try his fate as a cowboy in wyoming, and john marshall, senator marshall's son. billy preston assured jack that he was making it his business to see that every cowboy in wyoming voted for her. john marshall declared that he proposed showing his father who had the greater influence in the state. he protested that his father had lost all chivalry by assisting a man when a woman was his opponent. if he would not descend to the tactics employed by alec robertson, his father's secretary and peter stevens' campaign manager, nevertheless, he was backing mrs. kent to win against all odds. "the boy is falling in love with jacqueline kent, i am afraid, my dear, as he has never showed the slightest interest in politics in his entire life until recently," senator marshall confided to his wife toward the latter part of the summer. "nonsense, mrs. kent is older than john, and is not an especially attractive woman!" and although senator marshall did not agree with his wife, he pretended to accept her opinion. chapter xiv in the thick of the fight "but i do think it would be wiser of you not to be present, not this afternoon. i could take a message saying you were not well." jack laughed. "yet the fact is i am perfectly well, john marshall, and besides i am not a coward, or at least if i am a coward there are other things of which i am more afraid." jacqueline kent and her neighbor, john marshall, were having an early luncheon on the front porch of the rainbow lodge upon a fairly warm day. jack, however, appeared to be dressed for a journey. she was wearing a seal brown tailored suit and a light chiffon blouse. her hat and gloves were lying on the railing of the veranda. "besides," she added lightly, "i do not believe anything uncomfortable will happen. the story has been spread abroad merely because i am a woman and am supposed to be easily frightened." as luncheon was over, with a little nod for permission, john marshall arose and began walking up and down the porch. "you may be right, of course, and yet i confess i feel nervous. it is nonsensical that so much excitement has been aroused by this campaign, makes one think perhaps we are less civilized than we thought we were! i myself believe there won't be any actual rumpus. but i would not be surprised if a few ruffians, hired for the occasion, do try to interrupt your speech by making a lot of noise. i must say i am surprised that peter stevens allows such tactics to be employed against an opponent, especially a girl who had been his friend." jack shook her head. "peter stevens says that the kindest thing he can do for me is to defeat me, and sometimes i think perhaps he is right. so from that viewpoint he does not consider it makes any difference what methods he uses. however, i am not so sure peter himself knows everything that is going on. he may or he may not. he does not come to the meetings of my supporters and friends and i suppose his manager, mr. robertson, does not tell him everything that takes place. but please do not confide to any member of my family, if you should see one of them before we leave, what you have just told to me. you probably won't see any one. they are too worn out and bored to pay attention these days to my goings out or my comings in. my sister scarcely speaks to me and the remainder of the family are busy with their own affairs. fortunately for me, mr. colter is away for several days on business. but to show you i really don't think there is going to be any disturbance this afternoon, i am going to take jimmie along with me to the meeting as usual. poor jimmie, he is dreadfully tired hearing me talk, and yet seems to have an instinctive feeling that he has to stay by and look after me. you have pretty much the same feeling, haven't you, and i want you to know i am extremely grateful," jack added. "i'll go now and find jimmie, as we ought to start in a few moments if we are to be on time." "very well," john marshall returned. "but if you don't mind i'll ride down to the ranch house first. i want to speak to billy preston. he telephoned i would find him at about lunch time." jack frowned for an instant and then nodded agreement. she guessed that her two young men friends were to discuss the self-same news that john marshall had just repeated to her. it seemed unnecessary, still she did not feel that she had the right to object. the word john marshall had brought was that an effort was to be made to break up the meeting at which she was to speak during the afternoon. the meeting was to occur in a fairly large sized village not far away in which she was supposed to have but few friends. the village was one of the manufacturing towns in the state, and her friends were among the ranchmen. but jack honestly did not believe any serious outbreak would occur. she was not always foolhardy, although this was occasionally one of her weaknesses of character; she simply thought this afternoon that an effort was being made to frighten her away. afterwards it would be easy to say that a woman candidate to an important political office who could be so easily frightened should hardly be entrusted with the service of the state. within half an hour, john marshall having returned, he and jack and jimmie and the chauffeur were motoring toward the desired destination. "billy preston will be at the meeting with a few of the cowboys from the rainbow ranch and from a few of the other ranches in this neighborhood, so if there _is_ trouble there will be some people on _our_ side," john marshall insisted with boyish satisfaction when the car had taken them several miles from the lodge. "what?" jack clutched her companion's sleeve for an instant, her voice and manner for the first time revealing alarm. "you don't mean you and billy preston have actually made arrangements for a difficulty. i did not think there could be one simply because an effort might be made to make me stop talking. i can do that readily enough and i intend to stop if any trouble begins. now i think i had better give up after all and go back home. john, you were foolish." "you can't go back now, it is too late," the young man argued. "the crowd will already have started to the meeting and if you don't turn up and they are disappointed it may lose you heaps of votes. and it is going to be pretty close if you do win. everybody says it depends upon your personality and good sense and your magnetism. you have got to win people over and to make them forget the prejudice against you. you have got to show them that you have been studying this whole question of government and really know a thing or two. funny to be calling yourself an 'independent' and belonging to no old-time political party. i don't know whether the idea is a good one or a bad one. but don't be worried about billy preston and his little party. there won't be more than a dozen in all and billy has promised they won't make as much noise as a whisper if things go well and the game is a straight one." shaking her head, jack glanced nervously at jimmie. "but suppose they don't go well? i shan't even begin to make a speech, john marshall, until you promise me on your word of honor that you will see billy preston and tell him from me that he and my other friends are to say nothing and do nothing, whatever takes place. if there is any difficulty jimmie and i will quietly come out and climb into our car and start back to the ranch. and if my speech is no better than they usually are, i cannot feel that the audience will be deeply disappointed." "very well, i promise," the young man answered. the frame building where she was to speak, a rough one-story shack, sometimes employed for revivals, was larger than any hall in which jacqueline kent had ever attempted talking before. as she stepped up on the platform she found that her audience was also larger than the ones to which she had tried to grow accustomed in these last few months. but the people were quietly seated and there appeared no unusual excitement or confusion. gratefully jack observed that the larger number were women. the men were at the back toward the rear of the hall. there were to be no other speakers during the afternoon, so as soon as she had been introduced jack began her speech. from the beginning she was fearful that she was going to interest this audience even less than she believed she interested most audiences. and in her heart of hearts jack was always puzzled why anyone should be influenced by what she had to say. [illustration: not a bouquet of flowers, but of ugly, evil-smelling weeds and tied with a rag instead of a ribbon] her causes were to increase the size and number of the ranches in wyoming, increase the number of the livestock, and bring the producers of food and the consumers closer together. she frankly stated at all times that she was not interested in politics. she simply wanted the chance to make human beings happier by giving them the kind of government they desired and ought to have. "i am afraid you will have some difficulty in hearing me," jack stated, "but that need not trouble you as much as it does me, because after all you will not have lost a great deal. there are a good many reasons why it is harder for a woman to be a candidate for an office than a man, and i suppose having to make speeches is one of the hardest." "louder!" some one shouted at the back of the building. jack tried again. "louder!" the voice repeated. "how do you think you are going to make yourself heard in washington if you can't be heard here?" the joke was at her expense and jack laughed good-naturedly. "ain't going to make any difference, she ain't never going to get there," another man shouted. "perhaps not, but i am going _to try_," jack answered, still with entire good nature. but she flinched unconsciously at this instant and stepped backward. a large bouquet had been thrown directly at her, not a bouquet of flowers, but of ugly, evil-smelling weeds and tied with a rag instead of a ribbon. as it fell several feet away from her, jack soon continued her speech as if she had not noticed what had occurred. "shame! put him out!" some one interrupted. "please don't. it is not important," jack replied. yet if her manner failed to reveal the fact, she was nervous. by turning her head she could see jimmie seated upon the platform beside the principal of the public school, who had just introduced her to the audience. jimmie had jumped up indignantly when the bunch of weeds fell beside her, but had been persuaded to sit down again. the persons in the rear of the building were undoubtedly becoming noisier. jack flushed so hotly that the tears came into her eyes and her cheeks were flaming. never had she been treated with anything like this discourtesy before. evidently she was not to be allowed to make a speech, scarcely to begin one. swiftly jack thought of jim colter, of his anger and disgust should he behold her in such a plight. she had not expected this nor anything like it. there was scuffling now in the rear of the building, as well as shouting among her audience. jack suffered a feminine desire to weep over the unkindness and the humiliation of her present situation, yet she was not in the least afraid. at no time in her life was jack ever a physical coward. the uproar continued, growing greater. women were crying out in terror. yet jack kent stood her ground. quietly, as if nothing were happening and in spite of her humiliation, knowing that no one could hear, she went on with her speech. jimmie had come and was now standing beside her, holding tightly to her hand. "it's a shame! she is so young and pretty and is not half the coward any man is who doesn't give her a fair show!" a woman shouted in a voice which chanced to be heard. the next moment jack felt a hand placed on her elbow. "please come away. it is as i feared; they don't mean to hear you," john marshall urged. jack shook her head. "no, i'll stay till i finish." it was an autumn afternoon and unexpectedly a storm had broken. outside were flashes of lightning and the rain beating against the small windows. in the building some one suddenly switched off the electric lights, and before they were switched on again there was an uproar that was deafening. "for jimmie's sake you must get away," john marshall insisted. "very well, for jimmie's sake i do give up," jack returned, "but for goodness' sake don't think either of us is afraid." drawing back from her companions jack again went to the edge of the platform. "you won't listen to me this afternoon, and i don't want to make anybody uncomfortable or frightened by going on with my speech in the midst of so much noise, nevertheless i am coming back some other afternoon to try again, so good-by to my friends, and i trust my enemies may have better manners next time." there was a little burst of applause from the spectators who could hear, and immediately after jack, jimmie and john marshall slipped away. the car was waiting at the back of the building with the starter already in action. before jack was able to realize exactly what was taking place she was several miles on the journey home toward the rainbow ranch. "do you suppose things quieted down as soon as i disappeared?" jack inquired. "you were right, i should not have gone. i wish i were not one of the most hard-headed people in the world. after all, i don't suppose women do belong in political life. i hope there may not be any serious trouble over me." "but you were awfully game, mrs. kent," john marshall replied, "and i'm not so sure women don't belong in politics to keep things like this afternoon's proceedings from happening." it was not six o'clock when jack and her companions arrived safely at the rainbow lodge. john marshall had too much good sense to come in, in answer to jack's invitation. personally, as soon as she got indoors jack felt she never had been so tired in her life. after undressing and putting on a house dress she lay down in the hammock and remained there, eating her dinner on a small table with jimmie seated beside her. when jimmie had gone to bed, still she did not stir. at about eight o'clock, however, she arose and picked up a white crêpe shawl, winding it about her, as it was growing cooler. she intended walking over to the big house before she finally went to bed. no member of her family had been near her all day and it was strange that she had seen and heard nothing of olive or jean. frieda never came down to the rainbow lodge any more unless she were obliged to come. yet the family must know of her intended speech that afternoon, although they discussed her affairs as little as possible. at least she could hope they would never hear of the scene that afternoon in which she had been obliged to appear as a central figure. especially she hoped jim colter would never hear. in fact, jack wanted to see her family before trying to sleep that night. she believed she was still both too excited and too tired to sleep for several hours. moreover, she wanted to find out if jim had returned home and if not when he might be expected. she must see billy preston the first thing in the morning and beg him to use his influence with the other cowboys never to mention to jim what had occurred during the afternoon. chapter xv consequences jack found the veranda of the big house deserted, which was most unusual at this hour of the evening. only a dim light was burning in the drawing-room. but the front door was open and she walked in without knocking or calling. undoubtedly there was a subdued atmosphere about the place. not yet half-past eight, so surely not all the family could be in bed. at this hour one could at least count upon finding the two oldest of the four new rainbow ranch girls, lina and jeannette. lina was extremely studious and given to doing a great deal of reading at odd hours. she bore no resemblance to the oldest of the four original ranch girls, but was like her mother. ordinarily one could find her in the library at this time, when she could count upon being fairly undisturbed. jack went from the drawing-room to the library on the left side of the house. if not lina, professor russell might be discovered there. he and jim colter's oldest daughter had developed a shy friendship from the fact that they often remained together in the big room reading for hours without speaking or disturbing each other. but to-night there was not even a dim light in the library. at the foot of the stairs jack waited, puzzled and frowning for an instant. then she called softly, "jean, jean, what has become of everybody? certainly you cannot all be asleep!" as no answer followed, jack started up the stairs. after having gone a few steps she called a second time. instead of jean, however, frieda appeared. "please don't make any noise," she admonished, "peace is ill." jack ran up swiftly to where her sister was standing. "how long has she been ill and why haven't you let me know?" with a slight gesture of nervous irritability the younger of the two sisters drew away. "since yesterday, but not seriously so until to-day." "then why didn't you let me hear this morning? no member of my family has been near me all day. do the others know?" frieda nodded. "yes, but i thought it best not to disturb _you_ with the news. you are fond of peace, i suppose, even if you do prefer a public career to the affection of your family. i knew, of course, that you were going somewhere this afternoon to address an audience and i thought you would wish not to have anything interfere even mentally with your speech." "i see," jack answered, with her usual gentleness and good temper. she was wounded, but frieda's attitude toward her had been like this for some time, and to-night, when she appreciated that her sister was especially troubled, was scarcely the moment to refer to their differences. "of course i should have preferred to know. is peace very ill?" frieda shook her head. "no, not at present, but i am uneasy and we have sent for a nurse." "won't you let some of the other little girls come down to the lodge and stay with me?" a second time frieda shook her head. "no, they have gone to olive. jean has gone with them. you know olive and captain macdonnell have an extra sleeping tent and i thought it best you should not be annoyed by them either." this time jack was unable wholly to restrain herself. "why should i have been annoyed, frieda? i am not so impossible a person, am i? and the work i have been trying to do lately, even if you do disapprove of it, has not turned me into an ogre. but i won't worry you to-night, although i do believe, frieda, you really intend to be unkind. has jim come back? i have not seen him for several days and if he is at home and not busy i thought perhaps he would walk back to the lodge with me." never in her life from the time she was a small girl had frieda accepted reproof in an humble spirit, except under a few and very exceptional circumstances. the truth was that she had been spoiled all her days, first because she was the youngest of the four rainbow ranch girls, her mother having died when she was little more than a baby, and later by her husband, who was a good deal her senior. now in spite of her sister's long self-restraint, frieda showed resentment. "it is your own fault and your own choice, jack, that you no longer seem one of us as you did in the past. you can't have everything, you know, be a public character and a----" "and a human being? i think you are mistaken, dear. i am very far from being a 'public character' as you express it, and i don't like the expression. yet it seems to me that the celebrated women i have read about or known have been rather more human than most people, and not in the least anxious to be discarded by their families because they have found other things to occupy them outside of domestic life. i'll see you in the morning. is jim in his room, or has he gone with jean and the little girls?" frieda frowned. "jim has not come back and that is another thing that is worrying us, although not a great deal. he wrote to say that he would return home this afternoon before dinner and we waited dinner for him an hour. but no word and no jim. i suppose it is foolish to be uneasy, but jim so rarely breaks his word even in the smallest matters, and he might have telephoned. it would not be pleasant to have jim disappear as ralph merritt has, would it? it is funny, but now we are grown up, we seem to depend upon jim as our guardian as much as we ever did. i don't see how we could get on without him." frieda ended her remarks without any special significance; nevertheless, her last few words continued to repeat themselves in jacqueline kent's mind during her walk back to the lodge. the storm of the afternoon had passed over and it was turning a good deal colder. jack was not ordinarily impressionable and yet it seemed to her that to-night the sky possessed a peculiar hard brilliance, as if the mood of the outside world and the persons she loved were both harsh and unsympathetic. even jean and olive had not been near her in twenty-four hours, and if they should pretend they were trying to spare her, she knew that in former times they would not have wished to keep her shut out either from their happiness or sorrow. jim colter would be different. never at any moment in her life could jack recall that he had been either harsh or unsympathetic, although stern he might be and had been when he thought it necessary. how infinitely kind he had been concerning this latest adventure of hers, regardless of his own disapproval. about her difficulty of the afternoon he must never hear if she could keep the news from him. yet of course if he had to know, jack felt she would prefer to describe the situation herself, making as light of it as possible. all of her family and friends would be angry should they learn of it, even if some of them believed she deserved what she had received. but jim would take the matter far more to heart. how stupid of frieda to talk of their ever having to get on without jim colter's guardianship! in any case it could not mean so much to frieda, who had her devoted if eccentric husband always at her service. besides, frieda and jim had never been devoted friends. jim had cared for frieda, of course, as her guardian and for jean and olive, but the other rainbow ranch girls had never shared his interests and tastes as she had done. jack drew her shawl more closely about her and started to run toward home. she was feeling uncommonly forlorn and depressed. yet surely the day had been a sufficiently trying one to depress almost any human being! the following morning jacqueline was in the act of dressing when she heard jean's voice calling her from below. "jack, hurry, will you, and come up to the big house. peace is ever so much worse and the news has just reached us that jim was hurt yesterday afternoon. no one understands exactly what has happened. billy preston telephoned, saying he was with jim and would remain with him. we are not to go to him for the present. i answered the telephone myself and tried my best to find out how badly jim was hurt. billy says he was not run over and had not had a fall, only there had been some kind of an accident. he would not say what kind and i guessed by his voice that he was not telling all the truth." "i'll be with you in half a moment if you'll wait for me, jean," responded jack. a little later she joined jean. "i wonder if you can tell me the name of the town where jim was hurt yesterday?" she asked. "surely billy preston told you as much as that! i must go to him of course." the name of the town was what she had expected to be told. it was the village where she had attempted making a speech the afternoon before and been interrupted. jim must have known of her plans and also learned of what might take place. how like him to have gone quietly to her protection without letting her hear of his presence! yet in what way had he been hurt and how serious was his injury? whatever other consequences she might hope to escape, for jim's hurt she was entirely responsible. whatever frieda might say of her selfish interest in her own future, of her desire for a career outside her own home and family, she would never be able to deny that jim colter had suffered because of her. "will you see that a car is ready for me immediately, please, jean. i won't come back to the lodge. jim will want me if anyone and i have the first right to go to him, because i am responsible." jean was scarcely listening. "you won't be able to leave just now, jack. after all frieda's antagonism toward you she has been begging to have you come to her since dawn. you seem to be the only person she wants." jean nodded. "there is only one hope. the doctor means to try a transfusion of blood. i don't know from whom. we have all offered." "oh, jean," jack's voice shook, "i am the one person who will be best. i am stronger than any one else and peace has always responded to my vitality. yet if i am chosen i can't go to jim." "the choice is pretty hard, jack. if you can not go olive and captain macdonnell and i will. and some one will come back with the news as soon as possible. yet you may not be the one." however, as jean merritt looked at her cousin she had little doubt. in spite of the fatigue and chagrin of the day before, even of her anxious night, jack walked with the swinging grace of perfect health and poise. at this moment of dreadful double anxiety, harder upon her than any one save frieda, she was for the time when the need was greatest, perfectly self-controlled. no one had ever seen jack break down until the moment for action had passed. "it is because i have been so unkind to you, jack darling, _this_ is my punishment," frieda confessed brokenly, meeting her sister outside peace's door. "but i have wanted to make up more times than you can dream, only i am so dreadfully spoiled and do so hate to give in, and i have despised your running for a public office chiefly i suppose because i realized it would separate us. peace won't know you." two hours later frieda and jack were in frieda's bedroom, jack undressed and in a loose white wrapper, her hair braided in two heavy braids. "now you must not be a goose, frieda, dear," she expostulated. "i am not in the least danger from the blood transfusion, as the doctor has just told you. i may be laid up for a little while afterwards, perhaps not long. and there are many chances that peace will get better at once. you know how glad i am of the opportunity to help. what is the use of being a healthy person if one cannot be useful." "but, jack, you may be more exhausted than you dream. you may be forced to give up your political work for several weeks. and henry said only yesterday that these were the most important weeks of all, if you are to be elected. at the very last people will probably have made up their minds one way or the other." "oh, well, perhaps the question of my election is not so important to me as you may think, frieda. in any case it does not count the tiniest little bit in comparison with either you or peace, now that you actually need me. when i accepted the nomination for congress i did not know that anybody needed me especially except jimmie. i thought perhaps i was freer than most women." jack was talking to distract frieda, who had not been told of jim colter's injury and so did not realize the extent of the sacrifice her sister was making. chapter xvi the election "when do you think we will hear, jack?" "toward late evening, jim. at least i was told that at about eight o'clock a fairly good guess could be made. but suppose we don't talk of it. let me read to you." jim colter, who was lying on a couch in a large sunny, empty room moved a little impatiently. "if you lose the election, jack, it will be because of the demands we have all made upon you in these last weeks. you had nothing much to go upon but your personality, your chance of pleasing people and convincing them of your sincerity, and here you have been shut up at the rainbow ranch for weeks. it has not been in the least necessary for you to take care of me, any one of the girls could have looked after me equally well. you are not a born nurse, jack, as the saying goes. so when you recovered and i was safe at home you should have gone on with your election campaign." "really, jim, 'ingratitude, more fierce than traitors' arms, quite vanquished him,' or her, in this case. if i'm not a 'born nurse' you don't dare say that of late i have not become a cultivated one. moreover, if the other girls could have taken equally good care of you, please remember that they have been doing their share, they and every member of this household! do you suppose a man can continue in perfect health for as many years as you have and then in case of illness not require a regiment of nurses to look after him? but confess, if i am not a good nurse, you can growl more successfully at me than at any one else." "am i growling, jack? perhaps i do pretty often, but at present it is because i regret so deeply that you have to devote yourself first to frieda and peace and afterwards to me, when you have needed all your time and energy for your political work. if you are defeated i shall always feel responsible." "vain of you, don't you think?" jack answered. "besides, jim colter, you are well enough now for us to talk of something that i have been thinking of for a long time. never have you confessed to me or to any one else, so far as i know, how in the world you happened to be so seriously hurt. in the first place, what brought you to town on that especial afternoon when you were supposed to be miles away attending to some business connected with the ranch? then arriving there, how did you manage to get into the midst of a rough-and-tumble fight? billy preston did tell me this much. but i presume you must have ordered him to keep quiet, else he would not have been so non-committal." jim colter stared at the opposite wall rather than toward the figure of the girl sitting near him, or through either of the two large windows with wide outlooks over the rainbow ranch. it was mid-afternoon of an early autumn day with a faint haze in the air, unusual in the prairie country. "i don't believe i feel equal to talking, jack, not just at present, or for any length of time," he answered a trifle uneasily. "perhaps i'd better try to sleep." "very well," jacqueline kent agreed, smiling and at the same time with a serious expression in her eyes. "but, jim, when you wake you might as well decide to tell me the truth. don't you suppose i have guessed the greater part of it?" there was a silence for some time in the big room, jim colter closing his eyes, jack staring out the window at the familiar scenes she loved. by and by, when he did not believe she was aware of what he was doing, jim opened his eyes and stared at his companion's profile. jack looked more fatigued than he often remembered to have seen her; she had less color, less her old suggestion of vitality. there were circles under her eyes, little hollows in her cheeks. yet she did not look ill and one could scarcely marvel at the change in her after the past trying months, first the strain of her effort at electioneering on her own behalf, and more recently the tax which he and frieda's little girl had put upon her. if she were elected to congress would she ever be the old-time jack again? jim colter had to suppress a sigh of dissatisfaction over the thought, which may have sounded more like a groan. to think of jack with her youth and charm shut up within the legislative halls in washington was not only an absurdity, but something far worse! well, of course if caught by a wave of enthusiasm and desire for change, jack should be elected to the united states congress he must arrange to spend part of the year with her. the two older of the new little ranch girls must go to school and jean merritt would look after the others. the rainbow ranch and his own adjoining ranch would have to be turned over to one of his assistants, since jack would need him more than any other person or any other thing. then jim colter closed his eyes. would she actually need him more, or was it because he cared more for her need than for any possible human demand that could be made upon him? always he had been tremendously fond of jack, unhesitatingly more fond of her than of the other three ranch girls in her gallant but wilful girlhood. now, since his own loss and hers, and since jack's return to the rainbow ranch, surely there was no point in denying to himself that the affection which held him to her was stronger than ever, stronger than any other emotion in his life. "jim, you are not asleep, you are only pretending," jack said suddenly. "now tell me, didn't you go over to the village on the day you were hurt because you heard i was to make a speech and there might be trouble? and didn't you arrive so late you felt it best not to tell me to go home, because i had already started to speak? and after the rumpus began and jimmie and i were safely on the way home didn't you try to find out who was responsible for the discourtesy to me? afterwards what happened, jim? "jack, i suppose i forgot a good many things i should have remembered, first and foremost that i did not wish you made conspicuous and that i was older than i used to be, and that i ought by this time to have learned to control my temper." "yes, but billy preston declares that when he arrived you seemed to have half a dozen persons against you and that you were managing pretty well. it was disgraceful of you, jim; you who have been preaching for as many years as i can remember that there was to be no fighting on the rainbow ranch for any cause whatsoever and that no excuse would be accepted by you as a justifiable one. what influence do you suppose your sermons will now have among the cowboys? as for making me conspicuous, it seems rather a funny thing that neither you nor i recognized that running for a public office is apt to make one conspicuous. one can hardly vote for a person one has never heard of." jim sighed. "yes, you are right, jack, but it is too late now to discuss this side of the situation. if you are elected it won't be any better; sure to be worse, in fact. i suppose you realize that if you live in washington the greater part of the year, you'll have to bear with my society most of the time." jacqueline kent bit her lip for an instant and then shook her head. "good of you to suggest it, jim, but out of the question of course. jimmie and i'll have to manage somehow, trusting members of the family will visit us now and then to see how we are getting on. but as for you, you are too much needed here at the ranch, besides having to look after the new little ranch girls. i could never accept the sacrifice." "yes? but i don't see how you are going to prevent it, jack," jim answered abruptly and in a tone jack had never contradicted in her life. always jim colter had been the one person whose will was stronger than her own, even in the important matters in which she always felt she had the better right to judge. "oh, well, we won't quarrel on the subject yet, jim, because of course there are ninety-nine chances to one that i won't be elected. i must go now and dress for dinner. here comes professor russell to sit with you. i'll come back later if i hear the returns to-night." a little after eight o'clock on this same evening, a group of jacqueline kent's friends, her own family, and jacqueline herself, were standing talking together in the drawing-room of the big house; occasionally one or two of them disappeared to come back with the latest news of the election returns. earlier in the afternoon the reports from the neighborhood districts had given a majority to the feminine candidate. later, when the counting began to take place in the cities, there appeared a change in the results, with peter stevens leading. then jacqueline kent's victory seemed assured by a sudden spurt in the figures giving her an important lead throughout the western portion of the state. "do you think we will know to-night without doubt?" frieda russell inquired of john marshall, who had driven over and had dinner with his friends at the rainbow ranch. "one cannot be positive in any election until the next day, mrs. russell," he assured frieda, "but i think between ten o'clock and midnight we can be pretty positive, at least that is the view my father takes, and he has been in politics nearly as long as i can remember. he told me to tell 'jack' as he calls her, that he congratulates her whatever occurs, whether she is defeated or elected." "well, i don't know what to hope," frieda murmured. "for months i have been praying jack would _not_ win, and now to-night i feel i may hate it if she is not elected. you know i shall also feel responsible in a way since so many of jack's friends insist that her taking no part in the campaign during the last weeks has made such a difference." "oh, that could not be helped! and sometimes i think, though i have done my best to help mrs. kent win, that she is too young and that an older and perhaps a different kind of woman might be more suitable. see, even after all she has been through, she looks like a young girl to-night. i don't believe she cares very much." frieda glanced toward her sister, who was standing before the drawing-room fire laughing and talking to several friends and appearing less perturbed than she herself felt. jack was paler than usual and there were circles under her eyes which frieda knew were uncommon, notwithstanding her eyes and lips were both smiling. she wore a white serge dress trimmed with silver braid, her hair was slightly parted on one side and coiled low on her neck. "one cannot always tell how jack feels, she is braver than most persons. frankly, i don't know any more than you do how much she is interested in winning. i do think she scarcely realized what it meant when she was originally nominated. it isn't like jack to turn back once she has started, although i believe she did find the publicity harder to bear than she anticipated. you see, an older person, or one who had had more experience in political life, would have understood, but jack has lived in england for the past years. on her return home it appeared a wonderful experience to play some part in american politics, as the women are beginning to do in england. i don't think jack realized she might not be fitted for a political career when other people began urging her forward." john marshall laughed. "no, i don't feel she is unsuited to a great career, but it was of her personally i was thinking. if you'll excuse me for a few moments i will go to the telephone again. it is growing late and my father has promised to telephone me from headquarters at a little before ten o'clock. even if he has been working for peter stevens because he wants a man to be elected rather than a woman, we can count on his figures being accurate." john marshall disappeared. a quarter of an hour passed and he did not return. in the meantime three or four other persons went away to join him. the clock on the mantel was striking half-past ten when jack herself heard the noise of a horse galloping toward the house. it was she who walked quietly to an already open window and stretched forth her hand to receive the telegram. "this telegram comes from cheyenne, i suppose it will be official and we shall know the best or the worst," she announced. then opening it she read aloud: "victory conceded to peter stevens. better luck next time." afterwards, in the brief silence which followed, frieda russell burst into tears. "but, frieda," jack expostulated, slipping an arm about her sister and smiling as she faced the group of people gazing directly at her, "i thought you wanted me to be defeated. you have never wished for anything else." she turned to the others. "i can only say that i am deeply grateful for everybody's kindness, yet the voters of wyoming probably have acted wisely. all women may not need longer preparation before holding public office, but i am afraid i do. now if you will pardon me, i confess i am tired and would like to say good-night." running swiftly upstairs, jacqueline kent paused for an instant outside her former guardian's door. she had been staying in the big house during his illness. "is that you, jack?" a voice asked instantly. "well, what is the news?" "i was defeated, jim. peter stevens is the next congressman from wyoming." "well, jack, i'd hate to tell you how glad i am. are you very deeply disappointed?" "no, jim, i am not. i believe i feel relieved. but please don't tell other people. good-night." chapter xvii the heart's desire "mrs. kent, there is some one down at the ranch house inquiring either for you or for jim colter. he will not give his name. since you do not wish mr. colter to be disturbed i thought it best to bring the message to you. the man looks as if he had been ill for some time and his clothes are pretty shabby, but otherwise he seems all right." the man who was speaking was one of the new ranchmen on the rainbow ranch whom jacqueline kent had lately employed. as jim colter had not recovered from his injury so rapidly as might have been expected, jack had taken upon herself the entire management of the rainbow ranch and was assisting with the management of the adjoining place, which belonged to jim colter. "yes, thank you, i am glad you came to me; i'll ride down to the ranch house as soon as i can get away. i have some things that must be attended to first. you'll see that the man is properly cared for until i can get there." "yes." smiling after he had turned his back, the ranchman rode away. it suddenly had struck him that mrs. kent looked absurdly young for the responsibilities of her present position, but that they did not seem to trouble her in the least, in fact she appeared to enjoy them. moreover, she was extremely popular with all he employees on the place, who would do a good deal to win her thanks. this morning jack's costume was an extremely businesslike one, a dark brown corduroy riding habit with a short skirt and trousers and a fairly long coat. it was a cold morning in early december. she had not yet put on her hat and gloves, as she was waiting to consult with a neighboring ranchman in regard to the purchase of a thousand head of cattle. jimmie had gone off to school an hour earlier with the four little new ranch girls and jean's two daughters. these daily excursions to school were an annoyance to jimmie and he would have preferred to have walked or ridden his pony instead of being driven in the family motor car with so many girls. however, as the school was five or six miles from the rainbow ranch, this appeared one of the crosses he was forced to endure. half an hour later, following a talk with her neighbor, jacqueline kent was on her way to the ranch house. a busy day lay ahead of her. first of all she had agreed to buy the cattle for the rainbow ranch at the price offered, subject to jim colter's approval. but as jim rarely interfered with her recent control of the ranch she did not expect him to object to her latest venture. in the afternoon, escorted by billy preston, whom she had promoted to being one of her chief assistants, she intended riding over to look at the cattle. in the meantime, beside her housekeeping, which was already finished for the day, she had to look at some fencing that needed repairing, consult with a veterinary surgeon concerning an injury to one of the finest mares on the ranch, and hear reports from several ranchmen who had charge of details of the work upon the place. nevertheless, jack felt extremely fit and not in the least perturbed by the number of her duties, as this was the character of outdoor life she had always loved and been trained to since her childhood. the question of the man who was waiting to see her at the ranch house did not particularly absorb her attention. frequently of late men had wished to see her either to ask for employment on the rainbow ranch or to discuss projects for new agricultural schemes to raise grains in greater abundance by a more scientific development of the soil. moreover, there were always persons who insisted that the rainbow gold mine could be made to yield a fresh output of gold by the application of new methods in mining. but at least jack had nothing to do with the rainbow mine, always referring any such enthusiasts to her scientific brother-in-law, professor russell, now that jim colter was taking a temporary rest from the affairs of the place, the first he had ever taken for as long as jack had known him. billy preston was standing on the front porch of the ranch house in spite of the coldness of the day and as jack rode up he came forward to help her dismount. "the fellow waiting to see you is rather a queer looking beggar, so i thought i'd hang round till you'd had a talk with him," billy grinned boyishly. "we don't want another of the rainbow ranch managers knocked out in a fight at present." "but i was knocked out in a fight, a big one, billy preston, by failing to be elected, and you have all been awfully good not to reproach me after taking such a lot of trouble in my behalf." "oh, but we cowboys are glad you lost, though as long as we thought you wanted to win the boys on the rainbow ranch and a good many other ranches were for you to the last man. no one of us really liked the idea of your either being elected or being licked. but now it can't be helped, it's kind of pleasanter to think of you just trying to run the old ranch." "trying, billy? but i thought i _was_ running it," jack returned, "although i suppose you realize the men are still doing the work and trying to humor me at the same time. well, it is kind of you and it is fun. now show me my man and stand outside, billy, to see nothing happens. but please remember you are an assistant ranch manager these days and hide that dreadful kentucky mountain pistol." inside the ranch house living-room, a crude enough place but bright and comfortable, there was a fire burning in the fireplace and a man sitting slumped before it in such a position that jack upon entering the room could not see his face. he heard her, however, and got up and stumbled forward with both hands outstretched. "ralph merritt, but we thought you were lost forever, thought you were--" jack hesitated and stopped an instant. "why, we have sought for you all over the united states in every possible place and in every possible fashion! but you have been ill. do sit down, you can't know how glad i am to see you. don't try to talk to me, let us go first to jean. it is cruel to keep her in ignorance another moment." ralph merritt shook his head. "no, jack, i want to talk to _you_ first. i am glad it is you rather than jim colter. then you can tell me what i should do next. i have been ill and in a strange way and so perhaps i need advice more than one usually does. i will sit down, if you don't mind and you'll be seated." it was one of jacqueline kent's good qualities that she did not talk when talking was unnecessary. now she dropped into the nearest chair, opened her coat and took off her hat and gloves. "try and tell me from the beginning if you can remember, ralph. we have heard nothing of you or from you since the news that you appeared to have been slightly hurt at the mine in new mexico and then disappeared." ralph merritt nodded. "i will try to tell as much as i can remember although it is remarkably little. i remember the fall at the mine and also that i did not seem to have been much hurt, only bruised and shaken up a bit and that my head ached a good deal from a blow i had received. i recall going into my own tent a little after dusk and lying down because my head ached. then, you may not believe me, yet the truth is, i know of nothing else that has taken place in my life for over a year, nothing until a few months ago." "yes, go on," jack answered. "the blow on your head occasioned a loss of memory?" "a complete loss of memory. how i ever got my living in the meantime, whether i worked or whether i was cared for through other people's kindness i am not sure, except that i did work on a farm for a time and probably worked on others. i know this from some one who befriended me and partly guessed what my trouble was. through this friend i was taken to a hospital and an operation performed and my memory partially restored. i now remember perfectly everything that took place before my injury, but nothing in the interval between then and now." "but that is not important, ralph dear; perhaps it is better not to be able to recall what must have been days of suffering. the wonderful thing is now that you are alive and at home again, and with jean and the little girls well and waiting for you." ralph merritt shook his head. "i am afraid returning in the plight i am in at present will not be a pleasant surprise for jean. remember i told you, jack, that i would not come back until i had earned money enough to make jean happier. i told her the same story. and i haven't the money, in fact i haven't even the chance of making it until i am stronger. so i want you to tell jean for me that i am alive and care for her and the little girls as much as i ever did, and have not yet given up hope of accomplishing what she has a right to expect of me. then if you'll tell me about the family i'll be off again. i'll write jean, but i thought it might be best that you speak to her and explain what has occurred first." "i will do no such thing, ralph merritt," jack returned more sharply than she was in the habit of speaking. "you'll see and talk to jean yourself in a quarter of an hour. don't you think jean has had a long enough period of agony and suspense? the desire of her heart is to know you are alive. she asks for nothing else, has asked for nothing else all along. i do wish men were not so stupid. you always believe the wrong things girls and women say. jean did care for wealth and position, most people do, but that is no reason to think that she did not always care more for you than anything or anybody else. i'll ride up to the big house this instant and try to prepare jean a little for seeing you. but right away you are to follow me. if you are strong enough to ride horseback billy preston will saddle a horse and ride up with you." jack was already up and half way to the door. "don't be long. jean already has been waiting a long time, and i shall tell her nothing except that you are here." "all right, jack," ralph merritt answered and squared his shoulders, appearing fifty per cent more like his former self than before jack had spoken. at eight o'clock that night jacqueline kent was walking up and down the front porch of the rainbow lodge alone. there was a light snow falling outside and she had slipped on a fur coat, but her head was uncovered. at a little distance away she heard a familiar whistle. "do hurry, jim, i can't wait any longer," she called out. "you promised to come over immediately after dinner." "yes, and i'm here," jim returned, "dinner has not been over ten minutes at the big house, and please remember i am a semi-invalid and cannot walk with white hot speed. i can only report, 'all is well.' jean and ralph both appear extraordinarily happy and ralph merritt does not look so ill, not half so badly off as i do. i won't have the honor of being the family invalid taken from me. he and jean expressed themselves as being disappointed at your not coming up to dinner, but i told them you wanted them to have the dinner to themselves, which they managed to have along with professor russell and frieda and six small girls clamoring for attention beside your humble servant. you might have asked me to dine with you." "why, i never thought of it, but then you would have if you had wished to anyhow. besides, you should of course have been at home to welcome ralph. i trust you told him right away that we were going to start work on the old rainbow mine so ralph can stay here at home and have something to do at the same time. i have decided on this; there must be gold enough in the old mine to pay expenses and to give ralph a good salary, and otherwise it does not matter. oh, jim, please do come in out of the snow. i want to tell you also that i am going to buy a thousand new head of cattle for the rainbow ranch. it is all right, isn't it?" "it is _not_, jack. rainbow ranch has all the cattle it can take care of at present. we have stocked up as far as we ought to go unless we can buy more land for grazing and raising grain, and i don't see any prospect of that in this immediate neighborhood." "but i have almost made a bargain for the cattle, jim." "how far has the bargain gone?" "oh, the agreement was not positive until i had consulted with you, but i thought i was being allowed to run the rainbow ranch. of course if you interfere with what i think best, why it is not managing the ranch at all." "but i never agreed to allow you to run the ranch into debt, jack, and that is _what would_ happen if you have to pay for feed for a thousand new head of cattle this winter." in silence the man and girl continued to walk up and down the porch of the rainbow lodge. "want me to give up trying to manage the ranch, jim? now you are better, i suppose i am only a nuisance." "i want you to keep on if the work interests you and if you are willing to listen to my advice now and then. you have some ideas for running things that are considerably better than mine, but i have had a good deal longer experience." "all right, jim, i am sorry," and jack slipped her hand through her companion's arm. "good gracious, what a hard-headed person i am and always have been, jim colter. i wonder if that is why life seems to find it necessary to give me so many knocks?" "has it given you more than most people, jack? are you more disappointed over that wretched election than you have been willing to confess? if you like, go ahead and buy your cattle then. i only don't want you to lose money, because the ranch belongs to you girls and i suppose i always shall feel more or less responsible. if it were mine----" "i have no desire to lose the family money," said jack, "and i am properly penitent. i even no longer _desire_ one thousand new cattle purchased for the rainbow ranch." "but what do you desire then, jacqueline kent? suppose just for an experiment you tell me your greatest desire. we were speaking on the subject at dinner to-night. jean of course felt that she had received hers in ralph's return. frieda announced that she was in a fair way to be fully satisfied now peace was growing strong and well and professor russell had succeeded in his latest scientific experiment, and also i am obliged to state that frieda added the negative fact that she was particularly pleased that you had failed in your recent political enterprise." jack laughed. "how exactly like frieda! it is the things she has that she is grateful for and the mistakes i am not permitted to make because of her excellent advice. but don't worry over me, jim, at present my greatest desire is to walk up and down the lodge porch with you and see the sky and the prairie beneath the stars and feel the damp sweetness of the wind with the little eddies of snow. what is your heart's desire, jim colter?" "to be always with you, jack, i suppose," jim colter answered as unexpectedly to himself as to the girl beside him. his voice did not hold the light raillery of hers. "queer ambition, isn't it, for a man old enough to be your father, who has been your father after a poor fashion! i don't know, jack, i have not meant to tell you this, but i always have told you pretty much everything that was in my mind, and after i say this i want you to forget it. i care for you differently from the old days, jack. of course i appreciate the differences between us more than any living human being can appreciate them, the distance from the earth to the stars is small in comparison. and i want you to care for me always, jack, in the old friendly, daughterly fashion." "but i don't feel like a daughter to you, jim, and never have, certainly not as a little girl, so why should i begin now? i simply like you better than any one else in the world except jimmie, now you have made me think of it, and we understand each other better. i suppose i would have taken this for granted if you had not spoken. what do you suppose we ought to do about it, jim?" "nothing, jack." "but suppose i should want to do something? and suppose what i wanted to do should become my heart's desire? would you withhold it from me, jim?" "yes, if i thought it would do you harm." "but suppose it would not do me harm, but bring me great happiness, what then?" jim colter made no reply. jack smiled. "ah, jim, you never can make me believe that you will refuse to travel with me to the land of the heart's desire, since it is a journey one can rarely take alone." * * * * * the "ranch girls" series by margaret vandercook the ranch girls at rainbow lodge the ranch girls' pot of gold the ranch girls at boarding school the ranch girls in europe the ranch girls at home again the ranch girls and their great adventure the ranch girls and their heart's desire the american horsewoman by mrs. elizabeth karr "gold that buys health can never be ill spent, nor hours laid out in harmless merriment." j. webster [illustration] boston houghton, mifflin and company new york: east seventeenth street the riverside press, cambridge copyright, , by elizabeth karr. _all rights reserved._ _the riverside press, cambridge_: electrotyped and printed by h. o. houghton & co. preface. in presenting this volume to the women of america, the author would remark that, at least as far as she is aware, it is the first one, exclusively devoted to the instruction of lady riders, that has ever been written by one of their own countrywomen. in its preparation, no pretension is made to the style of a practiced author, the writer freely acknowledging it to be her first venture in the (to her) hitherto unexplored regions of authorship; she has simply undertaken,--being guided and aided by her own experience in horseback riding,--to write, in plain and comprehensive language, and in as concise a manner as is compatible with a clear understanding of her subject, all that she deems it essential for a horsewoman to know. this she has endeavored to do without any affectation or effort to acquire reputation as an author, and wholly for the purpose of benefiting those of her own sex who wish to learn not only to ride, but to ride well. she has also been induced to prepare the work by the urgent solicitations of many lady friends, who, desirous of having thorough information on horseback riding, were unable to find in any single work those instructions which they needed. many valuable works relating to the subject could be had, but none especially for ladies. true, in many of these works prepared for equestrians a few pages of remarks or advice to horsewomen could be found, but so scant and limited were they that but little useful and practical information could be gleaned from them. the writers of these works never even dreamed of treating many very important points highly essential to the horsewoman; and, indeed, it could hardly be expected that they would, as it is almost impossible for any horseman to know, much less to comprehend, these points. the position of a man in the saddle is natural and easy, while that of a woman is artificial, one-sided, and less readily acquired; that which he can accomplish with facility is for her impossible or extremely difficult, as her position lessens her command over the horse, and obliges her to depend almost entirely upon her skill and address for the means of controlling him. if a gentleman will place himself upon the side-saddle and for a short time ride the several gaits of his horse, he will have many points presented which he had not anticipated, and which may puzzle him; that which appeared simple and easy when in his natural position will become difficult of performance when he assumes the rôle of a horsewoman. a trial of this kind will demonstrate to him that the rules applicable to the one will not invariably be adapted to the other. the reader need not be surprised, therefore, if in the perusal of this volume she discovers in certain instances instructions laid down which differ from those met with in the popular works upon this subject by male authors. another inducement to prepare this volume existed in the fact that the ladies throughout the country, and especially in our large cities and towns, are apparently awakening to an appreciation of the importance of out-door amusement and exercise in securing and prolonging health, strength, beauty, and symmetry of form, and that horseback riding is rapidly becoming the favorite form of such exercise. instructions relating to riding have become, therefore, imperative, in order to supply a need long felt by those horsewomen who, when in the saddle, are desirous of acquitting themselves with credit, but who have heretofore been unable to gain that information which would enable them to ride with ease and grace, and to manage their steeds with dexterity and confidence. the author--who has had several years' experience in horseback riding with the old-fashioned, two-pommeled saddle, and, in later years, with the english saddle, besides having had the benefit of the best continental teaching--believes she will be accused of neither vanity nor egotism when she states that within the pages of this work instructions will be found amply sufficient to enable any lady who attends to them to ride with artistic correctness. great care has been taken to enter upon and elucidate all those minute but important details which are so essential, but which, because they are so simple, are usually passed over without notice or explanation. especial attention has also been given to the errors of inexperienced and uneducated riders, as well as to the mistakes into which beginners are apt to fall from incorrect modes of teaching, or from no instruction at all; these errors have been carefully pointed out, and the methods for correcting them explained. a constant effort has been made to have these practical hints and valuable explanations as lucid as possible, that they may readily be comprehended and put into practical use by the reader. from the fact that considerable gossip, including some truth, as to illiteracy, rudeness, offensive familiarity, and scandal of various kinds has in past years been associated with some of the riding-schools established in our cities, many ladies entertain a decided antipathy to all riding-schools; to these ladies, as well as to those who are living in places where no riding-schools exist, the author feels confident that this work will prove of great practical utility. yet she must remark that, in her opinion, it is neither just nor right to ostracize indiscriminately all such schools, simply because some of them have proven blameworthy; whenever a riding-school of good standing is established and is conducted by a well-known, competent, and gentlemanly teacher, with one or more skilled lady assistants, she would advise the ladies of the neighborhood to avail themselves of such opportunity to become sooner thorough and efficient horsewomen by pursuing the instructions given in this work under such qualified teachers. elizabeth karr. north bend, ohio. a brief synopsis of contents. introduction. page utility, health, and enjoyment, in horseback riding.--affection of the horse for a kind mistress.--incorrect views entertained by ladies relative to horses and horseback riding.--tight lacing incompatible with correct riding.--advantages of good riding-schools.--instinct not a sufficient guide.--compatibility of refinement and horseback riding.--importance of out-of-door exercise. chapter i. the horse. origin and countries of the horse.--earliest scriptural mention of the horse.--caligula's horse.--horseback riding in the middle ages.--the arab horse and his descendants.--selection of a horse, and points to be observed.--suitable gaits for the several conformations of riders.--the fast or running walk.--various kinds of trotting.--the jog trot undesirable.--temperament of the horse to be taken into consideration.--thorough-bred horses.--low-bred horses.--traits of thorough and low bred horses.--purchasing a horse; when to pay for the purchase.--kindness to the horse instead of brutality.--advantages of kind treatment of the horse.--horses properly trained from early colt-life, the best.--certain requirements in training a horse for a lady.--ladies should visit their horses in the stable.--ladies of refinement, occupying the highest positions in the civilized and fashionable world, personally attend to their horses.--nature of the horse.--unreliable grooms; their vicious course with horses intrusted to their care.--care required in riding livery-stable horses. chapter ii. the riding habit. riding habit should not be gaudy.--instructions concerning the material for riding habit, and how this should be made.--the waist.--the basque or jacket.--length of riding habit.--white material not to be worn on horseback.--riding shirt.--riding drawers.--riding boots.--riding corset.--riding coiffure or head-dress.--riding hat.--minutiæ to be attended to in the riding costume.--how to hold the riding skirt while standing.--riding whip. chapter iii. the saddle and bridle. saddle of ancient times, and the manner of riding.--planchette.--catherine de medici deviser of the two-pommeled saddle.--m. pellier, sr., inventor of the third pommel.--english saddle.--advantages of the third pommel.--saddle should, invariably, be made and fitted to the horse.--seat of saddle.--kinds of saddles for different ladies.--proper application of the third pommel.--saddle recommended and used by the author.--points to be attended to in procuring a saddle.--girths.--new mode of tightening girths.--stirrups and stirrup-leathers.--safety stirrups.--how to attach the stirrup-leather.--the bridle and reins.--martingales.--snaffle-bits.--curb-bits.--curb-chain.--tricks of horses with bits, and their remedy.--adjustment of the bit and head-stall.--care of the bit.--how to correctly place the saddle on the horse.--remarks concerning girthing the horse.--great advantages derived from knowing how to saddle and bridle one's horse. chapter iv. mounting and dismounting. timidity in presence of a horse should be overcome.--first attempts at mounting.--mounting from a horse-block.--mounting from the ground.--mounting with assistance from a gentleman; how this is effected.--what the gentleman must do.--a restive horse while mounting; how to be managed.--attractiveness of correct mounting.--to dismount with assistance from a gentleman; what the gentleman must do.--attentions to the skirt both while mounting and dismounting.--dismounting without aid; upon the ground; upon a very low horse-block.--concluding remarks. chapter v. the seat on horseback. the absolute necessity for a correct seat.--natural riders rarely acquire a correct seat.--the dead-weight seat.--the wabbling seat.--essential to good and graceful riding that the body be held square and erect.--the correct seat.--proper attitude for the body, shoulders, waist, arms, hands, knees, and legs, when on horseback.--uses and advantages of the third pommel.--lessons in position should always be taken by the novice in horseback riding.--faulty positions of ladies called "excellent equestriennes," pointed out at an imaginary park.--remarks concerning the improper use of stirrups and pommels.--pupils and teachers frequently in erroneous positions toward each other.--obstinacy of some pupils, and wrong ideas of others.--ladies should not be in too much haste to become riders before they understand all the elementary and necessary requirements; but should advance carefully, attentively, and thoroughly.--suggestions to teachers of ladies in equitation. chapter vi. holding the reins, and managing the horse. a thorough knowledge of the management of the horse highly necessary for a lady.--position in the saddle has an important influence.--horses generally more gentle with women than with men.--position should be acquired first, and afterwards the reins be used.--how to hold the hands and snaffle-reins, in first lessons.--to turn the horse to the right, to the left, to back him, to stop him, with a snaffle-rein in each hand.--manner of holding the snaffle-reins in the bridle-hand; to turn the horse to either side; to back, and to stop him.--to change the snaffle-reins from the left to the right hand; to reinstate them in the bridle-hand.--to separate the snaffle-reins; to shorten or lengthen them.--to hold the curb and bridoon, or double bridle-reins; to shorten or lengthen them; to shorten the curb and lengthen the snaffle-reins; to shorten the snaffle and lengthen the curb-reins.--to tighten a rein that has become loose.--to change the double bridle from the left to the right hand; to return it to the left hand.--management of reins when making quick turns.--european manner of holding the double bridle-reins, a pair in each hand.--the equestrienne should practice and perfect herself in these various manoeuvrings with the reins.--the proper rein-hold creates a correspondence between the rider's hand and the horse's mouth, and gives support to the animal.--give and take movements--the dead-pull.--in collecting the horse the curb must be used.--the secret of good riding.--the management of the reins with restive horses.--liberty of the reins sometimes necessary.--movements of horse and rider should correspond.--horse united or collected.--horse disunited.--to animate the horse.--to soothe the horse.--what to do in certain improper movements of the horse.--concluding remarks. chapter vii. the walk. the movements of the horse in walking.--a good walk is a certain basis for perfection in other gaits.--a lady's horse should be especially trained to walk well.--every change in the walk, as turning, backing, and stopping, should be well learned, before attempting to ride in a faster gait.--the walk is a gait more especially desirable for some ladies.--the advance, the turn, the stop, the reining back, in the walk.--remarks on the reining back. chapter viii. the trot, the amble, the pace, the rack. the movements of the horse in trotting.--the trot a safe gait for a lady.--the jog trot.--the racing trot.--the true trot.--the french trot.--the english trot; is desirable for ladies to learn.--objections to the french trot.--how to manage the horse and ride the english trot.--which is the leading foot of the horse in the trot.--to stop a horse in the english trot.--trotting in a circle.--circling to the right, to the left.--the amble.--the pace.--the rack. chapter ix. the canter. leading with the right foot, with the left foot.--the rapid gallop.--the canter.--the true canter.--to commence the canter; position of the rider, and management of the horse.--to canter with the right leg leading.--to canter with the left leg leading.--to determine with which leg the horse is leading in the canter.--to change from the trot to the canter.--to turn in the canter, to the right, to the left.--management of the horse while making a turn in the canter.--to stop in the canter.--remarks concerning position in the canter. chapter x. the hand gallop, the flying gallop. the hand gallop, a favorite gait with ladies.--position and management of the reins, in the hand gallop.--cautions to ladies when riding the hand gallop.--to manage a disobedient horse during the hand gallop.--turning when riding the hand gallop.--position of rider while turning in the hand gallop.--the flying gallop an exercise for country roads.--cautions to ladies previous to riding the flying gallop.--holding the reins, position of the rider, and management of the horse, in the flying gallop.--to stop in the flying gallop.--concluding remarks. chapter xi. the leap, the standing leap, the flying leap. advantages of learning to leap.--requisites necessary in leaping.--the standing leap.--position of the rider, rein-hold, and management of the horse, in the standing leap.--points to be carefully observed in the leap.--how to make the horse leap.--management of the reins and of the rider's position during the leap.--counsels which should be well learned by the rider before attempting the leap, and especially as to the management of the horse.--how to train a horse to leap.--a lady should never attempt the leap, except with a horse well trained in it.--horses do not all leap alike.--the flying leap.--important points to know relative to the flying leap. chapter xii. defenses of the horse, critical situations. a lady's horse should be gentle, well-trained, and possess no vice.--shying, and its treatment.--shying sometimes due to defective vision, and at other times to discontent.--balking, and its treatment.--backing, and its treatment.--gayety.--kicking, and its remedy. an attention to the position and motions of the horse's ears will determine what he is about to do.--plunging; bucking; what to do in these cases.--rearing, and the course to be pursued.--running away, and the course to be pursued.--unsteadiness of the horse while being mounted, and how to correct it.--stumbling, and its treatment.--what to do when the horse falls.--remarks concerning the use of the whip and spur.--be generous to the horse when he yields to his rider. addenda. thirty-four points necessary to be learned, and to be well understood by equestriennes.--conclusion. glossary index illustrations. figure page . head of arabian steed . head of low-bred horse . width of lower jaw in the thorough-bred . width of the lower jaw in the low-bred . oblique shoulder . straight or upright shoulder . english saddle . stokes' mode of girthing the saddle . victoria stirrup . spring-bar for stirrup-leather . lennan's safety stirrup . latchford's safety stirrup . chifney bit . the combination bit . dwyer's curb-bit . the bit adjusted . lady ready to mount her horse . lady ready to dismount . correct seat for a lady (_back view_) . correct seat for a lady (_side view_) . crooked position in saddle (_miss x._) . crooked position in saddle (_mrs. y._) . incorrect position of legs and feet (_side view_) . incorrect position when legs and feet are wrongly placed (_back view_) . snaffle-reins; one in each hand . snaffle-reins; both in the left hand . double bridle; all reins in the bridle-hand . double bridle; a snaffle and a curb rein in each hand . the walk . the trot . entering upon the canter with the right leg leading . the flying gallop . the standing leap--rising . the standing leap--descending . the horse introduction. "how melts my beating heart as i behold each lovely nymph, our island's boast and pride, push on the generous steed, that sweeps along o'er rough, o'er smooth, nor heeds the steepy hill, nor falters in the extended vale below!" _the chase._ among ladies of wealth and culture in england, the equestrienne art forms a portion of their education as much as the knowledge of their own language, of french, or of music, and great care is taken that their acquirements in this art shall be as thorough as those in any other branch of their tuition. the mother bestows much of her own personal supervision on her daughter's instruction, closely watching for every little fault, and promptly correcting it when any becomes manifest. as a result universally acknowledged, a young english lady, when riding a well-trained and spirited horse, is a sight at once elegant and attractive. she exhibits a degree of confidence, a firmness of seat, and an ease and grace that can be acquired only by the most careful and correct instruction. the fair rider guides her steed, without abruptness, from walk to canter, from canter to trot, every movement in perfect harmony; horse and rider being, as it were, of one thought. "each look, each motion, awakes a new-born grace." unfortunately, at the present day, from want of careful study of the subject, the majority of american lady riders, notwithstanding the elegance of their forms and their natural grace, by no means equal their english sisters in the art of riding. in most instances, a faulty position in the saddle, an unsteadiness of seat, and a lack of sympathy between horse and rider, occasion in the mind of the spectator a sense of uneasiness lest the horse, in making playful movements, or, perhaps, becoming slightly fractious, may unseat his rider,--a feeling which quite destroys the charm and fascination she might otherwise exercise. if my countrywomen would but make a master stroke, and add correct horseback riding to the long list of accomplishments which they now possess, they would become irresistible, and while delighting others, would likewise promote their own physical well-being. there is no cosmetic nor physician's skill which can preserve the bloom and freshness of youth as riding can, and my fair readers, if they wish to prolong those charms for which they are world renowned, charms whose only fault is their too fleeting existence, must take exercise, and be more in the fresh air and sunshine. how much better to keep old age at bay by these innocent means, than to resort to measures which give to the eye of the world a counterfeit youth that will not deceive for a moment. even an elderly lady may without offense or harsh criticism recall some of the past joys of younger years by an occasional ride for health or recreation, and, while gracefully accepting her half century, or more, of life, she can still retain some of the freshness and spirit of bygone years. not only is health preserved and life prolonged by exercise on horseback, but, in addition, sickness is banished, or meliorated, and melancholy, that dark demon which occasionally haunts even the most joyous life, is overcome and driven back to the dark shades from whence it came. should the reader have the good fortune to possess an intelligent horse, she can, when assailed by sorrows real or fancied, turn to this true, willing friend, whose affectionate neigh of greeting as she approaches, and whose pretty little graceful arts, will tend to dispel her gloom, and, once in the saddle, speeding along through the freshening air, fancied griefs are soon forgotten, while strength and nerve are gained to face those troubles of a more serious nature, whose existence cannot be ignored. to the mistress who thoroughly understands the art of managing him, the horse gives his entire affection and obedience, becomes her most willing slave, submits to all her whims, and is proud and happy under her rule. in disposition the horse is much like a child. both are governed by kindness combined with firmness; both meet indifference with indifference, but return tenfold in love and obedience any care or affection that is bestowed upon them. the horse also resembles the child in the keenness with which he detects hypocrisy; no pretense of love or interest will impose on either. to the lady rider who has neither real fondness for her horse nor knowledge of governing him, there is left but one resource by means of which the animal can be controlled, and this is the passion of fear. with a determined will, she may, by whipping, force him to obey, but this means is not always reliable, especially with a high-spirited animal, nor is it a method which any true woman would care to employ. if, in addition to indifference to the horse, there be added nervousness and timidity, which she finds herself unable to overcome by practice and association, the lady might as well relinquish all attempt to become a rider. should any of my readers think that these views of the relations between horse and rider are too sentimental, that all which is needed in a horse is easy movement, obedience to the reins, and readiness to go forward when urged, and that love and respect are quite unnecessary, she will find, should she ever meet with any really alarming object on the road, that a little of this despised affection and confidence is very desirable, for, in the moment of danger, the voice which has never spoken in caressing accents, nor sought to win confidence will be unheeded; fear will prevail over careful training, and the rider will be very fortunate if she escapes without an accident. the writer is sustained in the idea that the affection of the horse is essential to the safety of the rider, not only by her own experience, but also by that of some of the most eminent teachers of riding, and trainers of horses. maud s. is an example of what a firm yet kind rule will effect in bringing forth the capabilities of a horse. she has never had a harsh word spoken to her, and has never been punished with the whip, but has, on the contrary, been trained with the most patient and loving care; and the result has been a speed so marvelous as to have positively astonished the world, for although naturally high tempered, she will strain every nerve to please her kind, loving master, when urged forward by his voice alone. some ladies acquire a dislike for horseback riding, either because they experience discomfort or uneasiness when in the saddle, or because the movements of their horses cause them considerable fatigue. there may be various reasons for this: the saddle may be too large, or too small, or improperly made; or the rider's position in the saddle may be incorrect, and as a consequence, the animal cannot be brought to his best paces. discomfort may occasionally be caused by an improperly made riding-habit. the rider whose waist is confined by tight lacing cannot adapt herself to the motions of her horse, and the graceful pliancy so essential to good riding will, therefore, be lost. the lady who wears tight corsets can never become a thorough rider, nor will the exercise of riding give her either pleasure or health. she may manage to look well when riding at a gait no faster than a walk, but, beyond this, her motions will appear rigid and uncomfortable. a quick pace will induce rapid circulation, and the blood, checked at the waist, will, like a stream which has met with an obstacle in its course, turn into other channels, rushing either to the heart, causing faintness, or to the head, producing headache and vertigo. there have even been instances of a serious nature, where expectoration of blood has been occasioned by horseback riding, when the rider was tightly laced. the naturally slender, symmetrical figure, when in the saddle, is the perfection of beauty, but she whom nature has endowed with more ample proportions will never attain this perfection by pinching her waist in. let the full figure be left to nature, its owner sitting well in the saddle, on a horse adapted to her style, and she will make a very imposing appearance, and prove a formidable rival to her more slender companion. there is a mistaken idea prevalent among certain persons, that horseback riding induces obesity. it is true that, to a certain extent, riding favors healthy muscular development, but the same may be said of all kinds of exercise, and this effect, far from being objectionable, is highly desirable, as it contributes to symmetry of form, as well as to health and strength, conditions that in a large proportion of our american women are unfortunately lacking. those who ride on horseback will find that while gaining in strength and proper physical tissue, they will, at the same time, as a rule, be gradually losing all excess of flesh; it is impossible for an active rider to become fat or flabby; but the indolent woman who is prejudiced against exercise of any kind will soon find the much dreaded calamity, corpulency, overtaking her, and beauty of form more or less rapidly disappearing beneath a mountain of flesh. there are many persons who entertain the mistaken idea that instinct is a sufficient guide in learning to ride; that it is quite unnecessary to take any lessons or to make a study of the art of correct riding; and that youth, a good figure, and practice are all that is required to make a finished rider. this is a most erroneous opinion, which has been productive of much harm to lady riders. the above qualifications are undoubtedly great assistants, but without correct instruction they will never produce an accomplished and graceful rider. the instinctive horsewoman usually rides boldly and with perfect satisfaction to herself, but to the eye of the connoisseur she presents many glaring defects. very bold, but, at the same time, very bad riding is often seen among those who consider themselves very fine horsewomen. in order to gain the reputation of a finished rider, it is not essential that one should perform all the antics of a circus rider, nor that she should ride a mazeppian horse. the finished rider may be known by the correctness of her attitude in the saddle, by her complete control of her horse, and by the tranquillity of her motions when in city or park; in such places she makes no attempt to ride at a very rapid trot, or flying gallop-gaits which should be reserved for country roads, where more speed is allowable. there is still another false idea prevalent among a certain class of people, which is that a love for horses, and for horseback riding necessarily makes one coarse, and detracts from the refinement of a woman's nature. it must be acknowledged that the coarseness of a vulgar spirit can be nowhere more conspicuously displayed than in the saddle, and yet in no place is the delicacy and decorum of woman more observable. a person on horseback is placed in a position where every motion is subject to critical observation and comment. the quiet, simple costume, the easy movements, the absence of ostentatious display, will always proclaim the refined, well-bred rider. rudeness in the saddle is as much out of place as in the parlor or salon, and greatly more annoying to spectators, besides being disrespectful and dangerous to other riders. abrupt movements, awkward and rapid paces, frequently cause neighboring horses to become restless, and even to run away. because a lady loves her horse, and enjoys riding him, it is by no means necessary that she should become a lady gay spanker, indulge in stable talk, make familiars of grooms and stable boys, or follow the hounds in the hunting field. there are in this work no especial instructions given for the hunting field, as the author does not consider it a suitable place for a lady rider. she believes that no lady should risk life and limb in leaping high and dangerous obstacles, but that all such daring feats should be left to the other sex or to circus actresses. nor would any woman who really cared for her horse wish to run the risk of reducing him to the deplorable condition of many horses that follow the hounds. in england, where hunting is the favorite pastime among gentlemen, the number of maimed and crippled horses that one meets is disheartening. every lady, however, who desires to become a finished rider, should learn to leap, as this will not only aid her in securing a good seat in the saddle, but may also prove of value in times of danger. before concluding i would again urge upon my readers the importance of out-of-door exercise, which can hardly be taken in a more agreeable form than that of horseback riding,--a great panacea, giving rest and refreshment to the overworked brain of the student, counteracting many of the pernicious effects of the luxurious lives of the wealthy, and acting upon the workers of the world as a tonic, and as a stimulus to greater exertion. the american horsewoman. chapter i. the horse. "look, when a painter would surpass the life, in limning out a well-proportioned steed, his art with nature's workmanship at strife, as if the dead the living should exceed; so did this horse excel a common one, in shape, in courage, color, pace, and bone." * * * * * --"what a horse should have he did not lack, save a proud rider on so proud a back." _venus and adonis._ it is supposed that the original home of the horse was central asia, and that all the wild horses that range over the steppes of tartary, the pampas of south america, and the prairies of north america, are descendants of this asiatic stock.[ ] there is, in the history of the world, no accurate statement of the time when the horse was first subjugated by man, but so far back as his career can be traced in the dim and shadowy past, he seems to have been man's servant and companion. we find him, on the mysterious ruins of ancient egypt, represented with his badge of servitude, the bridle; he figures in myth and fable as the companion of man and gods; he is a prominent figure in the pictured battle scenes of the ancient world; and has always been a favorite theme with poet, historian, and philosopher in all ages. footnote : a very interesting work, by c. a. piétrement, has recently been issued in france, entitled _les chevaux dans les temps prehistorique et historique_. the author shows that wild horses were hunted and eaten by man in the rough stone age. he also determines in what european and asiatic regions the eight extant horse families were domesticated, and traces their various wanderings over the earth, deducing many interesting facts from the history of their migrations. the first written record, known to us, of the subjection of the horse to man is found in the bible, where in genesis (xlvii. ) it is stated that joseph gave the egyptians bread in exchange for their horses, and in . , we read that when joseph went to bury his father jacob, there went with him the servants of the house of pharaoh, the elders of the land of egypt, together with "chariots and horsemen" in numbers. jeremiah compares the speed of the horse with the swiftness of the eagle; and job's description of the war charger has never been surpassed. ancient rome paid homage to the horse by a yearly festival, when every one abstained from labor, and the day was made one of feasting and frolic. the horse, decked with garlands, and with gay and costly trappings, was led in triumph through the streets, followed by a multitude who loudly proclaimed in verse and song his many good services to man. this adulation of the horse sometimes went beyond the bounds of reason, as in the case of caligula, who carried his love for his horse, incitatus, to an insane degree. he had a marble palace erected for a stable, furnished it with mangers of ivory and gold, and had sentinels guard it at night that the repose of his favorite might not be disturbed. another elegant palace was fitted up in the most splendid and costly style, and here the animal's visitors were entertained. caligula required all who called upon himself to visit incitatus also, and to treat the animal with the same respect and reverence as that observed towards a royal host. this horse was frequently introduced at caligula's banquets, where he was presented with gilded oats, and with wine from a golden cup. historians state that caligula would even have made his steed consul of rome, had not the tyrant been opportunely assassinated, and the world freed from an insane fiend. in the legends of the middle ages the knight-errant and his gallant steed were inseparable, and together performed doughty deeds of valor and chivalry. in our present more prosaic age, the horse has been trained to such a degree of perfection in speed and motion as was never dreamed of by the ancients or by the knights of the crusades; and there has been given to the world an animal that is a marvel of courage, swiftness, and endurance, while, at the same time, so docile, that the delicate hand of woman can completely control him. the arabian is the patrician among horses; he is the most intelligent, the most beautifully formed, and, when kindly treated, the gentlest of his race. he is especially noted for his keenness of perception, his retentive memory, his powers of endurance, and, when harshly or cruelly treated, for his fierce resentment and ferociousness, which nothing but death can conquer. in his arabian home he is guarded as a treasure, is made one of the family and treated with the most loving care. this close companionship creates an affection and confidence between the horse and his master which is almost unbounded; while the kindness with which the animal is treated seems to brighten his intelligence as well as to render him gentle. when these horses were first introduced into europe they seemed, after a short stay in civilization, to have completely changed their nature, and, instead of gentleness and docility, exhibited an almost tiger-like ferocity. this change was at first attributed to difference of climate and high feeding, but, after several grooms had been injured or killed by their charges, it began to be suspected that there was something wrong in the treatment. the experiment of introducing native grooms was therefore tried, and the results proved most satisfactory, the animals once more becoming gentle and docile.[ ] since then the nature of the arabian has become better understood, and, both in this country and in europe, he shows, at the present day, a decided improvement upon the original native of the desert. he is larger and swifter, yet still retains all the spirit as well as docility of his ancestors. in america his descendants are called "thorough-breds," and americans may well be proud of this race of horses, which is rapidly becoming world renowned. footnote : "the bedouin (and every other race of orientals that i am acquainted with seems to possess somewhat the same quality) exhibits a patience towards his horse as remarkable as is the impatience and roughness of the englishman.... in his (the oriental's) mental organization some screw is tight which in the english mind is loose; he is sane on a point where the englishman is slightly cracked, and he rides on serene and contented where the latter would go into a paroxysm of swearing and spurring. i have seen an arab horse, broken loose at a moment when our camp was thronged with horses brought for sale, turn the whole concern topsy-turvy, and reduce it to one tumult of pawing and snorting and belligerent screeching; and i never yet saw the captor when he finally got hold of the halter show the least trace of anger, or do otherwise than lead the animal back to his picket with perfect calmness. contrast this with the 'job' in the mouth and the kick in the ribs and the curse that the english groom would bestow under similar circumstances, and you have, in a great measure, the secret of the good temper of the arab horse in arab hands."--_blackwood's magazine_, . before purchasing a saddle-horse, several points should be considered. first, =the style of the rider's figure=; for a horse which would be suitable for a large, stout person would not be at all desirable for one having a small, slender figure. a large, majestic looking woman would present a very absurd spectacle when mounted upon a slightly built, slender horse; his narrow back in contrast with that of his rider would cause hers to appear even larger and wider than usual, and thus give her a heavy and ridiculous appearance, while the little horse would look overburdened and miserable, and his step, being too short for his rider, would cause her to experience an unpleasant sensation of embarrassment and restraint. on the other hand, a short, light, slender rider, seated upon a tall broad-backed animal, would appear equally out of place; the step of the horse being, in her case, too long, would make her seat unsteady and insecure, so that instead of a sense of enjoyment, exhilaration, and benefit from the ride, she would experience only fatigue and dissatisfaction. if the rider be tall and rather plump, the horse should be fifteen hands and three inches in height, and have a somewhat broad back. a lady below the medium height, and of slender proportions, will look equally well when riding a pony fourteen hands high, or a horse fifteen hands. an animal fifteen hands, or fifteen hands and two inches in height, will generally be found suitable for all ladies who are not excessively large and tall, or very short and slender. in all cases, however, the back of the horse should be long enough to appear well under the side-saddle, for a horse with a short back never presents a fine aspect when carrying a woman. in such cases, the side-saddle extends from his withers nearly, if not quite, to his hips, and as the riding skirt covers his left side, little is seen of the horse except his head and tail. horses with very short backs are usually good weight-carriers, but their gaits are apt to be rough and uneasy. another point to be considered in the selection of a horse is, what gait or gaits are best suited to the rider, and here again the lady should take her figure into consideration. the walk, trot, canter, and gallop are the only gaits recognized by english horsewomen, but in america the walk, rack, pace, and canter are the favorite gaits. if the lady's figure be slender and elegant, any of the above named gaits will suit her, but should she be large or stout, a brisk walk or easy canter should be selected. the rapid gallop and all fast gaits should be left to light and active riders. the fast or running walk is a very desirable gait for any one, but is especially so for middle-aged or stout people, who cannot endure much jolting; it is also excellent for delicate women, for poor riders, or for those who have long journeys to make which they wish to accomplish speedily and without undue fatigue to themselves or their horses. a good sound horse who has been trained to this walk can readily travel thirty or forty miles a day, or even more. this gait is adapted equally well to the street, the park, and the country road; but it must be acknowledged that horses possessing it rarely have any other that is desirable, and, indeed, any other would be apt to impair the ease and harmony of the animal's movements in this walk. the french or cavalry trot (see page ) should never be ridden on the road by a woman, as the movements of the horse in this gait are so very rough that the most accomplished rider cannot keep a firm, steady seat. the body is jolted in a peculiar and very unpleasant manner, occasioning a sense of fatigue that is readily appreciated, though difficult to describe. the country jog-trot is another very fatiguing gait, although farmers, who ride it a good deal, state that "after one gets used to it, it is not at all tiresome." but a lady's seat in the saddle is so different from that of a gentleman's that she can never ride this gait without excessive fatigue. a rough racker or pacer will prove almost as wearisome as the jog-trotter. indeed, if she wishes to gain any pleasure or benefit from riding, a lady should never mount a horse that is at all stiff or uneven in his movements, no matter what may be his gait. the easiest of all gaits to ride, although the most difficult to learn, is the english trot. this is especially adapted to short persons, who can ride it to perfection. a tall woman will be apt to lean too far forward when rising in it, and her specialties, therefore, should be the canter and the gallop, in which she can appear to the greatest advantage. the rack, and the pace of a horse that has easy movements are not at all difficult to learn to ride, and are, consequently, the favorite gaits of poor riders. in selecting a horse his =temperament= must also be considered. a high-spirited, nervous animal, full of vitality, highly satisfactory as he might prove to some, would be only a source of misery to others of less courageous dispositions. first lessons in riding should be taken upon a horse of cold temperament and kindly disposition who will resent neither mistakes nor awkwardness. having learned to ride and to manage a horse properly, no steed can then be too mettlesome for the healthy and active lady pupil, provided he has no vices and possesses the good manners that should always belong to every lady's horse. it is a great mistake to believe, as many do, that a weak, slightly built horse is yet capable of carrying a woman. on the contrary, a lady's horse should be the soundest and best that can be procured, and should be able to carry with perfect ease a weight much greater than hers. a slight, weak animal, if ridden much by a woman, will be certain to "get out of condition," will become unsound in the limbs of one side, usually the left, and will soon wear out. before buying a horse, the lady who is to ride him should be weighed, and should then have some one who is considerably heavier than herself ride the animal, that she may be sure that her own weight will not be too great for him. if he carries the heavier weight with ease, he can, of course, carry her. in selecting a horse great care should be taken to ascertain whether there is the least trace of =unsoundness in his feet and legs=, and especially that variety of unsoundness which occasions stumbling. the best of horses, when going over rough places or when very tired may stumble, and so will indolent horses that are too lazy when traveling to lift their feet up fully; but when this fault is due to disease, or becomes a habit with a lazy animal, he should never be used under the side-saddle. [illustration: fig. .--head of arabian steed.] [illustration: fig. .--head of low-bred horse.] if the reader will glance at figs. and , she will observe the difference between the head of the low-bred horse and that of the best bred of the race. fig. represents the head of an arabian horse; the brain is wide between the eyes, the brow high and prominent, and the expression of the face high-bred and intelligent. fig. shows the head of a low-bred horse, whose stupid aspect and small brain are very manifest. the one horse will be quick to comprehend what is required of him, and will appreciate any efforts made to brighten his intelligence, while the other will be slow to understand, almost indifferent to the kindness of his master, and apt, when too much indulged, to return treachery for good treatment. the whip, when applied to the latter as a means of punishment, will probably cow him, but, if used for the same purpose on the former, will rouse in him all the hot temper derived from his ancestors, and in the contest which ensues between his master and himself, he will conquer, or terminate the strife his own death, or that of his master. another noticeable feature in the arab horse, and one usually considered significant of an active and wide-awake temperament, is the width and expansiveness of the nostrils. these, upon the least excitement, will quiver and expand, and in a rapid gallop will stand out freely, giving a singularly spirited look to the animal's face. the shape and size of the ears are also indications of high or low birth. in the high-bred horse they are generally small, thin, and delicate on their outer margins, with the tips inclined somewhat towards one another. by means of these organs the animal expresses his different emotions of anger, fear, dislike, or gayety. they may be termed his language, and their various movements can readily be understood when one takes a little trouble to study their indications. the ears of a low-bred horse are large, thick, and covered with coarse hair; they sometimes lop or droop horizontally, protruding from the sides of the head and giving a very sheepish look to the face; they rarely move, and express very little emotion of any kind. the eye of the desert steed is very beautiful, possessing all the brilliancy and gentleness so much admired in that of the gazelle. its expression in repose is one of mildness and amiability, but, under the influence of excitement, it dilates widely and sparkles. a horse which has small eyes set close together, no matter what excellences he may possess in other respects, is sure to have some taint of inferior blood. some of the coarser breeds have the large eye of the arabian, but it will usually be found that they have some thorough-bred among their ancestors. [illustration: fig. .--width of lower jaw in the thorough-bred.] width between the sides or branches of the lower jaw is another distinctive feature of the horse of pure descent. (fig. .) a wide furrow or channel between the points mentioned is necessary for speed, in order to allow room for free respiration when the animal is in rapid motion. the coarser breeds have very small, narrow channels (fig. ), and very rapid motion soon distresses them. [illustration: fig. .--width of lower jaw in the low-bred.] the mouth of the well-bred horse is large, allowing ample room for the bit, and giving him a determined and energetic, but at the same time pleasant, amiable expression. the mouth of the low-bred horse is small and covered with coarse hair, and gives the animal a sulky, dejected appearance. [illustration: fig. .--oblique shoulder. the angle at the joint being about °.] the light, elegant head of the arabian is well set on his neck; a slight convexity at the upper part of the throat gives freedom to the functions of this organ, as well as elasticity to the movements of the head and neck; and the _encolure_, or crest of the neck, is arched with a graceful curve. but it is especially in the shape of the shoulders that this horse excels all others, and this is the secret of those easy movements which make him so desirable for the saddle. these shoulders are deep, and placed obliquely at an angle of about °; they act like the springs of a well-made carriage, diminishing the shock or jar of his movements. they are always accompanied by a deep chest, high withers, and fore-legs set well forward, qualities which make the horse much safer for riding. (fig. .) [illustration: fig. .--straight or upright shoulder. the angle at the joint being more than °.] the animal with straight shoulders, no matter how well shaped in other respects, can never make a good saddle-horse, and should be at once rejected. these shoulders are usually accompanied by low withers, and fore-legs placed too far under the body, which arrangement causes the rider an unpleasant jar every time a fore-foot touches the ground. moreover, the gait of the horse is constrained and not always safe, and if he be used much under the saddle his fore-feet will soon become unsound. this straight, upright shoulder is characteristic of the coarser breeds of horses, and is frequently associated with a short, thick neck. such horses are not only unfit for the saddle, but, when any speed is desired, are unsuitable even for a pleasure carriage. (fig. .) the haunch of the low-bred horse is generally large, but not so well formed as that of the thorough-bred. this portion of the arabian courser is wide, indicating strength, and force to propel himself forward, while his tail, standing out gayly when he is in motion, projects in a line with his back-bone. his forearm is large, long, and muscular,[ ] his knees broad and firm, his hocks of considerable size, while his cannon-bone, situated between the knee and the fetlock, is short, although presenting a broad appearance when viewed laterally. footnote : "there is, however, a medium in this, and the advantage of length in the arm will depend on the use to which the horse is applied. the lady's horse, the cavalry horse, every horse in which prancing action is esteemed a beauty, and in which utility is, to a certain degree, sacrificed to appearance, must not be too long in the arm. if he is long there, he will be proportionally short in the leg; and although this is an undoubted excellence, whether speed or continuance is regarded, the short leg will not give the grand and imposing action which fashion may require. in addition to this, a horse with short legs may not have quite so easy an action as another whose length is in the shank rather than in the arms."--_w. youatt._ on each front leg, at the back of the knee, there is a bony projection, giving attachments to the flexor muscles, and affording protection to certain tendons. the orientals set a great value upon the presence of this bone, believing that it favors muscular action, and the larger this prominence is the more highly do they prize the animal that possesses it. the pasterns of the high-bred horse are of medium length, and very elastic, while the foot is circular and of moderate size. in the preceding description, the author has endeavored to make plain to the reader the most important points to be observed in both the high-bred and the low-bred horse, and has given the most pronounced characteristics of each. between these extremes, however, there are many varieties of horses, possessing more or less of the arabian characteristics mingled with those of other races. some of the best american horses are numbered among these mixed races, and, by many, are considered an improvement upon the arabian, as they are excellent for light carriages and buggies. the more they resemble the oriental steed, the better they are for the saddle. the lady who, in this country, cannot find a horse to suit her, will, indeed, be difficult to please. it will be best for her to tell some gentleman what sort of horse she wishes, and let him select for her; but, at the same time, it can do no harm, and may prove a great advantage to her to know all the requisite points of a good saddle-horse. it will not take long to learn them, and the knowledge gained will prevent her from being imposed upon by the ignorant or unscrupulous. gentlemen, even those who consider themselves good judges of horse-flesh, are sometimes guilty of very serious blunders in selecting a horse for a lady's use; and should the lady be obliged to negotiate directly with a horse-dealer, she must bear in mind constantly the fact that, although there are reliable and honorable dealers to be found, there are many who would not scruple to cheat even a woman. a careful perusal of the present work, together with the advice of an _upright_ and _trustworthy_ veterinary surgeon, or a skilled riding-master, will aid her in protecting herself from the impositions of unprincipled horse-jockeys and self-styled "veterinary doctors." in any case, whatever be the other characteristics of the animal selected, be sure that he has the oblique shoulder, as well as depth of shoulder, and hind-legs well bent. without these characteristics he will be unfit for a lady's use, as his movements will be rough and unsafe, and the saddle will be apt to turn. if it be desired to purchase a horse for a moderate price, certain points which might be insisted on in a high-priced animal will have to be dispensed with; for instance, his color may not be satisfactory; he may not have a pretty head, or a well-set tail, etc., but these deficiencies may be overlooked if he be sound, have good action, and no vices. he may be handsome, well-actioned, and thoroughly trained, but have a slight defect in his wind, noticeable only when he is urged into a rapid trot, or a gallop. if wanted for street and park service only, and if the purchaser does not care for fast riding, a horse of this sort will suit her very well. sometimes a horse of good breed, as well as of good form, has never had the advantages of a thorough training, or he may be worn out by excessive work. should he be comparatively young, rest and proper training may still make a good horse of him, but great care should be taken to assure one's self that no permanent disease or injury exists. the orientals have a proverb, that it is well to bear in mind when buying an animal of the kind just described:--"ruin, son of ruin, is he who buys to cure." always examine with great care a horse's mouth. a hard-mouthed animal is a very unpleasant one for a lady to ride, and is apt to degenerate into a runaway. scars at the angles of the mouth are good indications of a "bolter," or runaway, or at least of cruel treatment, and harsh usage is by no means a good instructor. while a very short-backed horse does not appear to great advantage under a side-saddle, he may, nevertheless, have many good qualities that will compensate for this defect, and it may be overlooked provided the price asked for him be reasonable; but horses of this kind frequently command a high price when their action is exceptionally good. corns on the feet generally depreciate the value of a horse, although they may sometimes be cured by removing the shoes, and giving him a free run of six or eight months in a pasture of soft ground; if he be then properly shod, and used on country roads only, he may become permanently serviceable. there is, however, considerable risk in buying a horse that has corns, and the purchaser should remember the oriental proverb just referred to, and not forget the veterinary surgeon. before paying for a horse, the lady should insist upon having him on trial for at least a month, that she may have an opportunity of discovering his vices or defects, if any such exist. she must be careful not to condemn him too hastily, and should, when trying him, make due allowance for his change of quarters and also for the novelty of carrying a new rider, as some horses are very nervous until they become well acquainted with their riders. should the horse's movements prove rough, should he be found hard-mouthed, or should any indications of unsoundness or viciousness be detected, he should be immediately returned to his owner. it must be remembered, however, that very few horses are perfect, and that minor defects may, in most instances, be overlooked if the essentials are secured. before rejecting the horse, the lady should also be very sure that the faults to which she objects are not due to her own mismanagement of him. but if she decides that she is not at fault, no amount of persuasion should induce her to purchase. in justice to the owner of the horse, he ought to be reasonably paid for the time and services of his rejected animal; but if it be decided to keep the horse, then only the purchase-money originally agreed upon should be paid. the surest and best way of securing a good saddle-horse is to purchase, from one of the celebrated breeding farms, a well-shaped four-year-old colt of good breed, and have him taught the gaits and style of movement required. great care should be taken in the selection of his teacher, for if the colt's temper be spoiled by injudicious treatment, he will be completely ruined for a lady's use. a riding-school teacher will generally understand all the requirements necessary for a lady's saddle-horse, and may be safely intrusted with the animal's education. if no riding-school master of established reputation as a trainer can be had, it may be possible to secure the services of some one near the lady's home, as she can then superintend the colt's education herself and be sure that he is treated neither rashly nor cruelly. the ideas concerning the education of the horse have completely changed within the last twenty-five years. the whip as a means of punishment is entirely dispensed with in the best training schools of the present day, and, instead of rough and brutal measures, kindness, firmness, and patience are now the only means employed to train and govern him. the theory of this modern system of training may be found in the following explanation of a celebrated english trainer, who subdued his horses by exhibiting towards them a wonderful degree of patience:--"if i enter into a contest with the horse, he will fling and prance, and there will be no knowing which will be master; whereas if i remain quiet and determined, i have the best of it." the following is an example of the patience with which this man carried out his theory:-- being once mounted on a very obstinate colt that refused to move in the direction desired, he declined all suggestions of severe measures, and after one or two gentle but fruitless attempts to make the animal move, he desisted, and having called for his pipe, sat there quietly for a couple of hours enjoying a good smoke, and chatting gayly with passing friends. then after another quiet but unsuccessful attempt to induce the colt to move, he sent for some dinner which he ate while still on the animal's back. as night approached and the air became cool, he sent for his overcoat and more tobacco, and proceeded to make a night of it. about this time the colt became uneasy, but not until midnight did he show any disposition to move in the required direction. now was the time for the master to assert himself. "whoa!" he cried, "you have stayed here so long to please yourself, now you will stay a little longer to please me." he then kept the colt standing in the same place an hour longer, and when he finally allowed him to move, it was in a direction opposite to that which the colt seemed disposed to take. he walked the animal slowly for five miles, then allowed him to trot back to his stable, and finally--as if he had been a disobedient child--sent him supperless to bed, giving him the rest of the night in which to meditate upon the effects of his obstinacy. to some this may seem a great deal of useless trouble to take with a colt that might have been compelled to move more promptly by means of whip or spur; but that day's experience completely subdued the colt's stubborn spirit, and all idea of rebellion to human authority was banished from his mind forever. had a contrary course been pursued, it would probably have made the creature headstrong, balky, and unreliable; he would have yielded to the whip and spur at one time only to battle the more fiercely against them at the first favorable opportunity, and his master would never have known at what minute he might have to enter into a contest with him. that a horse trained by violent means can never be trusted is a fact which is every day becoming better recognized and appreciated. "a great many accidents might be avoided," says a well-known authority upon the education of the horse, "could the populace be instructed to think a horse was endowed with senses, was gifted with feelings, and was able in some degree to appreciate motives."... "the strongest man cannot physically contend against the weakest horse. man's power reposes in better attributes than any which reside in thews and muscles. reason alone should dictate and control his conduct. thus guided, mortals have subdued the elements. for power, when mental, is without limit: by savage violence nothing is attained and man is often humbled." the lady who has the good fortune to live in the country where she can have so many opportunities for studying the disposition and character of her animals, and can, if she chooses, watch and superintend the education of her horse from the time he is a colt, has undoubtedly a better chance of securing a fine saddle-horse than she who lives in the city and is obliged to depend almost entirely upon others for the training of her horse. indeed, very little formal training will be necessary for a horse that has been brought up under the eye of a kind and judicious mistress, for he will soon learn to understand and obey the wishes of one whom he loves and trusts, and if she be an accomplished rider she can do the greater part of the training herself. the best and most trustworthy horse the author ever had was one that was trained almost from his birth. fay's advent was a welcome event to the children of the family, by whom he was immediately claimed and used as a play-fellow. by the older members of the family he was always regarded as part of the household,--an honored servant, to be well cared for,--and he was petted and fondled by all, from paterfamilias down to bridget in the kitchen. he was taught, among other tricks, to bow politely when anything nice was given him, and many were the journeys he made around to the kitchen window, where he would make his obeisance in such an irresistible manner that bridget would be completely captivated; and the dainty bits were passed through the window in such quantities and were swallowed with such avidity that the lady of the house had to interfere and restrict the donations to two cakes daily. fay had been taught to shake hands with his admirers, and this trick was called his "word of honor;" he had his likes and dislikes, and would positively refuse to honor some people with a hand-shake. if these slighted individuals insisted upon riding him, he made them so uncomfortable by the roughness of his gaits that they never cared to repeat the experiment. but the favored ones, whom he had received into his good graces and to whom he had given his "word of honor," he would carry safely anywhere, at his lightest and easiest gait. fay never went back on his word, which is more than can be said of some human beings. the great difficulty in training a horse for a lady's use is to get him well placed on his haunches. in fay's case this was accomplished by teaching him to place his fore-feet upon a stout inverted tub, about two feet high. when he offered his "hand" for a shake, some one pushed forward the tub, upon which his "foot" dropped and was allowed to remain a short time, when the other foot was treated in the same manner. after half a dozen lessons of this sort, he learned to put up his feet without assistance; first one, and then the other, and, finally, both at once. these performances were always rewarded by a piece of apple or cake, together with expressions of pleasure from the by-standers. fay had a weakness for flattery, and no actor called before the curtain ever expressed more pleasure at an _encore_ than did fay when applauded for his efforts to please. that the tub trick would prove equally effectual with other horses in teaching them to place themselves well on their haunches cannot be positively stated. it might prove more troublesome to teach most horses this trick than to have them placed upon their haunches in the usual way by means of a strong curb, or by lessons with the lunge line. it proved entirely successful in fay's case, and a horse lighter in hand or easier in gait was never ridden by a woman. fay's training began when he was only a few weeks old: a light halter and a loose calico surcingle were placed on him for a short time each day, during which time he was carefully watched lest he should do himself some injury. when he was about eight months old, a small bit, made of a smooth stick of licorice, was put into his mouth, and to this bit light leather reins were fastened by pieces of elastic rubber: this rubber relieved his mouth from a constant dead pull, and tended to preserve its delicate sensibility. thus harnessed he was led around the lawn, followed by a crowd of youthful admirers and playmates, who formed a sort of triumphal procession, with which the colt was as well pleased as the spectators. every attempt on his part to indulge in horse-play, such as biting, kicking, etc., was always quickly checked, and no one was allowed to tease or strike him. nothing heavier than a dumb jockey was put on his back until he was four years old, when his education began in sober earnest. after a few lessons with the lunge line, given by a regular trainer, a saddle was put on his back, and for the first time in his life he carried a human being. when learning his different riding gaits on the road, he was always accompanied by a well-trained saddle-horse, aided by whose example as well as by the efforts of his rider he was soon trained in three different styles of movement, namely, a good walk, trot, and hand gallop. fear seemed unknown to this horse, for he had always been allowed as a colt to follow his dam on the road, and had thus become so accustomed to all such alarming objects as steam engines, hay carts, etc., that they had ceased to occasion him the least uneasiness. this high spirited and courageous animal had perfect confidence in the world and looked upon all mankind as friendly. his constant companionship with human beings had sharpened his perceptive faculties, and made him quick to understand whatever was required of him. the kindness shown him was never allowed to degenerate into weakness or over-indulgence, and whenever anything was required of him it was insisted upon until complete obedience was obtained. in this way he was taught to understand that man was his master and superior. although it is not absolutely essential that a lady's horse should learn the tricks of bowing, hand-shaking, etc., yet the lady who will take the pains to teach her horse some of them will find that she not only gets a great deal of pleasure from the lessons, but that they enable her to gain more complete control over him, for the horse, like some other animals, gives affection and entire obedience to the person who makes an effort to increase his intelligence. lessons with the lunge line should always be short, as they are very fatiguing to a young colt, and when given too often or for too great a length of time they make him giddy from rush of blood to the head; not a few instances, indeed, have occurred where a persistence in such lessons has occasioned complete blindness. a lady's horse should be taught to disregard the flapping of the riding-skirt, and it is also well for him to become accustomed to having articles of various kinds, such as pieces of cloth, paper, etc., fluttering about him, as he will not then be likely to take fright should any part of the rider's costume become disarranged and blow about him. he should also be so trained that he will not mind having the saddle moved from side to side on his back. the best of riders may have her saddle turn, and if the horse be thus trained he will neither kick nor run away should such an accident occur. it is also very important that the horse should be taught to stop, and stand as firm as a rock at the word of command given in a low, firm tone. this habit is not only important in mounting and dismounting,--feats which it is difficult, if not impossible, for the lady to perform unless the horse be perfectly still,--but the rider will also find this prompt obedience of great assistance in checking her horse when he becomes frightened and tries to break away; for he will stop instinctively when he hears the familiar order given in the voice to which he is accustomed. a lady should not fail to visit her horse's stable from time to time, in order to assure herself that he is well treated and properly cared for by the groom. viciousness and restlessness on the road can often be traced to annoyances and ill-treatment in the stable. grooms and stable boys sometimes like to see the horse kick out and attempt to bite, and will while away their idle hours in harassing him, tickling his ears with straws, or touching him up with the whip in order to make him prance and strike out. the result of these annoyances will be that, if the lady during her ride accidentally touches her horse with the whip, he will begin prancing and kicking; or, if it is summer time, the gnats and flies swarming about his ears will make him unmanageable. in the latter case, ear-tips will only make the matter worse, especially if they have dangling tassels. when such signs of nervousness are noticeable, especially in a horse that has been hitherto gentle, they may usually be attributed to the treatment of the groom or his assistants. most grooms delight in currying their charges with combs having teeth like small spikes and in laying on the polishing brush with a hand as heavy as the blows of misfortune. some animals, it is true, like this kind of rubbing, but there are many, who have thin, delicate skins, to whom such treatment is almost unmitigated torture. should the lady hear any contest going on between the horse and groom during the former's morning toilette, she should order a blunt curry-comb to be used; or even dispense with a comb altogether, and let the brush only be applied with a light hand. grooms sometimes take pleasure in throwing cold water over their horses. in very warm weather, and when the animal is not overheated, this treatment may prove refreshing to him, but, as a general rule it is objectionable, as it is apt to occasion a sudden chill which may result in serious consequences. the stable man may grumble at the lady's interference and supervision, but she must not allow this to prevent her from attending carefully to the welfare of the animal whose faithful services contribute so largely to her pleasure. when she buys a horse she introduces a new member into her household, who should be as well looked after and cared for as any other faithful servant or friend. indeed, the horse is the more entitled to consideration in that he is entirely helpless, and his lot for good or evil lies wholly in her power. if the mistress is careless or neglects her duty, the servants in whose charge the horse is placed will be very apt to follow her example, and the poor animal will suffer accordingly. perhaps the lady, however, may object to entering the stable, and agree with the groom in thinking it "no place for a woman." or she may fear that in carrying out the ideas suggested above she will expose herself to the ridicule of thoughtless acquaintances who can never do anything until it has received the sanction of fashion. for the benefit of this fastidious individual and her timid friends we will quote the example of the empress of austria, who, although occupying an exalted position at a court where etiquette is carried to the extremes of formality, yet does not hesitate to visit the stable of her favorite steeds and personally to supervise their welfare; and woe to the perverse groom who in the least particular disobeys her commands. many other examples might be given of high-born ladies, such as queen victoria, the princess of wales, the princess of prussia, and others, who do not seem to consider it at all unfeminine or coarse for a woman to give some personal care and supervision to her horses. but to enter into more details would prove tiresome, and the example given is enough to silence the scruples of the followers of fashion. like all herbivorous creatures that love to roam in herds, the horse is naturally of a restless temperament. activity is the delight of his existence, and when left to nature and a free life he is seldom quiet. man takes this creature of buoyant nature from the freedom of its natural life, and confines the active body in a prison house where its movements are even more circumscribed than are those of the wild beasts in the menagerie; they can at least turn around and walk from side to side in their cages, but the horse in his narrow stall is able only to move his head from side to side, to paw a little with his fore-feet, and to move backwards and forwards a short distance, varying with the length of his halter; when he lies down to sleep he is compelled to keep in one position, and runs the risk of meeting with some serious accident. in some stables where the grooms delight in general stagnation, the horses under their charge are not allowed to indulge in even the smallest liberty. the slightest movement is punished by the lash of these silence-loving tyrants, in whose opinion the horse has enough occupation and excitement in gazing at the blank boards directly in front of his head. if these boards should happen to be whitewashed, as is often the case in the country, constant gazing at them will be almost sure to give rise to shying, or even to occasion blindness. if the reader will, for several minutes, gaze steadily at a white wall, she will he able to get some idea of the poor horse's sensations. is it then to be wondered at, that an animal of an excitable nature like the horse should, when released from the oppressive quiescence of his prison-house, act as if bereft of reason, and perform strange antics and caperings in his insane delight at once more breathing the fresh air, and seeing the outside world. but, while the horse is thus expressing his pleasure and recovering the use of limbs by vigorous kicks, or is expending his superfluous energy by bounding out of the road at every strange object he encounters, the saddle will be neither a safe nor pleasant place for the lady rider. to avoid such danger, and to compensate, in some degree, the liberty-loving animal for depriving him of his natural life and placing him in bondage, he should be given, instead of the usual narrow stall, a box stall, measuring about sixteen or eighteen feet square. in this box the horse should be left entirely free, without even a halter, as this appendage has sometimes been the cause of fearful accidents, by becoming entangled with the horse's feet. the groom may grumble again at this innovation, because a box stall means more work for him, but if he really cares for the horses under his charge he will soon become reconciled to the small amount of extra work required by the use of a box stall. every one who knows anything about a horse in the stable is well aware of the injury done to this animal's feet and limbs by compelling him to stand always confined to one spot in a narrow stall. a box will prevent the occurrence of these injuries, besides giving the horse a little freedom and enabling him to get more rest and benefit from his sleep. some horses are fond of looking through a window or over a half door. the glimpse they thus get of the outside life seems to amuse and interest them, and it can do no harm to gratify this desire. others, however, seem to be worried and excited by such outlooks; they become restless and even make attempts to leap over the half door or through the window. in such cases there should, of course, be no out-of-door scenery visible from the box. the groom should exercise the horse daily, in a gentle and regular manner; an hour or two of walking, varied occasionally by a short trot, will generally be found sufficient. being self-taught in the art of riding, grooms nearly always have a very heavy bridle hand, and, if allowed to use the curb bit, will soon destroy that sensitiveness of the horse's mouth which adds so much to the pleasure of riding him. the man who exercises the horse should not be permitted to wear spurs; a lady's horse should be guided wholly by the whip and reins,--as will be explained hereafter,--and in no case whatever should the spur be used. if the lady wishes to keep her horse in good health and temper she must insist upon his being exercised regularly, and must assure herself that the groom executes her orders faithfully; for some men, while professing to obey, have been known to stop at the nearest public house, and, after spending an hour or two in drinking beer and gossiping with acquaintances, to ride back complacently to the stable, leaving the horse to suffer from want of exercise. other grooms have gone to the opposite extreme, and have ridden so hard and fast that the horse on his return was completely tired out, so that when there was occasion to use him the same day it was an effort for him to maintain his usual light gait. grooms who are always doctoring a horse, giving him nostrums that do no good but often much harm, are also to be avoided. in short, the owner of a horse must be prepared for tricks of all kinds on the part of these stable servants; although, in justice to them, it must be said that there are many who endeavor to perform all their duties faithfully, and can be relied on to treat with kindness any animals committed to their care. should the lady rider be obliged to get her horse from a livery stable, she should not rely entirely upon what his owner says of his gaits or gentleness, but should have him tried carefully by some friend or servant, before herself attempting to mount him. she should also be very careful to see, or have her escort see, that the saddle is properly placed upon the back of the horse and firmly girthed, so that there may be no danger of its turning. chapter ii. the riding habit. "her dress, her shape, her matchless grace, were all observed, as well as heavenly face." dryden. a riding habit should be distinguished by its perfect simplicity. all attempts at display, such as feathers, ribbons, glaring gilt buttons, and sparkling jet, should be carefully avoided, and the dress should be noticeable only for the fineness of its material and the elegance of its fit. one of the first requirements in a riding dress is that it should fit smoothly and easily. the sleeves should be rather loose, especially near the arm-holes, so that the arms may move freely; but should fit closely enough at the wrist to allow long gauntlet gloves to pass readily over them. it is essential that ample room should be allowed across the chest, as the shoulders are thrown somewhat back in riding, and the chest is, consequently, expanded. the neck of the dress should fit very easily, especially at the back part. care must be taken not to make the waist too long, for, owing to a lady's position in the saddle, the movements of her horse will soon make a long waist wrinkle and look inelegant. to secure ease, together with a perfect fit without crease or fold, will be somewhat difficult, but not impossible. some tailors, particularly in new york, philadelphia, london, and paris, make a specialty of ladies' riding costumes, and can generally be relied on to supply comfortable and elegant habits. the favorite and most appropriate style of =riding jacket= is the "postilion basque;" this should be cut short over the hips, and is then especially becoming to a plump person, as it diminishes the apparent width of the back below the waist. the front should have two small darts, and should extend about three inches below the waist; it should then slope gradually up to the hips,--where it must be shortest,--and then downward so as to form a short, square coat-flap at the back, below the waist. this flap must be made without gathers or plaits, and lined with silk, between which and the cloth some stiffening material should be inserted. the middle seam of the coat-flap should be left open as far as the waist, where about one inch of it must be lapped over from left to right; the short side-form on each side must be lapped a little toward the central unclosed seam. the arm-holes should be cut rather high on the shoulders, so that the back may look less broad. if the lady lacks plumpness and roundness, her jacket must be made double-breasted, or else have padding placed across the bust, for a hollow chest mars all the beauty of the figure in the saddle, and causes the rider to look round-shouldered. the edge of the basque should be trimmed with cord-braid, and the front fastened with crocheted bullet buttons; similar buttons should be used to fasten the sleeves closely at the wrist, and two more should be placed on the back of the basque just at its waist line. great care must be taken to have the jacket well lined and its seams strongly sewed. the coat-flaps on the back of the basque, below the waist-line, should be held down by heavy metallic buttons, sewed underneath each flap at its lower part, and covered with the same material as that of the dress. without these weights this part of the dress will be apt to be blown out of position by every passing breeze, and will bob up and down with every motion of the rider's body, presenting a most ridiculous appearance. for winter riding an extra jacket may be worn over the riding basque. it should be made of some heavy, warm material, and fit half tightly. if trimmed with good fur, this jacket makes a very handsome addition to the riding habit. poets have expatiated upon the grace and beauty of the long, flowing riding skirt, with its ample folds, but experience has taught that this long skirt, though, perhaps, very poetical, is practically not only inconvenient but positively dangerous. in the canter or gallop the horse is very apt to entangle his hind-foot in it and be thrown, when the rider may consider herself fortunate if she escapes with no worse accident than a torn skirt. another objection to this poetical skirt is, that it gathers up the mud and dust of the road, and soon presents a most untidy appearance; while if the day be fresh and breezy its ample folds will stream out like a victorious banner; if made of some light material the breeze will swell it out like an inflated balloon; and if of heavy cloth its length will envelop the rider's feet, and make her look as if tied in a bag. to avoid all these dangers and inconveniences the =riding skirt= should be cut rather short and narrow, and be made of some heavy material. two yards and a quarter will be quite wide enough for the bottom of the skirt, while the length need be only about twelve inches more than the rider's ordinary dress. the skirt should be so gored as to form no gathers or plaits at the waist. tailor-made skirts are so neatly gored as to remain perfectly smooth when the rider is seated in the saddle. as the pommels take up a good deal of room, the front part of the skirt, which passes over them, should be made a little longer than the back, so that, when the rider is seated in the saddle, her dress may hang evenly. if made the same length all around it will, when the lady is mounted, be entirely too short in front, and, besides presenting an uneven, trail-like appearance, will be apt to work back, or to blow up and expose the right foot of the wearer. the bottom of the skirt should have a hem about three inches wide, but should never be faced with leather, as this will give a stiff, bungling effect, and if the rider should be thrown, and catch the hem of her skirt on either pommel or stirrup, the strength of the leather lining would prevent the cloth from tearing and thus releasing her. shot, pieces of lead, or other hard substances are also objectionable, because by striking against the horse's side they often cause him to become restless or even to run away. to keep the skirt down in its proper position a loop of stout elastic, or tape, should be fastened underneath, near the bottom, and through this loop the foot should be passed before being put into the stirrup. the point where the loop should be fastened must be determined by the position of the lady's foot when she is correctly seated in the saddle. some riders use a second elastic for the right foot, to prevent the skirt from slipping back, but this is not absolutely necessary. the basque and skirt should be made separate, although it is a very good plan to have strong hooks and eyes to fasten them together at the sides and back, as this will prevent the skirt from turning, or slipping down below the waist, should the binding be a little too loose. the placket-hole should be on the left side and should be buttoned over, to prevent it from gaping open; it must be only just large enough to allow the skirt to slip readily over the shoulders. the best material for a riding habit is broadcloth, or any strong, soft fabric that will adapt itself readily to the figure. the color is, of course, a matter of taste. black is always stylish, and is particularly becoming to a stout person. dark blue, hunter's green, and dark brown are also becoming colors, especially for slender, youthful figures. in the country, a linen jacket may be worn in warm weather, and will be found a very agreeable substitute for the cloth basque, but the skirt should never be made of so thin a material, as it will be too light to hang well and too slippery to sit upon. to secure ease and freedom in the saddle, a garment closely resembling a pair of =pantaloons= will have to be worn under the riding skirt, and be fastened down securely by means of strong leather or rubber straps, which pass under the foot and are buttoned to the bottom of the pantaloons. these pantaloons should be made of some soft cloth the color of the dress, or else of chamois skin, faced up to the knee with cloth like that of the skirt. most people prefer the chamois skin for winter use, as it is very warm and so soft that it prevents much of the chafing usually occasioned by the rubbing of the right leg on the pommel. no under =petticoats= are necessary where the pantaloons are used, but if the rider wear one, it should be of some dark color that will not attract attention if the riding skirt be blown back. black silk will be an excellent material for such a skirt in summer, something warmer being used in winter. this skirt should have no folds or gathers in it, but if the rider be very thin a little padding around the hips and over the back will give her the desired effect of plumpness. an important article of every-day wear will have to be discarded and a =riding-habit shirt= used in its place. this shirt must be made short, that the rider may not have to sit upon its folds and wrinkles, which she would find very uncomfortable. the collar should be high and standing, _à la militaire_, and made of the finest, whitest linen; it should be sewed to the shirt for greater security, and should just be seen above the high collar band of the basque. the =drawers= must also be made very much like those of a gentleman, and the lower parts be tucked under the hose. the garters should be rather loose, or elastic. buttoned boots, or those with elastic sides, should not be worn when riding. for summer use, the shoe laced at the side, and having a low, broad heel, is liked by many. the ladies' wellington boot, reaching nearly to the knee, is also a favorite with some, and, when made without any seam in front, prevents the stirrup-iron from chafing the instep. to be comfortable, it should have a broad sole and be made a little longer than the foot. this boot, however, gives the wearer rather an amazonian appearance, and has also the great disadvantage of being very difficult to get off, the lady usually being obliged to appropriate the gentleman's bootjack for the purpose. the =best boot= for riding purposes, found to be the most comfortable, and one easy to get on and off, is made of some light leather, or kid, for summer use, and of heavier leather for winter; it extends half way to the knee, laces up in front, has broad, low heels and wide soles, and is made a little longer than the wearer's foot, so that it may be perfectly easy, as a tight boot in riding is even more distressing than in walking. the =corset= is indispensable to the elegant fit required in a riding habit, but should never be laced tight. it should be short on the sides and in the front and back. if long in front it will be almost impossible for the rider to pass her knee over the second pommel when she attempts to mount her horse, and will cause her, when riding, to incline her body too far back; when long at the sides it will be even more inconvenient, for, if at all tight, it will make the rider, when in the saddle, feel as if her hips were compressed in a vise; when too long behind, it will interfere with that curving or hollowing in of the back that is so necessary to an erect position; it will also tend to throw the body too far forward. if the rider have any tendency to stoutness all these discomforts will be exaggerated. the c. p. or the parisian _la sirene_ is undoubtedly the best corset for riding purposes, for it is short, light, and flexible, and not prejudicial to the ease and elegance of good riding, as is the case with the stiff, long-bodied corset. the =hair= should be so arranged that it cannot possibly come down during the ride. to effect this, it must be made into one long braid, which must be coiled upon the back of the head, and fastened firmly, but not too tightly, by means of a few long hairpins. the coil may be put on the top of the head, but this arrangement will be found very inconvenient, especially where the hair is thick, for it will make the hat sit very awkwardly on the head. the hair should never be worn in ringlets, as these will be blown about by the wind, or by the movements of the rider, and will soon become so tangled as to look like anything but the "smooth flowing ringlets" of the poet. nor should the hair be allowed to stream down the back in long peasant-braids, a style mistakenly adopted by some young misses, but which gives the rider a wild and untidy appearance. when the horse is in motion these braids will stream out on the breeze, and an observer at a short distance will be puzzled to know what it is that seems to be in such an extraordinary state of agitation. it is also a mistake to draw the hair back tightly from the forehead, as this gives a constrained look to the features; it should, on the contrary, be arranged in rather a loose, unstudied manner, which will tend to soften the expression of the face. it is the extreme of bad taste to bang or frizz the hair across the forehead, or to wear the hat somewhat on the back of the head. these things are sometimes done by very young girls, but give to the prettiest and most modest face an air of boldness and vulgarity. the =riding hat= at present fashionable, and most suitable for city or park, is made of black silk plush with a stanley curved brim, and bell-crown, and is trimmed with a narrow band around the crown, directly above the brim. another favorite is a jockey-cap, made of the same cloth as that of the habit. either of these may be obtained at the hat stores. for riding in the country, where one does not care to be so dressy, the english derby, or some other fashionable style of young gentleman's felt hat, may be used; with a short plume or bird's wing fastened at the side, a hat of this description has a very charming and coquettish air. there is another style of silk hat manufactured expressly for ladies, which may also be obtained at any hatter's; it has a lower crown than a gentleman's silk hat, and looks very pretty with a short black net-veil fastened around the crown, as this relieves the stiff look it otherwise presents. this style of hat is very appropriate for a middle-aged person. care must be taken to have the hat neither too loose nor too tight; if too tight, it will be apt to occasion a headache, and if too loose will be easily displaced. long veils, long plumes, hats with very broad brims, or very high crowns, as well as those which are worn perched on the top of the head, should be especially avoided. the hat must always be made secure on the head by means of stout elastic sewn on strongly, and so adjusted that it can pass below the braid or coil of hair at the back of the head. an ordinary back-comb firmly fastened on the top of the head will prevent the hat from gradually slipping backwards. these apparently trifling details must be attended to, or some prankish breeze will suddenly carry off the rider's hat, and she will be subjected to the mortification of having it handed back to her, with an ill-concealed smile, by some obliging pedestrian. many little particulars which seem insignificant when in the dressing-room will become causes of much discomfort and suffering when in the saddle. the pleasure of many a ride has been marred by a displaced pin, a lost button, too tight a garter, a glove that cramped the hand, or a ring that occasioned swelling and pain in the finger. these details, unimportant as they may seem, must be carefully attended to before starting for a ride. pins should be used sparingly. if a watch is worn, it should be well secured in its pocket, and the chain carefully fastened to a button of the jacket. the =riding gauntlets= should be made of thick, soft, undressed kid, or chamois skin, be long wristed, and somewhat loose across the hands, so that the reins may be firmly grasped. with the exception of the watch, the chain of which should be as unostentatious as possible, it will not be in good taste to wear jewelry. a cravat or small bow of ribbon will be in much better taste than a breast-pin for fastening the collar, and may be of any color that suits the fancy or complexion of the wearer. the costume may be much brightened by a small _boutonnière_ of natural flowers; these placed at the throat or waist in an apparently careless manner give an air of daintiness and refinement to the whole costume. there is one accomplishment often neglected, or overlooked, even by the most skillful lady riders, and that is, expertness in =holding the riding skirt= easily and gracefully when not in the saddle. in this attainment the parisian horsewoman far excels all others; her manner of gathering up the folds of her riding skirt, while waiting for her horse, forms a picture of such unaffected elegance, that it would be well for other riders to study and imitate it. she does not grab her skirt with one hand, twist it round to one side, allow it to trail upon the ground, nor does she collect the folds in one unwieldy bunch and throw it brusquely over her arm. instead of any of these ungraceful acts, she quietly extends her arms down to their full length at her sides, inclines her body slightly forward, and gathers up the front of her skirt, raising her hands just far enough to allow the long part in front and at the sides to escape the ground; then by bringing her hands slightly forward, one being held a little higher than the other, the back part of the skirt is raised. while accomplishing these movements her whip will be held carelessly in her right hand, at a very short distance below the handle, the point being directed downwards, and somewhat obliquely backwards. the whole of this graceful manoeuvring will be effected readily and artlessly, in an apparently unstudied manner. in reality, however, all the parisian's ease and grace are the results of careful training, but so perfect is the instruction that art is made to appear like nature. in selecting a =riding whip= care should be taken to secure one that is straight and stiff; if it be curved, it may accidentally touch the horse and make him restless; if flexible it will be of no use in managing him. the handle of the whip may be very plain, or the lady may indulge her taste for the ornamental by having it very elaborate and rich, but she should be careful never to sacrifice strength to appearances. any projecting points that might catch on the dress and tear it must be dispensed with. that the whip may not be lost if the hand should unwittingly lose its hold upon it, a loop of silk cord should be fastened firmly to the handle, and the hand passed through this loop. when riding, the whip should always be held in the right hand with a grasp sufficient to retain it, but not as if in a vise; the point should be directed downward, or toward the hind-leg of the horse, care being taken not to touch him with it except when necessary. chapter iii. the saddle and bridle. "form by mild bits his mouth, nor harshly wound, till summer rolls her fourth-revolving round. then wheel in graceful orbs his paced career, let step by step in cadence strike the ear, the flexile limbs in curves alternate prance, and seem to labor as they slow advance: then give, uncheck'd, to fly with loosen'd rein, challenge the winds, and wing th' unprinted plain." virgil, _sotheby's translation_. in ye ancient times, the damsel who wished to enjoy horseback riding did not, like her successor of to-day, trust to her own ability to ride and manage her horse, but, seated upon a pad or cushion, called a "pillion," which was fastened behind a man's saddle, rode without a stirrup and without troubling herself with the reins, preserving her balance by holding to the belt of a trusty page, or masculine admirer, whose duty it was to attend to the management of the horse. we learn that as late as a. d. , george iii. made his entry into london with his wife, charlotte, thus seated behind him. gradually, however, as women became more confident, they rode alone upon a sort of side-saddle, on which by means of the reins and by bracing her feet against a board, called a "planchette," which was fastened to the front of the saddle, the rider managed to keep her seat. such was the english horsewoman of the seventeenth century, in the time of charles ii.,--"the height of fashion and the cream of style." to the much quoted "vanity of the fair sex" do we owe the invention of the side-saddle of our grandmothers. about the middle of the sixteenth century catherine de medici, wife of henry ii. of france, having a very symmetrical figure which she wished to display to advantage, invented the second pommel of the saddle, and thus, while gratifying her own vanity, was unconsciously the means of greatly benefiting her sex by enabling them to ride with more ease and freedom. to this saddle there was added, about , a third pommel, the invention of which is due to the late m. pellier, sr., an eminent riding teacher in paris, france. this three-pommeled saddle is now called the =english saddle=, and is the one generally used by the best lady riders of the present day. this so-called "english saddle" was promptly appreciated, and wherever introduced soon supplanted the old-fashioned one with only two pommels. (fig. .) [illustration: fig. .--english saddle. , second pommel; , third pommel; , shield; , saddle-flap; , cantle; , stirrup-leather; , stirrup; , girths; , platform.] a lady who has once ridden one of these three-pommeled saddles will never care to use any other kind. it renders horseback riding almost perfectly safe, for, if the rider has learned to use it properly, it will be nearly impossible for a horse to throw her. it gives her a much firmer seat even than that of a gentleman in his saddle, and at the same time, if rightly used, does not interfere with that easy grace so essential to good riding. in many of our large cities where this saddle is employed twenty lady riders may now be seen in the park or on the road where formerly there was one; and this is wholly due to the sense of security it gives, especially to a timid rider, a feeling never attainable in the two-pommeled saddle, where the seat is maintained chiefly by the balance, or by using the reins as a means of support. by sitting erect, taking a firm hold upon the second pommel with the right knee, and pressing the left knee up against the third pommel, a perfectly secure seat is obtained, from which the rider cannot be shaken, provided the saddle is well girthed and the horse does not fall, while her hands are left free to manage the reins, a very important point where the horse is spirited or restless. to insure the greatest safety and comfort for both horse and rider, it is very important that the saddle should be accurately constructed. if possible, it should be made especially for the horse that is to carry it, so that it may suit his particular shape. if it does not fit him well, it will be likely to turn, or may gall his back severely, and make him for a long time unfit for service. it may even, in time, give rise to fistulous withers, will certainly make the horse restless and uneasy on the road, and the pain he suffers will interfere with the ease and harmony of his gaits. many a horse has been rendered unfit for a lady's use solely because the saddle did not fit well. the under surface of the arch of the saddle-tree, in front, should never come in contact with the animal's withers, nor should the points of the saddle-tree be so tightly fitted as to interfere with the movements of his shoulders. on the other hand, they should not be so far apart as to allow the central furrowed line of the under surface of the saddle (the chamber) to rest upon the animal's back. the saddle should be so fitted and padded that this central chamber will lie directly over the spinal column of the horse without touching it, while the padded surfaces, just below the chamber, should rest closely on the sides of the back, and be supported at as many points as is possible without making the animal uncomfortable. when a horse has very high withers, a breast-plate, similar to that employed in military service, may be used, to prevent the saddle from slipping backwards. this contrivance consists of a piece of leather passing round the neck like a collar, to the lowest part of which is fastened a strap that passes between the fore-legs of the horse and is attached to the saddle girth. two other straps, one on each side, connect the upper part of the collar piece with the upper part of the saddle. the under strap should never be very loose, for should the saddle slip back and this strap not be tight enough to hold down the collar piece, the latter will be pulled up by the upper straps so as to press against the windpipe of the horse and choke him. should the horse have low withers and a round, barrel-like body, false pannels or padded pieces may be used; but an animal of this shape is not suitable for a lady, for it will be almost impossible to keep the saddle from turning, no matter how carefully it may be girthed. a sufficiently spacious seat or platform to the saddle is much more comfortable for both horse and rider than a narrow one. it gives the rider a firmer seat, and does not bring so much strain upon the girths. this platform should also be made as nearly level as possible, and be covered with quilted buckskin. leather, now so often used for this purpose, becomes after a time so slippery that it is difficult to retain one's seat, and the pommels when covered with it are apt to chafe the limbs severely. to secure a thoroughly comfortable saddle it is necessary that not only the horse, but also the rider, should be measured for it; for a saddle suitable for a slender person could hardly be used with any comfort by a stout one, and it is almost as bad to have a saddle too large as too small. care must be taken to have sufficient length from the front of the second pommel to the cantle. in the ready-made saddles this distance is usually too short, and the rider is obliged to sit upon the back edge of the seat, thereby injuring both herself and her horse. it is much better to err in the other direction and have the seat too long rather than too short. the third pommel should be so placed that it will just span the knee when the stirrup-leather is of the right length. it should be rather short, slightly curved, and blunt. if it be too long and have too much of a curve, it will, in the english trot, interfere with the free action of the rider's left leg, and if the horse should fall, it would be almost impossible for her to disengage her leg and free herself in time to escape injury. the third pommel must be so placed as not to interfere with the position of the right leg when this is placed around the second pommel with the right heel drawn backwards. to get the proper proportions for her saddle, the lady must, when seated, take her measure from the under side of the knee joint to the lower extremity of her back, and also--to secure the proper width for the seat--from thigh to thigh. if these two measurements are given to the saddle-maker he will, if he understands his business, be able to construct the saddle properly. the saddle recommended by the author, one which she has used for several years, and still continues to use, is represented in fig. . the third pommel of this saddle is of medium size, and instead of being close to the second one is placed a short distance below it, thus enabling the rider to use a longer stirrup than she otherwise could; for if the two pommels be very close together, the rider will be obliged to use a very short stirrup in order to make this third pommel of any use. the disadvantage of a short stirrup is that, in a long ride, it is apt to occasion cramp in the left leg. it also interferes with an easy and steady position in the saddle. but with a stirrup of the right length, and the arrangement of the pommels such as we have described, a steadiness is given to the left leg that can never be obtained with the old-fashioned two-pommeled saddle. the third pommel must be screwed securely into the saddle-tree, and once fixed in its proper place, should not again be moved, as if frequently turned it will soon get loose, and the rider will not be able to rely upon its assistance to retain her balance. it should be screwed into place inversely, that is, instead of being turned to the right it must be turned to the left, so that the pressure of the knee may make it firmer and more secure, instead of loosening it, as would be the case if it were screwed to the right. this pommel should be well padded, so that the knee may not be bruised by it. the second pommel should also be well padded, and should always be curved slightly so as to suit the form of the right leg. it must not be so high as to render it difficult, in mounting and dismounting, to pass the right knee over it. the off-pommel, since the english saddle has come into vogue, has almost disappeared, being reduced to a mere vestige of its former size. this is a great improvement to the rider's appearance, as she now no longer has that confined, cribbed-up look which the high pommeled saddle of twenty years ago gave her. the distance between the off-pommel and the second one should be adapted to the size of the rider's leg, being wide enough to allow the leg to rest easily between the two; but no wider than this, as too much space will be apt to lead her to sit sideways upon the saddle. a saddle should be well padded, but not so much so as to lift the rider too high above the horse's back. the shield in front should not press upon the neck of the horse, but should barely touch it. the saddle flaps must be well strapped down, for if they stand out stiffly, the correct position of the stirrup leg will be interfered with. a side-saddle should never be too light in weight, for this will make the back of the horse sore, especially if he be ridden by a heavy woman. the tacks or nails in the under part of the saddle should be firmly driven in, as they may otherwise become loose and either injure the horse, or make him nervous and uneasy. to avoid trouble of this kind, some people advocate the use of false pannels, which are fastened to the saddle-tree by rods or loops, and can be removed and replaced at will. it is said that by using them, the same saddle can be made to fit different horses. the author has no personal knowledge of this invention, but it has been strongly recommended to her by several excellent horsemen. a felt or flannel saddle cloth, of the same color as the rider's habit, should always be placed under the saddle, as it helps to protect the horse's back, as well as to prevent the saddle from getting soiled. every finished side-saddle has three girths. two of these are made of felt cloth, or strong webbing, and are designed to fasten it firmly upon the horse's back. the third one, made of leather, is intended to keep the flaps down. there should always be, on each side, three straps fastened to the saddle-tree under the leather flaps; upon two of these the girths are to be buckled, while the third is an extra one, to be used as a substitute in case of any accident to either of the others. between the outside leather flaps and the horse's body there should be an under flap of flannel or cloth, which should be well padded on the side next the horse, because, when tightly girthed, the girth-buckles press directly upon the outside of this flap, and if its padding be thin, or worn, the animal will suffer great pain. this is a cause of restlessness which is seldom noticed, and many a horse has been thought to be bad tempered when he was only wild with pain from the pressure of the girth-buckles against his side. [illustration: fig. .--stokes' mode of girthing the saddle.] the credit of introducing a new method of tightening girths belongs, so far as we know, to mr. stokes, formerly a riding-teacher in cincinnati. this method enables one to girth the horse tightly, without using so much muscular effort as is usually required, so that by its means, a lady can, if she wish, saddle her own horse. (fig. .) the following is a description of mr. stokes' manner of girthing: at the end of each of the leather girth straps, which hang down between the flaps on the off-side of the saddle, is fastened a strong iron buckle without any tongue, but with a thin steel roller or revolving cylinder on its lower edge. on the near side of the saddle the girths are strapped in the usual manner, but, on the _outer_ end of each cloth girth there is, in addition to an ordinary buckle, with a roller on the upper side of it, a long strap, which is fastened to the under side of the girth, the buckle being on the upper side. this strap, when the saddle is girthed, is passed up through the tongueless buckle, moving easily over the steel roller, and is then brought down to the buckle with tongue on the end of the girth, and there fastened in the usual manner. the slipper stirrup, when first introduced, was a great favorite, for in addition to furnishing an excellent support, it was believed that it would release the foot instantly should the rider be thrown. this latter merit, however, it was found that it did not possess, as many severe accidents occurred where this stirrup was used, especially with the two-pommeled saddle. instead of releasing the rider in these cases, as it was supposed it would, the stirrup tilted up and held her foot so firmly grasped that she was dragged some distance before she could be released. this stirrup, therefore, gradually fell into disfavor, and is now no longer used by the best riders. [illustration: fig. .--victoria stirrup.] there are, at the present time, three kinds of stirrups which are favorites among finished riders. the first is called the "victoria" because it is the one used by the queen of england. (fig. .) in this stirrup the platform on which the foot rests is broad and comfortable, and is slightly roughened to prevent the foot from slipping. a spring-bar attachment (fig. ) is placed at the top of the stirrup-leather under the saddle-flap, and at the end of this bar there is a spring, so that, if the rider be thrown, the stirrup-leather becomes instantly detached from the saddle. [illustration: fig. .--spring-bar for stirrup leather.] the second variety of stirrup, known as "lennan's safety stirrup," has all the merit of the preceding one. if kept well oiled and free from mud, it will release the foot at once, when an accident occurs. it may, if desired, be accompanied by the spring-bar attachment, and thus rendered doubly secure. (fig. .) some people, however, dislike the spring-bar attachment, and prefer to rely entirely upon the spring of the stirrup to release the foot. [illustration: fig. .--lennan's safety stirrup.] the third stirrup, called "latchford's safety stirrup," consists of a stirrup within a stirrup, and is so arranged that, when a rider is thrown, the inner stirrup springs open and releases the foot. (fig. .) either of these stirrups can be procured in london, england, or from the best saddle-makers in this country. [illustration: fig. .--latchford's safety stirrup.] a =stirrup-iron= should never be made of cast metal, but invariably of the best wrought steel: it should be adapted to the size of the rider's foot, and should, if possible, have an instep pad at the top, while the bottom platform, upon which the foot rests, should be broad, and roughened on its upper surface. the =stirrup-leather= should be of the very best material, and should have neither fissures nor cracks in any part of it. it is very important to examine this leather frequently, and see that it is neither wearing thin, nor breaking at its upper part at the bar, nor at the lower part where it is fastened to the stirrup. a novel arrangement of the stirrup-leather, by means of the so-called "balance-strap," has of late years been used by some riders. the stirrup is, in this case, fastened to the balance-strap, which consists of a single strap passing up through the ring-bar, and then brought down to within two or three inches of the lower edge of the saddle-flap; here it is passed through a slit in the flap, then carried under the horse to the other side and buckled to another strap, which is fastened, for this purpose, just below the off-pommel. by this arrangement the saddle-flaps on both sides are held down, and the rider, without dismounting, can change the length of her stirrup by merely tightening or loosening this strap. although highly recommended by some riders, this balance strap has one objectionable feature, which is that, as the measurement of the horse's girth is not constant during a long ride, it will be necessary to tighten the strap frequently in order to keep the stirrup of the proper length. the old way of fastening is much better, for too much complication in the saddle and bridle is apt to annoy and confuse the rider, especially if a novice. the =golden rule= in riding on horseback is to have everything accurate, simple, safe, and made of the very best material that can be procured. the =bridle= should be neatly and plainly made, with no large rosettes at the sides, nor highly colored bands across the forehead. the reins and the head-piece should never be made of rounded straps, but always of flat ones, and should be of the best and strongest leather, especially the reins. these should be carefully examined from time to time, in order to be sure that there are no imperfections in them. any roughness or hardness is an indication of defectiveness, and may be detected by dexterously passing the fingers to and fro over the flat surfaces, which should be smooth, soft, and flexible. there can hardly be too much care taken about this matter, for the snapping of a rein always alarms a horse; and, feeling himself free from all control, he will be almost certain to run away, while the rider, if she has no other reins, will be powerless to protect herself, or to check him in his purpose. =martingales= are rarely used by riders, as they are troublesome, and can very well be dispensed with, unless the horse has the disagreeable trick of raising his head suddenly, from time to time, when a martingale will become necessary in order to correct this fault. the french martingale is the best. this consists of a single strap, fastened either to the under part of a nose-band at its centre under the jaw, or by branches to each side of the snaffle-bit at the corners of the horse's mouth and then carried between the fore-legs and fastened to the girth. when the horse raises his head too high this strap pulls upon the nose-band, compresses his nostrils, interferes with his breathing, and causes him to lower his head promptly. the horse should not be too much confined by the martingale, for the object is simply to prevent him from lifting his head too high, and all other ordinary movements should be left free. [illustration: fig. .--chifney bit.] among the many =bits= which have been used, that known as the "pelham" has been highly praised, although, at the present time, it is almost, if not entirely, out of use. it might, however, from the severity of its curb prove of service in controlling a hard-mouthed horse, although such a one should never be ridden by a lady. the chifney bit is another very severe one, and is very useful in managing a horse that pulls hard. but if the animal have a tender mouth, this bit should be used with great caution, and not at all by an inexperienced rider. (fig. .) the bit known as the "snaffle," when made plain and not twisted, is the mildest of all bits, and some horses will move readily only when this is used, the curb instantly rousing their temper. others, again, do best with a combination of the curb and the snaffle, and although the former may seldom require to be used, its mere presence in the mouth of the horse will prove a sufficient check to prevent him from running away. most horses, however, especially those ridden by ladies, require a light use of the curb to bring them to their best gait. [illustration: fig. .--the combination bit. _a_, _a_, rings fastened on each side to small bar, at right angles to and directed backward of the cheek; _b_, _b_, rings for the curb-reins.] the bit used and recommended by many, but not by the author, is a curb so arranged as to form a combination bit in one piece. it consists of a curb (fig. ), to each side of which, at the angles of the horse's mouth, a ring is attached, and to each of these rings is fastened a rein. this gives a second pair of reins and converts the curb into a kind of snaffle. in this way it answers the purpose of both curb and snaffle without crowding the horse's mouth with two separate bits. if two bits should be used--the curb and bridoon--instead of the above combination bit, the bridoon should be placed in the horse's mouth in such a way as not to interfere with the action of the curb; it must, therefore, be neither too thick nor too long, and so fitted into the angles of the mouth as to neither wrinkle nor draw back the lips. the bit should always be made of the best steel, be well rounded, and perfectly smooth. above all it should be accurately fitted to the horse's mouth: if it be too narrow it will compress his lips against the bars of his mouth, and the pain thereby occasioned will render him very restive. the mouth-piece should be just long enough to have the cheeks of the bit fit closely to the outer surface of the lips without compressing them, and must not be so long as to become displaced obliquely when a rein is pulled. [illustration: fig. .--dwyer's curb-bit. , , upper bars or cheeks; , , lower bars; , the port; , , the canons; , curb-chain; , curb-hook; , lip strap and ring; , , rein rings; , , head stall rings.] according to major dwyer, who is a high authority on the subject of bits,--and whose little work should be carefully studied by all bit-makers,--it seems to be the general rule to have the lower bar or cheek of the curb-bit twice as long as the upper one; but, as there is no standard measure for the upper one the other is frequently made too long. major dwyer states that the mouth-piece, for any horse of ordinary size, should be one and three fourths inches for the upper bar, and three and a half inches for the lower one. this makes five and one fourth inches for the entire length of the two bars, from the point at which the curb-hook acts above to that where the lower ring acts below. (fig. .) for ordinary ponies the upper bar may be one and a half inches, and the lower one three, making a total length of four and a half inches. every lady rider should know that the longer the lower bar, the thinner the mouth-piece, and the higher the "port," the more severe and painful will be the action of the bit upon the horse's mouth. for a horse of ordinary size, the width of the port should be one and one third inches; for a pony, one inch. the height will vary according to the degree of severity required. the curb-chain, for a horse that has a chin-groove of medium size, should be about four fifths of an inch wide, as a chain that is rather broad and flat is less painful for the horse than a thin, sharp one. if the chin-groove be very narrow, a curb-chain of less width will have to be used, and should be covered with cloth; or, instead of a chain, a narrow strap of leather may be used, which should be kept soft and pliable. the proper length for the curb-chain, not including the curb-hooks, is about one fourth more than the width of the animal's mouth. the hooks should be exactly alike, and about an inch and a quarter long. some horses are very expert in the trick of catching the cheek of the bit between their teeth. to remedy this vice a lip-strap may be used; but it will be found much better to have each cheek or bar bent into the form of the letter s, remembering, however, that the measurement of the length, referred to above, must in the case of curved bars be made in a straight line. sometimes the upper bar of the curb-bit will, on account of the peculiar form of the horse's head, press against and gall his cheeks. when this is noticed, most people change the bit, and get one with a longer mouth-piece; but where the mouth-piece is of the same length as the width of the mouth, the proper remedy for this difficulty will be to have the upper bar bent out enough to free the cheeks from its pressure. the curb-bit once made and properly adjusted to the head-stall, the next step will be to =fit it accurately= to the horse's mouth. every rider should thoroughly understand not only how to do this, but also how to place the saddle correctly upon the horse. upon these points nearly all grooms require instruction, and very few gentlemen, even, know how to arrange a side-saddle so as to have it comfortable for both horse and rider. moreover, should the lady be riding alone, as frequently happens in the country, and meet with any accident to saddle or bridle, or need to have either adjusted, she would, without knowledge on these subjects, be completely helpless, whereas with it she could promptly remedy the difficulty. [illustration: fig. .--the bit adjusted. , , snaffle-rein; , , curb-rein.] in order to adjust the bit permanently to the head-stall, so that afterwards the horse can always be properly bridled, one must proceed as follows: having first fitted the head-stall to the horse's head by means of the upper buckles, the bit must then be adjusted, by means of the lower ones, in such a manner that the canons of the mouth-piece will rest on the bars of the horse's mouth, exactly opposite the chin-groove. (fig. .) should the tusks of the horse be irregularly placed, the mouth-piece must be adjusted a little higher than the projecting tusks, so as to just avoid touching them. the curb-chain may now be hooked into the ring of the upper bar on the off-side, leaving one link loose, after which the other hook must be fastened to the ring of the bar on the near-side, leaving two links loose. care should be taken to have the curb-chain rest with its flat surface against the chin-groove in such a way that it will have no tendency to rise up when the reins are pulled upon. the curb-chain should never be tight; there must always be room enough between it and the chin to insert the first and second fingers of the right hand flatwise; and, while the fingers are thus placed, if the reins are drawn up, it will be easy to ascertain whether the chain pinches. if, when the reins are tightened, the bit stands stiff and immovable, it will show that the chain is too short and needs to be lengthened a link or two. if the horse gently yields his head to the tightening of the reins, without suddenly drawing back, or thrusting out his nose as the tension is increased, it will prove that the bit is correctly placed. but if the lower bars of the bit can be drawn back quite a distance before the horse will yield to the pull of the reins, then the chain is too long, and should be shortened. "lightness, accuracy, easy motion, a total absence of stiffness, constraint, or painful action, are the characteristics of good bitting; and if these be attained, ready obedience to the rider's hand will be the result."--_f. dwyer._ when the bit has once been correctly adjusted to the head-stall and to the horse's mouth, there will be little difficulty in bridling him upon any subsequent occasion. thus: standing at the left of the horse's head, the head-stall, held by its upper part in the right hand, should be lifted up in front of the horse's head, while the left hand, holding the bit by its mouth-piece, should put this between the animal's lips, press it against his teeth, and into his mouth, which he will generally open a little in order to admit it. as soon as this has been accomplished, the upper part of the head-stall must be promptly raised so as to bring its upper strap or band across the forehead, while at the same time the horse's ears are passed between the forehead band and the strap which forms the upper part of the head-stall. during these manoeuvres, the curb-chain must be passed under the chin, so as to rest against the chin-groove, and care be taken to keep the fingers of the left hand out of the horse's mouth while the mouth-piece is being put in. the bit and head-stall having been properly arranged, the whole should be secured by buckling the throat-strap loosely on the left side. if this strap be buckled tightly, the horse will be unable to bend his neck properly. the mouth-piece of the bit should be washed, dried, and then rubbed with fresh olive or cotton-seed oil, each time after use, to preserve it from rust. neither a rusted bit nor a very cold one should ever be put into a horse's mouth. in frosty winter weather the bit should always be warmed. many a valuable horse has had his mouth seriously injured by having an icy cold mouth-piece put into it, to say nothing of the pain and suffering it must invariably occasion. in order to produce a neat and pleasing appearance, there should be no unsightly ends or straps left dangling from the loops of the head-stall. they should be so snugly fitted into their places that they cannot work out of their loops. the forehead band should never be too tight for the horse's comfort, and the small rosettes that lie over his temples should be well oiled underneath and kept soft. a side-saddle may be made accurately according to all recognized rules, and yet lose nearly all its good effects by being improperly put on; the rider will be made uncomfortable, the horse's back will be injured, and the saddle will eventually have its padding so compressed in the wrong direction that it will be impossible to put it on in the right way. every lady rider should know as well how to have her saddle properly adjusted as how to sit her horse or manage the reins. on a well-formed horse, with rather high withers and sloping shoulders, the centre of the saddle should be placed over the middle of the back, and be so arranged that the front part of the saddle-tree shall be a very short distance back of the horse's shoulder-blade, for if allowed to rest upon the shoulder-blade it will interfere very much with the action of the shoulder muscles. it is a common fault of grooms to place the saddle a little sideways, and too far forward on the withers. the well-taught rider can, however, easily decide whether the saddle is in the right position: standing on the off-side of the horse, she must pass her right hand under the arch of the saddle-tree, which should be directly over the withers, and see whether it sits perfectly even, bearing no more to one side than to the other; then stepping behind the horse, but at a safe distance from his heels, she can see whether the long central furrow of the under surface of the saddle-seat from front to rear (chamber) is in a direct line with the animal's backbone, and forms an open space over it. if these conditions are fulfilled, the saddle is properly adjusted. if the horse have rather straight shoulders, together with a plump, round body, the saddle will require to be placed rather farther forward, but with the chamber still in a line with the backbone. on some horses of this shape, the saddle, to be held securely, will need to be set so far forward that the girths will have to pass close to the fore-legs. a horse of this description is not suitable for the side-saddle, but as ladies in the country and in the far west are sometimes obliged to ride such, it is very important for their safety to know how these ill-formed animals should be saddled, because should the saddle be put too far back on such horses, it will be sure to turn. it not infrequently happens that after the saddle has been placed in the correct position, it becomes slightly displaced while being fastened. to avoid this, it should always be girthed on the off-side, and great care be taken, when fastening the girths, especially the first one, that the saddle be not jerked over to the left; and that in pulling upon the short strap on the off-side, to which the girth is to be buckled, the saddle be not forced to the right. when girthing the saddle, the lady may place her left hand on the middle of the seat and hold it steady while she arranges the first girth, and with her right hand draws it as tightly as she can, without using violent exertion, or making any sudden jerk; she will then be able, with both hands, to tighten the girth as much as is necessary, doing this with an even, regular pull, so that the saddle will not be moved out of place. before fastening the other girths, she should step behind the horse and assure herself that the chamber is in a line with the horse's backbone, as before described. if it is not, she must loosen the girth, and, after straightening the saddle, proceed as before. the girth to be first fastened is the one nearest the horse's fore-legs; the second girth is the one back of the first, and should be placed evenly over the first one and fastened equally tight; the third is the leather girth which is intended to keep down the saddle-flaps; this must be placed evenly over the other two, but it is not essential to have it drawn so tight as they, but just enough so to hold the flaps. most horses have a trick, when they are being girthed, of expanding their sides and abdomen, for the purpose of securing a loose girthing; and girths that seem almost too tight when they are first buckled are often found to be too loose after the rider has mounted. too tight a girth is injurious to the horse, but too loose a one may cause the saddle to turn. a round, plump horse with low withers will need tighter girthing than a better shaped one. the lady rider should study the shape of her horse, and use her own judgment as to how tight the girths should be drawn, making due allowance for the trick alluded to above. if there is any second person present while the saddle is being arranged, matters may be facilitated if this person will hold the saddle firmly by the off-pommel while the girthing is being done. the author has been thus particular in describing the bit and saddle with their proper arrangement, as well as the girthing of the horse, because so few lady riders bestow any attention upon these very important matters; and yet, if one desires to ride safely and well, a knowledge of them is positively necessary. grooms cannot always be depended upon, and, indeed, seldom know much about the side-saddle; there is an adage which is applicable to many of them: "too much must not be expected from the head of him who labors only with his hands." in the instructions given by gentlemen writers, useful as they may be in many respects, there is usually a good deal of practical information omitted which a lady rider ought to know, but the necessity of which it is perhaps impossible for a gentleman fully to appreciate or understand; this knowledge the lady will have to gain either from her own experience or from one of her own sex who has studied the subject carefully. in preparing for horseback riding, nothing should be omitted that can give greater security to the rider, or protect her more completely from accident of any sort. every article should be of the very best material, so that a breakage or casualty of any kind may be only a remote possibility. the knowledge that everything is right, and firmly and properly placed, creates a confidence which adds greatly to the pleasure of the ride. chapter iv. mounting and dismounting. "'stand, bayard, stand!'--the steed obeyed, with arching neck and bending head, and glancing eye and quivering ear, as if he loved _her voice_ to hear." _lady of the lake._ a novice in riding always experiences in a greater or less degree a sense of trepidation and embarrassment when, for the first time, a horse duly caparisoned for a lady rider is put before her, and she is expected to seat herself in the saddle. if she be a timid person, the apparent difficulty of this feat occasions a dismay which the good-natured champing of the bit and impatient head shakings of the horse do not tend to diminish. if, however, she be accustomed to horses as pets, and understand their ways, she will be much less apprehensive about mounting than the lady who has only observed them at a distance and is entirely ignorant of their nature. the author has known ladies, after their horses had been brought to the door, to send them back to the stable because courage failed them when it became necessary to trust themselves on the back of an animal of which they knew nothing. to overcome this timidity the lady must become better acquainted with her horse, and, to do so, should visit him occasionally in his stable, feed him with choice morsels, and lead him about the yard from time to time. by these means a mutual friendship and confidence will be created, and the lady will gradually gain enough courage to place herself in the saddle. the first attempt at mounting should be made from a =high horse-block= with some one to hold the head of the horse and keep him still. turning her right side somewhat toward the horse's left, and slightly raising the skirt of her riding habit, the lady should spring from her left foot towards the saddle, at the same time raising her right leg so that it will pass directly over the second and third pommels. this accomplished, the left foot may be placed in the stirrup. another method of mounting from a rather high horse-block, when the pommels are high, is for the lady to face the horse's left side, and, seizing the off-pommel with the right hand and the second one with the left, to spring towards the saddle from her left foot, and seat herself sidewise. she can then turn her body so as to face the horse's head, place her right leg over the second pommel,--adjusting her skirt at the same time,--and slip her left foot into the stirrup and her left knee under the third pommel. should the =horse-block be low= and the lady short, she will be obliged to mount somewhat after a man's fashion, thus: placing her left foot in the stirrup, and grasping the second pommel with her left hand, she should spring from her right foot, and, as she rises, grasp the off-pommel with her right hand; by means of this spring, aided by the pommels and stirrup, she can seat herself sideways in the saddle, turning her body for this purpose just before gaining the seat. in the absence of a horse-block, from which to mount, the assistance of a chair or stool should never be resorted to unless there is some one to hold it firm and steady. when the rider is obliged to =mount= without assistance and =from the ground=, if the balance-strap, before referred to, be used with her stirrup, she can let this strap down far enough to enable her to put her foot in the stirrup easily, and to use it as a sort of stepping-stone by means of which, and a spring from her right foot, she can reach the saddle sideways. in doing this she must grasp the second pommel firmly with her left hand, in which she also should hold her whip and the reins; on rising she must aid herself by grasping with the right hand the off-pommel as soon as she can reach it. when she is seated, the stirrup can be adjusted from the off-side by means of the balance-strap. if, however, she uses the old-fashioned stirrup-leather, and there is no assistance of any kind at hand, neither horse-block, chair, nor stool, not even a fence or steep bank from which to mount,--a situation in which a rider might possibly be placed,--then reaching the saddle becomes a very puzzling affair, unless the lady be so active that she can spring from the ground to her saddle. to try the plan of lengthening the stirrup-leather will be dangerous, because, in order to readjust it after mounting, she will have to sit on the back part of the saddle, bend over the horse's left side, and pull up the stirrup-leather in order to shorten and buckle it; while in this position, if the horse should start, she would probably be thrown instantly. her safest course would be to lead the horse until a place is found where she can mount. if she should have to use a fence for this purpose let her be sure that the posts are firmly fixed in the ground, and that the boards are neither loose nor easily broken. when mounting, the whip and reins should be held in the left hand, the former with the point down, so that it may not hit the horse, and the latter grasped just tightly enough to feel the horse's mouth without pulling on it. in order to arrange the folds of the riding skirt after mounting, the reins and whip must be transferred to the right hand; then, resting this hand upon the off-pommel, the rider should raise herself free from the saddle by straightening her left knee and standing on the stirrup, also aiding herself by means of the right hand on the pommel. while thus standing she can quickly arrange the skirt with her left hand. none of the methods of mounting just described--with the exception of the first one--are at all graceful, and they should never be used except in case of absolute necessity. the most graceful way for a lady to reach the saddle, and the one that is taught in the best riding schools, is by the =assistance of a gentleman=. the rider's education will not be complete until she has learned this method of mounting, which, when accomplished easily and gracefully, is delightful to witness. it should be learned after the preliminary lessons at the horse-block have been taken. in using this simple manner of reaching the saddle, the rider will have three distinct points of support, namely, the shoulder of the gentleman who assists her, the united palms of his hands, and her own hold upon the pommel. [illustration: fig. .--lady ready to mount her horse.] the stirrup having been placed across the shield of the saddle in front of the pommels, the lady, holding the reins and the whip with its point down in her right hand,--which must rest upon the second pommel,--should stand with her right side toward the horse's left, about four or five inches from it, her left shoulder being slightly turned back. then, taking a firm hold upon the second pommel with her right hand, she should with the left lift her riding skirt enough to enable her to place her left foot fairly and squarely into the gentleman's palms, which should be clasped firmly together. this done, she should drop the skirt, place her left hand upon his right shoulder, bend her knee, or give the word "ready," as a signal, and at once spring from her right foot up and a little towards the horse. the gentleman, at the same moment, must raise his hands, and move them toward the horse. the lady must, when rising, press or bear lightly upon his shoulder, and also keep a firm hold upon the second pommel, which she must not relinquish until she is seated. if correctly performed, this manoeuvre will place the rider in the saddle sideways. the gentleman should then remove the stirrup from the front of the saddle, while the lady transfers the reins to her left hand, passes her right knee over the second pommel and her left under the third. she will then be ready to have her foot placed in the stirrup. (fig. .) it will, however, be found very difficult to mount in this manner, gracefully, unless the gentleman who assists thoroughly understands his duties; should he be awkward about helping her, the lady will find it much better to depend upon the horse-block. if, for instance, he should raise his hands too high, or with too much energy, when she makes her spring, he may push her too far over, or even--if she should loosen her grasp of the second pommel,--cause her to fall from the off-side of the horse. this is a dangerous accident, and almost certain to occasion severe injuries. on the other hand, if he does not use energy enough, or neglects to carry his hands toward the body of the horse as the lady rises, she may not reach the saddle at all, and will he apt to fall to the ground on the left side of the horse, especially if she relinquishes her hold on the second pommel. the gentleman must also be careful not to let his foot rest on the lady's skirt, as this will pull her back, and perhaps tear the dress, as she makes her spring. in assisting a lady to mount, the =gentleman= should first arrange the snaffle-reins evenly and of the proper length, and place them in her right hand, leaving the curb-reins to lie loosely on the neck of the horse. then, after putting the stirrup out of the way, as described above, he should take a position facing her, with his left shoulder toward the left shoulder of the horse. clasping his hands together with the palms turned up, he should stoop sufficiently to enable her to put her left foot upon them, and, in raising them as she springs, he must gradually assume the erect posture. when the lady is seated, he should return the stirrup to its proper position and place her foot in it, after first, with his left hand, adjusting her skirt so that it will fall evenly; he should then place the curb-reins in her left hand, with the others. no gentleman is a finished equestrian, nor a desirable companion for a lady on horseback, who does not know how to assist her dexterously and gracefully to mount and dismount. a lady who is not very nimble in her movements, or who is very heavy, should be extremely careful in mounting not to accept assistance from a gentleman who is not strong enough to support her weight easily and firmly. it will be much better for her to use a horse-block or something of the kind. but if she does accept the aid of a gentleman, the following changes in the methods described above have been recommended: instead of facing her, he should stand close to her side, with his face turned in the same direction as hers: she should then place her left foot in his united hands, and in order to do so must pass her left leg between his right arm and his body. he will thus be enabled to support and lift her with greater ease, and, as she rises, her left leg will readily escape from under his right arm, and she will be able to seat herself sideways in the saddle, as by the former method. during this manoeuvre she must sustain herself by the second pommel, as in the preceding instance. if a horse is restless and uneasy when being mounted, he should be held by a third person, who must stand in front of his head and take a firm hold of the curb-bit on each side, but without touching the reins, which should always be held and managed by the rider only. it is _always_ a better plan, when mounting, to have the horse held, although a well-trained horse will stand quietly without such control. mounting is a part of the rider's education which should be carefully studied and practiced, for when properly and gracefully accomplished it is the very poetry of motion, and will enable her to display more pliancy and lightness than she can even in the ball-room. there is another branch of the rider's education which also requires careful study, as it is rarely accomplished satisfactorily, and is apt to occasion as much embarrassment and dismay to a beginner as mounting. this is =dismounting=. to alight from a horse easily and well, without disarranging the dress, and without being awkwardly precipitated into the arms of the gentleman who assists, is by no means an easy task, and very few lady riders accomplish it with skill and address. when assisting his companion from the saddle, the gentleman should stand about a foot from her with his face toward the horse, while she, after taking her foot from the stirrup and disengaging her right leg from the pommel, must turn her body so as to face him. after putting the stirrup over the shield of the saddle, as in mounting, he should then extend his hands so as to support her by the elbows, while she rests a hand upon each of his shoulders. then, by giving a gentle spring, she will glide lightly to the ground, he meanwhile supporting her with his hands, and, as she descends, bending his body, and moving his right side slightly backward. she can also assist him to lessen the shock as she touches the ground by bending her knees a little, as if courtesying. another way of assisting the lady, especially if she be rather stout and not very active, is for the gentleman to clasp her waist with both hands, instead of holding her by the elbows. he should, in this case, stand as far from her as he can while still supporting her, and, as she descends, should make a step backward with his right foot, and turn a little away from the horse, which should be held by a third person, in the manner described before, in mounting. [illustration: fig. .--lady ready to dismount.] another, and more graceful way of dismounting is the following: the gentleman, standing about a foot from his companion and directly facing her, takes in his left hand her bridle,--as near as he can to the horse's mouth, that he may hold him as firmly and securely as possible,--the lady now drops the reins on the horse's neck, disengages her foot from the stirrup, and her leg from the second pommel, and then seats herself sideways in the saddle, so as to face her assistant, who now places the stirrup on the front of the saddle with his right hand; he then offers his right shoulder to the lady for her support. she, after gathering up in her left hand a few folds of her riding skirt, in order to have her feet free when she alights, places upon his shoulder the hand which holds the skirt, and with the other, in which she holds her whip point downward, grasps the second pommel and springs lightly from the saddle, the gentleman bending over a little as she descends. on reaching the ground, she should, as before described, bend her knees slightly to lessen the shock of the descent. (fig. .) in all these modes of dismounting, the lady, before attempting to alight, should be sure that her skirt is quite free from the pommels, especially from the second one, and that it is so adjusted that it will not be trodden upon when she reaches the ground, but will fall evenly about her, without being in any way disarranged. it happens not infrequently that a lady is obliged to dismount without =any one to assist her=, and in this case she should ride up to a horse-block so as to bring the left side of her horse close to it, let the curb reins fall upon his neck, retaining, however, the whip and snaffle-reins in her left hand, and then, removing her foot from the stirrup and her right leg from the pommel, she should seat herself a little sideways upon the saddle. now, with a slight turn of her shoulders to the right, she should place her left hand--still holding the whip and reins--upon the second pommel, and her right hand upon the off one, and thus alight sideways with her face toward the horse's head. in effecting this manoeuvre, she must be careful to retain her hold upon the snaffle-reins and also upon the second pommel until she is safe upon the horse-block; she must also remember the caution given before, in regard to having her skirts free from the pommels. to =dismount upon the ground=, or upon a very low horse-block, =without= assistance, is a difficult feat to execute gracefully, but some young ladies in the country, who are active and light, accomplish it so easily and quickly that they do not appear awkward. the manner in which this is to be done is nearly the same as that just explained, the only difference being, that the gliding down must be effected quickly and lightly, and the rider, as she passes down, must release her hold upon the off-pommel, but retain that upon the second, also taking care to have the reins quite loose. this mode of alighting is, however, entirely out of place except in the country, where assistance cannot always be had readily, or in cases where the lady is obliged to dismount very quickly. if the lady rider, after carefully studying these different methods of mounting and dismounting with assistance, will select the one she thinks suits her best, and then practice it a few times with her gentleman escort, she will soon find herself able to perform with ease these apparently difficult feats, and will have no need of resorting to a horse-block, nor to some secluded spot, where she can mount or dismount unobserved. a lady once told the author that the pleasure of her daily ride was at one time almost spoiled by the knowledge that she must mount and dismount in front of a hotel, the piazza of which was always crowded with observers, for, not having been properly taught to execute these manoeuvres, she was rather awkward at them. she, however, placed herself under correct tuition, and soon overcame the difficulty. she can now execute these movements with such grace and elegance as to fascinate gentlemen, and excite the envy of rival belles who are still obliged to seek the aid of a horse-block. chapter v. the seat on horseback. "bounded the fiery steed in air, the rider sat erect and fair, then like a bolt from steel cross-bow forth launched, along the plain they go." _lady of the lake._ a correct seat is very seldom attained by the self-taught lady rider, for her attitude on the horse is so artificial that she cannot, like the gentleman rider, whose seat is more easy and natural, fall directly into the proper position. competent instruction alone can enable her to gain the safe and easy posture which will give the least possible fatigue to herself and to her horse. it is true that a natural rider, or she who professes to ride instinctively, may to-day accidentally assume the proper position in the saddle, but, as she has no rule by which to guide herself, and is entirely unacquainted with the "whys and wherefores" of a correct seat, she will to-morrow assume the incorrect position, so natural to a self-taught rider, and the pleasant ride of to-day will be followed by a rough and unpleasant one to-morrow. on the one occasion, the poor horse will receive much praise for his easy motion, and on the next be highly censured for the roughness of his gait, for the lady will not suspect that the real difficulty lies in her own ignorance of a correct attitude, and in her bad management of the poor beast. upon the position of the upper part of the body depends not only grace and pliancy, and that harmony between horse and rider which is so highly desirable and, indeed, necessary, but also the ability to manage the reins properly; for, if the rider be not well balanced, her hands will be unsteady, and seldom in the right position for controlling the animal. but the proper position of the body above the saddle depends upon the correct arrangement of the lower limbs; if they are not in the right position, the rider will lean too far forward, or too far back, or too much to one side or the other. she will also lose all firmness of seat, and, consequently, all safety in riding. this faulty position of the lower limbs has been, and still is, the occasion of much incorrect riding, but is a point which is seldom regarded by the gentleman teacher. he, indeed, cannot possibly know how the legs are arranged, when they are covered by the riding skirt, and probably seldom gives the subject any thought; yet he wonders, after carefully watching and correcting the position of the body, why his pupil does not retain the erect position as directed. a lady teacher of experience is, therefore, much to be preferred to a gentleman, unless the lady pupil is willing to wear, while taking her lessons, trousers similar to those worn during calisthenic exercises. it sometimes happens that a lady, even after being carefully instructed how to sit in the saddle, and when she seems to understand what is necessary, will yet present a very erect but stiff appearance, as if she were made of cast-iron, or some other unyielding material. this may be due to nervousness, fear, tight-lacing, or affectation. practice in riding, loose corsets, and less affectation, will soon remedy this stiffness. another faulty position is one which may be termed "the dead weight seat," which is only possible when riding on an english saddle. it consists in sitting or bearing chiefly upon the left side of the saddle, the right leg firmly grasping the second pommel, and the left leg squeezed tightly between the stirrup and the third pommel, as if held in a vise. in this position the rider will be fastened to her horse as closely as if she were a package of merchandise strapped upon the back of a pack-horse. she will appear indolent and inanimate, besides riding heavily, and thus distressing and discouraging her horse; for a well-trained horse will always prefer to keep in unison with the movements of his rider, but will find it impossible to do so, when she adopts this constrained, unyielding seat. the rider will also be made miserable, for the constant effort to keep steady by a continuous pressure of the left knee against the third pommel will not only prove wearisome, but will be apt to bruise her knee, as well as strain the muscles of the upper part of the leg, and the next day she will feel very stiff and lame. in addition to which it will be impossible for her to rise in the english trot, or to move her body to the right in the gallop or canter when the horse leads with his left leg. moreover, should the lady who thus hangs upon the pommel be rather heavy, her horse's back will be sure to receive more or less injury, no matter how well the saddle may be made and padded. although the second pommel should be firmly grasped by the right knee, and the left knee be strongly pressed up against the third one, when the horse is unruly or trying to unseat his rider, these supports should not be habitually employed, but kept for critical situations, and even then the body must be kept erect, yet flexible. a rider who depends entirely upon the pommels to enable her to keep her seat is a bad rider, who will soon acquire all kinds of awkward and ridiculous positions, and expose herself to much severe criticism. the opposite of the "dead-weight seat" is what may be termed the "wabbling seat." this is seen where the old-fashioned saddle is used; the rider, instead of sitting firm and erect, bounds up and down like a rubber ball tossed by an unseen hand. this can be remedied by the substitution of the english saddle, whose third pommel, when used judiciously and aided by a proper balance of the body, will give the required firmness of seat, which should be neither too rigid nor too yielding. [illustration: fig. .--correct seat for a lady. back view.] =the correct seat=, universally adopted by finished riders, is the following: the lady should seat herself exactly on the centre of the saddle, with her body erect, and her backbone in a direct line with that of the horse, at a right angle with it. a spectator can readily tell whether the rider is in the centre of the saddle by observing whether the space between the buttons on the hind flaps of her riding-jacket corresponds with the backbone of the horse, and also with the chamber of the saddle. (fig. .) or the lady can herself decide the question by placing her fingers between these two buttons, and then carrying the former in a straight line directly down to the chamber of the saddle; if these coincide, and if she has placed herself far enough back on the saddle to be able to grasp the second pommel comfortably with her right knee, while the left one is just spanned by the third pommel, then she is in a position to ride with ease to herself and horse, for she now sits upon that part of the animal which is the centre of motion in his forward movement, and in this position can keep in unison with the cadence of his various gaits. again, her weight being exactly upon the centre of motion, she can with difficulty be unseated or shaken off by the most violent efforts of the horse, for, whether he springs suddenly forward, or sideways, or whirls around, the rider is in a position at once to anticipate his movement, to keep a firm seat, and quickly to gain her balance. when the horse advances straight forward, the rider--sitting with head erect and her body so placed that its entire front is directed toward the horse's head, or, in other words, that _a straight line drawn from one hip to the other would form a right angle with one drawn along the centre of the horse's head and neck_--must throw her shoulders somewhat back, so as to expand her chest, taking care, however, to keep the shoulders in line, and not to elevate one more than the other. there should also be, at the back of the waist, a slight inward bend which will throw the front of the waist a little forward. the arms, from the shoulders to the elbows, must hang perpendicularly, and the elbows be held loosely but steadily and in an easy manner, near the rider's sides, and not be allowed to flap up and down with every movement. the hands must be held low and about three or four inches from the body. the bearing of the head, the backward throw of the shoulders, and the curve at the waist, are exactly like those assumed by a finished waltzer, and if the reader is herself a dancer, or will notice the carriage of a good dancer gliding around the ball-room, she can readily understand the attitude required for a correct seat in the saddle. the right knee should grasp the second pommel firmly, but not hang upon it in order to help the rider keep her seat and balance. the right leg, from the hip to the knee, must be kept as steady as possible, because from a woman's position in the saddle, the movements of her horse tend to throw her toward his left side, and she must guard against this by bearing slightly toward his right. from the knee to the foot, the right leg must be in contact with the fore-flap of the saddle, the heel being inclined backward a little. the left knee should be placed just below the third pommel, so that this will span it lightly, close enough to assist in preserving a firm seat, yet not so close as to interfere with the action of the leg in the english trot. from the knee to the foot this left leg must be held in a straight line perpendicular to the ground, and the knee be lightly pressed against the side-flap of the saddle. the ball of the foot must be placed evenly in the stirrup, the heel being a little lower than the toes, which should be pointed toward the shoulder of the horse. (fig. .) [illustration: fig. .--correct seat for a lady. side view. , third pommel; , second pommel.] if the rider will seat herself in the saddle in the manner just described, she will find that she has a very firm seat, from which she cannot easily be displaced; but in order to appear graceful she must be flexible, and adapt herself readily to the motions of her horse. the shoulders, for example, although thrown back, must not be rigid, and the body, while erect, must be supple; the head be upright and free, and, in the leap, or when circling in the gallop, the body must be pliant, yielding and bending with the movements of the horse, but always resuming afterward the easy erect position. but it must be borne in mind that the above directions in regard to carriage apply to the times when the horse is moving, and need not be observed in full rigor at other times. when, for instance, the horse is standing, the rider may assume a more easy posture, collecting herself and steed simultaneously when she wishes him to move. the novice in riding should never be allowed to touch rein or whip until she has acquired a good seat, and a correct balance. during her first lessons, some one should ride by her side and lead her horse, while she, folding her hands in front of her waist, should give all her attention to gaining a correct seat; or, she may practice circling to the right by means of the lunge line, which will prove excellent training, and will teach her to bear toward the off or right side, for it has already been stated that the motion in the side-saddle has a tendency to impel the rider toward the left, and this tendency must always be guarded against by bearing the body a little to the right. circling to the right, when riding in the track of the riding-school, is also a useful exercise for this purpose, but as riding-schools are not always to be had conveniently, the lunge line will be found very useful, many riders, indeed, considering it even better than riding in the ring, as it keeps the horse well up to his gait. during a few of the first lessons, that the rider may not fall from the saddle, the stirrup-leather may be somewhat shortened, but as soon as an idea of the proper balance has been acquired and the reins and whip are placed in her hands, the stirrup must be lengthened, as this secures a firmer and more easy seat. this leather will be of the correct length when, by a little pressure on it with her foot, and a simultaneous straightening of her knee, the rider can spring upward about four or five inches from the saddle; but it must never be so long as to render the third pommel nearly, if not quite, useless. it is better to have the first lessons in riding rather short, so that the pupil may become gradually accustomed to the exercise. as soon as she begins to feel at all fatigued, she should at once dismount, and not try to ride again until the tired feeling is wholly gone. these intervals of fatigue will gradually become less and less frequent, until at last the rider will find herself so strong and vigorous that riding will no longer require any fatiguing effort. in the case of an active, healthy woman, accustomed to exercise of various kinds, these short preliminary lessons may not be necessary; her muscles will be already so well developed that she will not be easily fatigued by exercise of any kind. but for a lady who has always been physically inactive, these short lessons at first are absolutely necessary. the general system of such a person has become enfeebled, her muscles are weak and flabby, and any sudden or long continued exercise would tend to produce very injurious results, so that riding, unless begun very gradually, would probably do her more harm than good. but after reading all the directions just given about riding, the reader may ask what need there is of so much study and circumspection to enable a woman to mount a horse and ride him, when hundreds of ladies ride every day, and enjoy doing so, without knowing anything about the make of the saddle, or the position they ought to take when seated in it. although it seems almost a pity to disturb the serenity and self-complacency of ignorance, we shall be obliged, in justice to those who really wish to understand the principles of good horsewomanship, to point out some of the mistakes of those who think that riding is an accomplishment which can be acquired without instruction and study. it is not too sweeping an assertion to state that, of one hundred ladies who attempt a display of what they consider their _excellent_ horsewomanship in our streets and parks, ninety-five are very imperfect riders; and the five who do ride well have only learned to do so by means of careful study and competent instruction. they have fully appreciated the fact that nature never ushered them into the world finished riders, any more than accomplished grammarians or latin scholars, and that although one may possess a natural aptitude for an accomplishment, application, study, and practice are positively necessary to enable her to attain any degree of perfection in it. yet the idea unfortunately prevails very largely in this country that women require very little instruction to become good riders, and the results of this belief are apparent in the ninety-five faulty riders already referred to. let us now watch some of the fair americans whom the first balmy day of spring has tempted out for a horseback ride, and notice the faulty positions in which they have contrived to seat themselves in their saddles. with regard to their beauty, elegance of form, and style of dress, nothing more could be desired; but, alas! the same cannot be said of their manner of riding. [illustration: fig. .--crooked position in saddle. miss x.] take miss x. and mrs. y., for examples. these ladies have the reputation of being fine and fearless horsewomen, and certainly do ride with that dash and confidence which long practice in the saddle is sure to give, but we regret to say that we can bestow no further praise upon them. miss x. has taken a position that is almost universal with american horsewomen, and is exactly the one which a rider nearly always assumes when seated sideways on a horse without a saddle. instead of sitting squarely, with the entire front of her body facing in the direction toward which the horse is going, she sits crosswise. it will be seen by looking at fig. , that the central vertical line of her back, instead of being directly in the centre of the saddle, is placed toward the right corner of it, and that her shoulders are out of line, the left one being thrown back, and the right one advanced forward. this position makes it impossible for her to keep in unison with her horse when he is moving straight forward at an easy pace. when he changes his gait to a canter the rider will, for a short distance, appear to be more in harmony with him, because he is now turning himself slightly to the left and leading with his right fore-leg, a position which is more in unison with that of his rider. but, after a short time, the horse gets tired of this canter, turns to the right, and leads with his left fore-leg. this change entirely destroys the apparent harmony which had before existed between the two. the lady, knowing nothing about the position of a horse when galloping or cantering, is ignorant of the fact that he always turns a little to the right or left according to the leg with which he leads, and that she ought to place her body in a corresponding position. she has but one position in the saddle,--the crooked one already described,--and this she maintains immovably through all the changes of her horse's gaits. [illustration: fig. .--crooked position in saddle. mrs. y.] let us now turn to mrs. y., who is even a more faulty rider than her companion. she has likewise taken a crosswise position in the saddle; but having given a peculiar twist to her body so that, by turning her right shoulder backward, she can look to the right, she seems to imagine that by these means she has placed herself squarely upon the saddle. (fig. .) as she is riding a racking horse and seated on a two-pommeled saddle, she holds the reins firmly in her left hand and by a steady pull on them she balances herself and keeps her horse up to his gait. but this steady pull will soon ruin the tenderness and sensitiveness of any horse's mouth, and this is the reason why racking horses generally have very hard mouths, many of them requiring to be well held up or supported in their rack by the reins. as this pulling upon the reins also gives considerable support to the rider, many ladies prefer a racking horse. now notice mrs. y., who is attempting to turn her hard-mouthed racker. instead of doing this by an almost imperceptible movement of the hand, her left hand and arm can be distinctly seen to move, and to fairly pull the animal around. her right hand--probably acting in sympathy with the left, so tightly clasped over the reins--holds the whip as if it were in a vise intended to crush it. in odd contrast with the rigidly held hands is the body with its utter lack of firmness. it can be seen at a glance why the lady will only ride an easy racker, for it is well known that on a good racker or pacer the body of a rider in a faulty position is not jolted so much as in other gaits. for this reason also the rack and pace are the favorite gaits of most american horsewomen. nearly every lady who rides has an ambition to be considered a finished horsewoman, but this she can never be until she is able to ride properly the trot and gallop, can keep herself in unison with her horse, whether he leads with the left or right fore-leg, and has hands that will "give and take" with the horse's movements and bring him up to his best gait. from this point of view, miss x. and mrs. y., then, are by no means the "splendid riders" that their friends suppose them, but having all the confidence of ignorance they ride fast and boldly and with a certain _abandon_ that is pleasing; but by those who understand what good riding is, they must always be regarded as very faulty riders. [illustration: fig. .--incorrect position of legs and feet. side view.] another common fault, against which we have already warned the reader, is that of riding with too short a stirrup-leather, thus pressing the left knee up against the third pommel, carrying the left heel backward and slightly upward, and dropping the toes of the left foot more or less down toward the ground, while those of the right are raised and pointed toward the horse's head. (fig. .) although the lower limbs are concealed by the skirt, it can easily be told whether they are in the position just described, from the effect produced upon the upper part of the body, which then leans too far forward and too much to the right (fig. ); while the rider, in her efforts to balance herself, inclines her shoulders to the left. this is a very awkward as well as a very dangerous attitude, because, by thrusting her leg backwards, the action of spurring is imitated, and, if the horse is very high-spirited, this may cause him to become restive, or even to run away. should the leg, moreover, as is very apt to be the case, be firmly and steadily pressed against the animal's side, he may suddenly pirouette or turn around to the right, especially if he has been accustomed to carrying gentlemen as well as ladies. this short stirrup-leather and improper use of the third pommel should be carefully avoided. [illustration: fig. .--incorrect position when legs and feet are wrongly placed.] the use of too long a stirrup-leather is apt to be the mistake of those who ride upon the old-fashioned saddle, but is a fault which has become much less common since the english saddle has been more generally used. the objection to too long a stirrup-leather is that, when the foot is pressed upon it, the leg at the same time is straightened, and extends down so far as to cause the rider to sit too much to the left of the saddle. as the pressure and weight are thus thrown wholly upon the left side, the saddle is very likely to turn, and if this faulty position be persisted in, it will be certain to injure the horse's back and may give rise to fistulous withers. besides looking very awkward and inelegant, when stooping forward in the saddle and rounding the back without the slightest curve inwardly, the rider will also run great risk, if her horse stumbles or makes any sudden movement, of being unseated, or at least thrown violently against the front of the saddle, as it is almost impossible for her, under such circumstances, to adapt herself to the change in his motion quickly enough to preserve her equilibrium. in all violent movements of the horse, except rearing, the body must be inclined backward, so as to keep the balance. when he is moving briskly in his ordinary gaits, the body must be kept erect; and when he is turning a corner rapidly, it should be inclined backward somewhat, and toward the inner bend of the horse's body; or, in other words, toward the centre of the circle, of which the turn forms a segment. here come two ladies who have evidently received very limited instructions in the art of riding. notice how the head of one is thrust forward, while the other, though holding her head erect allows it to be jerked about with every motion of her horse. it shakes slowly when the animal is walking, but as he quickens his pace to a canter, it rocks with his motion, and, during his fast pace, the poor head moves so rapidly as to make one fear that the neck may become dislocated, while the arms dance about simultaneously with the movements of the head in a way that reminds one of the toy dancing-jacks, pulled by an unseen hand for the amusement of children. the head should, in riding, be kept firm and erect, without stiffness, the chin being drawn in slightly, and not protruding high in the air, because the latter gives one a supercilious look. the head and shoulders should adapt themselves, in their direction, to the movements of the head and fore-legs of the horse, and the arms should be held as steady as possible. but here come several ladies who have taken lessons at the riding-school and may, therefore, reasonably be expected to be finished riders; but such, alas! is not the case. they have been trying "to walk before they could creep," or, in other words, their lessons in riding have been conducted too hastily. they have begun to try a canter or a rapid gallop before they knew how to sit correctly upon their horses, or even to manage them properly in a walk. this desire to make too rapid progress is more frequently the fault of the pupil than of the riding teacher. most teachers have an ambition to make finished riders of their pupils, and take much pride in doing so, especially as such a result adds greatly to the prestige of their school. this ambition is often defeated, however, by the impatience of the pupils, who are not satisfied to learn slowly and well, but overrule the teacher's objections and undertake to gallop before they have acquired even the first principles of horsewomanship. moreover, many of these ladies never take any road lessons, so highly important to all who would become thoroughly accomplished in this art; nor do they remain long enough under instruction in the school, but seem to think that a few short lessons are enough to make them finished riders. they often refuse to learn the english trot, although this is a very important accomplishment for the beginner, as it enables her to gain a correct idea of the balance. or, if they do attempt to learn it, they insist upon circling only to the right, as this is easier than going the other way. again, many pupils will insist upon riding the same favorite horse, instead of leaving the selection to the judgment of the teacher, who is well aware that it is much better for the lady's progress that she should ride a variety of horses with different gaits. he is often driven to his wit's end when two or three ladies who patronize his school, and whom it is an honor to have as pupils, express a desire to ride the same horse on the same occasion. should he favor one more than the others, the latter will become highly offended, and the poor man in his perplexity is often obliged to resort to some subterfuge to pacify them. it is not difficult, then, to understand why some ladies, although they have taken lessons at a riding-school, are, nevertheless, not finished riders, their faults being due, not to the instruction but to their own lack of judgment or inattention. it is true that occasionally the teacher, although he may be an excellent instructor for gentlemen, is not so good a one for ladies, or he may become careless, believing that if he gives them well-trained horses to ride very little else is required of him. or, again, he may think, as many foreigners do, that very few american ladies know how a woman should ride, and are satisfied with being half taught. it cannot be too strongly impressed upon riding teachers that in every riding-school where ladies are to be taught there should be at least one lady assistant. a gentleman can give all the necessary instructions about the management of the horse and the handling of the reins better than most ladies; but, in giving the idea of a correct seat and the proper disposal of the limbs, the presence of a lady assistant becomes necessary; in these matters she can instruct her own sex much better than a man can. chapter vi. to hold the reins, and manage the horse. "what a wild thought of triumph, that this girlish hand such a steed in the might of his strength may command! what a glorious creature! ah! glance at him now, as i check him awhile on this green hillock's brow; how he tosses his mane, with a shrill, joyous neigh, and paws the firm earth in his proud, stately play!" grace greenwood. the position of the rider in the saddle has a decided influence upon the horse's mouth, rendering his movements regular or irregular, according to the correctness and firmness of the seat; for, if the rider be unsteady or vacillating in the saddle, this will exert an influence upon the hand, rendering it correspondingly unstable, and will thereby cause the horse's movements to be variable. and should she endeavor to remedy this unsteadiness of hand and seat by supporting herself upon the reins, the horse will defend himself against such rigid traction by making counter-traction upon the reins, thrusting his head forward, throwing himself heavily upon his fore-legs, thus forcing the hands of the rider, and compelling her to support the weight of his neck and shoulders. on the contrary, if she be firm in her seat, and not in the least dependent upon the reins, her hand will be light, and the animal will yield a ready obedience and advance in his best pace. the preceding remarks explain why a horse will go lightly with one rider and heavily with another. a lady should have a thorough knowledge of the management of her horse, and of the means by which she may command him in every degree of speed, and under all circumstances; without this knowledge she can never become a safe and accomplished horsewoman. a gentleman may guide and control his horse, and obtain obedience from a restive one, by a firm, strong hand, and by his courage and determined will; but as a rule, a lady cannot depend upon these methods; she will have to rely entirely upon the thorough training of her horse, a properly arranged bit, her firm, yet delicate touch, and her skill in handling the reins. the well-trained hand of a woman is always energetic enough to obtain the mastery of her horse, without having to resort to feats of strength and acrobatic movements; and a _lady_ should never seek to gain prestige by riding restless or vicious horses, in order that she may display her skill in conquering them; though every rider should be thoroughly taught how to control her steed in cases of emergency. when one sees how little skill most lady riders exhibit in managing the reins, it seems almost miraculous that so few accidents occur to them, and is indeed a positive proof of the excellent temper of their horses. from some mysterious cause, most horses will bear more awkwardness and absurdity in the handling of the reins by a woman than by a man, and will good-naturedly submit to the indifferent riding of the gentle being in the side-saddle, while the same character of riding and treatment from a man would arouse every feeling of defense and rebellion. the probable cause of this difference of action on the part of the horse is, that a lady rider, with all her ignorance of seat and rein, will talk kindly to and pet her steed, and will rarely lose her temper, no matter in what eccentricities he may indulge, and her gentleness causes the animal to remain gentle. on the contrary, when a man throws his weight upon the reins, jerking and pulling upon them, his horse, seeking to defend himself against such rough measures, arouses the temper of his rider, and this anger is soon communicated to the animal, which then becomes obstinate and rebellious; moreover, a man will often whip and spur for some trivial offense in instances where a woman would simply speak to her horse, or take no notice. hence, the ignorant horsewoman often rides in safety under circumstances in which the ignorant horseman, who has resorted to violent measures, meets with an accident. although a horse may submit to an awkward rider and carry her with safety, still she will have no power to make him move in his best and most regular manner, and there will exist no intelligence or harmony between the two. yet this same horse, when mounted by a lady who understands the =management of the reins=, will be all animation and happiness. there will soon be established a tacit understanding between the two, and the graceful curvetings and prancings of the steed will manifest his pride and joy in carrying and obeying a gentle woman, who manages the reins with spirit and resolution, and yet does not, with the cruelty of ignorance or indifference, convert them into instruments of torture. the =reins= should not be employed until a firm, steady position upon the saddle has been acquired, and then, for first lessons, the snaffle only should be used, =a rein in each hand=. it will be better to have the reins marked at equal distances from the bit, either by sewing colored thread across each, or otherwise; this will be useful because, with the novice, the reins will imperceptibly slip through her hands, or one rein will become longer than the other, and the markings will enable her to notice these displacements, and promptly to remedy them. by holding the snaffle-reins separately, in first lessons, the pupil will be aided in assuming a square position upon the saddle, and will likewise be prevented from throwing back her right shoulder, out of line with the left, a common fault with beginners, especially when the reins are held only in the left hand. this rein-hold is very simple; the right rein of the snaffle must be held in the right hand, and the left rein in the left. [illustration: fig. .--snaffle-reins; one in each hand.] the hands being closed, but not too tightly, must be held with their backs toward the horse's head, and each rein, as it ascends from the bit, must be passed between the third and fourth fingers of its appropriate hand, carried across the inner surface of the third, second, and first fingers, and then be drawn over the outside (or side next to the thumb) of the first finger, against which it must be held by firm pressure of the thumb. the thumbs must be held opposite each other and uppermost, the finger-nails toward the body, and the back of the wrists must be rounded a little outwardly, so as to make a slight bend of the closed hand toward the body. the little fingers must be held down and nearly in a horizontal line with the tips of the elbows; and the hands be kept as low as possible, without resting upon the knees, and be about four inches distant from the body, and from four to six inches apart. (fig. .) this arrangement of hands and reins may be termed the "original position" when a snaffle-rein is held in each hand, of which all the others are variations. in this position,--the reins being held just short enough to feel the horse's mouth,--if the hands be now slightly relaxed by turning the nails and thumbs toward the body, the latter being, at the same time, inclined a little forward, the horse will be enabled to advance freely, and, as soon as he =moves onward=, the original position of the hands must be gently resumed. it is proper to remark here, that when using the snaffle-reins only, the curb-bit should always be in the horse's mouth, its reins being tied and allowed to rest upon his neck, although the pupil must not be allowed to meddle with it. the presence of the curb in the horse's mouth, although not used, has a restraining influence, especially with an animal accustomed to it. =to turn the horse to the right=, the right rein must be shortened so as to be felt at the right side of his mouth; to effect this, the little finger of the right hand must, by a turn of the wrist, be moved in toward the body and sufficiently toward the left, with the nails up and the knuckles down, while, in order to aid the horse, the rider will simultaneously turn her face and shoulders slightly to the right. the animal having made the turn, the hand must gently return to the original position, and the body again face to the front. =to turn the horse to the left=, the left rein must be shortened, by a turn of the left wrist, carrying the little finger of the left hand toward the body and to the right, nails upward, etc., while the pupil will slightly turn her face and shoulders to the left. the turn having been effected, the original position must be resumed, the pupil, in all these cases, taking great care that the markings on her reins are even and in the correct position. =to stop the horse=, both reins must be shortened evenly; this must be accomplished by a turn of both wrists that will bring the little fingers toward the body with the finger-nails uppermost, the body of the pupil being, at the same time, slightly inclined backward. now, by bending the wrists to a still greater degree, and bringing the hands in closer to the body, which must be inclined a little forward, and nearly in contact with each other, thus throwing more strength upon the reins, the horse will be compelled =to back=. to make him =move on again=, the hands and body must resume the original position, and the hands must be relaxed, etc., as stated above. when the pupil becomes more advanced, and can command her horse, in all his gaits, with the reins separate, one in each hand, she will then be prepared for lessons in handling =both reins with the left hand= only, still employing the snaffle, as her touch may not be delicate enough for the curb. [illustration: fig. .--snaffle-reins; both in the left hand.] for this purpose, the reins being held for the time being in the right hand, the left, having its back toward the horse's head, will seize them as follows: its little finger must be passed directly between the two reins, the left rein being on the outer side of this finger and the right one on its right side, between it and the third finger. this done, the reins must be drawn up nearly even to the marks upon them,[ ] so as just to feel the animal's mouth, noticing that these marks are nearly on a line with each other, while that portion of the reins lying within the hand must be carried across its palm to the index finger, to a point between its first and second joints, against which point, being placed evenly with one overlying the other, they are to be firmly held by pressure of the thumb; the right hand may now quit its hold upon the reins. (fig. .) footnote : it is stated in this paragraph that the _marks on the reins_ should be "nearly even," or "nearly on a line with each other," because, in its passage under the little finger, across the hand, and on the outside of the right rein, the left one will be shortened so that its marking will be about half an inch nearer the bit than that of the right one; consequently, in order to make the pressure upon the horse's mouth even, the right rein will have to be shortened to the extent named. the reins having been properly placed in the left hand according to the directions just given, this hand, being closed, but not too tightly, must be held at a distance of about three inches from the front part of the waist, with the wrist slightly rounded, the nails toward the body, the back of the hand toward the horse's head, and the little finger down and a little nearer the body than the others. the under surface of the bridle arm and hand, from the tip of the elbow to the first joint of the little finger, should be held nearly in a horizontal line. the elbow must be held somewhat close to the side but not in contact with it, and should be kept steady. care must be taken, when the reins are held in the left hand, that the right shoulder be not thrown back, nor the left one elevated, faulty positions common to beginners when not otherwise instructed. the right arm should be allowed to hang easily and steadily at the side, the whip being lightly held in it, with its point downward. when the snaffle-reins are held in the left hand as described, we may term this the "original position," of which all the others are variations. in order that the horse may =move onward=, the left hand, holding the reins as just described, should be relaxed by turning the thumb downward and toward the body until the back of the hand is up and the finger-nails down; at the same time, the pupil should slightly incline her body forward, being careful not to round the shoulders,--aiding the movement by the voice, or, if necessary, by a gentle tap of the whip. the horse having started onward, the original position must be gently resumed. in order to =turn the horse to the right=, the left wrist must be turned so as to bring the nails down and the knuckles up,--the thumb being toward the body,--at the same time carrying the little finger slightly to the left, and drawing the reins a little upward. this movement will effect the necessary shortening of the right rein, without allowing any looseness of the left one. the turn having been accomplished, the hand must resume the original position. it must not be forgotten, that while making this turn the face and shoulders must be turned somewhat to the right, or in the direction in which the horse is moving. =to turn to the left=, the bridle-hand being in the original position, its wrist must be turned so as to carry the finger-nails up, and the knuckles down, simultaneously moving the little finger toward the right and pressing it against the left rein, both reins being drawn slightly upward. this manoeuvre shortens the left rein, without relaxing the right. in this turn the movements of the horse should be aided by the rider's face and shoulders being turned a little to the left. the turn having been made, the original position must be resumed. the horse =may be stopped= by simply turning the wrist so as to carry the finger-nails up, the knuckles down, and the little finger toward the body, which must be slightly inclined backward. now, by bracing the muscles of the hand, bending the wrist and carrying the hand farther in toward the waist, at the same time advancing the body, the animal will be made =to back=; though, in backing a horse, it will be better to employ both hands. after having stopped, or backed the horse, to make him =move onward=, a course should be pursued, with both reins in the bridle-hand, similar to that described for the same purpose when a rein is held in each hand. =to change the snaffle-reins from the left to the right hand=, as is sometimes necessary in order to adjust the skirt, to relieve the left hand, etc., the following course must be pursued, whether the horse be in rapid or slow motion: while the left hand must retain its position and gentle pressure of the reins upon the horse's mouth, the right must be carried to and over the left hand, its forefinger be passed between the two reins, so that the left rein will be on the left side of this finger, and the right on its right side, between the first and second fingers; both reins must now be carried to the right, across the palm, to the little finger; the hand must then be firmly closed, and the thumb be pressed against the left rein, holding it in contact with the index finger,--the left hand now gives up the reins. in this change, while the right hand is being carried over to the left, this latter must be held stationary, as any movement of it to meet the right hand may cause the animal to turn or swerve from his course, and will at the same time interfere with his gait. =to return the reins to the left hand=, the following course must be pursued: while the right hand must remain steady and sustain the gait of the horse, the left must be carried to and over it, insert its little finger between the two reins, so that the left one will be on the left or outer side of this finger, and the right one on its right side, between it and the third finger; then the reins must be drawn through the left hand, and be arranged and held in this hand in the same manner as explained when describing the original position of both snaffle-reins in the bridle-hand. these various changes must be made quickly and expertly, without altering the degree of pressure or pull upon the horse's mouth. the novice will find it greatly to her advantage to learn the management of the reins before mounting the horse, and can do so by fastening the bit-end of the reins to some stationary object, and then practicing the different changes, until she can perform all these manoeuvres without looking at her hands or the reins. when both the reins are held in the left hand, the rider has not so much command over her horse as when they are held one in each hand. for this reason, unless her steed be exceptionally well-trained and obedient, it will be better, when in a crowded thoroughfare, where quick turns have to be made, to hold a rein in each hand, and this will become absolutely necessary if the animal be hard mouthed or unruly. when the horse is in motion and the reins are held in the left hand, their =separation= may be quickly effected by carrying the right hand to and over the left, the latter retaining its steadiness all the time, and then passing the first three fingers of the right hand between the two reins, so that they may readily close upon the right rein; the thumb will then keep this rein firm by pressing it against the first joint of the index finger. the position of the hands and reins will then, after a movement of the left little finger to place the rein between it and the third, be the same as described for the original position where a snaffle-rein is held in each hand. should the reins become too long when held separately, they can readily =be shortened= by returning the right rein to the bridle-hand, placing it directly over the left rein between the third and little finger, and then, by means of the right hand, drawing the loose rein or reins through the bridle-hand to the proper length, after which the right rein may again be taken in the right hand, as already described. when the reins are held in one hand, they can be =shortened or lengthened= by simply seizing them at their free, disengaged ends with the right hand, and while this holds them and sustains the horse, the left hand must be slipped along the reins, up or down, as may be required, but without changing their arrangement. another way of holding the reins in the bridle-hand is to pass the right rein to the right of, and underneath, the index finger, and then carry it across the palm, so as to escape beyond the little finger; while the left rein must be passed to the left of the little finger (or between it and the third finger), and then be carried across the palm to escape beyond the index finger. the author cannot recommend this manner of holding the reins to ladies who desire to become accomplished and graceful riders, because the movements of the hands and arms, when turning, or managing the horse, are much more conspicuous; and there is not that delicate correspondence with the animal's mouth that can be obtained by the other methods described. after the pupil has become expert in riding with the snaffle, she will be ready for the =double bridle=, or the =curb-bit and bridoon=. the double bridle must be =held in the left hand= in the following manner: the _bridoon_ or _snaffle-reins_ are first to be taken up, evenly, by the right hand and then the second finger of the left hand be passed between these reins (the left rein being between the second and third fingers, and the right rein between the first and second), the back of the hand being directed somewhat upward, with the knuckles toward the horse's head; the reins should then be pulled up by the right hand just enough to feel the horse's mouth, and carried across the palm to the index finger, where they should be held in position by firm pressure with the thumb. [illustration: fig. .--double bridle: all reins in the bridle-hand. , upper reins, snaffle; , lower reins, curb.] the _curb-reins_ are now to be taken evenly by the right hand, and then the little finger of the left hand be passed between the two reins, the left rein being upon the left or outer side of the little finger, and the right rein between the little and third fingers; both curb-reins should next be drawn upward by the right hand until they are nearly the length of the snaffle, and carried across the palm, one rein overlying the other, to the index finger, between its first and second joints, and between the snaffle-reins and the thumb, at which point all the reins must be firmly held by pressure of the thumb against them; the right hand will now remove its hold. (fig. .) the above manoeuvring of the reins will give the "original position" for the double bridle in the left hand. all these reins should be of nearly equal length, the snaffle being slightly the shortest, so that, while riding with the latter, the curb may be ready for instant use; this may be brought into play by simply turning the wrist so as to carry the little finger up and toward the waist. and the full power of the curb may be brought into action by turning the wrist so as to carry the knuckles down and the nails up, at the same time drawing the little finger toward the waist. =to shorten or lengthen both the curb and snaffle reins evenly= without abandoning the horse to himself for a moment, or without ceasing to keep up his action, the following method may be pursued: the loose, disengaged ends of all the reins that extend beyond the index finger of the left hand must be taken between the thumb and forefinger of the right hand, care being taken during this manoeuvre to keep up the support to the horse with this hand; the grasp of the left hand upon the reins must now be sufficiently relaxed to allow this hand to slide along the reins downward to shorten them, or upward to lengthen them; this must be effected without deranging their adjustment; when the proper range has been obtained, remove the right hand. =to shorten the curb and lengthen the snaffle-reins=: the loose, disengaged ends of all the reins must be held in the same manner as stated in the preceding paragraph, between the thumb and index finger of the right hand, not omitting to keep up a support to the horse; the grasp of the left hand must now be slightly relaxed, and this hand be slid up along all the reins, which movement will lengthen them in the left hand. the grasp of the right hand upon the snaffle-reins must now be relaxed, and the left hand be slid down along the curb-reins, carrying the snaffle-reins with it, until the proper range or distance has been attained, when the right hand may be removed. while these changes are being made, the right hand must sustain the horse by the curb-reins until the left has obtained a firm hold upon all. =to shorten the snaffle and lengthen the curb reins=, a course similar to the one just preceding must be pursued, except that in this case the right hand must retain the snaffle-reins, and support the horse by them, while the left hand, in sliding down, will carry those of the curb. in all these changes of the various reins, it must be remembered that after each change has been effected the reins must be held in place by firm pressure of the thumb, as already described. when =either of the reins= held in the left hand =becomes loose=, it may be tightened, by carrying the right hand to and over the left one, seizing the loose rein by its disengaged end that hangs loosely from the left index finger, and drawing it up as far as is necessary. while this is being done, the left hand must not be removed from its position, and should continue to keep up a steady pressure upon the horse's mouth. in requiring the horse =to stop=, =to back=, =to turn=, or =to advance=, the management of the double bridle-reins will be exactly the same as stated in the directions given when holding the snaffle-reins in the left hand. when both =the curb and the snaffle reins= are held in the bridle-hand, they may be =changed to the right hand=, when this is desired, as follows: the right hand must be carried to the left; the second finger of the right hand must be placed between the snaffle-reins (already separated by the second finger of the left hand); and the little finger of the right hand between the curb-reins (already separated by the little finger of the left hand); this done, the thumb and fingers of the right hand must be closed upon the reins, which must, at the same time, be released by the left hand. =to restore these reins to the left hand=, the pupil must proceed as follows: carrying the left hand to the right, the second finger of the left hand must be placed between the snaffle-reins, and the little finger of this hand between the curb-reins; this having been done, the thumb and fingers must be closed upon all the reins, while the right hand releases its hold. these several changes can be made whether the horse be moving slowly or rapidly, care being taken to effect them so quietly that the horse will not be abandoned to himself from want of support, nor interrupted in the rhythm of his gait. if when riding with the double bridle in the bridle-hand, very quick turns have to be made, or when the horse will not yield readily to the movements of the bridle-hand, it will become necessary to =separate the reins= by taking that of the right snaffle in the right hand; this can be quickly effected by carrying the right hand to and over the left, and seizing the right snaffle-rein with the first three fingers of the right hand; this rein will pass between the third and little fingers and across the palm, so that the loose, disengaged end will escape from between the thumb and forefinger. [illustration: fig. .--double bridle; a snaffle and a curb rein in each hand. , , snaffle-reins; , , curb-reins.] in america, most lady riders prefer to guide the horse with the bridle-hand only; in doing this, although they may appear more careless and graceful, they certainly lose much command over the animal. the method at present employed by the best european horsewomen, who _seldom ride with the reins in the left hand alone_, is as follows: the little finger of the right hand is to be passed between the right curb and snaffle reins in such a way that the curb-rein will be on the outer side of this finger, and the snaffle between it and the third finger; both reins must then be carried across the palm, and be firmly held by the thumb against the forefinger. the little finger of the left hand is also to be passed between the left snaffle and curb reins, in a similar manner to that just described, and the reins must be held firm by the thumb and forefinger of this hand. (fig. .) this arrangement may be termed the "original position" for a curb and snaffle rein in each hand. when the reins are thus separated, the action upon the horse's mouth will be much more powerful than when they are all placed in the bridle-hand. they should be held nearly even, the snaffle being somewhat shorter than the curb, so that the hold or pressure upon the animal's mouth may be made by the former; but should it be required on any occasion to employ the curb, this can be brought into instant use by a slight turn of the wrists, that will carry the little fingers up and toward the rider's waist. to _stop_, to _back_, to _turn_, or to _advance_, the reins must be managed in the same way as when one snaffle-rein alone is held in each hand. in all these various ways of holding the double bridle, the snaffle-reins should, as they pass upward from the bit, always be placed above those of the curb; indeed, it would be rather awkward to hold them otherwise. as already stated, when the object for which any change of hands and reins has been made is effected, the hands should always resume the original position, as explained for the snaffle-reins when one is held in each hand,--thus, hands four inches from the body, four inches apart, etc. the arms and elbows must be kept as steady as possible, all movements of the reins being made with the wrists and fingers, unless the horse be hard mouthed or badly trained, when the arms will have to be employed and more force will be required. but a horse of this kind should never be ridden by a woman; and the directions herein given will be found amply sufficient to control a well-trained, properly-bitted animal. the preceding directions relative to holding and managing the reins may appear very tedious and exceedingly complicated. but if the pupil, commencing with the snaffle-reins, one in each hand, will carefully study and practice each method in succession, she will soon find that all these apparently difficult manoeuvres are very simple when put into practice, and can be readily learned in half a dozen lessons. when she has once fully mastered them, she will be astonished to find how little management, when it is of the right kind and based upon correct principles, will be required to make her steed move in an easy and pleasant manner. after the rein-hold has been acquired, and the pupil properly seated in the saddle, she will, if the reins are held steady, observe with each step of the horse as he advances in the canter or gallop, a slight tug or pull upon the reins. this pull will also be simultaneously felt by the horse's mouth, between which and the rider's hand or hands there will be what may be termed a =correspondence=. this correspondence gives a _support_ to the horse, provided the rider, while maintaining an equal degree of tension upon the reins, will "=give and take=," or, in other words, will allow the movements of the bridle-hand to concur with those of this tug or pull. a _dead pull_ may be made by bracing the muscles of the hand, tightly closing the fingers upon the reins, and holding the hand immovable; but this should never be done, except to convey some imperative command to the horse, or when he attempts to gain the ascendency. this kind of pull will interfere with the natural movements of the horse's head, making him move in a confined, irregular manner, and will oblige him to _force the rider's hand_ or _hands_; that is, in order to relieve himself from this restraint, he will give a sudden downward jerk of his head, which may take the reins from her hands, unless she be upon her guard; or else he will move heavily upon his fore-legs, and make his rider support the weight of his head and neck. should the curb be used instead of the snaffle, the result may be still worse; because when the curb-reins are pulled upon, the port or arched part of the bit will come in contact with the roof of the animal's mouth, and will press upon it to a degree corresponding to the power used upon the reins, while the curb-chain will be forced against the lower jaw, and if this continual pressure or dead pull be kept up the animal will experience considerable pain. to relieve himself, he will suddenly throw his head either up or down and may even rear. in the latter case, if his rider does not instantly relax her hand, he will be apt to fall backward, which is one of the most serious accidents that can happen when riding. if this rigid pull upon the curb be continued, the horse will be certain, ultimately, to become hard mouthed, if not vicious. this is a reason why so many riders, though having the double bridle-reins, use only the snaffle, and allow the curb-reins to hang quite loosely, being afraid to employ them, as experience has taught them that this rigid hold upon the reins will be instantly resented by the horse. hence the curb-reins appear to be attached to the head-gear of their horses more as an article of ornament than of utility. in order that a lady's horse may move lightly and well upon his haunches, the curb will have to be employed occasionally to _collect_ and _restrain_ him; and when it is managed properly, he will advance in better style than when the snaffle alone is used. the snaffle will answer a better purpose when employed to guide the horse in turning completely around, or in movements to the right or to the left; while the curb will answer during a straightforward motion to keep the animal well up to his action and to bring out his best gait, as well as to collect and restrain him. an easy "give and take" feeling can be effected by slightly loosening or opening the fingers of the bridle-hand or hands as the horse springs forward; as the hand feels the pull upon the reins, it must yield to this sensation, and will thus allow the animal liberty in his spring or advance movements. then, as the action of the horse lessens or recedes, the reins will be felt to slacken, when the fingers should be closed, which will tighten the reins, support the animal, and keep him under control. this "give and take" movement should occur alternately and simultaneously with the cadence of each step of the steed, and should be effected without any backward or forward movements of the arm or arms, which must be held steady,--except in a rapid gallop, in which case both the hand and arm will, to a certain extent, have to move to and fro. in the "give and take" movement the reins should not be allowed to slip in the slightest degree, nor to be jerked from the rider's hand by any sudden motion of the horse's head; on the contrary, they should always be held firm between the thumb and the first and second joints of the index finger, the _other fingers alone_ performing the alternate action of loosening and tightening the reins. the reader will be better enabled to understand this explanation if she will take a piece of elastic, pass it around her right hand, which will correspond to the horse's mouth, and then hold the two ends in her left hand, exactly in the manner explained for holding the double bridle-reins in one hand. now, by making tension on the elastic (or reins) with the left hand, so that the right (or supposed horse's mouth) can just feel this pressure, a _correspondence_ will be formed between these two hands (or bridle-hand and supposed horse's mouth) through which the slightest movement of the left hand, or of its second, third, or fourth fingers, will be immediately felt by the right hand; then, while holding the elastic (or reins) firmly, by pressure, between the thumb and index finger, by alternately opening and closing the fingers of the left hand, she will observe that when her fingers are closed there will be quite a tension upon the elastic and consequently upon the right hand, and when they are slightly opened this will become flaccid. the relaxation and contraction of the hand constitutes the "give and take" movement, which causes the horse to move easily, pleasantly, and with perfect freedom, while at the same time he is kept in entire obedience to his rider. indeed, this movement is _the grand secret of good riding and correct management of the horse, and there can be no good riding without it_. with this movement there should always be a certain support or pull upon the horse's mouth,--firmer or lighter according to the sensitiveness of his mouth, as some animals are harder mouthed than others, and consequently require a firmer support;--this tension or pressure should be rather light in the walk and canter, firmer in the trot, and very light in the hand gallop. in the rapid gallop, the horse requires considerable support. in all cases of _restiveness_, except in rearing, raising the bridle-hands will give more command over the horse, as it will cause him to keep up his head, and thus while lessening the power of the animal will at the same time add to that of the rider. on the contrary, should the horse lower his head, and the bridle-hands be held low, the power of the animal will be augmented and he can bid defiance to his rider, unless she can raise his head. she will have to do this in a gentle but firm manner, soliciting, as it were, the desired elevation of his head by raising her hands and quickly relaxing and contracting the fingers, but being careful to keep the reins in place between the thumb and index finger of each hand; she will thus gradually oblige him to raise his neck with his chin drawn in, so that control over his mouth may be regained. should he resist this method, the reins must be momentarily slackened, and then a decided jerk or pull be given them in an upward direction; this will cause a sharp twinge in his mouth, and make him raise his head. in these manoeuvres the curb-bit should be used, and as the animal raises his head the rider should gently relax the reins, and also be on her guard lest he rear. in some instances a decided "sawing" of his mouth with the snaffle--that is, sharply pulling upon one rein and then upon the other, and in rather quick succession--will cause him to raise his head and neck. when a horse is obedient, all changes in the degree of pressure upon his mouth should be made gradually, because, if a sudden transition be made from a firm hand to a relaxed one, he will be abruptly deprived of the support upon which he has been depending and may be thrown forward on his shoulders. again, to pass precipitately from a slack rein to a tight one will give a violent shock to his mouth, cause him to displace his head, and destroy the harmony of his movements. as a means of punishment, some riders jerk suddenly, repeatedly, and violently upon the reins; this "jagging on the reins" is a great mistake, and will be likely to result in more harm to the rider than to the horse, as the latter may suddenly rear, or else have a bad temper aroused that will be difficult to overcome. when riding on the road there will be times when the horse will require more liberty of the reins, as, for instance, when his head or neck becomes uncomfortable from being kept too long in one position, when he has an attack of cough, when he wants to dislodge a troublesome fly, etc. in giving this liberty when occasion requires, the reins must not be allowed to slip through the hands, but the arms should be gradually advanced, without, however, inclining the body forward. the movements of the body must correspond with those of the horse and of the rider's hands; thus, when the animal is moving regularly and straight forward, the hands, or bridle-hand, being held firm and steady immediately in front of the waist, the body must then be seated squarely, with its front part to the front, so that the rider can look directly between the ears of her steed. when the animal turns completely around to the right or to the left, the shoulders and head of the rider must also turn a little toward the direction taken by the horse, while the hand must be slightly carried in an opposite direction. when turning a corner, the entire body from the hips upward must incline toward the centre of the circle of which the turn forms an arc, or, in other words, the body must incline toward the direction taken by the horse, and the degree of this inclination must be proportioned to the bend of the horse's body, and to the rapidity of his pace while turning. when the horse advances, and the hands are relaxed, the body must momentarily lean slightly forward without rounding the shoulders; this will aid the horse in commencing his forward movement. in stopping him, the rider's body must be inclined slightly backward as the hands rein him in. all these movements should be made gradually, and never abruptly. when a horse stumbles, or plunges from viciousness or high spirits, the rider's body must be inclined backward, as this will enable her to maintain her balance more effectually as well as to throw more weight upon the reins. on the contrary, when he rears the bridle-hand must be instantly advanced or relaxed, the body at the same time being inclined well forward, which will throw the rider's weight upon the animal's shoulders and fore-legs, and cause him to lower his fore-feet to the ground. a horse is said to be =united= or =collected= when he moves easily in a regular, stylish manner, well on his haunches, with head and neck in proper position, his rider exercising perfect control over him by gentle pressure upon his mouth, and keeping up the regular movements of the animal by a quiet and dexterous "give and take" action of her hands. he is =disunited= when he moves in an irregular manner, or heavily upon his fore-legs, occasioning the rider to support the weight of his neck and shoulders; also, when the reins are too slack and exercise no pressure upon his mouth, in which case, having no aid or support from his rider's hand, he will move carelessly, or exactly as he pleases. in _collecting a horse_, the aid of the whip and the left leg will frequently be required, as the rider's hand alone may not be sufficient. in such a case, the left leg must be lightly pressed against his left side and the whip at the same time be pressed against his right side; these in conjunction with the action of the bridle-hand,[ ] as heretofore explained, will collect him and bring him up to his bridle with his haunches well under him,--the proper position for starting. as soon as he moves there should be only a light pressure on his mouth. in order to perform the above feat effectively, the whip must not be too limber and must always be held with its lash downward. this simultaneous pressure of the whip and left leg has the same effect in collecting the horse as that of the horseman's right and left legs. should the horse flag in his movements or move heavily upon his fore-legs, a repetition of this pressure of the leg and whip, in conjunction with the proper movements of the bridle-hand, will bring him well on his haunches and lighten his action. footnote : the bridle-hand being in the _original position_ for the double bridle, the curb should be brought into action by a turn of the wrist, which will carry the little finger in toward the waist; and this, in conjunction with the leg and whip, will collect the horse. the horse is always animated by mild taps of the whip, light pressure of the hand upon the curb, a clacking of the tongue, or an urging tone of his mistress's voice. he is soothed and rendered confident by mild and encouraging tones of voice, by the rider's sitting easily, by a gentle hold upon the reins, and by caressing pats upon his neck and shoulders. in the directions given in this chapter, necessarily involving more or less repetition, the author has endeavored to be as clear, comprehensible, and simple as possible. and the rider will find it of much greater advantage to have these instructions printed, than to be required to learn them orally, as she can read and re-read them at pleasure and have them thoroughly committed to memory before mounting her horse. and, although it has required many pages to present these instructions to the reader, she will find that their application will prove very simple, and will also be agreeably surprised to observe the great control she will have over the feelings and movements of her steed through their agency. horses are generally very sagacious, and appear to recognize promptly any timidity, awkwardness, or ignorance on the part of their riders, and, according to their temper or disposition, will take advantage of such recognition, either by advancing carelessly or by manifesting trickiness or viciousness. the best trained horse always requires to be kept under command, but by kind treatment and correct management. the horse, when ridden by a finished horsewoman, knows that although allowed to move with a light rein he is under the control of a masterly hand that will aid him in his efforts to please, but will instantly bring him into submission if he does not yield entire obedience. chapter vii. the walk. "and do you not love at evening's hour, by the light of the sinking sun, to wend your way o'er the widening moor, where the silvery mists their mystery pour, while the stars come one by one? over the heath by the mountain's side, pensive and sweet is the evening's ride." e. paxton hood. in walking, the horse moves nearly simultaneously the two legs that are diagonally opposite to each other, first one pair, and then the other. thus, the right fore and the left hind leg make one step nearly at the same time, and when these have touched the ground, the left fore and the right hind leg are raised and advanced in a similar manner, and so on in succession. in this manner as one pair of legs moves onward the other pair sustains the weight of the animal; and of the two legs that act together the fore one is raised from as well as placed upon the ground slightly previous to the hind one. this is the reason why a horse which walks well and in a regular manner will nearly or quite cover the foot-marks of his fore-feet with those of his hind ones. if the hind-foot should fall short of covering the track of the fore one, the animal will not be a good walker; if, on the contrary, it should pass somewhat beyond the mark of the fore-foot, it will indicate him to be a fast walker, although he may overreach. in both the walk and the trot, when the horse is moving regularly, a quick ear can detect four distinct beats or tappings of the feet; when these beats mark equal time and sound exactly alike for each footstep, it may be inferred that the horse is a good walker as well as a good trotter, and that all his legs are sound. but if one beat be lighter than the others, it may be assumed that there is some disease in the foot or leg that produces this beat. horse-dealers will often endeavor to disguise this defect by adopting means to disable the animal temporarily in his healthy leg, as the treads will then be made more nearly alike, though the slight shade of difference thus effected can be readily detected by a quick, experienced ear. these hoof-beats are best heard when made on a hard road. a horse that is a good walker will move with a quick step, his hind-legs well under him, his foot-taps marking regular time, and his feet measuring exact distances, while he will lift his feet just high enough to escape obstructions on the road, thrusting each foot well forward, and placing it lightly, though firmly and squarely, upon the ground. he will advance in a straight line, vacillating neither to the right nor left, and should be able to accomplish at least from four to four and a half miles per hour. the walk of a lady's horse is almost always neglected, and as a good walk is a sure foundation for perfection in all other gaits, a lady should positively insist that her steed be thoroughly trained in this particular; especially if she be large and majestic looking, because the walk will then become her specialty. a stout woman does not ride to the best advantage at a rapid gait, but upon a horse that has the walk in perfection she presents an imposing, queen-like appearance. if her steed, however, be allowed to saunter along in a careless, listless manner, all the charm will be destroyed, and the _tout ensemble_ will present by no means a pleasing picture. the beginner in riding should learn to sit and manage her horse in a walk, and should never attempt to ride a faster gait until she can collect her steed, make him advance, turn him to the right and to the left, and rein him back; this last movement is a very important one, with which few teachers strive to make their pupils thoroughly acquainted. reining back will not only bring the horse under better command, but, with a lady's horse, a short reining back from time to time will improve his style of motion in his various gaits; besides which, the rider may on some occasion be placed in a situation in which, for her own safety, she will be compelled to move her horse backward. [illustration: fig. .--the walk.] =to begin the walk=: the pupil, having placed herself in the saddle, must not allow her horse to move until she is quite prepared, her skirt adjusted, and the whip and reins properly arranged in her hands. then, drawing gently upon the curb and snaffle reins, a little more upon the former than upon the latter, and at the same time gently pressing against the animal's side with her left leg, and against his right side with the whip, as heretofore explained, she will thus _collect her horse_, and start him upon the walk. as soon as he has begun to move forward, the pressure of the leg and whip must cease, and the hand or hands must be held steady on the snaffle, the curb no longer being required, unless the animal flags in his movements. the hold upon the snaffle must be only tense enough to enable the rider to feel the beat of the horse's action as he places each foot upon the ground, and to give him a slight support and keep up an even action. should this support be too heavy, his step will be shortened, and he will be unable to move freely; should it be insufficient, he will carry his head low, will not raise his feet high enough to escape stumbling, will knock his toes against every inequality of the ground, and both he and his rider will present an indolent and listless aspect. her attitude should be easy and erect, but she should yield herself slightly to the movements of the horse although without showing any lack of steadiness. (fig. .) should the horse be too much animated by the reins and whip at the commencement of the walk, he may enter upon a jog trot, or an amble, in which case he must be checked by gradually reining him in until he has settled into a walk. should he, on the contrary, not be sufficiently animated, he will not exert himself and will move in an irregular and indolent manner; in this case, he must be made to raise his head by a slight pull upon the curb-reins, as already explained, and be again collected and animated by the aid of the leg and whip. a short, abrupt =turn in the walk= should never be made, if it can possibly be avoided; it is only in case of emergency that it should be attempted, and even then it is more or less dangerous, because, as the horse moves his legs diagonally in the walk, he may, when abruptly turned, place one leg in the way of the other, be thrown off his balance, and fall. when turning a horse completely around, it should always be done in a deliberate manner. this rule should never be forgotten, especially by a novice. during her first lessons in the walk, the pupil, in attempting to turn her horse to the right, to the left, or completely around, must move him very slowly, pressing her whip and left leg against his sides, and keeping him well-balanced by proper support upon _both_ snaffle-reins. in making a =turn to the right=, with a snaffle-rein in each hand, the left hand must not abandon the horse, but retain a steady pressure upon his mouth, while the tension upon the right rein must be increased by moving the right hand and its little finger up and toward the body, at the same time holding this hand a little lower than the left one. the tension upon the right rein should be nearly double that made upon the left, and should be kept up until the turn has been completed. in the turn to the right, the left leg should make a little stronger pressure than that made by the whip, to prevent the animal from throwing his croup too far to the left; and in making the turn to the left, the whip should press more strongly than the leg, in order to prevent the croup from being carried too far to the right. in attempting =to turn= completely around =to the left=, the same manoeuvring, though in an opposite direction, will be required; the above directions for the two hands being simply reversed. should the horse fail to turn in a regular manner, or refuse to obey the reins readily, he must be collected, and brought up to the bridle in the manner already described. this will cause him to raise his head and place himself in a position to move in the required manner, and when this is done the rider must slacken the tension upon the curb, and turn him with the snaffle-rein. in making these turns, care must be taken to have ample space, and it must not be forgotten, that while increasing the tension upon the rein required to direct the turn, the other should not be slackened or abandoned, but should continue to give support to the horse, though in a less degree; and also that this tension upon the reins is much more important when making a partial or complete turn, than when the animal is moving forward in a straight line. for, if the reins be slackened, and the horse left to himself, he will turn in an awkward manner, may get one leg in the way of the other, and perhaps stumble or fall, especially if the ground be slippery, or rough and uneven. it is a habit with many lady riders, as well as with multitudes of horsemen, to make the turn by carrying the bridle-hand in the direction of the turn, thus pressing the outward rein, or the one opposite to the direction of the turn, against the horse's neck,--the inward rein being completely slackened. this is a very dangerous fault and one that instantly betrays ignorance of correct horsemanship, because the animal is thus left without any support at a time when it is most needed. if a rider has any regard for her own safety, she will remember this very important rule, namely, _to support the horse on both reins when making a turn_. when all the reins are held in the bridle-hand and a turn is to be made to the left, the fault is sometimes committed of carrying the right hand over to assist the left by pulling upon the left rein; this is frequently done by ladies who have not been properly instructed, and gives them an awkward appearance. when riding with the double bridle in the bridle-hand, if the movements of the horse be controlled by this hand and wrist, as explained in the preceding chapter, the turn to the right or to the left can be effected without abandoning the horse by relaxing one of the reins, and also without the assistance of the other hand. these manoeuvres, accomplished easily and gracefully, indicate the well-instructed and correct bridle-hand, the well-trained horse, and the accomplished horsewoman, who will appear to manage her steed more by mental influence than by any perceptible movements of her hands. =to stop in the walk=, in a correct and regular manner, is a sure criterion of a good horsewoman, one that has her steed under complete control, for this stop renders him more obedient, and tends to collect him and to bring his haunches into a pliant condition. to accomplish this stop properly, the rider must brace her arms firmly against her sides,--being careful not to let her elbows protrude backward,--throw her shoulders back, hold both reins evenly and firmly, and tighten the tension upon them by turning the hand and little fingers up and carrying them toward the waist, at the same time not omitting to press gently against the horse's sides with the leg and whip. all this should be accomplished by one simultaneous movement, and the degree of tension made on the reins should be in proportion to the sensitiveness of the horse's mouth. if the left leg and whip be not employed in making the stop, the horse when brought to a stand may throw his weight upon his shoulders and fore-legs,--which he should never be allowed to do, as it will destroy the pleasing effect of the stop, and cause him to become disunited. the animal should be so nicely balanced upon his haunches when he stops, that, with a little more liberty of rein, he can readily move forward in a united and collected manner. the reins must not be abruptly jerked, but be drawn upon, as stated before, in a gradual and equal manner. after the stop is completed, the reins may be so far relaxed as to enable the horse to again advance, should it be required. the stop should always be made when the animal is advancing straight forward, and never, if it can possibly be avoided, when making a turn or going around a corner. if, when attempting to stop the horse, he should _toss up his head_, the bridle-hand must be kept low and firm, and the right hand be pressed against his neck until his head is lowered, when the rein-hold may be relaxed. in such a case, the rider must be on her guard, as a horse which stops in this manner may rear, when she must immediately yield the reins. the stop, especially in rapid gaits and when effected suddenly, is very trying to the horse; it should therefore be made only when necessary, and never to display the rider's superior command and excellent horsewomanship; many horses, particularly those having weak loins, have been caused much suffering and have had their dispositions completely ruined by a too frequent and injudicious practice of the stop. in reining back or =backing in the walk=, the horse bends his haunches and places one of his hind-legs under his body, upon which to rest and balance himself; this enables him to collect force to impel his croup backward. to favor this movement, the horse must be collected, brought to stand square and even on his fore-legs, and then be reined backward by a firm, steady, and equal pull upon both the right and left snaffle-reins.[ ] the hands should be held low and directly in front of the body, with the knuckles down, and the little fingers turned up and carried toward the body. during this whole movement care must be taken not to elevate the hands. the body of the rider must bend somewhat forward, with the waist drawn in, but without any rounding of the shoulders, while the leg and the whip must make gentle pressure against the horse's sides, so as to "bring him up to the bridle," and prevent his deviating from the line in which it is desired to back him. the backing must never be made by one continuous pull; but as soon as the movement is commenced, the hands and body of the rider must yield so that the horse may regain his balance, after which he may again be urged backward. these actions should occur alternately, so that with every step backward the rider will yield her hands, and immediately draw them back again, continuing these movements until the horse has backed as far as desired. if, instead of this course, a steady pull be made, the horse may lose his balance and fall, or may be compelled to rear. footnote : if the horse be tender in the mouth the snaffle-reins had better be used in backing; if not, the curb. when reining the horse back the body must never be inclined backward, as is necessary when stopping the horse; on the contrary, it must always be inclined somewhat forward, as this will enable the hands to manage the reins more effectively, will give the horse more freedom to recede, and, should he rear, will place the rider in the proper balance. should the rider unfortunately incline her body backward, and the horse rear, she would probably be unseated, and should she pull upon the reins in order to sustain herself and keep her seat, the animal would be drawn backward, and probably fall upon her. in backing, the pull upon the reins must never be made suddenly, but always gradually, the hand rather soliciting than compelling. when the reins are suddenly pulled upon, the horse is very apt to get his hind-legs too far forward under him, in which case it is impossible for him to move backward. in reining the horse directly backward, should his croup move out of line to the right, the pressure of the whip must be increased, or gentle taps be given with it upon his right side back of the saddle-flap, the hand at the same time increasing the tension upon the right rein. the taps of the whip must be very light, lest the animal turn too much to the left. should the croup swerve to the left, the rider must press her left leg against her horse's side, or give light taps with her left heel upon his side, turning the point of the toe out, moving the leg a little back, and slightly separating the knee from the side of the saddle, in order to give these taps; at the same time she must increase the tension upon the left rein until the horse is brought into line. when it is desired to rein back, but with an inclination to the right, a slight extra bearing or pull must be made upon the left rein, without relaxing the steady tension upon the right one. a pressure with the whip upon the right side of the horse must at the same time be kept up, in order that he may not carry his croup too far to the right. in reining back with an inclination to the left, the pull upon the right rein must be slightly increased, still keeping a steady feeling upon the left one; then, by a constant pressure with the left leg upon the horse's side, he will be prevented from carrying his croup too far to the left. reining back teaches the horse to move lightly, and improves the style of his different gaits, but its effect is very severe upon him, hence its practice should not be too frequent, and always of short duration. chapter viii. the trot, the amble, the pace, the rack. "we ride and ride. high on the hills the fir-trees stretch into the sky; the birches, which the deep calm stills, quiver again as we speed by." owen innsly. in the trot, the horse moves his legs in the same diagonal manner as in the walk, the only difference being that in the trot they are moved more rapidly. when trotting regularly and evenly, the right fore-foot and the left hind-foot strike the ground nearly simultaneously, and then the left fore-foot and the right hind-foot do the same; and so on alternately, two legs being diagonally upon the ground at about the same moment, while two legs are raised in the air. the strokes of the hoofs upon the ground are called "beats," and are loud and quick, harmonizing with the animal's rapidity of motion and length of step. the trot is the safest gait for a rider if the horse be free from any defect in his limbs, as he will be less apt to stumble; it is also less tiresome for the animal, because while two legs are diagonally off the ground, the other two support the weight of his body, and thus one pair alternately and quickly relieves the other. there are three varieties of trot, namely, the jog trot, the flying or racing trot, and the true or even trot. in the _jog trot_ each foot is placed nearly in the same track it occupied before it was raised, though somewhat in advance of it, and it remains upon the ground a longer time than when raised in the air, thus rendering the gait almost as slow as the walk. if the horse be young and spirited, he will prefer this gait to that of the walk, and, if permitted, will naturally adopt it. this should be guarded against, and under no circumstances should he be allowed to break into a jog trot; because, however accomplished the rider may be, she will find it a very unpleasant and excessively fatiguing gait, and one which will make her look very awkward. this variety of trot, however, occasions less injury to the horse's feet and legs than any other gait, and, on this account, it is preferred by most farmers. in the _racing_ or _flying trot_, the horse is allowed to step out without the least constraint, the legs being extended as far as possible, and moving straight forward, while the animal spiritedly enters into the occasion and gives out his full power. in this trot all the legs are moved very rapidly, and the hind ones with more force than the fore-legs, in order that the horse's body may, with each bound, be propelled as far forward as possible. between the two successive bounds all four legs are momentarily off the ground. very springy fetlocks tend to diminish speed in the flying trot, and hence, not having such elastic fetlocks, a good trotting racer is rough in his action and an undesirable saddle-horse. in the _true_ or _even trot_, the action of the horse is regular, all his limbs moving in an even manner, his feet measuring exact distances, his hoof-beats being in equal time of _one, two, three, four_, and his feet, when moving rapidly, touching the ground only for an instant. there are two ways in which this trot may be ridden: one is to sit closely to the saddle, moving as little as possible, and making no effort to avoid the roughness of the gait. this is the method practiced by the cavalry of this country, as well as by the armies in europe, and is called the "cavalry" or "french trot." the other method is to relieve the joltings by rising in the saddle in time with the horse's step. this is called the "english trot," and is the favorite gait of the european and the american civilian horsemen. it is only during the last few years that this trot has been gradually coming into favor with american horsewomen, although the ladies of england, and of nearly all continental europe, have for a long time ridden this gait as well as the canter and hand gallop, having found that by alternating the latter gaits with the trot they could ride greater distances upon hard roads, and with much less fatigue to themselves and their steeds. the english trot does not wear out the horse so quickly as the gallop and canter; indeed, it has been generally found that the horse's trot improves as he grows older, many horses having become better trotters at their tenth or twelfth year than at an earlier age. the trot in which the hoof-beats are in time of only _one, two_, is very difficult to ride. in america, many persons condemn the english trot for lady riders, which is hardly to be wondered at when one observes the various awkward and grotesque attitudes that are assumed, even by many gentlemen, when attempting to rise in the saddle. as for the ladies who have undertaken this innovation, their appearance on horseback, from want of proper training or from lack of attention to given rules, has, with but few exceptions, been simply ridiculous. even with correct teaching and proper application, some ladies, although they acquire the english trot, and do not make caricatures of themselves while employing it, yet do not appear to such advantage as when in the canter or hand gallop. this is also the case with european ladies, who differ very much in their power to make this gait appear graceful. a small, slightly built person, having a short measurement from the hip to the knee, can, when correctly taught, ride this trot with much ease and grace. a tall woman will have to lean too far forward with each rising movement of her steed, as her length of limb will not permit a short rise; she will therefore appear to much less advantage in this gait; while a stout built person will look rather heavy in the rise from the saddle. however, whether a lady is likely to present an elegant appearance or not when riding the english trot, she must, if she desires to become an accomplished horsewoman, learn to ride this particular gait, as it will enable her to gain a correct seat, to keep a better and more perfect balance, and to become more thorough in the other gaits. from a hygienic point of view, it will prove beneficial, and will preserve both rider and horse from excessive fatigue when traveling long distances. under certain circumstances, it will also enable a lady to ride a man's horse, which will be very apt to have this trot in perfection, and but little knowledge of, or training in, any other gaits. in the country a regular and sure trotting horse may often be readily obtained, while it will be much more difficult to procure one with a light, easy canter or gallop. this trot, when well cadenced and in perfect time, is very captivating, as the rider escapes all jolting, and feels more as if she were flying through the air than riding upon a horse. there is, however, one objection to the english trot to which attention should be directed; namely, if the lady ride on a two-pommeled saddle, and the horse happens to shy, or to turn around suddenly, while she is in the act of rising, she is very likely to be unseated or thrown from her horse. with the three-pommeled saddle, however, this accident will be much less liable to occur, but the lady should always be on her guard when riding this trot, especially if her steed be nervous; and to avoid an accident of the kind just named, she should keep her left knee directly under the third pommel, but without pressing up against it enough to interfere with the rising motion, or just so close, that in pressing upon the stirrup and straightening her knee she can rise about four inches from the saddle; the distance between the upper surface of the knee and the under surface of the pommel will then be about one and a half, or two inches. if, in the rise, she does not find herself embarrassed by the third pommel, she may know that the stirrup-leather is of the correct length for this trot. the more rapid and regular the trot, the easier and shorter will be the rise, and the less noticeable the movements of the rider, because, when trotting fast, the rise will be effected with but very little effort on her part, and will be almost entirely due to the rapid action of the horse. to rise when trotting slowly, will be neither easy nor pleasant for the rider, and in this gait she will not appear to much advantage. in the =french= or =cavalry trot=, the body should be inclined a little backward, being kept as firm as possible but without stiffness, while at the same time the rider should sit as closely to the saddle as she can, with the left knee directly under the third pommel, not using force to press up against it, but simply holding it there to sustain the limb and to assist in keeping it as firm and steady as possible during the roughness of this gait--while the reins should be held a little firmer than for the walk. this trot should never be ridden by ladies after their first lessons in riding, unless the horse moves so easily in it that his rider is not jolted in the least. to trot so softly that no shock will be experienced by the rider as the horse's feet touch the ground will require a thorough-bred of rare formation. before the invention of the three-pommeled saddle the french trot was always employed in the best riding-schools, a beginner being required to practice it for a long time, in order to acquire the proper firmness in the saddle; but since the invention of the third pommel the cavalry trot has been almost entirely dispensed with, as this pommel at once gives a firmness of seat that could be obtained on an old-fashioned two-pommeled saddle only after taking many fatiguing lessons in the french trot. it was this fatigue that caused so many persons to condemn horseback riding for ladies, and it also proved a cause of discouragement to the pupils in the riding-school, frequently giving rise to a decided dislike for horseback exercise. but since the employment of the third pommel, it is only necessary for the pupil to take two or three lessons in the french trot, just enough to enable her to understand the movement, after which she may proceed to rise in the english style. however, a knowledge of the cavalry trot will be found useful, as a horse, when reined in from a gallop or canter, will often trot a short distance before stopping; and if the rider understands this trot, she will be able to sit close to the saddle, and not appear awkward by jolting helplessly about. [illustration: fig. .--the trot.] of all the styles of riding, there is none so difficult to describe or to learn as the =english trot=. we will make an effort, however, to render it comprehensible to the reader. considerable study and practice will be required to learn it perfectly, but when once learned it will indicate the thoroughly accomplished horsewoman. (fig. .) to commence the english trot, the rider must collect her horse, as for the walk, and then, as he advances, keep a firm, even tension upon the _snaffle-reins_, because, in this trot, the animal will rely wholly upon his rider to support him and hold him to the pace, without the "give and take" movements of the hands required in the other gaits. it is not meant by this that a dead pull is to be made, but that the support must be firm and steady, with a proper correspondence between the bridle-hand and the horse's mouth. the elbows must be held steady and lightly near the rider's sides, but not close against them. as the horse extends his trot, an unpleasant roughness or jolting will be experienced, which will give an upward impetus to the rider's body; the moment she is conscious of this impetus, she must allow herself to be raised from her horse in regular time with his step or hoof-beats. in this trot, the horse will always have a leading foot, either the right or left, and the foot he leads with is the one to which the rider must rise,--rising when the leading foot is lifted, and touching the saddle when this foot touches the ground. most riders do this instinctively, as it were, rising and falling with the leading foot. in _this rise_ the action of the horse alone will give the impetus; no effort must be made by the lady, _except_ to press slightly, or rather to sustain herself gently upon the stirrup, and keep her knee and instep yielding and flexible with the rise. care must be taken not to allow the leg to swing forward and backward. the rise should be made as straight upward as possible, the upper part of the body inclining forward no more than is necessary to effect the rise with ease. the back must be kept well curved, and the shoulders square to the front of the horse, without lifting them up, or rounding them in rising. the =leading foot of the horse= is that fore-foot or leg with which he commences his advance in the gait; it will always be carried somewhat beyond its fellow, while, at the same time, that side of the animal's body which corresponds with the leading foot will be a little more advanced toward this foot, though almost imperceptibly so. every rider should be taught to know with which foot her horse leads. when a horse trots evenly and quickly, and with rather a short step, the rise in the saddle will be barely perceptible; but when he trots slowly and with a long step, the rise will have to be higher, in order that the rider may keep time with the slowness and length of his step. in this gait a tall woman will be very apt to prefer a long step to a short one. in making the rise, the rider must never assist herself by pulling upon the reins, which should be held firm and low to give support _to the horse alone_, not allowing them to slip in the least from between the thumb and forefinger that should hold them steady. _the descent_ of the body to the saddle must be effected as gently as possible. the right knee should be pressed against the second pommel, and the left foot lean lightly upon the stirrup, the left foot and instep being kept yielding and flexible with the descent, and the body and right leg bearing[ ] a little to the right. the descent should be made just in time to catch the next impetus of the horse's movement, so that the saddle will be hardly touched before the rider's body will again be thrown upward to make the rise. footnote : by "bearing to the right" is not meant an inclination of the body to this side, but a resistance sufficient to keep the body from inclining toward the left. as hereafter stated, trotting in a circle to the _right_ will be found an excellent exercise to teach one this bearing. it presents a very comical and inelegant appearance for a rider, whether man or woman, when attempting the rising trot, to elevate and protrude the shoulders, curve the back out so as to round it, lean forward toward the horse's ears, with elbows sticking out from the rider's sides and flopping like the wings of a restless bird, while the body is bobbing up and down like a dancing-jack, out of all time with the movements of the animal. one reason why some persons are so awkward in the rise is that they sit too far back upon the saddle. this obliges them to sustain themselves upon the stirrup obliquely, thus causing them to lean too far forward in order to accomplish the rise more easily. another cause of awkwardness in the rising trot is an improperly constructed saddle. the seat or platform should be as nearly level as a properly made saddle will permit. when the front part or arch is much higher than the seat, it will be difficult to use the second pommel as a point of support for the right knee, which support is highly essential during the descent, in this trot. it is a common thing to see riders exaggerate the rise by pressing hard upon the stirrup and supporting themselves by the reins, thus rising higher than necessary, and coming down with a heavy thump upon the saddle; to which equestrian gymnastics they give the name of "english trot." when rising and descending in the english trot, the left leg, from knee to instep, must be held perpendicular and steady; the foot, from toe to heel, must rest horizontally in the stirrup, and in a line with the horse's side. the foot should not be allowed to turn out, nor the leg to swing backward and forward: if the foot be pointed out, this will tend to carry the body and leg too much toward the left, on the rise; and, if the leg be allowed to swing, it will cause the rider to lose the rhythm of the trot. again, the stirrup must not be too strongly pressed upon, as this will throw all the rider's weight upon the left side, and may cause the saddle to turn. on making the rise, great care must be taken not to advance the left shoulder, nor to turn the body to the left; many riders do these things with the idea that they will enable them to rise with more ease. but this is an error, for such movements will not only occasion fatigue, but will also render the rein-hold unsteady, and the action of the foot and knee uncertain. the body and shoulders must always be square to the front when the horse is trotting straight forward, the body remaining as erect as the action of the horse will allow. =to stop= a well-trained horse =in this gait=, it will simply be necessary for the rider to cease rising, sit down to the saddle, and gradually loosen the reins. many horses, however, are trained to make the stop in the usual way, by having the reins tightened. the advance and the turns are to be conducted in the same manner as that described for the walk. in the english trot, the horse must be kept well up to his gait; should he appear to move heavily or disunitedly the reins must be gradually shortened, and the animal be collected. should he step short, in a constrained manner, the reins must be gradually lengthened, to give him more freedom. if he break into a gallop when it is desired that he should trot, he must be gradually reined in to a walk, and then be started again upon a trot, and this course must be repeated until he obeys, stopping him every time he attempts to gallop, and then starting the trot anew. if he trot too rapidly, he must be checked, by bracing the bridle-hand and increasing the pull upon the reins. if the trot be too slow, the hand must relax the reins a little, and the horse be animated by the voice, and by gentle taps with the whip. to regulate the trot, to keep it smooth and harmonious, to rein in the horse gently without rendering him unsteady, and then gradually to yield the hand so that he may move forward again in a regular manner, are very difficult points for beginners to accomplish while still keeping up the proper support upon the bit, and will require study and considerable practice. a horse should never be urged into a more rapid trot than he can execute in an even, regular manner; if compelled to exceed this, he will break into a rough gallop, or into such an irregular trot as will render it impossible for the rider to time the rise. an accomplished horsewoman, when trotting her horse, will make no observable effort, and there will be perfect harmony between her steed and herself. when the english trot is ridden in this manner, the person who can condemn it must, indeed, be extremely fastidious. however, it must be acknowledged that it will require the lithe, charming figure of a young lady to exhibit its best points, and to execute it in its most pleasing and graceful style. the very tall, the inactive, or the stout lady may ride this gait with ease to herself and horse, and when properly taught will not render herself awkward or ridiculous, but she can never ride it with the willowy grace of the slender woman of medium size. =trotting in a circle= may be practiced in a riding-school, or upon a level, open space or ground, having a circular track about seventy-five or eighty feet in diameter. it is very excellent practice, especially in teaching the rider to rise in unison with the horse's trot, whether he leads with the right or left leg. for first lessons, the pupil must commence by circling to the right, as this is the easiest to learn, and will teach her to bear toward the right side of the horse. it is very essential that in first lessons she should do this; because in the english trot she will have to guard carefully against inclining to the left in the rise and descent, a fault common to all beginners who are not better instructed. in circling, the horse will always incline toward the centre of the circle, with which inclination the rider's body must correspond, by leaning in the same direction; if this precaution should be neglected and the horse be trotting rapidly, the rider will lose her balance, and fall off on the side opposite to that of the inclination. the distance she should lean to the right or to the left must be in proportion to the size of the circle that is being passed over, and also to the inward bearing of the horse's body. should the circle be small and the gait rapid, the inclination of the rider's body will have to be considerable to enable her to maintain her seat and keep in unison with the horse. if the circle be large, say eighty feet in diameter, the inclination will be slight. in order to _circle to the right_, when holding a curb and a snaffle rein in each hand, the pupil must collect her horse by the aid of curb, leg, and whip, as already explained, and start him forward on the snaffle, holding the right rein a little lower than the left, and drawing it enough to enable her to see plainly the corner of his right eye; the reins must be held steadily, no sudden jerks being given to them, as these will cause the horse to move irregularly and swerve about. should his croup be turned too much to the right, the pressure of the whip will bring it to the left; if it be turned too much to the left, the pressure of the left leg will bring it to the right. in _circling to the left_, the horse will incline his body to the left, toward the centre of the circle. it is not very easy to learn to circle to the left, but when once learned, it will be found no more difficult than circling to the right, provided the animal has been properly trained and made supple, so as to lead with either leg. horses that have been trained to lead with the right leg only will, when required to change and lead with the left, move in a confined, inflexible, and irregular manner, so that it will be impossible to time the rise from the saddle. in riding in the circle to the left, the directions for circling to the right must be reversed, the rider leaning to the _left_, pulling the _left_ rein a little tighter, etc. great care must be taken, however, not to lean too much toward the left in making the rise. the degree of inclination should not in this case be so great as the corresponding inclination when circling to the right, for if it is the rider will throw her weight too much upon the stirrup side, and may cause the saddle to turn. in practicing riding in a circle, it will be found very advantageous to vary the size of the circle, first riding in a large one, then gradually contracting it, and again enlarging it; or the rider, while practicing upon a large circle, may make a cross-cut toward the centre of this circle, so as to enter upon another one of smaller diameter, and, after riding for a short time in the smaller circle, she may again pass out to resume her ride upon the larger one. these changes from large to narrow circles form excellent practice for pupils, but should always, if possible, be performed under competent instruction. the first lessons in trotting in a circle should always be of short duration, and the pupil required to ride slowly, the speed being gradually increased as she gains knowledge and confidence. the moment she experiences fatigue she should dismount, and rest, before resuming the lesson. =in the amble= the horse's movements very strongly resemble those of the camel, two legs on one side moving together alternately with the two legs of the other side. thus one side of the animal supports the weight of his body, while the other side moves forward, and so on in alternation. this is an artificial gait, and one to which the horse must usually be trained; though some horses whose ancestors have been forced to travel in this gait, have themselves been known to amble without any training. in the feudal ages it was the favorite pace for a lady's palfrey, but at the present day it is no longer countenanced by good taste. =the pace=, however, which is so well liked by many ladies in this country, is a kind of amble, although the steps taken are longer. a good pacer can frequently travel faster than most horses can in the trot. when the steed moves easily and willingly, the pace is very pleasant for short rides, but for long journeys, unless the animal can change his gait to a hand gallop or a canter, it will become very unpleasant and tiresome. many pacers are almost as rough in their movements as the ordinary trotter; and although they do not jolt the rider up and down upon the saddle, yet they jerk her body in such a manner as successively and alternately to throw one side forward and the other slightly back with each and every step, rendering a ride for any distance very fatiguing. =the rack=, at one time so much liked, has become almost obsolete. this is a peculiar gait, not easily described, in which the horse appears to trot with one pair of legs and amble with the other, the gait being so mixed up between an amble and a defective trot as to render it almost a nondescript. when racking, the horse will appear constrained and uncomfortable, and will strongly bear upon the rider's hand; some animals so much so, as completely to weary the bridle-hand and arm in a ride of only an hour or two. this constant bearing of the horse's head upon the reins soon renders him hard mouthed, and, consequently, not easily and promptly managed. the rack soon wears out a horse, besides spoiling him for other gaits, and so injures his feet and legs that a racker will rarely be suitable for the saddle after his eighth year. it is an acquired step, much disliked by the horse, which has always to be forced into it by being urged forward against the restraint of a curb-bit; and he will, whenever an opportunity presents, break into a rough trot or canter, so that the rider has to be constantly on the watch, and compel him to keep in the rack against his will. and although the motion does not jolt much, the aspect of the horse and rider is not as easy and graceful as in the canter and hand gallop, there being an appearance of unwillingness and restraint that is by no means pleasing. the directions for the french trot will answer for both the pace and the rack, except that in the latter the traction upon the reins must be greater. chapter ix. the canter. "when troubled in spirit, when weary of life, when i faint 'neath its burdens, and shrink from its strife, when its fruits, turned to ashes, are mocking my taste, and its fairest scene seems but a desolate waste, then come ye not near me, my sad heart to cheer with friendship's soft accents or sympathy's tear. no pity i ask, and no counsel i need, but bring me, oh, bring me my gallant young steed, with his high arched neck, and his nostril spread wide, his eye full of fire, and his step full of pride! as i spring to his back, as i seize the strong rein, the strength to my spirit returneth again! the bonds are all broken that fettered my mind, and my cares borne away on the wings of the wind; my pride lifts its head, for a season bowed down, and the queen in my nature now puts on her crown!" grace greenwood. in the gallop, the horse always has a leading foot or leg. in _leading with the right fore-foot_, he will raise the left one from the ground, and then the right will immediately follow, but will be advanced somewhat beyond the left one; and this is the reason why, in this case, the right side is called the "leading side." in the descent of the fore-feet, the left one will touch the ground first, making the first beat, and will be immediately followed by the leading or right fore-foot which will make the second beat. the hind-legs are moved in a similar way, the left hind-foot making the third beat, and the right one the fourth. these beats vary in accordance with the adjustment of the horse's weight, but when he gallops true and regular, as in the canter, the hoof-beats distinctly mark _one_, _two_, _three_, _four_. in the rapid gallop the hoof-beats sound in the time of _one-two_, or _one-two-three_. in _leading with the left foot_, the left side of the horse will be advanced slightly and the left leg be carried somewhat beyond the right, the action being just the reverse of that above described when leading with the right leg. in this case the left side is termed the "leading side." the hoof-beats of horses in the trot and gallop have been admirably rendered by bellini, in the opera of "somnambula," just previous to the entrance of rudolfo upon the stage. there are three kinds of gallop, namely, the _rapid_ or _racing_, the _hand gallop_, and the _canter_. =the canter= is a slow form of galloping, which the horse performs by throwing his weight chiefly upon his hind-legs, the fore ones being used more as supports than as propellers. horses will be found to vary in their modes of cantering, so much so as to render it almost impossible to describe them accurately. small horses and ponies have a way of cantering with a loose rein, and without throwing much weight upon their haunches, moving their feet rapidly, and giving pattering hoof-beats. most ponies on the western prairies canter in this manner, and it is said to be a very easy gait for a horseman though very unpleasant, from its joltings, for a lady. another canter is what might be termed the "canter of a livery-stable horse." this appears to be partly a run and partly a canter, a peculiarity which is due to the fact that one or more of the animal's feet are unsound, and he adopts this singular movement for the purpose of obtaining relief. the little street gamins in london recognize the sound of this canter at once, and will yell out, in time with the horse's hoof-beats, "three pence, two pence," in sarcastic derision of the lady's hired horse and the unhappy condition of his feet. in the true canter, which alone is suitable for a lady, the carriage of the horse is grand and elegant. in this gait, the animal has his hind-legs well under his body, all his limbs move regularly, his neck has a graceful curve, and responds to the slightest touch of the rider's hand upon the reins. a horse that moves in this manner is one for display; his grand action will emphasize the grace of a finished rider, and the appearance of the _tout ensemble_ will be the extreme of elegance and well-bred ease. horses intended for ladies' use are generally trained to lead in the canter with the right or off fore-foot. most lady riders, whose lessons in riding have been limited, sit crosswise upon their saddles. this position, without their being aware of it, places them more in unison with the horse's movements, and thereby renders the canter with this lead the easiest gait for them. but if a horse be constantly required to canter with this lead he will soon become unsound in his left hind-leg, because in leading with the right fore-foot he throws the greater part of his weight upon his left hind-leg, and thus makes it perform double duty. for this reason the majority of ladies' horses, when the canter is their principal gait, will be found to suffer from strained muscles, tendons, and articulations. a finished rider will from time to time relieve her horse by changing the lead to the left leg, or else she will change the canter to a trot. should her horse decidedly refuse to lead with the foot required, whether right or left, it may be inferred that he is unsound in that leg or foot; in which case he should be favored, and permitted to make his own lead, while the canter should frequently be changed to a walk. [illustration: fig. .--entering upon the canter with the right leg leading.] to =commence the canter=, the horse must be brought to a walk, or to a stand, then be placed on his haunches, and collected by means of the curb, left leg, and whip; and then the bridle-hand must be raised, while the second, third, and fourth fingers are moved to and fro, so as to give gentle pulls upon the curb-reins, thus soliciting the animal to raise his fore-feet. in performing these manoeuvres, the rider must be careful to direct the leg with which she desires her horse to lead. this may be done as follows: if she desires to have the =right leg lead=, the tension upon the left curb-rein must, _just before_ the animal rises to take his first step, be increased enough to make him incline his head so far to the left that the rider can see his left nostril, while, simultaneously, her left leg must press against his side. by these means, the horse will be prompted to place himself obliquely, with his head rather to the left, and his croup to the right. the rider, if seated exactly in the centre of her saddle, must take a position corresponding to that of the horse, by throwing her right hip and shoulder somewhat forward, her face looking toward the animal's head, while her body is held erect with the shoulders gracefully inclined backward, and the hollow of the back well curved inward. any stiffness or rigidity of the body must be guarded against in these movements and positions. the rider must hold herself in a pliant manner, and yield to the motions of the horse. the left leg must be held steady, the knee being placed directly underneath the third pommel, and care must be taken not to press upon the stirrup, as this will tend to raise the body from the saddle, and convey its weight almost wholly to the left side. the hands must be held somewhat elevated and steady, and, as the horse advances, the tension on the reins must be even, so that the fingers can feel every cadence of his step, and give and take with his movements. unlike the trot, in which the horse must be supported by the snaffle, the canter will require the curb to sustain and keep up his action. after the animal has started in the canter with the right leg leading, should he incline too much to the left, the tension upon the right rein must be increased, so as to turn his head more to the right and bring him to the proper inclination for the lead of the right leg. this correction must be effected gradually and lightly, so as not to disturb the gait, or cause him to change his leading leg. this canter with the right leg leading is very easy to learn, and will not require much practice to master. however, should the horse fail to obey these indications of the left rein and leg, and start off in a false and disunited manner, as explained under "the turn in the canter," another course should be pursued, namely: the tension upon the right or off curb-rein must be increased so as to bring the animal's nose to the right, as if he were going to turn to the right on a curve, while at the same time the left leg must be pressed against his side in order to have him carry his croup slightly to the right. now he must be made to lift his fore-feet by increased tension on both curb reins, and then be urged forward. as he advances, the hands should be extended a little to give him more freedom in the spring forward, and he will then naturally lead with the right side advanced. when once started in this gait, the rider must equalize the tension upon the reins, having placed herself in the saddle, in the manner explained for the canter. to have him lead with the left leg, a similar but reversed course must be pursued, using pressure with the whip, instead of the leg, to make him place his croup to the left. to canter with the =left leg leading= will be found more difficult to acquire, and will demand more study and practice. the horse, having been collected, must then be inclined obliquely to the right. to accomplish this, the rider must increase the tension of the right curb-rein, and press her whip against the animal's right side, which will urge his head to the right and his croup to the left. in order that the position of the rider's body may correspond with that of the horse, her left hip and shoulder must be slightly advanced, in precedence of her right hip and shoulder. it will be observed that the manoeuvring in this lead is similar to that in which the right leg leads, except that the _direction_ of the positions, of the management of the reins, and of the horse's bearing during the canter is simply reversed; in either lead, however, the tension or bearing upon the reins, as the horse advances in the canter, must be equal. it may be proper to state here that, as the amount of tension needed upon the reins when cantering varies considerably with different horses, some needing only the lightest touch, the rider will, consequently, have to ascertain for herself how much will be suitable for her horse. some horses, after having fairly started in the canter, will bend their necks so as to carry their chin closer to the throat, while others again will extend the neck so as to carry the chin forward. in the first instance, the reins will have to be shortened in order to give the animal the proper support in the gait, as well as to keep up the correspondence between his mouth and the bridle-hand; in the latter they will require to be lengthened, to give him more freedom in his movement. should the reins be held too short, or the rider's hand be heavy and unyielding, the horse will be confined in his canter; should the reins be held too long, he will canter carelessly, and will either move heavily upon his fore-legs, or break into an irregular trot. a rider may by attending to the following directions readily determine whether her horse be leading with the leg she desires, and also whether he be advancing in a true and united manner: if he be moving regularly and easily, with a light play upon the reins in harmony with the give and take movements of the hand, his head being slightly inclined in a direction opposite to that of the leading leg, and his action being smooth and pleasant to the rider, he will, as a rule, be cantering correctly. but if he be moving roughly and unevenly, giving the rider a sensation of jolting, if his head is inclined toward the same side as that of the leading leg, and he does not yield prompt obedience to the reins, then he is not cantering properly, and should be immediately stopped, again collected, and started anew. if necessary this course should be repeated until he advances regularly and unitedly. some horses, after having fairly entered upon the canter, will change the leading leg, and will even keep changing from one to the other, at short intervals. this is a bad habit, and one that will never be attempted by a well-trained animal, unless his rider does not understand how to support him correctly and to keep him leading with the required leg. a horse should never be allowed to change his leading leg except at the will of his rider; and should he do so, he should be chidden and stopped instantly, and then started anew. if the rider when trotting rapidly wishes to change to a canter, she must first moderate the trot to a walk, because the horse will otherwise be apt to break from the trot into a rapid gallop. should he insist upon trotting, when it is desired that he should canter, he must be stopped, collected with the curb-bit, as heretofore described in the directions for commencing the canter, and started anew. this course must be repeated every time he disobeys, and be continued until he is made to canter. it may be remarked here that, in the canter, whenever the horse moves irregularly, advances heavily upon his fore-legs, thus endeavoring to force his rider's hand, or when he fails to yield ready obedience, he should always be stopped, collected, and started anew,--repeating this course, if necessary, several times in succession. should the animal, however, persist in his disobedience, pull upon the reins, and get his head down, his rider must, as he moves on, gently yield the bridle-reins, and each time he pulls upon them she must gradually, but firmly, increase the tension upon them, by drawing them in toward her waist. this counter-traction must be continued until the horse yields to the bridle and canters properly. when he pulls upon the reins his rider in advancing her hands to yield the reins should be careful to keep her body erect, and not allow it to be pulled forward. =the turn in the canter.= in turning to _the right_, if the horse is leading with the inward leg, or the one toward the centre of the circle of which the distance to be turned forms an arc, in the present instance the right fore-leg which is followed by the right hind-leg, he is said to be true and united, and will be able to make the turn safely. should the turn be made toward _the left_, the horse leading with his inward or left fore-leg, followed by the left hind-leg, he will likewise be true and united. on the contrary, the animal will be disunited when, in cantering to the right, he leads with the right fore-leg followed by the left hind-leg, or when he leads with the left fore-leg followed by the right hind-leg. in either case, from want of equilibrium in action and motion, a very slight obstruction may make him fall. in turning toward the left, in a canter, the horse will be disunited if he leads with the left fore-leg followed by the right hind-leg, or if he leads with the right fore-leg followed by the left hind-leg, as in the preceding instance, he will be liable to fall. a horse is said to go false when, in turning to the right, in the canter, he leads with both left legs, or advances his left side beyond his right; also, when in cantering to the left he leads with both right legs or advances his right side beyond his left; in either of these false movements he will be very liable to fall. when it is desired to =turn to the right=, in the canter, the horse must be kept well up to the bridle, so as to place his haunches forward and well under him, thus keeping him light on his fore-legs, and preventing his bearing too heavily upon his shoulders; and, while the inward rein is being tightened in order to make the turn, the outward one must continue to support the horse, being just loose enough to allow him to incline his head and neck toward the inner side of the turn. pressure from the left leg of the rider will keep the animal from inclining his haunches too much to the left, during the turn. should the steed be turned merely by means of the inward rein, without being kept well up to the bridle, and without either leg or whip being used upon his outer side, he will turn heavily upon his forehand, and will be obliged to change to the outward leg in order to support himself. this will cause him, after the turn has been accomplished, to advance in a disunited way in the canter. when it is desired to =turn to the left=, the instructions in the preceding paragraph may be pursued, the directions, however, being reversed and pressure with the whip being employed instead of that with the leg. sudden, sharp turns, are always dangerous, however sure-footed the horse may be, and especial care should be taken not to turn quickly to the right when the left fore-leg leads, nor to the left when the right fore-leg leads, as in either case the animal will almost certainly be thrown off his balance. in turning a "sharp corner," especially when the rider cannot see what she is liable to encounter, it will be better for her to make the turn at a walk, and keep her own side of the road, the right. =the stop in the canter.= in bringing the horse to a stand, in the canter, he should be well placed on his haunches by gradually increasing the pull upon the curb-reins just as his fore-feet are descending toward the ground; the hind-feet being then well under the horse will complete the stop. the rider must guard against leaning forward, as this will not only prevent the horse from executing the stop in proper form, but should he suddenly come to a stand, it will throw her still farther forward, and the reins will become relaxed. now, while she is thus leaning forward, should the animal suddenly raise his head, the two heads will be very likely to come into unpleasant contact; or should the horse stumble, his liability to fall will be increased, because the rider will not be in a proper position to support him, and will increase the weight upon his shoulders, by being so far forward. many ladies not only lean forward while effecting the stop, but also draw the bridle-hand to the left, and carry the bridle-arm back so that the elbow projects behind and beyond the body, while at the same time they elevate the shoulder on this side. this is an extremely awkward manner of bringing a horse to a stand. the stop should be made in the same manner as that described in the walk, that is, by gradually drawing the bridle-hand toward the waist, etc. nearly all horses, unless exceptionally well trained, will trot a short distance before coming to a stand in the canter or gallop, and it is here that a knowledge of the french or cavalry trot will prove essential, because the rider will then comprehend the motion, and will sit closely to the saddle until the horse stops. in all cases, the horse should be brought to a stand in a regular, collected manner, so that with a little more liberty of rein he can promptly reënter upon the canter, should this be desired. chapter x. the hand gallop.--the flying gallop. "now we're off like the winds to the plains whence they came; and the rapture of motion is thrilling my frame! on, on speeds my courser, scarce printing the sod, scarce crushing a daisy to mark where he trod! on, on like a deer, when the hound's early bay awakes the wild echoes, away, and away! still faster, still farther, he leaps at my cheer, till the rush of the startled air whirs in my ear! now 'long a clear rivulet lieth his track,-- see his glancing hoofs tossing the white pebbles back! now a glen dark as midnight--what matter?--we'll down though shadows are round us, and rocks o'er us frown; the thick branches shake as we're hurrying through, and deck us with spangles of silvery dew!" grace greenwood. the hand gallop is an intermediate gait between the canter and the flying gallop. its motion, though rather rapid, is smooth, easy, and very agreeable for both rider and steed. nearly all horses, especially spirited ones, prefer this movement to any other; the bronchos on the plains of the far west will keep up this long, easy lope or hand gallop for miles, without changing their gait, or requiring their riders to draw rein, and without any apparent fatigue. this pace is likewise a favorite one with riding parties, as the motion is so smooth that conversation can be kept up without difficulty. if the animal's movements are light, supple, and elegant, the lady rider presents a very graceful appearance when riding this gait, as the reactions in it are very mild; it is the gait _par excellence_, for a country ride. on a breezy summer morning, there is nothing more exhilarating than a ride at a hand gallop, on a willing, spirited horse; it brightens the spirits, braces the nerves, refreshes the brain, and enables one to realize that "life is worth living." "i tell thee, o stranger, that unto me the plunge of a fiery steed is a noble thought,--to the brave and free it is music, and breath, and majesty,-- 'tis the life of a noble deed; and the heart and the mind are in spirit allied in the charm of a morning's glorious ride." let all gloomy, dyspeptic invalids try the cheering effects of a hand gallop, that they may catch a glimpse of the sunlight that is always behind even the darkest cloud of despondency. when the horse is advancing in a collected canter, if the rider will animate him a little more by gentle taps with the whip, and then as he springs forward give him more liberty of the curb-rein, he will enter upon a =hand gallop=. in this gait he will lead either with the left or the right foot, but the oblique position of his body will be very slight. the management of the reins, the turns to the right or to the left, the stop, and the position of the rider's body, must, in this gait be the same as in the canter, except that the body need not be quite so erect, and the touch upon the reins must be very light, barely appreciable. if riding a spirited horse, the lady must be upon her guard, lest he increase his speed and enter into a flying or racing gallop. any horse is liable to do this when he has not been properly exercised, especially if he is with other horses, when a spirit of rivalry is aroused, and he sometimes becomes almost unmanageable from excitement. many livery-stable horses, although quiet enough in the city, will, when ridden upon country roads, especially in the spring, require all the skill of their riders to keep them under control. the change from the stone and brick of the city or town to the odor of the fresh grass and the sight of green fields has an exhilarating effect upon them, and makes them almost delirious with gladness, so that they act like anything but sensible, quiet, well-worked horses. when her horse manifests any such disposition, the rider must retain her presence of mind, and not permit any nervousness or excitement on her part to increase that of her horse. she must keep him well under the control of the curb-bit, and not allow him to increase his speed; when he endeavors to do so, she must sit erect, and every time his fore-feet touch the ground she must tighten the curb-reins, by drawing them gradually but firmly toward her waist. she will thus check the animal's desire to increase his speed, by compelling him to rest upon her hand at short intervals until he can be brought under command and again made obedient. care must be taken not to make this strong pull upon the animal's mouth constant, as this will be more apt to increase than to lessen his speed, and will also prevent her from turning him readily should she encounter any object upon the road. should the horse, however, continue to disobey the commands of his rider, and persist in his efforts to increase his speed, she must then lean well back, and "saw his mouth" with the snaffle-reins, that is, she must pull first one of these reins and then the other in rapid succession; this may cause him to swerve out of a straight course, but if he has a snaffle-bit separate from the curb this sawing will generally have the desired effect, and stop him. if the horse should get his head down and manifest a disposition to change the full gallop into a runaway, the rider must, as she values her own safety, keep her body well inclined backward, for some horses, when excited, will, while their riders are endeavoring to check or control them, kick up as they gallop along, and the rider, unless she is prepared for such movements, will be in danger of being thrown. in such a case every effort must be made to raise the horse's head. to do this, the rider must slacken the curb-reins for a moment, and then suddenly give them a strong, decided jerk upward; this will cause a severe shock to the horse's mouth, and make him raise his head and stop suddenly, a movement that may throw her toward or upon the front of the saddle with considerable force, unless she guard herself against such an accident by leaning well back. should the horse, when galloping at full speed, turn a corner in spite of the efforts of his rider, she must keep a steady pull upon the outer curb-rein, and lean well back and in toward the centre of the curve which the horse is describing in his turn. all this must be done quickly, or she will lose her balance and fall off upon the outer side. during all these violent efforts of the horse the rider must keep a firm, steady seat, pressing her left knee up strongly against the third pommel, and at the same time holding the second clasped firmly by the bend of her right knee. if she recollects to do all this, there will be little cause for alarm, as it will then be very difficult for her horse to unseat her. the combined balance and grip of limbs will give her a firmer seat than it is possible for a man to acquire in his saddle. [illustration: fig. .--the flying gallop.] =in the flying or racing gallop= the horse manifests the utmost capabilities of his speed, his body at every push of his hind-legs being raised from the ground so quickly that he will appear as if almost flying through the air; hence the name "flying gallop." in this gait it is unimportant with which leg the horse leads, provided the advance of the hind-leg on the same side as that of the leading one be made correspondingly. it is advisable that every lady rider should learn to sit the flying gallop, as she will then be better able to maintain her seat, and to manage her horse should she ever have the misfortune to be run away with. (fig. .) many ladies, when riding in the country, enjoy a short exhilarating flying gallop; and for their benefit a few instructions are here given that will enable them to indulge their _penchant_ for rapid riding, without danger to themselves, or injury to their horses. before the lady attempts rapid riding, however, she must be thoroughly trained in all the other gaits of the animal, must possess strong, healthy nerves, and must have sufficient muscular power in her arms to hold and manage her horse, and to stop him whenever occasion requires; she must also have fitted to his mouth a curb-bit which possesses sufficient power to control him and to bring him to a stand, when this is desired. above all, her horse must be sure-footed, and free from any and every defect that might occasion stumbling. every point having been carefully attended to, and the lady being ready for the ride, she must sit firmly upon the centre of the saddle, grasping the second and third pommels, as described above. she must be careful not to press strongly upon the stirrup, as this will tend to raise her body from the saddle. from the hips down the body and limbs must be held as immovable as possible. the body, below the waist, must by its own weight, aided by the clasp of the right and left legs upon their respective pommels, secure a firm seat upon the saddle. from the waist up the body must be pliable, the shoulders being well back, and the back curved in, so that the rider may keep her balance, and control the horse's action. the reins must be held separately, in the manner described for holding the double bridle-reins in both hands. the animal must be ridden and supported by the snaffle-reins, the curb being held ready to check him instantly should he endeavor to obtain the mastery. the hands must be held low, and about six or eight inches apart, and the rider's body must lean back somewhat. leaning forward is a favorite trick of the horse-jockey when riding a race, as it is supposed to assist the horse, and also enable the rider to raise himself on the stirrups; but as lady riders are not horse-jockeys, and are not supposed to ride for a wager, but simply for the enjoyment of an exhilarating exercise, it will not be at all necessary for them to assume this stooping posture. many of the best horsemen, when riding at full gallop in the hunting field, or on the road, prefer to incline the body somewhat backward, this having been found the safest as well as most graceful position for the rider. as the horse moves rapidly forward, the rider, while keeping a firm hand upon the snaffle-reins so as to give full support to the horse, must be sure with every stride of the animal to "give and take," and this motion, instead of being limited to the hands and wrists, as in all other gaits, must in this one embrace the whole of the fore-arms, which, using the elbows as a hinge, should move as far as is necessary. to =stop the horse= in a flying gallop, the curb-reins must be drawn upward and toward the waist gradually, for should they be pulled upon suddenly it would be apt to stop him so abruptly that he would either become overbalanced, or cross his legs, and fall. in this gait, the rider should never attempt to turn her horse except upon a very large circle, because, even when in the proper position, unless she possesses great muscular power, she will be almost certain to be thrown off on the outward side by the forcible and vigorous impetus imparted. chapter xi. the leap.--the standing leap.--the flying leap. "soft thy skin as silken skein, soft as woman's hair thy mane, tender are thine eyes and true; all thy hoofs like ivory shine, polished bright; oh, life of mine, leap, and rescue kurroglou!" kyrat, then, the strong and fleet, drew together his four white feet, paused a moment on the verge, measured with his eye the space, and into the air's embrace leaped as leaps the ocean serge. longfellow, _the leap of roushan beg_. a lady rider who has the nerve and confidence to ride a hand gallop, or a flying gallop, will be ready to learn to leap. indeed, instruction in this accomplishment should always be given, as it is of great assistance in many emergencies. the most gentle horse may become frightened, shy suddenly to one side, or plunge violently for some reason or other, and these abrupt movements strongly resemble those of leaping; if, therefore, the rider understands the leap, she will know better how to maintain her equilibrium. or she may meet some obstruction on the road, as the trunk of a tree felled by a storm; when, instead of being compelled to return home without finishing her ride, she can leap over the obstacle. again, should she at any time be in great haste to reach her destination she may, by leaping some low gap in a fence, or some small stream, be able to take one or more short cuts, and thus greatly lessen the distance she would have had to ride on the road. leaping is by no means difficult to learn. with an english saddle, the third pommel will prevent the rider from being shaken off by the violence of the motion, and will thus make leaping entirely safe for a lady provided the horse be well-trained and sure-footed. before venturing upon a leap, three requisites are necessary: first, the horse must be a good and fearless leaper; second, the rider must have confidence in herself and steed, because any nervousness on her part will be apt to cause the animal to leap awkwardly; and third, she must always be sure of the condition of the ground on the opposite side of the object over which the leap is to be made--it must neither slope abruptly down, nor present any thorny bushes, nor be so soft and soggy that the horse will be apt to sink into it. no risk must be taken in the leap, except in cases of emergency, when, of course, the rider may have neither time nor opportunity to select her ground, and be obliged to leap her steed over the nearest available point. the author once avoided what might have proved a serious accident to both herself and horse, by promptly leaping him over a hedge of thorn bushes, upon the other side of which was a river: this was done in order to avoid colliding in a narrow road with a frightened, runaway team, which was quite beyond the control of its driver. [illustration: fig. .--the standing leap--rising.] the =standing leap= will prove more difficult to learn than the flying leap, but, nevertheless, it should be the first one practiced, and when once acquired, the other will be mere play. a bar twelve feet long, raised two feet from the ground, will be sufficient for practice in this exercise; if a lady can manage a leap of this height with expertness and grace, she will be fully able to bound over a still higher obstacle, should she desire to do so, and her horse be equal to the occasion. before attempting the leap, she must be sure that she is perfectly secure upon the saddle, with her left knee directly under the third pommel so as to press it firmly against the latter as the horse rises to the leap; her left leg, from the knee to the stirrup, must hang perpendicularly[ ] along the side of the horse, the inner surface or side of the knee lightly pressing against the saddle-flap; her foot must be well placed in the stirrup; her seat directly in the centre of the saddle; her body erect and square to the front; her shoulders well back; and the small of her back curved in. the right leg must firmly grasp the second pommel as the horse rises, and the right heel be held somewhat back, and close to the fore-flap of the saddle. the hands must be held low, and about six inches apart, with a snaffle-rein in each, and the curb-reins must be so placed that the rider will not unconsciously draw upon them, but must not hang so loosely as to become caught accidentally upon any projecting article with which they may come in contact. if all these points be carefully attended to, just previous to walking the horse up to the bar, the rider will be in correct position and ready for the leap, which she will accomplish very quickly, with perfect security, and with a much firmer seat than that obtained by the most finished horseman. footnote : if the leap be a very high one, the left foot may be thrust a little more forward to enable the rider to lean back as far as is necessary. the principal movement for which the rider should be prepared in leaping is that of being thrown forward on the saddle, both when the horse makes the spring and when his fore-feet touch the ground. in order to avoid this accident, the rider, keeping a firm seat and grasp upon the pommels, must incline her shoulders somewhat backward, both when the horse springs from the ground and also during the descent, the amount of inclination varying with the height of the leap. the erect position should be resumed when the hind-legs have again touched the ground. in a very high leap, the rider's body should be bent so far back during the descent as to look almost as if in contact with the back of the horse. when the points named above have been attended to, the horse must be collected, with his hind-legs well under him, and then be briskly walked up to the bar or obstacle to be leaped and placed directly before it, but not so close that he cannot clear it without striking his knees against it as he rises,--sufficient room must always be allowed him for his spring. now, after receiving a light touch or pull upon the reins to tell him that his rider is ready, he will raise himself upon his hind-legs for the leap. as he rises, the rider's body, if properly seated, as heretofore explained, will naturally assume a sufficient inclination forward without any effort on her part. while in this position she must not carry her shoulders forward, but must keep them well back, with the waist well curved in as when sitting erect. it should never be forgotten that in the rise during the leap, just previous to the spring, no efforts whatever must be made by the rider to support the horse, or to lift him, but instead, she should simply hold the reins so lightly that his mouth can just be felt, which is called "giving a free rein." if the reins be allowed to hang too loosely they may catch upon some object not noticed by the rider, and not only be wrenched from her hands, but also give the horse's mouth a severe jerk, or perhaps throw him upon the ground. too loose a rein would, moreover, be apt to make it impossible for her to give timely support to the animal as his fore-feet touched the ground. the leap, it must be borne in mind, is effected very quickly. (fig. .) as the horse springs from his hind-legs to make the leap, the rider must advance her arms, with her hands held as low as possible so as to give him a sufficiently free rein to enable him to extend himself; this position of the arms will also prevent the reins from being forcibly wrested from her hands by the horse's movements. at the moment of the spring and the advance of the arms, the rider's body must be inclined backward, the erect position of the waist and shoulders being, however, maintained. as the animal's fore-feet touch the ground, the hands must be gently drawn in toward the waist in order to support him, as such support will be expected by the horse, and must be continued even after his hind-legs rest upon the ground, so that the animal will not become disunited, but will move onward in a collected manner. (fig. .) [illustration: fig. .--the standing leap--descending.] many riding-teachers instruct their pupils to incline the body well forward as the horse rises, while others require their pupils to lean well back. the advocates of the former method say that this forward inclination conforms to the position of the horse at the time, and so places the weight of the body as to assist the horse in his spring. they who adopt the other method maintain that if the body be inclined forward in the rise, it will be almost, if not quite, impossible for the rider, from the rapidity with which the horse extends himself, to make the backward inclination in time to enable her to regain her balance quickly. a happy medium will prove the best. if the rider be seated correctly at the time the horse rises, her body _will naturally incline a little forward_, and there will be but little weight upon the horse's hind-quarters, while, as he springs and extends himself in his leap, she can promptly adapt herself to his movements and incline her body backward. by leaning back as the horse rises on his hind-legs, the weight of his rider will be thrown upon his hind-quarters, and she will present an awkward appearance; while at the same time she will be very apt to shorten the reins, and thus confine the horse so much that his leap will become clumsy and dangerous. on commencing the leap the rider, as heretofore stated, must never attempt to raise the horse by the reins; a light, gentle touch or pull given to them with the fingers, as when starting upon a hand gallop, is all that will be necessary. the horse must be left free to take the leap in his own way, using his own instinct or judgment in order that he may clear his fore feet from the bar or object over which he has to pass. during the rise, the rider must carefully guard against raising her hands, and also against jerking or holding back the reins, as either of these movements will discourage the horse, and, should he be tender mouthed, he will refuse to leap at all, his own instinct warning him that it is dangerous to attempt it under such conditions. a rather hard mouthed, courageous animal, that has had experience with awkward riders, will, as he extends himself in the leap, force his rider's hands by a sudden jerk of his head, so as either to pull the reins out of her hands, or, should she manage to retain her hold upon them, to pull her forward upon the saddle. many ladies, in their fear of becoming displaced during the leap, will unconsciously press their left leg and foot strongly against the side of the horse, thus causing him to swerve or to refuse to leap. gentlemen teachers are apt to be unaware of this pressure, as the leg is hidden underneath the riding skirt, and not unfrequently they have been puzzled to comprehend why a well-trained, docile horse should leap very well with some of their lady pupils, and awkwardly, or not at all, with others. a common error, in attempting to leap, is to sit too far back upon the saddle, a position that not only prevents the rider from supporting herself properly by the pommels, but is also likely to occasion her a severe jar as the horse's feet touch the ground. when in the correct position, the body is placed as far forward upon the saddle as the pommels will permit, the waist and shoulders only being inclined backward, as already described. pressing heavily upon the stirrup is another fault. this not only destroys the usefulness of the third pommel, but, as has already been remarked, such pressure will tend to lift the body from the saddle. the foot should merely be kept light and steady in the stirrup. it will be better for a beginner to leap with a snaffle-rein in each hand. after having thoroughly learned how to make the leap properly, she may then prefer to hold all the reins in the left hand. in this case, she must be very careful not to throw up the unoccupied right hand and arm as the horse passes over the obstacle; for, besides being a very ungraceful movement, it may lead the horse to suppose that he is about to be struck with the whip, and so cause him to make the leap precipitately, and upon reaching the ground to gallop wildly off. the rider must hold her head firm, not only for the sake of appearances, but also to escape biting her tongue and receiving a violent jerk of the neck, when the horse's feet touch the ground. if a horse, just before leaping, be too much confined or collected by an unnecessary degree of tension upon the reins, especially if he be not thoroughly trained, he will rise from all four legs almost simultaneously, and also alight upon them all together. in horse-jockey's _parlance_ this is termed a "buck-leap." it is an awkward manner of leaping, and gives a severe shock to the animal beside fearfully jolting his rider. again, a horse not well trained in the leap, or somewhat indolent, may, if not animated and properly collected just before rising, fail to leap over the obstacle, or in passing over it may strike it with his hind-feet, for he will attempt the leap in a loose, straggling manner. an animal that is well trained, and accustomed to leaping, will take care of himself, and will require very little assistance from his rider; a light hand upon the reins just before he rises, a free rein as he extends himself, and support when he touches the ground being all that is necessary. should the lady be expert in riding, and desire to teach her steed to leap, she can readily do so by pursuing the following course: let a bar about twelve feet in length, and two feet from the ground, be so arranged that the horse cannot pass around it. if possible, he should be allowed to see a well-trained horse leap over this bar a number of times; then taking advantage of a time when her horse is hungry, his mistress should give him a few oats and, passing over the bar, she should rattle the oats and call to him, when he will bound over to obtain them. this course should be followed at each meal, and she should reward him by feeding, caressing, and praising him every time he leaps the bar,--the object being to accustom him to leap it without being whipped or treated harshly. by thus being allowed to take the leap of his own accord and without assistance, he will gain confidence, and will not be apt to refuse when his rider is placed upon his back. in the course of this training, the appearance of the bar should be changed in various ways, as, for example, by placing different bright colored articles upon it, such as pieces of carpet, rugs, shawls, etc. if he be accustomed to leap only over an object that invariably presents the same appearance, he may refuse to leap one of a different aspect. having thus trained the horse until he has become quite familiar with the movements of the leap, and does not refuse to pass over the bar, whatever appearance it may present, he will then be ready for his rider. for the first few trials the lady should take care to have the bar consist of some material that can readily be broken, in order to prevent any accident should the horse, in passing over with her weight upon his back, strike it with either his fore or hind feet. once mounted, she should teach him to clear the bar in a deliberate manner, not allowing him to rush at it and jump from all four feet at once. she will have to collect him, cause him to place his hind-legs under him so that, as he rises, his weight will be thrown upon his haunches, and, as he leaps over, she must be exceedingly careful not to restrain him in the least, as any thoughtless act or awkwardness on her part may give him a great distaste for an exercise which, otherwise, he would have no reluctance in performing. with regard to teaching a young horse to leap, the author is much gratified to know that her views are sustained by several eminent equestrians, and among them mr. e. mayhew of england, who states that a horse should never be allowed to leap until he has attained at least his fifth year, and who in his excellent work, entitled "the illustrated horse management," etc., remarks: "to place a rider upon an animal's back and then to expect a bar to be cleared is very like loading a young lady with a sack of flour, as preparatory to a dancing lesson being received. this folly is, however, universally practiced; so is that of teaching the paces, when the quadruped's attention is probably engrossed by the burden which the spine has to sustain. "leaping is best taught by turning the horse into a small paddock having a low hedge or hurdle-fence across its centre. a rider should, in sight of the animal, take an old horse over several times. the groom who brings the corn at the meal hour then goes to that side where the animal is not and calls, shaking up the provender all the time his voice sounds. the boundary will soon be cleared. when half the quantity is eaten, the man should proceed to the opposite compartment and call again. if this is done every time the young horse is fed, the fence may be gradually heightened; after six months of such tuition, a light rider may be safely placed upon the back. "instruction, thus imparted, neither strains the structures nor tries the temper. the habit is acquired without those risks which necessarily attend a novel performance, while a burden oppresses the strength, and whip or spur distracts the attention. the body is not disabled by the imposition of a heavy load before its powers are taxed to the uttermost. the quadruped has all its capabilities unfettered, and, in such a state, leaping speedily becomes as easy of performance as any other motion." horses leap in different ways; the best leapers being those which just glide over the object without touching it,--they appear to measure the height required for the leap, and, whether the object be high or low, they skim close to it. such animals can be trusted, and may be allowed to leap without urging or hurrying them, for they require very little assistance from their riders, and do better when left to themselves. other horses exaggerate the leap and rise higher than is required; they make a very fine appearance when leaping, but are apt to light too close to the opposite side of the bar or obstacle, because they expend all their energies on height instead of width. the worst leapers are those which, instead of clearing the bar at a single bound, make two bounds, as it were, in passing over it: the fore-part of the horse having passed over, the body will seem to be resting for an appreciable time upon the fore-legs. the =flying leap= can be taken, without stopping, from any gait that is more rapid than a walk, though commonly taken from the gallop. it is a very easy leap, being little more than an extended gallop. the rider takes the same firm, central position upon the saddle as has been described for the standing leap. in the flying leap the body must be inclined well back from the start, care being taken not to make any forward inclination whatever. when the horse has fairly landed, after the leap, the body must again become erect. the degree of the backward inclination must be in accordance with the height and width of the leap. during the whole period of the leap the hands must be kept low and the reins be freely given to the animal, which must be supported as he lands on the opposite side. as the horse runs toward the object to be leaped over, the rider must, when about twelve or fifteen yards from it, gradually relax the reins, by advancing her bridle hand or hands; and, if her horse be a willing and good leaper, he may be allowed to select his own pace, and use his own judgment as to the proper distance from which to make the spring. if the horse be unused to leaping, or be unwilling, the rider must be upon her guard lest he attempt to defend himself and avoid the leap, either by suddenly swerving to one side or by stopping before the object to be leaped and then backing, or rearing. these actions are generally the result of the horse's want of confidence in his own powers, and severity will only make matters worse. in a dilemma of this kind, the rider will have to convert the flying into the standing leap, as follows:-- she must turn her horse and walk him a short distance away from the object, then, turning him again toward it, she must encourage him to advance slowly that he may take a good look at it; at the same time she must have a light and ready hand on the reins, just firm enough to keep his head steady and maintain control over his neck, so as to prevent him from swerving to the right or to the left. she should then kindly and firmly encourage him to make the bound; and by patience and perseverance in this course he will generally be induced to do so. after he has obeyed, she must not make him repeat the movement several times in succession, as if she were triumphing over him, because he might regard such a process as a sort of challenge, and renew the contest; instead of such measures, he should be allowed to pass on quietly, no further attention being given to the matter. by this change from the flying to the standing leap the horse can be better prevented from shying, and on the next occasion will be apt to make the flying leap over the object without swerving. the whip or spur should never be employed to make an obstinate or timid horse leap, as he will ever after associate such objects as those over which he has been thus urged or forced to leap with fear of punishment, and his rider will never be sure of him when approaching one of them, for he will either shy, or else bound over it in such a flurried manner as will prove dangerous both to himself and his rider. an indolent horse, that requires to be roused by whip or spur, is not a suitable one for a lady to ride at a leap. some horses will refuse to leap when traveling alone, but will do so spiritedly and excellently when in company with others of their kind. chapter xii. defenses of the horse.--critical situations. "high pampered steeds, ere tamed, the lash disdain, and proudly foam, impatient of the rein." virgil, _sotheby's translation_. "the startling steed was seized with sudden fright." dryden. a lady's horse is generally selected for his gentleness, soundness, good training, and freedom from vice, and the rider's management of him is usually so kind and considerate that he is seldom roused to rebellion; hence, she is rarely called upon to enter into a contention with him. the docility of a lady's steed is almost proverbial, and when purchasing a horse the highest recommendation as to his gentleness and safeness is the assurance that he has "been used to carry a woman." horse-dealers are well acquainted with this fact, and attach a high value to it, as a sure criterion of the animal's kindly nature. no lady rider, however expert she may be, will, if she be wise and have a regard for her own safety, ride or endeavor to conquer a really vicious horse; yet there may be times when even the hitherto most docile animal will suddenly display that which in yorkshire dialect is called "mistech;" that is, there may be unexpectedly developed a restive trait, for which there seems to be no reason. even a really good-natured horse may, owing to high feed and little work, shy, plunge, and kick, in his exuberance of spirits, and should his rider not know how to control these sudden and unexpected manifestations, he may gain the ascendency, and she be thrown from the saddle. that which, on the part of the horse, is intended for good-humored play, may thus, from want of control, degenerate into positive viciousness. a skillful rider will manage and endure the prancings, pawings, and impatience of her steed,--which are frequently only his method of expressing satisfaction and happiness in carrying his kind mistress,--and will continue riding and controlling him until he becomes calm and quiet, and ceases to display his impulsive sensitiveness. again, a lady may have occasion to ride a strange horse, of whose disposition she knows very little. it is, therefore, very important that every horsewoman should be prepared to meet and to overcome any eccentric demonstrations on the part of the animal she may be riding. some horses are constitutionally nervous and timid, always fearful and upon the lookout, constantly scrutinizing every object around them, and keeping their riders incessantly on the watch. these horses, though disagreeable to ride, are seldom dangerous, as they will readily obey the reins and yield to the hand that has many times proved its reliability and correctness. shying.--the position in which a horse places his ears is a sure indication of his immediate intentions. when he raises his head and points his ears strongly forward, it is because he sees some object at the side of the road, or approaching, which renders him uneasy or even fearful. in such a case, his rider must be prepared for a sudden leap to one side, a whirl around, or a quick darting from the road. she must not allow herself to become nervous and jerk or suddenly tighten the reins, for then the animal will think that she is likewise afraid, and that he is justified in his own fright. on the contrary, she must maintain her presence of mind, quietly and calmly take a snaffle-rein in each hand, draw them just tight enough to feel the horse's mouth, keep his head high and straight forward, and, as he approaches the object that has alarmed him, gently turn his head away from it, so that in passing he can see as little of it as possible; at the same time she should press her leg or whip against the horse on the side toward which he is likely to shy,--also speaking to him in a firm and assuring tone of voice, that he may be led to understand there is nothing to fear. in following these directions the rider must be mindful of her balance, because, notwithstanding all her efforts, the horse may leap out of the road; she should sit erect, keep a firm hold on both pommels with the legs, check him as soon as possible, and then bring him again upon the road. should he swerve and attempt to rush past the object, his rider must not try to pull his head toward it, but, holding the reins with steady hands, must keep him headed straight forward, and, after he has passed, gradually rein him in. should he make a half turn from the object, he must be turned completely around, so as to face it, and then be urged forward by the aid of the left leg and whip, while he is at the same time spoken to in a quiet, encouraging tone. if the horse have confidence in his rider, and his fright be not a pretense, he will thus be induced to go by, and on future occasions will pass by the same object with indifference. severity, such as scolding and whipping, will only render him more fearful, and since he will always regard the object of his fright as being the cause of his punishment, he will, consequently, the next time of meeting with it become still more unmanageable. but, having passed it at first without experiencing any pain, he will gain confidence in the judgment of his rider, imagine he has made a mistake in being alarmed, and be satisfied that, after all, there was no occasion for dread. a horse should never be caressed, patted, or coaxed, either just before or just after he has passed any object he dislikes, because he may misinterpret these acts, and imagine that he has done just right in shying, and will, therefore, be very apt to repeat the act in order again to receive the praise of his rider. it will always be better, in such cases, to ride on as usual, and act as if the matter were of no consequence. on the other hand, a horse should never be whipped after he has passed an object that terrifies him. some riders are afraid to whip the horse while he is in the act of shying, but will lay on the lash after he has passed the cause of his dread; this will not only be "a tardy vengeance that crowns a cowardly act," but will cause the animal to conclude that he has done wrong in passing by, and on the next occasion for alarm he will either delay as long as possible in dread of the remembered whipping, or else will plunge quickly by the object, and, perhaps, add to the vice of shying that of running away. the course pursued by some persons of making a horse pass and repass a number of times in succession an object which has caused him to shy is an erroneous one, as it gives him a chance for again resisting, and makes the rider appear vainglorious and pretentious. whether a horse shies from real fright, or from mere pretense or affectation, the severe use of whip or spur to force him by the object he is shying at will always do more harm than good. mildness and forbearance, combined with firmness, will invariably do much more to tranquillize him and to render him obedient than severity and harsh measures. horsemen who, from actual experience, are well able to advise say, "let the horse alone, neither letting him perceive that we are aware we are advancing toward anything that he dislikes, nor doing more with him when in the act of shying than is necessary for due restraint and a steady hand upon the reins." when a horse shies from pretense of fright, it is either from exuberance of spirits, because he has not been sufficiently exercised, or else because he has detected timidity in his rider, and shies from pure love of mischief and the desire to amuse himself by augmenting her fears. although not intending any real harm, he may manage, to his own astonishment, to unseat her, and, by thus discovering what he can do, may become a vicious rogue, and make every strange object an excuse for a dangerous shy. the only remedy for this affectation and mischievousness will be a courageous and determined rider on his back, who will give him more work than he likes; he will then, of his own accord, soon tire of his tricks. when a horse that has had plenty of work and a good rider to manage him nevertheless continues to shy, it will generally be found that his vision is defective. if he is a young horse, with very prominent eyes, the probability is that he is near-sighted; if an old horse, that his vision--having undergone a change similar to that of a human being who is advanced in years--is imperfect for near objects, which appear confused and blurred; in other words, that he is troubled with long-sightedness, or presbyopia. in these cases the horse becomes fearful and suspicious, and his quick imagination transforms that which he cannot distinctly see into something terrifying. ocular science has not advanced so far as to have determined a remedy for these visual difficulties except by the use of glasses; and to place spectacles upon a horse to improve his sight would be inconvenient as well as decidedly unique. animals thus afflicted are unsuited for either saddle or harness, as they are more dangerous than if they are totally blind, and the only safe course to pursue when one is compelled to use them will be the very undesirable one of completely blindfolding them. many a horse has been severely punished and condemned for viciousness, when his fault arose from defective vision. sometimes a horse becomes discontented and uneasy from being always ridden over the same road; this dull routine is irksome to him, especially if he be spirited, and he ventures upon some act of disobedience in order to create variety and excitement. he may commence by sideling toward other horses or objects on his left, or by suddenly turning around to the right. in the first case, the rider must instantly take a snaffle-rein in each hand, and instead of attempting to turn him from the object, she must rein his head directly toward it, and then back him from it. by these means, his body will form a concavity on the side toward the object, thus preventing injury to the rider or horse, and she will be able to retreat in safety. in the second instance, the horse instinctively knows that he is opposing his strongest side to the weakest one of his rider, and it is useless to contend with him by pulling upon the left snaffle-rein, as he will be watching for this very movement and be prepared to resist it. he should be foiled by having the right rein tightened so as to turn him completely around and place him in the same position he was in before he began to turn. he will perceive to his astonishment that he has gained nothing by his abrupt movement; and as soon as he has reached the position stated, he should be urged forward by the aid of both leg and whip. this method is usually successful unless the steed be very obstinate; he may then refuse to advance at all, and may make another turn to the right, in which case his rider should repeat the course just named, and oblige him to turn completely around three or four times in succession, and then while his head is in the right direction, a stroke of the whip behind the girths should instantly be given in order to compel him to go forward before he has time to defend himself and make another turn. should he again refuse, and succeed in making still another turn, the tactics of his rider must be changed; taking care not to use her whip, she must turn him around as before, and then rein him backward in the direction she desires him to go; she must keep doing this until he concludes to move onward. should this course have to be continued for some time, it will be advisable occasionally to head him in the desired direction, in order to ascertain whether he will go forward; if he will not, he must again be turned and backed. a horse can readily be induced to move backward, when he has determined not to go forward. during this contest with the horse, the rider must be careful to retain her balance, to keep her left knee directly under the third pommel, and to incline her body quickly to the right as her animal turns. she should likewise be watchful of surrounding objects, in order to protect herself and her horse from any dangerous position in which he may be disposed to place himself. in case she is not a very expert horsewoman, or has little confidence in her ability to manage the horse, it will be better to have him led a short distance, and then, if possible, she should change the road to one he has not been accustomed to travel; this will divert him, and cause him to forget his contumacy. balking.--when a horse stops on the road and refuses to move in any direction, it may be owing to disease (immobility), or to obstinacy. in either case, it will be better for the rider to make no effort to induce him to move, but she should quietly and patiently remain in the saddle until he evinces a disposition to advance, when he should be made to stand a little longer. if his defense be due to obstinacy, this course will be a punishment; but should it be due to disease, the detention will be no disadvantage nor punishment to him, but rather an advantage, as it will enable him to gain composure. it is rarely, however, that a horse proves balky, unless as the result of some disease of the brain or of the heart, rheumatic pain, etc. backing.--should a horse commence backing, when on the road, he must have his head quickly turned toward the direction in which he is backing. thus, if he be backing toward a dangerous declivity, he will be able to see that what he is doing threatens danger to himself, and will be checked. then he must be backed some little distance away from the danger, and in the direction toward which he is desired to go. if, however, the horse continues to back toward the dangerous place, notwithstanding the rider's efforts to turn him, the safest course will be to dismount instantly. backing is sometimes, if not very frequently, due to confused vision, rush of blood to the head, pain in the head, etc. gayety.--when a horse moves one ear back and forth, or keeps agitating first one and then the other, at the same time moving his head and neck up and down, and, perhaps, also champing upon his bit, he is feeling gay, and his rider must be on her guard, as he may unexpectedly jump. while keeping a steady hand upon the reins, she must urge him to move forward at a regular and somewhat rapid gait, for this will be what he wants in order to work off his superfluous spirits. kicking.--a horse, when defending himself against anything whatever, will always lay his ears flat upon the back of his head; this is his attitude and signal for a battle, and he is then ready to kick, bite, plunge, or rear. when the ears are only momentarily placed back, it may be from playfulness, but when maintained in this position, he is angry and vicious, and may make a desperate effort to throw his rider. in the company of other horses he will attempt to bite or kick at them. as soon as he is observed to gaze fixedly upon any animals in his vicinity, while at the same time he puts his ears back, and turns his croup toward his companions, he is then about to kick, and his rider must frustrate his intention, as soon as she feels his croup move, by quickly raising his head and turning it in the direction in which the kick was to be made. should he attempt to bite, he must be driven to a proper distance from the object of his anger, and his attention be diverted by keeping him moving on. a horse will kick when feeling gay, when he is annoyed, when he suffers pain from any cause, when feeling playful or malevolent toward other animals, and, sometimes, when he wishes to dislodge his rider. whenever her horse manifests an inclination to kick, the rider must endeavor to keep his head up, because he will then be unable to accomplish much in the way of raising his hind-legs; but once allowed to get his head down, he will have everything his own way, and will be able to kick as high as he pleases. every time the horse attempts to lower his head, he must be punished by a pull upon the curb-bit strong enough to make him keep his head up. his mouth must also be sawed upon with the curb, should he succeed in getting his head down. the rider must remember to lean well back, and have her left knee well braced against the third pommel, as in this position it will be almost impossible for him to unseat her by his kicking. if the kick be made during a stand-still, a sharp, vigorous stroke of the whip upon the animal's shoulder will be apt to check him; but if the kick be made while he is on the gallop, a stroke of the whip will be apt to make him run away. should kicking be an old vice of the horse, he must be ridden with a severe curb-bit, that he may be prevented from getting his head down. plunging, bucking.--plunging is a succession of bounds, in which the four legs of the horse are almost simultaneously raised from the ground, the animal advancing with each bound. it is frequently an effort made by the horse to rid himself of something that pains him, as the sting of an insect, the pinching of the saddle or the girth, etc. all that can be done in any case of plunging will be to endeavor to keep up the animal's head, brace one's self firmly in the saddle, and sit the plunges out; they will rarely amount to more than three or four. when a horse that is not vicious commences to plunge, it may be due to fear or pain; he should, therefore, be spoken to kindly, and be soothed. as soon as he is brought under control, the rider should endeavor to ascertain the cause of his movements, and, if possible, remove it. _bucking_ is a desperate effort to throw the rider; the horse will gather his legs under him in as close a group as possible, curve his back upward like an angry tabby when she espies towser, lower his head, endeavor to burst the saddle-girths by forcibly expanding his abdomen, and then without making any advance or retreat bound up and down upon all four legs, which are held as rigid as iron rods. sometimes he will produce a see-saw movement by repeatedly and rapidly throwing himself from his hind to his fore legs. these motions will be kept up as long as he can hold his breath, which generally becomes exhausted after five or six bounds; he will then renew his breath and may repeat the bounds. when a horse "bucks," the rider must keep her seat the best way she can. her body should be held as straight as possible, although the natural tendency will be to lean forward and to round the shoulders; she should also take a firm knee-grasp upon both the second and third pommels, keep a steady hold upon the reins, and be especially on her guard against allowing her body to be pulled forward as the horse jerks his head down. fortunately, very few thorough-bred horses buck violently, their movement being more of a plunge. the horses of the russian steppes, and the bronchos and ponies of our far western country, are apt to have the vicious, genuine buck in perfection. rearing.--with the young horse, rearing is the last frantic effort to unseat his rider; an old rogue will sometimes resort to it, having found his rider timid and much alarmed at the movement. a lady should never ride a horse that has once reared dangerously, unless the action was occasioned by the injudicious use of too severe a curb-bit. a horse that has once reared without provocation will be very apt to do so again. the danger of this vice is, that the horse may fall backward and upon his rider. this accident will be especially liable to occur when, in rearing suddenly and very high, he bends his fore-legs under his body. while he is in this position, should the rider feel him sinking down upon his hind-quarters, she must instantly leap from the saddle, at the same time giving, if possible, a vigorous push to the horse with both hands, as near his shoulder as she can readily reach without endangering herself. this is done that he may be made to fall to the right, and the impetus of the push will also convey her to a safe distance, should he fall to the left. when a horse, after rearing, paws in the air with his fore-feet, he is then employing them for the same purpose that a tight-rope dancer uses his balancing pole, namely, to keep his equilibrium. in this case, there will not be much danger of his falling backward, unless his rider should pull him over by holding too tight a rein, or by using the reins to aid her in keeping her balance. the first act of the horse, when he intends to rear, will be to free himself from the influence of the bit, and he will attempt to accomplish this by bending his neck in so as to slacken the tension on the reins; at the same time he will come to a stand by a peculiar cringing movement, which will make his rider feel as if the animal had collapsed, or were falling to pieces. this "nowhere" feeling will hardly be realized before the horse will stiffen his hind-legs and neck, and rise with his fore-feet in the air, bidding defiance to all control. under these circumstances, as the horse rears his rider must quickly yield the reins and incline her body well forward, firmly supporting herself by the second and third pommels; as she values her life, she must not strike her steed nor pull upon the reins, but must patiently wait until his fore-feet come to the ground, when the time for action will have arrived. although she may be taken by surprise when the horse first rears, she can anticipate his second attempt, which will generally be not far off, by taking a snaffle-rein in each hand, holding her hands low, and the instant she perceives that he is going to rise, loosening the left rein and tightening the right, so as to bend his head to the right. he cannot now complete the rear, because her action will compel him to move a hind-leg, and he will then be unable to rest his weight upon both hind-legs, which he must do in order to rear. as a punishment, he should then be turned around a few times, from right to left; this turning will also be very apt to prevent him from again rearing. sometimes a severe stroke with the whip upon the horse's hind-quarters as his fore-feet are descending to the ground will prevent the second rear; as he plunges forward from the whip, the rider must be careful to prevent her body from being thrown forward by the plunge. running away.--the most dangerous runaway horse is the one that starts off from excessive fear, as terror will make a horse act as if he were blind, and he may then rush over a precipice, or violently collide with some object in his way. terrified horses have been known almost to dash out their brains by violent collision with a stone wall, and even to impale themselves upon an iron fence. the least dangerous runaway steed is the practiced one, which runs because he has vicious propensities; for as he knows what he is about, he generally takes good care of himself, and thus, in a measure, protects his rider, of whose mishaps, however, he is entirely regardless. some horses, when urged to do something that is beyond their ability, or when goaded by pain from any cause, will run, imagining that by so doing they can escape the evil. with these, the "bolt" or runaway is more the last furious effort of despair than real viciousness. a heavy-handed rider may cause a horse to run away, the horse, taking advantage of the constant pull upon the reins, is liable to make the hand of his rider a point of support, and then dash wildly onward. when, from restlessness, a horse endeavors to break away, the curb-reins should be taken, one in each hand, and every time he attempts to run, a sharp pull should be made upon his mouth by means of these reins; he will thus be checked and prevented from starting upon a run. should he once get fairly started, it will be very difficult to stop him promptly. in such a case, care should be taken not to make a "dead pull" upon the reins, but instead, a succession of pulls at short intervals, and these efforts should be continued until he comes to a stand; should the horse manifest any disposition to stop, the rider should, as he slackens his speed, make a continued pull on the reins as if reining him in from the walk, and this will gradually check him. when a horse runs away from fear or pain, nothing will stop him except the voice of the rider in whom he has confidence, and for whom he entertains affection. in his terror, he will rely entirely upon her for aid and support, and if she fail him, the most severe bit will not stop him. an old offender may sometimes be controlled by a severe bit, or may be cured of his propensity for running by being placed in the hands of a good horseman who will allow him to run away, and when the animal wishes to stop, will then, by means of whip and spur, make him run still farther, and allow him to stop only when the rider pleases. the management of a horse when he attempts to "bolt" has been described in the chapter on the hand gallop. a horse that has once fairly run away and met with some catastrophe, or that has thrown his rider, will never be a safe one to ride subsequently. unsteadiness while being mounted.--it is very annoying, as well as dangerous, to have a horse moving about unsteadily while the rider is attempting to mount; this restlessness is sometimes occasioned by his impatience and eagerness to start, and may then be remedied by having him held by the bit, with his right side placed against a wall, fence, or other firm barrier, where he can be kept until the lady has mounted. the horse must not be allowed to start immediately after the rider has become seated, but must be restrained until he is perfectly quiet, and must be chidden every time he commences to prance. a few lessons of this kind will teach him to stand still while being mounted. when the horse from viciousness, or from dislike to carrying a rider, attempts to evade being mounted, he had better be disposed of; for should the lady succeed in mounting she will receive but little benefit from the ride, as the bad temper and unwillingness of her steed will not only make it unpleasant, but even dangerous for her. sometimes the restiveness of the horse may be the fault of the person holding him, who, perhaps, either takes too heavy a hold of the snaffle-rein, thus pressing the sides of the snaffle-bit against the animal's mouth, and pinching him, or pulls upon the curb-reins, which should not be touched. either of these mistakes will cause the horse to move backward. not unfrequently a horse will violently plunge and kick from the pain of some injury in his side or back, which, though not painful when the rider is seated, becomes so when she bears upon the stirrup. such a horse is unsound and not suitable for a side-saddle. stumbling.--when a horse, not naturally indolent, and having his ears well placed, allows the latter to project out and to fall loosely on each side of his head, he is then fatigued, and must be kept well supported by the bridle, for he may stumble, or even fall. whenever a horse is felt to trip or stumble, the rider's body must instantly be inclined backward, her hands be lifted, and her horse be steadied and supported by sufficient tension on the reins. should the tired horse be walking down a hill, he must always be well balanced by pressure of both leg and whip; this will keep him light upon his fore-legs, and he will not be so apt to fall. a horse should never be whipped for stumbling, as it is not likely that he would do so of his own accord, and it would be cruel to punish the poor animal for what he could not help. it may be the fault of the blacksmith in not shoeing him properly. should an indolent horse fail to raise his feet sufficiently to escape tripping, the proper course to pursue will be to keep him collected and make him move at rather a rapid gait, because, when he is animated, he will lift his feet more briskly and to better advantage. a straight-shouldered horse, when carrying a woman, will be apt to stumble, to bear upon the reins, and to move heavily on his fore-feet, and will therefore require an expert horsewoman to keep him moving in good form. when the rider hears a metallic clinking sound at each step of her horse, it will be an indication that the shoes of his hind-feet are striking against those of his fore-feet; this is very dangerous, as in the trot, or gallop, he may "overreach" and strike one of his fore-legs with one of his hind-shoes in such a manner as to injure himself severely, or he may catch the toe of a hind-shoe in the heel of a fore-shoe so that they will become locked together, when the fore-shoe will have to give way and come off, or a terrific fall will ensue. some horses overreach on account of their natural conformation, others only when fatigued; again, some will be free from this defect when fat, but will manifest it when they become lean from overwork, deficiency of food, or other cause. young horses will occasionally move in this manner before they are taught their paces, but as soon as they are thoroughly trained this dangerous annoyance ceases. when a horse falls to the ground, or merely falls on his knees, if the rider be not thrown off by the violence of the shock it will be better for her to keep to the saddle, as the horse will rise very quickly, and if she attempts to jump off he may step upon her as he is in the act of rising, or her habit may catch upon the pommel and add to the peril of the situation by causing her to be dragged along should the horse move on, or become frightened and run away. she must not attempt to assist the horse by pulling upon the bridle, but must allow him to get upon his feet in his own way. should she be thrown off as he falls, she must free her skirt from the saddle as promptly as possible and quickly get away from him in order to escape being stepped upon as he rises. the fall of a horse upon his right side is much less dangerous than upon his left, because in the latter case the rider's left leg may be caught beneath him, perhaps injured, and she would then be unable to extricate herself without assistance. whip and spur.--a lady's whip is employed as a substitute for the right leg of the horseman in collecting and guiding the horse. for this reason, it must always be firm, strong, and well-made. it is also used both to give light taps to the horse in order to increase his speed, and likewise, when necessary, to chastise him moderately and thus make him more obedient. if it can possibly be avoided, a lady should never whip her horse; but when it is required, one quick, sharp stroke, given at the right time, and with judgment, will subdue him and bring him to his senses. deliberately to give stroke after stroke, or to flog him, will always do more harm than good, for it will make him wild, vicious, and unmanageable, and the lady will gain nothing by it except the reputation of being a _virago_. when a horse has committed a fault requiring the whip, he knows that the first stroke given is for this fault, and submits; but he does not understand why the succeeding blows are given, and resents them accordingly. an expert rider will rarely whip her horse, and will never become angry at even the most obstinate resistance on his part, but will, instead, manage him intelligently, and subdue him in a subtle way that he cannot comprehend. she will turn his disobedient acts against himself in a manner that is mysterious to him, and which will make them appear to him to be the will of his rider. the horse will find himself foiled at every turn, in a way against which he can present no permanent defense, and there will be nothing left for him but submission. when a horse fails in his attempts to gain the ascendency, and yields to her skill and authority, she should be generous and forgiving, and treat the vanquished one with kindness and consideration, letting him know that there is no resentment harbored against him. he will quickly appreciate this forbearance, and it will have a lasting effect. but while accepting the olive branch, she should not give him his usual pats and caresses for some little while afterward, as these acts might be misinterpreted by him as a weakening on the part of his rider, or lead him to imagine that he has been doing right instead of wrong. a lady's horse should never be trained with the spur. the horse that requires a spur is unsuited for the side-saddle; even the dullest animal will soon learn that he is spurred only on one side, and will shrink from the attack by a shy or a jump to the right, knowing there is no spur on this side. an indifferent rider may place herself in danger by unconsciously spurring her horse, thus goading him to madness, and to such a frenzy of despair that the only alternative left for him will be to unseat his fair rider in order to escape the pain thus unconsciously inflicted upon him. the novice in riding must not be dismayed nor discouraged by all the instructions in regard to defending one's self against restive and vicious horses, as she may ride for years, or even for a life-time, and never be in any serious danger. but a time might possibly come, when she would suddenly and unexpectedly be called upon to exert herself in order to exact obedience from her steed, or to extricate herself from a perilous situation, and then a knowledge of what should be done will be of great use to her. being armed at all points, and understanding the means required for any emergency, she will not depend for safety altogether upon the caprice or the gentleness of her horse, but chiefly upon her own knowledge and skill; this will give her a confidence and sense of security that will greatly add to the pleasure of her ride. [illustration] explanation. . the lips. . tip of the nose. figs. and form the muzzle. . chanfrin, or face; the parts that correspond to the bones of the nose, and that extend from the brow to the nostrils. . the brow, or forehead. . the eye-pits; cavities more or less deeply situated above the eyes. . forelock; hairs between the ears that fall upon the forehead. . the ears. . the lower jaw and channel, or space comprised between the two lower jaws. cheek. jowl. . the jaws: nether jaws. . the nostril. . the throat. . region of parotid glands, at the posterior and internal part of each of the lower-jaw bones. . the crest. ´. the mane. . windpipe and groove of the jugular veins. . the chest, thorax. . the withers, or the sharp, projecting part at the inferior extremity of the crest and of the mane. it is formed by the projection of the first dorsal vertebra. . the back, or part upon which the saddle is placed. . the ribs. . the passage for the girths. . the loins. . the croup; the most elevated part of the posterior extremity of the body. . the tail. . the flank. . the abdomen. . the saphena vein. . the shoulder and arm. ´. the point of the shoulder. . the elbow. . the fore-arm. . the knee. . the cannon bone, shank. . the large pastern joint. . the small pastern joint. . the coronet. . the front foot and hoof. . the fetlock and ergot. the fetlock consists of hairs, and the ergot of a horny-like substance constantly found at the back and lower part of the large pastern joints. . the haunch. . the thigh, gaskin, or femur. . the stifle joint. . the buttock. . the tibia, or leg proper (lower thigh); a small bone lies behind it, the _fibula_. . the hock (curb place). ´. the point of the hock. . the cannon bone. . the large pastern joint. . the fetlock and ergot. . the small pastern joint. . the coronet. . hind-foot and hoof. addenda. good rules to be remembered. ( .) when in company with a gentleman, an accomplished horsewoman will prefer to have him ride at the right side of her horse, because, being thoroughly able to control her steed, she will require little or no assistance from the cavalier. on the contrary, if she be an inexperienced rider, it will be better for the gentleman to ride at the left side, because, in this position, his right hand will be free to render any assistance she may require, and he will also be placed between her and any approaching object. ( .) a finished horseman, when riding at the left side of a lady's horse, will not allow his spurs to catch in her dress, nor will he permit his steed to press so closely against this left side as to injure or interfere with the action of her left foot and leg. ( .) in the park, or in any public place, a gentleman should always approach a lady on the off-side of her horse. ( .) when in company with two ladies, a gentleman should ride on the off-side of them, and never between the two, unless they request it. ( .) when obliged to pass or meet a lady who is riding without an escort, always do so at a moderate gait; this is an act of politeness and consideration which may prevent her steed from becoming fractious. ( .) when passing by a horseman who is leading another horse, never ride by him on the side of the led animal, for if you do the latter will be apt to kick or plunge, and become unruly. this precaution is essential for the safety of the horsewoman, as well as for the better management of the led horse by the horseman. in a crowded place it will be better to wait until there is sufficient room to pass without hindrance. ( .) give assistance to a companion, or other lady rider, when it is indispensable for her safety, but do not give advice unless directly requested. and if, when you are riding a fractious horse, assistance be politely offered, do not decline it. ( .) in city, town, or village, always ride at a moderate gait. ( .) be extremely careful never to ask for a friend's horse to ride, but always wait until the animal is freely offered, and when accepted, do not follow the advice contained in the horseman's proverb,--"with spurs of one's own and the horse of a friend, one can go where he pleases." ( .) before setting out for a ride, in company with other lady riders, the equestrienne, after having mounted, should move a short distance away from the others, and then keep her horse perfectly quiet and steady; by this course the neighboring horses will not be apt to become uneasy and restive while her companions are mounting. ( .) always, when with others, begin the ride at a moderate gait. a number of horses, fresh from the stable, when assembled together, are apt, if started on a gallop, to become too highly excited; and it will always be better to have them start slowly. ( .) should a lady be a better horsewoman than her companions, and be riding a horse superior to theirs, she should restrain him, and not allow him to be constantly in advance of the others. it will be more courteous for her to follow the lead of her companions, and to consult with them as to the kind and rapidity of gait most agreeable to them. the preceding rules of politeness and propriety will be readily understood and appreciated. a lady under no circumstances will forget her tact and consideration for others. ( .) in riding up hill the body should be inclined forward, and the bridle-hand be advanced, in order to give the horse space to extend his head and neck, as it is natural for him to do under such circumstances. in case the ascent be very steep, the rider may support herself by holding, with her right hand, to her horse's mane, but never to the off-pommel, because her weight may cause the saddle to slip backward. ( .) in riding down hill the body must be inclined more or less backward, in proportion to the steepness of the hill, and as the horse lowers his head upon the commencement of the descent, the rider must advance her bridle-hand just enough barely to feel his mouth. timid and awkward riders, on descending a hill, are apt to confine the horse's head too much, thus keeping it too high, and preventing him from freely stepping out, as well as from placing his feet firmly upon the ground. by doing this, they are likely to bring about the very catastrophe they are trying to avoid, namely, a stumble and a fall. never ride at a rapid gait when going down hill. ( .) it is always customary to keep to the left when passing by others on horseback or in vehicles, who are going in the same direction as the rider; and in passing those who are approaching, to keep to the right. but, in the latter instance, should anything be present that might cause the horse to shy, and a declivity, ditch, or other source of danger be on the right, while none exists on the left, it will then be safer for the rider to take the left side. ( .) when crossing a stream, or when allowing one's horse to drink from it, a watchful eye should be kept upon him, especially in warm weather, lest he attempt to take an impromptu bath. if he begins to paw the water, or bend his knees, the rider must raise his head, give him a sharp stroke with the whip, and hurry him on. ( .) after severe exercise, or when the horse is very warm, he should neither be fed nor be allowed to drink until a sufficient time has passed to enable him to become composed, rested, and cool. many a valuable steed has been lost because his mistress did not know this simple, but highly important rule. again, a horse should never be ridden at a fast gait just after he has eaten a meal, or taken a good drink; he should be allowed at least an hour in which to have his meal digested. ( .) a horse should never be allowed to drink from a public trough, if it can possibly be avoided; and when he is permitted to do so, the trough should first be emptied and then filled anew. horses often contract serious diseases from these public drinking-places. ( .) when riding over a rough road, the horse's mouth should only be lightly felt, and he should be allowed to have his own way in selecting the safest places upon which to step. ( .) when it is observed that the horse is moving uneasily, at the same time violently twitching his tail, or giving a kick outward or under him, the rider may be certain that something is hurting him, and should immediately dismount, loosen the saddle-girths, and carefully inspect the girths, the saddle, and parts touched by them to ascertain whether a nail be loosened from the saddle, the skin be pinched or abraded, the hair be pulled upon by the girths, or whether some hard object has become placed beneath the saddle, etc.; she should also carefully examine the head-stall and bit, to see that all is right about the horse's head; after having removed or diminished the irritating cause, she should carefully readjust both saddle and girths. ( .) if, when riding rapidly, it be observed that the horse is breathing with difficulty and with a strange noise, or that his head and ears are drooping, the rider should immediately stop him, as he has been driven too hard, and is on the point of falling. ( .) a lady's horse should never be placed in harness, because in order to pull a load he will be obliged to throw his weight forward, thus spoiling the lightness of his saddle gaits. ( .) when turning a corner the horse should not be drawn around by the reins; these should merely indicate the desired direction for the turn, and should never be drawn upon more than will bring that eye of the animal which is toward the direction of the turn into view of the rider. ( .) should a horse which is usually spirited move languidly, and, during warm, or moderately cold weather, have his hair stand out and appear rough, particularly about the head and neck, or should he frequently cough, it would be better to relinquish the ride, have him returned to the stable, and a warm bran-mash given to him as quickly as possible. it may be that he has contracted only a cold that can be checked by prompt measures. but should he continue to grow worse, a veterinary surgeon should be speedily summoned. be very firm and decided in not permitting the groom to administer his favorite patent medicines, because such nostrums are as liable to occasion injury to animals as similar preparations are to human beings. ( .) a few observations with regard to shoeing a horse may not be amiss. it may happen when riding on a country road, that one of the horse's shoes will come off, and the rider be obliged to resort to the nearest rural blacksmith to have it replaced. in such case she will find that some knowledge on her part of the manner in which a shoe should be fitted to a horse's foot will prove very useful. the blacksmith should not be permitted to cut the frog (the soft and elastic substance in the middle of the foot) of the foot, but should leave it entirely alone, and pare around the margin of the hoof just enough to adjust the shoe evenly and firmly. country blacksmiths, as well as many in cities, are very fond of paring and rasping the horse's hoof, as they think they can make a neater fit of the shoe by such a course. an eminent writer on the subject of shoeing states that, except in case of disease, undue paring and rasping are never indulged in by persons who understand how to fit a shoe to the horse's feet properly; he also observes: "this is paring and rasping the horse's foot till it be small enough to fit the shoe, rather than kindle a fire and forge a new set which shall just suit the feet of the animal. it may to some readers seem like a jest, to write seriously about the horse's shoes being too tight; but it is, indeed, no joke to the quadruped which has to move in such articles. the walk is strange, as though the poor creature were trying to progress, but could obtain no bearing for its tread. the legs are all abroad, and the hoofs no sooner touch the ground than they are snatched up again. the head is carried high, and the countenance denotes suffering. it is months before the horse is restored to its normal condition." ( .) there is not the least necessity for stables being the foul smelling places they so frequently are, for if the hostler and his assistants perform their duties properly all offensive odors will be banished. a foul atmosphere in a stable, besides being repulsive to visitors, is, not unfrequently, the cause of blindness and other diseases of the horse, who will also carry the odor in his hair and communicate it to the clothing of his rider as well as to her saddle. for these reasons, a lady should always positively insist that the stable as well as the horse should be kept perfectly clean and free from obnoxious exhalations. attention to cleanliness, and a free use of disinfectants will bring about this highly desirable result. ( .) after a ride, the saddle should always be aired, and placed where the sun's rays can fall upon its under surface. after exercise that causes the horse to perspire freely, the saddle should not be removed until he has become cool; this will prevent him from having a sore back, from which he often suffers when this precaution is neglected. ( .) when a lady stops in her ride to visit a friend, she should always attend to her horse herself--be sure that he is properly hitched; that in warm weather he is fastened in a shady place, and that in cold weather he is protected, as far as possible, from the cold, as well as from wind, rain, or snow. it will sometimes happen, especially in the country, that, instead of being hitched, the horse will be allowed to remain free, but within some inclosure, that he may nibble the grass; in this instance, the saddle should always be removed, as otherwise he may roll upon it. a city horse, when ridden into the country, should not be allowed to eat grass, from a mistaken idea that it will be a good treat for him, for, as he is not accustomed to it, it will be very apt to injure him. ( .) after a good seat and attitude in the saddle have been obtained, more freedom is allowable; should the rider have occasion to speak or to look aside, she should never move her shoulders, but only her head, and this momentarily, because it is required that a good lookout in front be kept up, to discover and avoid obstacles. ( .) delicate persons who desire to derive benefit from horseback riding in the country should select suitable hours in which to pursue this exercise. the intense heat of a summer noon should be avoided, as well as the evening dew, the imperceptible dampness of which will penetrate the clothing and, perhaps, implant the germ of some serious malady. riding upon a country road in the noon heat of a summer day, where there is little or no shade, will tan and roughen the finest complexion, will overheat the blood, and will occasion fatigue instead of pleasure. an hour or two after sunrise or before sunset will be found the more pleasant and healthful periods of the day for this exercise. riding in the country, when enjoyed at proper hours, is a sure brightener of the complexion, aerates and purifies the blood, and imparts wonderful tone to the nervous and muscular systems. yet, in their great fondness for this exercise, ladies frequently carry it to excess, making their rides far too long. ( .) what to do with the whip, when making a call, has puzzled many a lady rider. shall it be left outside, where it may be lost, or shall it be taken into the parlor, where its belligerent appearance will be entirely out of place? this much mooted question can soon be settled by the gentleman who assists the lady to dismount; he will usually understand what is required, and take charge of it himself. or, in the absence of a cavalier, the whip may be handed to the groom who attends to the horse, or to the porter who waits upon the door. but should no groom or porter be present, it may be placed in some convenient and secure spot, as would be done with a valuable umbrella. ( .) before mounting her horse, a lady should always pat his head and speak kindly to him, and, after the ride, should express her satisfaction in the same manner. the horse will fully appreciate these manifestations. many persons consider a horse a mere living, working machine, yet it has been satisfactorily ascertained, by those who have investigated the matter, that this machine has feeling, affection, and a remarkable memory; that it appreciates favors, has a high sense of gratitude, and never forgets an injury. ( .) the secret of secure and graceful riding is a correctly balanced seat in the saddle, one perfectly independent of reins or stirrup, and without exaggerations of any kind, whether the carelessness or indifference of the instinctive rider, or the affected, pedantic stiffness of the antiquated _haut école_. while maintaining a free, easy, yet elegant attitude, the rider should present to the spectator such an appearance of security and perfect equilibrium that it will seem as if no conflicting movements of the horse could throw her from the saddle. carelessness and indifference cause the rider to look indolent and slovenly, while an affected, exaggerated stiffness and preciseness give her a ridiculous appearance, and destroy the pleasing effect of an otherwise correct seat. ( .) go quickly in the walk, quickly and regularly in the trot, and gently in the gallop. and bear well in mind the following supplication of the horse:-- "in going up hill, trot me not; in going down hill, gallop me not; on level ground, spare me not; in the stable, forget me not." all women are capable of enjoying the healthful exercise of horseback riding excepting those who may be suffering from disease. every lady who has the means, whether young or advanced in years, should learn riding, for its sociability, healthfulness, and pleasure, without regard to her bodily conformation. it is folly to deprive one's self of this high enjoyment and captivating exercise, simply because one is no longer young, has only an ordinary figure, or because some persons appear to better advantage in the saddle, and ride with more ease and grace. according to such reasoning, one might as well cease to exist. if a lady cannot attain perfection, she can strive to come as near to it as possible, and if she secures a correct seat in the saddle, and a suitable horse, she will present a decidedly better appearance than one who, although having the slender, elegant figure so well adapted to the saddle, yet rides in a crooked, awkward attitude, or on a rough moving horse. to become a complete horsewoman it is not necessary to begin the exercise in childhood. the first lessons may be taken in the twelfth year, though many of our best horsewomen did not begin to practice until they were eighteen years old, and some not until after they were married. riding-teachers state that persons past their first youth who have never ridden learn much more readily, and become better riders than those who, though younger, have been riding without instruction, and in an incorrect manner, and, consequently, have contracted habits very difficult to eradicate. before closing this part of the work, there is one subject to which the author would earnestly invite attention. when a lady possesses a horse which has been long in her service, and been treated with the kindest and most loving care, and she finds that this faithful servant is becoming old and stiff, or that, from some accident, he has become almost useless to her, she should not part with him by selling him, for the ones to buy him will be those who have no sympathy for a horse and do not know how to treat him properly, but purchase him for hard and severe labor; their poverty compelling them to this course, as they cannot afford to buy any but old and maimed horses of very little value. to a well-treated and trained animal, the change from caresses to harsh treatment, from the pleasant task of carrying the light form of his mistress to the hardest of drudgery, must be acutely felt. the horse which has been kindly and intelligently managed is one of the most sensitive of living creatures, and has been known to refuse all feed and die from starvation, when placed under the charge of a cruel and ignorant master. when the lady finds her favorite steed permanently useless, and cannot afford him an asylum in which to pass the remainder of his days in rest and freedom from labor, she should have some merciful hand end the life that it would be cruel to prolong in the hands of a hard master, simply for the few dollars that might be obtained for him. to thus destroy the animal may appear heartless, but, in reality, is an act of mercy; as it is much better for him to die a quick, painless death, than to be sold to a life of toil, pain, and cruelty, in which, perhaps, he may pass mouths, if not years, of a living death. * * * * * in terminating the present volume, the writer ventures to express the hope that her appeal to american women to seek health, beauty, and enjoyment in the saddle will not be passed by with indifference, and that the lady rider, after a careful perusal and due consideration of the instructions herein laid down for her benefit, may be awakened to a spirit of enthusiasm, and an endeavor "to well do that which is worth doing at all." to gain a knowledge of horsewomanship is by no means a mysterious matter confined to only a favored few, but is, on the contrary, within the reach of all. the requirements necessary to manage the horse are soon learned, but, as is the case with every other accomplishment, it is practice that makes perfect. practice alone, however, without study or instruction, will never produce a finished rider; and study without practice will rarely accomplish anything. but when study and practice are judiciously combined, they will enable one to reach the goal of success, which every earnest rider will strive to attain. in the endeavor to render the instructions and explanations in this work as clear and comprehensible as possible, many repetitions have unavoidably occurred; but as the book was more especially designed to instruct beginners, as well as those self-taught riders who have not had the advantage of a teacher, it was thought advisable not to leave any point in doubt, but as far as possible to render each subject independent of the others, and strongly to impress many essential points upon the mind of the reader. to a majority of my countrywomen, with their natural tact and grace, it was only deemed necessary to point out their errors in riding; attention once called to them would, it was believed, undoubtedly lead to their prompt correction, and these riders would then cease to be victims of ignorance, constantly upon the verge of danger from incorrect methods of riding, and soon be able to excel in that most desirable and fascinating of all womanly accomplishments, secure and graceful horseback riding. this has been the principal object of the author, who would not only have women ride well and elegantly, but with the confidence and enjoyment that true knowledge always imparts. having spent so many happy hours in the saddle herself, she wishes others to experience a similar happiness, and if a perusal of these unpretending pages will create a zeal among her countrywomen for this delightful and invigorating exercise, and enable them to enjoy it in its highest sense, it will prove a source of much gratification to her, and she will rest satisfied that her efforts have not been in vain. glossary of terms used in horsemanship. _aids_: the various methods employed by a rider to command the horse, and urge him to move forward, backward, etc., and in such gaits as may be desired. the superior aids are the hands acting through the medium of the reins; the inferior aids are the leg and whip. see _effects_. _appui_, fr. _support_: the "give and take" movements, by which the horse is supported in his gait, called "appui of the hand." the sensation of the pressure of the bit upon the bars of the horse's mouth, experienced by the rider's hand. _appui of the collar_: the slope or talus presented in front at the union of the crest of the neck with the shoulders. _attacks_: methods for urging or inducing the horse to enter upon any gait or motion required. see _aids_. _bars_: the upper part of the gums (in a horse) that bears no teeth, and which is located on each side of the lower jaw. this part lies between the grinders (back double teeth) and the tusks; or, in mares and in horses deprived of tusks, between the grinders and the incisors (front cutting teeth). it is against this part, the bars, that the curb-bit rests. see _cheek of the bit_. _bear to the right_: to keep the right leg, from hip to knee, as stationary as possible, by downward pressure upon the right side of the saddle seat, and between the first and second pommels, at the same time keeping a firm knee-grasp upon the second pommel without hanging upon it; by this means, the rider guards against inclining to the left, a movement very apt to be produced by her position in the saddle and the motion of her horse. the body of the rider must be maintained in an erect position all the time she is bearing to the right. see _incline to the right_. _boot_: a term sometimes applied to that part of the saddle-girths or flaps back of the rider's leg, and at which the horse may attempt to kick; also applied to the inferior portion of the rider's leg. _bridle-hand_: the left hand. when both hands hold the reins they are called the _bridle-hands_. _bridoon_: the snaffle-bit and rein, when used in connection with the curb-bit, but acting independently of it. the two bits together in the horse's mouth are called "the bit and bridoon," or "the curb and bridoon." _bringing up to the bridle_, also _kept well up to the bridle_: to place the horse's head up and in position, so that when proper tension or pressure is made upon his mouth he will readily obey the reins. some horses require stronger pressure than others, as stated under _correspondence_. _cannon bone_, also _shank_: the long bone situated between the knee and the fetlock joint on the front part of each fore-leg of the horse. _canon_: that part of a bit, on each side, that rests upon the bars of a horse's mouth when the bit is correctly placed. _cantle_: the somewhat elevated ridge at the back part of the saddle-seat. _cheek of the bit_, also _bars of the bit_: the external straight or curved rods (levers) forming the sides of a curb-bit, and which, when the bit is in the horse's mouth, are applied along the outer sides of his mouth, the reins being attached to their lower extremities. that part of these rods situated below the bit in the month is called "the lower bar," or "cheek," and that portion above the bit, "the upper bar," or "cheek." _chin-groove_: the transverse furrow in which the curb-chain rests, on the under surface of a horse's lower jaw, at the back part of the lower lip. also called "curb-groove." _collected canter_: a canter in good form. _correspondence_: the degree of rein-tension made by the hand of the rider upon her horse's mouth, which, when properly established, creates a correspondence between her hand and the animal's mouth, so that the slightest movement of the one is immediately felt by the other; in all cases this correspondence must first be had before any utility can be obtained from the "give and take" movements. some horses require a greater degree of tension for this purpose than others, according to their training and the range of sensibility of their mouths. _croup_: the hind-quarters of the horse, from and including the loins to the commencement of the tail. this term is also applied by some to the upper part of the animal's back, where the haunches and body come in contact. _curb-bit_, also _lever-bit_: a bit with a straight or curved lever or rod attached on each side, designed for the purpose of restraining the horse. _curb-chain_: a chain attached to the upper bar or cheek of the curb-bit, and passed along the chin-groove, from one side of the bit to the other. _curb-hook_: a hook attached to the curb-chain, and designed to fasten it to the upper bar of the curb-bit; there are two of these hooks, one on each side of the bit. _decompounded_: taken to pieces; each act, movement, or part of a whole or group, by or of itself. _defend_: a horse is said to defend himself when he refuses to obey, or attempts to bite, kick, etc.; he resists, contends. _defenses_: the resistances made by a horse when required to do anything, or when he is ignorant of the acts or movements demanded of him; he becomes alarmed, injured, or malicious, and employs his defenses. _double bridle_: the reins of the curb-bit and bridoon, when both bits are placed together in the horse's mouth. _dumb-jockey_: a couple of stout sticks or poles, crossed in the form of the letter x, and fastened upon the saddle; the reins are attached to the upper ends of these, and a hat may be placed upon one of them. used in training colts. _effects_: movements made by the hands, often aided by the leg or whip, which serve to urge the horse forward, backward, to the right, or left; indications. _equestrian_: a gentleman rider on horseback. _equestrienne_: a lady rider on horseback. _equine_: from _equus_, lat. a horse; pertaining to a horse. _equitation_: horseback riding. _false pannels_: pannels are stuffed pads or flaps, attached to and beneath certain parts of the saddle, in order to prevent these from injuring the horse; when these stuffed pads can be fastened to, or removed from the saddle at pleasure, they are termed "false pannels." _fetlock_: the tuft of hair that grows upon the back part of the fetlock joints of many horses' legs, and which hides the ergot or stub of soft horn that lies behind and below the pastern joint. _fetlock joint_: the joint between the cannon and the upper pastern bone of each foot. _force the hands_: the hands are said to be forced when the horse throws his head downward, pulling upon the reins so as to cause the rider to support the weight of the animal's head; sometimes this is effected so suddenly as to jerk the reins out of her hands. _forehand_: all that part of the horse in front of the rider. _get out of condition_: a horse is said to be in "good condition" when he is well, fresh, and sound; the reverse of this is termed "out of condition." _girths_: stout straps or bands passed from one side of the saddle and underneath the horse's abdomen to the other side, where they are buckled tight and fast; they are designed to keep the saddle securely upon the horse's back. _give and take_: the traction and relaxation of the reins made by the fingers, and which must correspond with the movements of the horse's head; this action keeps up a correspondence with the horse's mouth, and at the same time supports him in his gait. _hand_: the height of a horse is usually measured by hands, four inches being equal to one hand. a rider is said to "have hands" when she knows how to use her hands correctly in controlling the horse by means of the reins. _haunches_: when a horse is made to throw his weight chiefly upon his hind-quarters, he is said to be "well placed on his haunches," and will then move more lightly upon his fore-legs. the haunch-bones are three in number, the superior one of which is firmly united to the spinal column (backbone) near its posterior extremity; the lower one on each side forms a joint with the thigh bone, passing downward in a more or less oblique direction. the obliquity of these bones enables the horse to place the muscles of the part in a position to act with greater advantage and power, and the degree of this obliquity serves to distinguish the thorough from the low bred, it being greater in the former. wide haunches and broad loins are indications of strength and speed. _hippic_: of, belonging to, or relating to the horse. _hock_, also _tarsus_: the part or joint between the cannon or shank bone and the lower thigh or gaskin of the hind-leg: it consists of six bones; the part at this joint that projects backward and somewhat inward is called the "point of the hock." the hock is an important part of a horse, as any unhealthy or diseased condition of it will prevent him from resting on his haunches, and will thereby interfere with his free action in the canter and gallop. _immobility_: a disease in which the horse becomes unable to move, probably referable to the nervous system. _incline to the right_, or _to the left_: this differs from "bearing to the right," which see. it means, to incline the body, from the hips upward, to the right (or to the left), either when turning or riding in a circle. _in confidence_: a horse is confident, or in confidence, when he completely surrenders his own will, and implicitly trusts to his rider without dreaming of resistance. _inward rein_: in turning or circling, the "inward rein," as well as the "inward leg," is the one on the same side as that toward which the horse turns, or the one toward the centre of the circle of which the turn forms an arc. _legs well bent_: see "_well-bent hind-legs_." _lip-strap_, or _curb-strap_: two small straps stitched to the curb-bit, designed to prevent a horse from taking the cheek of this bit into his mouth; an unnecessary appendage when the cheek is curved. _lunge-line_: a long strap or cord attached to the nose-band of the cavesson or head-stall of a horse in training, by means of which the trainer exercises and instructs him while he is moving around in circles. _near-side_: the left side. _near-pommel_: the second pommel, on the left side of the side-saddle; the second pommel of the old-fashioned saddle was called the "near-pommel," and the name still attaches to it. the "third pommel" is variously called the "leaping head" and the "hunting-horn," and is located on the left side of the saddle and below the second pommel. _off-side_: the right side. _off-pommel_: the pommel on the right side of the saddle. _outward rein_: in turning or circling, the "outward rein," as well as the "outward leg," is the one opposite to the direction toward which the horse turns. _overreaching_, also _forging_, _clinking_: is when a horse in moving forward strikes the heel or back part of a fore-foot with the toe or front part of the shoe of the hind-foot. when the stride of the hind-legs is carried so far forward as to strike the coronet or upper part of the hoof, it is then termed a "tread." _pirouette_: a movement in which a horse turns around without changing his place, the hind-leg of the side toward which he moves forming the pivot upon which he supports himself. _port of the bit_: the arched part in the centre of the curb-bit. _resistances_: see _defenses_. _retroacting_: a horse retroacts when, in his volts, he steps aside, bearing his croup to the centre,--also when he backs toward an obstacle and fixedly remains there, against the will of his rider; and also when he suddenly throws himself upon his hocks at the moment his rider checks or stops him. _ring-bar of the saddle_: a bar attached beneath the saddle-flap on the left side and at its upper part, over which the stirrup-leather rolls. _saddle-tree_: the skeleton or solid frame of a saddle, upon which the pommels, leather, padding, etc., are properly disposed. _snaffle-bit_: is the mildest bit used in driving a horse: there are two kinds, the plain snaffle and the twisted, and the latter form may be made to act very severely. _surcingle_: a wide band of cloth or leather, of sufficient length to pass around the body of a horse, and employed either to keep a blanket upon him, or to keep down the flaps of the saddle or the shabrack. _thrown forward upon his shoulders_: a horse is said to be thrown in this manner when, in moving, he throws his weight chiefly upon his shoulders and fore-legs instead of upon his hind-quarters; he is then also said to "go heavy on his fore-legs." _turn upon the shoulders_: a horse is said to "turn upon his shoulders" when he throws his weight upon his fore-legs during the act of turning; it is a disunited movement. _tusks_, also _tushes_: these are the canine teeth, two in each jaw, which grow between the grinders (back double teeth) and the incisors (front cutting teeth), being closer to the latter than to the former. they are frequently missing. their uses are not well known. _volt_: the movement of a horse while going sidewise in a circle, his croup being toward the centre. there are several varieties of volt. an _inverted_ or _reversed volt_ is when the head of the horse is kept toward the centre of the circle. _well-bent hind-legs_: a horse with straight hind-legs does not possess good and easy movements; but if these limbs be well bent, he can be well placed on his haunches, and be easily collected, so that his action will be true and pleasant. see _haunches_. _yield the hands_: is to give the horse more rein by advancing the hands without allowing the reins to slip. to _give a free rein_ is to allow the animal all the length of rein he requires without any traction or opposition. index. addenda, . adjusting the bit, . the saddle, , . affection of the horse, , . amble, the, , . appui, . arab horse, , . backing, , , . balance strap, . balking, . basque, the riding, . bit, . adjusting the, . chifney, . combination, . curb, . curb, dwyer's, . curb and bridoon, . curb and bridoon, to hold reins of, . pelham, . snaffle, . snaffle, to hold reins of the, . biting, . bolting, , . boots, riding, . box-stalls for horses, . bridle, . double, . ladies', . bucking, . caligula and his horse, . canter, . disunited, . false on the turn in, . from trot to, . stop in, . to commence the, . true, , . turn in, , . united, . with left leg leading, . with right leg leading, . capriciousness of horses, . cares for the horse, , , . cavalry trot, , , . changes of pressure on horse's mouth should be gradual, , . changing the reins, . quickly, , . character of the horse, . circling to the left, in trot, . circling to the right, in trot, . coiffure, riding, . collect the horse, to, , . collected horse, . combination bit, . confidence of horse, , , . corns on horse's feet, . correct position of limbs, . correct seat for a lady, . correspondence, , . corsets injurious for riding, . corsets, riding, . country jog-trot, , . critical situations, . crossing water on horseback, . curb-bit, . dwyer's, . and bridoon, , . and bridoon, reins of, in one hand, . when best to use, , ; note, . curb-chain, . curry-combing the horse, . dangers in the hand gallop, . dangers of turns in flying gallop, , . dead pull upon the reins, . defenses of the horse, . differences between high and low bred horses, . dismounting, , . gentleman's aid in, . without assistance, . distinguished equestriennes, . disunited canter, . horse, . double bridle, management of, . drawers, riding, . ears, the language of horses', , . education of the horse, . english trot, , , . equestriennes, distinguished, . erroneous ideas about riding, . exercise of the horse, remarks upon, . fabric for riding-dress, . falling down of the horse, , . false on the turn, in canter, . faulty position of limbs, . fay's training, . first lessons in riding, , , , . flying gallop, . carriage of body in, . holding of reins in, . management of horse in, . stop in the, . turns in, dangers of, , . flying leap, , . flying trot, . foot-hoop in skirt, . foot, the leading, . forcing the hands , . formation of low-bred horse, . formation of thoroughbred horse, . french trot, , , . gaits for a lady's horse, . gallop, the, . gallop, flying, dangers of turns in, . flying, to stop in, . flying, turns in, , . hand, . gauntlets, riding, . gayety of the horse, . gentleman's aid in dismounting, . gentleman's aid in mounting, . girthing the saddle, , . girths, , . give and take movements, , , . glossary, . good riding, tight corsets incompatible with, . grooms, , , , . habit, the riding, . hair, in riding, . hand gallop, . dangers in, . hard mouth of horses, . hat, the riding, . head-dress, . health from horseback riding, . height of horse for a lady, . holding the reins, . in flying gallop, . holding the riding skirt, . holding the whip, . horse, affection of, , . cares of the lady for, , , . character of, . collected, . confidence of, , , . defenses of, . dismounting the, , . disunited, . education of, . exercise of the, . falling down of, , . for a city lady, , . for a country lady, . gaits of, for a lady's, . height of, for a lady, . livery stable, for a lady, . managing the, . managing, with different reins, . mounting the, . origin of the, . purchase of, , . temperaments of the, . the, . the arab, , . the kind of, to select, . the low-bred, . the thoroughbred, . to collect the, , . to stop the, , , , , , , . training the, . treatment of the, . united, . unsteadiness of, while being mounted, . whipping the, . horseback, positions on, , , . riding, healthy, . the seat on, . wrong positions on, , . horses, box stalls for, . corns on feet of, . hard mouth of, . humane training of, . ladies', attentions to, , , . moderate priced, . mouth, changes of pressure on, should be gradual, , . stalls for, , . horse's head, raising the, . humane training of horses, . hunting, . introduction, . jacket, the riding, . jog-trot, the country, , . kicking, . ladies riding in park, observations on, . lady, cares of, for her horse, , , . correct seat for a, . horse for a, , , . livery-stable horse for a, . lady's attention to her horse, , , . bridle, . horse, what gaits for a, . pantaloons, . saddle, , . visiting her stable, . whip, . language of horse's ears, , . latchford's safety stirrup, . leading foot, which is the, . leap, the, . the flying, , . the standing, , . length and width of saddle, , . lennan's safety stirrup, . lessons with lunge-line, , . liberty of reins, when to give, . limbs, correct position of, . faulty position of, . livery-stable horse for a lady, . long stirrup-leather, , . low-bred horse, formation of, . lunge-line lessons, , . management of the horse in flying gallop, . managing the horse with reins, . martingales, . moderate-priced horses, . mounting, . from a high horse-block, . from a low horse-block, . from the ground, . gentleman's aid in, . unsteadiness of horse while, . movements of the rider's body, . natural riders, , , . near pommel to saddle, . observations on ladies riding in park, . off-pommel to saddle, , . origin of the horse, . original position of snaffle-reins, one in each hand, . original position of snaffle-reins, both in one hand, . position of snaffle and curb reins, all in one hand, . position of snaffle and curb reins, one of each in each hand, . over-reaching, , . pace, the, , , . pantaloons, a lady's, . petticoat, the riding, . placing the saddle, , . plunging, , . pommels to saddle, . use of, , , , . position of limbs should be taught by a lady, . positions on horseback, , , . original, of reins, , , , . pressure on horse's mouth, changes of, to be gradual, , . pupil and teacher, . purchase of horse, , . racing trot, . rack, the, , . raising the horse's head, . rearing, . rein, to loosen or tighten one, when double bridle is in left hand, . reining back in the walk, , . reins, changing the, . curb and bridoon in one hand, . dead pull upon, . double, one in each hand, . double, to change from left to right hand, . double, to change from right to left hand, . double, to separate, and hold one of each in a hand, . holding the, . snaffle, both in one hand, . snaffle, both in one hand, original position of, . snaffle, both in one hand, to separate, . snaffle, both in one hand, to stop the horse, . snaffle, both in one hand, to turn to the left, . snaffle, both in one hand, to turn to the right, . snaffle, one in each hand, . snaffle, one in each hand, original position of, . snaffle, one in each hand, to stop the horse, . snaffle, one in each hand, to turn to the left, . snaffle, one in each hand, to turn to the right, . to change quickly, , . to change snaffle from left to right hand, . to change snaffle from right to left hand, . to hold, in flying gallop, . to return snaffle, to the left hand, . to shorten the curb and lengthen the snaffle, . to shorten the snaffle and lengthen the curb, . to shorten or lengthen the curb and snaffle, . to shorten or lengthen the snaffle, . when to give more liberty of, . remarks, on exercise of horse, . on grooms, , , , . on the stable, , . on training the horse, , , . restiveness, . rider's body, movements of, . figure, style of, . natural, . riding basque, . boots, coiffure, . corsets, . dress, fabric for, . riding, does not produce coarseness in rider, . drawers, . erroneous ideas concerning, . first lessons in, , , , . gauntlets, . habit, . habit, shirt, . habit, skirt of, . habit skirt, how to hold, . habit, waist of, . hair in, . hat, . jacket, . pantaloons, . petticoat, . whip, , . rising in the saddle in english trot, . running away, . running walk, . saddle-flaps, . saddle, girthing the, , . lady's, , . length of, , . off-pommel to, . placing the, , . seat to the, . second pommel to, , . third pommel to, , , . to adjust the, , . to rise in the, in english trot, . weight of the, . width of the, . safety stirrups, . seat, correct one for a lady, . on horseback, . to saddle, . separation of the reins, . shirt, the riding-habit, . short stirrup-leather, . shying, . skirt, foot-loop in, . holding the, . of the riding habit, . snaffle-bit, , . when best to use, , . spring-bar attachment to stirrup-leather, . spur and whip, . stable, ladies visiting the, . stalls for horses, , . standing leap, , . stirrup, , . irons, . leather, , . leather, spring-bar attachment to, . leather, too long, , . leather, too short, , . stokes' mode of girthing the saddle, . stop in the canter, . the english trot, . the flying gallop, . the walk, . stumbling, , . style of the rider's figure, . support, , , . teacher and pupil, . temperaments of the horse, . the arab horse, , . the canter, . the gallop, . the horse, . the kind of horse to purchase, , . the leap, . the low-bred horse, . the saddle and bridle, . the seat on horseback, . the thoroughbred, . the trot, . the walk, . third pommel, - , , . thorough and low bred, differences, . tight corsets prevent good riding, . to change reins quickly, , . to collect the horse, , . to hold the riding-skirt, . to manage the horse with the various reins, . to rise in the saddle in the english trot, . too long stirrup-leather, , . too short stirrup-leather, , . to turn the horse to the left, . to turn the horse to the right, . training horses, humane, . remarks on, , , . to stop at the voice, . treatment of horse, , , . trot, circling to the left, . circling to the right, . country-jog, , english or rising, , , . french or cavalry, , , . the flying, . the true, . to canter from the, . trotting in a circle, . true trot, . turns in the canter, , . dangers of, in the flying gallop, , . in the hand gallop, . in the walk, . united canter, . unsoundness of horses' feet and legs, . unsteadiness of horse while being mounted, . use of pommels, , , , , . victoria stirrup, . waist of riding habit, . walk, reining back in, , . running, . stopping in the, . the, . the advance in the, . turning in the, . weight of the saddle, . what gaits to train a lady's horse in, . when best to use the curb, , , note . best to use the snaffle, , . when to give more liberty of reins, . which is the leading foot, . whip, the lady's, . the lady's, how to hold, . whipping the horse, . whip and spur, . why some women do not enjoy riding, . width of saddle, . wrong positions on horseback, , . * * * * * transcriber's note: punctuation in the text has been standardised, and obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. bold text is surrounded by =equal signs=. variations in hyphenation, and obsolete or variant spelling have all been preserved. in table of illustrations the entry "chifney bit" was originally spelled "chiffney"; this has been changed to match the spelling in fig. . riding for ladies. by w. a. kerr, v.c., formerly second in command of the nd regiment southern maharatta horse. _illustrated._ new york: frederick a. stokes company, mdcccxci. preface. this work should be taken as following on, and in conjunction with, its predecessor on "riding." in that publication will be found various chapters on action, the aids, bits and bitting, leaping, vice, and on other cognate subjects which, without undue repetition, cannot be reintroduced here. these subjects are of importance to and should be studied by all, of either sex, who aim at perfection in the accomplishment of equitation, and who seek to control and manage the saddle-horse. w. a. k. contents. chapter page i. introductory ii. the lady's horse iii. practical hints: how to mount, --the seat, --the walk, --the trot, --the canter, --the hand-gallop and gallop, --leaping, --dismounting, iv. the side saddle v. hints upon costume vi. À la cavaliÈre vii. appendix i.--the training of ponies for children appendix ii.--extension and balance motions list of illustrations. page preparing to mount mounting--second position mounted--near side right and wrong elbow action right and wrong mount turning in the walk--right and wrong way right and wrong rising the trot free but not easy the leap the side saddle, old style the safety saddle saddles - the "zenith" habit--jacket body costumes riding for ladies. chapter i. introductory. what i have said on the excellence of horse-exercise for boys and men, applies equally to girls and women, if, indeed, it does not recommend itself more especially in the case of the latter. for the most part the pursuits of women are so quiet and sedentary that the body is rarely called into that complete activity of all the muscles which is essential to their perfect development, and which produces the strength and freedom of movement so indispensable to perfect grace of carriage. the woman who has been early accustomed to horse-exercise gains a courage and nerve which it would be difficult to acquire in a more pleasant and healthful manner. she also gains morally in learning to feel a sympathy with the noble animal to whom she is indebted for so much enjoyment, and whose strength and endurance are too often cruelly abused by man. numerous instances have occurred in my experience of the singular influence obtained by ladies over their horses by simple kindness, and i am tempted to introduce here an account of what gentle treatment can effect with the arab. the lady who told the tale did not lay claim to being a first-rate horsewoman. her veracity was undoubted, for her whole life was that of a ministering angel. she wrote thus: "i had a horse provided for me of rare beauty and grace, but a perfect bucephalus in her way. she was only two generations removed from a splendid arabian, given by the good old king to the duke of kent when h.r.h. went out in command to nova scotia. the creature was not three years old, and to all appearance unbroken. her manners were those of a kid rather than of a horse; she was of a lovely dappled gray, with mane and tail of silver, the latter almost sweeping the ground; and in her frolicsome gambols she turned it over her back like a newfoundland dog. her slow step was a bound, her swift motion unlike that of any other animal i ever rode, so fleet, so smooth, so unruffled. i know nothing to which i can compare it. well, i made this lovely creature so fond of me by constant petting, to which, i suppose, her arab character made her peculiarly sensitive, that my voice had equal power over her, as over my faithful docile dog. no other person could in the slightest degree control her. our corps, the rd batt. of the th rifles, was composed wholly of the _élite_ of napoleon's soldiers, taken in the peninsula, and preferring the british service to a prison. they were, principally, conscripts, and many were evidently of a higher class in society than those usually found in the ranks. among them were several chasseurs and polish lancers, very fine equestrians, and as my husband had a field-officer's command on detachment, and allowances, our horses were well looked after. his groom was a chasseur, mine a pole, but neither could ride "fairy" unless she happened to be in a very gracious mood. lord dalhousie's english coachman afterwards tried his hand at taming her, but all in vain. in an easy quiet manner she either sent her rider over her head or, by a laughable manoeuvre, sitting down like a dog on her haunches, slipped him off the other way. her drollery made the poor men so fond of her that she was rarely chastised, and such a wilful, intractable wild arab it would be hard to find. upon her i was daily mounted. inexperienced in riding, untaught, unassisted, and wholly unable to lay any check upon so powerful an animal, with an awkward country saddle, which, by some fatality, was never well fixed, bit and bridle to match, and the mare's natural fire increased by high feed, behold me bound for the wildest paths in the wildest regions of that wild country. but you must explore the roads about annapolis, and the romantic spot called the "general's bridge," to imagine either the enjoyment or the perils of my happiest hour. reckless to the last degree of desperation, i threw myself entirely on the fond attachment of the noble creature; and when i saw her measuring with her eye some rugged fence or wild chasm, such as it was her common sport to leap over in her play, the soft word of remonstrance that checked her was uttered more from regard to her safety than my own. the least whisper, a pat on the neck, or a stroke down the beautiful face that she used to throw up towards mine, would control her; and never for a moment did she endanger me. this was little short of a daily miracle, when we consider the nature of the country, her character, and my unskilfulness. it can only be accounted for on the ground of that wondrous power which, having willed me to work for a time in the vineyard of the lord, rendered me immortal till the work should be done. rather, i should say, in the words of cooper, which i have ventured to slightly vary-- "'tis plain the creature whom he chose to invest with _queen_-ship and dominion o'er the rest, received _her_ nobler nature, and was made fit for the power in which she stands arrayed." strongly as i advocate early tuition, if a girl has not mounted a horse up to her thirteenth year, my advice is to postpone the attempt, unless thoroughly strong, for a couple of years at least. i cannot here enter the reason why, but it is good and sufficient. weakly girls of all ages, especially those who are growing rapidly, are apt to suffer from pain in the spine. "the invigorator" corset i have recommended under the head of "ladies' costume" will, to some extent, counteract this physical weakness; but the only certain cures are either total cessation from horse exercise, or the adoption of the cross, or duchess de berri, seat--in plain words, to ride _à la cavalière_ astride in a man's saddle. in spite of preconceived prejudices, i think that if ladies will kindly peruse my short chapter on this common sense method, they will come to the conclusion that anne of luxembourg, who introduced the side-saddle, did not confer an unmixed benefit on the subjects of richard the second, and that riding astride is no more indelicate than the modern short habit in the hunting field. we are too apt to prostrate ourselves before the juggernaut of fashion, and to hug our own conservative ideas. though the present straight-seat side-saddle, as manufactured by messrs. champion and wilton, modifies, if it does not actually do away with, any fear of curvature of the spine; still, it is of importance that girls should be taught to ride on the off-side as well as the near, and, if possible, on the cross-saddle also. undoubtedly, a growing girl, whose figure and pliant limbs may, like a sapling, be trained in almost any direction, does, by always being seated in one direction, contract a tendency to hang over to one side or the other, and acquire a stiff, crooked, or ungainly seat. perfect ease and squareness are only to be acquired, during tuition and after dismissal from school, by riding one day on the near and the next on the off-side. this change will ease the horse, and, by bringing opposite sets of muscles into play, will impart strength to the rider and keep the shoulders level. whichever side the rider sits, the reins are held, mainly, in the left hand--the left hand is known as the "bridle-hand." attempts have frequently been made to build a saddle with two flaps and movable third pommel, but the result has been far from satisfactory. a glance at a side-saddle tree will at once demonstrate the difficulty the saddler has to meet, add to this a heavy and ungainly appearance. the only way in which the shift can be obtained is by having two saddles. [illustration: naomi (a high-caste arabian mare).] chapter ii. the lady's horse. there is no more difficult animal to find on the face of the earth than a perfect lady's horse. it is not every one that can indulge in the luxury of a two-hundred-and-fifty to three-hundred-guinea hack, and yet looks, action, and manners will always command that figure, and more. some people say, what can carry a man can carry a woman. what says mrs. power o'donoghue to this: "a heavy horse is never in any way suitable to a lady. it _looks_ amiss. the trot is invariably laboured, and if the animal should chance to fall, he gives his rider what we know in the hunting-field as 'a mighty crusher.' it is indeed, a rare thing to meet a perfect 'lady's horse.' in all my wide experience i have met but two. breeding is necessary for stability and speed--two things most essential to a hunter; but good light action is, for a roadster, positively indispensable, and a horse who does not possess it is a burden to his rider, and is, moreover, exceedingly unsafe, as he is apt to stumble at every rut and stone." barry cornwall must have had something akin to perfection in his mind's eye when penning the following lines:-- "full of fire, and full of bone, all his line of fathers known; fine his nose, his nostrils thin, but blown abroad by the pride within! his mane a stormy river flowing, and his eyes like embers glowing in the darkness of the night, and his pace as swift as light. look, around his straining throat grace and shifting beauty float! sinewy strength is in his reins, and the red blood gallops through his veins." how often do we hear it remarked of a neat blood-looking nag, "yes, very pretty and blood-like, but there's nothing of him; only fit to carry a woman." no greater mistake can be made, for if we consider the matter in all its bearings, we shall see that the lady should be rather over than under mounted. the average weight of english ladies is said to be nine stone; to that must be added another stone for saddle and bridle (i don't know if the habit and other habiliments be included in the nine stone), and we must give them another stone in hand; or eleven stone in all. a blood, or at furthest, two crosses of blood on a good foundation, horse will carry this weight as well as it can be carried. it is a fault among thoroughbreds that they do not bend the knee sufficiently; but there are exceptions to this rule. i know of two stud book sires, by lowlander, that can trot against the highest stepping hackney or roadster in the kingdom, and, if trained, could put the dust in the eyes of nine out of ten of the much-vaunted standard american trotters. their bold, elegant, and elastic paces come up to the ideal poetry of action, carrying themselves majestically, all their movements like clockwork, for truth and regularity. the award of a first prize as a hunter sire to one of these horses establishes his claim to symmetry, but, being full sixteen hands and built on weight-carrying lines, he is just one or two inches too tall for carrying any _equestrienne_ short of a daughter of anak. though too often faulty in formation of shoulders, thoroughbreds, as their name implies, are generally full of quality and, under good treatment, generous horses. i do not chime in with those who maintain that a horse can do no wrong, but do assert that he comes into the world poisoned by a considerably less dose of original sin than we, who hold dominion over him, are cursed with. two-year-olds that have been tried and found lacking that keen edge of speed so necessary in these degenerate days of "sprinting," many of them cast in "beauty's mould," are turned out of training and are to be picked up at very reasonable prices. never having known a bit more severe than that of the colt-breaker and the snaffle, the bars of their mouths are not yet callous, and being rescued from the clutches of the riding lads of the training-stable, before they are spoiled as to temper, they may, in many instances, under good tuition, be converted into admirable ladies' horses--hacks or hunters. they would not be saleable till four years old, but seven shillings a week would give them a run at grass and a couple of feeds of oats till such time as they be thoroughly taken in hand, conditioned, and taught their business. the margin for profit on well bought animals of this description, and their selling price as perfect lady's horses, are very considerable. in my opinion no horse can be too good or too perfectly trained for a lady. some amazons can ride anything, play cricket, polo, golf, lawn-tennis, fence, scale the alps, etc., and i have known one or two go tiger-shooting. but all are not manly women, despite fashion, trending in that unnatural, unlovable direction. one of their own sex describes them as "gentle, kindly, and _cowardly_." that all are not heroines, i admit, but no one who witnessed or even read of their devoted courage during the dark days of the indian mutiny, can question their ability to face terrible danger with superlative valour. the heroism of mrs. grimwood at manipur is fresh in our memory. what the majority are wanting in is nerve. i have seen a few women go to hounds as well and as straight as the ordinary run of first-flight men. that i do not consider the lady's seat less secure than that of the cross-seated sterner sex, may be inferred from the sketch of the rough-rider in my companion volume for masculine readers, demonstrating "the last resource," and giving practical exemplification of the proverb, "he that can quietly endure overcometh." what women lack, in dealing with an awkward, badly broken, unruly horse, is muscular force, dogged determination, and the ability to struggle and persevere. good nerve and good temper are essentials. having given barry cornwall's poetic ideal of a horse, i now venture on a further rhyming sketch of what may fairly be termed "a good sort":-- "with intelligent head, lean, and deep at the jowl, shoulder sloping well back, with a skin like a mole, round-barrelled, broad-loined, and a tail carried free, long and muscular arms, short and flat from the knee, great thighs full of power, hocks both broad and low down, with fetlocks elastic, feet sound and well grown; a horse like unto this, with blood dam and blood sire, to park or for field may to honours aspire; it's the sort i'm in want of--do you know such a thing? 'tis the mount for a sportswoman, and fit for a queen!" my unhesitating advice to ladies is _never buy for yourself_. having described what you want to some well-known judge who is acquainted with your style of riding, and who knows the kind of animal most likely to suit your temperament, tell him to go to a certain price, and, if he be a gentleman you will not be disappointed. you won't get perfection, for that never existed outside the garden of eden, but you will be well carried and get your money's worth. ladies are not fit to cope with dealers, unless the latter be top-sawyers of the trade, have a character to lose, and can be trusted. there has been a certain moral obliquity attached to dealing in horses ever since, and probably before, they of the house of togarmah traded in tyrian fairs with horses, horsemen, and mules. should your friend after all his trouble purchase something that does not to the full realize your fondest expectation, take the will for the deed, and bear in mind "oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promises." with nineteen ladies out of every score, the looks of a horse are a matter of paramount importance: he must be "a pretty creature, with beautiful deer-like legs, and a lovely head." their inclinations lead them to admire what is beautiful in preference to what is true of build, useful, and safe. if a lady flattered me with a commission to buy her a horse, having decided upon the colour, i should look out for something after this pattern: one that would prove an invaluable hack, and mayhap carry her safely and well across country. height fifteen two, or fifteen three at the outside; age between six and eight, as thoroughbred as eclipse or nearly so. the courage of the lion yet gentle withal. ears medium size, well set on, alert; the erect and quick "pricking" motion indicates activity and spirit. i would not reject a horse, if otherwise coming up to the mark, for a somewhat large ear or for one slightly inclined to be lopped, for in blood this is a pretty certain indication of the melbourne strain, one to which we are much indebted. the characteristics of the melbournes are, for the most part, desirable ones: docility, good temper, vigorous constitution, plenty of size, with unusually large bone, soundness of joints and abundance of muscle. but these racial peculiarities are recommendations for the coverside rather than for the park. the eye moderately prominent, soft, expressive, "the eye of a listening deer." the ears and the eyes are the interpreters of disposition. forehead broad and flat. a "dish face," that is, slightly concave or indented, is a heir-loom from the desert, and belongs to nejd. the jaws deep, wide apart, with plenty of space for the wind-pipe when the head is reined in to the chest. nostrils long, wide, and elastic, exhibiting a healthy pink membrane. we hear a good deal of large, old-fashioned heads, and see a good many of the fiddle and roman-nosed type, but, in my opinion, these cumbersome heads, unless very thin and fleshless, are indicative of plebeian blood. the setting on of the head is a very important point. the game-cock throttle is the right formation, giving elasticity and the power to bend in obedience to the rider's hand. what the dealers term a _fine topped horse_, generally one with exuberance of carcase and light of limbs, is by no means "the sealed pattern" for a lady; on the contrary, the neck should be light, finely arched--that peculiarly graceful curve imported from the east,--growing into shoulders not conspicuous for too high withers. "long riding shoulders" is an expression in almost every horseman's mouth, but very high and large-shouldered animals are apt to ride heavy in hand and to be high actioned. well-laid-back shoulders, rather low, fine at the points, not set too far apart, and well-muscled will be found to give pace with easy action. he should stand low on the legs, which means depth of fore-rib, so essential in securing the lady's saddle, as well as ensuring the power and endurance to sustain and carry the rider's weight in its proper place. fore-legs set well forward, with long, muscular arms, and room to place the flat of the hand between the elbows and the ribs. the chest can hardly be too deep, but it can be too wide, or have too great breadth between the fore-legs. the back only long enough to find room for the saddle is the rule, though, in case of a lady's horse, a trifle more length unaccompanied by the faintest sign of weakness, will do no harm. for speed, a horse must have length somewhere, and i prefer to see it below, between the point of the elbow and the stifle joint. ormonde, "the horse of the century," was nearly a square, _i.e._ the height from the top of the wither to the ground almost equalled the length of his body from the point of the shoulder to the extremity of the buttock. horses with short backs and short bodies are generally _buck-leapers_, and difficult to sit on when fencing. the couplings or loins cannot be too strong or the ribs too well sprung; the back ribs well hooped. this formation is a sign of a good constitution. the quarters must needs be full, high set on, with straight crupper, well rounded muscular buttocks, a clean channel, with big stifles and thighs to carry them. knees and hocks clean, broad, and large, back sinews and ligaments standing well away from the bone, flat and hard as bands of steel; short well-defined smooth cannons; pasterns nicely sloped, neither too long nor too short, but full of spring; medium sized feet, hard as the nether millstone. if possible, i should select one endowed with the characteristic spring of the arab's tail from the crupper. such a horse would, in the words of kingsley, possess "the beauty of theseus, light but massive, and light, not in spite of its masses, but on account of the perfect disposition of them." there is no need for the judge to run the rule, or the tape either, over the horse. his practised eye, almost in a glance, will take in the general contour of the animal; it will tell him whether the various salient and important points balance, and will instantly detect any serious flaw. when selecting for a lady who, he knows, will appreciate sterling worth rather than mere beauty, he may feel disposed to gloss over a certain decidedness of points and dispense with a trifle of the comely shapeliness of truthfully moulded form. having satisfied myself that the framework is all right, i would order the horse to be sauntered away from me with a loose rein, and, still with his head at perfect liberty, walked back again. i would then see him smartly trotted backwards and forwards. satisfied with his natural dismounted action, i should require to see him ridden in all his paces, and might be disposed to get into the saddle myself. having acquitted himself to my satisfaction, he would then have to exhibit himself in the park or in a field, ridden in the hands of some proficient lady-rider. a few turns under her pilotage would suffice to decide his claims to be what i am looking for. if he came up to my ideas of action, or nearly so, i should not hesitate--subject to veterinary certificate of soundness--to purchase. finally, the gentleman to examine the horse as to his soundness would be one of my own selection. certain of the london dealers insist upon examinations being made by their own "vets," and "there's a method in their madness." when such a stipulation is made, i invariably play the return match by insisting upon having the certificate of the royal college of veterinary surgeons, where the investigation is complete and rigorous. the very name of "the college" is gall and wormwood to many of these "gentlemen concerned about horses." chapter iii. practical hints. how to mount. previous to mounting, the lady should make a practice of critically looking the horse over, in order to satisfy herself that he is properly saddled and bridled. particular attention should be paid to the girthing. though ladies are not supposed to girth their own horses, occasion may arise, in the colonies especially, when they may be called upon to perform that office. information on this essential and too oft-neglected point may not be out of place. odd as it may sound, few grooms know how to girth a horse properly, and to explain myself i must, for a few lines, quit the side-saddle for the cross-saddle. men often wonder how it is that, on mounting, the near stirrup is almost invariably a hole or more the longer of the two. the reason is this: the groom places the saddle right in the centre of the horse's back and then proceeds to tighten the girths from the near or left side. the tension on the girth-holder, all from one side, cants the saddle over to the left, to which it is still further drawn by the weight of the rider in mounting and the strain put upon it by the act of springing into the saddle. this list to port can easily be obviated by the groom placing the heel of his left hand against the near side of the pommel, guiding the first or under-girth with the right hand till the girth-holder passes through the buckle and is moderately tight, then, with both hands, bracing it so that room remains for one finger to be passed between it and the horse. the same must be done in the case of the outer girth. in a modified degree the side-saddle is displaced by the common mode of girthing. the surcingle should lie neatly over the girths, and have an equal bearing with them. when the "fitzwilliam girth" is used--and its general use is to be advocated, not only on account of its safety and the firmness of the broad web, but for its freedom from rubbing the skin behind the elbow--the leather surcingle of the saddle will take the place of the usual leather outside strap supplied with this girth. for inspection the horse should be brought up to the lady, off side on. she should note that the throat-lash falls easily, but not dangling, on the commencement of the curve of the cheek-bone, and that it is not buckled tight round the throttle, like a hangman's "hempen-tow." the bridoon should hang easily in the mouth, clear of the corners or angles, and not wrinkling them; the curb an inch or so above the tusk, or, in the case of a mare, where that tooth might be supposed to be placed. she will see that the curb-chain is not too tight, that the lip-strap is carried through the small ring on the chain, also that the chain lies smooth and even. in fixing the curb, if the chain be turned to the right, the links will unfold themselves. it is taken for granted that by frequent personal visits to the stable, or by trusty deputy, she is satisfied that the horse's back and withers are not galled or wrung. a groom withholding information on this point should, after one warning, get his _congé_. that the bits and stirrup be burnished as bright as a life guardsman's cuirasse, the saddle and bridle perfectly clean, and the horse thoroughly well groomed, goes without saying. all the appointments being found in a condition fit for queen's escort duty, we now proceed to put the lady _in_, not _into_, her saddle. she should approach the horse from the front, and not from behind. after a kind word or two and a little "gentling," she, with her whip, hunting crop, or riding cane in her right hand, picks up the bridoon rein with her left, draws it through the right smoothly and evenly, feeling the horse's mouth very lightly, until it reaches the crutch, which she takes hold of. in passing the rein through the hand, care must be taken that it is not allowed to slacken so that touch of the mouth is lost. attention to this will keep the horse in his position whilst being mounted; for should he move backward or forward or away as the lady is in the act of springing into the saddle, he not only makes the vaulting exceedingly awkward, but dangerous. many horses sidle away as the lady is balanced on one foot and holding on to the pommel with the right hand, in which case she must at once quit her hold or a fall will follow. having adjusted the rein of the bridoon to an equal length, the whip point down with the end of the rein on the off side, she stands looking in the direction the horse is standing--_i.e._, to her proper front, her right shoulder and arm in contact with the flap of the saddle near side. the mounter advances facing her, and, close to the horse's shoulder, can perform his office in three different ways. stooping down, he places his right hand, knuckles downwards, on his right knee, and of it the lady makes a sort of mounting block, whence, springing from the left foot, she reaches her saddle. when she springs she has the aid of her grip on the crutch, supplemented by the raising power of her left hand resting on the man's shoulder. or the groom aids the spring by the uplifting of both the hand and the knee. the third method is, for the mounter--his left arm, as before, touching the horse's shoulder--to stoop down till his left shoulder comes within easy reach of the lady's left hand, which she lays on it. he at the same time advances his left foot till it interposes between her and the horse and makes a cradle of his hands, into which she places her left foot. her grip is still on the crutch, and she still feels the horse's mouth. one, two, three! she springs like feathered mercury, and he, straightening himself, accentuates the light bound, and straightway she finds herself in the saddle. [illustration: preparing to mount.] it is dangerous to face the mounter in such a position that the spring is made with the rider's back to her horse's side, for in the event of his starting suddenly or "taking ground to her right," an awkward full-length back-fall may result. the foot must be placed firmly in the mounter's hand; during the lift it must not be advanced, but kept under her, and he must not attempt to raise her till her right foot be clear of the ground. the best plan that can be adopted with a horse in the habit of moving away to one side is to stand him against a low wall or paling, or alongside another horse. a quiet, well-trained horse may stand as firm as one of the british squares at waterloo, or "the thin red line" at balaclava, for times without number, but from some unforeseen alarm may suddenly start aside. the spring and lift must go together, or the lady may, like mahomet's coffin, find herself hanging midway. practice alone can teach the art of mounting lightly and gracefully, and to an active person there is no difficulty. there is yet another method of mounting which requires considerably more practice--doing away with the services of a mounter,--and that is for the lady to mount herself. in these days, when so many ladies practise gymnastics and athletic exercises generally, there ought to be no difficulty in acquiring this useful habit. the stirrup is let out till it reaches to about a foot from the ground, the pommel is grasped with the right hand, and with a spring the rider is in her seat. the stirrup is then adjusted to its proper length. unless the horse be very quiet the groom must stand at his head during this process of mounting. mounting from a chair or a pair of steps is certainly not an accomplishment i should recommend ladies to indulge in; still, there are occasions when the friendly aid of a low wall, a stile, the bar of a gate, or even a wheelbarrow, comes handy. in such a predicament, take the bridoon across the palm of the left hand, and drawing the bit rein through on each side of the little or third finger till the horse's mouth be felt, place the right foot in the stirrup, grasp the leaping-head with the left and the upright pommel with the right hand, and spring into the saddle, turning round, left about, in so doing. when in the saddle, disengage the right foot from the stirrup and throw the right leg over the upright head. [illustration: mounting--second position.] when the lady is in the saddle, that is, seated on it, not in riding position but before throwing her right leg over the crutch, the groom, without releasing the hold of her foot altogether, adjusts the folds of the habit, care being taken that there is no crease or fold between the right knee and the saddle. this, in the case of a zenith, is a matter speedily arranged, and, the adjustment being to her satisfaction, she at once pivots on the centre, and raises her right leg into its place over the crutch. the foot is then placed in the stirrup. when a good seat has been acquired, and the rider does not encumber herself with needless underclothing, this arrangement of habit had best be deferred till the horse is in motion; she can then raise herself in the saddle by straightening the left knee, and, drawing herself forward by grasping the pommel with the right hand, arrange the folds to her entire satisfaction with the left. attention must be paid to the length of the stirrup, for on it depends greatly the steadiness of the seat. many ladies are seen riding with a short stirrup; but this is an error, for it destroys the balance, without which there can be no elegance, invariably causes actual cramp and gives a cramped appearance, forces the rider out of the centre of the saddle, so that the weight on the horse's back is unevenly distributed, and displays too much daylight when rising in the trot. on the other hand, too long a stirrup is equally objectionable, as it causes the body to lean unduly over to the near side in order to retain hold of it, depresses and throws back the left shoulder, and destroys the squareness of position. the length of stirrup should be just sufficient that the rider, by leaning her right hand on the pommel, can, without any strain on the instep, raise herself clear of the saddle; this implies that the knee will be only bent sufficiently to maintain the upward pressure of the knee against the concave leaping-head. the stirrup is intended as a support to the foot, not as an _appui_ to ride from; it is not intended to sustain the full weight of the body, and when so misapplied is certain to establish a sore back. i am strongly of opinion that to be in all respects perfect in the equestrian art, a lady should learn, in the first instance, to ride without a stirrup, so as, under any circumstances that may arise, to be able to do without this appendage. those who aspire to honours in the hunting-field certainly should accustom themselves to dispense with the stirrup, as by so doing they will acquire a closer and firmer seat; moreover, its absence teaches the beginner, better than any other method, to ride from balance, which is the easiest and best form of equitation for both horse and rider. many horsewomen are under the impression that it is impossible to rise without the aid of the stirrup, but that such is not the case a course of stirrupless training will soon prove. i do not suggest that riding thus should be made a habit, but only strenuously advocate its practice. a very general fault, and an extremely ugly one among lady riders, is the habit of sticking out the right foot in front of the saddle. it is not only unsightly, but loosens the hold, for if the toe be stuck out under the habit like a flying jib-boom, the leg becomes the bowsprit, and it is impossible for a straightened leg to grip the crutch. bend the knee well, keep the toe slightly down, and this ugly habit is beyond the pale of possibility. this ungraceful posture may be caused by the pommels being placed so near together that there is not sufficient room for the leg to lie and bend easily, but this excuse will not hold good in the case of the straight-seat-safety-side-saddle, for it has only one pommel or crutch and one leaping-head. having got the lady into her saddle, we next attempt so to instruct her that it may be remarked-- "the rider sat erect and fair."--scott. the seat. hitherto, during the process of mounting and settling herself comfortably, the reins have been in the rider's right hand. now that women can sit square and look straight out and over their horses' ears, much more latitude is permitted in the hold of the reins. it is no longer essential to hold them only in the left hand, for as often as not--always in hunting or at a hand-gallop--both hands are on the bridle. but, as a rule, the left should be the bridle hand, for if the reins be held in the right, and the horse, as horses often will, gets his head down or bores, the right shoulder is drawn forward, and the left knee, as a matter of course, being drawn back from under, loses its upward pressure against the leaping-head, and the safety of the seat is jeopardized. were the rein to give way the rider would probably fall backwards off the horse over his off-quarter. on the other hand, when the reins are all gathered into the left hand, the harder the horse may take the bit in his teeth, and the lower he may carry his head, the firmer must be the grip of the crutch and the greater the pressure against the leaping-head. [illustration: mounted--near side.] as the reins must not be gathered up all in a bunch, i give the following directions for placing them in the hand. if riding with a snaffle, as always should be the case with beginners, the reins ought to be separated, passing into the hands between the third and fourth fingers, and out over the fore or index-finger, where they are held by the thumb. in the case of bit and bridoon (the bridoon rein has generally a buckle where it joins, whereas that of the bit is stitched), take up the bridoon rein across the inside of the hand, and draw the bit rein through the hand on each side of the little or third finger until the mouth of the horse be gently felt; turn the remainder of the rein along the inside of the hand, and let it fall over the forefinger on to the off-side; place the bridoon rein upon those of the bit, and close the thumb upon them all. a second plan equally good is, when the horse is to be ridden mainly on the bridoon: the bridoon rein is taken up by the right hand and drawn flatly through on each side of the second finger of the bridle-hand, till the horse's mouth can be felt, when it is turned over the first joint of the forefinger on to the off-side. the bit rein is next taken up and drawn through on each side of the little finger of the bridle-hand, till there is an equal, or nearly equal, length and feeling with the bridoon, and then laid smoothly over the bridoon rein, with the thumb firmly placed as a stopper upon both, to keep them from slipping. a slight pressure of the little finger will bring the bit into play. thirdly, when the control is to be entirely from the bit or curb; the bit rein is taken up by the stitching by the right hand _within_ the bridoon rein, and drawn through on each side of the little finger of the left or bridle-hand, until there is a light and even feel on the horse's mouth; it is then turned over the first joint of the forefinger on the off-side. the bridoon rein is next taken up by the buckle, under the left hand, and laid smoothly over the left bit rein, leaving it sufficiently loose to hang over each side of the horse's neck. the thumb is then placed firmly on both reins, as above. these different manipulations of the reins may be conveniently practised at home with reins attached to an elastic band, the spring of the band answering to the "feel" on the horse's mouth. but, in addition to these various systems of taking up the reins, much has to be learnt in the direction of separating, shortening, shifting, and so forth. with novices the reins constantly and imperceptibly slip, in which case, the ends of the reins hanging over the forefinger of the bridle-hand are taken altogether into the right, the right hand feels the horse's head, while the loosened fingers of the bridle-hand are run up or down the reins, as required, till they are again adjusted to the proper length, when the fingers once more close on them. in shifting reins to the right hand, to relieve cramp of the fingers, and so forth, the right hand must always pass over the left, and in replacing them the left hand must be placed over the right. in order to shorten any one rein, the right hand is used to pull on that part which hangs beyond the thumb and forefinger. when a horse refuses obedience to the bridle-hand, it must be reinforced by the right. the three first fingers of the right are placed over the bridoon rein, so that the rein passes between the little and third fingers, the end is then turned over the forefinger and, as usual, the thumb is placed upon it. expertness in these "permutations and combinations" is only to be arrived at by constant practice. they must be performed without stopping the horse, altering his pace, or even glancing at the hands. the reins must not be held too loose, but tight enough to keep touch of the horse's mouth; and, on the other hand, there must be no attempt to hold on by the bridle, or what is termed to "ride in the horse's mouth." a short rein is objectionable; there must be no "extension motions," no reaching out for a short hold. the proper position for the bridle-hand is immediately opposite the centre of the waist, and about three or four inches from it, that is, on a level with the elbow, and about three or four inches away from the body. the elbow must neither be squeezed or trussed too tightly to the side, nor thrust out too far, but carried easily, inclining a little from the body. according to strict _manège_ canons, the thumb should be uppermost, and the lower part of the hand nearer the waist than the upper, the wrist a little rounded, and the little finger in a line with the elbow. a wholesome laxity in conforming to these hard-and-fast rules will be found to add to the grace of the rider. _chaque pays chaque guise_, and no two horses are alike in the carriage of the head, the sensitiveness of the mouth, and in action. like ourselves, they all have their own peculiarities. [illustration: the right and wrong elbow action.] the walk. the rider is now seated on what--in the case of a beginner--should be an absolutely quiet, good-tempered, and perfectly trained horse. before schooling her as to seat, we will ask her to move forward at the walk. at first it is better to have the horse led by a leading rein till the _débutante_ is accustomed to the motion and acquires some stock of confidence. she must banish from her mind all thoughts of tumbling off. we do not instruct after this fashion:--lady (after having taken several lessons at two guineas a dozen) _loq._: "well, mr. pummell, have i made any good progress?" "well, i can't say, ma'am," replies the instructor, "as 'ow you rides werry well as yet, but you falls off, ma'am, a deal more gracefuller as wot you did at first." we do not say that falls must not be expected, but in mere hack and park riding they certainly ought to be few and far between. at a steady and even fast walk the merest tyro cannot, unless bent on experiencing the sensation of a tumble, possibly come to the ground. doubtless the motion is passing strange at first, and the beginner may be tempted to clutch nervously at the pommel of her saddle, a very bad and unsightly habit, and one that, if not checked from the very first, grows apace and remains. it is during the walk that the seat is formed, and the rider makes herself practically acquainted with the rules laid down on the handling of the reins. a press of the left leg, a light touch of the whip on the off-side, and a "klk" will promptly put the horse in motion. he may toss his head, and for a pace or two become somewhat unsteady; this is not vice but mere freshness, and he will almost immediately settle down into a quick, sprightly step, measuring each pace exactly, and marking regular cadence, the knee moderately bent, the leg, in the case of what paddy terms "a flippant shtepper," being sharply caught up, appearing suspended in the air for a second, and the foot brought smartly and firmly, without jar, to the ground. this is the perfection of a walking pace. by degrees any nervousness wears off, the rigid trussed appearance gives place to one of pliancy and comparative security, the body loses its constrained stiffness, and begins to conform to and sway with the movements of the horse. the rider, sitting perfectly straight and erect, approaches the correct position, and lays the foundation of that ease and bearing which are absolutely indispensable. [illustration: right mount. wrong mount.] after a lesson or two, if not of the too-timid order, the lady will find herself sitting just so far forward in the saddle as is consistent with perfect ease and comfort, and with the full power to grasp the upright crutch firmly with her right knee; she will be aware of the friendly grip of the leaping-head over her left leg; the weight of her body will fall exactly on the centre of the saddle; her head, though erect, will be perfectly free from constraint, the shoulders well squared, and the hollow of the back gracefully bent in, as in waltzing. this graceful pose of the figure may be readily acquired, throughout the preliminary lessons, and indeed on all occasions when under tuition, by passing the right arm behind the waist, back of the hand to the body, and riding with it in that position. another good plan, which can only be practised in the riding-school or in some out-of-the-way quiet corner, and then only on a very steady horse, is for the beginner, without relaxing her grip on the crutch and the pressure on the leaping-head, as she sits, to lean or recline back so that her two shoulder-blades touch the hip-bones of the horse, recovering herself and regaining her upright position without the aid of the reins. the oftener this gymnastic exercise is performed the better. at intervals during the lessons she should also, having dropped her bridle, assiduously practise the extension motions performed by recruits in our military-riding schools. [_see appendix._] the excellent effects of this physical training will soon be appreciated. but, irrespective of the accuracy of seat, suppleness and strength of limb, confidence and readiness these athletic exercises beget, they may, when least expected, save the rider's life. some of those for whose instruction i have the honour to write, may find themselves placed in a critical situation, when the ability to lie back or "duck" may save them from a fractured skull. inclining the body forward is, from the notion that it tends towards security, a fault very general with timid riders. nothing, however, in the direction of safety, is further from the fact. should the horse, after a visit to the farrier and the usual senseless free use of the smith's drawing and paring-knife, tread upon a rolling stone and "peck," the lady, leaning forward, is suddenly thrown still further forward, her whole weight is cast upon his shoulders, so he "of the tender foot" comes down and sends his rider flying over his head. a stoop in the figure is wanting in smartness, and is unattractive. [illustration: turning in the walk--right and wrong way.] it is no uncommon thing to see ladies sitting on their horses in the form of the letter s, and the effect can hardly be described as charming. this inelegant position, assumed by the lady in the distance, is caused by being placed too much over to the right in the saddle, owing to a too short stirrup. in attempting to preserve the balance, the body from the waist upwards has a strong twisted lean-over to the left, the neck, to counteract this lateral contortion of the spine, being bent over to the right, the whole pose conveying the impression that the rider must be a cripple braced up in surgeon's irons and other appliances. not less hideous, and equally prevalent, is the habit of sitting too much to the left, and leaning over in that direction several degrees out of the perpendicular. a novice is apt to contract this leaning-seat from the apprehension, existing in the mind of timid riders, that they must fall off from the off rather than from the near side, so they incline away from the supposed danger. too long a stirrup is sometimes answerable for this crab-like posture. in both of these awkward postures, the seat becomes insecure, and the due exercise of the "aids" impossible. what is understood by "aids" in the language of the schools are the motions and proper application of the bridle-hand, leg, and heel to control and direct the turnings and paces of the horse. the expression "riding by balance" has been frequently used, and as it is the essence of good horsemanship, i describe it in the words of an expert as consisting in "a foreknowledge of what direction any given motion of the horse would throw the body, and a ready adaptation of the whole frame to the proper position, before the horse has completed his change of attitude or action; it is that disposition of the person, in accordance with the movements of the horse, which preserves it from an improper inclination to one side or the other, which even the ordinary paces of the horse in the trot or gallop will occasion." in brief, it is the automatic inclination of the person of the rider to the body of the horse by which the equilibrium is maintained. the rider having to some extent perfected herself in walking straight forward, inclining and turning to the right and to the right about, and in executing the same movements to the left, on all of which i shall have a few words to say later, and when she can halt, rein back, and is generally handy with her horse at the walk, she may attempt a slow trot, and here her sorrows may be said to begin. the trot. in this useful but trying pace the lady must sit well down on her saddle, rising and falling in unison with the action of the horse, springing lightly but not too highly by the action of the horse coupled with the flexibility of the instep and the knee. as the horse breaks from the walk into the faster pace, it is best not to attempt to rise from the saddle till he has fairly settled down to his trot--better for a few paces to sit back, somewhat loosely, and bump the saddle. the rise from the saddle is to be made as perpendicularly as possible, though a slight forward inclination of the body from the loins, but not with roached-back, may be permitted, and only just so high as to prevent the jar that ensues from the movements of the rider with the horse not being in unison. the return of the body to the saddle must be quiet, light, and unlaboured. here it is that the practice without a stirrup will stand the novice in good stead. this pace is the most difficult of all to ladies, and few there be that attain the art of sitting square and gracefully at this gait, and who rise and fall in the saddle seemingly without an effort and without riding too much in the horse's mouth. most women raise themselves by holding on to the bridle. instead of rising to the right, so that they can glance down the horse's shoulder, and descending to left, and thus regain the centre of the saddle, they persist in rising over the horse's left shoulder, and come back on to the saddle in the direction of his off-quarter. this twist of the body to the left destroys the purchase of the foot and knee, and unsteadies the position and hands. though i have sanctioned a slight leaning forward as the horse breaks into his trot, it must not be overdone, for should he suddenly throw up his head his poll may come in violent contact with the rider's face and forehead, causing a blow that may spoil her beauty, if not knock her senseless. [illustration: right and wrong rising.] till the rider can hit off the secret of rising, she will be severely shaken up--"churned" as a well-known horsewoman describes the jiggiddy-joggoddy motion,--the teeth feel as if they would be shaken out of their sockets, and stitch-in-the-side puts in its unwelcome appearance. certes, the preliminary lessons are very trying ones, the disarrangement of "the get-up" too awful, the fatigue dreadful, the alarm no trifle. nothing seems easier, and yet nothing in the art equestrian is so difficult--not to men with their two stirrups, but to women with one only available. what is more grotesque, ridiculous, and disagreeable than a rider rising and falling in the saddle at a greater and lesser speed than that of her horse? and yet, fair reader, if you will have a little patience, a good deal of perseverance, some determination, and will attend to the hints i give, you shall, in due course, be mistress over the difficulty, and rise and fall with perfect ease and exquisite grace, free from all _embarras_ or undue fatigue. first of all, we must put you on a very smooth, easy, and sedate trotter; by-and-by we may transfer your saddle to something more sharp and lively, perhaps even indulge you with a mount on a regular "bone-setter." to commence with, the lessons, or rather trotting bouts, shall be short, there shall be frequent halts, and during these halts i shall make you drop your reins and put you through extension and balance motions, endeavour to correct your position on the saddle, catechize you closely on the "aids," and introduce as much variety as possible. before urging your steed into his wild six or seven-mile-an-hour career, please bear in mind that you must not rise suddenly, or with a jerk, but quietly and smoothly, letting the impetus come from the motion of the horse. the rise from the saddle must not be initiated by a long pull and strong pull at his mouth, a spasmodic grip of your right leg on the crutch, or a violent attempt to raise yourself in the air from your stirrup. the horse will not accommodate his action to yours, you must "take him on the hop," as the saying is. if horse and rider go disjointly, or you do not harmonize your movements with his, then it is something as unpleasant as dancing a waltz with a partner who won't keep time, or rowing "spoonful about." falling in with the trot of a horse is at first very difficult. in order to facilitate matters as much as possible, you shall, for a few days, substitute the old-fashioned slipper for the stirrup, as then the spring will come from the toes and not from the hollow of the foot; this will lessen the exertion and be easier. if nature has happened to fashion you somewhat short from the hip to the knee, and you will attend to instruction and practice frequently, the chances are strong in your favour of conquering the irksome "cross-jolt." separate your reins, taking one in each hand, feeling the mouth equally with both reins, sit well down on your saddle, keep your left foot pointed straight to the front, don't attempt to move till the horse has steadied into his trot, which, in case of a well trained animal, will be in a stride or two, then endeavour, obeying the impulse of his movement, to time the rise. a really perfectly broken horse, "supplied on both hands," as it is termed, leads, in the trot as in the canter, equally well with either leg, but, in both paces, a very large majority have a favourite leading leg. by glancing over the right shoulder the time for the rise may be taken. do not be disheartened by repeated failures to "catch on;" persevere, and suddenly you will hit it off. when the least fatigued, pull up into a walk, and when rested have another try. at the risk of repetition, i again impress on you the necessity of keeping the toe of the left foot pointed to the front, the foot itself back, and with the heel depressed. your descent into the saddle should be such that any one you may be riding straight at, shall see a part of your right shoulder and hip as they rise and fall, his line of vision being directed along the off-side of the horse's neck. when these two portions of your body are so visible then the weight is in its proper place, and there is no fear of the saddle being dragged over the horse's near shoulder. for a few strides there is no objection to your taking a light hold of the pommel with the right hand, in order to time the rise, but the moment the "cross-jolt" ceases, and you find yourself moving in unison with the horse, the hold must be relaxed. some difficulty will be found in remaining long enough out of the saddle at each rise to avoid descending too soon, and thus receive a double cross-jolt; but this will be overcome after a few attempts. keep the hands well down and the elbows in. [illustration: the trot.] varying the speed in the trot will be found excellent practice for the hands; the faster a horse goes, generally speaking, the easier he goes. he must be kept going "well within himself," that is he must not be urged to trot at a greater speed than he can compass with true and equal action. some very fast trotters, "daisy cutters," go with so little upward jerk that it is almost impossible to rise on them at all. any attempt at half-cantering with his hind legs must be at once checked by pulling him together, and, by slowing him down, getting him back into collected form. should he "break" badly, from being over-paced, into a canter or hard-gallop, then rein him in, pulling up, if need be, into a walk, chiding him at the same time. when he again brings his head in and begins to step clean, light, and evenly, then let him resume his trot. if not going up to his bit and hanging heavy on the hand, move the bit in his mouth, let him feel the leg, and talk to him. like ourselves, horses are not up to the mark every day, and though they do not go to heated theatres and crowded ball-rooms, or indulge as some of their masters and mistresses are said to do, they too often spend twenty hours or more out of the twenty-four in the vitiated atmosphere of a hot, badly ventilated stable, and their insides are converted into apothecaries' shops by ignorant doctoring grooms. when a free horse does not face his bit, he is either fatigued or something is amiss. the canter. properly speaking, this being, _par excellence_, the lady's pace, the instruction should precede that of the trot. the comparative ease of the canter, and the readiness with which the average pupil takes to it, induces the beginner to at once indulge in it. it is, on a thoroughly trained horse, so agreeable that the uninitiated at once acquire confidence on horseback. moreover, it is _the_ pace at which a fine figure and elegant lady-like bearing is most conspicuously displayed, and for this, if for no other reason, the pupil applies herself earnestly--shall i say lovingly?--to perfect herself in this delightful feature of the art. on a light-actioned horse, one moving as it were on springs, going well on his haunches, and well up to this bit, the motion is as easy as that of a rocking-chair. all the rider has to do is to sit back, keep the body quite flexible and in the centre of the saddle, preserve the balance, and, with pressure from the left leg and heel, and a touch of the whip, keep him up to his bit. she will imperceptibly leave the saddle at every stride, which, in a slow measured canter, will be reduced to a sort of rubbing motion, just sufficient to ease the slight jolt caused by the action of the haunches and hind legs. many park-horses and ladies' hacks are trained to spring at once, without breaking into a run or trot, into the canter. all the rider has to do is to raise the hand ever so little, press him with the leg, touch him with the whip, and give him the unspellable signal "klk." the movement or sway of the body should follow that of the horse. as soon as he is in his stride, the rider throws back her body a little, and places her hand in a suitable position. if the horse carries his head well, the hand ought to be about three inches from the pommel, and at an equal distance from the body. for "star-gazers" it should be lower; and for borers it should be raised higher. once properly under way the lady will study that almost imperceptible willow-like bend of the back, her shoulders will be thrown back gracefully, the mere suspicion of a swing accommodating itself to the motion of the horse will come from the pliant waist, and she will yield herself just a little to the opposite side from that the horse's leading leg is on. if he leads with the off-foot, he inclines a trifle to the left, and the rider's body and hands must turn but a little to the left also, and _vice versâ_. it is the rider's province to direct which foot the horse shall lead with. to canter with the left fore leg leading, the extra bearing will be upon the left rein, the little finger turned up towards the right shoulder, the hint from the whip--a mere touch should suffice--being on the right shoulder or flank. it is essential that the bearing upon the mouth, a light playing touch, should be preserved throughout the whole pace. if the horse should, within a short distance--say a mile or so,--flag, then he must be reminded by gentle application of the whip. he cannot canter truly and bear himself handsomely unless going up to his bit. the rider must feel the cadence of every pace, and be able to extend or shorten the stride at will. it is an excellent plan to change the leading leg frequently, so that upon any disturbance of pace, going "false," or change of direction, the rider may be equal to the occasion. the lady must be careful that the bridle-arm does not acquire the ugly habit of leaving the body and the elbow of being stuck out of it akimbo. all the movements of the hand should proceed from the wrist, the bearings and play on the horse's mouth being kept up by the little finger. ladies will find that most horses are trained to lead entirely with the off leg, and that when, from any disturbance of pace, they are forced to "change step" and lead with the near leg, their action becomes very awkward and uneven. hence they are prone to regard cantering with the near leg as disagreeable. but when they come to use their own horses, they will find it good economy to teach them to change the leading leg constantly, both during the canter and at the commencement of the pace. to make a horse change foot in his canter, if he cannot be got readily to do so by hand, leg, and heel, turn him to the right, as if to circle, and he will lead with the off foreleg, and by repeating the same make-believe manoeuvre to the left, the near fore will be in front. the beginner, however, had better pull up into the walk before attempting this change. when pulling up from the canter, it is best and safest to let the horse drop into a trot for a few paces and so resume the walk. there is no better course of tuition by which to acquire balance than the various inclinations to the right and left, the turns to the right and left and to the right and left-about at the canter, all of which, with the exception of the full turns, should be performed on the move without halting. in the turn-about, it is necessary to bring the horse to a momentary halt before the turn be commenced, and so soon as he has gone about and the turn is fully completed, a lift of the hand and a touch of the leg and heel should instanter compel him to move forward at the canter in the opposite direction; he must no sooner be round than off. when no riding-school is available, one constructed of hurdles closely laced with gorse, on the sheep-lambing principle, will answer all purposes. should the horse be at all awkward or unsteady, the hurdles, placed one on the top of the other and tied to uprights driven into the ground, closely interlaced with the gorse so that he cannot see through or over the barrier, will form a perfect, retired exercise ground. a plentiful surface dressing of golden-peat-moss-litter will save his legs and feet. in a quiet open impromptu school of this description, away from "the madding crowd," i have schooled young horses so that they would canter almost on their own ground, circling round a bamboo lance shaft, the point in the ground and the butt in my right hand, without changing legs or altering pace, and they would describe the figure eight with almost mathematical precision, changing leg at every turn without any "aid" from me, a mere inclination of the body bringing them round the curves. a horse very handy with his legs can readily change them at the corners when making the full right-angle turn, but there is always at first the danger of one not so clever attempting to execute the turn by crossing the leading leg over the supporting one, when the rider will be lucky to get off with an awkward stumble--a "cropper" will most likely follow. when at this private practice, "make much of your horse"--that is, caress and speak kindly to him, when he does well; in fact, the more he is spoken to throughout the lesson, the better for both parties. so good and discriminating is a horse's ear that he soon learns to appreciate the difference between kindly approval and stern censure. a sympathy between horse and rider is soon established, and such freemasonry is delightful. [illustration: free but not easy.] never canter on the high road, and see that your groom does not indulge himself by so doing. on elastic springy turf the pace, which in reality is a series of short bounds, if not continued too long at a time, does no great harm, but one mile on a hard, unyielding surface causes more wear-and-tear of joints, shoulders, and frame generally, than a long day's work of alternating walk and trot which, on the queen's highway, are the proper paces. there is no objection to a canter when a bit of turf is found on the road-side; and the little drains cut to lead the water off the turnpike into the ditch serve to make young horses handy with their legs. the hand-gallop and gallop. the rider should not attempt either of these accelerated paces till quite confident that she has the horse under complete control. as the hand-gallop is only another and quickened form of the canter, in which the stride is both lengthened and hastened, or, more correctly speaking, in which the bounds are longer and faster, the same rules are applicable to both. many horses, especially those through whose veins strong hot blood is pulsing, fairly revel in the gallop, and if allowed to gain upon the hand, will soon extend the hand-gallop to full-gallop, and that rapid pace into a runaway. the rider must, therefore, always keep her horse well in hand, so as to be able to slacken speed should he get up too much steam. some, impatient of restraint, will shake their heads, snatch at their bits, and yaw about, "fighting for their heads," as it is termed, and will endeavour to bore and get their heads down. a well-trained horse, one such as a beginner should ride, will not play these pranks and will not take a dead pull at the rider's hands; on the contrary, he will stride along quite collectedly, keeping his head in its proper place, and taking just sufficient hold to make things pleasant. but horses with perfect mouths and manners are, like angels' visits, few and far between, and are eagerly sought after by those fortunate beings to whom money is no object. to be on the safe side, the rider should always be on the alert and prepared to at once apply the brake. when fairly in his stride and going comfortably, the rider, leaning slightly forward, should, with both hands on the bridle, give and take with each stroke, playing the while with the curb; she should talk cheerily to him, but the least effort on his part to gain upon the hand must be at once checked. the play of the little fingers on the curb keeps his mouth alive, prevents his hanging or boring, and makes it sensible to the rider's hand. "keeping a horse in hand" means that there is such a system of communication established between the rider and the quadruped that the former is mistress of the situation, and knows, almost before the horse has made up his mind what to do, what is coming. this keeping in hand is one of the secrets of fine horsemanship, and it especially suits the light-hearted mercurial sort of goer, one that is always more or less off the ground or in the air, one of those that "treads so light he scarcely prints the plain." my impression is, despite the numerous bits devised and advertised to stop runaways, that nothing short of a long and steep hill, a steam-cultivated, stiff clay fallow, or the bog of allen, will stop the determined bolt of a self-willed, callous-mouthed horse. there is no use pulling at him, for the more you pull the harder he hardens his heart and his mouth. the only plan, if there be plenty of elbow room, is to let him have his wicked way a bit, then, with one mighty concentrated effort to give a sudden snatch at the bit, followed by instantly and rapidly drawing, "sawing," of the bridoon through his mouth. above all, keep your presence of mind, and if by any good luck you can so pilot the brute as to make him face an ascent, drive him up it--if it be as steep as the roof of a house, so much the better,--plying whip and spur, till he be completely "pumped out" and dead beat. failing a steep hill, perhaps a ploughed field may present itself, through and round which he should be ridden, in the very fullest sense of the word, till he stands still. such a horse is utterly unfit to carry a lady, and, should she come safe and sound out of the uncomfortable ride, he had better be consigned to tattersall's or "the lane," to be sold "absolutely without reserve." worse still than the runaway professional bolter is the panic-stricken flight of a suddenly scared horse, in which abject terror reigns supreme, launching him at the top of his speed in full flight from some imaginary foe. nature has taught him to seek safety in flight, and the frightened animal, with desperate and exhausting energy, will gallop till he drops. professor galvayne's system claims to be effective with runaway and nervous bolters. at ayr that distinguished horse-tamer cured, in the space of one hour, an inveterate performer in that objectionable line, and a pair he now drives were, at one time, given to like malpractices. do not urge your horse suddenly from a canter into a full gallop; let him settle down to his pace gradually--steady him. being jumped off, like a racehorse with a flying start at the fall of the flag, is very apt to make a hot, high-couraged horse run away or attempt to do so. some horses, however, allow great liberties to be taken with them, and others none. all depends on temperament, and whether the nervous, fibrous, sanguine, or lymphatic element preponderates. and here let me remark that the fibrous temperament is the one to struggle and endure, to last the longest, and to give the maximum of ease, comfort, and satisfaction to owner and rider. leaping. "throw the broad ditch behind you; o'er the hedge high bound, resistless; nor the deep morass refuse." thompson. though the "pleasures of the chase" are purposely excluded from this volume, the horsewoman's preliminary course of instruction would hardly be complete without a few remarks on jumping. in clearing an obstacle, a horse must to all intents and purposes go through all the motions inherent to the vices of rearing, plunging, and kicking, yet the three, when in rapid combination, are by no means difficult to accommodate one's self to. it is best to commence on a clever, steady horse--"a safe conveyance" that will go quietly at his fences, jump them without an effort, landing light as a cork, and one that will never dream of refusing. as beginners, no matter what instructors may say and protest, will invariably, for the first few leaps, till they acquire confidence, grip, and balance, ride to some extent "in the horse's mouth," they should be placed on an animal with not too sensitive a mouth, one that can go pleasantly in a plain snaffle. begin with something low, simple, and easy--say a three feet high gorsed hurdle, so thickly laced with the whin that daylight cannot be seen through, with a low white-painted rail some little distance from it on the take-off side. if there be a ditch between the rail and the fence, so much the better, for the more the horse spreads himself the easier it will be to the rider, the jerk or prop on landing the less severe. some horses sail over the largest obstacle, land, and are away again without their appearing to call upon themselves for any extra exertion; they clear it in their stride. hunters that know their business can be trotted up to five-barred gates and stiff timber, which they will clear with consummate ease; but height and width require distinct efforts, and the rear and kick in this mode of negotiating a fence are so pronounced and so sudden that they would be certain to unseat the novice. [illustration: the leap.] it is easiest to sit a leap if the horse is ridden at it in a canter or, at most, in a well-collected, slow hand-gallop. the reins being held in both hands with a firm, steady hold, the horse should be ridden straight at the spot you have selected to jump. sit straight, or, if anything out of the perpendicular, lean a little back. the run at the fence need only be a few yards. as he nears it, the forward prick of his alert ears and a certain measuring of his distance will indicate that he means "to have it," and is gathering himself for the effort. the rider should then, if she can persuade herself so to do, give him full liberty of head. certain instructors, and horsemen in general, will prate glibly of "lifting" a horse over his fence. i have read of steeplechase riders "throwing" their horses over almost unnegotiable obstacles, but it is about as easy to upend an elephant by the tail and throw him over the garden wall as it is for any rider to "lift" his horse. although the horse must be made to feel, as he approaches the fence, that it is utterly impossible for him to swerve from it, yet the instant he is about to rise the reins should be slacked off, to be almost immediately brought to bear again as he descends. irish horses are the best jumpers we have, and their excellence may justly be ascribed to the fact that, for the most part, they are ridden in the snaffle bridle. if the horse be held too light by the head he will "buck over" the obstacle, a form of jumping well calculated to jerk the beginner out of her saddle. after topping the hurdle, the horse's forehand, in his descent, will be lower than his hind quarters. had the rider leant forward as he rose on his hind legs, the violent effort or kick of his haunches would have thrown her still further over his neck, whereas, having left the ground with a slight inclination towards the croup, the forward spring of the horse will add to that backward tendency and place her in the best possible position in which to counteract the shock received upon his forefeet reaching the ground. if the rider does not slacken the reins as the horse makes his spring, they must either be drawn through her hands or she will land right out on his neck. i have referred to the "buck-over" system of jumping, which is very common with irish horses. a mare of mine, well-known in days of yore at fermoy as "up-she-rises," would have puzzled even mrs. power o'donoghue. she would come full gallop, when hounds were running, at a stone wall, pull up and crouch close under it, then, with one mighty effort, throw herself over, her hind legs landing on the other side little more than the thickness of the wall from where her forefeet had taken off. it was not a "buck," but a straight up-on-end rear, followed by a frantic kick that threatened to hurl saddle and rider half across the field. "scrutator," in "horses and hounds," makes mention of an irish horse, which would take most extraordinary leaps over gates and walls, and if going ever so fast would always check himself and take his leaps after his own fashion. "not thinking him," writes this fine sportsman, "up to my weight, he was handed over to the second whipper-in, and treated jack at first acquaintance to a rattling fall or two. he rode him, as he had done his other horses, pretty fast at a stiff gate, which came in his way the first day. some of the field, not fancying it, persuaded jack to try first, calculating upon his knocking it open, or breaking the top bar. the horse, before taking off, stopped quite short, and jerked him out of the saddle over to the other side; then raising himself on his hind legs, vaulted over upon jack, who was lying on his back. not being damaged, jack picked himself up, and grinning at his friends, who were on the wrong side laughing at his fall, said, 'never mind, gentlemen, 'tis a rum way of doing things that horse has; but no matter, we are both on the right side, and that's where you won't be just yet.'" the standing jump is much more difficult, till the necessary balance be acquired, than the flying leap. the lower and longer the curve described, the easier to sit; but in this description of leaping, the horse, though he clears height, cannot cover much ground. his motion is like that of the whip's horse described above, and the rider will find the effort, as he springs from his haunches, much more accentuated than in the case of the flying leap, and therefore the more difficult to sit. as, however, leaping, properly speaking, belongs to the hunting-field, i propose to deal more fully with the subject in another volume. dismounting. when the novice dismounts there should, at first, be two persons to aid--one to hold the horse's head, the other to lift her from the saddle. after a very few lessons, if the lady be active and her hack a steady one, the services of the former may be dispensed with. of course the horse is brought to full stop. transfer the whip to the left hand, throw the right leg over to the near side of the crutch and disengage the foot from the stirrup. let the reins fall on the neck, see that the habit skirt is quite clear of the leaping-head, turn in the saddle, place the left hand upon the right arm of the cavalier or squire, the right on the leaping-head, and half spring half glide to the ground, lighting on the balls of the feet, dropping a slight curtsey to break the jar on the frame. retain hold of the leaping-head till safely landed. very few men understand the proper manner in which to exercise the duties of the _cavalier servant_ in mounting and dismounting ladies. many ladies not unreasonably object to be lifted off their horses almost into grooms' arms. a correspondent of the _sporting and dramatic news_ mentions a contretemps to a somewhat portly lady in the crimea, whose husband, in hoisting her up on to her saddle with more vigour than skill, sent his better half right over the horse's back sprawling on the ground. it is by no means an uncommon thing to see ladies, owing to want of lift on the part of the lifter and general clumsiness, failing to reach the saddle and slipping down again. having dismounted, "make much" of your horse, and give him a bit of carrot, sugar, apple, or some tid-bit. horses are particularly fond of apples. chapter iv. the side saddle. it is of first-class importance that a lady's saddle should be made by a respectable and thoroughly competent saddler. seeing the number of years a well-built and properly kept side-saddle will last, it is but penny wise to grudge the necessary outlay in the first instance. those constructed on the cheap machine-made system never give satisfaction to the rider, are constantly in need of repair (grooms, if permitted, are everlastingly in and out of the saddler's shop), and are a prolific cause of sore backs. [illustration: the old style.] with all saddles the chief cause, the source and origin, of evil is badly constructed and badly fitting trees that take an undue bearing on different parts of the back. at a critical moment, when just a little extra exertion would perhaps keep the horse on his legs, a somewhat tender muscle or portion of "scalded" skin comes in painful contact with some part of an ill-fitting saddle, the agony causing him to wince, checks the impulse to extend the "spare leg," and he comes down. it does not matter how hard or heavy the rider may be, how tender the skin, a sore back can be prevented by a proper system of measurement and a good pannel. mrs. power o'donoghue, in her very interesting letters upon "ladies on horseback," unsparingly condemns the elaborate embroidery which adorned (?) the near flap of every old-fashioned saddle, pointing out that as it is always concealed by the rider's right leg, the work is a needless expense. "there might be some sense," that brilliant and bold horsewoman says, "although very little, in decorating the off-side and imparting to it somewhat of an ornamental appearance; but in my opinion there cannot be too much simplicity about anything connected with riding appointments. let your saddle, like your personal attire, be remarkable only for perfect freedom from ornament or display. have it made to suit yourself--neither too weighty nor yet too small,--and if you want to ride with grace and comfort, desire that it be constructed without one particle of the objectionable _dip_." [illustration: the safety saddle.] the foregoing two sketches, "the old style" and "the straight-seated safety," contrast the wide difference between the old and fast disappearing form of side-saddle and that designed and manufactured by messrs. champion and wilton. the disadvantages of the old style are so painfully obvious that it is marvellous they should not have been remedied years ago. on, or rather _in_, one of these, the lady sat in a dip or kind of basin, and unless her limbs were of unusual length--thereby pushing her right knee towards the off-side--she necessarily faced half-left, _both_, not her horse's ears, but his near shoulder; or, in order to attain any squareness of front, she was called upon to twist her body from the hips, and to maintain a most fatiguing, forced position during her whole ride (even through a long day's hunting), or else sit altogether on the near side of her saddle. this twist was the cause of the pains in the spine so frequently complained of. more than this, the height upon which her pommels were raised caused her to sit, as it were, uphill, or at best (in the attempt on the part of the saddler to rectify this, by stuffing up the seat of her saddle) to find herself perched far above her horse's back. the natural expedient of carrying the upper or middle pommel nearer the centre of the horse's withers, so as to bring the knee about in a line with his mane, was impracticable with the old-style of saddle tree, which gave the pommels a lofty, arched base above the apex of his shoulders. the result was, in all cases, ( ) great inconvenience and often curvature of the spine to the rider, ( ) constant liability to sore back on the part of the horse, through the cross friction produced by the lady's one-sided position. to meet and entirely remove the difficulty, messrs. champion and wilton pruned away all the forepart of the saddle-tree, and, in place of the raised wood and metal base, upon which the lady's right leg formerly rested, substituted merely a stout leather flap or cushion. as will be seen from the foregoing illustration, they were by this arrangement able to place the upper pommel in whatever exact position the form of the rider may require, to enable her to sit straight to her proper front, riding the whole upon a level seat, and distributing her weight fairly upon her horse's back. the importance of being in a position to face her work and to hold her horse at his, needs no comment. the small holster attached to the saddle is an exceedingly ingenious air and water-tight detachable receptacle for a reliable watch with a very clearly marked dial. the rider thus always has the time before her eyes, and is saved the great inconvenience--in the hunting-field especially--of unbuttoning the habit to get out a watch. this invention, though not a necessity, is a very handy adjunct. [illustration: fig ] this superlatively good saddle is fitted with a patent safety-stirrup bar, which, while it renders it impossible for the rider to be hung up or dragged when thrown, cannot possibly become detached so long as she remains in the saddle. the action of this perfect safeguard is explained by the accompanying diagrams. [illustration: fig fig fig ] the back of the bar is fixed to the tree in the ordinary way. there are only two moving parts, viz. the hinged hook-piece, marked a, figs. , , and , upon which the loop of the stirrup-leather is hung, and the locking bar, b, upon which the skirt and the rider's legs rest. it will be noticed that the front of the hook-piece, marked a, fig. , is cut off diagonally front and back, and that there is upon the back-plate a cone, marked c, which projects through the back of the hook-piece. the locking action may be thus described: the skirt, with lever, b, fig. , is lifted, the hook, a, pulled forward, and the loop of the stirrup-leather hooked upon it; it springs back again (spring not shown) and the locking lever, b, falls down over it, as at fig . while in the saddle, one of the rider's legs rests at all times upon the skirt and lever, which therefore cannot rise; but upon the rider being thrown and dragged, the stirrup-leather is tilted diagonally against the cone, c, in passing which the hook is thrust outwards, lifting the locking lever and skirt, as shown, fig. , and thus reaching the releasing point, is free. there is another case more rare, that in which the rider is thrown over the horse's head, and also over a gate or fence when the horse refuses and backs; and here we have just the reverse action to that of the ordinary dragging, but in this case the bar acts equally well. when the rider is thrown and dragged on the off or reverse side, the stirrup-leather lifts the skirt and locking lever, fig. , and there remains nothing to retain the loop to the bar. the above sketch of the side-saddle will aid in making the foregoing clear. here a is the skirt, and locking lever, b, shown raised, in order to fit the loop of the stirrup-leather to the hook c below the cone d. a balance strap is usually supplied with a side-saddle, and is a very desirable adjunct. ds also, to which the cover-coat is attached, should be fitted on. quilted or plain doeskin seat and pommels are matters of taste. these extras add to the cost of the saddle. a waterproof or leather cover is an essential. hogskin caps and straps, to prevent the habit catching on the pommels, should be provided when the new patent safety-bar stirrup is not used. when practicable a lady should invariably be measured for her saddle. it is almost impossible to find a lady's horse that at some time or another has not suffered from sore back, and it is imperative that the saddle should fit _both_ and that perfectly. we bipeds cannot walk or run in tight ill-fitting boots, neither can a horse act under a badly fitting saddle. i have read somewhere that the empress of austria rode in an -lb. saddle, a statement i take leave to doubt. her imperial highness is far too fine and experienced a horsewoman to have been seen outside any such toy. in the present day there is a senseless rage for light side-saddles, much to be deprecated, as the lightness is gained at the expense of the tree, and light flimsy leather is used in their manufacture. possibly when alum comes into general use we may see lighter and even strong trees. a lady weighing stone lbs. requires a saddle about inches long, measured, as in the sketch, from a to b, the seat from c to d, - / inches wide, the upright pommel - / inches high, and the leaping-head inches long. such a saddle, brand new, will weigh about lbs., and at the end of a season will pull the scale down at to lbs. a saddle made of the proper weight and strength in the first instance--the extra weight being in the tree, where the strength is required--will be lighter in appearance. light saddles always require a lot of extra stuffing, which soon mounts up the weight and detracts from the looks; moreover it is very inconvenient to be constantly sending one's saddle to be restuffed. most ladies, from lack of proper supervision and want of thought, are neglectful of the make and condition of their saddles, and so some ribald cynic has hazarded the remark that although "a good man is merciful to his beast, a good woman is rarely so." a first class firm keeps an experienced man for the purpose of measuring horses, who is sent out any distance required at a fixed scale of charges. when a lady cannot conveniently attend to be measured, she should endeavour to get the measurements, as indicated in the sketch, from some saddle in which she can ride with comfort. though careful fitting and adjustment of the saddle will reduce friction to a minimum, and will, in the majority of cases, do away with its baneful effects, still with some very highly bred horses the skin of the back is so easily irritated, that during a long day's work, in hot climates especially, it becomes chafed, and injury is inflicted either at the withers or underneath the seat. nothing is more difficult to deal with and heal than a sore back. in a prolonged and arduous campaign, i have seen regiments seriously reduced below their fighting strength by obstinate sore backs. a very great _desideratum_, in my opinion, is the new "humanity" sponge-lined numnah, another of messrs. champion and wilton's sensible inventions. this excellent preventative and curative saddle-cloth keeps the most tender-skinned horse in a position to walk in comfort. it is an adaptation of the finer kind of turkey sponge, the soft nature of which suggested itself to the inventors as an agent for counteracting saddle friction. it is made in two varieties: ( ) of bridle leather, lined at the withers with this fine, natural sponge, thus interposing a soft pad between the saddle and the withers (a point where the chief strain of a lady's seat is brought to bear during the action of the trot); ( ) of a fine white felt, lined at the back as well as at the withers with the same quality of sponge, and intended for such horses as are apt to become troubled under the seat of the saddle as well as at the withers. the sponge has to be damped, preferably in warm water, but pressed or wrung out before using, and the leather part kept soft with vaseline, which is an excellent preservative and softener of leather. _each time after use, the sweat should be thoroughly washed out of the sponge; to ensure best results, attention to scrupulous cleanliness is absolutely essential._ the following are representations of this numnah. [illustration: inside surface.] with the safety-bar and the zenith habit it matters not what form of stirrup a lady uses, for these have done away with the necessity for the so-called safety patterns, of which there are several. the slipper has been objected to, as it, from being so comfortable, encourages ladies to lean their whole weight on it and thus throw themselves out of balance; moreover, it is out of fashion. mrs. power o'donoghue advocates the plain iron racing stirrup, with the foot well home, as by its means the rise or purchase is from the instep, as it ought to be, and not from the toes. the prussian side-pieces at the bottom take sharp pressure off the sides of the foot. the victoria and french pad inside the stirrup, except when the safety bar and habit are adopted, are fraught with danger; with these precautions they are a great comfort, and guard the instep at the trot when the foot is thrust well home. the size of the stirrup should be proportionate to the foot. chapter v. hints upon costume. "she wore what was then somewhat universal--a coat, vest, and hat resembling those of a man; which fashion has since called a riding-habit."--_diana vernon_, scott. under no circumstances does a lady, possessed of good figure and carriage, appear to such great advantage, or is she so fascinating, as when with mien and bearing haught and high, with perfect, well-balanced seat, and light hands, faultlessly appointed, firmly, gently, and with seeming carelessness she controls some spirited high-bred horse, some noble steed of stainless purity of breed, whose rounded symmetry of form, characteristic spring of the tail, and pride of port, proclaim his descent from "the silver arab with his purple veins, the true blood royal of his race." at no time are the beauties of the female form divine displayed with such witching grace, the faultless flowing lines so attractively posed, the _tout ensemble_ so thoroughly patrician. but if there be one blot in the fair picture the whole charm at once vanishes. the incomparable dignity, the well-turned-out steeds--the best that money could buy or critical judgment select--the perfect figure of that superb horsewoman the empress of austria, of whom it may justly be said "all the pride of all her race in herself reflected lives," were it possible for her imperial majesty to err in such a matter, would have been of little effect, but for a faultlessly cut and fitting habit. "fine feathers make fine birds," and though in riding costume the plumage, save in the hunting-field, must be of sombre tint, it must be unruffled and lie perfectly flat. there are habit-makers and habit-makers; a very few as perfect as need be, more médiocre, most arrant bunglers. of late years legions of so-called ladies'-tailors have sprung into being, not one in a hundred possessing the faintest idea of what is wanted. a habit-maker is a genius not often met with, and when come across should be made a note of. a perfect fitting habit, though not quite "a joy for ever," is a very useful, long-wearing, and altogether desirable garment. particular attention must be given to the cutting of the back of the neck to secure plenty of play, and to prevent that disagreeable tightness so often experienced, which completely mars the easy and graceful movement of the head. while giving absolute freedom to the figure, the well shaped body will fit like a glove. a tight habit gives a stiff, inelegant appearance to the whole figure, and produces a feeling of being "cribbed, cabined, and confined," tantamount to semi-suffocation. a too long waist is certain to ride-up and wrinkle. for winter wear there is nothing like the double-breasted body. the choice to select from is a wide one. [illustration: the "zenith" habit--jacket body.] to my mind and eye no one understands the whole art of habit-making so well as mr. w. shingleton, , new bond street, london, the inventor of the patent "zenith" skirt, an ingenious arrangement which should be universally patronized for its absolute safety, if for no less weighty reason. any lady wearing this clever and smart combination of skirt and trousers, seated on one of messrs. champion and wilton's safety side-saddles, may set her mind completely at rest as to the possibility of being "hung up" on the pommel, or dragged by it or the stirrup. perfect freedom in the saddle is secured to the rider, that portion of the skirt which in the ordinary habit fits over the pommel, always a source of danger, being entirely dispensed with. the "zenith" is made in two breadths or portions, instead of three, as heretofore, and on one side this skirt is attached to the trousers at the "side seam" of the right leg, or leg which passes over the pommel. the skirt is then carried across or over both legs of the trousers in front, and, on the other side, is brought round and attached to the "leg seam" of the left leg and to the "seat seam," both the trousers and the skirt being then secured to the waistband. thus the rider, as stated above, has the pommel leg free to be readily disengaged from the pommel without the skirt catching thereon, the right leg at the back being left uncovered by the skirt. an opening formed on the left side of the skirt allows of the garment being readily put on. the front draping of the skirt remains unaltered from the usual skirt, but when seen from behind it presents the appearance of one leg covered, the other uncovered. when walking, the back of the right trousers leg, which is uncovered, can be draped somewhat by the front of the skirt being lifted and brought round by the right hand. there is nothing whatever in this invention to offend the most sensitive _equestrienne_, nothing to hurt the proper feelings of the most modest. if preferred, the skirt may be provided on each side with a slit, extending down from the knees, so as to enable the wearer to readily use the skirt when wearing breeches or riding boots. that such an enterprising firm as messrs. redfern, of paris, should have secured the patent rights for france, speaks volumes in favour of mr. shingleton's really admirable invention. except for summer wear in early morning or in the country, and in the case of young girls, when grey is permissible, the habit should be made of some dark cloth. in the hunting-field, on which subject i am not touching in this volume, some ladies who "go" don pink, those patronising the duke of beaufort's wearing the becoming livery of the badminton hunt, than which nothing is more becoming. diagonal ribbed cloths are much in vogue for skirts. stout figures tone down the appearance of too great solidity and rotundity by wearing an adaptation of the military tunic. the long jacket-body, depicted in mr. shingleton's sketch of the "zenith," is well suited to full figures. waistcoats are all the rage,--blue bird's-eye, plush-leather with pearl buttons, kersey, corduroy, nankeen, etc., in endless variety, and are very much in evidence, as are shirt fronts, high collars, silk ties with sporting-pin _à la cavalière_. braiding or ornamentation is bad form; no frilling, no streamers are admissible; everything, to be in good taste, ought to be of the very best, without one inch of superfluous material,--severely simple. in the park, except for young ladies just entering on their teens, or children, the tall silk hat is _de rigueur_. the present prevailing "chimney-pot" or "stove-pipe" model, shaped something like the tompion of a gun, is an unbecoming atrocity. let us hope that fashion will soon revert to the broad curled brim bell-shaped hardwicke. nothing is cheap that's bad, and nothing detracts more from the general effect of a "get-up" than a bad hat. so if my lady reader wants to be thoroughly well hatted, let her go to ye hatterie, , oxford street, and be measured for one of mr. heath's best. it will last out two or three of other makers, and having done duty one season in rotten row, will look well later on in the wear-and-tear of the hunting field, preserving its bright glossy brilliancy, no matter what the weather be. order a quilted silk lining in preference to a plain leather one, and, when being measured, let the _chevelure_ be compact and suited for riding. a low-crowned hat is the best. for young girls, and out of the season, riding melon-shaped or pot-hats of felt are useful and by no means unbecoming. mr. heath makes a speciality of these, and has scores of different, and more or less becoming, styles to select from. hats made to the shape of the head require no elastics to hold them on, and are not the fruitful source of headache which ready-made misfits invariably are. there is no objection to a grey felt with grey gauze veil in the summer, but black with a black veil is in better taste. anything in the way of colour, other than grey, or, perhaps brown, is inadmissible. i am not sufficient of a monsieur mantalini to advise very minutely on such important points as the ladies' toilette, as to what veils may or may not be worn, but a visit to the park any morning or forenoon, when london is in town, will best decide. for dusty roads gauze is essential. of all abominations and sources of equestrian discomfort a badly built pair of riding-breeches are the worst. no breeches, pants, or trousers can possibly sit well and give absolute comfort in the saddle without flexible hips and belt-band riding-drawers. the best material, and preferable to all silk, is a blend of silk and cashmere, which wears well, is warm, elastic, of permanent elasticity, can be worn with great comfort by the most sensitive, and is not too expensive. a habit should fit like a glove over the hips, and the flexible-hip make of riding-drawers which i advocate, aids in securing this moulding. the fit of the breeches or pants, especially that of the right leg, at the inside of the knee, should be particularly insisted upon. first-class ladies' tailors generally have a model horse on which their customers can mount when trying on. at messrs. e. tautz and sons' establishment, where the rider can be accoutred to perfection, ladies will find a competent assistant of their own sex,--a trained fitter--who will by careful measurement and subsequent "trying on" secure them against the galling miseries of badly cut and ill-fitting breeches. materials of every description are available; but if the fair reader will be advised by me, she will select brown undressed deer-skin, which is soft, pliable, and durable. the waistbands and continuations are of strong twilled silk. leggings are generally and preferably worn with the breeches, and can be had in all shades of cloth to go with the habit. for the colonies and india a new material, known as dr. lahmann's cotton-wool underclothing, cannot be too highly commended. in "the gorgeous east," of which abode of the sun i have had some experience, between march and the latter days of october, the thinnest animal-wool is unbearably warm, and, when prickly-heat is about, absolutely unbearable, the irritation produced by the two being, i should imagine, akin to that endured by the four-footed friend of man when suffering acutely from the mange. moreover, in the clutches of the indian _dhobie_ (washerman), woollen materials rapidly shrink by degrees and become beautifully less, when not knocked into holes, and are converted into a species of felt. this fabric is a new departure in the manufacture of cotton. from first to last it is treated as wool, is spun as wool, and woven as wool, and in my opinion is the best possible material for under wear in the tropics. it is cool, wears well, washes well, is warranted not to shrink, does not irritate the most sensitive skin, and, being woven on circular knitting looms, is peculiarly adapted for close-fitting riding-drawers and under-clothing generally. it has the additional merits of having the appearance and colour of silk--a soft cream colour,--is entirely free from dressing, and is moderate in price. as this fabric (porous, knitted, woven, ribbed, or double-ribbed) is sold by the yard as well as made up into seamless pants, jersies, etc., it is admirably suited to the make of flexible-hip and belt-band drawers referred to above. i feel that in directing attention to this "baumwoll" (tree wool) clothing, i am conferring a benefit on all europeans whose avocations keep them within the tropics, and on those of them especially who are obliged to take constant and prolonged horse exercise. it is to be obtained at the lahmann agency, , fore street, london, e.c. the question of corsage is an all-important one, as the fit of a garment depends largely on the shape of the corset. for growing girls, and especially for such as are at all delicate and outgrowing their strength, the _invigorator_ corset is the least objectionable i have yet seen. that it has the approval of the faculty is in its favour. it may be described as a corset in combination with a chest-expanding brace, and as such corrects the habit of stooping, and by expanding the chest flattens the back and keeps the shoulder-blades in their right place. speaking as an ex-adjutant, who has had a good deal of experience in "setting-up-drills," it in my opinion possesses for young people merits far superior to anything of the kind yet brought out. it gives support where most wanted without impeding the freedom of the movements of the body; its elasticity is such that respiration and circulation are not interfered with; the chest is thrown out, the back straightened, preserving an erect figure--the body being kept erect by the cross-straps at the back; it is comfortable to the wearer, and there is no undue pressure anywhere. a riding-stay to be perfect should be as light as possible, consistent with due support, boned throughout with real whalebone, so as to be capable of being bent and twisted without fear of "broken busks," and should fit the figure--not the figure fit it--with glove-like accuracy. such supple corsets give perfect ease with freedom. the best special maker of riding-corsets for ladies is madame festa, , carlos street, grosvenor square, london, w. this artiste's productions combine all that is necessary in material and workmanship, with perfect fit, ease, and grace. a combination of silk elastic and coutil is said to be the ideal material from which really comfortable corsets are made. for winter work they should be lined with a pure natural woollen stuff as soft as a chuddah shawl. for tropical climates grass-cloth or nettle-cloth is strongly recommended. in this humid, uncertain climate of ours the rider will generally find some sort of light and short waterproof a great comfort. it should be sufficiently long to clear the saddle, and of a material such as will permit of its being rolled up into a small compass for attachment to the ds of the saddle. messrs. lewin and co., , cockspur street, s.w. (successors to the old established firm bax and co.), makers of the selby driving-coat, turn out some very neat waterproof tweed or drab garments, which are appropriate and serviceable. their designs are good, and the material thoroughly to be relied upon. well fitting, or in other words, tight gloves, of course, look very well, but horsewomen must preserve free use of their hands. lightness of hand is an essential, but a certain amount of physical strength cannot be dispensed with, and a tight glove, even of the best quality of kid, means a cramped contraction of the hand and fingers with consequent loss of power. the material, so long as it be stout enough, may be of real buck-skin, stout suède, dog's-skin, so called, or cape. the best real buck-skin hunting, driving, and walking-gloves, for either ladies or gentlemen, i have ever come across, are those manufactured by t. p. lee and co., , duke street, bloomsbury. they are of first-class soft material, well cut, hand-sewn with waxed brown thread, and very durable; in fact, everlasting, and most comfortable wear. a neat, light hunting-crop, riding-cane, or whip _without a tassel_, are indispensable. the following is a comfortable and serviceable riding-dress for long country rides, picnics, etc., recommended by a lady who can boast of considerable experience in the saddle both at home and in the colonies--one of a riding family. "habit--a short hunting-skirt, short enough to walk in with comfort, with jacket (_norfolk?_) of the same material, made loose enough to admit of jersey being worn under it, if required; a wide leather belt for the waist, fastening with a buckle. this belt will be found a great comfort and support when on horseback for many hours. hat of soft felt, or melon-shaped hat. pantaloons of chamois leather, buttoning close to the ankles. hussar or wellington boots made of peel leather, with moderate-sized heels, tipped with brass, and soles strong but not thick. a leather stud should be sewn on the left boot, about two and a half inches above the heel, on which stud the spur should rest, and thus be kept in its place without tight buckling. the spur found to be the most useful after a trial of many is a rowel spur of plated steel (the flat tapered-side, elastic, five-pointed hunting), about two to two and a half inches long, strong and light, hunting shape, and fastened with a strap and buckle, the foot-strap of plated steel chain. this chain foot-strap looks neater than a leather one, and does not become cut or worn out when on foot on rough, rocky ground. the rowel pin is a screw-pin; thus the rowel can be changed at pleasure, and a sharp or blunt one fitted as required by the horse one rides." [_in lieu of chamois leather i would suggest undressed deer-skin, as supplied by messrs. e. tautz and sons, , oxford street, london, which is as soft as velvet, and needs no additional lining, so apt to crease. and instead of the boots i recommend waterproofed russia leather or brown hide, such as men use for polo, as manufactured by faulkner, , south molton street, london, w., with low, flat heels tipped with mild steel._] the lady's idea, except with regard to the interchangeable rowel, the pin of which must work loose, is good. this brings me to the much-vexed subject of the spur, its use and abuse. ladies should not be mounted on horses requiring severe punishment; but there are occasions, oft and many, when "a reminder" from a sharp-pointed rowel will prove of service. i do not say that lady riders should always wear a persuader; on a free-going, generous horse it would be out of place, irritating, and annoying; but on a lymphatic slug, or in the case of a display of temper, the armed heel is most necessary. we must bear in mind that almost all of the highest priced ladies' horses have been broken in to carry a lady by professional lady-riders, one and all of whom wear spurs. many a horse, in the canter especially, will not go up to his bit without an occasional slight prick. women are by nature supposed to be gentle and kindly, and yet i know some who are everlastingly "rugging" at their horse's mouths and digging in the spur. they would use the whip also as severely as the latchfords but for the exhibition it would entail. when punishment must be inflicted, the spur as a corrective is far more effective than the whip; it acts instantaneously, without warning, and the horse cannot see it coming and swerve from it. though more dreaded it inflicts the lesser pain of the two. the deepest dig from the rowel will not leave behind it the smart of the weal from a cutting whip. the best spur for ladies is the one mentioned above, with fine-pointed rowel; it does not tear the habit, and the points are long enough and sharp enough to penetrate through the cloth should it intervene between the heel and the horse's side. no lady should venture to wear a spur till she has acquired firmness of seat, to keep her left leg steady in the stirrup and her heel from constantly niggling the animal's ribs. i do not like the spring-sheath one-point spur, as it is uncertain in its action. chapter vi. À la cavaliÈre. much of late has been said and written against and in favour of cross-saddle riding for girls and women. a lady at my elbow has just given her emphatic opinion that it is neither graceful nor modest, and she predicts that the system will never come into vogue or meet the approval of the finer sense of women. the riding-masters are against it to a man, and so are the saddlers, who argue that the change would somewhat militate against their business. we are very conservative in our ideas, and perhaps it is asking too much of women, who have ridden and hunted in a habit on a side-saddle for years, to all at once, or at all, accept and patronize the innovation. travellers notice the fact that women never ride sideways, as with us, but astride, like men. it has generally been supposed that the custom now prevailing in europe and north america dates back only to the middle ages. as a fact, the side-saddle was first introduced here by anne of luxembourg, richard ii.'s queen, and so far back as , according to knighton, it had become general among ladies of first rank at tournaments and in public. but the system must have prevailed to some extent in far earlier times, for rawlinson discovered a picture of two assyrian women riding sideways on a mule, and on etruscan vases, older than the founding of rome, are several representations of women so seated. there were no horses in mexico prior to the advent of the spaniards; indeed, from the progeny of one andalusian horse and mare, shipped to paraguay in , were bred those countless mobs which have since spread over the whole southern part of the new western world, and, passing the isthmus of darien or panama, have wandered into north america. in the great plains of south america, where the inhabitants, all more or less with spanish blood pulsing through their veins, may be said to live on horseback, it is strange that, without some good cause, the side-saddle should have been discarded for the "pisana" fashion--the lady riding in front of her cavalier. in edward i.'s time our fair dames jogged behind their lords, or behind somebody else's lords, in the conventional pillion: then "this riding double was no crime in the first good edward's time; no brave man thought himself disgraced by two fair arms around his waist; nor did the lady blush vermillion dancing on the lady's pillion." the attitude of the "pisana" fashion, though in some cases vastly agreeable, is not highly picturesque, so there must have been some valid reason why the side-saddle, then in general use in spain, fell out of favour. in long rides, it, as at that time constructed, tired the rider, and caused severe pain in the spine. nowadays in mexico and on the plate river there are magnificent horsewomen who can ride almost anything short of an australian buckjumper, and who never tire in the saddle, but then they one and all patronize the cross-saddle, riding _à la cavalière_ or _à la_ duchesse de berri. their riding garb, and a very becoming one it is, consists of a loose kind of norfolk jacket or tunic secured at the waist by a belt, loose turkish pyjamas thrust into riding boots of soft yellow leather, a huge pair of mexican spurs, and the ladies' "sombrero." their favourite and, in fact, only pace is a continuous hand-gallop. some thirty years ago i remember seeing the ex-queen of naples superbly mounted, riding _à la cavalière_. her majesty was then even more beautiful than her imperial sister the empress of austria, and quite as finished a horsewoman. she wore a high and pointed-crowned felt hat, a long white cloak, something like the algerian bournouse, patent-leather jack-boots, and gilt spurs. her seat was perfect, as was her management of her fiery arab or barb, the effect charming, and there was nothing to raise the faintest suspicion of a blush on the cheeks of the most modest. there is no doubt that the duchess de berri mode of sitting on a horse is much less fatiguing to the rider, gives her more power over the half-broken animals that in foreign countries do duty for ladies' horses, and, in a very great measure, does away with the chance of establishing a raw on the back. in support of the claims of this, to us, novel manner of placing the rider on her horse's back, i quote from miss isabella bird's "hawaiian archipelago." describing her visit to the anuenue falls, that lady writes: "the ride was spoiled by my insecure seat in my saddle, and the increased pain in my side which riding produced. once, in crossing a stream, the horses had to make a sort of downward jump from a rock, and i slipped round my horse's neck; indeed, on the way back i felt that, on the ground of health, i must give up the volcano, as i would never consent to be carried to it, like lady franklin, in a litter. when we returned, mr. severance suggested that it would be much better for me to follow the hawaiian fashion, and ride astride, and put his saddle on the horse. it was only my strong desire to see the volcano which made me consent to a mode of riding against which i have a strong prejudice; but the result of the experiment is that i shall visit kilauea thus or not at all. the native women all ride astride on ordinary occasions in the full sacks, or kolukus, and on gala days in the pan--the gay winged dress which i described in writing from honolulu. a great many of the foreign ladies in hawaii have adopted the mexican saddle also for greater security to themselves and ease to their horses on the steep and perilous bridle-tracks, but they wear full turkish trousers and jauntily made dresses reaching to the ankles." writing later from the colorado district of the rockies, miss bird adds: "i rode sidewise till i was well out of the town, long enough to produce a severe pain in my spine, which was not relieved for some time till after i had changed my position." mrs. power o'donoghue runs a tilt with all her might against the idea of any of her sex riding like men. but there are so many manly maidens about now who excel in all open-air pastimes requiring pluck, energy, physical activity, and strength, and who attire themselves suitably in a sort of semi-masculine style, that is not asking too much of them to try the virtues of the cross-saddle. their costumes are not so much _negligé_ as studiedly, so far as is possible without exactly "wearing the breeches" in public, of the man, manly. one of our princesses has the credit of being an adept with the foils; our cricket and golf fields are invaded by petticoats of various lengths; we see polo played by ladies on clever blood ponies; they take kindly to billiards and lawn-tennis; and it is whispered of a few that they can put on the "mittens" and take and give punishment. it is not so much the prudery about sitting like men that excites the wrathful indignation of the opponents of cross-saddle riding as the apparent difficulty of deciding upon the thoroughly neat and workwoman-like costume. [illustration: no. . no. . no. .] the three different costumes represented in these sketches do not differ very greatly in propriety. shorten no. , the eilitto muddy-weather costume--who says there's nothing in a name?--just a trifle and encase the wearer's lower limbs in a pair of messes e. tautz and son's gaiters or leggings, and we have the costume sported the winter before last by a well known lady. it certainly looked, on a wearer of advanced years, a trifle eccentric, but any pretty girl, in her _première jeunesse_, blessed with a good figure and gait, would have been the admired of all admirers. this costume with the funny name is much patronized by lawn-tennis players, golfers, and skaters. nos. and are as like as "two dromios," and in no very material degree differ from the short-skirted walking-dress. they have been brought out with an eye to riding _à la cavalière_, and being strong and yet neat are intended for prairie-riding in the far west, for the rough-and-ready work of the australian or new zealand bush, and for scouring over the veldt of south africa, or for the hundred and one out-of-the-way places of the earth, whither our english girls venture, from necessity, for adventure, or some more potent attraction. of the two i prefer no. , which is the smarter. it is nothing more or less than a short habit made in the shape of a frock-coat, and is buttoned the whole way down to the knees. the long boots, which, by the way, show off a pretty well-turned ankle and foot to perfection, are certainly a trifle more in evidence than is the case when the lady wears the regular habit and is desirous of showing as little "leg" as possible--a desire, when the foot is threes or narrow fours, and the instep well sprung, not too often indulged. no has a divided skirt. i do not ask ladies of mature age, or even those whose seat is formed, to don one or other of these costumes, though, after the experience of miss bird and others, they might, under similar circumstances, adopt both the costume, and the cross-saddle with advantage. in the backwoods and jungles a wide latitude in dress may be permitted without assailing the strictest modesty. the fashion of riding in the cross-saddle, if it is to be introduced, as it ought to be, must emanate from the rising generation. the luxury of having both feet in the stirrups, of being able to vary the length of the leather, of having a leg down either side of the horse, and a distribution of the bearing equally on each foot, is surely worthy of consideration when many hours have to be spent in the saddle and long weary distances travelled. if agreeable to the rider, how much more so to the horse? we men know what a relief it is on a long journey to vary the monotonous walk or the wearying trot with an occasioned hard gallop "up in the stirrups," or how it eases one to draw the feet out of the stirrups and let the legs hang free. i have already hazarded the opinion that a lady's seat on a side-saddle is a very firm one, but when she is called upon to ride half-broken horses and to be on their backs for hours at a time, traversing all sorts of country, she undoubtedly is heavily handicapped as compared with a man. mrs. o'donoghue, much to the damage of her own contention, so clearly demonstrates my views that i venture to quote _verbatim_ from one of that lady's published letters. "my companion was in ease while i was in torture. because he had a leg on either side of his mount, his weight equally distributed, and an equal support upon both sides; in fact he had, as all male riders have, the advantage of a double support in the rise; consequently, at the moment his weight was removed from the saddle, it was thrown upon both sides, and this equal distribution enabled him to accomplish without fatigue that slow rise and fall which is so tiring to a lady whose weight, when she is out of the saddle, is thrown entirely upon one delicate limb, thus inducing her to fall again as soon as possible." as for mere grip--the upright and leaping-heads _versus_ both knees--the security in either case is about the same, but the woman's position in the side-saddle is the more tiring and cramping of the two, and in complete control over the horse, the man's position on the horse has a very decided advantage. appendix i. the training of ponies for children. we will take it for granted that the colt, say a three or four year old, is well accustomed to the restraint of the common halter, and is obedient to the cavesson on both sides, also that he leads quietly and bears a fair amount of handling. were i permitted to explain the galvayne system, i could, in a very few pages, save the breaker and the colt much time, trouble, and many trials of temper and patience. i have not the professor's permission to make the tempting disclosures. without trenching on his domain, i may lay down the following rough-and-ready _modus operandi_, which, however, i am free to confess would be considerably facilitated by a set of his breaking tackle, especially of a particular rope, not made of any vegetable fibre, which, in some cases, exercises a potential control. we must just "gang our ain gait" as my countrymen say. having fitted the colt with a soft-lined head-collar-bridle, of the australian bush pattern, with strong hooks or straps by which to attach the bit, i proceed to bit him. the bit should be on the flexible principle, the mouth-piece being either of chain or a series of ball and socket sections, covered over with white and tasteless rubber, or other soft and yielding material. it should be no thicker than a man's little finger. inside the cheek and leg of this snaffle i have a large flat disc of sole leather, rounded at the edges, stitched as a guard to prevent the possibility of the bit being drawn through the mouth, of pinching the cheeks against the teeth or in any way injuring the mouth. every bit, no matter how merciful, will, more or less, make the bars of the mouth tender, but this least of all. if any suffering is evident, or any inflammation set up, then the use of the bit must, till all appearance of undue redness has disappeared, be discontinued. a little tincture of myrrh with eau-de-cologne applied with the fore finger will soon allay the irritation and remove the tenderness. the best way to insert the bit is, having fixed the near ring to the spring hook or strap on the near side of the head-collar, then coming round to the off side of the head, gentling the pony's head all the time and soothing him, to quietly work the two fore fingers of the left hand into his mouth, and on an opportunity offering, to slip the bit quickly into the mouth. this must be done deftly, without alarming the pony, for if the first attempt result in failure he is certain to throw up his head, run back, and otherwise thwart subsequent endeavours. a little treacle smeared on the bit will make it more palatable and inviting. the first time the bit is in the colt's mouth it should not be allowed to remain more than an hour, and his head must be entirely without restraint. on removing it examine the mouth to see that it has not been injured or bruised, and give him a carrot, or apple. it is immaterial whether these bitting lessons be given in a roomy loose-box, barn, covered-yard, or small paddock. after becoming reconciled to the bit, strap on a roller or surcingle, having two side and one top ring stitched on to it, the side rings being placed horizontally about where the rider's knees would come, that on the top fore-and-aft. through these three rings a strong cord should be run forming a sort of running rein, tie the cord to the off-ring of the snaffle, bring it back through the off-side ring, up and through the top ring on the back, down through that on the near side, and so on forward to the near ring of the bit to which it is fastened with a slip knot, taking care that though a slight bearing be upon the bars of the mouth, the colt's head is not tightly reined in and an irksome continuous strain kept on a certain set of muscles of the neck. this running-rein arrangement admits of lateral play of the head, and minimizes the possibility of creating a one-sided mouth. after a few short lessons in lounging on both sides with his head thus restrained, he may be made to stand in stall with his hindquarters to the manger, the reins being fastened to the post on either side. if the stall, as probably will be the case, be too wide, narrow it by placing sheep hurdles laced with straw on either side of him, so narrowing his standing room that he must preserve a fair "fore and aft" position. the reins must be, if the pillars are too high, fastened to the three rings on the surcingle as explained above. in addition to the single reins there must also be driving reins or cords, carefully adjusted as to length, so as to preserve an even pressure on either side of the mouth, attached to the rings on the manger, so that any attempt to advance is immediately curbed by the strain on the bit. these lessons should not extend over more than an hour at a time, and during them the trainer should occasionally, by taking the bit in both hands on either side facing him, or by laying hold of the long reins, cause him, exercising only gentle pressure, to rein back, saying at the same time in a tone of quiet command, "back." there will be plenty of room for this in a full-sized stall. he may also be taught to bend his head to the right when the off-rein is pulled upon or even twitched, and so on with the left. the instructor's aim must be to instil into his mind the firm conviction that it is as impossible to resist the pressure of the bit on either side of the mouth as it is to advance against it. extreme kindness and gentleness must be exercised in this initial training, each compliance with the teacher's hand and voice being at once met with some encouragement or reward, in shape of a word or two of soothing approval, gentling his head, and a few oats or pieces of carrot or apple--in the tropics sugar-cane or carrot--the bit being removed from the mouth for the purpose. horses of all sorts are very quick in their likes and dislikes. from the start never let the colt take a dead pull at the reins, let all the pressures be exerted in a light feeling manner with the fingers not the hands. on becoming fairly proficient at his indoor lesson, we will now, with his australian bush pattern head-collar-bridle on, a pair of long reins run from the snaffle through the side rings of the surcingle back into the trainer's hands, who will walk behind him, and led by a leading rein attached to the near side of the head-collar but wholly unconnected with the bit, take him into a quiet yard or paddock. he has now to be taught to stop, back, and turn to his bit. the control exercised by the assistant holding the leading rein just suffices to prevent the colt rushing about, or under sudden alarm running back; he will also, though giving him a perfectly free rein, be sufficiently close to his head to aid him in obeying the mandates of the trainer. after walking about as quietly as possible for some time, teaching him how to incline and turn, the feel on the mouth with a moderately tight rein being carefully preserved, he will be on the word "whoa!" brought to a stand still, and made to stand still and motionless as a well-trained charger on parade. in the lessons on turning, he may if needful be touched with the whip, _only if needful_, and then the lash should fall as lightly as the fly from some expert fisherman's rod, the touch of the silk or whip-cord coming simultaneously with the touch on the bars of the mouth. for instance, he is required to turn to the right and hangs a bit on the rein without answering the helm, then a slight touch on the near shoulder will send him up to his bit, give him an inclination to turn smartly in the direction wished for, and the movement may be hastened by the point of the whip being pressed against the off buttock, or upper thigh on the outside. the pull must not be a jerk but a decided lively pull. always let him go forward as much as space will permit of before making another turn; he must not be confused and so provoked to be stubborn or fight. let all the turns be to one hand for the first few minutes then turn him in the reverse direction. should he get his head down and endeavour to establish a steady dead pull, do not indulge him, but step in closer to his quarters so that the strain is at once off the reins, and the moment that he once more feels his bit instantly make him come to a full halt with the word "whoa." to make a horse stand after being halted, the arabs throw the bridle over his head and let the rein drag on the ground. when the colt is being broken the bridle is thus left hanging down between his fore legs, and a slave gives it a sharp jerk whenever a step in advance is taken. by this means the horse is duped into the delusion that the pain inflicted on his mouth or nose is caused by his moving while the rein is in this pendant position. what is taught in the desert may be taught in the paddock. the slightest attempt to move forward without the "click" must at once be stopped. the "backing" lesson is, as a rule, a very simple one, though there are some horses which decline to adopt this retrograde motion. to rein back, the trainer, standing immediately behind the colt, either exerts an even and smart pressure on both reins, drawing them, if need be, through the mouth, when the horse will first bend himself getting his head in handsomely and then begin to step back. at first he will be perhaps, a little awkward, but will soon learn to use his hocks and to adopt this strange gait. if there be any difficulty about getting his head in--it must not be up and out with the bit in the angles of the mouth--the assistant should place the flat of his hand on the animal's face pressing its heel firmly on the cartilage of the nose. the backward movement must cease on the word "whoa!" and the relaxation of the rein. a horse must not be taught to run back, some acquire the bad habit too readily to a dangerous extent. i may here say that when a horse is given to this vice the best plan is to turn him at once and sharply in the direction he wants to go. in tuition what we want to arrive at is a sort of military "two paces step back, march!" in these introductory lessons the main use of the assistant with his loose yet ready leading rein is to prevent the colt from turning suddenly round and facing the trainer, a _contretemps_ with a galvayne's tackle next to impossible. reins should not, however, be tried at all till the lessons in the loose box and in the stall are so well learnt that there is little or no fear of sudden fright, ebullitions of temper, or other causes of disarrangement and entanglement of the long driving reins. when the habit of yielding to the indication of the rein has once been acquired and well established, it becomes a sort of second nature, which under no circumstances, save those of panic or confirmed bolting, is ever forgotten. a few lessons carefully, firmly, patiently, and completely given will cause the colt to answer the almost imperceptible touch of the rein or the distinct word of command. once perfected in answering the various signals at the walk, he is then put through precisely the same movements at a trot, and to be an effective teacher, the breaker must not only be a good runner, but in good wind, he must be active enough to show such a horse as "beau lyons" at the hackney show at islington. a pony such as is "norfolk model," one a hand higher and of a very different stamp, it is true, from what i commend for children, would make a crack "sprinter" put forth his best pace. during the time the pony is acquiring the a b c or rudiments of his education, he must be frequently and carefully handled. every effort should be made to gain his confidence. like all beasts of the field the speediest and surest way to his affection is down his throat; he is imbued with a large share of "cupboard love," so the trainer should always have some tit-bit in his pocket wherewith to reward good behaviour and progress made; moreover, the pupil should be aware of the existence and whereabouts of this store-room. the handling must be general. rub the head well over with the hands, always working with, and never against the run of the hair. pull his ears gently (never pull the long hair out from the inside) rub the roots, the eyes and muzzle, work back from the ears down the neck and fore legs, between the fore legs, at the back of the elbows, and along the back, talking to him all the while. before going to the flanks and hind quarters make him lift both fore feet. if there be any disinclination to obey, a strap should be wound round the fetlock joint, the trainer then taking a firm hold of the ends in his right hand says in a loud voice "hold up!" at the same time with the palm of the left hand, throwing a portion of his weight on to the near shoulder; this, by throwing the animal's weight over on to the offside, enables the foot to be easily held up. this lesson imparted, it is extended to the off fore foot. should the colt, by laying back his ears, showing the whites of his eyes, hugging his tail, and other demonstrations of wickedness, evince his objections to being handled behind the girth, one of the fore feet must be held up and strapped, the buckle of the strap being on the outside of the arm, the foot brought so close to the point of the elbow that no play is left to the knee joint. then commence to wisp him all over commencing with the head, but, if he is not very restive, do not keep the weight on three legs more than ten minutes at a time, though he, if not overburdened with fat, could easily stand very much longer, or travel a mile or so on three legs. the object, unless vice be displayed, is merely to prevent serious resistance and to convince him that the operation causes no pain. the wisp, the assistant all the time standing at his head speaking in low reassuring tone, patting and caressing him, in the hands of the operator should be at first very gently then briskly applied to the flanks, over the loins, down the quarters and along the channel running between the buttocks, inside the flanks, stifles and haunches, over the sheath, down inside the hocks, in fact anywhere and everywhere known to be tender and "kittle." having succeeded with the near fore foot up, release it, let him rest awhile and find his way to the store-room dainties. go through precisely the same lesson with the right foot up, on this occasion giving special attention to those parts which he most strongly objects to being handled. dwell over his hocks and the inside of his stifles, handle his tail, freely sponging his dock out, running the sponge down through the channel over the sheath, the inside of the thighs and hocks. release the fore foot, and if he will stand a repetition of all these liberties quietly, he has learnt one important part of his education. elsewhere i have endeavoured to describe the unsophisticated antics displayed by the fresh-caught australian buck-jumper and the inveterate plunger in endeavouring to dislocate their riders. in the one case it is the untaught, unpractised effort of an animal in a paroxysm of fear; in the other the vice of the artful, tricky, practitioner. in either case the horseman may be, very often is, "slung" handsomely, wondering, as he picks himself up, dazed and bewildered with an incoherent idea as to what had befallen him, and how he got there. if a wild horse suddenly finds a panther or a tiger on his back, he at once, in terror, endeavours by a succession of flings to get rid of the incubus. so it is with the unbroken colt bred in captivity, and especially so with the pony fresh from his native hills or pastures. what must be his astonishment when, for the first time he feels a saddle tightly girthed to his back, and the weight of some one in it? his first and only feeling is that of fear, so, being prevented by the bit and bridle from rushing off at the verge of his speed, he by bucks, plunges, and kicks, sets to work to throw the rider. in mounting the colt the first attempts at making him quite quiet during the process should be in the direction of eliminating every sense of fear. as saddles, especially if badly stuffed and cold, are the cause of many back troubles, i prefer to have him, in the first instance, ridden in a rug or sheepskin, the wool next his hair, kept in its place by a broad web surcingle. hold the rug or skin to his nose, and let him smell and feel it, rub it over his head, down his neck, in fact all over him, not neatly folded up but loose; toss it about, drag it over him, round him, between his fore legs, under his belly, and out between his thighs. when he takes no heed of it, fold it up on his back and girth it on with the surcingle. then lead him out for half an hour or so occasionally, pulling up to lean a good bit of weight on his back. on returning to the loose box, covered yard, or paddock, the first lesson in mounting will be commenced. having secured the services of some active smart lad who can ride and vault, the lighter the better, make him stand on a mounting block, an inverted empty wine chest will do, placed near his fore leg. if the pony be nervous at this block, let him examine it, smell it, touch it, and even eat a few carrots off it. standing on this coign of advantage, the lad must loll over him, patting him, reaching down well on the off side, leaning at first a portion, and then his whole weight on him. if he makes no objection to this treatment, the lad should seat himself on his back, mounting and dismounting repeatedly, slowly but neatly, being careful not to descend on his back with a jerk. so long as the colt shows no fear, this gymnastic practice may be varied with advantage to almost any extent, the contact of the gymnast's body with that of the pony being as close as possible. he should not only vault all over him and straddle him, but should crawl and creep all over him and under him, winding up by vaulting on his back, over his head, and over his quarters. i have frequently taught arabs to put their heads between my legs and by the sudden throw-up of their necks to send me into the saddle face to the tail. on no account hurry this mounting practice, do not let him be flustered or fatigued, and see that the rider's foot deftly clears him without once touching or kicking him; much depends on the clean manner in which the various mountings and dismountings are performed. the mounting block will be dispensed with so soon as the rider is permitted to throw his right leg over his back and to straddle him without starting. it is essential that he should stand stock still and that he should not move forward without the usual "klick." when quite patient and steady in being mounted with the rug or fleece, a nice light lb. polo or racing saddle with a "humane" numnah under it should be substituted, and if the pony's shoulders are low and upright a crupper will be necessary. care must be taken that the crupper strap is not too tight, also that the crupper itself does not produce a scald under the dock of the tail; a strip of lamb-skin, the wool next the dock, will ensure that. after being led about in the saddle for a time, he is brought into the box or yard and there mounted by the lad, the trainer having hold of the leading rein, the rider of the bridle. now a word as to the said lad. all he has to do is to preserve the lightest possible touch of the mouth, and to sit firm and sit quiet. i would rather prefer that he did not hail from a racing stable, for these imps--the most mischievous of their race--are up to all sorts of tricks and are accustomed to ride trusting almost entirely to the support gained from their knotted bridle and the steady pressure against the stirrup somewhat after the principle of the coachman and his foot-board. he must be forced to keep his heels and his ashplant quiet. i am averse to much lounging and am confident it is overdone. on carrying the lad quietly led by hand, the following lessons should be in company with some staid old stager. markedly gregarious in his habits, the horse never feels so happy or contended as when in company; in the society of a well-behaved tractable member of his family he will do all that is required of him. soon the leading rein will be superfluous and the pony and his rider will be able to go anywhere at any pace. it is especially advisable that when his first rides lie away from home he should be ridden in company with some other horse, or he may turn restive. be very careful not to attempt anything with him that may lead up to a fight in which he may remain master. any disposition on his part to "reest" or to break out into rebellion is proof of his not having learnt his first lessons properly. far better to lead him away from home for a mile or two and then to mount him, than to hazard any difference of opinion. the example of a well-broken, well-ridden, well-mannered horse is very important. one act of successful disobedience may undo the careful labour of weeks and necessitate very stringent measures, such as those described in my previous volume, in the case of confirmed vice. weeks of careful riding always under the trainer's eye, will be required before the lessons are complete, and the pupil sobered down so as to be a safe and comfortable conveyance for children beginners. appendix ii. extension and balance motions. the following are adapted as closely as possible from the carefully thought-out system of military equitation practised in the british army, and may be executed as follows:-- _prepare for extension and balance motions._--on this caution each rider will turn his horse facing the instructor, drop the reins on the horse's neck, and let both arms hang down easily from the shoulders, with the palms of the hands to the front. this is the position of _attention_. caution.--_first practice._ {on the word "one" bring the hands, at the full { extent of the arms, to the front, close to the body, { knuckles downwards till the fingers meet at the "one" { points; then raise in a circular direction over { the head, the ends of the fingers still touching { and pointing downwards so as to touch the forehead, { thumbs pointing to the rear, elbows pressed { back, shoulders kept well down. {on the word "two," throw the hands up, extending { the arms smartly upwards, palms of the hands { inwards; then force them obliquely back, and "two" { gradually let them fall to the position of _attention_, { the first position, elevating the neck and { chest as much as possible. n.b.--the foregoing motions are to be done slowly, so that the muscles may be fully exerted throughout. no stirrup is to be used. caution.--_second practice._ {on the word "one" raise the hands in front of the "one" { body, at the full extent of the arms, and in a line { with the mouth, palms meeting, but without noise, { thumbs close to the forefingers. {on the word "two," separate the hands smartly, "two" { throwing them well back, slanting downwards, { palms turned slightly upward. {on the word "one," resume the first position above "one" { described, and so on, sitting down on the saddle "two" { without any attempt, in resuming the first position, { to rise. "three" {on the word "three," smartly resume the position { of _attention_. in this practice the second motion may be continued without repeating the words "one," "two," by giving the order "continue the motion:" on the word "steady," the second position is at once resumed, the rider remaining in that position, head well up, chin in, and chest thrown out, on the word "three," resuming the position of _attention_. caution.--_third practice._ {on the word "one," raise the hands, with the fists "one" { clenched, in front of the body, at the full extent { of the arms, and in line with the mouth, thumbs { upwards, fingers touching. {on the word "two," separate the hands smartly, "two" { throwing the arms back in line with the shoulders, { back of the hands downwards. "three" {on the word "three," swing the arms round as { quickly as possible from front to rear. "steady" on the word "steady," resume the second position. "four" {on the word "four," let the arms fall smartly to { the position of _attention_. caution.--_fourth practice._ {on the word "one," lean back until the back of "one" { the head touches the horse's quarter, but moving { the legs as little as possible. "two" on the word "two," resume the original position. caution.--_fifth practice._ {on the word "one," lean down to the left side and "one" { touch the left foot with the left hand without, { however, drawing up the foot to meet the hand. "two" on the word "two," resume the original position. the same practice should also be done to the right reaching down as far as possible, but without drawing the left heel up and back. the following practice can only be performed in the cross-saddle, by pupils learning to ride à la cavalière, and suitably dressed. caution.--_sixth practice._ {on the word "one," pass the right leg over the { horse's neck, and, turning on the seat, sit facing "one" { the proper left, keeping the body upright, and the { hands resting on the knees. the leg must not { be bent in passing over the horse's neck. {on the word "two," pass the left leg over the "two" { horse's quarter, and turning in the seat, sit facing { to the rear, assuming, as much as possible, the { proper mounted position, the arms hanging { behind the thighs. {on the word "three," pass the right leg over the "three" { horse's quarter, and, turning in the seat, sit facing { to the proper right, the body upright, and the { hands resting on the knees. {on the word "four," pass the left leg over the "four" { horse's neck, and, turning in the seat, resume the { proper mounted position. each of the above motions may be performed by command of the instructor without repeating the words "one," "two," "three," etc. transcriber's note: inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, and hyphenation have been retained as printed. in the saddle a collection of poems on horseback-riding "_a good rider on a good horse is as much above himself and others as the world can make him_" lord herbert of cherbury boston houghton, mifflin and company new york: east seventeenth street the riverside press, cambridge copyright, , by houghton, mifflin & co. _all rights reserved._ _the riverside press, cambridge:_ electrotyped and printed by h. o. houghton & co. contents. page description of a horse. _venus and adonis_ a day's ride: a life's analogy. _the spectator_ on horseback. _e. paxton hood_ the horseback ride. _sara jane lippincott_ (_grace greenwood_) an evening ride. _owen innsly_ the queen's ride. _t. b. aldrich_ the last ride together. _robert browning_ riding together. _william morris_ sir launcelot and queen guinevere. _alfred tennyson_ the king of denmark's ride. _hon. caroline norton_ rhyme of the duchess may. _elizabeth barrett browning_ irmingard's escape. _henry wadsworth longfellow_ william and helen. _bürger's "leonore." translated by sir walter scott_ the greeting on kynast. _rückert. translated by c. t. brooks_ harras, the bold leaper. _karl theodor körner. translated by g. f. richardson_ the knight's leap. _charles kingsley_ the leap of roushan beg. _henry wadsworth longfellow_ annan water thomas the rhymer the greek gnome. _robert buchanan_ friar pedro's ride. _bret harte_ tam o'shanter. _robert burns_ the wild huntsman. _bürger's wilde jäger. tr. by walter scott_ lÜtzow's wild chase. _theodor körner_ the erl-king. _walter scott_ mazeppa's ride. _byron_ the giaour's ride. _byron_ the norseman's ride. _bayard taylor_ boot and saddle. _robert browning_ the cavalier's escape. _walter thornbury_ king james's ride. _walter scott_ deloraine's ride. _walter scott_ godiva. _alfred tennyson_ how they brought the good news from ghent to aix. _robert browning_ the landlord's tale. _h. w. longfellow_ sheridan's ride. _thomas buchanan read_ kearny at seven pines. _edmund clarence stedman_ the ride of collins graves. _john boyle o'reilly_ a tale of providence. _isaac r. pennybacker_ kit carson's ride. _joaquin miller_ taming the wild horse. _w. g. simms_ chiquita. _bret harte_ bay billy. _frank h. gassaway_ widderin's race. _paul hamilton hayne_ the diverting history of john gilpin. _william cowper_ reflections of a proud pedestrian. _oliver wendell holmes_ in the saddle. description of a horse. look, when a painter would surpass the life, in limning out a well-proportioned steed, his art with nature's workmanship at strife, as if the dead the living should exceed; so did this horse excel a common one, in shape, in courage, color, pace, and bone. round-hoofed, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long, broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide, high crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing strong, thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide: look, what a horse should have, he did not lack, save a proud rider on so proud a back. _venus and adonis._ a day's ride: a life's analogy. 'mid tangled forest and o'er grass plains wide, by many a devious path and bridle-way, through the short brightness of an indian day, in middle winter 'twas my lot to ride, skirting the round-topped, pine-clad mountain side, while far away upon the steely blue horizon, half concealèd, half in view, himalay's peaks upreared their snow-crowned pride, in utter purity and vast repose. i, ere the first faint flush of morning glowed within her eastern chamber, took the road, and, slowly riding between day and night, i marked how, through the wan, imperfect light, ghost-like and gray loomed the eternal snows. so near they seemed, each crack and crevice small like bas-relief work showed, while in the light of ruddy morn, gray changed through pink to white. but soon the sun, up-climbing, flooded all the heavens, and then a thin and misty pall of exhalations rose, and pale of hue and fainter ever those far summits grew, until the day waned low, and shadows tall sloped eastward. then once more, in radiance clear, of setting sunlight, beautiful as brief, each peak and crag stood out in bold relief, till, slowly, pink faded to ghostly gray. so through life's morning, noontide, evening, may ideal hopes dawn, fade, and reappear. _the spectator._ on horseback. hurrah! for a ride in the morning gray, on the back of a bounding steed. what pleasure to list how the wild winds play; hark! hark! to their music,--away! away! gallop away with speed. 'neath the leaf and the cloud in spring-time's pride there is health in a morning's joyous ride. and hurrah! for a ride in the sultry noon, when the summer has mounted high, 'neath the shady wood in the glowing june, when the rivulet chanteth its lullaby tune to the breeze as it wanders by, quietly down by the brooklet's side;-- sweet is the summer's joyous ride. and do you not love at evening's hour, by the light of the sinking sun, to wend your way o'er the widening moor, where the silvery mists their mystery pour, while the stars come one by one? over the heath by the mountain's side, pensive and sweet is the evening's ride. i tell thee, o stranger, that unto me the plunge of a fiery steed is a noble thought,--to the brave and free it is music, and breath, and majesty,-- 'tis the life of a noble deed; and the heart and the mind are in spirit allied in the charm of a morning's glorious ride. then hurrah! for the ring of the bridle rein,-- away, brave horse, away! the preacher or poet may chant their strain, the bookman his wine of the past may drain,-- we bide not with them to-day; and yet it is true, we may look with pride on the mental spoils of a morning's ride. _e. paxton hood._ the horseback ride. when troubled in spirit, when weary of life, when i faint 'neath its burdens, and shrink from its strife, when its fruits, turned to ashes, are mocking my taste, and its fairest scene seems but a desolate waste, then come ye not near me, my sad heart to cheer with friendship's soft accents or sympathy's tear. no pity i ask, and no counsel i need, but bring me, oh, bring me my gallant young steed, with his high archèd neck, and his nostril spread wide, his eye full of fire, and his step full of pride! as i spring to his back, as i seize the strong rein, the strength to my spirit returneth again! the bonds are all broken that fettered my mind, and my cares borne away on the wings of the wind; my pride lifts its head, for a season bowed down, and the queen in my nature now puts on her crown! now we're off--like the winds to the plains whence they came; and the rapture of motion is thrilling my frame! on, on speeds my courser, scarce printing the sod, scarce crushing a daisy to mark where he trod! on, on like a deer, when the hound's early bay awakes the wild echoes, away, and away! still faster, still farther, he leaps at my cheer, till the rush of the startled air whirs in my ear! now 'long a clear rivulet lieth his track,-- see his glancing hoofs tossing the white pebbles back! now a glen dark as midnight--what matter?--we'll down though shadows are round us, and rocks o'er us frown; the thick branches shake as we're hurrying through, and deck us with spangles of silvery dew! what a wild thought of triumph, that this girlish hand such a steed in the might of his strength may command! what a glorious creature! ah! glance at him now, as i check him a while on this green hillock's brow; how he tosses his mane, with a shrill joyous neigh, and paws the firm earth in his proud, stately play! hurrah! off again, dashing on as in ire, till the long, flinty pathway is flashing with fire! ho! a ditch!--shall we pause? no; the bold leap we dare, like a swift-wingèd arrow we rush through the air! oh, not all the pleasures that poets may praise, not the 'wildering waltz in the ball-room's blaze, nor the chivalrous joust, nor the daring race, nor the swift regatta, nor merry chase, nor the sail, high heaving waters o'er, nor the rural dance on the moonlight shore, can the wild and thrilling joy exceed of a fearless leap on a fiery steed! _sara jane lippincott_ (_grace greenwood_). an evening ride. from glashÜtte to mÜgeln in saxony. we ride and ride. high on the hills the fir-trees stretch into the sky; the birches, which the deep calm stills, quiver again as we speed by. beside the road a shallow stream goes leaping o'er its rocky bed: here lie the corn-fields with a gleam of daisies white and poppies red. a faint star trembles in the west; a fire-fly sparkles, fluttering bright against the mountain's sombre breast; and yonder shines a village light. oh! could i creep into thine arms beloved! and upon thy face read the arrest of dire alarms that press me close; from thy embrace view the sweet earth as on we ride. alas! how vain our longings are! already night is spreading wide her sable wing, and thou art far. _owen innsly._ the queen's ride. an invitation. 'tis that fair time of year, lady mine, when stately guinevere, in her sea-green robe and hood, went a-riding through the wood, lady mine. and as the queen did ride, lady mine, sir launcelot at her side laughed and chatted, bending over, half her friend and all her lover, lady mine. and as they rode along, lady mine, the throstle gave them song, and the buds peeped through the grass to see youth and beauty pass, lady mine. and on, through deathless time, lady mine, these lovers in their prime, (two fairy ghosts together!) ride, with sea-green robe, and feather! lady mine. and so we two will ride, lady mine, at your pleasure, side by side, laugh and chat; i bending over, half your friend and all your lover! lady mine. but if you like not this, lady mine, and take my love amiss, then i'll ride unto the end, half your lover, all your friend! lady mine. so, come which way you will, lady mine, vale, upland, plain, and hill wait your coming. for one day loose the bridle, and away! lady mine. _t. b. aldrich._ the last ride together. i said--then, dearest, since 'tis so, since now at length my fate i know, since nothing all my love avails, since all my life seemed meant for, fails, since this was written and needs must be-- my whole heart rises up to bless your name in pride and thankfulness! take back the hope you gave,--i claim only a memory of the same, --and this beside, if you will not blame, your leave for one more last ride with me. my mistress bent that brow of hers, those deep dark eyes where pride demurs when pity would be softening through, fixed me a breathing-while or two with life or death in the balance--right! the blood replenished me again: my last thought was at least not vain. i and my mistress, side by side shall be together, breathe and ride, so one day more am i deified. who knows but the world may end to-night? hush! if you saw some western cloud all billowy-bosomed, over-bowed by many benedictions--sun's and moon's and evening-star's at once-- and so, you, looking and loving best, conscious grew, your passion drew cloud, sunset, moonrise, star-shine too down on you, near and yet more near, till flesh must fade for heaven was here!-- thus leant she and lingered--joy and fear! thus lay she a moment on my breast. then we began to ride. my soul smoothed itself out, a long-cramped scroll freshening and fluttering in the wind. past hopes already lay behind. what need to strive with a life awry? had i said that, had i done this, so might i gain, so might i miss. might she have loved me? just as well she might have hated,--who can tell? where had i been now if the worst befell? and here we are riding, she and i. fail i alone, in words and deeds? why, all men strive and who succeeds? we rode; it seemed my spirit flew, saw other regions, cities new, as the world rushed by on either side. i thought, all labor, yet no less bear up beneath their unsuccess. look at the end of work, contrast the petty done the undone vast, this present of theirs with the hopeful past! i hoped she would love me. here we ride. what hand and brain went ever paired? what heart alike conceived and dared? what act proved all its thought had been? what will but felt the fleshly screen? we ride and i see her bosom heave. there's many a crown for who can reach ten lines, a statesman's life in each! the flag stuck on a heap of bones, a soldier's doing! what atones? they scratch his name on the abbey-stones. my riding is better, by their leave. what does it all mean, poet? well, your brain's beat into rhythm--you tell what we felt only; you expressed you hold things beautiful the best, and pace them in rhyme so, side by side. 'tis something, nay 'tis much--but then, have you yourself what's best for men? are you--poor, sick, old ere your time-- nearer one whit your own sublime than we who never have turned a rhyme? sing, riding's a joy! for me, i ride. and you, great sculptor--so you gave a score of years to art, her slave, and that's your venus--whence we turn to yonder girl that fords the burn! you acquiesce and shall i repine? what, man of music, you grown gray with notes and nothing else to say, is this your sole praise from a friend, "greatly his opera's strains intend, but in music we know how fashions end!" i gave my youth--but we ride, in fine. who knows what's fit for us? had fate proposed bliss here should sublimate my being; had i signed the bond-- still one must lead some life beyond, --have a bliss to die with, dim-descried. this foot once planted on the goal, this glory-garland round my soul, could i descry such? try and test! i sink back shuddering from the quest-- earth being so good, would heaven seem best? now, heaven and she are beyond this ride. and yet--she has not spoke so long! what if heaven be, that, fair and strong at life's best, with our eyes upturned whither life's flower if first discerned, we, fixed so, ever should so abide? what if we still ride on, we two, with life forever old yet new, changed not in kind but in degree, the instant made eternity,-- and heaven just prove that i and she ride, ride together, forever ride? _robert browning._ riding together. for many, many days together the wind blew steady from the east; for many days hot grew the weather, about the time of our lady's feast. for many days we rode together, yet met we neither friend nor foe; hotter and clearer grew the weather, steadily did the east-wind blow. we saw the trees in the hot, bright weather, clear-cut, with shadows very black, as freely we rode on together with helms unlaced and bridles slack. and often as we rode together, we, looking down the green-banked stream, saw flowers in the sunny weather, and saw the bubble-making bream. and in the night lay down together, and hung above our heads the rood, or watched night-long in the dewy weather, the while the moon did watch the wood. our spears stood bright and thick together, straight out the banners streamed behind, as we galloped on in the sunny weather, with faces turned towards the wind. down sank our threescore spears together, as thick we saw the pagans ride; his eager face in the clear fresh weather shone out that last time by my side. up the sweep of the bridge we dashed together, it rocked to the crash of the meeting spears; down rained the buds of the dear spring weather, the elm-tree flowers fell like tears. there, as we rolled and writhed together, i threw my arms above my head, for close by my side, in the lovely weather, i saw him reel and fall back dead. i and the slayer met together, he waited the death-stroke there in his place, with thoughts of death, in the lovely weather gapingly mazed at my maddened face. madly i fought as we fought together; in vain: the little christian band the pagans drowned, as in stormy weather the river drowns low-lying land. they bound my blood-stained hands together, they bound his corpse to nod by my side: then on we rode, in the bright march weather, with clash of cymbals did we ride. we ride no more, no more together; my prison-bars are thick and strong, i take no heed of any weather, the sweet saints grant i live not long. _william morris._ sir launcelot and queen guinevere. a fragment. like souls that balance joy and pain, with tears and smiles from heaven again the maiden spring upon the plain came in a sunlit fall of rain. in crystal vapor everywhere blue isles of heaven laughed between, and far, in forest-deeps unseen, the topmost elm-tree gathered green from draughts of balmy air. sometimes the linnet piped his song: sometimes the throstle whistled strong: sometimes the sparhawk, wheeled along, hushed all the groves from fear of wrong: by grassy capes with fuller sound in curves the yellowing river ran, and drooping chestnut-buds began to spread into the perfect fan, above the teeming ground. then, in the boyhood of the year, sir launcelot and queen guinevere rode through the coverts of the deer, with blissful treble ringing clear. she seemed a part of joyous spring: a gown of grass-green silk she wore, buckled with golden clasps before; a light-green tuft of plumes she bore closed in a golden ring. now on some twisted ivy-net, now by some tinkling rivulet, in mosses mixt with violet her cream-white mule his pastern set: and fleeter now she skimmed the plains than she whose elfin prancer springs by night to eery warblings, when all the glimmering moorland rings with jingling bridle-reins. as she fled fast through sun and shade, the happy winds upon her played, blowing the ringlet from the braid: she looked so lovely, as she swayed the rein with dainty finger-tips, a man had given all other bliss, and all his worldly worth for this, to waste his whole heart in one kiss upon her perfect lips. _alfred tennyson._ the king of denmark's ride. word was brought to the danish king, hurry! that the love of his heart lay suffering, and pined for the comfort his voice would bring; o, ride as though you were flying! better he loves each golden curl on the brow of that scandinavian girl than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl; and his rose of the isles is dying! thirty nobles saddled with speed; hurry! each one mounting a gallant steed which he kept for battle and days of need; o, ride as though you were flying! spurs were struck in the foaming flank; worn-out chargers staggered and sank; bridles were slackened, and girths were burst; but ride as they would, the king rode first, for his rose of the isles lay dying! his nobles are beaten, one by one; hurry! they have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone; his little fair page now follows alone, for strength and for courage trying! the king looked back at that faithful child; wan was the face that answering smiled; they passed the drawbridge with clattering din, then he dropped; and only the king rode in where his rose of the isles lay dying! the king blew a blast on his bugle-horn; silence! no answer came; but faint and forlorn an echo returned on the cold gray morn, like the breath of a spirit sighing. the castle portal stood grimly wide; none welcomed the king from that weary ride; for dead, in the light of the dawning day, the pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, who had yearned for his voice while dying! the panting steed, with a drooping crest, stood weary. the king returned from her chamber of rest, the thick sobs choking in his breast; and, that dumb companion eying, the tears gushed forth which he strove to check; he bowed his head on his charger's neck; "o steed, that every nerve didst strain, dear steed, our ride hath been in vain to the halls where my love lay dying!" _hon. caroline norton._ rhyme of the duchess may. broad the forests stood (i read) on the hills of linteged-- _toll slowly._ and three hundred years had stood mute adown each hoary wood, like a full heart having prayed. and the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west,-- _toll slowly._ and but little thought was theirs of the silent antique years, in the building of their nest. down the sun dropt large and red, on the towers of linteged,-- _toll slowly._ lance and spear upon the height, bristling strange in fiery light, while the castle stood in shade. there, the castle stood up black, with the red sun at its back,-- _toll slowly._ like a sullen smouldering pyre, with a top that flickers fire, when the wind is on its track. and five hundred archers tall did besiege the castle wall,-- _toll slowly._ and the castle seethed in blood, fourteen days and nights had stood, and to-night, was near its fall. yet thereunto, blind to doom, three months since, a bride did come,-- _toll slowly._ one who proudly trod the floors, and softly whispered in the doors, "may good angels bless our home." oh, a bride of queenly eyes, with a front of constancies,-- _toll slowly._ oh, a bride of cordial mouth,--where the untired smile of youth did light outward its own sighs. 'twas a duke's fair orphan-girl, and her uncle's ward, the earl, _toll slowly._ who betrothed her, twelve years old, for the sake of dowry gold, to his son lord leigh, the churl. but what time she had made good all her years of womanhood, _toll slowly._ unto both those lords of leigh, spake she out right sovranly, "my will runneth as my blood. "and while this same blood makes red this same right hand's veins," she said,-- _toll slowly._ "'tis my will as lady free, not to wed a lord of leigh, but sir guy of linteged." the old earl he smiled smooth, then he sighed for willful youth,-- _toll slowly._ "good my niece, that hand withal looketh somewhat soft and small for so large a will, in sooth." she, too, smiled by that same sign,--but her smile was cold and fine,-- _toll slowly._ "little hand clasps muckle gold, or it were not worth the hold of thy son, good uncle mine!" then the young lord jerked his breath, and sware thickly in his teeth,-- _toll slowly._ "he would wed his own betrothed, an she loved him an she loathed, let the life come or the death." up she rose with scornful eyes, as her father's child might rise,-- _toll slowly._ "thy hound's blood, my lord of leigh, stains thy knightly heel," quoth she, "and he moans not where he lies. "but a woman's will dies hard, in the hall or on the sward!"-- _toll slowly._ "by that grave, my lords, which made me orphaned girl and dowered lady, i deny you wife and ward." unto each she bowed her head, and swept past with lofty tread. _toll slowly._ ere the midnight-bell had ceased, in the chapel had the priest blessed her, bride of linteged. fast and fain the bridal train along the night-storm rode amain:-- _toll slowly._ hard the steeds of lord and serf struck their hoofs out on the turf, in the pauses of the rain. fast and fain the kinsmen's train along the storm pursued amain-- _toll slowly._ steed on steed-track, dashing off--thickening, doubling, hoof on hoof, in the pauses of the rain. and the bridegroom led the flight on his red-roan steed of might,-- _toll slowly._ and the bride lay on his arm, still, as if she feared no harm, smiling out into the night. "dost thou fear?" he said at last;--"nay!" she answered him in haste,-- _toll slowly._ "not such death as we could find--only life with one behind-- ride on fast as fear--ride fast!" up the mountain wheeled the steed--girth to ground, and fetlocks spread,-- _toll slowly._ headlong bounds, and rocking flanks,--down he staggered--down the banks, to the towers of linteged. high and low the serfs looked out, red the flambeaus tossed about,-- _toll slowly._ in the courtyard rose the cry--"live the duchess and sir guy!" but she never heard them shout. on the steed she dropt her cheek, kissed his mane and kissed his neck,-- _toll slowly._ "i had happier died by thee, than lived on a lady leigh," were the first words she did speak. but a three months' joyaunce lay 'twixt that moment and to-day,-- _toll slowly._ when five hundred archers tall stand beside the castle wall, to recapture duchess may. and the castle standeth black, with the red sun at its back,-- _toll slowly._ and a fortnight's siege is done--and, except the duchess, none can misdoubt the coming wrack. *....*....*....* oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west,-- _toll slowly._ on the tower the castle's lord leant in silence on his sword, with an anguish in his breast. with a spirit-laden weight, did he lean down passionate.-- _toll slowly._ they have almost sapped the wall,--they will enter therewithal, with no knocking at the gate. then the sword he leant upon, shivered--snapped upon the stone,-- _toll slowly._ "sword," he thought, with inward laugh, "ill thou servest for a staff when thy nobler use is done! "sword, thy nobler use is done!--tower is lost, and shame begun"-- _toll slowly._ "if we met them in the breach, hilt to hilt or speech to speech, we should die there, each for one. "if we met them at the wall, we should singly, vainly fall,"-- _toll slowly._ "but if _i_ die here alone,--then i die, who am but one, and die nobly for them all. "five true friends lie for my sake,--in the moat and in the brake,"-- _toll slowly._ "thirteen warriors lie at rest, with a black wound in the breast, and not one of these will wake. "and no more of this shall be!--heart-blood weighs too heavily,"-- _toll slowly._ "and i could not sleep in grave, with the faithful and the brave heaped around and over me. "since young clare a mother hath, and young ralph a plighted faith,"-- _toll slowly._ "since my pale young sister's cheeks blush like rose when ronald speaks, albeit never a word she saith-- "these shall never die for me--life-blood falls too heavily."-- _toll slowly._ "and if _i_ die here apart,--o'er my dead and silent heart they shall pass out safe and free. "when the foe hath heard it said--'death holds guy of linteged,'"-- _toll slowly._ "that new corse new peace shall bring, and a blessed, blessed thing shall the stone be at its head. "then my friends shall pass out free, and shall bear my memory,"-- _toll slowly._ "then my foes shall sleek their pride, soothing fair my widowed bride whose sole sin was love of me. "with their words all smooth and sweet, they will front her and entreat,"-- _toll slowly._ "and their purple pall will spread underneath her fainting head while her tears drop over it. "she will weep her woman's tears, she will pray her woman's prayers,"-- _toll slowly._ "but her heart is young in pain, and her hopes will spring again by the suntime of her years. "ah, sweet may--ah, sweetest grief!--once i vowed thee my belief,"-- _toll slowly._ "that thy name expressed thy sweetness,--may of poets, in completeness! now my may-day seemeth brief." all these silent thoughts did swim o'er his eyes grown strange and dim,-- _toll slowly._ till his true men in the place wished they stood there face to face with the foe instead of him. "one last oath, my friends that wear faithful hearts to do and dare!" _toll slowly._ "tower must fall, and bride be lost!--swear me service worth the cost!" --bold they stood around to swear. "each man clasp my hand and swear, by the deed we failed in there,"-- _toll slowly._ "not for vengeance, not for right, will ye strike one blow to-night!"-- pale they stood around--to swear. "one last boon, young ralph and clare! faithful hearts to do and dare!"-- _toll slowly._ "bring that steed up from his stall, which she kissed before you all,-- guide him up the turret-stair. "ye shall harness him aright, and lead upward to this height!"-- _toll slowly._ "once in love and twice in war, hath he borne me strong and far, he shall bear me far to-night." then his men looked to and fro, when they heard him speaking so.-- _toll slowly._ --"'las! the noble heart," they thought,--"he in sooth is grief-distraught. would, we stood here with the foe!" but a fire flashed from his eye, 'twixt their thought and their reply,-- _toll slowly._ "have ye so much time to waste? we who ride here, must ride fast, as we wish our foes to fly." they have fetched the steed with care, in the harness he did wear,-- _toll slowly._ past the court and through the doors, across the rushes of the floors, but they goad him up the stair. then from out her bower chambère, did the duchess may repair.-- _toll slowly._ "tell me now what is your need," said the lady, "of this steed, that ye goad him up the stair?" calm she stood; unbodkined through, fell her dark hair to her shoe,-- _toll slowly._ and the smile upon her face, ere she left the tiring-glass, had not time enough to go. "get thee back, sweet duchess may! hope is gone like yesterday,"-- _toll slowly._ "one half-hour completes the breach; and thy lord grows wild of speech,-- get thee in, sweet lady, and pray. "in the east tower, high'st of all,--loud he cries for steed from stall."-- _toll slowly._ "he would ride as far," quoth he, "as for love and victory, though he rides the castle-wall. "and we fetch the steed from stall, up where never a hoof did fall."-- _toll slowly._ "wifely prayer meets deathly need! may the sweet heavens hear thee plead if he rides the castle-wall." low she dropt her head, and lower, till her hair coiled on the floor,-- _toll slowly._ and tear after tear you heard, fall distinct as any word which you might be listening for. "get thee in, thou soft ladye!--here, is never a place for thee!"-- _toll slowly._ "braid thine hair and clasp thy gown, that thy beauty in its moan may find grace with leigh of leigh." she stood up in bitter case, with a pale yet steady face, _toll slowly._ like a statue thunderstruck, which, though quivering, seems to look right against the thunder-place. and her foot trod in, with pride, her own tears i' the stone beside,-- _toll slowly._ "go to, faithful friends, go to!--judge no more what ladies do,-- no, nor how their lords may ride!" then the good steed's rein she took, and his neck did kiss and stroke:-- _toll slowly._ soft he neighed to answer her, and then followed up the stair, for the love of her sweet look. oh, and steeply, steeply wound up the narrow stair around,-- _toll slowly._ oh, and closely, closely speeding, step by step beside her treading,-- did he follow, meek as hound. on the east tower, high'st of all,--there, where never a hoof did fall,-- _toll slowly._ out they swept, a vision steady,--noble steed and lovely lady, calm as if in bower or stall. down she knelt at her lord's knee, and she looked up silently,-- _toll slowly._ and he kissed her twice and thrice, for that look within her eyes which he could not bear to see. quoth he, "get thee from this strife,--and the sweet saints bless thy life!"-- _toll slowly._ "in this hour, i stand in need of my noble red-roan steed-- but no more of my noble wife." quoth she, "meekly have i done all thy biddings under sun:"-- _toll slowly._ "but by all my womanhood, which is proved so true and good, i will never do this one. "now by womanhood's degree, and by wifehood's verity,"-- _toll slowly._ "in this hour if thou hast need of thy noble red-roan steed, thou hast also need of _me_. "by this golden ring ye see on this lifted hand pardiè,"-- _toll slowly._ "if, this hour, on castle-wall, can be room for steed from stall, shall be also room for _me_. "so the sweet saints with me be" (did she utter solemnly),-- _toll slowly._ "if a man, this eventide, on this castle wall will ride, he shall ride the same with _me_." oh, he sprang up in the selle, and he laughed out bitter-well,-- _toll slowly._ "wouldst thou ride among the leaves, as we used on other eves, to hear chime a vesper-bell?" she clang closer to his knee--"ay, beneath the cypress-tree!"-- _toll slowly._ "mock me not, for otherwhere than along the greenwood fair, have i ridden fast with thee! "fast i rode with new-made vows, from my angry kinsman's house!" _toll slowly._ "what! and would you men should reck that i dared more for love's sake as a bride than as a spouse? "what, and would you it should fall, as a proverb, before all,"-- _toll slowly._ "that a bride may keep your side while through castle-gate you ride, yet eschew the castle-wall?" ho! the breach yawns into ruin, and roars up against her suing,-- _toll slowly._ with the inarticulate din, and the dreadful falling in-- shrieks of doing and undoing! twice he wrung her hands in twain, but the small hands closed again,-- _toll slowly._ back he reined the steed--back, back! but she trailed along his track with a frantic clasp and strain. evermore the foemen pour through the crash of window and door,-- _toll slowly._ and the shouts of leigh and leigh, and the shrieks of "kill!" and "flee!" strike up clear amid the roar. thrice he wrung her hands in twain,--but they closed and clung again,-- _toll slowly._ wild she clung, as one, withstood, clasps a christ upon the rood, in a spasm of deathly pain. she clung wild and she clung mute,--with her shuddering lips half-shut,-- _toll slowly._ her head fallen as half in swound,--hair and knee swept on the ground,-- she clung wild to stirrup and foot. back he reined his steed back-thrown on the slippery coping-stone,-- _toll slowly._ back the iron hoofs did grind on the battlement behind, whence a hundred feet went down. and his heel did press and goad on the quivering flank bestrode, _toll slowly._ "friends, and brothers! save my wife!--pardon, sweet, in change for life,-- but i ride alone to god." straight as if the holy name had upbreathed her like a flame,-- _toll slowly._ she upsprang, she rose upright,--in his selle she sate in sight, by her love she overcame. and her head was on his breast, where she smiled as one at rest,-- _toll slowly._ "ring," she cried, "o vesper-bell, in the beechwood's old chapelle! but the passing-bell rings best." they have caught out at the rein, which sir guy threw loose--in vain,-- _toll slowly._ for the horse in stark despair, with his front hoofs poised in air, on the last verge rears amain. now he hangs, the rocks between--and his nostrils curdle in,-- _toll slowly._ now he shivers head and hoof--and the flakes of foam fall off; and his face grows fierce and thin! and a look of human woe from his staring eyes did go,-- _toll slowly_. and a sharp cry uttered he, in a foretold agony of the headlong death below,---- and, "ring, ring, thou passing-bell," still she cried, "i' the old chapelle!"-- _toll slowly_. then back-toppling, crashing back,--a dead weight flung out to wrack, horse and riders overfell. _elizabeth barrett browning._ irmingard's escape. i am the lady irmingard, born of a noble race and name! many a wandering suabian bard, whose life was dreary and bleak and hard, has found through me the way to fame. brief and bright were those days, and the night which followed was full of a lurid light. love, that of every woman's heart will have the whole, and not a part, that is to her, in nature's plan, more than ambition is to man, her light, her life, her very breath, with no alternative but death, found me a maiden soft and young, just from the convent's cloistered school, and seated on my lowly stool, attentive while the minstrels sung. gallant, graceful, gentle, tall, fairest, noblest, best of all, was walter of the vogelweid; and, whatsoever may betide, still i think of him with pride! his song was of the summer-time, the very birds sang in his rhyme; the sunshine, the delicious air, the fragrance of the flowers, were there; and i grew restless as i heard, restless and buoyant as a bird, down soft, aerial currents sailing, o'er blossomed orchards, and fields in bloom, and through the momentary gloom of shadows o'er the landscape trailing, yielding and borne i knew not where, but feeling resistance unavailing. and thus, unnoticed and apart, and more by accident than choice, i listened to that single voice until the chambers of my heart were filled with it by night and day. one night--it was a night in may,-- within the garden, unawares, under the blossoms in the gloom, i heard it utter my own name with protestations and wild prayers; and it rang through me, and became like the archangel's trump of doom, which the soul hears, and must obey; and mine arose as from a tomb. my former life now seemed to me such as hereafter death may be, when in the great eternity we shall awake and find it day. it was a dream, and would not stay; a dream, that in a single night faded and vanished out of sight. my father's anger followed fast this passion, as a freshening blast seeks out and fans the fire, whose rage it may increase, but not assuage. and he exclaimed: "no wandering bard shall win thy hand, o irmingard! for which prince henry of hoheneck by messenger and letter sues." gently, but firmly, i replied: "henry of hoheneck i discard! never the hand of irmingard shall lie in his as the hand of a bride!" this said i, walter, for thy sake; this said i, for i could not choose. after a pause, my father spake in that cold and deliberate tone which turns the hearer into stone, and seems itself the act to be that follows with such dread certainty; "this, or the cloister and the veil!" no other words than these he said, but they were like a funeral wail; my life was ended, my heart was dead. that night from the castle-gate went down, with silent, slow, and stealthy pace, two shadows, mounted on shadowy steeds, taking the narrow path that leads into the forest dense and brown. in the leafy darkness of the place, one could not distinguish form nor face, only a bulk without a shape, a darker shadow in the shade; one scarce could say it moved or stayed. thus it was we made our escape! a foaming brook, with many a bound, followed us like a playful hound; then leaped before us, and in the hollow paused, and waited for us to follow, and seemed impatient, and afraid that our tardy flight should be betrayed by the sound our horses' hoof-beats made. and when we reached the plain below, we paused a moment and drew rein to look back at the castle again; and we saw the windows all aglow with lights, that were passing to and fro; our hearts with terror ceased to beat; the brook crept silent to our feet; we knew what most we feared to know. then suddenly horns began to blow; and we heard a shout, and a heavy tramp, and our horses snorted in the damp night-air of the meadows green and wide, and in a moment, side by side, so close, they must have seemed but one, the shadows across the moonlight run, and another came, and swept behind, like the shadow of clouds before the wind! how i remember that breathless flight across the moors, in the summer night! how under our feet the long, white road backward like a river flowed, sweeping with it fences and hedges, whilst farther away, and overhead, paler than i, with fear and dread, the moon fled with us, as we fled along the forest's jagged edges! all this i can remember well; but of what afterwards befell i nothing further can recall than a blind, desperate, headlong fall; the rest is a blank and darkness all. when i awoke out of this swoon, the sun was shining, not the moon, making a cross upon the wall with the bars of my windows narrow and tall; and i prayed to it, as i had been wont to pray, from early childhood, day by day, each morning, as in bed i lay! i was lying again in my own room! and i thanked god, in my fever and pain, that those shadows on the midnight plain were gone, and could not come again! i struggled no longer with my doom! _henry wadsworth longfellow._ william and helen. from heavy dreams fair helen rose, and eyed the dawning red: "alas, my love, thou tarriest long! o art thou false or dead?"-- with gallant fred'rick's princely power he sought the bold crusade; but not a word from judah's wars told helen how he sped. with paynim and with saracen at length a truce was made, and every knight returned to dry the tears his love had shed. our gallant host was homeward bound with many a song of joy; green waved the laurel in each plume, the badge of victory. and old and young, and sire and son, to meet them crowd the way, with shouts and mirth and melody, the debt of love to pay. full many a maid her true-love met, and sobbed in his embrace, and fluttering joy in tears and smiles arrayed full many a face. nor joy nor smile for helen sad; she sought the host in vain; for none could tell her william's fate, if faithless, or if slain. the martial band is past and gone; she rends her raven hair, and in distraction's bitter mood she weeps with wild despair. "o rise, my child," her mother said, "nor sorrow thus in vain; a perjured lover's fleeting heart no tears recall again."-- "o mother, what is gone, is gone, what's lost forever lorn; death, death alone can comfort me; o had i ne'er been born! "o break, my heart,--o break at once! drink my life-blood, despair! no joy remains on earth for me, for me in heaven no share."-- "o enter not in judgment, lord!" the pious mother prays; "impute not guilt to thy frail child! she knows not what she says. "o say thy pater noster, child! o turn to god and grace! his will, that turned thy bliss to bale, can change thy bale to bliss."-- "o mother, mother, what is bliss? o mother, what is bale? my william's love was heaven on earth, without it earth is hell. "why should i pray to ruthless heaven, since my loved william's slain? i only prayed for william's sake, and all my prayers were vain."-- "o take the sacrament, my child, and check these tears that flow; by resignation's humble prayer, o hallowed be thy woe!"-- "no sacrament can quench this fire, or slake this scorching pain; no sacrament can bid the dead arise and live again. "o break, my heart,--o break at once! be thou my god, despair! heaven's heaviest blow has fallen on me, and vain each fruitless prayer."-- "o enter not in judgment, lord, with thy frail child of clay! she knows not what her tongue has spoke; impute it not, i pray! "forbear, my child, this desperate woe, and turn to god and grace; well can devotion's heavenly glow convert thy bale to bliss."-- "o mother, mother, what is bliss? o mother, what is bale? without my william what were heaven, or with him what were hell?"-- wild she arraigns the eternal doom, upbraids each sacred power, till, spent, she sought her silent room, all in the lonely tower. she beat her breast, she wrung her hands, till sun and day were o'er, and through the glimmering lattice shone the twinkling of the star. then, crash! the heavy drawbridge fell that o'er the moat was hung; and, clatter! clatter! on its boards the hoof of courser rung. the clank of echoing steel was heard as off the rider bounded; and slowly on the winding stair a heavy footstep sounded. and hark! and hark! a knock--tap! tap! a rustling stifled noise;-- door-latch and tinkling staples ring;-- at length a whispering voice. "awake, awake, arise, my love! how, helen, dost thou fare? wakest thou, or sleepest? laughest thou, or weepest? hast thought on me, my fair?"-- "my love! my love!--so late by night!-- i waked, i wept for thee: much have i borne since dawn of morn; where, william, couldst thou be!"-- "we saddle late--from hungary i rode since darkness fell; and to its bourne we both return before the matin-bell."-- "o rest this night within my arms, and warm thee in their fold! chill howls through hawthorn bush the wind:-- my love is deadly cold."-- "let the wind howl through hawthorn bush! this night we must away; the steed is wight, the spur is bright; i cannot stay till day. "busk, busk, and boune![ ] thou mount'st behind upon my black barb steed: o'er stock and stile, a hundred miles, we haste to bridal bed."-- "to-night--to-night a hundred miles!-- o dearest william, stay! the bell strikes twelve--dark, dismal hour? o wait, my love, till day!"-- "look here, look here--the moon shines clear-- full fast i ween we ride; mount and away! for ere the day we reach our bridal bed. "the black barb snorts, the bridle rings; haste, busk, and boune, and seat thee! the feast is made, the chamber spread, the bridal guests await thee."-- strong love prevailed: she busks, she bounes, she mounts the barb behind, and round her darling william's waist her lily arms she twines. and, hurry! hurry! off they rode, as fast as fast might be; spurned from the courser's thundering heels the flashing pebbles flee. and on the right, and on the left, ere they could snatch a view, fast, fast each mountain, mead, and plain, and cot, and castle, flew. "sit fast--dost fear?--the moon shines clear-- fleet goes my barb--keep hold! fearest thou?"--"o no!" she faintly said; "but why so stern and cold? "what yonder rings? what yonder sings? why shrieks the owlet gray?"-- "'tis death-bells' clang, 'tis funeral song, the body to the clay. "with song and clang, at morrow's dawn. ye may inter the dead: to-night i ride, with my young bride, to deck our bridal bed. "come with thy choir, thou coffined guest, to swell our nuptial song! come, priest, to bless our marriage feast! come all, come all along!"-- ceased clang and song; down sunk the bier; the shrouded corpse arose: and, hurry, hurry! all the train the thundering steed pursues. and, forward! forward! on they go; high snorts the straining steed; thick pants the rider's laboring breath, as headlong on they speed. "o william, why this savage haste? and where thy bridal bed?"-- "'tis distant far, low, damp, and chill, and narrow, trustless maid."-- "no room for me?"--"enough for both;-- speed, speed, my barb, thy course!" o'er thundering bridge, through boiling surge, he drove the furious horse. tramp! tramp! along the land they rode, splash! splash! along the sea; the scourge is wight, the spur is bright, the flashing pebbles flee. fled past on right and left how fast each forest, grove, and bower! on right and left fled past how fast each city, town, and tower! "dost fear? dost fear? the moon shines clear, dost fear to ride with me?-- hurrah! hurrah! the dead can ride!" "o william, let them be!-- "see there, see there! what yonder swings and creaks 'mid whistling rain?"-- "gibbet and steel, th' accursed wheel; a murderer in his chain.-- "hollo! thou felon, follow here: to bridal bed we ride; and thou shalt prance a fetter dance before me and my bride."-- and, hurry! hurry! clash, clash, clash! the wasted form descends; and fleet as wind through hazel bush the wild career attends. tramp! tramp! along the land they rode, splash! splash! along the sea; the scourge is red, the spur drops blood, the flashing pebbles flee. how fled what moonshine faintly showed! how fled what darkness hid! how fled the earth beneath their feet, the heaven above their head! "dost fear? dost fear? the moon shines clear. and well the dead can ride; does faithful helen fear for them?"-- "o leave in peace the dead!"-- "barb! barb! methinks i hear the cock; the sand will soon be run: barb! barb! i smell the morning air; the race is well-nigh done."-- tramp! tramp! along the land they rode; splash! splash! along the sea; the scourge is red, the spur drops blood, the flashing pebbles flee. "hurrah! hurrah! well ride the dead; the bride, the bride is come; and soon we reach the bridal bed, for, helen, here's my home."-- reluctant on its rusty hinge revolved an iron door, and by the pale moon's setting beam were seen a church and tower. with many a shriek and cry whiz round the birds of midnight, scared; and rustling like autumnal leaves unhallowed ghosts were heard. o'er many a tomb and tombstone pale he spurred the fiery horse, till sudden at an open grave he checked the wondrous course. the falling gauntlet quits the rein, down drops the casque of steel, the cuirass leaves his shrinking side, the spur his gory heel. the eyes desert the naked skull, the mouldering flesh the bone, till helen's lily arms entwine a ghastly skeleton. the furious barb snorts fire and foam, and, with a fearful bound, dissolves at once in empty air, and leaves her on the ground. half seen by fits, by fits half heard, pale spectres flit along, wheel round the maid in dismal dance, and howl the funeral song: "e'en when the heart's with anguish cleft, revere the doom of heaven. her soul is from her body reft; her spirit be forgiven!" _bürger's "leonore"--translated by sir walter scott._ footnotes: [ ] _busk_--to dress. _boune_--to prepare one's self for a journey. the greeting on kynast. she said: this narrow chamber is not for me the place, said the lady kunigunde of kynast! 'tis pleasanter on horseback, i'll hie me to the chase, said the lady kunigunde! she said: the knight who weds me, i do require of him, said the lady kunigunde of kynast! to gallop round the kynast and break not neck nor limb. a noble knight came forward and galloped round the wall; the lady kunigunde of kynast, the lady, without lifting a finger, saw him fall. and yet another galloped around the battlement; the lady kunigunde, the lady saw him tumble, yet did she not relent. and rider after rider spurred round his snorting horse; the lady kunigunde saw him vanish o'er the rampart, and never felt remorse. long time the folly lasted, then came no rider more; the lady kunigunde, they would not ride to win her, the trial was too sore. she stood upon her towers, she looked upon the land, the lady kunigunde of kynast: i'm all alone at home here, will no one seek my hand? is there none will ride to win me, to win me for his bride, the lady kunigunde of kynast? o fie, the paltry rider who dreads the bridal ride! then out and spake from thüringen the landgrave adelbert: the lady kunigunde of kynast! well may the haughty damsel her worthiness assert. he trains his horse to gallop on narrow walls of stone; the lady kunigunde of kynast! the lady shall not see us break neck or limb or bone. see here, o noble lady, i'm he that dares the ride! the lady kunigunde, she looks in thoughtful silence, to see him sit in pride. she saw him now make ready, then trembled she and sighed, the lady kunigunde: woe's me that i so fearful have made the bridal ride! then rode he round the kynast; her face she turned away, the lady kunigunde: woe 's me, the knight is riding down to his grave to-day! he rides around the kynast, right round the narrow wall; the lady kunigunde! she cannot stir for terror her lily hand at all. he rides around the kynast, clear round the battlement; the lady kunigunde! as if a breath might kill him, she held her breath suspent. he rode around the kynast and straight to her rode he; said the lady kunigunde of kynast: thanks be to god in heaven, who gave thy life to thee! thanks be to god that into thy grave thou didst not ride! said the lady kunigunde: come down from off thy horse now, o knight, unto thy bride! then spake the noble rider, and greeted, as he sate, the lady kunigunde: o trust a knight for horsemanship! well have i taught thee that. now wait till comes another who can the same thing do, o lady kunigunde of kynast! i've wife and child already, can be no spouse for you. he gave his steed the spur, now; rode back the way he came; the lady kunigunde! the lady saw him vanish, she swooned with scorn and shame. and she remains a virgin, her pride had such a fall, the lady kunigunde! changed to a wooden image she stands in sight of all. an image, like a hedgehog, with spines for hair, is now the lady kunigunde of kynast! the stranger has to kiss it, who climbs the kynast's brow. we bring it him to kiss it: and if it shocks his pride, the lady kunigunde of kynast! he must pay down his forfeit, who will not kiss the bride, the lady kunigunde! _rückert. tr. c. t. brooks._ harras, the bold leaper. the world yet waited in shadowy light the dawn of the rising day; and scarcely yet had waked the night from the slumber in which it lay. but, hark! along the forest way unwonted echoes rung, and all accoutred for the fray a band of warriors sprung! and forth they rushed along the plain, in thunder, to the fight; and foremost of that martial train was harras, the gallant knight. they ride upon their secret way, o'er forest and vale and down, to reach their foe while yet 'tis day, and storm his castled town. so sally they forth from the forest gloom; but as they leave its shade they rush, alas! to meet their doom, and their progress is betrayed: for suddenly bursts upon their rear the foe, with twice their force; then out at once rush shield and spear, and the charger flies on his course. and the wood in unwonted echoes rang with the sounds of that deadly fray, and the sabre's clash and the helmet's clang is mixed with the courser's neigh. a thousand wounds have dyed the field unheeded in the strife; but not a man will ask to yield, for freedom is dearer than life! but their stronger foes must win the day, and the knights begin to fail; for the sword hath swept their best array, and superior powers prevail. unconquered alone, to a rocky height bold harras fought his way; and his brave steed carried him through the fight, and bore him safe away. and he left the rein to that trusty steed, and rode from the fatal fray; but he gave to his erring path no heed, and he missed the well-known way. and when he heard the foemen near, he sprang from the forest gloom; but as soon as he reached the daylight clear, he saw at once his doom! he had reached a frightful precipice, where he heard the deep waves roll; for he stood on zschopauthal's dread abyss, and horror chilled his soul! for on yonder bank he could espy the remnant of his band; and his heart impatient panted high, as they waved the friendly hand. and he longed, as he looked o'er that dreadful steep, for wings to aid his flight; for that cliff is full fifty fathoms deep, and his horse drew back with fright. and he saw, as he looked behind and below, on either side his grave: behind him, from the coming foe; before him, in the wave! and he chooses 'twixt death from the foemen's hand, or death where the deep waves roll; then he boldly rides up to that rocky strand, and commends to the lord his soul! and as nearer he hears the foemen ride, he seeks the utmost steep; and he plunges his spurs in his courser's side, and dares the dreadful leap! and swiftly he sank through the yielding air, and into the flood he fell; his steed is dashed to atoms there, but the knight lives safe and well! and mid the plaudits of his band, he stemmed the parting wave, and soon in safety reached the land, for heaven will never forsake the brave! _karl theodor körner. tr. g. f. richardson._ the knight's leap. "so the foeman has fired the gate, men of mine, and the water is spent and done; then bring me a cup of the red ahr-wine; i never shall drink but this one. "and fetch me my harness, and saddle my horse, and lead him me round to the door: he must take such a leap to-night perforce as horse never took before. "i have lived by the saddle for years two score, and if i must die on tree, the old saddle-tree, which has borne me of yore, is the properest timber for me. "i have lived my life, i have fought my fight, i have drunk my share of wine; from trier to cöln there was never a knight led a merrier life than mine. "so now to show bishop and burgher and priest how the altenahr hawk can die, if they smoke the old falcon out of his nest, he must take to his wings and fly." he harnessed himself by the clear moonshine, and he mounted his horse at the door, and he drained such a cup of the red ahr-wine as never man drained before. he spurred the old horse, and he held him tight, and he leapt him out over the wall; out over the cliff, out into the night, three hundred feet of fall. they found him next morning below in the glen, and never a bone in him whole; but heaven may yet have more mercy than men on such a bold rider's soul. _charles kingsley._ the leap of roushan beg. mounted on kyrat strong and fleet, his chestnut steed with four white feet, roushan beg, called kurroglou, son of the road and bandit chief, seeking refuge and relief, up the mountain pathway flew. such was kyrat's wondrous speed, never yet could any steed reach the dust-cloud in his course. more than maiden, more than wife, more than gold and next to life roushan the robber loved his horse. in the land that lies beyond erzeroum and trebizond, garden-girt his fortress stood; plundered khan, or caravan journeying north from koordistan, gave him wealth and wine and food. seven hundred and fourscore men at arms his livery wore, did his bidding night and day. now, through regions all unknown, he was wandering, lost, alone, seeking without guide his way. suddenly the pathway ends, sheer the precipice descends, loud the torrent roars unseen; thirty feet from side to side yawns the chasm; on air must ride he who crosses this ravine. following close in his pursuit, at the precipice's foot, reyhan the arab of orfah halted with his hundred men, shouting upward from the glen, "la illáh illa alláh!" gently roushan beg caressed kyrat's forehead, neck, and breast; kissed him upon both his eyes; sang to him in his wild way, as upon the topmost spray sings a bird before it flies. "o my kyrat, o my steed, round and slender as a reed, carry me this peril through! satin housings shall be thine. shoes of gold, o kyrat mine, o thou soul of kurroglou! "soft thy skin as silken skein, soft as woman's hair thy mane, tender are thine eyes and true; all thy hoofs like ivory shine, polished bright; o, life of mine, leap, and rescue kurroglou!" kyrat, then, the strong and fleet, drew together his four white feet, paused a moment on the verge, measured with his eye the space, and into the air's embrace leaped as leaps the ocean surge. as the ocean surge o'er sand bears a swimmer safe to land, kyrat safe his rider bore; rattling down the deep abyss fragments of the precipice rolled like pebbles on a shore. roushan's tasselled cap of red trembled not upon his head, careless sat he and upright; neither hand nor bridle shook, nor his head he turned to look, as he galloped out of sight. flash of harness in the air, seen a moment like the glare of a sword drawn from its sheath; thus the phantom horseman passed, and the shadow that he cast leaped the cataract underneath. reyhan the arab held his breath while this vision of life and death passed above him. "allahu!" cried he. "in all koordistan lives there not so brave a man as this robber kurroglou!" _h. w. longfellow._ annan water. "annan water's wading deep, and my love annie's wondrous bonny; and i am laith she suld weet her feet, because i love her best of ony. "gar saddle me the bonny black, gar saddle sune, and make him ready; for i will down the gatehope-slack, and all to see my bonny ladye."-- he has loupen on the bonny black, he stirr'd him wi' the spur right sairly; but, or he wan the gatehope-slack, i think the steed was wae and weary. he has loupen on the bonny grey, he rade the right gate and the ready; i trow he would neither stint nor stay, for he was seeking his bonny ladye. o he has ridden o'er field and fell, through muir and moss, and mony a mire: his spurs o' steel were sair to bide, and fra her fore-feet flew the fire. "now, bonny grey, now play your part! gin ye be the steed that wins my deary, wi' corn and hay ye'se be fed for aye, and never spur sall make you wearie."-- the grey was a mare, and a right good mare; but when she wan the annan water, she couldna hae ridden a furlong mair, had a thousand merks been wadded at her. "o boatman, boatman, put off your boat! put off your boat for gowden money! i cross the drumly stream the night, or never mair i see my honey."-- "o i was sworn sae late yestreen, and not by ae aith, but by many; and for a' the gowd in fair scotland, i dare na take ye through to annie." the side was stey, and the bottom deep, frae bank to brae the water pouring; and the bonny grey mare did sweat for fear, for she heard the water-kelpy roaring. o he has pou'd aff his dapperpy coat, the silver buttons glanced bonny; the waistcoat bursted aff his breast, he was sae full of melancholy. he has ta'en the ford at that stream tail; i wot he swam both strong and steady; but the stream was broad, and his strength did fail, and he never saw his bonny ladye! "o wae betide the frush saugh wand! and wae betide the bush of brier! it brake into my true love's hand, when his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire. "and wae betide ye, annan water, this night that ye are a drumlie river! for over thee i'll build a bridge, that ye never more true love may sever." thomas the rhymer. true thomas lay on huntlie bank;[ ] a ferlie[ ] he spied wi' his ee; and there he saw a ladye bright, come riding down by the eildon tree. her shirt was o' the grass-green silk, her mantle o' the velvet fyne; at ilka[ ] tett of her horse's mane, hung fifty siller bells and nine. true thomas, he pulled aff his cap, and louted[ ] low down to his knee, "all hail, thou mighty queen of heaven! for thy peer on earth i never did see." "o no, o no, thomas," she said, "that name does not belang to me; i am but the queen of fair elfland, that am hither come to visit thee. "harp and carp, thomas," she said; "harp and carp along wi' me; and if ye dare to kiss my lips, sure of your bodie i will be." "betide me weal, betide me woe, that weird[ ] shall never daunton me."-- syne he has kiss'd her rosy lips, all underneath the eildon tree. "now, ye maun go wi' me," she said; "true thomas, ye maun go wi' me; and ye maun serve me seven years, thro' weal or woe as may chance to be." she mounted on her milk-white steed; she's ta'en true thomas up behind: and aye, whene'er her bridle rung, the steed flew swifter than the wind. o they rade on, and farther on; the steed gaed swifter than the wind; until they reached a desert wide, and living land was left behind. "light down, light down, now, true thomas, and lean your head upon my knee; abide and rest a little space, and i will show you ferlies[ ] three. "o see ye not yon narrow road, so thick beset with thorns and briers? that is the path of righteousness, though after it but few inquires. "and see ye not that braid braid road, that lies across that lily leven? that is the path of wickedness, though some call it the road to heaven. "and see not ye that bonny road, that winds about the fernie brae? that is the road to fair elfland, where thou and i this night maun gae. "but, thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, whatever ye may hear or see; for, if ye speak word in elfyn land, ye'll ne'er get back to your ain countrie." o they rade on, and farther on, and they waded through rivers aboon the knee, and they saw neither sun nor moon, but they heard the roaring of the sea. it was mirk mirk night, and there was nae stern light, and they waded through red blude to the knee, for a' the blude that's shed on earth rins through the springs o' that countrie. syne they came on to a garden green, and she pu'd an apple frae a tree-- "take this for thy wages, true thomas; it will give thee the tongue that can never lie." "my tongue is mine ain," true thomas said; "a gudely gift ye wad gie to me! i neither dought to buy nor sell, at fair or tryst where i may be. "i dought neither speak to prince or peer, nor ask of grace from fair ladye." "now hold thy peace!" the lady said, "for as i say, so must it be." he has gotten a coat of the even cloth, and a pair of shoes of velvet green; and till seven years were gane and past, true thomas on earth was never seen. _walter scott._ footnotes: [ ] a spot afterwards included in the domain of abbotsford. [ ] wonder. [ ] each. [ ] bowed. [ ] destiny shall not alarm me. [ ] wonders. the green gnome. a melody. ring, sing! ring, sing! pleasant sabbath bells! chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme! through dales and dells! rhyme, ring! chime, sing! pleasant sabbath bells! chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields and fells! and i galloped and i galloped on my palfrey white as milk, my robe was of the sea-green woof, my serk was of the silk; my hair was golden-yellow, and it floated to my shoe; my eyes were like two harebells bathed in little drops of dew; my palfrey, never stopping, made a music sweetly blent with the leaves of autumn dropping all around me as i went; and i heard the bells, grown fainter, far behind me peal and play, fainter, fainter, fainter, till they seemed to die away; and beside a silver runnel, on a little heap of sand, i saw the green gnome sitting, with his cheek upon his hand. then he started up to see me, and he ran with a cry and bound, and drew me from my palfrey white and set me on the ground. o crimson, crimson were his locks, his face was green to see, but he cried, "o light-haired lassie, you are bound to marry me!" he clasped me round the middle small, he kissed me on the cheek, he kissed me once, he kissed me twice, i could not stir or speak; he kissed me twice, he kissed me thrice; but when he kissed again, i called aloud upon the name of him who died for men. sing, sing! ring, ring! pleasant sabbath bells! chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme! through dales and dells! rhyme, ring! chime, sing! pleasant sabbath bells! chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields and fells! o faintly, faintly, faintly, calling men and maids to pray, so faintly, faintly, faintly rang the bells far away; and as i named the blessed name, as in our need we can, the ugly green gnome became a tall and comely man: his hands were white, his beard was gold, his eyes were black as sloes, his tunic was of scarlet woof, and silken were his hose; a pensive light from faëryland still lingered on his cheek, his voice was like the running brook when he began to speak: "o, you have cast away the charm my step-dame put on me, seven years have i dwelt in faëryland, and you have set me free. o, i will mount thy palfrey white, and ride to kirk with thee, and, by those dewy little eyes, we twain will wedded be!" back we galloped, never stopping, he before and i behind, and the autumn leaves were dropping, red and yellow in the wind; and the sun was shining clearer, and my heart was high and proud, as nearer, nearer, nearer rang the kirk bells sweet and loud, and we saw the kirk, before us, as we trotted down the fells, and nearer, clearer, o'er us, rang the welcome of the bells. ring, sing! ring, sing! pleasant sabbath bells! chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme! through dales and dells! rhyme, ring! chime, sing! pleasant sabbath bells! chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields and fells! _robert buchanan._ friar pedro's ride. it was the morning season of the year; it was the morning era of the land; the watercourses rang full loud and clear; portala's cross stood where portala's hand had planted it when faith was taught by fear, when monks and missions held the sole command of all that shore beside the peaceful sea, where spring-tides beat their long-drawn réveille. out of the mission of san luis rey, all in that brisk, tumultuous spring weather, rode friar pedro, in a pious way, with six dragoons in cuirasses of leather, each armed alike for either prayer or fray, handcuffs and missals they had slung together; and as in aid the gospel truth to scatter each swung a lasso--_alias_ a "riata." in sooth, that year the harvest had been slack, the crop of converts scarce worth computation; some souls were lost, whose owners had turned back to save their bodies frequent flagellation; and some preferred the songs of birds, alack! to latin matins and their soul's salvation, and thought their own wild whoopings were less dreary than father pedro's droning _miserere_. to bring them back to matins and to prime, to pious works and secular submission, to prove to them that liberty was crime,-- this was, in fact, the padre's present mission; to get new souls perchance at the same time, and bring them to a "sense of their condition"-- that easy phrase, which, in the past and present, means making that condition most unpleasant. he saw the glebe land guiltless of a furrow; he saw the wild oats wrestle on the hill; he saw the gopher working in his burrow; he saw the squirrel scampering at his will;-- he saw all this and felt no doubt a thorough and deep conviction of god's goodness; still he failed to see that in his glory he yet left the humblest of his creatures free. he saw the flapping crow, whose frequent note voiced the monotony of land and sky, mocking with graceless wing and rusty coat his priestly presence as he trotted by. he would have cursed the bird by bell and rote, but other game just then was in his eye-- a savage camp, whose occupants preferred their heathen darkness to the living word. he rang his bell, and at the martial sound twelve silver spurs their jingling rowels clashed; six horses sprang across the level ground as six dragoons in open order dashed; above their heads the lassos circled round, in every eye a pious fervor flashed; they charged the camp, and in one moment more they lassoed six and reconverted four. the friar saw the conflict from a knoll, and sang _laus deo_ and cheered on his men: "well thrown, bautista--that's another soul; after him, gomez--try it once again; this way, felipe--there the heathen stole; bones of st. francis!--surely that makes _ten_; _te deum laudamus_--but they're very wild; _non nobis dominus_--all right, my child!" when at that moment--as the story goes-- a certain squaw, who had her foes eluded, ran past the friar--just before his nose. he stared a moment, and in silence brooded, then in his breast a pious frenzy rose and every other prudent thought excluded; he caught a lasso, and dashed in a canter after that occidental atalanta. high o'er his head he swirled the dreadful noose, but, as the practice was quite unfamiliar, his first cast tore felipe's captive loose and almost choked tiburcio camilla, and might have interfered with that brave youth's ability to gorge the tough _tortilla_; but all things come by practice, and at last his flying slip-knot caught the maiden fast. then rose above the plain a mingled yell of rage and triumph--a demoniac whoop; the padre heard it like a passing knell, and would have loosened his unchristian loop; but the tough raw-hide held the captive well, and held, alas! too well the captor-dupe; for with one bound the savage fled amain, dragging horse, friar, down the lonely plain. down the _arroyo_, out across the mead, by heath and hollow, sped the flying maid, dragging behind her still the panting steed and helpless friar, who in vain essayed to cut the lasso or to check his speed. he felt himself beyond all human aid, and trusted to the saints--and, for that matter, to some weak spot in felipe's _riata_. alas! the lasso had been duly blessed, and, like baptism, held the flying wretch-- a doctrine that the priest had oft expressed-- which, like the lasso, might be made to stretch but would not break; so neither could divest themselves of it, but, like some awful _fetch_, the holy friar had to recognize the image of his fate in heathen guise. he saw the glebe land guiltless of a furrow; he saw the wild oats wrestle on the hill; he saw the gopher standing in his burrow; he saw the squirrel scampering at his will;-- he saw all this, and felt no doubt how thorough the contrast was to his condition; still the squaw kept onward to the sea, till night and the cold sea-fog hid them both from sight. the morning came above the serried coast, lighting the snow-peaks with its beacon fires, driving before it all the fleet-winged host of chattering birds above the mission spires, filling the land with light and joy--but most the savage woods with all their leafy lyres; in pearly tints and opal flame and fire the morning came, but not the holy friar. weeks passed away. in vain the fathers sought some trace or token that might tell his story; some thought him dead, or, like elijah, caught up to the heavens in a blaze of glory. in this surmise some miracles were wrought on his account, and souls in purgatory were thought to profit from his intercession; in brief, his absence made a "deep impression." a twelvemonth passed; the welcome spring once more made green the hills beside the white-faced mission, spread her bright dais by the western shore, and sat enthroned--a most resplendent vision. the heathen converts thronged the chapel door at morning mass, when, says the old tradition, a frightful whoop throughout the church resounded, and to their feet the congregation bounded. a tramp of hoofs upon the beaten course, then came a sight that made the bravest quail: a phantom friar on a spectre horse, dragged by a creature decked with horns and tail. by the lone mission, with the whirlwind's force, they madly swept, and left a sulphurous trail-- and that was all--enough to tell the story and leave unblessed those souls in purgatory. and ever after, on that fatal day that friar pedro rode abroad lassoing, a ghostly couple came and went away with savage whoop and heathenish hallooing, which brought discredit on san luis rey, and proved the mission's ruin and undoing; for ere ten years had passed, the squaw and friar performed to empty walls and fallen spire. the mission is no more; upon its walls the golden lizards slip, or breathless pause still as the sunshine brokenly that falls through crannied roof and spider-webs of gauze; no more the bell its solemn warning calls-- a holier silence thrills and overawes; and the sharp lights and shadows of to-day outline the mission of san luis rey. _bret harte._ tam o' shanter. when chapman billies leave the street, and drouthy neebors, neebors meet, as market-days are wearing late, an' folk begin to tak the gate; while we sit bousing at the nappy, an' getting fou and unco happy, we thinkna on the lang scots miles, the mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, that lie between us and our hame, whare sits our sulky sullen dame, gathering her brows like gathering storm, nursing her wrath to keep it warm. this truth fand honest tam o' shanter, as he frae ayr ae night did canter (auld ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, for honest men and bonnie lasses). o tam! hadst thou but been sae wise, as ta'en thy ain wife kate's advice! she tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum, a blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; that frae november till october, ae market-day thou was nae sober; that ilka melder, wi' the miller, thou sat as lang as thou had siller; that every naig was ca'd a shoe on, the smith and thee gat roaring fou on; that at the lord's house, even on sunday, thou drank wi' kirkton jean till monday. she prophesied that, late or soon, thou would be found deep drowned in doon; or catched wi' warlocks i' the mirk, by alloway's auld haunted kirk. ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, to think how mony counsels sweet, how mony lengthened, sage advices, the husband frae the wife despises! but to our tale: ae market-night, tam had got planted unco right; fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely; and at his elbow, souter johnny, his ancient, trusty, drouthy crony; tam lo'ed him like a vera brither; they had been fou for weeks thegither. the night drave on wi' sangs and clatter; and ay the ale was growing better: the landlady and tam grew gracious, wi' favors, secret, sweet, and precious: the souter tauld his queerest stories; the landlord's laugh was ready chorus: the storm without might rair and rustle, tam didna mind the storm a whistle. care, mad to see a man sae happy, e'en drowned himself amang the nappy! as bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, the minutes winged their way wi' pleasure: kings may be blessed, but tam was glorious, o'er a' the ills o' life victorious! but pleasures are like poppies spread, you seize the flower, its bloom is shed; or like the snow falls in the river, a moment white, then melts forever; or like the borealis race, that flit ere you can point their place; or like the rainbow's lovely form evanishing amid the storm. nae man can tether time or tide;-- the hour approaches tam maun ride; that hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, that dreary hour he mounts his beast on; and sic a night he taks the road in, as ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. the wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; the rattling showers rose on the blast; the speedy gleams the darkness swallowed; loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed: that night, a child might understand, the deil had business on his hand. well mounted on his gray mare, meg,-- a better never lifted leg,-- tam skelpit on through dub and mire, despising wind and rain and fire; whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet; whiles crooning o'er some auld scots sonnet; whiles glowering round wi' prudent cares, lest bogles catch him unawares; kirk alloway was drawing nigh, whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. by this time he was cross the ford, whare in the snaw the chapman smoored; and past the birks and meikle-stane, whare drunken charlie brak's neck-bane; and through the whins, and by the cairn, whare hunters fand the murdered bairn: and near the thorn aboon the well, whare mungo's mither hanged hersel. before him doon pours all his floods; the doubling storm roars through the woods; the lightnings flash from pole to pole; near and more near the thunders roll: when, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, kirk alloway seemed in a bleeze; through ilka bore the beams were glancing; and loud resounded mirth and dancing. inspiring bold john barleycorn! what dangers thou canst make us scorn! wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil; wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil! the swats sae reamed in tammie's noddle, fair play, he cared na deils a boddle, but maggie stood right sair astonished, till by the heel and hand admonished, she ventured forward on the light; and, wow! tam saw an unco sight! warlocks and witches in a dance; nae cotillon brent new frae france, but hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, put life and mettle in their heels. at winnock-bunker in the east, there sat auld nick, in shape o' beast; a towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, to gie them music was his charge: he screwed the pipes and gart them skirl, till roof and rafters a' did dirl,-- coffins stood round, like open presses, that shawed the dead in their last dresses; and by some devilish cantrip sleight, each in its cauld hand held a light,-- by which heroic tam was able to note upon the haly table, a murderers's banes in gibbet airns; two span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns; a thief, new cutted fra a rape, wi' his last gasp his gab did gape; five tomahawks, wi' bluid red rusted; five scymitars, wi' murder crusted; a garter which a babe had strangled; a knife a father's throat had mangled, whom his ain son o' life bereft-- the gray hairs yet stack to the heft; three lawyers' tongues turned inside out, wi' lies seamed like a beggar's clout; and priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck, lay stinking, vile, in every neuk: wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. as tammie glowered, amazed, and curious, the mirth and fun grew fast and furious; the piper loud and louder blew; the dancers quick and quicker flew; they reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleckit, till ilka carlin swat and reekit, and coost her duddies to the wark, and linket at it in her sark. now tam, o tam! had they been queans a' plump and strapping in their teens: their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen; thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, that ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, i wad hae gi'en them aff my hurdies, for ae blink o' the bonnie burdies! but withered beldams, auld and droll, rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, lowping an' flinging on a crummock-- i wonder did na turn thy stomach. but tam kenned what was what fu' brawlie. there was ae winsome wench and walie, that night inlisted in the core (lang after kenned on carrick shore! for monie a beast to dead she shot, and perished monie a bonnie boat, and shook baith meikle corn and bear and kept the country-side in fear), her cutty-sark, o' paisley harn, that while a lassie she had worn, in longitude tho' sorely scanty, it was her best, and she was vauntie. ah! little kenned thy reverend grannie that sark she coft for her wee nannie, wi' twa pund scots (twas a' her riches), wad ever graced a dance o' witches! but here my muse her wing maun cow'r; sic flights are far beyond her pow'r; to sing how nannie lap and flang, (a souple jad she was and strang!) and how tam stood, like ane bewitched, and thought his very een enriched. ev'n satan glowered, and fidged fu' fain, and hotch'd and blew wi' might and main; till first ae caper, syne anither, tam tint his reason a' thegither, and roars out, "weel done, cutty-sark!" and in an instant a' was dark; and scarcely had he maggie rallied, when out the hellish legion sallied. as bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, when plundering herds assail their byke; as open pussie's mortal foes, when pop! she starts before their nose; as eager runs the market-crowd, when "catch the thief!" resounds aloud; so maggie runs,--the witches follow, wi' monie an eldritch skreech and hollow. ah, tam! ah, tam! thou'lt get thy fairin'! in hell they'll roast thee like a herrin! in vain thy kate awaits thy comin'-- kate soon will be a woefu' woman! now, do thy speedy utmost, meg, and win the key-stane of the brig; there at them thou thy tail may toss,-- a running stream they dare na cross. but ere the key-stane she could make, the fient a tail she had to shake; for nannie, far before the rest, hard upon noble maggie prest, and flew at tam wi' furious ettle; but little wist she maggie's mettle-- ae spring brought off her master hale, but left behind her ain gray tail: the carlin claught her by the rump, and left poor maggie scarce a stump. now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, ilk man and mother's son take heed; whene'er to drink you are inclined, or cutty-sarks run in your mind, think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, remember tam o' shanter's mare. _robert burns._ the wild huntsman. the wildgrave winds his bugle horn, to horse, to horse! halloo, halloo! his fiery courser snuffs the morn, and thronging serfs their lord pursue. the eager pack, from couples freed, dash through the brush, the brier, the brake; while answering hound, and horn, and steed, the mountain echoes startling wake. the beams of god's own hallowed day had painted yonder spire with gold, and, calling sinful man to pray, loud, long, and deep the bell had tolled. but still the wildgrave onward rides; halloo, halloo! and hark again! when spurring from opposing sides, two stranger horsemen join the train. who was each stranger, left and right, well may i guess, but dare not tell; the right-hand steed was silver white, the left, the swarthy hue of hell. the right-hand horseman young and fair, his smile was like the morn of may; the left, from eye of tawny glare, shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. he waved his huntsman's cap on high, cried, "welcome, welcome, noble lord! what sport can earth, or sea, or sky, to match the princely chase, afford?" "cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell," cried the fair youth, with silver voice; "and for devotion's choral swell, exchange the rude unhallowed noise. "to-day, the ill-omened chase forbear, yon bell yet summons to the fane; to-day the warning spirit hear, to-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain."-- "away, and sweep the glades along!" the sable hunter hoarse replies; "to muttering monks leave matin-song, and bell, and books, and mysteries." the wildgrave spurred his ardent steed, and, launching forward with a bound, "who, for thy drowsy priestlike rede, would leave the jovial horn and hound?" "hence, if our manly sport offend! with pious fools go chant and pray: well hast thou spoke, my dark-browed friend; halloo, halloo! and, hark away!" the wildgrave spurred his courser light, o'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill; and on the left and on the right, each stranger horseman followed still. up springs, from yonder tangled thorn, a stag more white than mountain snow; and louder rung the wildgrave's horn, "hark forward, forward! holla, ho!" a heedless wretch has crossed the way; he gasps, the thundering hoofs below;-- but, live who can, or die who may, still, "forward, forward!" on they go. see, where yon simple fences meet, a field with autumn's blessings crowned; see, prostrate at the wildgrave's feet, a husbandman, with toil embrowned; "o mercy, mercy, noble lord! spare the poor's pittance," was his cry, "earned by the sweat these brows have poured, in scorching hour of fierce july." earnest the right-hand stranger pleads, the left still cheering to the prey, the impetuous earl no warning heeds, but furious holds the onward way. "away, thou hound! so basely born, or dread the scourge's echoing blow!"-- then loudly rung his bugle-horn, "hark forward, forward, holla, ho!" so said, so done:--a single bound clears the poor laborer's humble pale; wild follows man, and horse, and hound, like dark december's stormy gale. and man and horse, and hound and horn, destructive sweep the field along; while, joying o'er the wasted corn, fell famine marks the maddening throng. again uproused, the timorous prey scours moss and moor, and holt and hill; hard run, he feels his strength decay, and trusts for life his simple skill. too dangerous solitude appeared; he seeks the shelter of the crowd; amid the flock's domestic herd his harmless head he hopes to shroud. o'er moss and moor, and holt and hill, his track the steady blood-hounds trace; o'er moss and moor, unwearied still, the furious earl pursues the chase. full lowly did the herdsman fall;-- "o spare, thou noble baron, spare these herds, a widow's little all; these flocks, an orphan's fleecy care!"-- earnest the right-hand stranger pleads, the left still cheering to the prey; the earl nor prayer nor pity heeds, but furious keeps the onward way. "unmannered dog! to stop my sport vain were thy cant and beggar whine, though human spirits, of thy sort, were tenants of these carrion kine!"-- again he winds his bugle-horn, "hark forward, forward, holla, ho!" and through the herd, in ruthless scorn, he cheers his furious hounds to go. in heaps the throttled victims fall; down sinks their mangled herdsman near; the murderous cries the stag appall,-- again he starts, new-nerved by fear. with blood besmeared, and white with foam, while big the tears of anguish pour, he seeks, amid the forest's gloom, the humble hermit's hallowed bower. but man and horse, and horn and hound, fast rattling on his traces go; the sacred chapel rung around with, "hark away! and, holla, ho!" all mild, amid the route profane, the holy hermit poured his prayer; "forbear with blood god's house to stain; revere his altar, and forbear!" "the meanest brute has rights to plead, which, wronged by cruelty, or pride, draw vengeance on the ruthless head:-- be warned at length, and turn aside." still the fair horseman anxious pleads; the black, wild whooping, points the prey:-- alas! the earl no warning heeds, but frantic keeps the forward way. "holy or not, or right or wrong, thy altar, and its rites, i spurn; not sainted martyrs' sacred song, not god himself, shall make me turn!" he spurs his horse, he winds his horn, "hark forward, forward, holla, ho!"-- but off, on whirlwind's pinions borne, the stag, the hut, the hermit, go. and horse and man, and horn and hound, and clamor of the chase, was gone; for hoofs, and howls, and bugle-sound, a deadly silence reigned alone. wild gazed the affrighted earl around; he strove in vain to wake his horn, in vain to call: for not a sound could from his anxious lips be borne. he listens for his trusty hounds; no distant baying reached his ears: his courser rooted to the ground, the quickening spur unmindful bears. still dark and darker frown the shades, dark as the darkness of the grave; and not a sound the still invades, save what a distant torrent gave. high o'er the sinner's humbled head at length the solemn silence broke; and, from a cloud of swarthy red, the awful voice of thunder spoke. "oppressor of creation fair! apostate spirits' hardened tool! scorner of god! scourge of the poor! the measure of thy cup is full. "be chased forever through the wood; forever roam the affrighted wild; and let thy fate instruct the proud, god's meanest creature is his child." 'twas hushed:--one flash, of sombre glare, with yellow tinged the forests brown; uprose the wildgrave's bristling hair, and horror chilled each nerve and bone. cold poured the sweat in freezing rill; a rising wind began to sing; and louder, louder, louder still, brought storm and tempest on its wing. earth heard the call;--her entrails rend; from yawning rifts, with many a yell, mixed with sulphureous flames, ascend the misbegotten dogs of hell. what ghastly huntsman next arose, well may i guess, but dare not tell; his eye like midnight lightning glows, his steed the swarthy hue of hell. the wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn, with many a shriek of helpless woe; behind him hound, and horse, and horn, and, "hark away, and holla, ho!" with wild despair's reverted eye, close, close behind, he marks the throng, with bloody fangs and eager cry; in frantic fear he scours along. still, still shall last the dreadful chase, till time itself shall have an end; by day, they scour earth's caverned space, at midnight's witching hour, ascend. this is the horn, and hound, and horse, that oft the lated peasant hears; appalled, he signs the frequent cross, when the wild din invades his ears. the wakeful priest oft drops a tear for human pride, for human woe, when, at his midnight mass, he hears the infernal cry of "holla, ho!" _bürger's wilde jäger. tr. walter scott._ lÜtzow's wild chase. what is it that beams in the bright sunshine, and echoes yet nearer and nearer? and see! how it spreads in a long dark line, and hark! how its horns in the distance combine to impress with affright the hearer! and ask ye what means the daring race? this is--lützow's wild and desperate chase! see, they leave the dark wood in silence all, and from hill to hill are seen flying; in ambush they'll lie till the deep nightfall, then ye'll hear the hurrah! and the rifle ball! and the french will be falling and dying! and ask ye what means their daring race? this is--lützow's wild and desperate chase! where the vine-boughs twine, the rhine waves roar, and the foe thinks its waters shall hide him; but see, they fearless approach the shore, and they leap in the stream, and swim proudly o'er, and stand on the bank beside him! and ask ye what means the daring race? this is--lützow's wild and desperate chase! why roars in the valley the raging fight, where swords clash red and gory? o fierce is the strife of that deadly fight, for the spark of young freedom is newly alight, and it breaks into flames of glory! and ask ye what means the daring race? this is--lützow's wild and desperate chase! see yon warrior who lies on a gory spot, from life compelled to sever; yet he never is heard to lament his lot, and his soul at its parting shall tremble not, since his country is saved forever! and if ye will ask at the end of his race, still 'tis--lützow's wild and desperate chase! the wild chase, and the german chase against tyranny and oppression! therefore weep not, loved friends, at this last embrace, for freedom has dawned on our loved birth-place, and our deaths shall insure its possession! and 'twill ever be said from race to race, this was--lützow's wild and desperate chase! _theodor körner._ the erl-king. from the german of goethe. o, who rides by night thro' the woodland so wild? it is the fond father embracing his child; and close the boy nestles within his loved arm, to hold himself fast, and to keep himself warm. "o father, see yonder! see yonder!" he says; "my boy, upon what dost thou fearfully gaze?"-- "o, 'tis the erl-king with his crown and his shroud"-- "no, my son, it is but a dark wreath of the cloud." (the erl-king speaks.) "o come and go with me, thou loveliest child; by many a gay sport shall thy time be beguiled; my mother keeps for thee full many a fair toy, and many a fine flower shall she pluck for my boy." "o father, my father, and did you not hear the erl-king whisper so loud in my ear?"-- "be still, my heart's darling--my child, be at ease; it was but the wild blast as it sung thro' the trees." erl-king. "o wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy? my daughter shall tend thee with care and with joy; she shall bear thee so lightly thro' wet and thro' wild, and press thee, and kiss thee, and sing to my child." "o father, my father, and saw you not plain, the erl-king's pale daughter glide past thro' the rain?"-- "o yes, my loved treasure, i knew it full soon; it was the gray willow that danced to the moon." erl-king. "o come and go with me, no longer delay, or else, silly child, i will drag thee away."-- "o father! o father! now, now keep your hold, the erl-king has seized me, his grasp is so cold!"-- sore trembled the father; he spurred thro' the wild, clasping close to his bosom his shuddering child; he reaches his dwelling in doubt and in dread, but, clasped to his bosom, the infant was _dead_! _walter scott._ mazeppa's ride. "'bring forth the horse!'--the horse was brought, in truth, he was a noble steed, a tartar of the ukraine breed, who looked as though the speed of thought were in his limbs: but he was wild, wild as the wild deer, and untaught, with spur and bridle undefiled,-- 'twas but a day he had been caught; and snorting, with erected mane, and struggling fiercely, but in vain, in the full foam of wrath and dread, to me the desert-born was led; they bound me on, that menial throng, upon his back with many a thong; then loosed him with a sudden lash,-- away!--away!--and on we dash! torrents less rapid and less rash. away!--away! my breath was gone,-- i saw not where he hurried on: 'twas scarcely yet the break of day, and on he foamed,--away!--away!-- the last of human sounds which rose, as i was darted from my foes, was the wild shout of savage laughter, which on the wind came roaring after a moment from that rabble rout: with sudden wrath i wrenched my head, and snapped the cord, which to the mane had bound my neck in lieu of rein, and writhing half my form about, howled back my curse; but midst the tread, the thunder of my courser's speed, perchance they did not hear nor heed: it vexes me,--for i would fain have paid their insult back again. i paid it well in after days: there is not of that castle gate, its drawbridge and portcullis' weight, stone, bar, moat, bridge, or barrier left; nor of its fields a blade of grass, save what grows on a ridge of wall, where stood the hearthstone of the hall; and many a time ye there might pass, nor dream that e'er that fortress was: i saw its turrets in a blaze, their crackling battlements all cleft, and the hot lead pour down like rain from off the scorched and blackening roof, whose thickness was not vengeance-proof. they little thought that day of pain, when launched, as on the lightning's flash, they bade me to destruction dash, that one day i should come again, with twice five thousand horse, to thank the count for his uncourteous ride. they played me then a bitter prank, when, with the wild horse for my guide, they bound me to his foaming flank: at length i played them one as frank,-- for time at last sets all things even,-- and if we do but watch the hour, there never yet was human power which could evade, if unforgiven, the patient search and vigil long of him who treasures up a wrong. "away, away, my steed and i, upon the pinions of the wind, all human dwellings left behind; we sped like meteors through the sky, when with its crackling sound the night is checkered with the northern light: town,--village,--none were on our track, but a wild plain of far extent, and bounded by a forest black: and, save the scarce-seen battlement on distant heights of some strong hold, against the tartars built of old, no trace of man. the year before a turkish army had marched o'er; and where the spahi's hoof hath trod, the verdure flies the bloody sod: the sky was dull, and dim, and gray, and a low breeze crept moaning by,-- i could have answered with a sigh,-- but fast we fled, away, away,-- and i could neither sigh nor pray; and my cold sweat-drops fell like rain upon the courser's bristling mane: but, snorting still with rage and fear, he flew upon his far career: at times i almost thought, indeed, he must have slackened in his speed: but no,--my bound and slender frame was nothing to his angry might, and merely like a spur became: each motion which i made to free my swoln limbs from their agony increased his fury and affright: i tried my voice,--'twas faint and low, but yet he swerved as from a blow; and, starting to each accent, sprang as from a sudden trumpet's clang: meantime my chords were wet with gore, which, oozing through my limbs, ran o'er; and in my tongue the thirst became a something fierier far than flame. "we neared the wild wood,--'twas so wide, i saw no bounds on either side; 'twas studded with old sturdy trees, that bent not to the roughest breeze which howls down from siberia's waste, and strips the forest in its haste,-- but these were few, and far between, set thick with shrubs more young and green, luxuriant with their annual leaves, ere strown by those autumnal eves that nip the forest's foliage dead, discolored with a lifeless red, which stands thereon like stiffened gore upon the slain when battle's o'er, and some long winter's night hath shed its frost o'er every tombless head, so cold and stark the raven's beak may peck unpierced each frozen cheek: 'twas a wild waste of underwood, and here and there a chestnut stood, the strong oak, and the hardy pine; but far apart,--and well it were, or else a different lot were mine,-- the boughs gave way, and did not tear my limbs; and i found strength to bear my wounds, already scarred with cold,-- my bonds forbade to loose my hold. we rustled through the leaves like wind, left shrubs and trees and wolves behind; by night i heard them on the track, their troop came hard upon our back, with their long gallop, which can tire the hound's deep hate, and hunter's fire: where'er we flew they followed on, nor left us with the morning sun; behind i saw them, scarce a rood, at daybreak winding through the wood, and through the night had heard their feet their stealing, rustling step repeat. o, how i wished for spear or sword, at least to die amidst the horde, and perish--if it must be so-- at bay, destroying many a foe. when first my courser's race begun, i wished the goal already won; but now i doubted strength and speed. vain doubt! his swift and savage breed had nerved him like the mountain-roe; nor faster falls the blinding snow which whelms the peasant near the door whose threshold he shall cross no more, bewildered with the dazzling blast, than through the forest-paths he past,-- untired, untamed, and worse than wild; all furious as a favored child balked of its wish; or, fiercer still, a woman piqued, who has her will. "the wood was past; 'twas more than noon; but chill the air, although in june; or it might be my veins ran cold,-- prolonged endurance tames the bold: and i was then not what i seem, but headlong as a wintry stream, and wore my feelings out before i well could count their causes o'er: and what with fury, fear, and wrath, the tortures which beset my path, cold, hunger, sorrow, shame, distress, thus bound in nature's nakedness; sprung from a race whose rising blood when stirred beyond its calmer mood, and trodden hard upon, is like the rattlesnake's, in act to strike, what marvel if this worn-out trunk beneath its woes a moment sunk? the earth gave way, the skies rolled round, i seemed to sink upon the ground; but erred, for i was fastly bound. my heart turned sick, my brain grew sore, and throbbed awhile, then beat no more: the skies spun like a mighty wheel; i saw the trees like drunkards reel, and a slight flash sprang o'er my eyes, which saw no farther: he who dies can die no more than then i died. o'ertortured by that ghastly ride, i felt the blackness come and go, and strove to wake; but could not make my senses climb up from below: i felt as on a plank at sea, when all the waves that dash o'er thee, at the same time upheave and whelm, and hurl thee towards a desert realm. my undulating life was as the fancied lights that flitting pass our shut eyes in deep midnight, when fever begins upon the brain; but soon it passed, with little pain, but a confusion worse than such: i own that i should deem it much, dying, to feel the same again; and yet i do suppose we must feel far more ere we turn to dust: no matter; i have bared my brow full in death's face--before--and now. "my thoughts came back; where was i? cold, and numb, and giddy: pulse by pulse life reassumed its lingering hold, and throb by throb; till grown a pang which for a moment would convulse, my blood reflowed, though thick and chill; my ear with uncouth noises rang, my heart began once more to thrill; my sight returned, though dim, alas! and thickened, as it were, with glass. methought the dash of waves was nigh; there was a gleam too of the sky, studded with stars;--it is no dream: the wild horse swims the wilder stream! the bright broad river's gushing tide sweeps, winding onward, far and wide, and we are half-way struggling o'er to yon unknown and silent shore. the waters broke my hollow trance. and with a temporary strength my stiffened limbs were rebaptized, my courser's broad breast proudly braves, and dashes off the ascending waves, and onward we advance! we reach the slippery shore at length, a haven i but little prized, for all behind was dark and drear, and all before was night and fear. how many hours of night or day in those suspended pangs i lay, i could not tell; i scarcely knew if this were human breath i drew. "with glossy skin, and dripping mane, and reeling limbs, and reeking flank, the wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain up the repelling bank. we gain the top: a boundless plain spreads through the shadow of the night, and onward, onward, onward, seems like precipices in our dreams, to stretch beyond the sight; and here and there a speck of white, or scattered spot of dusky green, in masses broke into the light, as rose the moon upon my right. but naught distinctly seen in the dim waste, would indicate the omen of a cottage gate; no twinkling taper from afar stood like a hospitable star; not even an ignis-fatuus rose to make him merry with my woes: that very cheat had cheered me then! although detected, welcome still, reminding me, through every ill, of the abodes of men. "onward we went,--but slack and slow; his savage force at length o'erspent, the drooping courser, faint and low, all feebly foaming went. a sickly infant had had power to guide him forward in that hour; but useless all to me. his new-born tameness naught availed, my limbs were bound; my force had failed, perchance, had they been free. with feeble effort still i tried to rend the bonds so starkly tied,-- but still it was in vain; my limbs were only wrung the more, and soon the idle strife gave o'er, which but prolonged their pain: the dizzy race seemed almost done, although no goal was nearly won: some streaks announced the coming sun.-- how slow, alas! he came! methought that mist of dawning gray would never dapple into day; how heavily it rolled away,-- before the eastern flame rose crimson, and deposed the stars, and called the radiance from their cars, and filled the earth, from his deep throne, with lonely lustre, all his own. "up rose the sun; the mists were curled back from the solitary world which lay around--behind--before: what booted it to traverse o'er plain, forest, river? man nor brute, nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot, lay in the wild luxuriant soil; no sign of travel,--none of toil; the very air was mute; and not an insect's shrill small horn, nor matin bird's new voice was borne from herb nor thicket. many a werst, panting as if his heart would burst, the weary brute still staggered on; and still we were--or seemed--alone: at length, while reeling on our way, methought i heard a courser neigh, from out yon tuft of blackening firs. is it the wind those branches stirs? no, no! from out the forest prance a trampling troop; i see them come! in one vast squadron they advance! i strove to cry,--my lips were dumb. the steeds rush on in plunging pride; but where are they the reins to guide? a thousand horse,--and none to ride! with flowing tail, and flying main, wide nostrils,--never stretched by pain,-- mouths bloodless to the bit or rein, and feet that iron never shod, and flanks unscarred by spur or rod, a thousand horse, the wild, the free, like waves that follow o'er the sea, came thickly thundering on, as if our faint approach to meet; the sight renerved my courser's feet, a moment staggering, feebly fleet, a moment, with a faint low neigh, he answered, and then fell; with gasps and glazing eyes he lay, and reeking limbs immovable, his first and last career is done! on came the troop,--they saw him stoop, they saw me strangely bound along his back with many a bloody thong: they stop--they start--they snuff the air, gallop a moment here and there, approach, retire, wheel round and round, then plunging back with sudden bound, headed by one black mighty steed, who seemed the patriarch of his breed, without a single speck or hair of white upon his shaggy hide; they snort--they foam--neigh--swerve aside, and backward to the forest fly, by instinct from a human eye,-- they left me there, to my despair, linked to the dead and stiffening wretch, whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch, relieved from that unwonted weight, from whence i could not extricate nor him nor me,--and there we lay, the dying on the dead! _byron._ the giaour's ride. who thundering comes on blackest steed, with slackened bit and hoof of speed? beneath the clattering iron's sound the caverned echoes wake around in lash for lash, and bound for bound; the foam that streaks the courser's side seems gathered from the ocean-tide: though weary waves are sunk to rest, there's none within his rider's breast; and though to-morrow's tempest lower, 'tis calmer than thy heart, young giaour! i know thee not, i loathe thy race, but in thy lineaments i trace what time shall strengthen, not efface: though young and pale, that sallow front is scathed by fiery passion's brunt; though bent on earth thine evil eye, as meteor-like thou glidest by, right well i view and deem thee one whom othman's sons should slay or shun. on--on he hastened, and he drew my gaze of wonder as he flew: though like a demon of the night he passed, and vanished from my sight, his aspect and his air impressed a troubled memory on my breast, and long upon my startled ear rung his dark courser's hoofs of fear. he spurs his steed; he nears the steep, that, jutting, shadows o'er the deep; he winds around; he hurries by; the rock relieves him from mine eye; for well i ween unwelcome he whose glance is fixed on those that flee; and not a star but shines too bright on him who takes such timeless flight. he wound along; but ere he passed one glance he snatched, as if his last, a moment checked his wheeling steed, a moment breathed him from his speed, a moment on his stirrup stood-- why looks he o'er the olive wood? the crescent glimmers on the hill, the mosque's high lamps are quivering still: though too remote for sound to wake in echoes of the far tophaike, the flashes of each joyous peal are seen to prove the moslem's zeal, to-night, set rhamazani's sun; to-night, the bairam feast's begun; to-night--but who and what art thou of foreign garb and fearful brow? and what are these to thine, or thee, that thou should'st either pause or flee? he stood--some dread was on his face, soon hatred settled in its place: it rose not with the reddening flush of transient anger's hasty blush, but pale as marble o'er the tomb, whose ghastly whiteness aids its gloom. his brow was bent, his eye was glazed; he raised his arm, and fiercely raised, and sternly shook his hand on high, as doubting to return or fly: impatient of his flight delayed, here loud his raven charger neighed-- down glanced that hand, and grasped his blade; that sound had burst his waking dream, as slumber starts at owlet's scream. the spur hath lanced his courser's sides; away, away, for life he rides: swift as the hurled on high jerreed springs to the touch his startled steed; the rock is doubled, and the shore shakes with the clattering tramp no more; the crag is won, no more is seen his christian crest and haughty mien. 'twas but an instant he restrained that fiery barb so sternly reined; 'twas but a moment that he stood, then sped as if by death pursued: but in that instant o'er his soul winters of memory seemed to roll, and gather in that drop of time a life of pain, an age of crime. o'er him who loves, or hates, or fears, such moment pours the grief of years: what felt _he_ then, at once opprest by all that most distracts the breast? that pause, which pondered o'er his fate, oh, who its dreary length shall date! though in time's record nearly nought, it was eternity to thought! for infinite as boundless space the thought that conscience must embrace, which in itself can comprehend woe without name, or hope, or end. the hour is past, the giaour is gone; and did he fly or fall alone? woe to that hour he came or went! the curse of hassan's sin was sent to turn a palace to a tomb; he came, he went, like the simoom, that harbinger of fate and gloom, beneath whose widely-wasting breath the very cypress droops to death-- dark tree, still sad when others' grief is fled, the only constant mourner o'er the dead! _byron._ the norseman's ride. the frosty fires of northern starlight gleamed on the glittering snow, and through the forest's frozen branches the shrieking winds did blow; a floor of blue, translucent marble kept ocean's pulses still, when, in the depth of dreary midnight, opened the burial hill. then while a low and creeping shudder thrilled upward through the ground, the norseman came, as armed for battle, in silence from his mound: he, who was mourned in solemn sorrow by many a swordsman bold, and harps that wailed along the ocean, struck by the skalds of old. sudden, a swift and silver shadow rushed up from out the gloom,-- a horse that stamped with hoof impatient, yet noiseless, on the tomb. "ha, surtur! let me hear thy tramping, thou noblest northern steed, whose neigh along the stormy headlands bade the bold viking heed!" he mounted: like a north-light streaking the sky with flaming bars, they, on the winds so wildly shrieking, shot up before the stars. "is this thy mane, my fearless surtur, that streams against my breast? is this thy neck, that curve of moonlight, which helva's hand caressed? "no misty breathing strains thy nostril, thine eye shines blue and cold, yet, mounting up our airy pathway, i see thy hoofs of gold! not lighter o'er the springing rainbow walhalla's gods repair, than we, in sweeping journey over the bending bridge of air. "far, far around, star-gleams are sparkling amid the twilight space; and earth, that lay so cold and darkling, has veiled her dusky face. are those the nornes that beckon onward to seats at odin's board, where nightly by the hands of heroes the foaming mead is poured? "'tis skuld! her star-eye speaks the glory that waits the warrior's soul, when on its hinge of music opens the gateway of the pole,-- when odin's warder leads the hero to banquets never done, and freya's eyes outshine in summer the ever-risen sun. "on! on! the northern lights are streaming in brightness like the morn, and pealing far amid the vastness, i hear the gjallarhorn: the heart of starry space is throbbing with songs of minstrels old, and now, on high walhalla's portal, gleam surtur's hoofs of gold!" _bayard taylor._ boot and saddle. "boot, saddle, to horse, and away! rescue my castle, before the hot day brightens to blue from its silvery gray, (_cho._) boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say; many's the friend there will listen and pray "god's luck to gallants that strike up the lay, (_cho._) boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay, flouts castle brancepeth the roundheads' array: who laughs, "good fellows ere this, by my fay, (_cho._) boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" who? my wife gertrude; that, honest and gay, laughs when you talk of surrendering, "nay! i've better counsellors; what counsel they? (_cho._) boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" _robert browning._ the cavalier's escape. trample! trample! went the roan, trap! trap! went the gray; but pad! pad! pad! like a thing that was mad, my chestnut broke away.-- it was just five miles from salisbury town, and but one hour to day. thud! thud! came on the heavy roan, rap! rap! the mettled gray; but my chestnut mare was of blood so rare, that she showed them all the way. spur on! spur on!--i doffed my hat, and wished them all good day. they splashed through miry rut and pool,-- splintered through fence and rail; but chestnut kate switched over the gate,-- i saw them droop and tail. to salisbury town--but a mile of down, once over this brook and rail. trap! trap! i heard their echoing hoofs past the walls of mossy stone; the roan flew on at a staggering pace, but blood is better than bone. i patted old kate, and gave her the spur, for i knew it was all my own. but trample! trample! came their steeds, and i saw their wolfs' eyes burn; i felt like a royal hart at bay, and made me ready to turn. i looked where highest grew the may, and deepest arched the fern. i flew at the first knave's sallow throat; one blow, and he was down. the second rogue fired twice, and missed; i sliced the villain's crown. clove through the rest, and flogged brave kate, fast, fast to salisbury town! pad! pad! they came on the level sward, thud! thud! upon the sand; with a gleam of swords, and a burning match, and a shaking of flag and hand: but one long bound, and i passed the gate, safe from the canting band. _walter thornbury._ king james's ride. "stand, bayard, stand!"--the steed obeyed, with arching neck and bending head, and glancing eye and quivering ear as if he loved his lord to hear. no foot fitz-james in stirrup staid, no grasp upon the saddle laid, but wreathed his left hand in the mane, and lightly bounded from the plain, turned on the horse his armed heel, and stirred his courage with the steel. bounded the fiery steed in air, the rider sate erect and fair, then like a bolt from steel crossbow forth launched, along the plain they go. they dashed that rapid torrent through, and up carhonie's hill they flew; still at the gallop pricked the knight, his merry-men followed as they might. along thy banks, swift teith! they ride, and in the race they mocked thy tide; torry and lendrick now are past, and deanstown lies behind them cast; they rise, the bannered towers of doune, they sink in distant woodland soon; blair-drummond sees the hoof strike fire, they sweep like breeze through ochtertyre; they mark just glance and disappear the lofty brow of ancient kier; they bathe their courser's sweltering sides, dark forth! amid thy sluggish tides, and on the opposing shore take ground, with plash, with scramble, and with bound. right-hand they leave thy cliffs, craig-forth! and soon the bulwark of the north, grey stirling, with her towers and town, upon their fleet career looked down. _walter scott._ deloraine's ride. *....*....*....* the ladye forgot her purpose high, one moment, and no more; one moment gazed with a mother's eye, as she paused at the arched door: then from amid the armed train, she called to her william of deloraine. a stark moss-trooping scott was he, as e'er couched border lance by knee; through solway sands, through tarras moss, blindfold, he knew the paths to cross; by wily turns, by desperate bounds, had baffled percy's best blood-hounds; in eske, or liddel, fords were none, but he would ride them, one by one; alike to him was time or tide, december's snow, or july's pride; alike to him was tide or time, moonless midnight, or matin prime: steady of heart, and stout of hand, as ever drove prey from cumberland; five times outlawed had he been by england's king, and scotland's queen. "sir william of deloraine, good at need, mount thee on the wightest steed; spare not to spur, nor stint to ride, until thou come to fair tweedside; and in melrose's holy pile seek thou the monk of st. mary's aisle. greet the father well from me; say that the fated hour is come, and to-night he shall watch with thee, to win the treasure of the tomb. for this will be st. michael's night, and, though stars be dim, the moon is bright; and the cross, of bloody red, will point to the grave of the mighty dead. "what he gives thee, see thou keep; stay not thou for food or sleep: be it scroll, or be it book, into it, knight, thou must not look; if thou readest, thou art lorn! better hadst thou ne'er been born."-- "o swiftly can speed my dapple-grey steed, which drinks of the teviot clear; ere break of day," the warrior 'gan say, "again will i be here: and safer by none may thy errand be done, than, noble dame, by me; letter nor line know i never a one, wer't my neck-verse at hairibee." soon in his saddle sate he fast, and soon the steep descent he past, soon crossed the sounding barbican, and soon the teviot side he won. eastward the wooded path he rode, green hazels o'er his basnet nod; he passed the peel of goldiland, and crossed old borthwick's roaring strand; dimly he viewed the moat-hill's mound, where druid shades still flitted round; in hawick twinkled many a light; behind him soon they set in night; and soon he spurred his courser keen beneath the tower of hazeldean. the clattering hoofs the watchmen mark;-- "stand, ho! thou courier of the dark."-- "for branksome, ho!" the knight rejoined, and left the friendly tower behind. he turned him now from teviotside, and, guided by the tinkling rill, northward the dark ascent did ride, and gained the moor at horsliehill; broad on the left before him lay, for many a mile, the roman way. a moment now he slacked his speed, a moment breathed his panting steed; drew saddle-girth and corslet-band. and loosened in the sheath his brand. on minto-crags the moonbeams glint, where barnhill hewed his bed of flint; who flung his outlawed limbs to rest, where falcons hang their giddy nest, mid cliffs, from whence his eagle eye for many a league his prey could spy; cliffs, doubling, on their echoes borne, the terrors of the robber's horn? cliffs, which, for many a later year, the warbling doric reed shall hear, when some sad swain shall teach the grove, ambition is no cure for love! unchallenged, thence passed deloraine, to ancient riddel's fair domain. where aill, from mountains freed. down from the lakes did raving come; each wave was crested with tawny foam, like the mane of a chestnut steed. in vain! no torrent, deep or broad, might bar the bold moss-trooper's road. at the first plunge the horse sunk low, and the water broke o'er the saddlebow; above the foaming tide, i ween, scarce half the charger's neck was seen; for he was barded from counter to tail, and the rider was armed complete in mail; never heavier man and horse stemmed a midnight torrent's force. the warrior's very plume, i say was daggled by the dashing spray: yet, through good heart, and our ladye's grace, at length he gained the landing place. now bowden moor the march-man won, and sternly shook his plumed head, as glanced his eye o'er halidon; for on his soul the slaughter red of that unhallowed morn arose, when first the scott and carr were foes; when royal james beheld the fray, prize to the victor of the day; when home and douglas, in the van, bore down buccleuch's retiring clan, till gallant cessford's heart-blood dear reeked on dark elliot's border spear. in bitter mood he spurred fast, and soon the hated heath was past; and far beneath, in lustre wan, old melros' rose, and fair tweed ran: like some tall rock with lichens gray, seemed dimly huge, the dark abbaye. when hawick he passed, had curfew rung, now midnight lauds were in melrose sung. the sound, upon the fitful gale, in solemn wise did rise and fail, like that wild harp, whose magic tone is wakened by the winds alone. but when melrose he reached, 'twas silence all; he meetly stabled his steed in stall, and sought the convent's lonely wall. _sir walter scott._ godiva. _i waited for the train at coventry; i hung with grooms and porters on the bridge, to watch the three tall spires; and there i shaped the city's ancient legend into this_:-- not only we, the latest seed of time, new men, that in the flying of a wheel cry down the past, not only we, that prate of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well, and loathed to see them overtaxed; but she did more, and underwent, and overcame, the woman of a thousand summers back, godiva, wife to that grim earl, who ruled in coventry: for when he laid a tax upon his town, and all the mothers brought their children, clamoring, "if we pay, we starve!" she sought her lord, and found him, where he strode about the hall, among his dogs, alone, his beard a foot before him, and his hair a yard behind. she told him of their tears, and prayed him, "if they pay this tax, they starve." whereat he stared, replying, half-amazed, "you would not let your little finger ache for such as _these_?"--"but i would die," said she. he laughed, and swore by peter and by paul: then filliped at the diamond in her ear; "o ay, ay, ay, you talk!"--"alas!" she said, "but prove me what it is i would not do." and from a heart as rough as esau's hand, he answered, "ride you naked through the town, and i repeal it;" and nodding, as in scorn, he parted, with great strides among his dogs. so left alone, the passions of her mind, as winds from all the compass shift and blow, made war upon each other for an hour, till pity won. she sent a herald forth, and bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all the hard condition; but that she would loose the people: therefore, as they loved her well, from then till noon no foot should pace the street, no eye look down, she passing; but that all should keep within, door shut, and window barred. then fled she to her inmost bower, and there unclasped the wedded eagles of her belt, the grim earl's gift; but ever at a breath she lingered, looking like a summer moon half-dipt in cloud: anon she shook her head, and showered the rippled ringlets to her knee; unclad herself in haste; adown the stair stole on; and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid from pillar unto pillar, until she reached the gateway; there she found her palfrey trapt in purple blazoned with armorial gold. then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity: the deep air listened round her as she rode, and all the low wind hardly breathed for fear. the little wide-mouthed heads upon the spout had cunning eyes to see: the barking cur made her cheek flame: her palfrey's footfall shot light horrors through her pulses: the blind walls were full of chinks and holes; and overhead fantastic gables, crowding, stared: but she not less through all bore up, till, last, she saw the white-flowered elder-thicket from the field gleam through the gothic archways in the wall. then she rode back, clothed on with chastity: and one low churl, compact of thankless earth, the fatal byword of all years to come, boring a little auger-hole in fear, peeped--but his eyes, before they had their will, were shrivelled into darkness in his head, and dropt before him. so the powers, who wait on noble deeds, cancelled a sense misused; and she, that knew not, passed: and all at once, with twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon was clashed and hammered from a hundred towers, one after one: but even then she gained her bower; whence reissuing, robed and crowned, to meet her lord, she took the tax away, and built herself an everlasting name. _alfred tennyson._ "how they brought the good news from ghent to aix." i sprang to the stirrup, and joris, and he; i galloped, dirck galloped, we galloped all three; "good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew; "speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through; behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, and into the midnight we galloped abreast. not a word to each other; we kept the great pace neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; i turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit, then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, nor galloped less steadily roland a whit. 'twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; at boom, a great yellow star came out to see; at düffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be; and from mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime, so joris broke silence with, "yet there is time!" at aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, and against him the cattle stood black every one, to stare through the mist at us galloping past, and i saw my stout galloper roland at last, with resolute shoulders, each butting away the haze, as some bluff river headland its spray. and his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back for my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; and one eye's black intelligence,--ever that glance o'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance! and the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon his fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. by hasselt, dirck groaned; and cried joris, "stay spur! your roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her, we'll remember at aix,"--for one heard the quick wheeze of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees, and sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, as down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. so we were left galloping, joris and i, past looz and past tongres, no cloud in the sky; the broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 'neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; till over by dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, and "gallop," gasped joris, for "aix is in sight!" "how they'll greet us!"--and all in a moment his roan rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; and there was my roland to bear the whole weight of the news which alone could save aix from her fate, with his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, and with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. then i cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, called my roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, till at length into aix roland galloped and stood. and all i remember is, friends flocking round as i sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground, and no voice but was praising this roland of mine, as i poured down his throat our last measure of wine, which (the burgesses voted by common consent) was no more than his due who brought good news from ghent. _robert browning._ the landlord's tale. paul revere's ride. listen, my children, and you shall hear of the midnight ride of paul revere, on the eighteenth of april, in seventy-five; hardly a man is now alive who remembers that famous day and year. he said to his friend, "if the british march by land or sea from the town to-night, hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch of the north church tower as a signal light,-- one, if by land, and two, if by sea; and i on the opposite shore will be, ready to ride and spread the alarm through every middlesex village and farm, for the country folk to be up and to arm." then he said, "good night!" and with muffled oar silently rowed to the charlestown shore, just as the moon rose over the bay, where swinging wide at her moorings lay the somerset, british man-of-war; a phantom ship, with each mast and spar across the moon like a prison bar, and a huge black hulk, that was magnified by its own reflection in the tide. meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, wanders and watches with eager ears, till in the silence around him he hears the muster of men at the barrack door, the sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, and the measured tread of the grenadiers, marching down to their boats on the shore. then he climbed the tower of the old north church, by the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, to the belfry-chamber overhead, and startled the pigeons from their perch on the sombre rafters, that round him made masses and moving shapes of shade,-- by the trembling ladder, steep and tall, to the highest window in the wall, where he paused to listen and look down a moment on the roofs of the town, and the moonlight flowing over all. beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, in their night-encampment on the hill, wrapped in silence so deep and still that he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, the watchful night-wind, as it went creeping along from tent to tent, and seeming to whisper, "all is well!" a moment only he feels the spell of the place and hour, and the secret dread of the lonely belfry and the dead; for suddenly all his thoughts are bent on a shadowy something far away, where the river widens to meet the bay,-- a line of black that bends and floats on the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, booted and spurred with a heavy stride on the opposite shore walked paul revere. now he patted his horse's side, now gazed at the landscape far and near, then, impetuous, stamped the earth, and turned and tightened his saddle-girth; but mostly he watched with eager search the belfry-tower of the old north church, as it rose above the graves on the hill, lonely and spectral and sombre and still. and lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height a glimmer, and then a gleam of light! he springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, but lingers and gazes, till full on his sight a second lamp in the belfry burns! a hurry of hoofs in a village street, a shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, and beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet: that was all! and yet, through the gloom and the light, the fate of a nation was riding that night; and the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, kindled the land into flame with its heat. he has left the village and mounted the steep, and beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, is the mystic, meeting the ocean tides; and under the alders, that skirt its edge, now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. it was twelve by the village clock when he crossed the bridge into medford town. he heard the crowing of the cock, and the barking of the farmer's dog, and felt the damp of the river fog, that rises after the sun goes down. it was one by the village clock, when he galloped into lexington. he saw the gilded weathercock swim in the moonlight as he passed, and the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, gaze at him with a spectral glare, as if they already stood aghast at the bloody work they would look upon. it was two by the village clock, when he came to the bridge in concord town. he heard the bleating of the flock, and the twitter of birds among the trees, and felt the breath of the morning breeze blowing over the meadows brown. and one was safe and asleep in his bed who at the bridge would be first to fall, who that day would be lying dead, pierced by a british musket-ball. you know the rest. in the books you have read, how the british regulars fired and fled,-- how the farmers gave them ball for ball, from behind each fence and farm-yard wall, chasing the red-coats down the lane, then crossing the fields to emerge again under the trees at the turn of the road, and only pausing to fire and load. so through the night rode paul revere; and so through the night went his cry of alarm to every middlesex village and farm,-- a cry of defiance and not of fear, a voice in the darkness a knock at the door, and a word that shall echo forevermore! for, borne on the night-wind of the past, through all our history, to the last, in the hour of darkness and peril and need, the people will waken and listen to hear the hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, and the midnight message of paul revere. _h. w. longfellow._ sheridan's ride. up from the south at break of day, bringing to winchester fresh dismay, the affrighted air with a shudder bore, like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door, the terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, telling the battle was on once more, and sheridan twenty miles away. and wider still those billows of war thundered along the horizon's bar; and louder yet into winchester rolled the roar of that red sea uncontrolled, making the blood of the listener cold, as he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, and sheridan twenty miles away. but there is a road from winchester town, a good broad highway leading down; and there, through the flush of the morning light, a steed as black as the steeds of night, was seen to pass, as with eagle flight, as if he knew the terrible need; he stretched away with his utmost speed; hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay, with sheridan fifteen miles away. still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering south, the dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth; or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster, foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. the heart of the steed and the heart of the master were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, impatient to be where the battle-field calls; every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, with sheridan only ten miles away. under his spurning feet the road like an arrowy alpine river flowed, and the landscape sped away behind like an ocean flying before the wind, and the steed, like a bark fed with furnace fire, swept on, with his wild eye full of ire. but lo! he is nearing his heart's desire; he is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, with sheridan only five miles away. the first that the general saw were the groups of stragglers, and then the retreating troops, what was done? what to do? a glance told him both, then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath, he dashed down the line, mid a storm of huzzas, and the wave of retreat checked its course there, because the sight of the master compelled it to pause. with foam and with dust the black charger was gray; by the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play, he seemed to the whole great army to say, "i have brought you sheridan all the way from winchester down, to save the day!" hurrah! hurrah for sheridan! hurrah! hurrah for horse and man! and when their statues are placed on high, under the dome of the union sky, the american soldiers' temple of fame; there with the glorious general's name, be it said, in letters both bold and bright, "here is the steed that saved the day, by carrying sheridan into the fight, from winchester, twenty miles away!" _thomas buchanan read._ kearny at seven pines. so that soldierly legend is still on its journey,-- that story of kearny who knew not to yield! 'twas the day when with jameson, fierce berry, and birney, against twenty thousand he rallied the field. where the red volleys poured, where the clamor rose highest, where the dead lay in clumps through the dwarf oak and pine; where the aim from the thicket was surest and nighest,-- no charge like phil kearny's along the whole line. when the battle went ill, and the bravest were solemn, near the dark seven pines, where we still held our ground, he rode down the length of the withering column, and his heart at our war-cry leapt up with a bound; he snuffed, like his charger, the wind of the powder,-- his sword waved us on, and we answered the sign: loud our cheers as we rushed, but his laugh rang the louder, "there's the devil's own fun, boys, along the whole line!" how he strode his brown steed! how we saw his blade brighten in the one hand still left,--and the reins in his teeth! he laughed like a boy when the holidays heighten, but a soldier's glance shot from his visor beneath. up came the reserves to the mellay infernal, asking where to go in,--through the clearing or pine? "oh, anywhere! forward! 'tis all the same, colonel: you'll find lovely fighting along the whole line!" oh, evil the black shroud of night at chantilly, that hid him from sight of his brave men and tried! foul, foul sped the bullet that clipped the white lily, the flower of our knighthood, the whole army's pride! yet we dream that he still,--in that shadowy region, where the dead form their ranks at the wan drummer's sign,-- rides on, as of old, down the length of his legion, and the word still is forward! along the whole line. _edmund clarence stedman._ the ride of collins graves. an incident of the flood in massachusetts, on may , . no song of a soldier riding down to the raging fight from winchester town; no song of a time that shook the earth with the nations' throe at a nation's birth; but the song of a brave man, free from fear as sheridan's self, or paul revere; who risked what they risked, free from strife, and its promise of glorious pay--his life! the peaceful valley has waked and stirred, and the answering echoes of life are heard: the dew still clings to the trees and grass, and the early toilers smiling pass, as they glance aside at the white-walled homes, or up the valley, where merrily comes the brook that sparkles in diamond rills as the sun comes over the hampshire hills. what was it, that passed like an ominous breath-- like a shiver of fear, or a touch of death? what was it? the valley is peaceful still, and the leaves are afire on top of the hill. it was not a sound--nor a thing of sense-- but a pain, like the pang of the short suspense that thrills the being of those who see at their feet the gulf of eternity! the air of the valley has felt the chill: the workers pause at the door of the mill; the housewife, keen to the shivering air, arrests her foot on the cottage stair, instinctive taught by the mother-love, and thinks of the sleeping ones above. why start the listeners? why does the course of the mill-stream widen? is it a horse-- hark to the sound of his hoofs, they say-- that gallops so wildly williamsburg way! god! what was that, like a human shriek from the winding valley? will nobody speak? will nobody answer those women who cry as the awful warnings thunder by? whence come they? listen! and now they hear the sound of the galloping horse-hoofs near; they watch the trend of the vale, and see the rider who thunders so menacingly, with waving arms and warning scream to the home-filled banks of the valley stream. he draws no rein, but he shakes the street with a shout and the ring of the galloping feet; and this the cry he flings to the wind: "to the hills for your lives! the flood is behind!" he cries and is gone; but they know the worst-- the breast of the williamsburg dam has burst! the basin that nourished their happy homes is changed to a demon--it comes! it comes! a monster in aspect, with shaggy front of shattered dwellings, to take the brunt of the homes they shatter--white-maned and hoarse, the merciless terror fills the course of the narrow valley, and rushing raves, with death on the first of its hissing waves, till cottage and street and crowded mill are crumbled and crushed. but onward still, in front of the roaring flood is heard the galloping horse and the warning word. thank god! the brave man's life is spared! from williamsburg town he nobly dared to race with the flood and take the road in front of the terrible swath it mowed. for miles it thundered and crashed behind, but he looked ahead with a steadfast mind; "they must be warned!" was all he said, as away on his terrible ride he sped. when heroes are called for, bring the crown to this yankee rider: send him down on the stream of time with the curtius old; his deed as the roman's was brave and bold, and the tale can as noble a thrill awake, for he offered his life for the people's sake. _john boyle o'reilly._ a tale of providence. the tall green tree its shadow cast upon howe's army that southward passed from gordon's ford to the quaker town, intending in quarters to settle down till snows were gone, and spring again should easier make a new campaign. beyond the fences that lined the way, the fields of captain richardson lay; his woodland and meadows reached far and wide, from the hills behind to the schuylkill's side, across the stream, in the mountain gorge, he could see the smoke of the valley forge. the captain had fought in the frontier war; when the fight was done, bearing seam and scar, he marched back home to tread once more the same tame round he had trod before, and turn his thoughts with sighs of regret to his ploughshares, wishing them sword-blades yet. he put the meadow in corn that year, and swore till his blacks were white with fear. he plowed, and planted, and married a wife, but life grew weary with inward strife. his blood was hot and his throbbing brain beat with the surf of some far main. should he sack a town, or rob the mail, or on the wide seas a pirate sail? he pondered it over, concluding instead, to buy three steeds in arabia bred, on sopus, fearnaught, or scipio, he felt his blood more evenly flow. to his daughter tacey, the coming days brought health, and beauty, and graceful ways. he taught her to ride his fleetest steed at a five-barred fence, or a ditch at need, and the captain's horses, his hounds, and his child were famous from sea to forests wild. *....*....*....* master and man from home were gone, and fearnaught held the stables alone, and mistress tacey her spirit showed the morning the british came down the road. she hid the silver, and drove the cows to the island behind the willow boughs. was time too short? or did she forget that fearnaught stood in the stables yet? across the fields to the gate she ran, and followed the path 'neath the grape-arbors' span; on the doorstep she paused and turned to see the head of the line beneath the green tree. the last straggler passed, the night came on, and then 'twas discovered that fearnaught was gone; sometime, somehow, from his stall he was led, where an old gray horse was left in his stead, and tacey must prove to her father that she had been prepared for the emergency. for the words he scattered on kind soil fell, and tacey had learned his maxim well in the stories he read. she remembered the art that concealed the fear in esther's heart; how the words of the woman abigail appeased the king's wrath, the deed of jael! how judith went from the city's gate across the plain as the day grew late, to the tent of the great assyrian; the leader exalted with horse and man, and brought back his head, said tacey: "of course, a more difficult feat than to bring back a horse." in the english camp the reveille drum told the sleeping troops that the dawn had come, and the shadows abroad that with night were blent at the drum's tap startled, crept under each tent as tacey stole from the sheltering wood across the wet grass where the horse pound stood. hark! was it the twitter of frightened bird, or was it the challenge of sentry she heard? she entered unseen, but her footsteps she stayed when the old gray horse in the wood still, neighed, half hid in the mist a shape loomed tall, a steed that answered her well-known call. with freedom beyond for the recompense she sprang to his back, and leaped the fence; too late the alarm; but tacey heard as she sped away how the camp was stirred, the stamping of horses, the shouts of men and the bugle's impatient call again. loudly and fast on the ridge road beat the regular fall of fearnaught's feet, on his broad, bare back his rider's seat was as firm as the tread of the steed so fleet; small need of saddle, or bridle rein, he answered as well her touch on his mane. on down the hill by the river shore, faster and faster she rode than before; her bonnet fell back, her head was bare, and the river breeze that freed her hair dispersed the fog, and she heard the shout of the troopers behind when the sun came out. the wheel at van deering's had dripped nearly dry, in sabbath-like stillness the morning passed by; then the clatter of hoofs came down the hill, and the white old miller ran out from the mill. but he only saw through the dust of the road the last red-coat that faintly showed. to tacey the sky, and the trees, and the wind seemed all to rush toward her, and follow behind, her lips were set firm, and pale was her cheek as she plunged down the hill and through the creek, the tortoise shell comb that she lost that day the wissahickon carried away. on the other side up the stony hill the feet of fearnaught went faster still, but somewhat backward the troopers fell, for the hill, and the pace, began to tell on their horses worn with a long campaign o'er rugged mountains, and weary plain. the road was deserted, for when men fought a secret path the traveler sought; two scared idlers in levering's inn fled to the woods at the coming din, the watch dog ran to bark his delight, but pursued and pursuers were out of sight. surely the distance between them increased, and the shouts of the troopers had long since ceased, one after another pulled his rein and rode with great oaths to the camp again. oft a look backward tacey sent to the fading red of the regiment. she heard the foremost horseman call; she saw the horse stumble, the rider fall; she patted her steed and checked his pace and leisurely rode the rest of the race. when the seven-stars' sign on the horizon showed behind not a trooper was on the road. in vain had they shouted who followed in chase, in vain their wild ride; so ended the race. though fifty strong voices may clamor and call, if she hear not the strongest, she hears not them all; though fifty fleet horses go galloping fast, one swifter than all shall be furthest at last. said the well-pleased captain when he came home: "the steed shall be thine and a new silver comb. 'twas a daring deed and bravely done." as proud of the praise as the promise won, the maiden stole from the house to feed with a generous hand her gallant steed. unavailing the storms of the century beat with the roar of thunder, or winter's sleet, the mansion still stands, and is heard as of yore the wind in the trees on the island's shore; but the restless river its shore line wears and no longer the island its old name bears. and years that are gone in obscurity have enveloped the rider's memory, but in providence still abide her race, brave youths with her spirit, fair maids with her grace, undaunted they stand when fainter hearts flee, prepared whatsoever the emergency. _isaac r. pennypacker._ kit carson's ride. we lay low in the grass on the broad plain levels, old revels and i, and my stolen brown bride; and the heavens of blue and the harvest of brown and beautiful clover were welded as one, to the right and the left, in the light of the sun. "forty full miles if a foot to ride, forty full miles if a foot, and the devils of red camanches are hot on the track when once they strike it. let the sun go down soon, very soon," muttered bearded old revels as he peered at the sun, lying low on his back, holding fast to his lasso. then he jerked at his steed and he sprang to his feet, and glanced swiftly around, and then dropped, as if shot, with his ear to the ground; then again to his feet, and to me, to my bride, while his eyes were like fire, his face like a shroud, his form like a king, and his beard like a cloud, and his voice loud and shrill, as if blown from a reed,-- "pull, pull in your lassos, and bridle to steed, and speed you if ever for life you would speed, and ride for your lives, for your lives you must ride! for the plain is aflame, the prairie on fire, and feet of wild horses hard flying before i hear like a sea breaking high on the shore, while the buffalo come like a surge of the sea, driven far by the flame, driving fast on us three as a hurricane comes, crushing palms in his ire." we drew in the lassos, seized saddle and rein, threw them on, sinched them on, sinched them over again, and again drew the girth, cast aside the macheers, cut away tapidaros, loosed the sash from its fold, cast aside the catenas red-spangled with gold, and gold mounted colt's, the companions of years, cast the silken serapes to the wind in a breath, and so bared to the skin sprang all haste to the horse,-- as bare as when born, as when new from the hand of god,--without word, or one word of command. turned head to the brazos in a red race with death, turned head to the brazos with a breath in the hair blowing hot from a king leaving death in his course; turned head to the brazos with a sound in the air like the rush of an army, and a flash in the eye of a red wall of fire reaching up to the sky, stretching fierce in pursuit of a black rolling sea rushing fast upon us, as the wind sweeping free and afar from the desert blew hollow and hoarse. not a word, not a wail from a lip was let fall, not a kiss from my bride, not a look nor low call of love-note or courage; but on o'er the plain so steady and still, leaning low to the mane, with the heel to the flank and the hand to the rein, rode we on, rode we three, rode we nose and gray nose, reaching long, breathing loud, as a creviced wind blows: yet we broke not a whisper, we breathed not a prayer, there was work to be done, there was death in the air, and the chance was as one to a thousand for all. gray nose to gray nose, and each steady mustang stretched neck and stretched nerve till the arid earth rang, and the foam from the flank and the croup and the neck flew around like the spray on a storm-driven deck. twenty miles!... thirty miles!... a dim distant speck ... then a long reaching line, and the brazos in sight, and i rose in my seat with a shout of delight. i stood in my stirrup and looked to my right-- but revels was gone; i glanced by my shoulder and saw his horse stagger; i saw his head drooping hard down on his breast, and his naked breast stooping low down to the mane, as so swifter and bolder ran reaching out for us the red-footed fire. to right and to left the black buffalo came, a terrible surf on a red sea of flame rushing on in the rear, reaching high, reaching higher. and he rode neck to neck to a buffalo bull, the monarch of millions, with shaggy mane full of smoke and of dust, and it shook with desire of battle, with rage and with bellowings loud and unearthly, and up through its lowering cloud came the flash of his eyes like a half-hidden fire, while his keen crooked horns, through the storm of his mane, like black lances lifted and lifted again; and i looked but this once, for the fire licked through, and he fell and was lost, as we rode two and two. i looked to my left then,--and nose, neck, and shoulder sank slowly, sank surely, till back to my thighs; and up through the black blowing veil of her hair did beam full in mine her two marvelous eyes, with a longing and love, yet a look of despair and of pity for me, as she felt the smoke fold her, and flames reaching far for her glorious hair. her sinking steed faltered, his eager ears fell to and fro and unsteady, and all the neck's swell did subside and recede, and the nerves fall as dead. then she saw sturdy paché still lorded his head, with a look of delight; for nor courage nor bribe, nor naught but my bride, could have brought him to me. for he was her father's, and at south santafee had once won a whole herd, sweeping everything down in a race where the world came to run for the crown. and so when i won the true heart of my bride,-- my neighbor's and deadliest enemy's child, and child of the kingly war-chief of his tribe,-- she brought me this steed to the border the night she met revels and me in her perilous flight from the lodge of the chief to the north brazos side; and said, so half guessing of ill as she smiled, as if jesting, that i, and i only, should ride the fleet-footed paché, so if kin should pursue i should surely escape without other ado than to ride, without blood, to the north brazos side, and await her,--and wait till the next hollow moon hung her horn in the palms, when surely and soon and swift she would join me, and all would be well without bloodshed or word. and now as she fell from the front, and went down in the ocean of fire, the last that i saw was a look of delight that i should escape--a love--a desire-- yet never a word, not one look of appeal, lest i should reach hand, should stay hand or stay heel one instant for her in my terrible flight. then the rushing of fire around me and under, and the howling of beasts and a sound as of thunder,-- beasts burning and blind and forced onward and over, as the passionate flame reached around them, and wove her red hands in their hair, and kissed hot till they died,-- till they died with a wild and a desolate moan, as a sea heart-broken on the hard brown stone ... and into the brazos ... i rode all alone,-- all alone, save only a horse long-limbed, and blind and bare and burnt to the skin. then just as the terrible sea came in and tumbled its thousands hot into the tide till the tide blocked up and the swift stream brimmed in eddies, we struck on the opposite side. _joaquin miller._ taming the wild horse. last night he trampled with a thousand steeds the trembling desert. now, he stands alone-- his speed hath baffled theirs. his fellows lurk, behind, on heavy sands, with weary limbs that cannot reach him. from the highest hill, he gazes o'er the wild whose plains he spurned, and his eye kindles, and his breast expands, with an upheaving consciousness of might. he stands an instant, then he breaks away, as revelling in his freedom. what if art, that strikes soul into marble, could but seize that agony of action,--could impress its muscular fulness, with its winged haste, upon the resisting rock, while wonder stares, and admiration worships? there,--away-- as glorying in that mighty wilderness, and conscious of the gazing skies o'erhead, quiver for flight, his sleek and slender limbs, elastic, springing into headlong force-- while his smooth neck, curved loftily to arch, dignifies flight, and to his speed imparts the majesty, not else its attribute. and, circling, now he sweeps, the flowery plain, as if 'twere his--imperious, gathering up his limbs, unwearied by their sportive play, until he stands, an idol of the sight. he stands and trembles! the warm life is gone that gave him action. wherefore is it thus? his eye hath lost its lustre, though it still sends forth a glance of consciousness and care, to a deep agony of acuteness wrought, and straining at a point--a narrow point-- that rises, but a speck upon the verge of the horizon. sure, the humblest life, hath, in god's providence, some gracious guides, that warn it of its foe. the danger there, his instinct teaches, and with growing dread, no more solicitous of graceful flight, he bounds across the plain--he speeds away, into the tameless wilderness afar, to 'scape his bondage. yet, in vain his flight-- vain his fleet limbs, his desperate aim, his leap through the close thicket, through the festering swamp, and rushing waters. his proud neck must bend beneath a halter, and the iron parts and tears his delicate mouth. the brave steed, late bounding in his freedom's consciousness, the leader of the wild, unreached of all, wears gaudy trappings, and becomes a slave. he bears a master on his shrinking back, he feels a rowel in his bleeding flanks, and his arched neck, beneath the biting thong, burns, while he bounds away--all desperate-- across the desert, mad with the vain hope to shake his burden off. he writhes, he turns on his oppressor. he would rend the foe, who subtle, with less strength, had taken him thus, at foul advantage--but he strives in vain. a sudden pang--a newer form of pain, baffles, and bears him on--he feels his fate, and with a shriek of agony, which tells, loudly, the terrors of his new estate, he makes the desert--his own desert--ring with the wild clamors of his new born grief. one fruitless effort more--one desperate bound, for the old freedom of his natural life, and then he humbles to his cruel lot, submits, and finds his conqueror in man! _w. g. simms._ chiquita. beautiful! sir, you may say so. thar isn't her match in the county. is thar, old gal,--chiquita, my darling, my beauty? feel of that neck, sir,--thar's velvet! whoa! steady,--ah, will you, you vixen! whoa! i say. jack, trot her out; let the gentleman look at her paces. morgan!--she ain't nothin' else, and i've got the papers to prove it. sired by chippewa chief, and twelve hundred dollars won't buy her. briggs of tuolumne owned her. did you know briggs of tuolumne?-- busted hisself in white pine, and blew out his brains down in 'frisco? hedn't no savey--hed briggs. thar, jack! that'll do,--quit that foolin'! nothin' to what she kin do, when she's got her work cut out before her. hosses is hosses, you know, and likewise, too, jockeys is jockeys; and 'tain't ev'ry man as can ride as knows what a hoss has got in him. know the old ford on the fork, that nearly got flanigan's leaders? nasty in daylight, you bet, and a mighty rough ford in low water! well, it ain't six weeks ago that me and the jedge and his nevey struck for that ford in the night, in the rain, and the water all round us; up to our flanks in the gulch, and rattlesnake creek just a bilin', not a plank left in the dam, and nary a bridge on the river. i had the grey, and the jedge had his roan, and his nevey, chiquita; and after us trundled the rocks jest loosed from the top of the cañon. lickity, lickity, switch, we came to the ford, and chiquita buckled right down to her work, and afore i could yell to her rider, took water jest at the ford, and there was the jedge and me standing, and twelve hundred dollars of hoss-flesh afloat and a driftin' to thunder! would ye b'lieve it? that night that hoss, that ar' filly, chiquita, walked herself into her stall, and stood there, all quiet and dripping: clean as a beaver or rat, with nary a buckle of harness, just as she swam the fork,--that hoss, that ar' filly, chiquita. that's what i call a hoss! and--what did you say!--oh, the nevey? drownded, i reckon,--leastways, he never kem back to deny it. ye see the derned fool had no seat,--ye couldn't have made him a rider; and then, ye know, boys will be boys, and hosses--well, hosses is hosses! _bret harte._ bay billy. 'twas the last fight at fredericksburg,-- perhaps the day you reck, our boys, the twenty-second maine, kept early's men in check. just where wade hampton boomed away the fight went neck and neck. all day the weaker wing we held, and held it with a will. five several stubborn times we charged the battery on the hill, and five times beaten back, re-formed, and kept our column still. at last from out the centre fight spurred up a general's aid. "that battery must silenced be!" he cried, as past he sped. our colonel simply touched his cap, and then, with measured tread, to lead the crouching line once more the grand old fellow came. no wounded man but raised his head and strove to gasp his name, and those who could not speak nor stir, "god blessed him" just the same. for he was all the world to us, that hero gray and grim. right well he knew that fearful slope we'd climb with none but him, though while his white head led the way we'd charge hell's portals in. this time we were not half-way up, when, midst the storm of shell, our leader, with his sword upraised, beneath our bayonets fell. and, as we bore him back, the foe set up a joyous yell. our hearts went with him. back we swept, and when the bugle said "up, charge, again!" no man was there but hung his dogged head. "we've no one left to lead us now," the sullen soldiers said. just then before the laggard line the colonel's horse we spied, bay billy with his trappings on, his nostrils swelling wide, as though still on his gallant back the master sat astride. right royally he took the place that was of old his wont, and with a neigh that seemed to say, above the battle's brunt, "how can the twenty-second charge if i am not in front?" like statues rooted there we stood, and gazed a little space, above that floating mane we missed the dear familiar face, but we saw bay billy's eye of fire, and it gave us heart of grace. no bugle-call could rouse us all as that brave sight had done. down all the battered line we felt a lightning impulse run. up! up! the hill we followed bill, and we captured every gun! and when upon the conquered height died out the battle's hum. vainly mid living and the dead we sought our leader dumb. it seemed as if a spectre steed to win that day had come. and then the dusk and dew of night fell softly o'er the plain, as though o'er man's dread work of death the angels wept again, and drew night's curtain gently round a thousand beds of pain. all night the surgeons' torches went, the ghastly rows between.-- all night with solemn step i paced the torn and bloody green. but who that fought in the big war such dread sights have not seen? at last the morning broke. the lark sang in the merry skies as if to e'en the sleepers there it bade awake, and rise! though naught but that last trump of all could ope their heavy eyes. and then once more with banners gay, stretched out the long brigade. trimly upon the furrowed field the troops stood on parade, and bravely mid the ranks were closed the gaps the fight had made. not half the twenty-second's men were in their place that morn, and corporal dick, who yester-noon stood six brave fellows on, now touched my elbow in the ranks, for all between were gone. ah! who forgets that dreary hour when, as with misty eyes, to call the old familiar roll the solemn sergeant tries,-- one feels that thumping of the heart as no prompt voice replies. and as in faltering tone and slow the last few names were said, across the field some missing horse toiled up with weary tread, it caught the sergeant's eye, and quick bay billy's name he read. yes! there the old bay hero stood, all safe from battle's harms, and ere an order could be heard, or the bugle's quick alarms, down all the front, from end to end, the troops presented arms! not all the shoulder-straps on earth could still our mighty cheer; and ever from that famous day, when rang the roll-call clear, bay billy's name was read, and then the whole line answered, "here!" _frank h. gassaway._ widderin's race. a horse amongst ten thousand! on the verge, the extremest verge, of equine life he stands; yet mark his action, as those wild young colts freed from the stock-yard gallop whinnying up; see how he trots towards them,--nose in air, tail arched, and his still sinewy legs out-thrown in gallant grace before him! a brave beast as ever spurned the moorland, ay, and more,-- he bore me once,--such words but smite the truth i' the outer ring, while vivid memory wakes, recalling now, the passion and the pain,-- he bore me once from earthly hell to heaven! the sight of fine old widderin (that's his name, caught from a peak, the topmost rugged peak of tall mount widderin, towering to the north most like a steed's head, with full nostrils blown, and ears pricked up),--the sight of widderin brings that day of days before me, whose strange hours of fear and anguish, ere the sunset, changed to hours of such content and full-veined joy as heaven can give our mortal lives but once. well, here's the story: while yon bush-fires sweep the distant ranges, and the river's voice pipes a thin treble through the heart of drouth, while the red heaven like some hugh caldron's top seems with the heat a-simmering, better far in place of riding tilt 'gainst such a sun, here in the safe veranda's flowery gloom, to play the dwarfish homer to a song, whereof myself am hero: two decades have passed since that wild autumn-time when last the convict hordes from near van diemen, freed by force or fraud, swept, like a blood-red fire, inland from beach to mountain, bent on raid and rapine. *....*....*....* so, in late autumn,--'twas a marvellous morn, with breezes from the calm snow-river borne that touched the air, and stirred it into thrills, mysterious and mesmeric, a bright mist lapping the landscape like a golden trance, swathing the hill-tops with fantastic veils, and o'er the moorland-ocean quivering light as gossamer threads drawn down the forest aisles at dewy dawning,--on this marvellous morn, i, with four comrades, in this selfsame spot, watched the fair scene, and drank the spicy airs, that held a subtler spirit than our wine, and talked and laughed, and mused in idleness,-- weaving vague fancies, as our pipe-wreaths curled fantastic in the sunlight! i, with head thrown back, and cushioned snugly, and with eyes intent on one grotesque and curious cloud, puffed upward, that now seemed to take the shape of a dutch tulip, now a turk's face topped by folds on folds of turban limitless,-- heard suddenly, just as the clock chimed one, to melt in musical echoes up the hills, quick footsteps on the gravelled path without,-- steps of the couriers of calamity,-- so my heart told me,--ere with blanched regards, two stalwart herdsmen on our threshold paused, panting, with lips that writhed, and awful eyes;-- a breath's space in each other's eyes we glared, then, swift as interchange of lightning thrusts in deadly combat, question and reply clashed sharply, "what! the rangers?" "ay, by heaven! and loosed in force,--the hell-hounds!" "whither bound?" i stammered, hoarsely. "bound," the elder said, "southward!--four stations had they sacked and burnt, and now, drunk, furious"--but i stopped to hear no more: with booming thunder in mine ears, and blood-flushed eyes, i rushed to widderin's side, drew tight the girths, upgathered curb and rein, and sprang to horse ere yet our laggard friends-- now trooping from the green veranda's shade-- could dream of action! love had winged my will, for to the southward fair garoopna held my all of hope, life, passion; she whose hair (its tiniest strand of waving, witch-like gold) had caught my heart, entwined, and bound it fast, as 'twere some sweet enchantment's heavenly net! i only gave a hand-wave in farewell, shot by, and o'er the endless moorland swept (endless it seemed, as those weird, measureless plains, which, in some nightmare vision, stretch and stretch towards infinity!) like some lone ship o'er wastes of sailless waters: now, a pine, the beacon pine gigantic, whose grim crown signals the far land-mariner from out gaunt boulders of the gray-backed organ hill, rose on my sight, a mist-like, wavering orb, the while, still onward, onward, onward still, with motion winged, elastic, equable, brave widderin cleaved the air-tides, tossed aside the winds as waves, their swift, invisible breasts hissing with foam-like noise when pressed and pierced by that keen head and fiery-crested form! the lonely shepherd guardian on the plains, watching his sheep through languid, half-shut eyes, looked up, and marvelled, as we passed him by, thinking, perchance, it was a glorious thing, so dressed, so booted, so caparisoned, to ride such bright blood-coursers unto death! two sun-blacked natives, slumbering in the grass, just rose betimes to 'scape the trampling hoofs, and hurled hot curses at me as i sped; while here and there the timid kangaroo blundered athwart the mole-hills, and in puffs of steamy dust-cloud vanished like a mote! onward, still onward, onward, onward still! and lo! thank heaven, the mighty organ hill, that seemed a dim blue cloudlet at the start, hangs in aerial, fluted cliffs aloft,-- and still as through the long, low glacis borne, beneath the gorge borne ever at wild speed, i saw the mateless mountain eagle wheel beyond the stark height's topmost pinnacle; i heard his shriek of rage and ravin die deep down the desolate dells, as far behind i left the gorge, and far before me swept another plain, tree-bordered now, and bound by the clear river gurgling o'er its bed. by this, my panting, but unconquered steed had thrown his small head backward, and his breath through the red nostrils burst in labored sighs; i bent above his outstretched neck, i threw my quivering arms about him, murmuring low, "good horse! brave heart! a little longer bear the strain, the travail; and thenceforth for thee free pastures all thy days, till death shall come! ah, many and many a time, my noble bay, her lily hand hath wandered through thy mane, patted thy rainbow neck, and brought thee ears of daintiest corn from out the farmhouse loft,-- help, help to save her now!" i'll vow the brute heard me, and comprehended what he heard! he shook his proud crest madly, and his eye turned for a moment sideways, flashed in mine a lightning gleam, whose fiery language said, "i know my lineage, will not shame my sire,-- my sire, who rushed triumphant 'twixt the flags, and frenzied thousands, when on epsom downs arcturus won the derby!--no, nor shame my granddam, whose clean body, half enwrought of air, half fire, through swirls of desert sand bore sheik abdallah headlong on his prey!" at last came forest shadows, and the road winding through bush and bracken, and at last the hoarse stream rumbling o'er its quartz-sown crags. "no, no! stanch widderin! pause not now to drink; an hour hence, and thy dainty nose shall dip in richest wine, poured jubilantly forth to quench thy thirst, my beauty! but press on, nor heed these sparkling waters." god! my brain's on fire once more! an instant tells me all; all! life or death,--salvation or despair! for yonder, o'er the wild grass-matted slope the house stands, or it stood but yesterday. a titan cry of inarticulate joy i raised, as, calm and peaceful in the sun, shone the fair cottage, and the garden-close, wherein, white-robed, unconscious, sat my love lilting a low song to the birds and flowers. she heard the hoof-strokes, saw me, started up, and with her blue eyes wider than their wont, and rosy lips half tremulous, rushed to meet and greet me swiftly. "up, dear love!" i cried, "the convicts, the bush-rangers! let us fly!" ah, then and there you should have seen her, friend, my noble, beauteous helen! not a tear, nor sob, and scarce a transient pulse-quiver, as, clasping hand in hand, her fairy foot lit like a small bird on my horseman's boot, and up into the saddle, lithe and light, vaulting she perched, her bright curls round my face! we crossed the river, and, dismounting, led o'er the steep slope of blended rock and turf the wearied horse, and there behind a tor of castellated bluestone, paused to sweep with young keen eyes the broad plain stretched afar, serene and autumn-tinted at our feet: "either," said i, "these devils have gone east, to meet with bloodhound desborough in his rage between the granite passes of luxorme, or else--dear christ! my helen, low! stoop low!" (these words were hissed in horror, for just then, 'twixt the deep hollows of the river-vale, the miscreants, with mixed shouts and curses, poured down through the flinty gorge tumultuously, seeming, we thought, in one fierce throng to charge our hiding-place.) i seized my widderin's head, blindfolding him, for with a single neigh our fate were sealed o' the instant! as they rode, those wild, foul-languaged demons by our lair, scarce twelve yards off, my troubled steed shook wide his streaming mane, stamped on the earth, and pawed so loudly, that the sweat of agony rolled down my cold forehead; at which point i felt my arm clutched, and a voice i did not know dropped the low murmur from pale, shuddering lips, "o god! if in those brutal hands i fall, living, look not into your mother's face or any woman's more!" what time had passed above our bowed heads, we pent, pinioned there by awe and nameless horror, who shall tell? minutes, perchance, by mortal measurement, eternity by heart-throbs!--when at length we turned, and eyes of mutual wonder raised, we gazed on alien faces, haggard, worn, and strange of feature as the faces born in fever and delirium! were we saved? we scarce could comprehend it, till from out the neighboring oak-wood rode our friends at speed, with clang of steel, and eyebrows bent in wrath. but, warned betimes, the wily ruffians fled far up the forest-coverts, and beyond the dazzling snow-line of the distant hills, their yells of fiendish laughter pealing faint and fainter from the cloudland, and the mist that closed about them like an ash-gray shroud: yet were these wretches marked for imminent death: the next keen sunrise pierced the savage gorge, to which we tracked them, where, mere beasts at bay, grimly they fought, and brute by brute they fell. _paul hamilton hayne._ the diverting history of john gilpin. showing how he went farther than he intended, and came safe home again. john gilpin was a citizen of credit and renown, a trainband captain eke was he of famous london town. john gilpin's spouse said to her dear, "though wedded we have been these twice ten tedious years, yet we no holiday have seen. "to morrow is our wedding-day, and we will then repair unto the bell at edmonton all in a chaise and pair. "my sister, and my sister's child, myself, and children three, will fill the chaise; so you must ride on horseback after we." he soon replied, "i do admire of womankind but one, and you are she, my dearest dear, therefore it shall be done. "i am a linendraper bold, as all the world doth know, and my good friend the calender will lend his horse to go." quoth mrs. gilpin, "that's well said; and for that wine is dear, we will be furnished with our own, which is both bright and clear." john gilpin kissed his loving wife; o'erjoyed was he to find, that, though on pleasure she was bent, she had a frugal mind. the morning came, the chaise was brought, but yet was not allowed to drive up to the door, lest all should say that she was proud. so three doors off the chaise was stayed, where they did all get in; six precious souls, and all agog to dash through thick and thin. smack went the whip, round went the wheels, were never folks so glad; the stones did rattle underneath, as if cheapside were mad. john gilpin at his horse's side seized fast the flowing mane, and up he got, in haste to ride, but soon came down again; for saddle-tree scarce reached had he, his journey to begin, when, turning round his head, he saw three customers come in. so down he came; for loss of time, although it grieved him sore, yet loss of pence, full well he knew, would trouble him much more. 'twas long before the customers were suited to their mind, when betty screaming came down stairs, "the wine is left behind!" "good lack!" quoth he, "yet bring it me, my leathern belt likewise, in which i bear my trusty sword when i do exercise." now mistress gilpin (careful soul!) had two stone bottles found, to hold the liquor that she loved, and keep it safe and sound. each bottle had a curling ear, through which the belt he drew, and hung a bottle on each side, to make his balance true. then over all, that he might be equipped from top to toe, his long-red cloak, well brushed and neat, he manfully did throw. now see him mounted once again upon his nimble steed, full slowly pacing o'er the stones, with caution and good heed. but finding soon a smoother road beneath his well-shod feet, the snorting beast began to trot, which galled him in his seat. "so, fair and softly," john he cried, but john he cried in vain; that trot became a gallop soon, in spite of curb and rein. so stooping down, as needs he must who cannot sit upright, he grasped the mane with both his hands, and eke with all his might. his horse, who never in that sort had handled been before, what thing upon his back had got did wonder more and more. away went gilpin, neck or naught; away went hat and wig; he little dreamt, when he set out, of running such a rig. the wind did blow, the cloak did fly, like streamer long and gay, till, loop and button failing both, at last it flew away. then might all people well discern the bottles he had slung; a bottle swinging at each side, as hath been said or sung. the dogs did bark, the children screamed, up flew the windows all; and every soul cried out, "well done!" as loud as he could bawl. away went gilpin,--who but he? his fame soon spread around, "he carries weight! he rides a race! 'tis for a thousand pound!" and still as fast as he drew near, 'twas wonderful to view, how in a trice the turnpike men their gates wide open threw. and now, as he went bowing down his reeking head fell low, the bottles twain behind his back were shattered at a blow. down ran the wine into the road, most piteous to be seen, which made his horse's flanks to smoke as they had basted been. but still he seemed to carry weight, with leathern girdle braced; for all might see the bottle necks still dangling at his waist. thus all through merry islington these gambols did he play, until he came unto the wash of edmonton so gay; and there he threw the wash about on both sides of the way, just like unto a trundling mop, or a wild goose at play. at edmonton his loving wife from the balcony spied her tender husband, wondering much to see how he did ride. "stop, stop, john gilpin!--here's the house," they all at once did cry; "the dinner waits, and we are tired." said gilpin, "so am i!" but yet his horse was not a whit inclined to tarry there; for why?--his owner had a house full ten miles off, at ware. so like an arrow swift he flew, shot by an archer strong; so did he fly,--which brings me to the middle of my song. away went gilpin out of breath, and sore against his will, till at his friend the calender's his horse at last stood still. the calender, amazed to see his neighbor in such trim, laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, and thus accosted him: "what news? what news? your tidings tell; tell me you must and shall.-- say why bareheaded you are come, or why you come at all?" now gilpin had a pleasant wit, and loved a timely joke; and thus unto the calender in merry guise he spoke: "i came because your horse would come; and, if i well forbode, my hat and wig will soon be here, they are upon the road." the calender, right glad to find his friend in merry pin, returned him not a single word, but to the house went in; whence straight he came with hat and wig; a wig that flowed behind, a hat not much the worse for wear, each comely in its kind. he held them up, and in his turn thus showed his ready wit, "my head is twice as big as yours, they therefore needs must fit. "but let me scrape the dirt away that hangs upon your face; and stop and eat, for well you may be in a hungry case." said john, "it is my wedding-day, and all the world would stare, if wife should dine at edmonton, and i should dine at ware." so, turning to his horse, he said, "i am in haste to dine; 'twas for your pleasure you came here, you shall go back for mine." ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast! for which he paid full dear; for, while he spake, a braying ass did sing most loud and clear; whereat his horse did snort, as he had heard a lion roar, and galloped off with all his might, as he had done before. away went gilpin, and away went gilpin's hat and wig; he lost them sooner than at first, for why?--they were too big. now mistress gilpin, when she saw her husband posting down into the country far away, she pulled out half a crown; and thus unto the youth she said, that drove them to the bell, "this shall be yours, when you bring back my husband safe and well." the youth did ride, and soon did meet john coming back amain; whom in a trice he tried to stop by catching at his rein, but not performing what he meant, and gladly would have done, the frighted steed he frighted more, and made him faster run. away went gilpin, and away went postboy at his heels, the postboy's horse right glad to miss the lumbering of the wheels. six gentlemen upon the road, thus seeing gilpin fly, with postboy scampering in the rear, they raised the hue and cry:-- "stop thief! stop thief!--a highwayman!" not one of them was mute; and all and each that passed that way did join in the pursuit. and now the turnpike-gates again flew open in short space; the toll-men thinking, as before, that gilpin rode a race. and so he did, and won it too, for he got first to town; nor stopped till where he had got up he did again get down. now let us sing, "long live the king, and gilpin, long live he; and when he next doth ride abroad, may i be there to see!" _william cowper._ reflections of a proud pedestrian. i saw the curl of his waving lash, and the glance of his knowing eye, and i knew that he thought he was cutting a dash, as his steed went thundering by. and he may ride in the rattling gig, or flourish the stanhope gay, and dream that he looks exceeding big to the people that walk in the way; but he shall think, when the night is still, on the stable-boy's gathering numbers, and the ghost of many a veteran bill shall hover around his slumbers; the ghastly dun shall worry his sleep, and constables cluster around him, and he shall creep from the wood-hole deep where their spectre eyes have found him! ay! gather your reins, and crack your thong, and bid your steed go faster; he does not know, as he scrambles along, that he has a fool for his master; and hurry away on your lonely ride, nor deign from the mire to save me; i will paddle it stoutly at your side with the tandem that nature gave me! _oliver wendell holmes._ transcriber's note: every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation. italic text has been marked with _underscores_. bold text has been marked with =equals signs=. [illustration] hand-book for horsewomen. by h. l. de bussigny, formerly lieutenant of cavalry and instructor of riding in the french army. new york: d. appleton and company, , , and bond street. . copyright, , by d. appleton and company. preface. for many years two styles of riding have prevailed in western europe--the english and the continental or school system. the two are usually supposed to be somewhat antagonistic, so much so that the followers of each are not unapt to regard the other with feelings of more or less dislike, not to say contempt; the one side being sneered at as pedants, the other despised as barbarians. to the unprejudiced both seem somewhat unreasonable. the english method, originating in the national taste for field sports, has developed a race of horsemen worthy of that noblest of animals, the thorough-bred horse. the chief essential for the race-course and the hunting-field, however, being high speed on lines that are practically straight, the tendency of englishmen is to leave their horses very much alone, provided they can gallop and jump and are sufficiently under control not to run away, the rider usually keeping a pretty even pressure on the bit and making comparatively little attempt to regulate the animal's action by the use of his own legs. the school, on the other hand, is the nursery of cavalry; and, for the army, speed is not so much needed as uniformity of movement and general handiness in rapid and complicated evolutions. hence the great military riders of the continent have aimed at bringing the horse under complete control, and to this end they have applied themselves to the problem of mastering his hind legs, which are the propelling power, and therefore the seat of resistance. and it is precisely this subjection that horses dislike and try to evade with the utmost persistence. to accomplish the result, the rider is taught so to use his own legs and spurs as to bring the animal's hind legs under him, and thus carry him forward, instead of letting him go forward in his own way, as the english do. by balancing the effect of leg and spur upon the hind quarters, against the effect of hand and bit upon the mouth, the horse is brought into a position of equilibrium between the two, either at rest or in motion; he is then in complete subjection, and can be moved in any direction at his master's will. this is the basis of the whole manege system, and it is thus that horses are made to _passage_, to _piaffer_, or even to trot backward. the objection to the method is that, as equilibrium is gained, initiative is diminished, and this, together with the pedantry of the old-fashioned professors of the _haute école_, served to bring the whole theory into disrepute. looked at impartially, nevertheless, it must be admitted that each system is well adapted to accomplish its own peculiar objects, and thus it seems at least reasonable to suppose that ordinary people may be the better for learning something from both. amateurs, and especially ladies, do not expect to confine themselves to the silk jacket or even to the hunting-field, any more than they propose to give _haute école_ exhibitions in the circus. what the majority of men and women need for the park, the road, or even for hunting, is well-bitted, well-gaited animals, with light mouths, broken to canter on either leg, and easily gathered for a jump. but such horses when bought are not to be ridden off-hand. to begin with, the finer the training the more likely the beast is to turn restive if the rider leans on the reins. a seat independent of rein and stirrup is therefore the first requisite. secondly, supposing the seat satisfactory, no one can know, by the light of nature, how to stop a highly-broken horse, to say nothing of making it change its leg or gather for a jump. a certain amount of the art of management must therefore be learned to make an accomplished rider. now, beginners can get a seat in one of two ways. as children in the country they may be brought up on horseback, as they often are in the southern states and in england, in which case the difficulty will quickly settle itself; and this is doubtless best if practicable. but supposing it to be impossible, a pupil may be well taught by exercises in the school, just as officers are taught at west point or at saumur. one thing alone is certain: seat can never be acquired by desultory riding or by riding exclusively on the roads or in parks. next, as to management. without doubt the english dash and energy--in a word, rough-riding--is the first essential for any one who hopes to be either safe or happy on a horse. it is the foundation, without which nothing can avail. it means seat, confidence, and decision. yet there is something more that may be learned without at all impairing these qualities. to handle the horse rapidly and neatly, a control more or less complete must be established over his hind legs. in no other fashion can the thing be done. to attain this, it is not necessary or even desirable to go into all the niceties of the _haute école_. horsemen want to arrive at certain practical results for their own safety and comfort, and the problem to be solved is, how to accomplish them by rational and gentle means. ladies certainly do not care to _passage_ in the streets, but they do want to know how to stop their horses cleverly when they take fright, to turn their corners neatly at the trot without danger of a fall, and to avoid instantly any obstacle they may unexpectedly meet. it is also well to understand something of the simpler methods of regulating gaits. all these things may be learned best by studying the rudiments of the school system, and it is with rudiments only that this treatise pretends to deal. during the last twenty-five years many hand-books on equitation have been written for men, but few for women. this is the more remarkable as a woman's seat is such that she can not produce the same effects or use the same means as a man. instruction for him is therefore largely useless for her. men astride of a horse hold him between their legs and hands in a grip from which he can not escape, and can direct and force him with all the resolution and energy they possess. women, sitting on the left side, must supply the place of the right leg as well as they can. they are, of course, obliged to resort to various expedients, all more or less artificial and unsatisfactory certainly, but still the best they can command. yet it is for these very reasons far more important for women than for men to understand the art of management, since they must rely entirely on tact, skill, and knowledge, not only to overcome the difficulties of the cramped and unnatural seat imposed on them by fashion, but to supply their lack of physical strength. still, there is no reason for discouragement, for that these obstacles can be surmounted by intelligence and patience, and that women can learn to ride on something like an equality with the best men, the number of undoubtedly fine horsewomen sufficiently proves. contents. page introduction chapter i. mounting--dismounting--the position on horseback--manner of holding the reins chapter ii. exercises of pupils in private lessons--words of command--walking--turning to the right or left--voltes and reversed voltes--trotting chapter iii. classes--successive and individual movements--the gallop--leaping--suggestions for riding on the road chapter iv. resistances of the horse introduction. it has been held by some professors of the art of horsemanship that it is impossible for a lady to ride with as much ease and as much control of her horse as a man, on account of the disadvantages of her high saddle and the absence of the right leg as a controlling agent; but the result of my experience has shown me that this is a mistaken opinion. under the systems according to which riding was formerly taught, however, the judgment was a just one, because the object to be attained was the maintenance of the horse in what may be called a state of momentary equilibrium, or equilibrium of the second degree, by means of a double bit, curb and snaffle, aided by repeated slight pressure of the spurs. under the more modern system the double bit is often replaced by a simple snaffle with one direct rein and one passing through a running martingale. the results obtained are more scientific and delicate, and the horse may be kept in a state of sustained equilibrium, or equilibrium of the first degree, in which condition he is entirely under the control of the lady who knows how to make a judicious use of her whip in place of the absent spur. there are two very different ways of riding; the more usual, because the easier, consists in letting the horse go forward at a walk, a trot, or a gallop, the rider contenting herself with guiding him, and staying on his back; while, in the other, the will as well as the action of the animal is controlled, and he is _carried_ forward in obedient and intelligent sympathy with his rider. this requires study, tact, and discretion; but the result well repays the labor, and, until it is reached, no lady, however well she may look on horseback, can be reckoned a horsewoman. i can not too strongly recommend to parents the greatest care in the choice of a teacher for their children, as in later years it always takes more time and trouble to correct bad habits than it would have done to acquire good ones in the beginning. as a general rule, riding-teachers are promoted grooms, or men of that class, who may be able to show boys how to become good rough-riders, but who are quite incompetent to teach a young lady the scientific principles by which alone she can obtain a thorough mastery of her horse. and here i hope that my readers will allow me to offer them, with the deepest respect, a few suggestions in regard to dress, as years of teaching have shown me that much of a lady's power on horseback depends upon her feeling at ease in the saddle, and consequently free to give her attention to her teacher and her horse. for full dress, such as park-riding, no hat is so distinguished as a plain high silk one; but in the riding-house, or in the country, the low derby shape, or a soft felt, is now generally worn. if the shape is stiff, it should be carefully fitted to the head, for greater security and to avoid the risk of headache, and in any case an elastic should hold it firmly in place. little girls usually wear their hair flowing on their shoulders, which saves trouble; but older riders should braid it closely to the back of the head below the hat, and pin it very securely, as the motion of the horse is apt to shake it loose, and a teacher can scarcely expect much attention from a pupil whose hat vacillates on her head at every step, or who is obliged to stop her horse in order to replace rebellious hair-pins. it may be laid down as a rule that ornaments of every kind, and even flowers, charming as they are at other times when worn by a lady, are out of place now that horsewomen have deigned to copy in their dress the simplicity of the sterner sex. rings are especially to be avoided, as they are apt to cause the fingers to swell, and thus hinder a firm grasp of the reins. the best gloves are of thin, flexible dog-skin, and they should be a size larger than those usually worn, to allow the hand and wrist as much freedom as possible. if a lady does not object to sacrificing appearances, she will find great benefit from riding sometimes without gloves. a horse's mouth is often a very delicate instrument, and the vibrations which it gives to the reins are felt much more readily by the bare hand. tailors almost always try to make a habit very tight fitting, especially at the waist; but a lady's position on horseback is at best an artificial one, and unless she is at ease in her habit she will never look at home on her horse. the constraint caused by a tight collar or arm-hole soon becomes intolerable, and the chances are that a tight waist will give the rider a pain in her side if her horse leaves a walk. whether trousers or breeches are worn, they should fit closely, and no seams should be allowed where they will come between the wearer and the saddle, for a seam, or even a fold, is apt in a short time to mean a blister. trousers should be kept in place by straps of cloth about two inches wide, which pass under the feet. gaiters are warm and comfortable for winter; but care must be taken to have very flat buttons on the outside of the right leg, as that presses against the flaps of the saddle; and, for the same reason, when breeches and boots are worn, the buttons which fasten the former above the ankle should be on the inside of the right leg. it is better to wear laced boots instead of buttoned, with trousers, because the victoria stirrup, which is now generally used, is liable to press against the buttons and catch them in a way that is uncomfortable, and may be on occasion even dangerous. woven merino under-clothing will be found more comfortable than linen, as that is apt to get into folds and wrinkles, and ladies may also find it convenient to have their collars and cuffs attached to a sort of shirt, as that will remove the necessity for pins and elastics, which are always likely to get out of place. although her single spur is at times a most valuable adjunct to a lady, it should never be worn by beginners, nor until its use has been thoroughly taught in the course of study. it is with regret that i see the riding-whip becoming superseded by the handle of the english hunting-crop, as this is neither rational nor practical, being too short and light to replace the right leg advantageously or to give efficient punishment if it is needed. a good whip, flexible, without being limp, rather long than short, not too heavy, but well balanced, is best, especially in the riding-school. i would strongly recommend to parents that, when a daughter begins to ride, it should be on her own saddle, made on her measure, or at least amply large for her, as riding on a short saddle leads to a cramped and ungraceful seat. the correct size should allow the space of three fingers between the end of the saddle and the base of the spine, when the right knee is round the second pommel. some teachers recommend that the saddles of young pupils should be covered with buckskin, and this is often very useful; but when a firm and well-balanced seat is once acquired, there is nothing like pig-skin. the third pommel, or leaping-horn, is an important and now almost invariable addition to a lady's saddle, and should be so placed that it does not press, nor even touch, the left leg, while it is not needed, and yet so that its aid may be obtained at any time by slightly drawing up the left leg. it should stand out enough from the saddle to cover the top of the thigh, and be slightly curved but not too much. i have seen this pommel made so long and so sharply curved that the left leg was fairly inclosed, and this may be dangerous. as it is movable, a pupil need not be allowed to become dependent on it; nor should it be too tightly screwed into place, as, during a long ride or lesson, it is sometimes a relief for a lady to be able to turn it slightly. the slipper stirrup is often used for children and beginners, and has the advantage of being warm in winter, but the disadvantage that a habit of pushing the foot too far home is easily acquired, and not so easily got rid of when the victoria, or, better still, a plain, open stirrup, is used later. the material and workmanship of a saddle should be of the best quality, and the less stitching and ornamentation the better. style on horseback depends on simplicity. girths seem to hold better if crossed--that is to say, if the girth which is buckled to the forward strap on the right side of the saddle is fastened to the second strap on the left; and the saddle should be so firm in its place that a lady may hang for a moment by her hands from the first pommel on the right side, or the second on the left, without causing it to shift its position. the stirrup-leather should pass under the horse outside the girths, and be connected with another strap on the right side of the saddle, in order to counterbalance the pressure on the stirrup. i may as well say here that a lady's saddle is well placed when there is a space, of the breadth of four fingers, between the right side and the upper end of the shoulder. i am accustomed to use for my pupils a simple snaffle with double reins and martingale, as by this means beginners do less harm to the mouth; and my own experience, as well as that of many others who have given it a thorough trial, is that this bit is preferable to any other for the riding-school, the road, or perhaps even for hunting, both on account of the simplicity of its effects upon the horse and of its mildness, so much greater than that of the curb, which often irritates and exasperates a spirited animal. no horses are more ready to bolt than the thorough-breds on the race-track, yet jockeys never ride with anything but a snaffle. they allow their horses to gain a pressure on the bit, and, as the jockey pulls, the horse quickens his pace. if you do _not_ permit your horse to bear on the bit, you will gain by its simple means all those "effects of opposition" of which i shall speak later, and which are difficult to master, especially for beginners. i am aware that this opinion is contrary to that usually held both here and in europe, as it certainly is to the teaching of mr. baucher. yet, as it is the final result of many years of experience, i venture to submit it to the public, although i can hardly hope that it will win general assent. it may be necessary to add that success with the snaffle presupposes a fine seat and some experience, as tact and skill must replace the loss of leverage. i consider the "baucher" snaffle the best, as the bars on either side prevent it from slipping into the horse's mouth under a strong lateral pressure. almost all riding-teachers have been educated in the army, where the reins must be held in the left hand, to leave the right free for the saber, and they continue to teach as they were taught, without considering that in civil life the right hand is practically unoccupied. when the horse is moving in a straight line, it is easy to gather the reins into one hand; but when the rider wishes to turn him to the right or left, or make him give to the bit, two hands are just twice as good as one, and i can see no reason for always riding with the reins in one hand. i have been often asked at what age a little girl should begin to ride, and i should suggest eight years as a reasonable time. if a child begins thus early, it is as well that she should take her first half-dozen lessons in her jacket and trousers, as the correct position of the legs is of great importance, and it is, of course, much more difficult for a teacher to judge of this through a skirt. riding lessons are best begun in the autumn, as winter is apt to be cold for beginners, who are not able to keep themselves warm by trotting, and in summer flies often make the horses nervous, which may disturb young or timid pupils. the duration of the first lesson should be from twenty-five to forty-five minutes. the older the pupil is the shorter the lesson ought to be, although this rule is not without exceptions. the usual proportion is: from to years, minutes; from to years, minutes; after years, minutes. after the first five or six lessons they may be gradually lengthened, day by day, until an hour is reached, and one hour in the riding-school under instruction, if the pupil holds herself in the correct position, is sufficient. when the lesson is over, the pupil should rest for a short time before changing her dress, and walk about a little in order to re-establish a free circulation of the blood. it is always wise for a lady to walk her horse for at least ten minutes before she dismounts, both for his sake and her own. the morning after her first lesson the pupil will feel tired and stiff all over, especially in the shoulders, legs, and arms. the second day the stiffness will be worse, and on the third it will be at its height, after which it will gradually wear away--that is to say, if she continues to ride every day; but if she stops between her lessons the stiffness will come back after each one. if a child has any organic weakness, the teacher should, of course, be told of it, in order that he may allow intervals for rest during the lesson; and it is probably needless to add that a child should not be allowed to ride during digestion. here i should like to say a few words to the pupils themselves. never hesitate to ask your teacher to repeat anything you are not certain you understand. teachers often take too much for granted, and in riding all depends on mastering the rudiments. have confidence in your teacher, and do not be disappointed if your progress is not perfectly regular. there are days in which you may seem able to do nothing right, and this is discouraging, and may last for several days at a time; but, on looking back at the end of a week, or, better still, a month, you will see how much ground you have gained. remember that upon your teacher rests a grave responsibility. other instructors are only brought into contact with one will, and that one harmless; while the riding-master has to deal with two: that of the pupil, which is dangerous from inexperience, and that of the horse, which is dangerous from his strength, consequently he is often obliged to speak with energy in order to keep the attention of the horses as well as their riders. to ride well on horseback is to place yourself, or cause yourself to be placed, upon a saddle; to remain there at ease in a position which has been calculated and regulated by certain rules, and to make your horse go when, where, and as you will. you cannot learn to do this if you are impatient of correction or sensitive to criticism, even though sometimes severe. chapter i. mounting--dismounting--the position on horseback--manner of holding the reins. mounting. the custom which prevails in many riding-schools of allowing pupils to mount from steps or platforms seems to me not only unscientific, but irrational, unless, indeed, the pupil is too small, too old, or too stout to be mounted in any other way; unscientific, because there is a correct and prescribed method of mounting from the ground, and irrational, because, if a lady dismounts away from the riding-school, and has not been taught this method, she will be obliged to go to the nearest house in search of a chair or bench, or at least must find a fallen tree-trunk or a big stone before she can mount again. the pupil should advance to the left side of her horse, which is supposed to be standing quietly with a groom at his head, to whom she will hand her whip, taking care not to flourish it in such a manner as to startle the animal. she should then turn and face in the same direction as the horse, let her skirt fall, and put her right hand on the second pommel of her saddle, her left hand on the right shoulder of her assistant, who is stooping in front of her, and her left foot, the knee being bent, into his left hand. she should then count three aloud: at one, she should prepare to spring, by assuring herself that she is standing squarely on her right foot; at two, she should bend her right knee, keeping the body straight; and at three, she should spring strongly from her right leg, straightening also her left as she rises, and steadying herself by a slight pressure on the shoulder of her assistant, who rises as she springs. she must be careful not to push his hand away with her left foot, as this weakens his power to help her, and as she rises she should turn her body slightly to the left, so that she will find herself, if she has calculated her spring rightly, sitting on the saddle sideways, facing to the left. she will then shift her right hand from the second to the first pommel, turn her body from left to right, lift her right leg over the second pommel, and put her left foot into the stirrup. afterward she will arrange her skirt smoothly under her with her left hand. two elastic straps are usually sewn on the inside of a riding-skirt to prevent it from wrinkling. the right foot is intended to be slipped into the upper one, the left into the lower, and, if possible, the pupil should do this just before she mounts, as it will save her and her assistant time and trouble after she is in the saddle. as soon as she can mount with ease, she should also learn to hold her whip in the right hand, which rests on the second pommel. these are trifling details, but they help to render a lady self-reliant, and it may happen to her at some time to ride a horse who will not stand patiently while straps are being arranged and a whip passed from hand to hand. i offer here a few suggestions for the use of any gentleman who may wish to assist a lady to mount. he should stand facing her at the left side of the horse, his right foot slightly in front of his left. he should then stoop and offer his left hand for her foot. unless the lady is an experienced rider, he should place his right hand lightly under her left arm to steady her as she rises. he should count aloud with her, one, two, three, and at three he should straighten himself, giving a strong support for her left foot. there are two other ways of helping a lady to mount: the first consists in offering both hands, with the fingers interlaced, as a support for her foot; and in the second he appears to kneel, almost touching the ground with his left knee, and holding his right leg forward with the knee bent, in order that she may step on it and mount as if from a platform. both these ways seem to me to be dangerous, as, in case the horse moves his hind-quarters suddenly to the right, as the lady rises, which is not uncommon, she will be suspended in space, with nothing to steady her but her hand on the pommel, and may fall under the horse's feet. if a lady wears a spur she should always tell her assistant, who will then be careful that her left heel does not touch the animal's side. i have often been asked if it is possible for a lady to mount alone; and it is certainly possible, although not very convenient. she may either avail herself of a fallen tree, a stump, a fence, or any slight elevation, which is, of course, as if she were to mount from a platform in the school; or she may let down her stirrup as far as she can by means of the strap on the right side of the saddle, take firm hold of the second pommel with her left hand and the back of the saddle with her right, put her left foot into the stirrup, and give a quick spring with her right leg, which, if she is active, will land her in the saddle, after which she can shorten her stirrup-leather. a lady will probably never in her life be called upon to mount alone in a flat country, but she can never have too many resources, and it is easy to make the attempt some time when riding alone in the school. dismounting. the horse having come to a full stop, the pupil may let the reins fall on his neck if he is very docile, slip her left foot out of the stirrup and both feet out of their elastic straps, pass her right leg over the second pommel, and sit sideways on her saddle for an instant; then give her left hand to her assistant, who stands at the side of the horse, and let herself slip to the ground. if she should be very stout, or if her feet are cold, or she is tired, it will be easier for her to drop both reins and to place her hands on the shoulders of her assistant, who can steady her arms with his hands. a lady may, of course, dismount without help by keeping her right hand on the second pommel and slipping down; but she must be careful not to jerk her horse's mouth with the reins, which she should hold in her right hand. i strongly recommend teachers and parents to insist that these exercises of mounting and dismounting be practiced frequently, as their usefulness is great. the position on horseback. it has often surprised me to see the indifference of parents to the manner in which children carry themselves and manage their bodies and limbs, whether standing, walking, or sitting. although they have sometimes more than enough of science, literature, and music, their physical culture has been neglected, so that they are not conscious of the bad habits into which they have fallen, and which become deeply rooted and almost second nature. at last the riding-master is called upon to render graceful the bodies which have been allowed for years to acquire ungraceful tricks. if a lady wishes to ride really well, and to look well on her horse, she must be supple and straight, without stiffness, as rigidity precludes all idea of ease and elegance, to say nothing of the fact that no horse looks at his ease under a stiff rider. during the first lessons a pupil is apt to have a certain unconscious fear, which causes a contraction of the muscles; and it is in order to overcome this fear, and consequent rigidity, that the following gymnastic exercise is recommended: the pupil should be mounted on a very quiet horse and led into the middle of the school, where the teacher, standing on the left side, takes in his left hand her right foot, and draws it very gently, and without any jerk, back toward the left leg; the pupil should then place her left hand in his right, and her right hand on the first pommel, and, thus supported, lean back until her body touches the back of the horse, straightening herself afterward with as little aid from the teacher as possible, and chiefly by the pressure of the right knee on the second pommel. this movement should be repeated, the pupil leaning not only straight back, but to the left and the right, the teacher holding the right foot in place and making the pupil understand that it is to the fixity of contact between her right knee and the pommel that she must look for the firmness and consequent safety of her seat on horseback. when the pupil has acquired some ease in this exercise, the teacher will allow her to practice it without his hold on her right foot, and will afterward withdraw the support of his right hand, until finally she becomes able to execute the movements while the teacher leads the horse at a walk in a circle to the left, his right hand being always ready to replace her foot in position if she should extend it forward. this exercise will indicate at once to the teacher any muscular rigidity on the part of the pupil, which he can therefore correct by the following movements: stiffness of the neck may be removed by flexions to the right, to the left, back and to the right, back and to the left, straight forward, and straight back, always gently and without any abruptness. for stiffness in the spine, the pupil should lean far forward and then backward, bending easily at the waist and keeping the shoulders well down and back. if the shoulders are stiff, the pupil should keep her elbows close to her body, the fore-arm being curved, and the wrists on a level with the elbow; then let her move her shoulders as far forward, backward, up, and down as she can, first separately, then together, and at last in different directions at the same time. very often rigidity in the shoulder comes from stiffness in the arm, when the following flexion will be found useful: the arm should be allowed to fall easily by the side, and afterward lifted until the wrist is on a level with the elbow, the fingers being shut. the elbow should then be moved out from the sides and raised until it is on a level with the shoulder, with the fore-arm horizontal; after which the wrist should be raised in the air, keeping the elbow bent at a right angle, and the fingers in front, the arm being afterward stretched to its full length perpendicularly, and finally returned to its place by the side, after going through the same motions in reversed order. this exercise should be done first with one arm, then the other, then with both together; it is somewhat complicated, but no force of habit can resist its good effect. another simpler flexion consists in first raising and then lowering the arm, stretching it out in front and behind, and at last turning it round and round, the shoulder acting as a pivot. it is impossible to see whether a pupil has too much stiffness in the knees, but she can ascertain for herself by stretching out both her feet in front and then bending them as far back as they will go, and she may also correct the same fault in her ankles by turning her feet from left to right, from right to left, and up and down, without moving the leg. all this gymnastic practice must be done slowly, quietly, and patiently, however tiresome it may seem, as the result in the future will be of the greatest importance, and it must also be done intelligently, for the object is not to learn a certain number of movements, but to gain flexibility and ease throughout the body. parents can help a teacher considerably by making children go through these flexions at home; and it seems scarcely necessary to add that the greatest care and discretion must be used in order not to fatigue pupils, especially young girls. when the teacher is satisfied that his pupil has overcome all nervousness and stiffness, so that she feels at home in the saddle, he should explain to her the details of the position during motion, and should insist that she correct her faults without help from him, in order that she may learn the quicker to take the initiative and be responsible for herself. experience has shown me that it is easier for a pupil to keep her shoulders on the same line, and sit square, if she holds a rein in either hand; therefore i recommend this method. and i have also found that to learn by heart the following rules produces excellent results, especially in cases where ladies really wish to study, and to improve any bad habits into which they may have fallen: =the head straight, easy, turning upon the shoulders in every direction, without involving the body in its movement.= if the head, being at the end of the spinal column, is stiff, this stiffness will be communicated to all the upper part of the body; if it can not turn freely without making the shoulders turn also, the stability of the seat will be impaired each time that the head moves. =the eyes fixed straight to the front, looking between the horse's ears, and always in the direction in which he is going.= if the eyes are dropped, the head will tend to droop forward, and little by little a habit of stooping will be acquired, which will destroy the balance and steadiness of the seat; while, if the rider does not look out ahead, she may not be able to communicate with her horse in time to avoid accidents--as he is not supposed to know where he is going, and the responsibility of guiding him rests with her. =the upper part of the body easy, flexible, and straight.= if the upper part of the body is not easy, its stiffness will extend to other parts which should be free to give to the motion of the horse, and thus avoid any shock; if it is not straight, the effect is lost of the perpendicular line upon the horizontal one of the horse's back, which corrects the displacement of equilibrium when the animal is in motion. =the lower part of the body firm, without stiffness.= if it were not firm, the spine would bend forward or back from the perpendicular, and derange the center of gravity, with dangerous results in case the horse made a sudden bound; but there must be no stiffness, as that detracts from the ease and suppleness indispensable to a good seat. =the shoulders well back, and on the same line.= well back, in order to give the lungs full space to breathe, and to prevent stooping. the most common fault among ladies who ride is, that the right shoulder is held farther forward than the left, which is not only ungraceful, but bad for the horse, as the rider's weight does not come evenly on his back. =the arms falling naturally, the elbows being held close to the body without stiffness.= if the arms are held as if tied to the body, or if the elbows are stuck out, the wrists and hands can not guide the horse with ease. =the fore-arm bent.= forming with the upper arm a right angle, of which the elbow is the apex, in order to give the wrist an intermediate position, whether the hand is held high or low. =the wrists on a level with the elbows.= because, if the wrists are held too low, the rider will get into the habit of resting her hands on her right knee, and will consequently neglect to occupy herself with her horse's mouth. =six inches apart.= in order to give the rider a fixed intermediary position between the movements of the hands forward, to the left, or to the right, by which she governs her horse: if the wrists are held farther apart, the elbows will appear pinioned to the sides; if nearer together, the elbows, on the contrary, will stick out in an angle. =the reins held in each hand.= i attach great importance to this disposition of the reins, as it gives a novice confidence, makes it easier for her to sit square in the saddle, and easier also to manage her horse. =the fingers firmly closed, facing each other, with the thumbs extended on the ends of the reins.= the fingers should face each other, because, if they are turned up or down, the elbows will get out of position; and the reins must be held firmly and kept from slipping by the thumb, as the horse will be quick to take advantage if he feels the reins lengthen whenever he moves his head. =the right foot falling naturally on the panel of the saddle, the point forward and somewhat down, and the right side of the leg held closely to the saddle.= as the firmness of the seat depends greatly upon a close hold of the pommel by the muscles of the right knee, it is important that they should have as free play as possible; and, if the foot is turned outward, not only is the effect ungraceful, but the muscles soon become fatigued and the whole position constrained, even that of the right shoulder, which will be held too far forward. =the left foot in the stirrup, without leaning on it.= if a lady leans her weight on the stirrup, her natural tendency will be to sit over too much to the left, which may cause the saddle to turn, and is very hard on the horse's back; besides, as she is out of equilibrium, any sudden movement will shake her loose in her seat. =the point of the foot turned slightly to the right, and the heel held lower than the rest of the foot.= if the point is turned somewhat in, the whole leg will rest more easily and closely against the saddle; and, if the heel is lower than the ball of the foot, additional contact of the leg will be gained, which is important in managing a horse, and, when a spur is worn, it will not be so apt to touch him at a wrong time. =the part of the right leg between the knee and the hip-joint should be turned on its outer or right side, and should press throughout its length on the saddle; while, on the contrary, the inside of the left leg should be in permanent contact with the saddle. the knees should, in their respective positions, be continually in contact, without any exception. the lower or movable part of the leg plays upon the immovable at the knee-joint, the sole exception being when the rider rises to the trot, at which time the upper part of the leg leaves the saddle.= this position on horseback may be called academic, or classical; and, from the beginning, a lady should endeavor to obtain it, without, of course, becoming discouraged if, for some time, she fails to attain perfection. i have met with excellent results by allowing my pupils to leave this correct position, and then resume it again, at first standing still, then at other gaits progressively. "progression" in horsemanship means the execution of a movement at a trot or gallop after it has been learned and practiced at a walk. in this way pupils soon become conscious both of the right and the wrong seats, and the difference between them, and it is consequently easy to correct any detail in which they may find themselves defective. i have done this in accordance with a principle in which i firmly believe, i. e., that the best teacher is he who soonest makes his pupil understand what is expected of her, and how to accomplish it. the former is theoretical, the latter practical horsemanship, and there is a great difference between them. if the teacher finds it hard to make a pupil understand the foregoing position, he may help her in the following manner: he should take her right foot, as indicated in the flexions, and, going as far back as he can, place his right elbow on the horse's croup, with his fore-arm perpendicular, and his fingers open and bent backward. he will then request the pupil to lean back until she feels the support of the teacher's hand between her shoulders, and to allow her head and shoulders to go back of their own weight, when it will be easy for him, by pressure of his hand, to straighten the body until it is in the correct position. some teachers adopt the hungarian method of passing a round stick through the arms and behind the back; but this is only practicable when a horse is standing still, or at a walk, and even then great care should be used, as the rider is quite helpless. it has also the disadvantage of making tall and slender persons hollow their backs unduly. pupils should be warned to avoid, as much as may be, clasping the pommel too tightly with the right knee, as a constant strain will fatigue them and take away the reserve force which they may need at a given moment; indeed, a rider should be taught from the first to economize his strength as much as possible. as soon as the pupil can sit her horse correctly, at a walk, holding the reins in both hands, she should practice holding them in the left hand only, in case she should wish to use her right hand during the lesson. the english method of holding the reins of a double bridle is, to bring all four up straight through the fingers; for instance, the curb-reins, being outside, go outside the little finger and between the first and second fingers, while those of the snaffle come between the fourth and middle and the middle and first fingers. in france and in this country the reins are crossed, the curb being below, outside the little finger, and between the third and middle fingers, while the snaffle comes between the fourth and middle and the second and first fingers. the latter method seems to me preferable, as it is easier to separate the reins, and also to regulate the amount of tension required on one pair or the other. in either position, the hand is held in front of the body, with the palm and shut fingers toward it, and the reins are held firmly in place by the pressure of the thumb. the teacher should explain that, as the curb is a much more severe bit than the snaffle, its effects must be used with delicacy, and he should give his pupils plenty of practice in taking up, separating, and reuniting the reins, in order that they may learn to handle them quickly and with precision at any gait. chapter ii. exercises of pupils in private lessons--words of command--walking--turning to the right or left--voltes and reversed voltes--trotting. although private lessons can not begin to take the place of exercises in class, it is advisable that the pupil should have some lessons by herself first, in order that she may learn to manage her horse to some extent at the walk, trot, and canter. words of command in the riding-school are of two kinds; the first being preparatory, to enable the pupil to think over quickly the means to be employed in order to obey the second or final order. example: "prepare to go forward"--preparatory. "go forward"--final order, given in a loud voice, with emphasis on each word or syllable. between the two orders, the teacher should at first explain to the pupil what is wanted, and the means of obtaining it, and later should require her to repeat it herself, so that she may learn it by heart. the teacher commands the pupil, the pupil demands obedience from the horse, and the horse executes the movement; but this triple process needs time, all the more because a novice is likely to hesitate, even if she makes no mistake. by giving the pupil time to think, she will gain the habit of making progressive demands on her horse, through means which she has calculated, and she will thus gradually become a true horsewoman, able to make her horse know what she wants him to do; for, in almost every case, obstinacy or resistance on the part of the horse comes from the want of due progression between the demand made of him and its execution. when the teacher is satisfied that the pupil is in a regular and easy position, before allowing her to go forward, he will give her the directions necessary to stop her horse, and will make sure that his explanation has been understood. to stop: the horse being at the walk, to stop him, the pupil should place her leg and whip in contact with his sides, lift her hands and bring them close to the body, and lean her body back, drawing herself up. when the horse has come to a stand-still, she should resume the normal position. to go forward: the whip and leg should be placed in contact, the hands moved forward, and the body inclined also forward. when the pupil has a clear idea of these movements, the teacher will give the orders: . _prepare to go forward._-- . _forward._ and, after some steps have been taken, . _prepare to stop._-- . _stop._ while making his pupils advance at a walk, the teacher will explain succinctly the mechanism of locomotion. the horse at rest is said to be square on his base when his four legs are perpendicular between two parallels, one being the horizontal line of the ground, the other the corresponding line of his back. if his hind legs are outside of this square, he is said to be "campé," or planted, because he can neither move forward nor back unless he changes this position. if his fore legs are outside this line, he is "campé" in front, as, for instance, when kicking; if, on the contrary, his fore legs are inside his base, he is said to be "under himself" in front; and it is a bad sign when a horse takes this position habitually, as it shows fatigue or weakness in those limbs. the horse goes forward, backward, trots or gallops, by a contraction of the muscles of the hind quarters, the duty of the fore legs being to support his weight and get out of the way of the hind ones; and the whole art of riding consists in a knowledge of the means which give the rider control of these muscular contractions of the hind quarters. the application of the left leg and of the whip on the sides of the horse serve to make him go forward, backward, to the right or left, and the reins serve to guide and support him, and also to indicate the movement required by the whip and leg. . _prepare to turn to the right._-- . _turn to the right._ to turn her horse to the right, the pupil should draw her right hand back and to the right, incline her body also to the right, turning her head in the same direction, and use her whip lightly, without stopping the pressure of her left leg. when her horse has turned far enough, she will cease pressure on the right side, and carry her horse straight forward. in the beginning, regularity of movement is not so important as that the pupil should understand the means by which she executes it; that is to say, that she disturbs the equilibrium of her horse by carrying the weight of her body to the right; and, while her hand and whip combine on that side, the left leg prevents him from stopping or straggling over the ground. riders in a school are said to be on the right hand when the right side of the body is toward the middle of the ring; and this is the easier way for inexperienced pupils, because they are less shaken when their horses move to the right, as they sit on the left side of their saddles. it follows, naturally, that to be on the left hand is to have the left side toward the middle; and, when riding on the right hand, all movements are executed to the right, and _vice versâ_. the teacher must watch carefully that pupils do not allow their horses to turn the corners of their own accord, as a regular movement to the right should be executed by the pupil at each corner when riding on the right hand, and to the left when going the other way. if left to guide himself around a school, the horse will describe a sort of oval, rounding the corners, instead of going into them, and thus much valuable practice is lost to the rider. the pupil being at a walk, and on the right hand, the teacher will give the word of command: . _prepare to trot._-- . _trot._ to make her horse trot, she must advance her wrists, lean the body forward, and use the leg and whip, resuming the normal position as soon as her horse obeys her. in order not to fatigue the pupil, the teacher will only allow her to trot a short distance, and will remind her to keep her right foot well back and close to the saddle, and to sit close without stiffness. he will also take care that she passes from the walk to the trot gradually, by making her horse walk faster and faster until he breaks into a slow trot. each time that a pupil changes from a slow to a faster gait, she should accelerate the former as much as possible, and begin the latter slowly, increasing the speed gradually up to the desired point; and the same rule holds good, reversing the process, if she wishes to change from a fast to a slower gait. as the pupil gains confidence, and feels at home in the trot, the teacher will let her practice it at shorter intervals, and for a longer time, taking care, however, that she does not attempt to rise to it; if she loses the correct position, she must come to a walk, and, having corrected her fault, resume the trot. in the intervals of rest, in order not to lose time, the pupil should repeat at a walk the movements which she has learned already, the teacher becoming gradually more exacting in regard to the correctness of the positions and effects, adding also the three following movements, which are more complicated, and which complete the series, dealing with changes of direction. the volte is a circular movement, executed by the horse upon a curved line, not less than twelve of his steps in length. the pupil being at a walk, and on the right hand of the school, the teacher will say: . _prepare to volte._-- . _volte_, explaining that the pupil should direct her horse to the right, exactly as if she merely meant to turn him in that direction, continuing, however, the same position, and using the same effects, until the twelve paces have been taken, which will bring her to the point of beginning, when she will resume the normal position, and go forward on the same hand. the half-volte, as its name implies, comprises the first part of the movement, the pupil coming back to her place by a diagonal line. . _prepare to half-volte._-- . _half-volte._ the pupil uses the same effects as in the volte, but, when she has described half the circle, she returns to her starting-point by a diagonal, using the same effects, but with much less force, since, to regain her place by the diagonal, she will only have one fourth of a turn to the right to make; then, at the end of the diagonal, she must change her effects completely, in order to execute three fourths of a turn to the left, which will bring her back to her track, but on the left hand. . _prepare for the reversed half-volte._-- . _reversed half-volte._ to make her horse execute a reversed half-volte, the pupil uses the same means and effects as in the preceding movement, exactly reversing them at the end; that is to say, when on the diagonal, about six paces from her track, she makes a half-circle to the left, following the rules prescribed for the volte. the teacher must be careful to explain that, in the voltes, the pupil does not change the direction in which she is going, because she describes a circle; but in the half-volte, if she is on the right hand at the beginning, she will be on the left at the end. he must also see that her horse executes all these movements at a steady pace; and, if she will practice faithfully these different changes of direction, with the positions and effects which govern them, she will, in time, acquire the habit of guiding her horse promptly and skillfully in any direction. _to go backward._--the pupil, being at a stand-still, the teacher will give the word of command: . _prepare to back._-- . _back._ _explanation._--to make her horse go backward, the pupil should draw herself up and lean back very far, using her leg and whip together, in order to bring the horse's legs well under him, and at the same time raise both wrists and bring them near the body. as soon as the horse has taken his first step backward, the pupil should stop the action of her leg, whip, and hands, only to resume them almost immediately to determine the second step; to stop backing, she will stop all effects, and resume the normal positions. after a few steps, the teacher should say: . _prepare to stop backing._-- . _stop backing._ the movement is only correct when the horse backs in a straight line, and step by step. if he quickens his movement, he must be at once carried vigorously forward with the leg and whip. when the pupil begins to have a firm seat at the trot, the teacher will gradually let her pass the corners at that gait, and, at his discretion, will also let her execute some of the movements to the right and left. to do this, she will use precisely the same means as at the walk, the only difference being that, as the gait is quicker, the changes of equilibrium are greater for both horse and rider, and the effects should be lighter and more quickly employed and stopped. i have given most of the movements to the right, to avoid useless repetition, but they should be frequently reversed; and care must always be taken to avoid over-fatigue. when the teacher is fully satisfied that his pupil has advanced far enough to profit by it, he may begin to teach her to rise at the trot; but he must not be in too great a hurry to reach this point, and he must make her understand that to rise is the result of a good seat, and that a good seat does _not_ result from rising. for the last fifteen years i have looked in vain, in all the treatises on riding, for the reason of that rising to the action of the horse known as the "english trot," and yet i have seen it practiced among races ignorant of equestrian science, who ride from childhood as a means of getting from one place to another. the arabs, cossacks, turks, mexicans, and apaches, all employ it, in a fashion more or less precise and rhythmical, rising whether their stirrups are short or long, and even if they have none. it is certain that this way of neutralizing the reaction spares and helps the horse; and it was calculated, at the meeting of the "equestrian committee" at paris, in , that each time a rider rises he relieves the horse's back of one third of the weight which must rest on it permanently if he sits fast; and since that time rising at the trot has been practiced in all the cavalry of europe. after the siege of paris, in , i was obliged to undertake the training of the horses of my regiment, which was then stationed at massy. these horses were all young and unbroken; and, as a result of their youth and the fatigues they had undergone, they were in poor condition, and nearly all had sore backs. i directed all the teachers who were under me, and the men who rode the horses during their training, to rise at the trot; and, three months later, the young horses were in perfect health, while their riders, who had been exhausted by a severe campaign, had gained on an average seven pounds in weight; and it was this experiment which was submitted by me to the "equestrian committee." i was tempted to make this digression, which i hope will be forgiven me, because i have heard in this country a great deal of adverse and, in my opinion, unjust criticism of the english trot, which i ascribe to the neglect of teachers, and the indifference of ladies brought up in the old school of riding to prefer horses which cantered all the time, or were broken to artificial gaits, like racking and pacing. the rider who wishes to rise to the trot should be careful that the stirrup is not so short as to keep her left leg in constant contact with the third pommel, or leaping-horn, as, unless there is the space of three or four fingers between the pommel and the leg, the latter may be bruised, and the rider forced down too soon. in order to explain this movement, the teacher may proceed as follows: placing himself at the left side of the horse, he will ask the pupil to take the reins in her left hand and put her right hand on the first pommel, with the thumb inside and the palm of the hand on the pommel; he will then take her left foot in his left hand, in order to prevent her from pushing it forward, explaining that, by pressing on the stirrup, she will develop the obtuse angle formed by her leg, of which the knee is the apex; whereas, if she pushes her foot forward, the angle will cease to exist, and she can not lift herself. with his right hand placed under her left arm, he will help her to lift herself perpendicularly; while she is in the air he will count one, will let her pause there for a short space of time, and will then help her to let herself slowly down, continuing the pressure on the stirrup, and, when she has regained her saddle, he will count two; then he will recommence the movement of rising, and will count three while she is in the air, and four when she is again seated; and this may be continued until he sees that she is beginning to be tired. the foot must only be one third of its length in the stirrup; for, if it is pushed home, she will lose the play of the ankle, which will tend to stiffen the knee and hip. when the pupil begins to understand, the teacher will let her go through the movement rather more quickly, still counting one, two, three, four; then he will allow her to practice it without his help: all this preparatory work being done while the horse is standing still. it is important that she should not drop into her saddle, but let herself down by pressing on the stirrup; and on no account should the right knee cease to be in contact with the second pommel, as this is the sole case in which the lower part of this leg is motionless while the upper part moves. as soon as the pupil can rise without too much effort, and tolerably quickly, she may practice it at the walk, and then at the trot, counting for herself, one, two, three, four; and she must put a certain amount of energy into it, for all the theory in the world will not teach her to rise in time with the horse unless she also helps herself. the theory of the rhythmical cadence is easy enough to give: the rider rises when the horse takes one step, and sinks back at the second, to rise again at the third; but the cadence itself is not so easy to find; and to rise at the wrong step is like beginning on the wrong beat of a waltz. many young persons get into the bad habit of lowering the right knee when they rise, and lifting it when they regain their seat; but this is a mistake, as the right knee should be immovable, and in constant contact with the second pommel. as soon as the pupil has struck the cadence (and, once found, it comes easily afterward), she should discontinue the use of her right hand on the pommel, and the teacher may be more exacting as to the regularity of her position than is necessary in her first efforts. during rising to the trot, the upper part of the body should be very slightly bent forward; and, if the teacher notices that the pupil is rising from right to left, or left to right, instead of perpendicularly, he should make her put the fingers of her right hand on the top of her saddle behind, and thus give herself a little help in rising, until she gets used to it. each time that the rider wishes to make her horse trot, she should sit close while he changes from a walk to a trot, and until he is trotting as fast as is necessary, because he does not arrive at that speed instantly, but by hurrying his steps, so that there is no regular cadence of the trot to which she can rise; and she should follow the same rule when she makes him slacken his pace before coming to a walk. the teacher must be careful to see that the hands do not follow the movements of the body, as they must keep quite still, the arms moving at the elbow. there is not, nor can there be, any approximate calculation of the height to rise, as that depends entirely upon the gait of the horse. if he takes short steps, the rider must rise oftener, and consequently not so high; but, if he is long-gaited, she must rise high, in order not to get back into the saddle before he is ready to take his second step. chapter iii. classes--successive and individual movements--the gallop--leaping--suggestions for riding on the road. when the pupil has taken from ten to fifteen lessons, she ought to be able to execute the movements she has studied with a certain degree of correctness, and to remain a full hour on horseback without fatigue; and she should then, if possible, be placed in a class composed of not less than twelve nor more than twenty-four members. children in a class should be of the same sex, and, as near as may be, of the same age and equestrian experience. it is not necessary that the class should meet every day; it may come together one, two, or three times a week, under the guidance of the same teacher, and this need not prevent a pupil who is in it from coming to the school at other times to practice the various movements by herself. all concerned should do their best to have all the members of the class present, and the school should be kept clear of other riders during such classes. the presence of spectators is objectionable, particularly where there is a class of young girls. granted that they are the parents, for instance, of one or two of the pupils: to the rest they are strangers, who cause constraint, as the teacher is obliged to criticise, correct, and, in a word, instruct, in a loud voice, so that the observation made to one may serve as a suggestion to all. the difference of progress between classes and individual pupils is so great that one may calculate that, after one hundred private lessons, a pupil will not ride so well as if she had taken fifty lessons in class. in a class she is obliged to keep her horse at a certain distance from the others, and in his own place, and, in her turn, go through exercises directed by a will other than her own, while the constant repetition of principles by the teacher fixes them in her memory. on the other hand, the private pupil takes her time to make her horse go through a movement; and, that movement once understood, there is no reason for the repetition of the explanations which can alone make the theory and principle of riding familiar. i am certainly not an advocate for theory without practice; but i insist that a rider must know what she ought to do before she can do it really well, as all good results in riding are obtained by long practice, based on a rational theory. the teacher should choose out of his class the four most skillful pupils, whose horses are free and regular in their gaits, to serve as leaders, one at the head and one at the end of the two columns, which should be drawn up on the long sides of the school, each rider having a space of at least three feet between the head of her horse and the tail of the one in front of her, the heads of the leaders' horses being about six feet from the corner of the school. while the columns are standing still, the teacher should explain distinctly the difference between distance and interval, and he had better be on foot at the end of the school, facing the columns. by "distance" is meant the space between the tail of one horse and the head of the next in the column. "interval" is the space between two horses who are standing or going forward on parallel lines. all movements are executed singly or in file: in the first case each pupil goes through the movement, without regard to the others; in the second, the pupils execute the movement in turn after the leaders of the column. a movement in file, once known, may be repeated individually, but only at a walk in the beginning, in order to insure attention. the columns should both be on the right hand; consequently the head of one will be opposite the end of the other as they are drawn up on their respective sides. first order: . _prepare to go forward._-- . _go forward._ when the final word of command is given, the pupils will advance simultaneously, each one using the same effects as if she were alone, and being careful to preserve the correct distance. the two leaders should so regulate the gait of their horses as to pass the opposite corners of the school at the same moment, and this gait should be uniform. if a pupil loses her distance, she should regain it by making her horse walk faster; but she should try to keep her place, as the whole column must quicken its pace when she does, and all suffer from the carelessness of one. when the columns are on the short sides of the school, the teacher should give the order: . _prepare to halt_; and when they are on the long side, . _halt._ when they are again going forward, always on the right hand, the order should be given: . _prepare to turn to the right._-- . _turn to the right._ at the final order each pupil will turn to the right on her own account, and according to the rules already prescribed; at the end of this movement all will find themselves on parallel lines, and about twelve feet apart; they should then turn the head somewhat to the right, in order to see that they are on the same line, and cross the width of the school in such a way that the columns will meet and pass each other in the middle. when they have reached the opposite side, they will turn to the right without further order, the leaders at the end of the column being now at its head. this movement should _never_ be executed except at a walk. to replace the columns in their accustomed order, the teacher should have this movement executed a second time. when the columns are going forward on the right hand, the order will be given: . _prepare to volte in file._ in this movement the same principles and the same means are used as in a private lesson; the leaders, however, describe a larger circle proportionate to the length of their columns, and at the end their horses' heads should be about three feet behind the tails of the last horses in their respective columns. the other pupils then, in turn, execute the movement upon the same ground as the leader. the leaders having moved two thirds down one of the long sides, the teacher will order: . _volte in file_; and, when the columns are again going forward on the right hand, . _prepare to half-volte in file._ the leaders turn to the right, describe their half-circle, and go forward on a diagonal line ending just behind the last rider in the column; once there, they turn to the left and fall into line, being duly followed by each pupil over the same ground. when the leaders are about eighteen feet from the corner of the school, the teacher will order: . _half-volte in file._ the next order should be: . _prepare for the reversed half-volte in file._ the leaders must execute diagonals proportional to the lengths of their respective columns, in such a manner as will enable them to begin their half-circles when about thirty feet down the long sides, and thirty-five or forty feet before the turn or corner, followed in turn by the other pupils, as in the foregoing movements. as soon as the leaders are on the long sides, having passed the second corners, the teacher will order: . _reversed half-volte in file._ the columns being on the long sides, and on the right hand, the next order should be: . _prepare to back._-- . _back._ and, to execute this movement correctly, each pupil will make her horse back as she would in a private lesson, being careful to keep in a line with her companions. when the class can execute these movements correctly at a walk, the teacher will allow them to be practiced at a trot, insisting, however, that the pupils shall stop rising as soon as the preparatory order is given, not to begin again until they have returned to the side of the school at the end of the movement. when there is a full class, it is better not to allow turns to the right or left to be attempted at a trot, as the riders may strike one another's knees in crossing. when these movements in file, at the walk and the trot, have given the pupils the habit of controlling their horses with decision and regularity, the teacher should explain to them the difference between these and individual movements. the column being at a walk, and on the right hand, the teacher will say: . _prepare to volte singly._ each pupil leaves the line at the same moment as the others, executes a circular line of twelve steps as in a private lesson, and takes her place in the line again. . _volte singly._ next in order comes: . _prepare to half-volte singly._ this is done exactly as in a private lesson, the pupils taking care to do it in time with one another, in order to reach their places at the same moment. . _half-volte singly._ . _prepare for the reversed half-volte singly._ the pupils leave their places simultaneously by a diagonal line, and return to the same track; but, on the other hand, by a circular line of six steps. . _reversed half-volte singly._ these movements are here given on the right hand; but they may, of course, be done equally well on the left hand by reversing the terms. i recommend teachers not to keep their pupils too long on the left hand, but to seize that opportunity to rectify any incorrect positions of the feet. when the class can execute the foregoing movements correctly at the walk and the trot, the teacher may explain to them the canter or gallop. a horse is said to "lead" at a canter with his right foot when the lateral movement of his right foot is more marked than that of his left. this causes a reaction from left to right, which makes this lead easier for a lady, who sits on the left side, than that of the left foot, where the reaction is from right to left. when a horse who is leading with his right foot turns to the left, he must change his lead, and _vice versâ_. to make her horse lead at a canter with his right foot, the rider must put her left leg very far back to act in opposition with her whip, which should make very light attacks, incline the upper part of her body forward, and lift her hands, without, however, drawing them nearer her body. when the horse has obeyed, she will resume the normal position for hands and body, renewing the pressure of her whip and leg from time to time to keep the gait regular. during the canter or gallop the right foot should be held well back, close to the saddle, without rigidity, and the rider should sit firm in her saddle, while allowing the upper part of her body to give freely to the motion of the horse, in order to neutralize any shock. to change his lead from right to left at a gallop, the horse pauses for an imperceptible space of time, immediately puts his left hind leg in front of his right, and, by the contraction of the muscles of his left leg, projects his body forward to the left, his equilibrium being again disturbed, but in a new direction; to compensate which, his left fore leg comes at the first step to support the weight by putting itself before the right, which, until then, has been carrying it all. it requires a great deal of tact, the result of long practice, to make a horse change his feet when he is galloping in a straight line, and i therefore recommend teachers to proceed with their classes in the following manner: the column being at a gallop, each pupil should execute a half-volte in file, turning at the gallop, coming down to a trot on the diagonal, and resuming the gallop when she is on the opposite track and on the other hand. as the horse is galloping with his right foot, the rider will calculate the movement of his right shoulder by watching it without lowering her head, and, when she sees that shoulder move to put down the right leg, she must instantly change her effects of leg and whip, and lift her hands, the right rather more than the left, to support the horse while he pauses with his right shoulder, while an energetic action of her leg will make him bring his left hind leg under him and put it in front of the right; and, if she holds her left hand low, the left fore leg will be free to take its place in front of the right. care must be taken not to throw a horse while he is changing his feet, that is to say, he must not be turned suddenly to the right in order to be jerked suddenly to the left; and, during the short time which it takes him to change his feet, the rider should sit close in order not to disturb him by a shifting weight. when the pupils can make their horses change their feet by changing their gait, they should be made to execute half-voltes and reversed half-voltes in file, at a gallop, without changing to a trot; and, when they can do this, they may execute them individually, according to the rules already prescribed. i must again recommend great prudence, that accidents may be avoided, and plenty of pauses for rest, that the horses may not become discouraged. a lady's equestrian education can not be considered complete until she can make her horse leap any obstacle which is reasonable, considering her age and experience and the capacity of her horse. when her seat has become flexible and firm at the walk, trot, and gallop, when she is mistress of her horse in changes of direction, of gait, and of feet, the teacher should allow her to leap a hurdle not less than two nor more than three feet high. the class being formed into a single column, close together, each rider should make an individual turn to the right on the long side of the school opposite where the hurdle is to be placed, as she can thus see for herself any faults which may be committed by her companions. leaping should be practiced by the pupils one at a time, at a walk, a trot, and, finally, a gallop. the class being drawn up in line, the teacher will proceed to explain to them the animal mechanism of the leap. if a horse is at a walk, and wishes to jump over an obstacle, he draws his hind legs under him to support his weight, pauses for an instant, then lifts his fore legs from the ground, thus throwing all his weight upon his hind legs; whereupon, by a powerful contraction of the muscles, these latter project his body forward and upward, and it describes a curve through the air, alighting on the fore legs, braced to receive the shock, the hind legs dropping on the ground in their turn, only to contract again sufficiently to form a forward motion. the pause before a leap is more noticeable at a walk than at a trot, and least of all at a gallop. the most favorable gait for leaping is what is known as a hand-gallop, which is an intermediate pace between a riding-school canter and the full gallop of the race-track, as, while he is at this gait, the horse is impelled forward with his hind legs constantly under him. in order to aid and support her horse at a leap, the rider should bring him straight up to the obstacle at a slow and regular gait, and should put her own right foot very far back, that she may make her seat as firm as possible; at the moment when he pauses she should lean back and lift both of her hands a little, in order to enter into the slight approach to rearing, without encouraging it too much; then, as soon as she feels the horse project himself forward, she must give her hand, straighten herself, and lean back as the horse goes over, lifting her wrists with energy as soon as he touches the ground. when he has begun the motion of rearing, a simultaneous action of the whip and leg will help to determine his leap. it may be noticed that i use the words "aid" and "support" instead of "_make_," and also that i indicate first the positions of the body, next of the hands, and last the effects of the leg and whip, to the end that the pupil may not be confused as to the very short time in which these latter may be rightly used. before leaping, the teacher may allow the pupils to practice their positions in the following manner: he should make them count one, leaning the body and drawing the wrists backward; two, the body and wrists forward; three, the body and wrists backward again. this series, slow in the beginning, may be quickened little by little until it is as near as may be to the speed necessary in these movements during the short duration of a leap. when the pupils have gone through these motions intelligently, the teacher will take his place in front and to the right of the hurdle, facing the wall. the hurdle should always be placed in the middle of one of the long sides; and ladies prefer to jump on the left hand, in order to avoid touching the wall with their legs if the horse should go too near it. notwithstanding this, if the horses are free jumpers, and the school well arranged, i prefer the right hand, because a fall to the right is then clear of the wall. this is a case in which an instructor must depend upon his own judgment. the teacher stands as i have indicated above, holding a whip with a long lash, not to strike the horses, but to prevent refusals. one after another the pupils should leave the line, and advance at a walk, until they get on the side of the school where the hurdle has been placed, when they will canter, but without any excitement; and they will find it useful to count one, two, three, until the three movements of the body have become mechanical from practice. during the course of the more advanced lessons, it will still be useful to practice some flexions, in order to be sure that pupils keep supple. they should also learn to take the foot out of the stirrup at any gait, and replace it without stopping, and to rise at the trot, the foot being out of the stirrup, which is not so difficult as it appears. they should also be drilled to walk, trot, or gallop by twos and threes, to learn to accommodate their horses' gait to that of a companion. the teacher should be sure that, at the end of their lessons, the pupils can trot or gallop for at least a mile without stopping; and, to gain this result, he must proceed by degrees, with the object of developing the lungs and giving a freer respiration. nothing is more ridiculous than to see a rider, who has proposed a trot or canter to her companion, obliged to pull up after a few steps, puffing and panting for breath. she is apt to ruin her own horse; and gentlemen who have spirited animals are likely to avoid riding with her. except in the prescribed effects of the whip and leg, there is no definite position in which a lady is obliged to hold her whip, and she should learn to carry it as suits her best. she should be able to arrange her skirt while at a walk, without assistance, and also to shorten or lengthen her stirrup by the strap on the right side of the saddle, without taking her foot out. from the very beginning of the lessons the teacher should suppress all the little chirpings and clackings of the tongue, which, however useful they may be to a coachman or a horse-trainer, are out of place in the mouth of a lady. i was once invited to accompany a lady in central park, in new york; and, as i had been told that she rode very well, i did not hesitate to ride général, a noble animal, whose education in the _haute école_ i was just finishing. we started. she managed her horse with her tongue as an effect on the right side, instead of using her whip. the consequence was, that my horse, hearing these appeals, and not knowing whether they were meant for him or not, remained at the _passage_ all the way from the gate to the reservoir, where i took it upon myself to beg her to do as she chose with her own horse, but to allow mine to be under my own control. i recommend not giving dainties to horses before mounting, unless they are allowed time to eat them. if a horse has a piece of sugar or apple in his mouth, the bit will be worse than useless; it will irritate him, as he can not open his mouth without dropping the delicacy, and he can not swallow it if he gives his head properly. i have noticed that most gentlemen riding with ladies place themselves on the right side; but this seems to me a mistake, where the rule of the road is to pass to the right, because it is the lady who protects her companion, and not he who shields her. besides, he takes the place where his horse is most likely to be quiet, as no one has the right to pass inside him. still further, should the lady's horse become frightened, he will be seriously embarrassed on the right side, with the reins in his left hand; and, if she should fall, what can he do? he can only transfer his reins to the right hand, and endeavor to push her into her saddle with his left; and, if they are going fast, this will not be easy. i may say here, that in ninety-five cases out of a hundred the lady falls to the right. if the gentleman is riding on her left, he gives up to her the best place, and protects her legs; she can use her whip more freely; he has the use of his right hand to stop or quiet her horse; he can arrange her skirt, should she need his help; if she falls, he has but to seize her left arm, and draw her toward him, calculating the strength which he employs, and he may even lift her from the saddle. chapter iv. resistances of the horse. in all the best riding-schools of europe two posts are firmly fixed into the ground, parallel with and about twenty paces from one of the short sides of the school. these are called pillars, and between them is fastened a horse who is trained to rear or to kick at command, in order that the teacher may explain to his pupils what they must do when they encounter one or other of these resistances. these pillars are almost unknown in riding-schools in this country, and the reason of their absence may be found, i think, in the moral qualities of the american horse, which are really astonishing when looked at from the point of view of animal character. a teacher should, however, give his pupils some instructions about the most common tricks or vices of the horse, which are usually only defensive action on his part. before any active form of resistance, the horse always makes a well-marked pause; for instance, in order to rear, he stops his motion forward, draws his hind legs under him, throws his weight on them, and lifts his fore legs from the ground, holding his head high. when he is almost upright on his hind legs, he stands for a longer or shorter time, moving his fore feet as if beating the air, and then either comes down to earth again or falls backward, which is acknowledged to be the most dangerous thing which can happen on horseback. if the rider feels that her horse is on the point of going over with her, she must instantly slip her foot out of the stirrup, loosen the hold of her leg on the pommel, and lean as far to the right as she can, turning her body to the left in order to fall on the right of the horse, who almost always falls to the left, and, as soon as she is on the ground, she must scramble away from her horse as quickly as possible. the best way of preventing a horse from rearing is not allowing him to stop; and, if it should be too late or too difficult to manage this, all effects of the hands should stop at once, and the rider should attack his right flank with her whip vigorously. if a horse rears habitually, he should be got rid of. in order to kick, on the contrary, the horse braces himself with his fore legs, lifting his hind quarters by a contraction of his hind legs; and, when his croup is in the air, he kicks as hard as he can with his hind legs, and brings them suddenly to the ground again, holding his head low and sticking out his neck meanwhile. an inexperienced rider may be frightened by the shock of this movement, which is very disagreeable, besides being dangerous to people behind; but, with calm presence of mind and a little energy, this trick may be fought without too much annoyance. in this case also the great thing is to hinder the horse from stopping, by keeping his head up; and, if, in spite of the rider, he gets it down and his legs braced in front of him, she should lean very far back and strike one or two vigorous blows with her whip on the lower part of the neck where it joins the chest, trying at the same time to lift the head with the reins. some teachers recommend using the whip on the flank, as in rearing, and i usually do this myself; but i have always noticed that the horse kicks again at least once while going forward; so i do not recommend this for a lady. in bucking, the horse puts his head down, stiffens his fore legs, draws his hind legs somewhat under him, and jumps forward, coming down on all four feet at once, and jumping again almost immediately. without being particularly dangerous, this vice is very unpleasant, as it jars the rider terribly. to neutralize the shock, therefore, as much as she can, she must sit very far back, lean her body back, lift her hands vigorously, and try to make her horse go forward and slightly to the right. when a horse refuses to slacken his pace, or to stop when his rider wishes it, he is running away with her, and he does this progressively--that is, if he is at a walk he will not stop when he feels the bit, but shakes his head, quickens his pace to a trot, throws his head into the air, or holds it down, bearing against the bit, breaks into a gallop, and goes faster and faster until he is at full speed; and, once arrived at this point, he is quite capable of running straight into a wall or jumping over a precipice. some high authorities maintain that this state of the horse is one of temporary insanity; and this theory is admissible in certain cases where, when the animal is stopped, the nostrils are found to be very red and the eyes bloodshot; but, in most cases, horses run away through sudden fright, or from fear of punishment, or because they are in pain from one cause or another. when a horse is subject to this fault, his rider should give him to a man, either a skilled amateur or a professional rider, as i have seen very few ladies who could undertake the proper treatment without danger. such a horse being put into my hands for training, i take him to some place where the footing is good and where he can have plenty of space, which means plenty of time for me; and, once there, i provoke him to run away, in order that i may find out why he does so. if he fights against my hand, shuts his mouth, or throws his head in the air, as soon as he has stopped i carefully examine his mouth, his throat, his breathing, his sight, his loins, and his houghs. sometimes the mouth is without saliva, the lips are rough and irritated, the bars are dry, bruised, and even cut; and in that case i try to see whether the bad habit does not come from severe bitting, or too tight a curb-chain, or perhaps the teeth may be in bad order. a few flexions of the jaw and neck will tell me at once if the mouth is the cause of the trouble; but i must make sure that this bad state of the mouth is the cause, and not the consequence. the sight of a horse is often defective; the sun in his eyes dazzles and frightens him; or else a defective lens makes objects appear larger to him than they really are; or he may be near-sighted, and consequently nervous about what he can not see; and a moving bird, or a bit of floating paper, is enough to make him bolt. sometimes the throat is sore inside, and then the horse suffers from the effect of the bit on the extremity of his neck when he gives his head. bolting is often caused by suffering in some internal organ; and in that case the breathing is apt to be oppressed. but in seven cases out of ten the cause of a horse's running away is to be found in his hind quarters. the loins are too long, weak, and ill-attached, so that when he carries a heavy weight the spinal column feels an insupportable pain. what man would not become mad if he were forced to walk, trot, and gallop, carrying a weight which caused him frightful suffering? the remembrance of an old wound made by the saddle is sometimes enough to cause a nervous and sensitive animal to bolt. the legs are sometimes beginning to throw out curbs or spavins, or they may be too straight and narrow, lacking the strength necessary to carry the horse at a regular gait; so he suffers, loses his head, and runs away. we will suppose the horse to be well-proportioned, with his sight and organs in a normal condition, his mouth only being hurt as a consequence, not as a cause. i change the bit, and substitute an easier one, treating the mouth meanwhile with salt, or alum, or marsh-mallow; and yet my horse still runs away. in that case it is from one of two reasons: either it is from memory and as a habit, or else it is the result of ill-temper. if the former, i take him to some spot where i can have plenty of space and time, preferably a sea-beach with soft sand, or a large ploughed field; and there i let him go, stopping when he stops, and then making him go on again, and in this way he soon learns that submission is the easiest way for him. if he should be really ill-tempered, i would mount him in the same place with sharp spurs and a good whip, and before long his moral condition would be much more satisfactory. but often a horse takes fright and runs away when one least expects it. allow me to say that nothing which a horse can do should ever be unexpected. on horseback one should be ready for emergencies; and the best way to avoid them is to prevent the horse from a dangerous initiative. besides, the horse does not get to his full speed at once; and, if the rider keeps calm, she will probably be able to master him before he reaches it. but, if, in spite of herself, her horse is running at a frightful pace, what should be done? in the first place, she must try to see that he does not slip and fall; and, in any case, she should take her foot out of the stirrup, let her whip drop if necessary, choose at once a straight line, if that be possible, and give to her horse with hands and leg, calming him with the voice, and speaking loud, in order that it may reach his ear. she should endeavor to remain calm, and to take long breaths; then, when his first rush is over, she should lift her wrists, holding the reins short, lean very far back, and saw his mouth vigorously with the bridle, two reins being in either hand. "sawing" is the successive action of the two hands acting separately on the mouth of the horse, and, by pulling his head from side to side, it throws him out of his stride and checks his speed. i can not say too often that it is easier to prevent a horse from running away than it is to stop him when he is once fairly off. it would be very difficult to foresee all the possible defensive actions of the horse and the means of counteracting them; but, as the rider gains experience, she will get to recognize these actions from the outset, and counteract them so naturally that she will scarcely think about it. to a good rider there is no such thing as a restive horse. the animal either knows what to do, or he does not. if he knows, the rider, by the power of her effects, forces the horse to obey; if he does not know, the rider trains him. if a horse resists, there is always a cause; and that cause should be sought and destroyed, after which the horse will ask no better than to behave himself. if a horse fidgets and frets to get back to the stable (which is a common and annoying trick), he should be turned round and walked for a moment or two in an opposite direction, away from home, and in a fortnight he will have lost the bad habit. horses often have a trick of fighting the hand by running out their heads and trying to pull the reins through the fingers of their riders. this comes from stiffness in the hind quarters, and will stop as soon as the horse has been taught, by progressive flexions, to keep his hind legs under him. a timid horse may always be reassured and quieted by a persevering rider, provided his sight is not bad; and he should never be punished for shying, as that comes from fright; he should be allowed time to get used to the sight or sound of a terrifying object, and, when he is convinced that it will not hurt him, he will disregard it in future, as, although timid, he is not a coward. for instance: if a horse shies at a gnarled stump in a country lane, his rider should stop and let him come slowly up to it, which he will do with every appearance of fear. she should cheer him with her voice, and caress him with her hand; and, when once he has come near enough to smell the dreaded shape, he will give a contemptuous sniff, and never notice it after. if a horse should fall with his rider, she should at once slip her foot out of the stirrup, lift her right leg over the pommel, and turn her body quickly to the left. if the horse falls to the right, she will fall on him, which will deaden the shock, and, as his legs will be on the left, she can get away from his feet easily; if he falls to the left, she must try to let her head fall to the right, and, if she has time, she will attempt to fall to the left, on her knees, and must get away from the horse on her hands and knees with all speed. if she should be thrown from her saddle, she must not stiffen herself, and must keep her head as high as possible. conclusion. before closing this slight treatise, i would most respectfully say a parting word to the ladies for whose use i have prepared it. the principle of the proper control of a horse by a lady may be thus roughly summed up: keep him well under your control, but also keep him going forward; _carry_ him forward with the pressure of your left leg and with the whip, which must take the place of the right leg. never let a horse take a step at his own will; and, as soon as he shows the first sign of resistance, try to counteract it. great care and tact must be used to avoid sudden changes of gait, which irritate a horse by throwing him off his balance and measure; and he should never be teased with the whip and spur in order that he may prance and fidget, for such foolishness on horseback proves nothing, and is only fit to amuse ignorant spectators. be prudent; accidents always happen too soon. be calm, if you wish your horse to be so. be just, and he will submit to your will. remember that, in riding, the greatest beauty consists in being simple in your means of control; do not appear to be always occupied with your horse, for you and he should seem to have the same will. do not read or study one method only; there is good to be found in all. the end. hygiene for girls. by irenÆus p. davis, m. d. _ mo. cloth, $ . ._ "many a woman whose childhood was bright with promise endures an after-life of misery because, through a false delicacy, she remained ignorant of her physical nature and requirements, although on all other subjects she may be well-informed; and so at length she goes to her grave mourning the hard fate that has made existence a burden, and perhaps wondering to what end she was born, when a little knowledge at the proper time would have shown her how to easily avoid those evils that have made her life a wretched failure."--_from introduction._ "a very useful book for parents who have daughters is 'hygiene for girls,' by irenæus p. davis, m. d., published by d. appleton & co. and it is just the book for an intelligent, well-instructed girl to read with care. it is not a text-book, nor does it bristle with technical terms. but it tells in simple language just what girls should do and not to do to preserve the health and strength, to realize the joys, and prepare for the duties of a woman's lot. it is written with a delicacy, too, which a mother could hardly surpass in talking with her daughter."--_christian at work._ "if the reader is a father, and has a daughter of suitable age, let him place this volume in her hands with an earnest and affectionate charge to read it through deliberately, with much thought and self-examination; if a mother, let her sit down with her daughter and read together with her these chapters, with such comments and direct application of its teachings, and such instructions and tender entreaties coming of personal experience and observation, as are befitting only the sacred confidences of mother and daughter. it is the most sensible book on the subject treated we have ever read--simple and intelligible, the language always fitting and delicate in treating subjects requiring judgment and discretion, and pervaded with such a parental and solicitous kindness that it can not fail to win the attention and confidence of every young woman." _for sale by all booksellers; or sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of price._ new york: d. appleton & co., , , & bond street. 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[illustration: a woman dressed in riding clothes] ladies on horseback. learning, park-riding, and hunting, with hints upon costume, and numerous anecdotes. by mrs. power o'donoghue (nannie lambert). authoress of "the knave of clubs," "horses and horsemen," "grandfather's hunter," "one in ten thousand," "spring leaves," "thoughts on the talmud," etc., etc. london: w. h. allen & co., , waterloo place, s.w. . [_all rights reserved._] london: printed by w. h. allen and co., , waterloo place, s.w. to my friend alfred e. t. watson, esq., author of "sketches in the hunting field," etc., to whom i owe much of my success as a writer, these pages are gratefully inscribed. transcriber's note: the pages of advertisements preceding the title page have been moved to the end of this book. introduction. in preparing this work for the press, i may state that it is composed chiefly of a series of papers on horses and their riders, which appeared a short time since in the columns of _the illustrated sporting and dramatic news_. how they originally came to be written and published may not prove uninteresting. one day, in the middle of february , a goodly company, comprising many thousands of persons, assembled upon the lawn of a nobleman's residence in the vicinity of dublin; ostensibly for the purpose of hunting, but in reality to gaze at and chronicle the doings of a very distinguished foreign lady, who had lately come to our shores. i was there, of course; and whilst we waited for the imperial party, i amused myself by watching the moving panorama, and taking notes of costume and effect. everybody who could procure anything upon which to ride, from a racehorse to a donkey, was there that day, and vehicles of all descriptions blocked up every available inch of the lordly avenues and well-kept carriage-drives. there is for me so great an attraction in a number of "ladies on horseback" that i looked at them, and at them alone. one sees gentlemen riders every hour in the day, but ladies comparatively seldom; every hunting morning finds about a hundred and fifty mounted males ready for the start, and only on an average about six mounted females, of whom probably not more than the half will ride to hounds. this being the case, i always look most particularly at that which is the greater novelty, nor am i by any means singular in doing so. on the day of which i write, however, ladies on horseback were by no means uncommon: i should say there were at least two hundred present upon the lawn. some rode so well, and were so beautifully turned out, that the most hypercritical could find no fault; but of the majority--what can i say? alas! nothing that would sound at all favourable. such horses, such saddles, such rusty bridles, such riding-habits, such hats, whips, and gloves; and, above all, such _coiffures_! my very soul was sorry. i could not laugh, as some others were doing. i felt too melancholy for mirth. it seemed to me most grievous that my own sex (many of them so young and beautiful) should be thus held up to ridicule. i asked myself was it thus in other places; and i came to london in the spring, and walked in the row, and gazed, and took notes, and was not satisfied. perhaps i was too critical. there was very much to praise, certainly, but there was also much wherewith to find fault. the style of riding was bad; the style of dressing was incomparably worse. the well-got-up only threw into darker shadow the notable defects visible in the forms and trappings of their less fortunate sisterhood. i questioned myself as to how this could be best remedied. remonstrance was impossible--advice equally so. why could not somebody write a book for lady equestrians, or a series of papers which might appear in the pages of some fashionable magazine or journal, patronised and read by them? the idea seemed a good one, but i lacked time to carry it out, and so it rested in embryo for many months. last june, whilst recovering from serious illness, my cherished project returned to my mind. forbidden to write, and too weak to hold a pen, i strove feebly with a pencil to trace my thoughts upon odd scraps of paper, which i thrust away in my desk without any definite idea as to what should eventually become of them. in july, whilst staying at a country house near shrewsbury, i one day came upon these shorthand jottings, and, having leisure-time upon my hands, set to work and put them into form. a line to the editor of _the illustrated sporting and dramatic news_, with whom, i may state, i had had no previous acquaintance, brought an immediate reply, to send my work for consideration. i did so; called upon him by appointment when i came a few days later to london; made all arrangements in a three-minutes interview; and the first of my series of papers appeared shortly after. that they were successful, far beyond their deserts, is to me a proud boast. on their conclusion numerous firms negotiated with me for the copyright: with what result is known; and here to my publishers i tender my best thanks. in arranging now these writings--put together and brought before the public at a time when i had apparently many years of active life before me--it is to me a melancholy reflection that the things of which they treat are gone from my eyes,--for alas! i can ride no more. never again may my heart be gladdened with the music of the hounds, or my frame invigorated by the exercise which i so dearly loved. an accident, sudden and unexpected, has deprived me of my strength, and left me to speak in mournful whispers of what was for long my happiest theme. yet why repine where so much is left? it is but another chapter in our life's history! we love and cling to one pursuit--and it passes from us; then another absorbs our attention,--it, too, vanishes; and so on--perhaps midway to the end--until the "looking back" becomes so filled with saddened memories, that the "looking forward" is alone left. and so we turn our wistful eyes where they might never have been directed, had the prospect behind us been less dark. a few more words, and i close my preliminary observations and commence my subject. i cannot but be aware, from the nature of the correspondence which has flowed in upon me, that although far the greater number of my readers have agreed with me and entirely coincided in my views, not a few have been found to cavil. let not such think that i am oblivious of their good intentions because i remain unconvinced by their arguments, and still prefer to maintain my own opinions, which i have not ventured to set forth without mature deliberation, and the most substantial reasons for holding them in fixity of tenure. i have spent some considerable time in turning over in my mind the advisability, or otherwise, of publishing, as a sort of appendix to this volume, a selection from the letters which were printed in _the illustrated sporting and dramatic news_ with reference to my writings in that journal. after much deliberation i have decided upon suffering the entire number, with a few trifling exceptions, to appear. they only form a very small proportion of the voluminous correspondence with which the editor and myself were favoured; but, such as they are, i give them--together with my replies,--not merely because they set forth the views and impressions of various persons upon topics of universal interest, but because i conceive that a large amount of useful information may be gleaned from them, and they may also serve to amuse my lady readers, who will doubtless be interested in the numerous queries which i was called upon to answer. whether or not i have been able to fight my battles and maintain my cause, must be for others to determine. i likewise subjoin a little paper on "hunting in ireland"--also already published--which brought me many letters: some of them from persons whose word should carry undoubted weight, fully coinciding in and substantiating my views with regard to the cutting up of grass-lands; whilst further on will be found my article entitled "hunting in america," originally published in _life_, and copied from that journal into so many papers throughout the kingdom, and abroad, that it is now universally known, and cannot be here presented in the form of a novelty,--but is given for the benefit of those who may not have chanced to meet with it, and for whom the subject of american sports and pastimes may happen to possess interest. n. p. o'd. contents. part i. learning. chapter i. a popular error.--excellence in riding attainable without any youthful knowledge of the art.--the empress of austria.--her proficiency.--her palace.--her occupations.--her disposition. --her thoughts and opinions.--the age at which to learn.-- courage indispensable.--taste a necessity chapter ii. learner's costume.--the best teacher.--your bridle.--your saddle.--your stirrup.--danger from "safety-stirrup."--a terrible situation.--learning to ride without any support for the foot chapter iii. mounting.--holding the reins.--position in the saddle.--use of the whip.--trotting.--cantering.--riding from balance.--use of the stirrup. leaping.--whyte melville's opinion part ii. park and road riding. chapter iv. how to dress.--a country-girl's ideas upon the subject.--how to put on your riding-gear.--how to preserve it.--first road-ride.--backing.--rearing, and how to prevent it chapter v. running away.--three dangerous adventures.--how to act when placed in circumstances of peril.--how to ride a puller.-- through the city.--to a meet of hounds.--boastful ladies.--a braggart's resource part iii. hunting. chapter vi. hunting-gear.--necessary regard for safe shoeing.--drive to the meet.--scene on arriving.--a word with the huntsman.--a good pilot.--the covert-side.--disappointment.--a long trot chapter vii. hounds in covert.--the first fence.--follow your pilot.--a river-bath.--a wise precaution.--a label advisable.--wall and water jumping.--advice to fallen riders.--hogging.--more tail chapter viii. holding on to a prostrate horse.--is it wise or otherwise?--an indiscreet jump.--a difficult finish.--the dangers of marshy grounds.--encourage humanity.--a reclaimed cabby! chapter ix. selfishness in the field.--fording a river.--shirking a fence. --over-riding the hounds.--treatment of tired hunters.--bigwig and the major.--naughty bigwig.--hapless major chapter x. feeding horses.--forage-biscuits.--irish peasantry.--a cunning idiot.--a cabin supper.--the roguish mule.--a day at courtown. --paddy's opinion of the empress chapter xi. the double-rise.--pointing out the right foot.--the force of habit.--various kinds of fault-finding.--mr. sturgess' pictures.--an english harvest-home.--a jealous shrew.--a shy blacksmith.--how irishmen get partners at a dance chapter xii. subject of feeding resumed.--cooked food recommended.--effects of raw oats upon "pleader."--servants' objections.--snaffle-bridle, and bit-and-bridoon.--kindness to the poor.--an unsympathetic lady.--an ungallant captain.--what is a gentleman?--_au revoir!_ part iv. hunting in ireland part v. hunting in america correspondence ladies on horseback. part i. learning. chapter i. a popular error.--excellence in riding attainable without any youthful knowledge of the art.--the empress of austria.--her proficiency.--her palace.--her occupations.--her disposition.--her thoughts and opinions. --the age at which to learn.--courage indispensable.--taste a necessity. it is my belief that hints to ladies from a lady, upon a subject which now so universally occupies the female mind--hints, not offered in any cavilling nor carping spirit, but with an affectionate and sisterly regard for the interests of those addressed--cannot fail to be appreciated, and must become popular. men write very well for men, but in writing for us ladies they cannot, however willing, enter into all the little delicacies and minutiæ of our tastes and feelings, and so half the effect is lost. i do not purpose entering upon any discussion, nor, indeed, touching more than very lightly upon the treatment and management of the horse. a subject so exhaustive lies totally outside the limits of my pen, and has, moreover, been so ably treated by men of knowledge and experience, as to render one word further respecting the matter almost superfluous. i shall therefore content myself with surmising that the horses with which we may have to do throughout these remarks--be they school-horses, roadsters, or hunters--are at least sound, good-tempered, and properly trained. their beauty and other attributes we shall take for granted, and not trouble ourselves about. and now, in addressing my readers, i shall endeavour to do so as though i spoke to each separately, and so shall adopt the term "you," as being at once friendly and concise. my subject shall be divided into three heads. first the acquirement of the equestrian art; second, road and park riding; third, hunting; with a few hints upon the costume, &c. required for each, and a slight sprinkling of anecdote here and there to enliven the whole. i shall commence by saying that it is a mistake to imagine that riding, in order to be properly learnt, must be begun in youth: that nobody can excel as a horsewoman who has not accustomed herself to the saddle from a mere child. on the contrary some of the finest _équestriennes_ the world has ever produced have known little or nothing of the art until the spring-time of their life was past. her imperial majesty the empress of austria, and likewise her sister the ex-queen of naples, cared nothing about riding until comparatively late in life. i know little, except through hearsay, of the last-named lady's proficiency in the saddle, but having frequently witnessed that of the former, and having also been favoured with a personal introduction at the gracious request of the empress, i can unhesitatingly say that anything more superb than her style of riding it would be impossible to conceive. the manner in which she mounts her horse, sits him, manages him, and bears him safely through a difficult run, is something which must be seen to be understood. her courage is amazing. indeed, i have been informed that she finds as little difficulty in standing upon a bare-backed steed and driving four others in long reins, as in sitting quietly in one of kreutzman's saddles. in the circus attached to her palace at vienna she almost daily performs these feats, and encourages by prizes and evidences of personal favour many of the viennese ladies who seek to emulate her example. there has been considerable discussion respecting the question of the empress's womanliness, and the reverse. ladies have averred--oh, jealous ladies!--that she is _not_ womanly; that her style of dressing is objectionable, and that she has "no business to ride without her husband!" these sayings are all open to but one interpretation; ladies are ever envious of each other, more especially of those who excel. the empress is not only a perfect woman, but an angel of light and goodness. nor do i say this from any toadyism, nor yet from the gratitude which i must feel for her kindly favour toward myself. i speak as i think and believe. blessed with a beauty rarely given to mortal, she combines with it a sweetness of character and disposition, a womanly tenderness, and a thoughtful and untiring charity, which deserve to gain for her--as they have gained--the hearts as well as the loving respect and reverence of all with whom she has come in contact. i was pleased to find, whilst conversing with her, that many of my views about riding were hers also, and that she considered it a pity--as i likewise do--that so many lady riders are utterly spoilt by pernicious and ignorant teaching. i myself am of opinion that childhood is not the best time to acquire the art of riding. the muscles are too young, and the back too weak. the spine is apt to grow crooked, unless a second saddle be adopted, which enables the learner to sit on alternate days upon the off-side of the horse; and to this there are many objections. the best time to learn to ride is about the age of sixteen. all the delicacy to which the female frame is subject during the period from the thirteenth to the fifteenth year has then passed away, and the form is vigorous and strong, and capable of enduring fatigue. i know it to be a generally accepted idea that riding is like music and literature--the earlier it is learnt the better for the learner, and the more certain the proficiency desired to be attained. this is an entirely erroneous opinion, and one which should be at once discarded. i object, as a rule, to children riding. they cannot do so with any safety, unless put upon horses and ponies which are sheep-like in their demeanour; and from being accustomed to such, and to none other, they are nervous and frightened when mounted upon spirited animals which they feel they have not the strength nor the art to manage, and, being unused to the science of controlling, they suffer themselves to be controlled, and thus extinguish their chance of becoming accomplished horsewomen. i know ladies, certainly, who ride with a great show of boldness, and tear wildly across country after hounds, averring that they never knew what fear meant: why should they--having ridden from the time they were five years old? very probably, but the bravery of the few is nothing by which to judge of a system which is, on the whole, pernicious. it is less objectionable for boys, because their shoulders are not apt to grow awry by sitting sideways, as little girls' do; nor are they liable to hang over upon one side; nor have they such delicate frames and weakly fingers to bring to the front. moreover, if they tumble off, what matter? it does them all the good in the world. a little sticking-plaister and shaking together, and they are all right again. but i confess i _don't like_ to see a girl come off. less than a year ago a sweet little blue-eyed damsel who was prattling by my side as she rode her grey pony along with me, was thrown suddenly and without warning upon the road. the animal stumbled--her tiny hands lacked the strength to pull him together--she was too childish and inexperienced to know the art of retaining her seat. she fell! and the remembrance of uplifting her, and carrying her little hurt form before me upon my saddle to her parents' house, is not amongst the brightest of my memories. we will assume, then, that you are a young lady in your sixteenth year, possessed of the desire to acquire the art of riding, and the necessary amount of courage to enable you to do so. this latter attribute is an absolute and positive necessity, for a coward will _never_ make a horsewoman. if you are a coward, your horse will soon find it out, and will laugh at you; for horses can and do laugh when they what is usually termed "gammon" their riders. nobody who does not possess unlimited confidence and a determination to know no fear, has any business aspiring to the art. courage is indispensable, and must be there from the outset. all other difficulties may be got over, but a natural timidity is an insurmountable obstacle. a cowardly rider labours under a two-fold disadvantage, for she not only suffers from her own cowardice, but actually imparts it to her horse. an animal's keen instinct tells him at once whether his master or his servant is upon his back. the moment your hands touch the reins the horse knows what your courage is, and usually acts accordingly. no girl should be taught to ride who has not a taste, and a most decided one, for the art. yet i preach this doctrine in vain; for, all over the world, young persons are forced by injudicious guardians to acquire various accomplishments for which they have no calling, and at which they can never excel. it is just as unwise to compel a girl to mount and manage a horse against her inclination, as it is to force young persons who have no taste for music to sit for hours daily at a piano, or thrust pencils and brushes into hands unwilling to use them. a love for horses, and an earnest desire to acquire the art of riding, are alike necessary to success. an unwilling learner will have a bad seat, a bad method, and clumsy hands upon the reins; whereas an enthusiast will seem to have an innate facility and power to conquer difficulties, and will possess that magic sense of _touch_, and facile delicacy of manipulation, which go so far toward making what are termed "good hands,"--a necessity without which nobody can claim to be a rider. chapter ii. learner's costume.--the best teacher.--your bridle.--your saddle.-- your stirrup.--danger from "safety-stirrup."--a terrible situation. --learning to ride without any support for the foot. having now discussed your age, your nerve, and your taste, we shall say a few words about your costume as a learner. put on a pair of strong well-made boots; heels are not objectionable, but buttons are decidedly so, as they are apt to catch in the stirrup and cause trouble. strong chamois riding-trousers, cloth from the hip down, with straps to fasten under the boots, and soft padding under the right knee and over the left, to prevent the friction of the pommels, which, to a beginner, generally causes much pain and uneasiness. a plain skirt of brown holland, and any sort of dark jacket, will suit your purpose quite well, for you are only going to learn; not to show off--yet. your hat--any kind will do--must be securely fastened on, and your hair left flowing, for no matter how well you may fancy you have it fastened, the motion of the horse will shake it and make it feel unsteady, and the very first hairpin that drops out, up will go your hand to replace it, and your reins will be forgotten. as soon as you have put on a pair of strong loose gloves, and taken a little switch in your hand, you are ready to mount. the nicest place in which you can learn is a well-tanned riding-school or large green paddock, and the nicest person to teach you is a lady or gentleman friend, who will have the knowledge and the patience to instruct you. heaven help the learner who is handed over to the tender mercies of john, the coachman, or jem, the groom! servants are rarely able to ride a yard themselves, and their attempt at teaching is proportionately lame. your horse having been led out, your attendant looks to his girthing, &c., as stable servants are not always too particular respecting these necessary matters. the pleasantest bridle in which to ride is a plain ring-snaffle. few horses will go in it; but, remember, i am surmising that yours has been properly trained. by riding in this bridle you have complete control over the movements of your horse--can, in fact, manage him with one hand, and you have the additional advantage of having fewer leathers to encumber and embarrass your fingers. a beginner is frequently puzzled to distinguish between the curb and the snaffle when riding with a double rein, and mistaking one for the other, or pulling equally at both, is apt to cause the horse much unnecessary irritation. it is lamentable to see the manner in which grown men and women, who ought to know so much better, tug and strain at their horses' mouths with an equal pull upon both reins, when riding, as is the custom, in a bit and bridoon. perhaps of the two they draw the curb the tighter. it is not meant for cruelty--they do not appear to be aware that it _is_ cruel: but there is no greater sign of utter ignorance. horses are not naturally vicious, and very few of them who have had any sort of fair-play in training, really require a curb, or will go as well or pleasantly upon it as if ridden in a snaffle-bridle. your saddle is another most important point. never commence, be your age ever so tender, by riding upon a pad. accustom yourself from the beginning to the use of a properly constructed saddle, made as straight as a board, seat perfectly level, and scarcely any appearance of a pommel upon the off-side. a leaping-head, or what is commonly termed a third crutch, is, in my opinion, indispensable. to procure a saddle such as i describe you must have it made to order, for those of the present day are all made with something of a dip, which is most objectionable. i do not like the appearance of much stitching about a saddle. it has always appeared to me absurd to see the amount of elaborate embroidery which every old-fashioned saddle carries upon the near flap. nothing could be more unnecessary than an outlay of labour upon a portion of the article which is always concealed beneath the rider's right leg. there might be some sense, although very little, in decorating the off-side and imparting to it something of an ornamental appearance; but in my opinion there cannot be too much simplicity about everything connected with riding appointments. a plainness, amounting even to severity, is to be preferred before any outward show. ribbons, and coloured veils, and yellow gloves, and showy flowers are alike objectionable. a gaudy "get up" (to make use of an expressive common-place) is highly to be condemned, and at once stamps the wearer as a person of inferior taste. therefore avoid it. let your saddle be, like your personal attire, remarkable only for its perfect freedom from ornament or display. have it made to suit yourself--neither too weighty, nor yet too small--and if you want to ride with grace and comfort, desire that it be constructed without one particle of the objectionable dip. there is a very old-established and world-noted firm in piccadilly--peat & co.--where you can obtain an article such as i describe, properly made, and of durable materials, at quite a moderate cost. i can say, speaking from experience, that no trouble will be spared to afford you satisfaction, and that the workmanship will be not only lasting, but characterised by that neatness for which i am so strong an advocate. you should ride _on_ your saddle, not _in_ it, and you must learn to ride from balance or you will never excel, and this you can only do by the use of the level seat. a small pocket on the off-side, and a neat cross strap to support a waterproof, are of course necessary items. your stirrup is the next important matter. i strongly disapprove of the old-fashioned slipper, as also of the so-called "safety" stirrup, which is, in my opinion, the fruitful source of many accidents. half the lamentable mischances with which our ears are from time to time shocked, are due to the pertinacity with which ladies will cling to this murderous safety stirrup. so long as they will persist in doing so, casualties must be looked for and must occur. the padding over the instep causes the foot to become firmly imbedded, and in the event of an accident the consequences are dire, for the mechanism of the stirrup is almost invariably stiff or out of order, or otherwise refuses to act. mr. oldacre was, i believe, the inventor of the padded stirrup, and for this we owe him or his memory little thanks, although the gratitude of all lady riders is undoubtedly due to him for his admirable invention and patenting of the third crutch, without which our seat in the saddle would be far less comfortable and less secure. i dare say that i shall have a large section of aggrieved stirrup-makers coming down upon me with the phials of their wrath for giving publicity to this opinion, but in writing as i have done i merely state my own views, which i deem we are all at liberty to do; and looking upon my readers as friends, i warn them against an article of which i myself have had woful experience. i once purchased a safety stirrup at one of the best houses, and made by one of the best makers. the shopman showed it off to me in gallant style, expatiating upon its many excellencies, and adroitly managing the stiff machinery with his deft fingers, until i was fairly deceived, and gave him a handful of money for what subsequently proved a cause of trouble. i lost more than one good run with hounds through the breaking of this dearly-bought stirrup, having upon one occasion to ride quite a long distance away from the hunt to seek out a forge at which i might undergo repairs. nor was this the worst, for one day, having incautiously plunged into a bog in my anxiety to be in at the death, my horse got stuck and began to sink, and of course i sought to release myself from him at once; but no, my foot was locked fast in that terrible stirrup, and i could not stir. my position was dreadful, for i had outridden my pilot, my struggling steed was momentarily sinking lower, and the shades of evening were fast closing in. i shudder to think what might have been my fate and that of my gallant horse had not the fox happily turned and led the hunt back along the skirts of the bog, thus enabling my cries for help to be heard by one or two brave spirits who came gallantly to my rescue. i have more than once since then been caught in a treacherous bog when following the chase, but never have i found any difficulty in jumping from my horse's back and helping him to struggle gamely on to the dry land, for i have never since ridden in a safety-stirrup, nor shall i ever be likely to do so again. it may be said, and probably with truth, that my servant had neglected to clean it properly from day to day, and that consequently the spring had got rusted and refused to act. such may possibly have been the case, but might not the same thing occur to anyone, or at any time? servants are the same all over the world, and yet you must either trust to them or spend half your time overlooking them in the stable and harness-room, which for a lady is neither agreeable nor correct. there is nothing so pleasant to ride in as a plain little racing-stirrup, from which the foot is in an instant freed. i have not for a long while back used anything else myself, nor has my foot ever remained caught, even in the most dangerous falls. i conceive it to be an admirable plan to learn to ride without a stirrup at all. of course i do not mean by this that a lady should _ever_ go out park-riding or hunting _sans_ the aid of such an appendage, but she should be taught the necessity of dispensing with it in case of emergency. the benefits arising from such training are manifold. first, it imparts a freedom and independence which cannot otherwise be acquired; secondly, it gives an admirable and sure seat over fences; thirdly, it is an excellent means of learning how to ride from balance; and fourthly, in spite of its apparent difficulties, it is in the end a mighty simplifier, inasmuch as, when the use of the stirrup is again permitted, all seems such marvellously plain sailing, that every obstacle appears to vanish from the learner's path. in short, a lady who can ride fairly well without a support for her foot, must, when such is added, be indeed an accomplished horsewoman. i knew a lady who never made use of a stirrup throughout the whole course of an unusually long life, and who rode most brilliantly to hounds. few, however, could do this, nor is it by any means advisable, but to be able occasionally to dispense with the support is doubtless of decided benefit. i have often found my training in this respect stand me in good stead, for it has more than once happened that in jumping a stiff fence, or struggling in a heavy fall, my stirrup-leather has given way, and i have had not alone to finish the run without it, but to ride many miles of a journey homeward. nothing could be more wearisome to an untutored horsewoman than a long ride without a stirrup. the weight of her suspended limb becomes after a moment or two most inconvenient and even painful, whilst the trot of the horse occasions her to bump continuously in the saddle,--for the power of rising without artificial aid would appear a sheer impossibility to an ordinary rider whose teaching had been entrusted to an ordinary teacher. i would have you then bear in mind that although i advocate _practising_ without the assistance of a stirrup, i am totally against your setting out beyond the limits of your own lawn or paddock without this necessary support. chapter iii. mounting.--holding the reins.--position in the saddle.--use of the whip.--trotting.--cantering.--riding from balance.--use of the stirrup. --leaping.--whyte melville's opinion. having now seen that your bridle, saddle, and stirrup are in proper order, you prepare to mount, and this will probably take you some time and practice to accomplish gracefully, being quite an art in itself. nothing is more atrocious than to see a lady require a chair to mount her animal, or hang midway against the side of the saddle when her cavalier gives her the helping hand. lay your right hand firmly upon the pommel of your saddle, and the left upon the shoulder of your attendant, in whose hand you place your left foot. have ready some signal sentence, as "make ready, go!" or "one, two, three!" immediately upon pronouncing the last syllable make your spring, and if your attendant does his duty properly you will find yourself seated deftly upon your saddle. as i have already stated, this requires practice, and you must not be disappointed if a week or so of failure ensues between trial and success. as soon as you are firmly seated, take your rein (which, as i have said, should be a single one) and adjust it thus. place the near side under the little finger of your left hand, and the off one between your first and second fingers, bringing both in front toward the right hand, and holding them securely in their place with the pressure of your thumb. this is merely a hint as to the simplest method for a beginner to adopt, for there is really no fixed rule for holding reins, nor must you at all times hold them in one hand only, but frequently--and always when hunting--put both hands firmly to your bridle. anything stiff or stereotyped is to be avoided. a good rider, such as we hope you will soon become, will change her reins about, and move her position upon the saddle, so as to be able to watch the surrounding scenery--always moving gracefully, and without any abrupt or spasmodic jerkings, which are just as objectionable as the poker-like rigidity which i wish you to avoid. how common it is to see ladies on horseback sitting as though they were afraid to budge a hair, with pinioned elbows and straightly-staring eyes. this is most objectionable; in fact, nothing can be more unsightly. a graceful, easy seat, is a good horsewoman's chief characteristic. she is not afraid of tumbling off, and so she does not look as though she were so; moreover, she has been properly taught in the commencement, and all such defects have been rectified by a careful supervision. with regard to your whip, it must be held point downwards, and if you have occasion to touch your horse, give it to him down the shoulder, but always with temperance and kindly judgment. i once had a riding-master who desired me to hold my whip balanced in three fingers of my right hand, point upwards, the hand itself being absurdly bowed and the little finger stuck straight out like a wooden projection. my natural good sense induced me to rebel against anything so completely ridiculous, and i quietly asked my teacher why i was to carry my whip in that particular position. his answer was--"oh, that you may have it ready _to strike your horse on the neck_." shades of diana! this is the way our daughters are taught in schools, and we marvel that they show so little for the heaps of money which we hopefully expend upon them. being then fairly seated upon your saddle, your skirt drawn down and arranged by your attendant, your reins in your hand and your whip arranged, you must proceed to walk your horse quietly around the enclosure, having first gently drawn your bridle through his mouth. you will feel very strange at first: much as though you were on the back of a dromedary and were completely at his mercy. sit perfectly straight and erect, but without stiffness. be careful not to hang over upon either side, and, above all things, avoid the pernicious habit of clutching nervously with the right hand at the off pommel to save yourself from some imaginary danger. so much does this unsightly habit grow upon beginners, that, unless checked, it will follow them through life. i know grown women who ride every day, and the very moment their horse breaks into a canter or a trot they lay a grim grip upon the pommel, and hold firmly on to it until the animal again lapses into a walk. and this they do unconsciously. the habit, given way to in childhood, has grown so much into second nature that to tell them of it would amaze them. i once ventured to offer a gentle remonstrance upon the subject to a lady with whom i was extremely intimate, and she was not only astonished, but so displeased with me for noticing it, that she was never quite the same to me afterwards; and so salutary was the lesson which i then received that i have since gone upon the principle of complete non-interference, and if i saw my fellow _équestriennes_ riding gravely upon their horses' heads i would not suggest the rationality of transferring their weight to the saddle. and this theory is a good one, or at least a wise one; for humanity is so inordinately conceited that it will never take a hint kindly, unless asked for; and not always even then. to sit erect upon your saddle is a point of great importance; if you acquire a habit of stooping it will grow upon you, and it is not only a great disfigurement, but not unfrequently a cause of serious accident, for if your horse suddenly throws up his head, he hits you upon the nose, and deprives you of more blood than you may be able to replace in a good while. as soon as you can feel yourself quite at home upon your mount, and have become accustomed to its walking motion, your attendant will urge him into a gentle trot. and now prepare yourself for the beginning of sorrows. your first sensation will be that of being shaken to pieces. you are, of course, yet quite ignorant of the art of rising in your saddle, and the trot of the horse fairly churns you. your hat shakes, your hair flaps, your elbows bang to your sides, you are altogether miserable. still, you hold on bravely, though you are ready to cry from the horrors of the situation. your attendant, by way of relieving you, changes the trot to a canter, and then you are suddenly transported to elysium. the motion is heavenly. you have nothing to do but sit close to your saddle, and you are borne delightfully along. it is too ecstatic to last. alas! it will never teach you to ride, and so you return to the trot and the shaking and the jogging, the horrors of which are worse than anything you have ever previously experienced. you try vainly to give yourself some ease, but fail utterly, and at length dismount--hot, tired, and disheartened. but against this latter you must resolutely fight. remember that nothing can be learned without trouble, and by-and-by you will be repaid. it is not everybody who has the gift of perseverance, and it is an invaluable attribute. it is a fact frequently commented upon, not alone by me but by many others also, that if you go for the hiring of a horse to any london livery-stable you will be sent a good-looking beast enough, but he will not be able to trot a yard. canter, canter, is all that he can do. and why? he is kept for the express purpose of carrying young ladies in the row, and these young ladies have never learnt to trot. they can dress themselves as vanity suggests in fashionably-cut habits, suffer themselves to be lifted to the saddle, and sit there, looking elegant and pretty, whilst their horse canters gaily down the long ride; but were the animal to break into a trot (which he is far too well tutored to attempt to do), they would soon present the same shaken, dilapidated, dishevelled, and utterly miserable appearance which you yourself do after your first experience of the difficulties which a learner has to encounter. the art of rising in the saddle is said to have been invented by one dan seffert, a very famous steeplechase jockey, who had, i believe, been a riding-master in the days of his youth. if this be true--which there is no reason to doubt--we have certainly to thank him, for it is a vast improvement upon the jog-trot adopted by the cavalry, which, however well it may suit them and impart uniformity of motion to their "line-riding," is not by any means suited to a lady, either for appearances or for purposes of health. you come up for your next day's lesson in a very solemn mood. you are, in fact, considerably sobered. you had thought it was all plain sailing: it _looked_ so easy. you had seen hundreds of persons riding, trotting, and even setting off to hunt, and had never dreamed that there had been any trouble in learning. now you know the difficulties and what is before you. you recall your sufferings during your first days upon the ice, or on the rink. how utterly impossible it seemed that you could ever excel; how you tumbled about; how miserably helpless you felt, and how many heavy falls you got! yet you conquered in the end, and so you will again. you take courage and mount your steed. first you walk him a little, as yesterday; and then the jolting begins again. how are you ever to get into that rise and fall which you have seen with others, and so much covet? how are you to accomplish it? only by doing as i tell you, and persevering in it. as your horse throws out his near foreleg press your foot upon your stirrup, in time to lift yourself slightly as his off foreleg is next thrown out. watch the motion of his legs, press your foot, and at the same time slightly lift yourself from your saddle. for a long while, many days perhaps, it will seem to be all wrong; you have not got into it one bit; you are just as far from it apparently as when you commenced. you are hot and vexed, and you, perhaps, cry with mortification and disappointment, as i have seen many a young beginner do; bitterly worried and disheartened you are, and ready to give up, when, lo! quite suddenly, as though it had come to you by magic and not through your own steady perseverance, you find yourself rising and falling _with_ the trot of the horse, and your labours are rewarded. after this your lessons are a source of delight. you no longer come from them flushed and worried, but joyous and exultant and impatient for the next. you have begun to feel quite brave, and to throw out hints that you are longing for a good ride on the road. you now know how to make your horse trot and canter; the first by a light touch of your whip and a gentle movement of your bridle through his mouth; the second by a slight bearing of the rein upon the near side of his mouth, so as to make him go off upon the right leg, and a little warning touch of your heel. you fancy, in fact, that you are quite a horsewoman, and have already rolled up your hair into a neat knot, and hinted to papa that you should greatly like a habit. but, alas! you have plenty of trouble yet before you, plenty to learn, plenty of falls to get and to bear. at present you can ride fairly well on the straight; but you know nothing of keeping your balance in time of danger. your horse is very quiet, but if he chanced to put back his ears you would be off. you are taught to maintain your balance in the following way:-- your attendant waits until your horse is cantering pretty briskly in a circle from left to right, when he suddenly cracks his whip close to the animal's heels, who immediately swerves and turns the other way. you have had no warning of the movement, and consequently you tumble off, and are put up again, feeling a little shaken and a good deal crestfallen. most likely you will fall again and again, until you have thoroughly mastered the art of riding from balance. this is a method i have seen adopted, especially in schools, with considerable success, but it is certainly attended with inconvenience to the learner, and with a goodly portion of the risk from falls which all who ride _must_ of necessity run. to ride well from balance is not a thing which can be accomplished in a day, nor a month, nor perhaps a year. many pass a life-time without practically comprehending the meaning of the term. they ride every day, hold on to the bridle, guide their horses, and trust to chance for the rest; but this is not true horsemanship. it could no more be called _riding_ than could a piece of mechanical pianoforte-playing be termed music. when you have, after much difficulty and delay, mastered the obstacles which marred your progress, you will then have the happy consciousness of feeling that however your horse may shy or swerve, or otherwise depart from his good manners, you can sit him with the ease and closeness of a young centaur. this art of riding from balance is not half sufficiently known. it is one most difficult to acquire, but the study is worth the labour. nine-tenths of the lady equestrians, and perhaps even a greater number of gentlemen, ride from the horse's head; a detestable practice which cannot be too highly condemned. i must also warn you against placing too much stress upon the stirrup when your horse is trotting. you must bear in mind that the stirrup is intended for a support for the foot--not to be ridden from. by placing your right leg firmly around the up-pommel, and pressing the left knee against the leaping-head, you can accomplish the rise in your saddle with slight assistance from the stirrup; and this is the proper way to ride. the lazy, careless habit into which many women fall, of resting the entire weight of the body upon the stirrup, not only frequently causes the leathers to snap at most inconvenient times, but is the lamentable cause of half the sore backs and ugly galls from which poor horses suffer so severely. having at length perfected yourself in walking, trotting, cantering, and riding from balance, you have only to acquire the art of leaping--and then you will be finished, so far as teaching can make you so. experience must do the rest. it is a good thing, when learning, to mount as many different horses as you possibly can; always, of course, taking care that they are sufficiently trained not to endeavour to master you. horses vary immensely in their action and gait of going: so much so, that if you do not accustom yourself to a variety you will take your ideas from one alone, and will, when put upon a strange animal, find yourself completely at sea. do not suffer anything to induce you to take your first leap over a bar or pole similar to those used in schools. the horse sees the daylight under it, knows well that it is a sham, goes at it unwillingly, does not half rise to it, drops his heels when in the air, and knocks it down with a crash,--only to do the same thing a second time, and a third, and a fourth also, if urged to do that which he despises. choose a nice little hurdle about two feet high, well interwoven with gorse; trot your horse gently up to it, and let him see what it is; then, turn him back and send him at it, sitting close glued to your saddle, with a firm but gentle grip of your reins, and your hands held low. to throw up the hands is a habit with all beginners, and should at once be checked. fifty to one you will stick on all right, and, if you come off, why it's many a good man's case, and you must regard it as one of the chances of war. the next day you may have the gorse raised another half-foot above the hurdle, and so on by degrees, until you can sit with ease over a jump of five feet. always bear in mind to keep your hands quite down upon your horse's withers, and never interfere with his mouth. sit well back, leave him his head, and he will not make a mistake. of course, i am again surmising that he has been properly trained, and that you alone are the novice. to put a learner upon an untrained animal would be a piece of folly, not to say of wickedness, of which we hope nobody in this age of enlightenment would dream of being guilty. in jumping a fence or hurdle do not leave your reins quite slack; hold them lightly but firmly, as your horse should jump against his bridle, but do not pull him. a gentle support is alone necessary. that absurd and vulgar theory about "lifting a horse at his fences," so freely affected by the ignorant youth of the present day, cannot be too strongly deprecated. that same "lifting" has broken more horses' shoulders and more _asses'_ necks than anything else on record. a good hunter with a bad rider upon his back will actually shake his head free on coming up to a fence. he knows that he cannot do what is expected of him if his mouth is to be chucked and worried, any more than you or i could under similar circumstances, and so he asserts his liberty. how often, in a steeplechase, one horse early deprived of his rider will voluntarily go the whole course and jump every obstacle in perfect safety, even with the reins dangling about his legs, yet never make a mistake; whilst a score or so of compeers will be tumbling at every fence. and why? the answer is plain and simple. the free horse has his head, and his instinct tells him where to put his feet; whereas the animals with riders upon their backs are dragged and pulled and sawn at, until irritation deprives them of sense and sight, and, rushing wildly at their fences (probably getting another tug at the moment of rising), they fall, and so extinguish their chance of a win. i do not, of course, in saying this, mean for a moment to question the judgment and horsemanship of very many excellent jockeys, whose ability is beyond comment and their riding without reproach. i speak of the rule, not of the few exceptions. half the horses who fall in the hunting-field are thrown down by their riders; this is a fact too obvious to be contradicted. men over-riding their horses, treating them with needless cruelty, riding them when already beaten: these are the fruitful causes of falls in the field, together with that most objectionable practice of striving to "lift" an animal who knows his duties far better than the man upon his back. it is a pity, and my heart has often bled to see how the noblest of god's created things is ill-treated and abused by the human brute who styles himself the master. it is, indeed, a disgrace to our humanity that this priceless creature, given to a man with a mind highly wrought, sensitive, yearning for kindness, and capable of appreciating each word and look of the being whose willing slave it is, should be treated with cruelty, and in too many cases regarded but as a sort of machine to do the master's bidding. who has not seen, and mourned to see, the tired, patient horse, spurred and dragged at by a remorseless rider, struggling gamely forward in the hunting-field, with bleeding mouth and heaving, bloody flanks, to enable a cruel task-master to see the end of a second run, and even of a third, after having carried him gallantly through a long and intricate first? it is a piece of inhumanity which all humane riders see and deplore every day throughout the hunting season. we cannot stop it, but we can speak against it and write it down, and discountenance it in every possible way, as we are all bound to do. why will not men be brought to see that in abusing their horses they are compassing their own loss? that in taxing the powers of a beaten animal they are riding for a fall, and are consequently endangering the life which god has given them? there is much to be learnt in the art of fencing besides hurdle-leaping. a good timber-jumper will often take a ditch or drain in a very indifferent manner. i have seen a horse jump a five-barred gate in magnificent style, yet fall short into a comparatively narrow ditch; and _vice versâ_; therefore, various kinds of jumps must be kept up, persevered in, and kept constantly in practice. two things must always be preserved in view; never sit loosely in your saddle, and always ride well from balance, never from your horse's head. in taking an up jump leave him abundance of head-room, and sit _well_ back, lest in his effort he knock you in the face. if the jump is a down one--what is known as an "ugly drop"--follow the same rules; but, when your horse is landing, give him good support from the bridle, as, should the ground be at all soft or marshy, he might be apt to peck, and so give you an ugly fall. it is a disputed point whether or not horses like jumping. i am inclined to coincide in poor whyte-melville's opinion that they do not. he was a good authority upon most subjects connected with equine matters, and so he ought to know; but of one thing i am positively certain: they abhor schooling. however a horse may tolerate or even enjoy a good fast scurry with hounds, there can be no doubt that he greatly dislikes being brought to his fences in cold blood. he has not, when schooling, the impetus which sends him along, nor the example or excitement to be met with in the hunting-field. the horse is naturally a timid animal, and this is why he so frequently stops short at his fences when schooling. he mistrusts his own powers. when running with hounds he is borne along by speed and by excitement, and so goes skying over obstacles which appal him when trotted quietly to them on a schooling day. it is just the difference which an actor feels between a chilling rehearsal and the night performance, when the theatre is crowded and the clapping of hands and the shouting of approving voices lend life and spirit to the part he plays. you will probably get more falls whilst schooling than ever you will get in the hunting-field, but a few weeks' steady practice over good artificial fences or a nice natural country, will give you a firm seat and an amount of confidence which will stand to you as friends. part ii. park and road riding. chapter iv. how to dress.--a country-girl's ideas upon the subject.--how to put on your riding-gear.--how to preserve it.--first road-ride.--backing. --rearing, and how to prevent it. having now mastered the art of riding, you will of course be desirous of appearing in the parks and on the public roadways, and exhibiting the prowess which it has cost you so much to gain. for your outfit you will require, in addition to the articles already in your possession, a nice well-made habit of dark cloth. if you are a very young girl, grey will be the most suitable; if not, dark blue. if you live in london, pay a visit to mayfair, and get mr. wolmershausen to make it for you; if in dublin, mr. scott, of sackville street, will do equally well; indeed, for any sort of riding-gear, ladies' or gentlemen's, he is not to be excelled. if you are not within easy distance of a city, go to the best tailor you can, and give him directions, which he must not be above taking. skirt to reach six inches below the foot, well shaped for the knee, and neatly shotted at end of hem just below the right foot; elastic band upon inner side, to catch the left toe, and to retain the skirt in its place. it should be made tight and spare, without _one inch_ of superfluous cloth; jacket close-fitting, but sufficiently easy to avoid even the suspicion of being squeezed; sleeves perfectly tight, except at the setting on, where a slight puffiness over the shoulder should give the appearance of increased width of chest. no braiding nor ornamentation of any sort to appear. a small neat linen collar, upright shape, with cuffs to correspond, should be worn with the habit, no frilling nor fancy work being admissible--the collar to be fastened with a plain gold or silver stud. the nicest hat to ride in is an ordinary silk one, much lower than they are usually made, and generally requiring to be manufactured purposely to fit and suit the head. of course, if you are a young girl, the melon shape will not be unsuitable, but the other is more in keeping, more becoming, and vastly more economical in the end, although few can be induced to believe this. it is the custom in many households to purchase articles for their cheapness, without any regard to quality or durability, and this you should endeavour to avoid. speaking from experience, the best things are always the cheapest. i pay from a guinea to a guinea and a half for a good silk hat, and find that it wears out four felt ones of the quality usually sold at ten and sixpence. there is no london house at which you can procure better articles or better value than at lincoln, bennett, & co., sackville street, piccadilly. for nearly half a century they have been the possessors of an admirable contrivance, which should be seen to be appreciated, by which not alone is the size of the head ascertained, but its precise shape is definitely marked and suited, thus avoiding all possibility of that distressing pressure upon the temples, which is a fruitful source of headache and discomfort to so many riders. hats made at this firm require no elastics--if it be considered desirable to dispense with such--as the fit is guaranteed. never wear a veil on horseback, except it be a black one, and nothing with a border looks well. a plain band of spotted net, just reaching below the nostrils, and gathered away into a neat knot behind, is the most _distingué_. do not wear anything sufficiently long to cover the mouth, or it will cause you inconvenience on wet and frosty days. for dusty roads a black gauze veil will be found useful, but avoid, as you would poison, every temptation to wear even the faintest scrap of colour on horseback. all such atrocities as blue and green veils have happily long since vanished, but, even still, a red bow, a gaudy flower stuck in the button-hole, and, oh, horror of horrors! a pocket handkerchief appearing at an opening in the bosom, looking like a miniature fomentation--these still occasionally shock the eyes of sensitive persons, and cause us to marvel at the wearer's bad taste. i was once asked to take a young lady with me for a ride in the park, to witness a field-day, or polo match, or something or another of especial interest which happened to be going forward. i would generally prefer being asked to face a battery of zulus rather than act as _chaperone_ to young lady _équestriennes_, who are usually ignorant of riding, and insufferably badly turned out. however, upon this occasion i could not refuse. the lady's parents were kind, amiable country folks, who had invested a portion of their wealth in sending their daughter up to town to get lessons from a fashionable riding-master, and to ride out with whomsoever might be induced to take her. well, the young lady's horse was the first arrival: a hired hack--usual style; bones protruding--knees well over--rusty bridle--greasy reins--dirty girths--and dilapidated saddle, indifferently polished up for the occasion. the young lady herself came next, stepping daintily out of a cab, as though she were quite mistress of the situation. ye gods! what a get up! i was positively electrified. her habit--certainly well made--was of bright blue cloth, with worked frills at the throat and wrists. she wore a brilliant knot of scarlet ribbon at her neck, and a huge bouquet in her button-hole. her hat was a silk one, set right on the back of her head, with a velvet rosettte and steel buckle in front, and a long veil of grey gauze streaming out behind. when we add orange gloves, and a riding-whip with a gaudy tassel appended to it, you have the details of a costume at once singular and unique. i did not at first know whether to get a sudden attack of the measles or the toothache, and send her out with my groom to escort her, but discarding the thought as ill-natured, i compromised matters by bringing her to my own room, and effecting alterations in her toilet which soon gave her a more civilised appearance. i set the hat straight upon her head, and bound it securely in its place, removed from it the gauze and buckle, and tied on one of my own plain black veils of simple spotted net. i could not do away with the frillings, for they were stitched on as though they were never meant to come off; but the red bow i replaced with a silver arrow, threw away the flowers, removed the whip-tassel, and substituted a pair of my own gloves for the cherished orange kid. then we set out. i wanted to go a quiet way to the park, so as to avoid the streets of the town, but she would not have it. nothing would do that girl but to go bang through the most crowded parts of the city, the hired hack sliding over the asphalte, and the rider (all unconscious of her danger) bowing delightedly to her acquaintances as she passed along. poor girl! that first day out of the riding-school was a gala day for her. the nicest gloves for riding are pale cream leather, worked thickly on the backs with black. a few pairs of these will keep you going, for they clean beautifully. a plain riding-whip _without_ a tassel, and a second habit of dark holland if you live in the country, will complete your necessary outfit. i shall now give you a few hints as to the best method of putting on your riding gear, and of preserving the same after rain or hard weather. your habit-maker will, of course, put large hooks around the waist of your bodice, and eyes of corresponding size attached to the skirt, so that both may be kept in their place, but if you have been obliged to entrust your cloth to a country practitioner, who has neglected these minor necessaries, be sure you look to them yourself, or you will some day find that the opening of your skirt is right at your back, and that the place shaped out for your knee has twisted round until it hangs in unsightly crookedness in front of the buttons of your bodice. let it be a rule with you to avoid using any pins. put two or three neat stitches in the back of your collar, so as to affix it to your jacket, having first measured to see that the ends shall meet exactly evenly in front, where you will fasten them neatly with a stud. the ordinary system of placing one pin at the back of the collar and one at either end is much to be deprecated. frequently one of these pins becomes undone, and then the discomfort is incalculable, especially if, as often occurs, you are out for a long day, and nobody happens to be able to accommodate you with another. pinning cuffs is also a reprehensible habit, for the reason just stated. two or three little stitches where they will not show, upon the inner side of the sleeve, will hold the cuff securely in its place and prevent it turning round or slipping up or down, any of which will be calculated to cause discomfort to the rider. it is not a bad method, either, to stitch a small button at the back of the neck of the jacket, upon the inner side, upon which the collar can be secured, fastening the cuffs in the same manner to buttons attached to the inner portion of each sleeve. in short, anything in the shape of a device which will check the unseemly habit of using a multiplicity of pins, may be regarded as a welcome innovation, and at once adopted. it is a good plan, when you undress from your ride, to ascertain whether your collar and cuffs are sufficiently clean to serve you another day, and if they are not, replace them at once by fresh ones; for it may happen that when you go to attire yourself for your next ride, you may he too hurried to look after what should always be a positive necessity, namely, perfectly spotless linen. there is a material, invented in america and as yet but little known amongst us here, which is invaluable to all who ride. it is called celluloid, and from it collars, cuffs, and shirt-fronts are manufactured which resemble the finest and whitest linen, yet which never spot, never crush, never become limp, and never require washing, save as one would wash a china saucer, in a basin of clear water, using a fine soft towel for the drying process. i do not know the nature of the composition, but i can certainly bear testimony to its worth, and being inexpensive as well as convenient, it cannot fail, when known, to become highly popular. the adjusting of your hat is another important item. stitch a piece of black elastic (the single-cord round kind is the best) from one side--the inner one of course--to the other, of just sufficient length to catch well beneath your hair. this elastic you can stretch over the leaf of your hat at the back, and then, when the hat is on and nicely adjusted to your taste in front, you have only to put back your hand and bring the band of elastic deftly under your hair. the hat will then be immovable, and the elastic will not show. in fastening your veil, a short steel pin with a round black head is the best. the steel slips easily through the leaf of the hat, and the head, being glossy and large, is easily found without groping or delay, whenever you may desire to divest yourself of it. i shall now tell you how to proceed with the various items of your toilet on coming home, after being overtaken by stress of weather. no matter how wealthy you may be, or how many servants you may be entitled to keep, always look after these things yourself. hang the skirt of your habit upon a clothes-horse, with a stick placed across inside to extend it fully. leave it until thoroughly dry, and then brush carefully. the bodice must be hung in a cool dry place, but never placed near the fire, or the cloth will shrink, and probably discolour. dip your veil into clear cold water, give it one or two gentle squeezes, shake it out, and hang it on a line, spreading it neatly with your fingers, so that it may take no fold in the drying. your hat comes next. dip a fine small turkey sponge, kept for the purpose and freed from sand, into a basin of lukewarm water, and draw it carefully around the hat. repeat the process, going over every portion of it, until crown, leaf, and all are thoroughly cleansed; then hang in a cool, airy place to dry. in the morning take a soft brush, which use gently over the entire surface, and you will have a perfectly new hat. no matter how shabby may have been your headpiece, it will be quite restored, and will look all the better for its washing. this is one of the chief advantages of silk hats. do not omit to brush after the washing and drying process, or your hat will have that unsightly appearance of having been ironed, which is so frequently seen in the hunting-field, because gentlemen who are valeted on returning from their sport care nothing about the management of their gear, but leave it all to the valet, who gives the hat the necessary washing, but is too lazy or too careless to brush it next day, and his master takes it from his hand and puts it on without ever noticing its unsightliness. sometimes it is the master himself whose clumsy handiwork is to blame; but be it master or servant, the result is too often the same. should your gloves be thoroughly, or even slightly wetted, stretch them upon a pair of wooden hands kept for the purpose, and if they are the kind which i have recommended to you--i mean the best quality of double-stitched cream leather--they will be little the worse. having now, i think, exhausted the subject of your clothing, and given you all the friendly hints in my power, i am ready to accompany you upon your first road ride. go out with every confidence, accompanied of course by a companion or attendant, and make up your mind never to be caught napping, but to be ever on the alert. you must not lose sight of the fact that a bird flitting suddenly across, a donkey's head laid without warning against a gate, a goat's horns appearing over a wall, or even a piece of paper blown along upon the ground, may cause your horse to shy, and if you are not sitting close at the time, woe betide you! always remember the rule of the road, keep to your left-hand side, and if you have to pass a vehicle going your way, do so on the right of it. never neglect this axiom, no matter how lonely and deserted the highway may appear, for recollect that if you fail to comply with it, and that any accident chances to occur, you will get all the blame, and receive no compensation. never trot your horse upon a hard road when you have a bit of grass at the side on which you can canter him. even if there are only a few blades it will be sufficient to take the jar off his feet. if you meet with a hill or high bridge, trot him up and walk him quietly down the other side. if going down a steep decline, sit well back and leave him his head, at the same time keeping a watchful hand upon the rein for fear he should chance to make a false step, that you may be able to pull him up; but do not hold him tightly in, as many timid riders are apt to do, thus hobbling his movements and preventing him seeing where he is to put his feet. if he has to clamber a steep hill with you, leave him unlimited head-room, for it is a great ease to a horse to be able to stretch his neck, instead of being held tightly in by nervous hands, which is frequently the occasion of his stumbling. should your horse show temper and attempt to back with you, leave him the rein, touch him lightly with your heel, and speak encouragingly to him; should he persist, your attendant must look to the matter; but a horse who possesses this dangerous vice should never be ridden by a lady. i have surmised that yours has been properly trained, and doubtless you might ride for the greater portion of a lifetime without having to encounter a decided jibber, but it is as well to be prepared for all emergencies. should a horse at any time rear with you, throw the rein loose, sit close, and bring your whip sharply across his flank. if this is not effectual, you may give him the butt-end of it between the ears, which will be pretty sure to bring him down. this is a point, however, upon which i write with considerable reserve, for many really excellent riders find fault with the theory set forth and adopted by me. one old sportsman in particular shows practically how seriously he objects to it by suffering himself to be tumbled back upon almost daily by a vicious animal, in preference to adopting coercive measures for his own safety. my reasons for striking a rearing horse are set forth with tolerable clearness in one of the letters which form an appendix to this volume; but, although i do it myself, i do not undertake the responsibility of advising others to do likewise, especially if a nervous timidity form a portion of their nature. i am strongly of opinion, however, that decisive measures are at times an absolute necessity, and that the most effectual remedy for an evil is invariably the best to adopt. i have heard it said by two very eminent horsemen that to break a bottle of water between the ears of a rearing animal is an excellent and effectual cure. perhaps it may be--and, on such authority, we must suppose that it is--but i should not care to be the one to try it, although i consider no preventive measure too strong to adopt when dealing with so dangerous a vice. a horse may be guilty of jibbing, bolting, kicking, or almost any other fault, through nervousness or timidity, but rearing is a vicious trick, and must be treated with prompt determination. it would be useless to speak encouragingly to a rearer; he is vexing you from vice, not from nervousness, and so he needs no reassurance--do not waste words upon him, but bring him to his senses with promptitude, or whilst you are dallying he may tumble back upon you, and put remonstrance out of your power for some time to come, if not for ever. in striking him, if you do so, do not indulge in the belief that you are safe because he drops quickly upon his fore-legs, but on the contrary, be fully prepared for the kick or buck which will be pretty sure to follow, and which (unless watched for) will be likely to unseat even a most skilful rider. both rearing and plunging may, however, be effectually prevented by using the circular bit and martingale, procurable at messrs. davis, saddlers, , strand, london. this admirable contrivance should be fitted above the mouthpiece of an ordinary snaffle or pelham bridle. it is infinitely before any other which i have seen used for the same purpose, has quite a separate headstall, and should be put on and arranged before the addition of the customary bridle. being secured to the breastplate by a standing martingale, it requires no reins. chapter v. running away.--three dangerous adventures.--how to act when placed in circumstances of peril.--how to ride a puller.--through the city.--to a meet of hounds.--boastful ladies.--a braggart's resource. in the event of a horse running away, you must of course be guided by circumstances and surroundings, but my advice always is, if you have a fair road before you, let him go. do not attempt to hold him in, for the support which you afford him with the bridle only helps the mischief. leave his head quite loose, and when you feel him beginning to tire--which he will soon do without the support of the rein--flog him until he is ready to stand still. i warrant that a horse treated thus, especially if you can breast him up hill, will rarely run away a second time. he never forgets his punishment, nor seeks to put himself in for a repetition of it. i have been run away with three times in my life, but never a second time by the same horse. it may amuse you to hear how i escaped upon each occasion. the first time, i was riding a beautiful little thoroughbred mare, which a dear lady friend--now, alas! dead--had asked me to try for her. the mare had been a flat-racer, and, having broken down in one of her trials, had been purchased at a cheap rate, being still possessed of beauty and a considerable turn of speed. well, we got on splendidly together for an hour or so on the fifteen acres, phoenix park, but, when returning homewards, some boys who were playing close by struck her with a ball on the leg. in a second she was off like the wind, tearing down the long road which leads from the phoenix to the gates. she had the bit between her teeth, and held it like a vice. my only fear was lest she should lose her footing and fall, for the roadway was covered from edge to edge with new shingle. on she went in her mad career, amidst the shrieks of thousands, for the day was easter monday, and the park was crowded. soldiers, civilians, lines of policemen strove to form a barrier for her arrest. in vain! she knocked down some, fled past others, and continued her headlong course. all this time i was sitting as if glued to my saddle. at the mare's first starting i had endeavoured to pull her up, but finding that this was hopeless, i left the rein loose upon her neck. having then no support for her head, she soon tired, and the instant i felt her speed relaxing i took up my whip and punished her within an inch of her life. i _made_ her go when she wanted to stop, and only suffered her to pull up just within the gates, where she stood covered with foam and trembling in every limb. her owner subsequently told me that during the three years which she afterwards kept her she never rode so biddable a mare. i must not forget to mention the comic side of the adventure as well as the more serious. it struck me as being particularly ludicrous upon that memorable occasion that an old gentleman, crimson with wrath, actually attacked my servant in the most irate manner because he had not clattered after me during the progress of the mare's wild career. "how dare you, sir," cried this irascible old gentleman, "how dare you attempt to neglect your young lady in this cowardly manner?" nor was his anger at all appeased when informed that i as a matron was my own care-taker, and that my attendant had strict injunctions _not_ to follow me in the event of my horse being startled or running away. my next adventure was much more serious, and occurred also within the gates of the phoenix park. some troops were going through a variety of manoeuvres preparing for a field-day, and a knot of them had been posted behind and around a large tree with fixed bayonets in their hands. suddenly they got the order to move, and at the same instant the sun shone out and glinted brilliantly upon the glittering steel. i was riding a horse which had lately been given me; a fine, raking chestnut, with a temper of his own to manage. he turned like a shot, and sped away at untold speed. i had no open space before me; therefore i durst not let him go. it was an enclosed portion of the park, thickly studded with knots of trees, and i knew that if he bore me through one of these my earthly career would most probably be ended. i strove with all the strength and all the art which i possessed to pull him up. it was of no use. i might as well have been pulling at an oak-tree; it only made him go the faster. happily my presence of mind remained. i saw at once that my only chance was to breast him against the rails of the cricket-ground, and for these i made straight, prepared for the shock and for the turn over which i knew must inevitably follow. he dashed up to the rails, and when within a couple of inches of them he swerved with an awful suddenness, which, only that i was accustomed to ride from balance, must have at once unseated me, and darted away at greater speed than ever. right before me was a tree, one heavy bough of which hung very low--and straight for this he made, nor could i turn his course. i knew my fate, and bent on a level with my saddle, but not low enough, for the branch caught me in the forehead and sent me reeling senseless to the ground. i soon got over the shock, although my arm (which was badly torn by a projecting branch) gave me some trouble after; but the bough was cut down the next day by order of the lord lieutenant, and the park-rangers still point out the spot as the place where "the lady was nearly killed." my third runaway was a hunting adventure, and occurred only a few months since. i had a letter one morning from an old friend, informing me that a drag-hunt was to take place about thirty miles from dublin to finish the season with the county harriers, and that he, my friend, wished very much that i would come down in my habit by the mid-day train and ride a big bay horse of his, respecting which he was desirous of obtaining my opinion. i never take long to make up my mind, so, after a glance at my tablets, which showed me that i was free for the day, i donned my habit, and caught the specified train. at the station at the end of my journey i found the big bay saddled and awaiting me, and having mounted him i set off for the kennels, from a field near which the drag was to be run. i took the huntsman for a pilot, knowing that the servant, who was my attendant, was rather a duffer at the chase. the instant that the hounds were laid on and the hunt started, my big mount commenced to pull hard, and by the time the first fence was reached his superior strength had completely mastered mine. he was pulling like a steam-engine, head down, ears laid backward, neck set like iron. my blistered hands were powerless to hold him. he rushed wildly at the fence, and striking the horse of a lady who was just landing over it, turned him and his rider a complete somersault! i subsequently learned that the lady escaped unhurt, but i could not at the moment pause to inquire, for my huge mount, clearing the jump and ten feet beyond it, completely took head, and bore me away from the field over park, over pale, through bush, through briar, until my head fairly reeled, and i felt that some terrible calamity must ensue. happily he was a glorious fencer, or i must have perished, for he jumped every obstacle with a rush; staked fences, wide ditches--so wide that he landed over them on his belly--tangled gorse, and branches of rivers swollen by recent rains; he flew them all. at length, when my strength was quite exhausted and my dizzy brain utterly powerless and confused, i beheld before me a stone wall, a high one, with heavy coping-stones upon the top. at this i resolved to breast him, and run my chance for life or death in the turn over, which, from the pace at which we were approaching it, i knew must be a mighty one. in a moment we were up to it and, with a cry to heaven for mercy, i dug him with my spur and sent him at it. to my utter astonishment, for the wall was six and a half feet high, he put down his head, rushed at it, cleared it without ever laying a shoe upon the topmost stones, and landed with a frightful slip and clatter, but still safely on his feet--where? in the midst of a farm-yard. were it not that this adventure actually occurred to myself, i should be strongly tempted to question its authenticity. that there are horses--especially irish ones--quite capable of compassing such a jump, there cannot be the slightest doubt; but i have never before or since seen one who could do it without being steadied as he approached the obstacle. in the ordinary course of events a runaway steed would strike it with his head and turn over,--which was what i expected and desired--but no such thing occurred, and to the latest hour of my life it must remain a mystery to me that upon the momentous occasion in question neither horse nor rider was injured, nor did any accident ensue. nothing more disastrous than a considerable disturbance in the farm-yard actually occurred; but it was indeed a mighty one. such a commotion amongst fowls was surely never witnessed; the ducks quacked, the turkeys screeched, the hens ran hither and thither; two pigs, eating from a trough close by, set up a most terrific squalling, dogs barked, and two or three women, who were spreading clothes upon a line, added to the general confusion by flinging down the garments with which they had been busy and taking to their heels, shrieking vociferously. in the meantime the big bay, perceiving that he had run to the end of his tether, stood snorting and foaming, looking hither and thither in helpless amazement and dismay; whilst i, relieved at length of my anxiety, burst first into tears, and then into shouts of hearty laughter, as i fully took in the absurdity of the situation. after a considerable delay one of the women was induced to come forward and listen to a recital of my adventure; and the others, being assured that "the baste" would not actually devour them, came near me also, and we held an amicable council as to the possibility of my ever getting out, for the gates were locked, and the owner of the property was away at a fair in the neighbouring town and had the key stowed away in his pocket. to jump the wall again was impracticable. no horse that ever was foaled could do it in cool blood; nor was i willing to risk the experiment, even if my steed made no objection. at length we decided upon the only plan. i dismounted, and, taking the rein over my arm, led my mighty hunter across the yard, induced him to stoop his head to enter by a back door through a passage in the farmhouse, and from thence through the kitchen and front door, out on to the road. i have a cheerful recollection of an old woman, who was knitting in the chimney-corner, going off into screams and hysterics as i and my big steed walked in upon her solitude, a loose shoe and a very audible blowing making the entrance of my equine companion even more _prononcé_ than it would otherwise have been. the poor old creature flung down her needles, together with the cat which had been quietly reposing in her lap, and kicking up her feet yelled and bellowed at the top of a very discordant voice. it took the combined efforts of all four women to pacify her, and she was still shrieking long after i had mounted the big bay and ridden him back to inform his owner of how charmingly he had behaved. i have now told you three anecdotes, partly for your amusement and partly for your instruction; but i would not have you think that it would be at all times and under all circumstances a wise thing to ride a runaway horse against so formidable an obstacle as a stone wall. mine was, i hope, an exceptional case. when the animal was led down to meet me at the station, i saw, not without misgiving, that i was destined to ride in a so-called "safety-stirrup," and at the time when he took head with me my foot was fixed as in a vice in this dangerous and horrible trap, from which i could not succeed in releasing it. feeling that my brain was whirling, and that i could not longer maintain my seat in the saddle, i rode for an overthrow, which i deemed infinitely better than being dragged by the foot over an intricate country, and most probably having my brains scattered by a pair of crashing heels. if a horse should at any time run away with you, keep your seat whilst you _can_ do so, and whilst you have anything of a fair road before you; but if there is any danger of your being thrown or losing your seat whilst your foot is caught, then by all means ride for a fall; put your horse at something that will bring him down, and when he _is_ down struggle on to his head, that he may not rise until somebody has come to your assistance. of course the experiment is fraught with excessive danger, but it is not _certain_ death, as the other alternative must undoubtedly be. i cannot, however, wish you better than to hope most fervently that you may never be placed in a position which would necessitate your making a choice between two such mighty evils. avoid riding strange horses. no matter how accomplished a horsewoman you may become, do not be too ready to comply with the request to try this or that unknown mount. i have done it myself, often, and probably shall again;[ ] but my experience prompts me to warn others against a practice which is frequently fraught with danger to a lady. a horse knows quite well when a strange or timid rider gets upon his back, and if he does not kill you outright, he will probably make such a "hare" of you as will not be at all agreeable, either for yourself or for the lookers-on. [ ] this was written previous to the accident which has disabled me. whenever you take a young horse upon grass, whether he be a stranger to you or otherwise, be prepared for a certain show of friskiness which he does not usually exhibit upon the road. the soft springy turf beneath his feet imbues him with feelings of hilarity which he finds himself powerless to resist, and so you, his rider, must prepare for his little vagaries. he will, most probably, in the first place try a succession of bucks, and for these you must prepare by sitting very close to your saddle, your knee well pressed against the leaping-head, and your figure erect, but not thrown back, as the shock, or shocks to your spine would in such a case be not only painful but positively dangerous, and should therefore be carefully avoided. he will next be likely to romp away, pulling you much harder than is at all agreeable, and seemingly inclined to take head with you altogether. as a remedy against this you must neither yield to him nor pull against him. i have heard fairly good riders advocate by turns both systems of management, especially the former; indeed, the expression, "drop your hands to him," has become so general amongst teachers of the equestrian art, that it has almost passed into a proverb. i do not advocate it, nor do i deem it advisable ever to pull against a pulling horse. when an animal tries to forereach you, you should neither give up to him nor yet pull one ounce against him. close your fingers firmly upon the reins and keep your arms perfectly motionless, your hands well down, without giving or taking one quarter of an inch. in a stride or two he will be sure to yield to your hand, at which moment you should immediately yield to him, and his wondrous powers of intelligence will soon enable him to discern that you are not to be trifled with. were you to give up to him when he rushes away or romps with his head he would very soon be going all abroad, and would give you a vast amount of trouble to pull him into proper form. above all things, keep clear of trees, of which i myself have an unbounded dread. should you have occasion to ride through a city, give your eyes and attention to your horse, and not to passing acquaintances, for in the present dangerous tangle of tramlines, slippery pavements, and ill-driven vehicles, it will require all your energies to bring you safely through. never trot your horse through a town or city: walk him quietly through such portion of it as you have to pass, and leave him abundant head-room, that his intelligence may pick out a way for his own steps. a very nice ride for a lady is to a meet of the hounds, if such should occur within reasonable distance, say from four to eight miles. the sight is a very pretty one, and there is not any reason why you should not thoroughly enjoy it; but having only ridden to see the meet, you must be careful not to interfere with, nor get in the way of those about to ride the run. nothing is more charming than to see three or four ladies, nicely turned out, arrive to grace the meet with their presence, but nothing is more abominable than the same number of amazons coming galloping up in full hunting toggery, although without the least idea of hunting, and rushing hither and thither, frightening the hounds and getting in everybody's way, as though they were personages of the vastest possible importance, and meant to ride with a skill not second to that of the nazares. such women are the horror and spoliation of every hunting-field. they dash off with the hounds the moment the fox is found, but happily the first fence stops them, and a fervent thankfulness is felt by every true lover of the chase as they pause discomfited, look dismally at the yawning chasm, and jog crestfallen away to the road. there are many ladies, and estimable ladies, too, who take out their horses every hunting-day, and by keeping upon the roadways see all that they can of the hounds. sometimes they are fortunate, sometimes not; it depends upon the line of country taken. their position is, in my opinion, a most miserable one; yet they must derive enjoyment from it, else why do they come? they surely cannot imagine that they are participating in the hunt; yet it affords them amusement to keep pottering about, and enables them to make their little harmless boast to credulous friends of their "hunting days," and the "runs" they have seen throughout the season. indeed, so far does this passion for boasting carry the fair sex, that i myself know two young ladies who never saw a hound in their lives, except from the inside of a shabby waggonette, yet who brag in so audacious a manner that they have been heard to declare to gentlemen at evening dances, "really we cawn't dawnce; we are so tired! out all day with the wards--and had _such a clipping run_!" this sort of thing only makes us smile when we hear it amongst ladies, but when men resort to it we become inspired with sufficient contempt to feel a longing desire to offer them severer chastisement than our derision. i once asked a little mannikin, who had given himself the name and airs of a great rider, if he would be kind enough to pilot me over an intricate piece of country with which i was unacquainted. the creature pulled his little moustaches, and sniffed, and hemmed and hawed, and finally said, "aw, i'm sure i should be delighted, but you see i ride _so deuced hard_, i should not expect a lady to be able to keep up with me." i said nothing, but acted as my own pilot, and took opportunity to watch my hard-riding friend during the course of the run. he positively never jumped a fence, but worked rampantly at locks of gates, and bribed country-folks to let him pass through. the last i saw of him he was whipping his horse over a narrow ditch, preparatory to scrambling it himself on foot. and this man was only one of many, for the really accomplished rider never boasts. part iii. hunting. chapter vi. hunting-gear.--necessary regard for safe shoeing.--drive to the meet.--scene on arriving.--a word with the huntsman.--a good pilot.--the covert side.--disappointment.--a long trot. now that you are thoroughly at home on your saddle--in the park, on the road, and over the country--you are doubtless longing to display your prowess in the hunting-field, and thither we shall have much pleasure in accompanying you. your outfit will be the first thing to consider; and do not be alarmed when i tell you that it will require a little more generosity on the part of papa than you have hitherto called upon him to exercise. to commence with your feet--which i know is contrary to custom--you will need two pairs of patent wellington boots. these are three guineas per pair, but are a beautiful article, and will last a long time with care. woollen stockings of light texture, with a pair of silk ones drawn over, are the most comfortable for winter wear. a small steel spur to affix to your left heel will be the next item required. the nicest kind are those with a strap attached, which crosses the instep, and buckles securely at the side. of course, all ladies' spurs are spring ones, displaying no rowels which could tear the habit, but simply one steel projection with spring probe within, which, when pressed to the horse's side, acts most efficiently as an instigator. latchford's patent is the best. two pairs of chamois riding-trousers, cloth from the hip down, and buttoning quite close at the ankle to allow of the boot going over, will be the next necessary; and you must also provide yourself with two riding corsets of superior shape and make. three habits of strong dark cloth, one of them thoroughly waterproof, will be required--the skirts to be made so short as barely to cover the foot, and so spare as to fit like glove, without fold or wrinkle. if a hunting-habit be properly cut it will require no shotting, which will be an advantage to your horse in diminishing the weight which he would otherwise have to carry. an elastic band nicely placed upon the inside in position to catch around the toe of the right foot will be sufficient to answer all purposes. you cannot do better, to procure an article such as i describe, than entrust your order to wolmershausen (whom i believe i have already named in a former chapter), corner of curzon street, mayfair, where you will not fail to find your instructions intelligently carried out. this firm has a speciality for skirt-cutting,--is, indeed, unapproachable in this particular branch, of what is in reality an art; and even in these days of eager competition the old-established house suffers from no rivalry, and holds its own in the widely-contested field. a very neatly-made waterproof jacket will be an addition to your wardrobe, as also a cape with an elastic band from the back to fasten around the waist, and hold the front ends securely down. this latter is an almost indispensable article. it is so light that it can be carried with ease in your saddle-strap, and in case of an unexpected shower can be adjusted in a single instant and without assistance, which is not the case with a jacket. it should be made with a collar, which can be arranged to stand up close around the neck, and thus prevent the possibility of damp or wet causing you cold or inconvenience. i approve of the jacket for decidedly wet days, when it should be donned on going out, but for a showery day the cape is preferable, as it can be much more easily taken off and again put on. two silk hats, with the addition of a melon-shape if you desire it--a long-lashed hunting-whip, and a plentiful supply of collars, cuffs, gloves, veils, and handkerchiefs, will complete your outfit. i, hunting four days a week, find the above quite sufficient, and if you care your things (having got them in the first instance of the best quality) it is surprising how long they may be made to serve. i have told you _how_ to take care of them, but believe me, if you leave the task to servants the end will prove disappointing. you will never be one-half so well turned out, and your outlay will be continual. it is an excellent precaution for a hunting-day, to look the previous morning at your horse's shoes; and do this yourself, for it not unfrequently happens that a careless groom will suffer him to go out with a loose shoe which gradually becomes looser, and finally drops off, perhaps in the middle of an exciting run, and obliges you to leave your place with the hounds and seek the nearest forge. all this sort of thing could, in nine cases out of ten, be obviated by a little care and forethought, but the majority of riders are too grand, or too careless, or too absurdly squeamish about the "propriety" of entering a stable, and not unfrequently too ignorant of things they ought to know, to see to such matters themselves, and so they are passed over and neglected. a groom is too often utterly careless. he is bound to send your horse from the yard looking shiny, and sleek, and clean. any deviation from this would at once attract your attention, and arouse your displeasure. the groom knows this, and acts accordingly; but he also knows what you do not--that one of the shoes is three-parts loose; it will probably hold very well until you begin to go, and then it will drop off and leave you in a fix, perhaps miles away from a village where the damage could be repaired. the groom knew all about it, very likely, the day before, but he saw that you were not troubling yourself, and why should he? you never made any inquiry about such matters, nor seemed to interest yourself in them, and why should he be troubled concerning them? a loose shoe is nothing to him: it does not cause _him_ any inconvenience, not it; then why worry himself? he does not want to bring the horse down to the forge through mud and rain, and stand there awaiting the smith's convenience; not a bit of it. he is much more comfortable lolling against the stable-door and smoking a pipe with tom, dick, or harry. it frequently occurs in the hunting-field that a horse loses a shoe in going through heavy ground, or in jumping a fence where he brings his hind feet too close upon the front ones, and, catching the toe of the hind shoe in the heel of the front, drags the latter forcibly off, and leaves it either on the ground behind him or carries it for a field or two hanging by one or two nails to his hoof, before it finally drops off. the moment you are made aware that your horse has cast a shoe, which will generally be by somebody informing you of the fact, ascertain at once which of the animal's feet has been left unprotected. if the lost shoe happens to be a hinder one, the matter is less serious, but if a front one should be cast, do not lose any time in inquiring your road to the nearest smithy, and, whilst wending your way thither, be careful to keep as much as possible upon the grass by the roadside, that the shoeless foot may not become worn, nor suffer from concussion by coming in contact with the hard road. it is a good plan to send your horse early to the meet: quite in the morning; or, should the distance be a long one, despatch him the previous evening in charge of a careful servant, and stable him for the night as near as possible to the point at which you may require him upon the following day. if you are fortunate enough to have a friend's house to send him to, so much the better a great deal; but under any circumstances it is pleasanter both for you and your animal that he should be fresh and lively from his stable, and not that you should get upon him when he is half-jaded and covered with mud, after a long and tiresome road journey. to drive to the meet or go by train yourself is the most agreeable way. some ladies ride hacks to covert, and then have their hunters to replace them, but this is tiresome, and not to be advocated for various reasons. if the morning is fine the drive will be pleasant, and you can then send your conveyance to whatever point you deem it most likely the hunt will leave off. you must, of course, exercise your judgment in the endeavour to decide this, but you may assist it considerably by asking the master or the huntsman to be kind enough to give you a hint as to the direction in which they will most probably draw. we will, then, surmise that you drive to the meet. it is an excellent plan, whether you drive or go by train, to take with you a small bag containing a change of clothing; leave this in charge of your servant, with directions where he is to meet you in the evening, and then, should you come to grief in a dyke or river you can console yourself with the knowledge that dry garments are awaiting you, and that you will not have to encounter the risk of cold and rheumatism by sitting in drenched habiliments in a train or vehicle. you will also, if wise, take with you a foot-pick and a few yards of strong twine. even if you should not require them yourself you may be able to oblige others, which is always a pleasure to a right-minded and unselfish huntress. take, likewise, a few shillings in your pocket to reward, if necessary, the wreckers, whose tasks are at all times difficult and laborious, and too often thankless. arrived at the meet, your horse and servant are waiting for you in good time and order; but it is a little early yet, and so you look about you. what a pretty sight it is! how full of healthful interest and charming variety! the day is bright and breezy--a little bit cloudy, perhaps, but no sign of rain. a glorious hunting morning altogether. numbers of vehicles are drawn up, filled with happy-looking occupants, mostly ladies and children. there are a good many dog-carts, polo-carts, and a few tandems, from which gentlemen in ulsters and long white saving-aprons are preparing to alight. it is nice to see their steeds, so beautifully groomed and turned out, led up to the trap-wheels for them to mount, without the risk of soiling their boots. very particular are these gentlemen. the day is muddy, and they know they must be splashed and spattered as they ride to the covert-side, but they will not leave the meet with a speck upon horse or rider. there is a military-looking man--long, tawny moustache, and most perfect get-up--divesting himself of his apron, and frowning because his snow-white breeches are disfigured by just one speck of dirt; probably it would be unobservable to anybody but himself, yet he is not the less annoyed. a dapper little gentleman, in drab shorts and gaiters, is covertly combing his horse's mane; and a hoary old fox-hunter, who has just mounted, has drawn over close to the hedge, and extends first one foot and then the other for his servant to remove the blemishes which mounting has put upon his boots. this extreme fastidiousness is carried by some to an absurd excess. i remember upon one occasion seeing a gentleman actually re-enter his dog-cart and drive sulkily away from the meet because he considered himself too much splashed to join the cavalcade which was moving away to the covert, although he was fully aware that a trot of a few hundred yards upon the muddy road in company with numerous other horses would, under any circumstances, have speedily reduced him to the condition which he was then lamenting. a few ladies come upon the scene, and many more gentlemen; and then comes the huntsman in proud charge of the beauties. the whips and second horsemen come also, and the master drives up about the same time, and loses not a moment in mounting his hunter. the pack looks superb, and many are the glances and words of commendation which it receives. always have a smile and pleasant word for the huntsman and whips. they deserve it, and they value it. i always make it a point to have a little conversation with them before we leave the meet--in fact, i know many of the hounds in the various packs by name, and i love to notice them. nothing pleases the huntsman more than to commend his charge: it makes him your friend at once. many a time when i have been holding good place in a run, we have come across some dangerous fence which it would be death to ride in a crowd, and the huntsman's shout of "let the lady first!" has secured me a safe jump, and a maintenance of my foremost position. all being now ready, you mount your horse. it would be well if some gentleman friend or relative would look first to his girths, &c.; but, should such not be available, do not be above doing it yourself. servants, even the best, are, as aforesaid, often careless, and a horse may be sent out with girths too loose, throat-lash too tight, runners out, or any of the thousand and one little deficiencies which an interested and careful eye will at once detect. of course you have not come to hunt without having secured a good pilot. you have, i hope, selected somebody who rides well and straight--boldly, and yet with judgment--for, believe me, a display of silly recklessness does not constitute good riding, however it may be thought to do so by ignorant or silly persons. your pilot will ride a few yards in advance of you, and it will be your duty to keep him well in view, and not to get separated from him. this latter you may at times find difficult, as others may ride in between, but you must learn smartness, and be prepared for all emergencies. moreover, if your pilot be a good one, he will see that you keep close to him, and, by glancing over his shoulder after clearing each obstacle, will satisfy himself that you also are safely over, and that no mischance has befallen you. any man who will not take this trouble is unfit to pilot a lady, for whilst he is careering onward in all the glories of perfect safety, she may be down in some ugly dyke, perhaps ridden on, or otherwise hurt; and, therefore, it is his bounden duty to see that no evil befals her. i cannot say that i consider the position of a trusty pilot at all an enviable one, and few men care to occupy it in relation to a beginner or timorous rider, although they are ever anxious to place their services at the disposal of a lady who is known to "go straight." in selecting a pilot, do so with judgment. choose one who knows the country, and who will not be too selfish nor too grand to take care of you; for, remember, you are only a beginner, and will need to be taken care of. if, then, you have secured the right sort of man, and your own heart is in the right place, you may prepare to enjoy yourself, for a real good day's hunting is the keenest enjoyment in which man or woman can hope to participate in this life. the trot to the covert-side is usually very pleasant. you and your horse are quite fresh. you meet and chat with your friends. the two, three, or four miles, as the case may be, seem to glide away very fast. then comes the anxious moment when the beauties are thrown in, and all wait in eager suspense for the whimper which shall proclaim reynard at home. but not a hound gives tongue this morning. you can see them--heads down, sterns up, beating here and there through the gorse--but, alas! in silence; and, after a while, someone says, "no fox here!" and presently your ear catches the sound of the huntsman's horn, and the hounds come trooping out, almost as disappointed as the field. then the master gives the order for the next or nearest covert, and there is a rush, and a move, and a long cavalcade forms upon the road, headed, of course, by the hounds. get well in front, if you can, so as to be quite up when they reach their next try, for sometimes they find as soon as ever they are thrown in, and are far away over the country before the stragglers come up, and great, then, are the lamentations, for hunting a stern-chase is, to say the least of it, not cheerful. you will have another advantage, also, in being well forward, for your horse will get the benefit of a temporary rest, whilst those who, by lagging, have lost time at the start, are obliged to follow as best they can upon the track, bucketing their horses, and thus depriving them of the chance of catching their wind--which is, in a lengthened run, of very material consequence. one especial difference you observe between road-riding and hunting: you are obliged to trot at a fast swinging pace such long tiresome distances from covert to covert, without pause or rest, and you feel already half tired out. hitherto, when riding on the road, or in the park, if you felt fatigued you have only had to pull up and walk; but on hunting days there is no walking. the time is too precious, these short, dark, wintry days, to allow of such "sweet restings." the evening closes in so rapidly that we cannot afford to lose a moment of our time, and so we go along at a sweeping pace. nobody who is unable to trot long distances without rest has any business hunting. chapter vii. hounds in covert.--the first fence.--follow your pilot.--a river-bath. --a wise precaution.--a label advisable.--wall and water jumping. --advice to fallen riders.--hogging.--more tail. you have now arrived at the next covert, and have seen the hounds thrown in. in an instant there is a whimper, taken up presently by one and another, until the air rings with the joyous music of the entire pack, as they rattle their game about, endeavouring to force him to face the open. the whips are standing warily on the watch, the huntsman's cheery voice is heard encouraging the hounds, the master is galloping from point to point, warning off idlers whose uninvited presence would be sure to send the "varmint" back into his lair. your pilot, knowing that a run from here is a certainty, selects his vantage ground. being a shrewd man, he knows that no fox will face a keen nor'-easter, nor will he be likely to brave the crowd of country bumpkins, who, despite the master's entreaties, are clustering about yonder hedge. in short, there is only one point from which he _can_ well break, and so your pilot prepares accordingly. another anxious moment ere the "gone away! tally-ho!" rings out upon the keen air; and then follows that glorious burst which is worth giving up a whole year of one's life to see. hounds running breast high, fairly flying, in fact; huntsmen, whips, horsemen, all in magnificent flight, each riding hard for the foremost place, amid such a chorus of delicious music as is never heard from any save canine throats; and then, when the first big fence is reached, such hurry and scurry! such tumbling and picking up again! such scrambling of dogs and shouting of men! such cold baths for horses and riders! and oh, such glory amongst the wreckers, as they stand tantalizingly at the edge of the chasm in which so many are hopelessly struggling, whilst their audacious cries of "what'll you give me, sir?" "pull you out for a sovereign, captain!" are heard and laughed at by the fortunate ones who are safe upon the other side. your pilot has been a wise man. he selected his starting-point at the sound of the very first opening out, and when the general scrimmage took place he had his line chosen, and so has led you wide of the ruck, yet in the wake of the hounds. and here suffer me to advise you, if you should ever chance to be left without a leader, do not fall into the mistake of following the others, for my experience of hunting is that nine-tenths of those out do not know _where_ they are going, nor where fox or hounds have gone before them. cut out a line for yourself, and follow the pack. a pilot is, of course, a great acquisition, if he be a _good_ one, but throughout some of my best runs i have performed the office for myself, and have succeeded in being in at the death. but then i am not a beginner, and i am surmising that _you_ are. keep about six yards behind your leader; follow him unswervingly, and jump after him, but not on him. always wait till he is well out of the way before you take the fence in his wake. your horse will jump more readily having the example of his before him, but i cannot too well impress upon you the necessity of allowing him to get well over before you attempt to follow. one of the ugliest falls i ever got in my life was through riding too close upon my leader. the run was a very hot one, and only four of us were going at the time. none, in fact, but those who had first-rate horses had been able to live through it. we came to a wide branch of a river, swollen by recent rains. my pilot, going a rare pace, jumped it safely; i came too fast upon him. my horse's nose struck his animal's quarters, which, of course, threw my gallant little mount off his balance, and prevented his landing. he staggered and fell back, and we both got a drowning! i was dragged up with a boat-hook, the horse swam on until he found a place to scramble up the bank, and then galloped off over the country. i recollect standing dismally by that river, my pilot and two wreckers scraping the mud from me, and wringing my drenched garments, whilst two or three more were scouring the adjacent lands in search of my truant steed. when, at length, he was caught, i had eleven miles to ride to the place at which i had left my trap, and was obliged on arriving to change every atom of my clothing, and wash off the superabundant mud in a horse-bucket, kindly lent for the occasion. the fall involved the loss of the run, the loss of a habit, the loss of many odd shillings to wreckers, the loss of my temper, a wound from the boat-hook, and a heavy cold, the result of immersion on a perishing winter day. all these disasters were the punishments consequent upon my impetuosity in coming too close upon my leader; therefore, having thus myself suffered, i warn you, from woful experience, never to tread upon the horse jumping in advance of you. allowing, even, that you do not cannon against him, there is another casualty which may not improbably occur. supposing that he falls and throws his rider, your horse may in alighting just chance to plant a foot upon the empty saddle of the prostrate animal, the slippery nature of which throws him off his balance, and you and he roll upon the earth together--perhaps receiving a kick from your pilot's struggling mount. from this species of accident many evils have from time to time arisen, and therefore i dutifully endeavour to put you well upon your guard. i would also again remind you that if you really mean to ride an intricate country, you should never under any circumstances neglect to bring a change of clothing, for you may at any moment be dyked, and to remain in wet garments is highly dangerous,--not so long as you are exercising, but during the journey to your home. it is not in the saddle, but in vehicles and railway carriages that colds are contracted and the seeds of disease are sown. it may not be out of place here to offer you a piece of wholesome advice. should you at any time have the ill-fortune to be riding a kicking horse in the midst of a crowd, always put back your hand when the cavalcade pauses, to warn those behind not to come too close to the heels of your unquiet steed. by so doing you may save an accident, and may, moreover, guard yourself from more than one anathema. i once saw the horse of a fiery old general kicked by the mount of a young nobleman, who thought it not worth his while to offer an apology. "see here, young man," said the irate officer, riding up to the offender's side, "whenever you come out to hunt on brutes like that you should paste a danger-card upon your back, and not run the risk of breaking valuable bones. i have said my say," he added, "and now _you may go to the devil_!" a few hints next as to jumping. if, in the course of a run, you meet with stone walls, do not ride too fast at them. always steady your horse at such obstacles, and follow my oft-repeated advice of leaving him abundant head-room. if you have to cross a river or very wide ditch, come fast at it, in order that the impetus may swing you safely over; few horses can cross a wide jump without having what is called a "run at it." never expect your animal to take such obstacles at a stand, or under the disadvantages consequent upon coming at them at a slow pace. should the leap be a river or wide water-jump, suffer your horse to _stretch forward his head and neck_ when coming up to it. if you fail to do so, you will most probably go in, for an animal who accomplishes his work requires his liberty as an absolute necessity, and, if denied it, will teach you, at the cost of a good wetting, to treat him next time with greater consideration. you will frequently see men ride pretty boldly up to some yawning chasm or ugly bullfinch--stop and look at it, hesitate an instant, and then, by cruel spurring, urge an exhausted animal to take it at a stand. this is truly bad horsemanship, and leads to many direful results. a good rider will, on perceiving that the obstacle is a formidable one, turn his horse round, take him some little distance from it, and then, again turning, come fast at it--quick gallop, hands down, horse's head held straight and well in hand, but without any pulling or nervous reining in. such a one will be pretty sure to get safely over. should your horse, in jumping a fence, land badly, and slip his hind legs into a gripe or ditch, do not wait more than an instant to see if he can recover himself; you will know in that time whether he will be likely to do so. the best advice i can give you is to kick your foot free of the stirrup and jump off before he goes back. you will thus keep your own skin dry; and, if you have been fortunate enough to retain a light hold of the rein, you can rescue your horse without much difficulty; for an animal, when immersed, makes such intelligent efforts to release himself, that a very trifling assistance upon your part will enable him to struggle safely to your side, when you can remount him and try your chances of again picking up the hounds. be cautious, however, in pulling him up, that you do so over smooth ground. i had a valuable young horse badly staked last season through being dragged up over a clump of brushwood after a fall into the lara river. should your steed peck on landing over a fence you will be pretty certain to come over his head, for this is an ugly accident, and one very likely to occur over recently-scoured drains. you _may_, however, save both yourself and him, if you are _smart_ in using your hands in assisting him to recover his lost equilibrium. in the event of your horse jumping short with you, either from having taken off too soon or from any other cause, and falling upon you into a gripe, you may (when you gain a little experience) be able to stick to him without leaving the saddle. the first effort a fallen animal makes is to try to get up; therefore, if you are not quite thrown, hold on to his mane, and as he struggles to right himself make your effort to regain your seat. be guided, however, in doing this by observing with a quick glance whether there are thorns or brambles overgrowing the place, for if there are, and your horse on recovering himself strides onward in the ditch, seeking a place at which he may get out, your face will undoubtedly suffer. this sort of thing once occurred to me in the course of a day's hunting. i held on to my animal when he fell, and regained my seat without very much difficulty, but before i could recover my hold of the bridle he had rushed forward, and my face was terribly punished by the overhanging brambles. be very careful, in this matter of holding on to a fallen animal, not to confound the mane with the rein. by clinging to the former you assist yourself without in the smallest degree impeding the movements of your horse; by clinging to the latter you seriously interfere with his efforts at recovery, and most probably pull him back upon you. and this brings me to the subject of hogging horses' manes. never, under any circumstances, allow an animal of yours to be thus maltreated. not only is it a vile disfigurement, depriving the horse of nature's loveliest ornament, but it also deprives the rider of a very chief means of support in case of accident. many a bad fall have i been saved by clutching firmly at the mane, which an ignorant groom had oft implored me to sacrifice; and many a good man and true have i seen recover himself by a like action, when a hog-maned animal would undoubtedly have brought him to grief. grooms are especially fond of this system of "hogging," and many a beauteous adjunct of nature's forming has been ruthlessly sacrificed to their ceaseless importunities to be permitted to "smarten the baste." tails, too, are remorselessly clocked by these gentlemen of the stable; not that they really think it an improvement, any more than they veritably admire the hogging process, but it saves them trouble, it lightens their labours, they have less combing and grooming to attend to. tails were sent by nature, not merely as an ornament, but to enable the animal to whisk away the flies, which in hot weather render its life a burthen. man, the ruthless master, by a cruel process of cutting and searing, deprives his helpless slave of one of its most valued and most necessary possessions. i do not myself advocate long switch tails, which are rarely an ornament, being usually covered with mud; but i maintain that "docking" is cruel and unnecessary, keeping the hairs closely and evenly cut being quite sufficient for purposes of cleanliness, without in any way interfering with the flesh; therefore, do not reject my oft-repeated plea for "a little more tail." chapter viii. holding on to a prostrate horse.--is it wise or otherwise?--an indiscreet jump.--a difficult finish.--the dangers of marshy grounds.--encourage humanity.--a reclaimed cabby! to return to the subject of jumping. in the event of an ordinary fall in landing over a fence, it is a vexed question whether or not it is advisable to hold on by the rein whilst your horse is on the ground. i do not now mean when he is sunk in a ditch, but when he is prostrate upon even grass-land or upon smooth earth. many first-rate riders affirm that it is a highly dangerous practice, therefore i am afraid to advocate it, and must speak with reserve--as i did respecting the management of a rearing animal--but for my own part i always do it. my experience is, that when a horse struggles to his feet his movement is almost invariably retrograde. he tries to get away, consequently his heels are turned from me; and so long as i keep my hold of the bridle his head will be nearest me and his feet furthest. he will not think of turning to kick me, unless he be a vilely vicious brute, not worth his keep; and so i can hold him with safety until i am up myself and ready to remount him. when my horse falls with me on the flat, i roll clear of him without letting go the rein, and as the only danger of a kick is whilst he is getting up, i shield my head with one arm and slip the rein to its fullest length with the other, thus allowing the animal so much head-room that he is enabled to make that retrograde movement, or "dragging away," which is natural to him, and which saves me from the possible contact of his heels. this is, in my opinion (which i cannot, of course, pretend to think infallible), the best course to pursue. it is the one which i always adopt, and i have never yet, except in one trifling instance, received a kick from a fallen horse. i remember one day, a couple of seasons ago, i was riding hard against a very beautiful imperial lady, who dearly loves a little bit of rivalry. neck and neck we had jumped most of the fences for forty minutes or so, and both our steeds were pretty well beaten, for the running had been continuous, without a check. we came to an awful obstacle--a high thick-set hedge, so impenetrable that there was no chance of knowing what might be on the other side. there was but one little apology for a gap, and at this the empress's pilot rode--immediately putting up his hand as a warning to us not to follow, and pointing lower down. i knew that when bay middleton thought there was danger, it did, indeed, exist; but i was too much excited to stop. we had the hunt all to ourselves, the hounds running right in front of us, and not a soul with them. i came at the fence with whip, spur, and a shout! my horse--than which a better never was saddled--rose to the leap, and landing upon his head after a terrific drop, rolled completely over. i was not much hurt, and whilst he was on his knees getting up, i scrambled back to the saddle, and went on; but, oh! under what dire disadvantages! my rein had caught upon a stake in the fence and was broken clean off, and i fancy it was this chuck to my animal's mouth which had thrown him out of his stride and caused him to blunder, for it was the first and last mistake he ever made with me, nor could i, in the hurry of regaining my seat unassisted, get my foot into the stirrup; so i finished the run as if by a miracle, and astonished myself even more than anybody else by bringing home the fox's brush as a trophy that i was in at the death. always bear in mind when hunting that you are bound to save your horse as much as possible. jump no unnecessary fences; look out for a friendly gate whenever you can find one at hand; and in going up hill or over ploughed land, ease your animal and take your time. by acting thus judiciously you will be able to keep going when others are standing still. always avoid bogs and heavy bottoms; they are most treacherous, and swamp many an unwary hunter in their dangerous depths. if you should ever have the bad fortune to be caught in one, dismount at once, and lead your horse. it is not a pleasant thing to have to do, but if you remain upon him, your weight, added to his own, will probably sink him up to his saddle-girths, and there he will stick. i would desire particularly to impress upon you that if your horse carries you safely and brilliantly through one good run, you ought to be contented with that, and not attempt to ride him a second. it is through the unwise and cruel habit of riding beaten animals that half the serious accidents occur. also remember that if you are waiting at a covert-side where there seems likely to be a delay, after your steed has had a gallop or a long trot, you should get off his back and shift your saddle an inch one way or the other, generally backwards, as servants are usually apt in the first instance to place the saddle too close upon the withers. by adopting this plan you will, when you again get upon him, find him a new animal. if you or i were carrying a heavy burthen upon our shoulders for a certain number of hours in precisely the same position, would it not make a new being of us to have it eased and shifted? and exactly so it is with the horse. a selfish man will sit all day upon his beast, rather than take the trouble of getting off his back; but against himself does it tell, for his animal is fagged and jaded when that of a merciful man is able to keep its place in the run. there is nothing which should more fully engross the thoughts of the humane hunter than kindly consideration towards the noble and beautiful creature which god has sent to be the help of man. your horse should be your companion, your friend, your loved and valued associate, but never your wronged and over-tasked slave. humanity cries out with ready uproar against the long list of grievances which animals have to endure, yet how few of us exert ourselves to lighten the burthen by so much as one of our fingers! there is not one of us who may not, if he choose, be daily and hourly striving to curtail the load of misery which the equine race is called upon to bear. we may not be fortunate enough to possess horses ourselves upon which to exercise our humanity, but can we not do something--yea, much--for others? surely we can, if we only possess the courage and the will. even a word judiciously spoken will often effect more than we could have hoped or supposed. two years ago i saw a cabman in dublin cruelly ill-treating his horse. the poor animal was resting its worn and tired body upon the stand, ready for the wrench which its jaw would receive as soon as the next prospect of a "fare" should excite the cupidity of its owner. one would have thought that the sight of so much patient misery would have moved the stoniest heart to suffer the hapless creature to enjoy its few moments of needed repose. but no; the driver wanted some amusement, he was weary of standing by himself, without some sort of employment to divert his ignoble mind, and so he found such out. how? by beating upon the front legs and otherwise cruelly worrying with the whip the poor ill-used slave which he should have felt bound to protect. i saw it first from a distance--more fully as i came near--and with a heart bursting with sorrow and indignation, i crossed over and remonstrated with the man. i said very little; only what i have tried to inculcate in these pages--that humanity to quadrupeds is not only a duty which we owe to their creator, but will in time repay ourselves. i expected nothing but abuse, and, indeed, the man's angry face and half-raised whip seemed to augur me no good; but, suddenly, as something that i said came home to him, his countenance softened, and, laying his hand quite gently upon the poor beaten side of the animal which he had been ill-treating, he said: "well, if there was more like _you_, there 'ud be less like me! _that's_ the thruth, at all events." and then he said no more, for he was satisfied that i knew i had not spoken in vain. for two years that man has been my constant driver. he is almost daily at my door: he drives me to and from the trains when going to and returning from the hunts, and dearly loves to hear something of the runs; nor is there a more humane driver nor a better cared horse in any city of the empire. i have related this true incident, not from any egotism--god is my witness--but merely to show you how good is "a word in season." you may speak many which may be, or may seem to be, of none effect, but, like the "bread upon the waters," you know not when it may return unto you blessed. chapter ix. selfishness in the field.--fording a river.--shirking a fence.-- over-riding the hounds.--treatment of tired hunters.--bigwig and the major.--naughty bigwig.--hapless major. you must be particularly cautious in the hunting-field to avoid being cannoned against. there is no other place in the whole world where there is so little ceremony; and so very, very little politeness. it is verily a case of "every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost!" there is scarcely one man in the entire field who will not in his heart of hearts resent your presence, and so he will pay you no court. the crowding at gaps, and at certain negotiable places in different well-known fences is simply disgraceful; and persons--i cannot call them gentlemen--ride each other down like dogs. at such places you will be fortunate if you can enlist a friend to ride behind you, and thus prevent your being jumped upon in the event of a fall. i must not omit to remind you that in crossing a ford your horse will be very apt to lose his footing. you will know when he does so by his making a kind of plunge, and an endeavour to swim, which he only does when he feels himself out of his depth. if at such a time you interfere with his mouth, he will _inevitably_ roll over. your only chance is to throw him the reins, and let him scramble or swim as he finds easiest. if the latter, lift your left leg (with foot still in the stirrup) completely over the third crutch, that he may not strike your heel with his near hind foot, or become in any way entangled with the stirrup or in your skirt. at the same time grasp the up-pommel firmly with your hand, that you may not be unseated when he makes his second struggle, which he will do as soon as he recovers his footing at the bottom of the water. a horse who shirks his fences is a terrible infliction to have to ride. of course the first refusal condemns you to lose your place, for it is the etiquette of the hunting-field that if your horse refuses you must at once draw aside and let the whole field go by before you again essay it. but, provoked though you may be, do not allow yourself to be vanquished. if you do not now gain the victory your horse will always be your conqueror. bring him again to the leap, keeping his head straight and your hands low and firm. if he refuses a second time, bring him round again and again, always turning him from right to left--that is, with the pressure upon you right rein--and not suffering him to have his own way. remember that if you suffer him to conquer you or bring him to any other part of the fence than that which he is refusing, you will thoroughly spoil him. do not, however, treat him with harshness. coax him and speak gently to him. it may be nervousness, not temper; and if so, you will soon get him over by kindly encouragement. the horse is essentially a timid creature. he is oftentimes subjected to cruelties for his "obstinacy," where a little kindness and a few reassuring words would be infinitely more effectual. every glance of your eye, every look upon your countenance is noted by your horse whilst he can see you, and, when you are upon his back, your words fall upon highly sensitive ears. a horse's soul is full of affection for his owner. he _yearns_ to please him. he would yield his life to serve him. alas! how is such nobility requited? man's cruelty converts a peerless and incomparable companion into a terrified and trembling slave. young limbs are heavily weighted before they have had time to grow; dark, wretched, solitary confinement too early takes the place of the open air and free pasturage to which the creature would fain a little longer cling; young heads, pining for freedom, are tied or chained up in melancholy imprisonment. the numerous little devices with which the captive strives to while away the tedium of its captivity are punished as "vices" by heartless and ignorant grooms. nervousness is called bad temper, and timidity regarded as a punishable offence. all the horrors of the modern stable are brought to bear upon the priceless creature who is born to freedom, and whose fettered limbs he is scarce permitted to stretch. a rack of dry, and oftentimes vitiated hay is placed _above_ the head which was created to stoop to gather the juicy grasses of the earth. a measure of hard dry corn, or a bucket of water, is periodically brought and thrust before the prisoner, who eats and drinks for mere pastime, often without appetite, and whose frequent rejection of the offered dainties is regarded as "sulkiness" or "vice." the whole system of modern stable management is lamentably at fault. i cannot hope to remedy it. i cannot persuade obstinate humanity that the expenditure of a few shillings will turn in as many pounds: that by the bestowal of proper care, proper housing, light, and exercise, and proper clothing, food, and drink, the slave will repay by longer life and more active service the care and kindness which christianity should deem a pleasure and privilege, instead of, as now, a compulsory and doled-out gift. i cannot expect to remedy these wide and universal evils, nor yet can you; but we are bound--you and i--to guard against such things in our own management. if your horse oppose you through nervousness, you can conquer him by kindness; if through obstinacy, which is occasional but not frequent, you must adopt a different plan. use your spur and whip, and show that you will not be mastered, though you stay there till the stars come out. you will be sure to conquer ere long, unless your horse is one of those inveterate brutes which are, fortunately, rarely to be met with, and when you succeed in getting him over the obstacle at which he has sulked, put him at it again, making him take it backwards and forwards, and he will not be likely to trouble you by a repetition of his pranks. you must be very cautious in the hunting-field not to leave yourself open to any suspicion of over-riding the hounds; keep close to them, but never so near as to be upon them. over-riding hounds is a piece of unpardonable caddishness of which no gentleman, and certainly no lady, would be guilty; yet it is done; and then, when the master's wrath is aroused, the innocent suffer with the guilty, for many who are not absolutely offenders, ride too close in their zeal for the pleasures of the chase. when your day's sport is over, and you are riding back to the place at which you expect to meet your trap, remember that the easiest way to bring your horse in is in a quiet jog-trot. it is nonsense to walk him, for he will only stiffen, and will be the longer away from his stable and his needed rest. if you chance to come across a piece of water, ride him to it and let him have a few "go downs,"--six or eight, but not more. when you get off his back, see that his girths are loosed at once, and, if very tired, a little water thrown over his feet. he should then be taken quietly home--if by road, in the same easy trot--and just washed over and turned into a loose box, where he can tumble and luxuriate without submitting to any of the worries of professional grooming. fifteen minutes after my return from hunting, my horse--sheeted and comfortable--is feeding quietly in his stall, enjoying his food and rest; instead of standing in some wet corner of a cold yard, with his unhappy head tied up by an unsympathizing rope, and a fussy groom worrying his tired body with a noisy display of most unnecessary zeal. and this is as it ought to be. horses are like human beings,--they like to _rest_ when wearied, and their chief desire--if we would only believe it--is to be left alone. but we are incredulous, and so we hang about them, and fuss and worry the fagged and patient creatures who would fain appeal to us for a cessation of our attentions. there are few things more truly delightful than a mutual understanding and affection between horse and rider, and this can easily be arrived at by kindness and care. i have a hunter--bigwig, son of the lawyer--who follows me all over the place, knows my voice from any distance, rubs his nose down my dress, puts it into my pocket to look for apples, and licks my hands and face like a dog; yet i have done nothing to induce all this, except treating him with uniform justice and kindness. he has carried me most brilliantly through three successive seasons without one single display of sulk or bad temper. he knows not the _touch_ of a whip. i carry one, that the long lash, passed through his bridle, may assist him when necessary in getting over a trappy fence, at which i may deem it prudent to dismount, but the sight of it never inspires him with fear; if i showed it to him, he would probably lick it, and then gaze inquiringly at me to see if i were pleased with the novel performance. to me, this noble and beautiful creature is a priceless companion; yet, strange to say, nobody else (not even the most accomplished rider) can obtain any good of him. it is not that he displays vice, but he simply will not allow himself to be ridden. i once happened to mention this fact at our private dinner-table, in presence of a distinguished major, who had been boasting largely of his prowess in the saddle, and who at once offered to lay me ten to one that he would master the animal in question within five minutes. "i do not bet," i said, "but i will venture to assert that you will not be able to ride him out of the yard within as many hours." he took me up at once, and, as a good many sporting men were dining with us, who evidently enjoyed the prospect of a little excitement, i quietly called a servant, and sent orders to the groom to saddle bigwig without delay. it was a lovely evening in summer, and we all adjourned to the yard to view the performance. the moment my beautiful pet saw me he whinnied joyously and strove to approach me, but i dared not go near him, in case it should be thought that by any sort of "freemasonry" i induced him to carry out my words. the sight was most amusing; the gentlemen all standing about, smoking and laughing; the horse suspicious, and not at ease, quietly held by the groom, whose face was in a grin of expectation, for none knew better than he what was likely to ensue. the major prepared to mount, and bigwig stood with the utmost placidity; although i must confess he was naughty enough to cast back an eye, which augured no good to the gallant representative of her majesty's service. he mounted without difficulty, took up the reins, and evidently prepared for a struggle; but none such ensued. bigwig tucked his tail very tight to his body, walked quietly forward for a yard or two, and then, suddenly standing up as straight as a whip, the defeated major slid over his tail upon the hard ground, whilst the horse trotted back to his box. i have related for you this anecdote, not merely for your amusement, but to teach you never to boast. a braggart is ever the first to fall, and nobody sympathizes with him. if you become ever so successful in your management of horses, do not exert yourself to proclaim it. suffer others to find it out if they will; but do not tell them of it, lest some day you share the fate of the prostrate and discomfited major. chapter x. feeding horses.--forage-biscuits.--irish peasantry.--a cunning idiot.--a cabin supper.--the roguish mule.--a day at courtown.-- paddy's opinion of the empress. i said at the commencement of these pages that i should offer little or no discourse upon the general management of horses; yet, in one reserved instance, i may be permitted to break through my rule. if you want your hunters to thrive, do not let them have a single grain of raw oats. people have laughed at me when i said this, and have scarcely waited for the turning of my back to call me a mad woman; but a few of the scoffers have since come to thank me, and if you adopt my plan you will think that this little volume would have been cheap at a ten-pound note. there are, of course, times when raw oats must be given, for your horse may not always be in your own stable. at such times it is a good plan to mix chopped clover or grass through the feeding, taking care that grain and clover be thoroughly mingled. the judicious mixture of green meat will go far towards counteracting the binding effects which raw oats will be likely to have upon a horse not accustomed to it, and will also induce him to masticate his food, which an animal inured to softer feeding will otherwise be apt to neglect, wasting the corn by dropping it from his mouth in a slobbering fashion, making no use whatever of his grinders, and swallowing a certain portion without chewing it at all. i am, for various tried reasons, a thorough advocate for mayhew's and shingler's style of feeding upon cooked food, mingled, of course, with good sweet hay, or an admixture of the juicy grasses upon which the animal in its unfettered state would be prone to live. in my stable-yard are a large boiler and an unlimited supply of good water. the groom boils sufficient oats to do for two or three days, and, when cool, mixes through it a small proportion of bruised indian corn. on this the horses are fed as with ordinary oats three times daily, and so enjoy the feeding that not one grain is left in the mangers, which are placed _low upon the ground_. the surest proof of the efficacy of this excellent and economical feeding is that my horses never sweat, never blow, never tire. when other hunters are standing still, mine have not turned a hair; and, as prize-winners and brilliant goers, they cannot be excelled. the principle i go on is this:--if i eat a cupful of raw rice, it certainly does me no good; but if i boil it, it makes three or four times the quantity of good, wholesome, digestible food, every grain of which goes to the nourishment of my body. and it is precisely so with the oats and the horse. in addition to this feeding, i give abundance of good, sweet, _moist_ hay, varied by green food in summer, substituting carrots in the winter-time, of which vegetable they are particularly fond. the carrots are given whole, either from my hand or put loosely in the manger. i never suffer them to be cut up, unless it be done _very finely_, either by myself or under my supervision, to induce a delicate feeder to taste his food through which the chopped carrots are rubbed. grooms, with their accustomed ignorance, are almost always in favour of the "cutting up," but i regard it as a most dangerous practice. if the carrot be left whole the horse will nibble at it, and will bite off just such pieces as he knows he can chew and swallow, but there is more than one instance upon record of horses choking themselves with pieces of cut carrot, and very many who have nearly done so. i can feed my horses upon this system for very little more than half the sum which my neighbours are expending, with advantages which are certainly fourfold. i consider it an excellent plan to vary horses' feeding, as it tells quite as beneficially upon animals as upon ourselves;--and for this purpose there cannot, in my opinion, be anything better than the forage-biscuits, manufactured by spratt & co., henry street, london, ten of which are equal to one good feed of oats, and are so relished that not so much as a crumb is suffered to go to waste. they combine all the most nutritious of grains, with dates and linseed added in such proportions as experience has pointed out to the inventor to be the best. they are then baked, and thoroughly dried, so that they are entirely deprived of moisture, and will consequently keep good for any length of time. the baking process being complete, they are, when eaten, practically half-digested,--or, as i may say, they present the materials to the horse in the most digestible form in which it is possible to give them. there are certain chemicals used in very minute quantities in the manufacture of these biscuits, which are productive of highly beneficial effects upon animals thus fed,--improving their muscular development, and imparting to their coats a peculiarly healthy and brilliant appearance. one feed of the forage-biscuits three or four times weekly is the proper allowance,--and they should be given whole, as the same objection applies to the breaking of them as i have set forth in my dissertation upon the cutting up of carrots. i now desire to warn you that if you hunt in ireland you must be prepared for the laughable and most ingenious frauds which the poor people--alas! _how_ poor--will certainly endeavour to practise upon you. i can, and do most fully, commiserate their poverty, but with their attempts at imposition i have long since lost patience. doubtless they think that everybody who hunts is of necessity a rich person, and conceive the idea that by fleecing the wealthy they will aid in blotting out the poverty of the land. nothing delights the old cottage-woman more than to kill an ancient hen or duck on a hunting-morning, and then, when the hunt comes sweeping past her door, out rushes the beldame with the bird concealed beneath her apron, and throwing it deftly--positively by a species of sleight of hand--beneath your horse's hoofs, kicks up a mighty whining, and declares that you have "kilt her beauty-ful fowl!" i was so taken aback upon the first of these occasions that i actually stopped and paid the price demanded; but, finding that the same thing occurred the following week in a different locality, i ascertained that it was a trick and declined to be farther hocussed. it is likewise a common thing for a man to accost you, demanding a shilling, and declaring that it was he who pulled your ladyship's horse out of the ditch or quagmire on such and such a day. you do not remember ever having seen his face before; but if you are a hard-riding lady you will be so frequently assisted out of difficulties that you cannot undertake to say who nor how many may have helped you unrewarded, and, being unwilling that any should so suffer, you bestow the coin, most likely in many instances, until you find that your generosity has become known and is consequently being traded upon. i remember one day, a couple of winters ago, when returning from hunting, i lost my way, and being desirous of speedily re-finding it, i accosted a ragged being whom i saw standing at a corner where four roads met, and inquired of him the most direct route to the point which i was desirous of reaching. the creature hitched his shoulders, scratched his collarless neck, pushed the hat from his sunburnt forehead, and, finally, looking down and rubbing the fore-finger of his right hand upon the palm of his left, thus delivered himself: "i axed him for a ha'penny, and he wouldn't give it to me; but he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a pinny, and gave it to me, and i took it in--ho, ho! and he gave me a letter to take up to mrs. johnston, and when i took it to her, she opened it and read it. now, didn't i give her the letter?" "really," said i, "i know nothing about mrs. johnston nor her letter. i want to know the nearest way to dunboyne station." "i axed him for a ha'penny," began the man again. and then i had the whole story of the "pinny" and "mrs. johnston" repeated for me over and over, without a smile or any variation, until my vexation vanished, and i fairly roared with laughter. guessing at once how the land lay, i produced a little coin with which i presented him, and which he immediately pocketed, and, touching his ragged feather, pointed down one of the roads, and said quite sensibly, "that's the right road, my lady." and so i found it. this man, i was subsequently informed, made quite a respectable maintenance by stationing himself at the cross-roads on daily duty, and informing every passer-by that he "axed for a ha'penny" but was generously treated to a "pinny," together with the story of mrs. johnston and her letter, accompanied by all the shruggings, and scratchings, and sniffings, which never failed to provoke the laughter of the hearer and to elicit the coveted coin. the irish, with all their little failings, are a hospitable people, and full of pungent wit. i was one evening wending my way to sallins station, after a long and wearisome day's hunting. my tired horse was suffering from an over-reach, and i was taking him as quietly as i could, consistently with my anxiety to be in time to catch the train by which i desired to return to town. so utterly jaded were we both--i and my steed--that the way appeared very long indeed, and i asked the first countryman whom i met how far it was to sallins. "three miles," he told me, and i jogged on again. when we had traversed quite a long distance, and i thought i must be very near my journey's end, i ventured upon asking the same question of a farmer whom i met riding a big horse in an opposite direction to that in which i was myself going. it was a matter of about two miles, he told me, or mayhap three, but not more he thought, and i was certainly not going wrong; i was on the right road, and no mistake. i took out my watch. no hope for me now. i was undoubtedly late for the train which i had hoped to catch, and must wait two long hours for the next. a poor-looking little cottage was close at hand; to it i trotted, and looked in at the door. the family were at supper, all gathered about a narrow table, in the middle of which lay a pile of unpeeled potatoes and a little salt. the mule, upon which much of their fortune depended, was supping with them; thrusting his poor attenuated nose over the shoulders of the children, and occasionally snatching a potato, always receiving a box for so doing, to which, however, he paid no sort of heed. i was at once invited to enter, and gladly accepted the invitation, for i was cold and tired, pleased to ease my horse and get him a draught of meal and water. i sat down in the chimney-corner, thankful for the rest, but determined to withstand all entreaties to share the family supper, and my risible faculties were sorely put to the test, when my host, balancing a potato upon his fork and dipping it in the salt, presented it to me, saying, "arrah! take it my lady, just _for the jig o' the thing_!" of course i took it; and never have i enjoyed the richest luxury of an _à la russe_ dinner more than that simple potato in a poor man's cabin, in company with the mule and the pigs. when i stood up to go i carefully inquired the distance, for it was dark, and i had long since lost the remainder of my party. the man offered to accompany me to the station, and i believe he was actuated solely by civility, and not by any hope of gain. my horse was sadly done up; he had stiffened on the over-reach, and limped painfully. we proceeded but slowly, and, sighing for the patient suffering of my dearly-loved steed, i made the observation that the miles were very long indeed. "they _are_ long, my lady," said the man, who was walking before me with a lanthorn; "but, shure and faith, if they're long they're narra'!" and with this most intelligent observation he closed his mouth, and left me to ponder upon it undisturbed until we arrived at the station. one more anecdote, and i have done with them. on one of last season's hunting-days the hounds met at courtown, and great excitement was abroad, for the imperial lady was expected to join the chase. she was, however, prevented through indisposition from attending, but prince liechtenstein and a very distinguished company came over from summerhill. as we were trotting to the covert the country-folks were all on the alert, for not having heard of the disappointment respecting the empress they were anxiously expecting her, and many were the surmises respecting her identity. i was riding close to the front, escorted by lord cloncurry, and as we swept past one of the wayside cottages, two men and a woman rushed out to stare at us and to give their opinions upon the "impress." "which is she?" cried the female, shading her eyes to have a good look,--"that must be _her_ in front, with his lordship. oh! isn't she lovely? a quane, every inch!" "arrah! shut up, woman," said one of the men, testily interrupting her. "that's not her at all, nor a taste like her! _the impress is a good-lookin' woman._" i need not say that this genuinely-uttered remark took the wind completely out of my sails, and that i have never since dreamed of comparing my personal appearance with that of any woman whom an irishman would call "good-lookin'." chapter xi. the double-rise.--pointing out the right foot.--the force of habit. --various kinds of fault-finding.--mr. sturgess' pictures.--an english harvest-home.--a jealous shrew.--a shy blacksmith.--how irishmen get partners at a dance. i shall now touch very briefly upon one or two points which i have not before mentioned, but which may, nevertheless, prove interesting to some lady riders. firstly, then, i shall speak of the annoyance--sometimes a serious one--which ladies experience from what is known as the _double rise_ in the trot. i have been asked is it preventible. before suggesting a remedy for anything--be it ailment or habit--we must endeavour to get at the _cause_ of the evil complained of. the most successful medical men are those who first take time and pains to ascertain the wherefore, and then seek to effect the cure. the extremely ungraceful and unpleasant motion known as the "double rise" is attributable to two distinct causes. it is due either to the horse or to the rider, and to the one quite as frequently as to the other. a large, heavy animal, with slow and clumsy action will, if ridden by a lady, be almost certain to necessitate the double rise. this i know by the certainty derived from experience. i was staying some time ago at a house in the midst of our finest hunting county in ireland, namely, royal meath. the owner was a great hunting-man in both senses of the word, for he was a superb cross-country rider, and, if put in the scales, would pull down sixteen stone. being a top-weight he always rode immense horses--elephants i used to call them, greatly to his indignation. very good he was about lending me one of these huge creatures whenever i felt desirous of joining the chase, which i confess was but seldom, for the first day upon which i accepted a mount we left off eighteen miles from home, and i was so exhausted by the time we arrived there, that i fairly fainted before reaching my own chamber. it was not the distance which tired me, although it was a pretty good one, but the fact that i was troubled with the double-rise all the way. i strove in vain to remedy it by urging my gigantic steed to a faster trot, and making him go up to his bridle; but the moment i began to experience a little relief, my companion--dear old man, now in heaven!--would say, "well, that is the worst of ladies riding: they must always either creep in a walk, or bucket their horses along at an unnecessary pace. _why_ can't you jog on quietly, as i do?" he was clearly not suffering from the annoyance which was vexing and fatiguing me. i looked at him closely, watched his motion in the saddle--that slow, slow rise and fall--i compared it with mine, our pace being the same, and the mystery was at once solved. both horses were trotting exactly together, keeping step, as the saying goes, yet my companion was at ease whilst i was in torment. why was this? because he had a leg at either side of his mount, his weight equally distributed, and an equal support upon both sides; in fact, he had, as all male riders have, the advantage of a _double_ support in the rise; consequently, at the moment when his weight was removed from the saddle, it was thrown upon both feet, and this equal distribution enabled him to accomplish without fatigue that slow rise and fall which is so tiring to a lady, whose weight when she is out of the saddle is thrown entirely upon one delicate limb, thus inducing her to fall again as soon as possible, which, if riding a clumsy animal, she is constrained to do _at variance_, as it were, with his tedious and heavy motion, and hence the inconvenience of the double rise. to illustrate my meaning, and explain more fully how it happens that men never complain of this particular evil: a man will be able to stand in his stirrups for a considerable time, even to ride a gallop so doing, because he transfers his weight _equally_ to this feet; but how rarely do we see a lady balanced upon one leg! never, except it be for a single instant whilst arranging her skirt or trying her stirrup. the sensation is not agreeable, and would be, moreover, unpleasantly productive of wrung backs. a heavy horse is never in any way suitable to a lady. it _looks_ amiss. the trot is invariably laboured, and if the animal should chance to fall, he gives his rider what we know in the hunting-field as "a mighty crusher!" it is, indeed, a rare thing to meet a perfect "lady's horse." in all my wide experience i have met but two. breeding is necessary for stability and speed--two things most essential to a hunter; but good _light_ action is, for a roadster, positively indispensable, and a horse who does not possess it is a burden to his rider, and is, moreover, exceedingly unsafe, as he is apt to stumble at every rut and stone. the double rise may also, as i said, be quite attributable to the rider. a careless way of riding may occasion it, sitting loosely in the saddle, and allowing your horse to go asleep over his work. pull you mount together, so as to throw his weight upon his haunches, not upon his shoulders. keep your reins close in hand. rise, so that you shall be out of the saddle when his off fore-leg is thrown out, and i do not think you will have much to complain of from the annoyance occasioned by the double rise. i have dwelt upon this subject because so many have asked me privately for a cure for it, and i have surmised that numerous others, who have not had opportunity--nor perhaps courage--to ask, will nevertheless be pleased to receive a hint. it has also been inquired of me whether there is any remedy for that excessively unsightly practice of sticking out the right foot when in the saddle, as we have seen so many ladies do, until the toe is positively almost resting upon the horse's neck. there is, of course, a remedy; a most effectual one. _don't do it._ it is quite possible and even easy to keep the right leg as close to the saddle as the left, the toe pointing downward, and the knee well bent. i know, however, that in some cases the position objected to is consequent upon the up-pommel of the saddle being placed too near the off one, thus there is not sufficient space for the leg to lie easily, and consequently it sticks out in the ungraceful manner so often seen and deplored. in many instances, also, it is habit; a bad practice, indulged in at first without notice, and then, when confirmed, most difficult to eradicate. these pernicious habits are extremely apt to grow upon all of us, unless most carefully watched, i have seen ladies utterly disfigure their appearance in the saddle by placing a hand upon their side, or, worse again, behind their back, and riding along in this jaunty style with an air as though they thought themselves the most elegant creatures in creation. others keep their elbows a-kimbo, and fairly churn themselves in the saddle with every rise and fall. others, again, acquire a habit of tipping their horse with the whip in an altogether unnecessary manner. it is not actually enough to hurt the animal, but is amply sufficient to worry and ruffle his temper. no horse fit to carry a lady requires to be constantly reminded of his work. a whip in a woman's hand should be more for show, and to give completeness to the picture, than for purposes of castigation. nothing looks worse nor more ungentle than to see it wantonly applied. it has been said, "spare the rod and spoil the child," but i cannot agree with the theory. rod and whip may be alike useful in (happily) isolated cases, but i do not envy the disposition of child or animal who cannot be made amenable by less ungentle means. practices which are the result of habit may be checked, and quite effectually, by the bestowal of a little care. we want first some kindly friend to tell us of them; we next require the common sense and good feeling not to be offended at the telling; and, finally, we need the patience and perseverance which are born of the _determination_ to overcome the fault. with regard to the telling, how few of us know how to tell! there are just the two ways, or perhaps i should say three. there is the cold, carping, disagreeable fault-finding manner, which picks holes for the mere pleasure of picking them, and the unworthy delight of seeing how the victim writhes beneath the torture. there is the snake-like, insidious fault-finding--the worst and most dangerous of all--which invariably commences with the words, "you know, my dear, i am only telling you for your own good." this species of fault-finding is peculiar to the _female_ friend, and is invariably served up with an admixture of honey and gall, so skilfully compounded that the very soul of the listener is exercised and deceived. "her words were smoother than oil, yet were they drawn swords." lastly, there is the genuine, honest, open-hearted, fault-finding, which bears no malice, and is too true to clothe itself with the garment of deceit. by this alone we should be influenced or seek to influence others; but, for my own part, as i have already said, i have found the world so inordinately self-opinionated and determined _not_ to be advised, that i have long since ceased to offer counsel, and only give it when requested. long ago, when i first began to write, i was jealous of all interference, and invariably prefaced my letters to my editors with, "please do not alter anything in my ms." poor blind child i was then, groping about in the dark, and sadly needing the helping hand which i was so obstinately rejecting. well, we gain sense with years, and wisdom with experience. now that i have got on in the world, in every sense of the word, i am only too anxious for advice, and ready to grasp at every friendly hint. and so it should be with riding as with writing. take all kindly counsel in good part, and if given advice ask for more. bad habits grow upon us with giant force; they strengthen with our strength, because we know not of them, or blindly refuse to be controlled. i dare say a good many of us are acquainted with a very famous queen of song who always holds her hands crossed and her thumbs turned stiffly up whilst she is singing. i do not believe she is at all aware of the peculiarity of her attitude, and perhaps she could not sing half so well nor sweetly if she altered it. in like manner i told you, in the earlier portion of this volume, of a young lady who could not ride a yard without laying a firm grip upon the off-pommel of her saddle. these things are habit; we do them without consciousness; we are not aware of anything unusual in ourselves, but when the knowledge comes to us (which it soon will if we are known to possess sufficient sweetness to take a hint) we should turn it to advantage, and so improve with time. i recollect that when these writings of mine were first issued in the journal to which they originally owed their appearance, a dear lady wrote to me all the way from rhode island, u.s.a., asking me for hints upon various subjects, and likewise offering me a few such, with so much sweetness that i not alone accepted, but welcomed and adopted them. she asked me many questions relative to the pictures with which my various subjects were illustrated, and admired very warmly the spirited drawings which mr. sturgess had made of my leap into the farmyard and also of "the first fence." many of my readers may recollect them; and as there was, at the time, much discussion respecting the position of my feet as portrayed in the former picture, i take this opportunity of ranging myself upon the artist's side, for, after much thoughtful inspection of the picture, i arrived at the conclusion that he was perfectly correct, and the position quite such as must of necessity be, in the event of a runaway steed clearing such an obstacle with a wearied and startled rider scarce able to retain her seat upon his back. even had the artist been mistaken--which i am bound to say he was not--the matter need scarcely have evoked criticism, for his strong point is his delineation of horses, and as he has no equal in this particular branch of art, he may well be forgiven if such trifles as a lady's feet occasionally puzzle him a little! moreover, he draws with a view to producing effect as much as ensuring stereotyped correctness. i recollect when i saw that picture i sounded my protest against the flowing skirt and flying veil: two things quite foreign to my style of riding-dress, which is always severely close-fitting and _curtailed_. his answer certainly carried weight. the skirt and veil were necessary to impart an appearance of rapid motion, or flying through the air. he was quite right, and i was decidedly wrong. i felt ashamed of myself, begged his pardon mentally, and atoned for my audacity by henceforward believing blindly in his judgment. i recollect laughing much at the time at a grave suggestion made to me by a dear old lady, who thought there might be a particular reason why mr. sturgess was (in her opinion) less successful in depicting lady equestrians than when pursuing any other branch of his enchanting art. neither she nor i had or have, unfortunately, the pleasure of his personal acquaintance, but we thought there might possibly be somebody in authority who strongly objected to his studying the details of the fair creatures whom he has occasionally to draw. to show that such things may be, and actually are, in real life, i recollect that when i was staying some two or three years ago at a famous house in the north of england, a gay harvest-home took place, and the servants and labourers had a dance in the barn. i and my husband, our host and hostess, and numerous guests staying at the castle, went out to see the fun, and greatly was i struck with the gallant appearance of the old barn, so gaily decorated with corn, and the fiddler fiddling away upon a beer-barrel! a mighty cheer was raised for us when we all, in full evening dress, joined the motley company of revellers, and the lord of the soil led off a country dance with a blushing mountain-lass, followed by her ladyship with an equally humble partner. the blacksmith was an irishman, and looked very shy, as irishmen invariably do in presence of the fair sex(?) i knew him as a workman upon the estate--i knew also that his wife, a very ugly woman, was a terribly jealous shrew--and, actuated by a spirit of mischief, i went and asked him to dance; but he only grinned, blushed, and said, "no, thank you, ma'am; _i'm a married man!_" my husband, who was standing by, said laughingly, "why, brian, you ought to feel flattered to be asked. give mrs. o'donoghue your arm, and take your place for the dance." "o, faix," said brian, hastening to obey, "if _you_ have no objection, i'm sure _i_ have none. _let her come on!_ only," he added, pausing and scratching his head, "begorrah, _i hope my wife won't see me!_" chapter xii. subject of feeding resumed.--cooked food recommended.--effects of raw oats upon "pleader."--servants' objections.--snaffle-bridle, and bit-and-bridoon.--kindness to the poor.--an unsympathetic lady.--an ungallant captain.--what is a gentleman?--_au revoir!_ my remarks upon the subject of feeding horses, having gained publicity through the columns of the press, have called forth much comment and adverse criticism. some have evidently considered--and have not hesitated to say--that i have written the veriest twaddle; but happily there is a reverse side to the picture, and many (including one very august personage indeed) have expressed a determination to adopt my system. beans are such excellent feeding that i cannot object to an admixture of them, and to most english horses they are almost a necessity; but in ireland we care little about them. it is unwise to give too much hay. i said "abundance" on a former page, but the word, as i used it, did not signify a large quantity. for horses fed three times daily upon a plentiful measure of oats, crushed indian corn, and beans if desired, a few handfuls of hay will be amply sufficient, and this should be placed where the horse can stoop to it, but never above him, as in the effort to disengage it from the rack the seeds fall in his eyes and produce irritation, and sometimes permanent disease. a bran-mash on a saturday night, or after a hard day, forms an admirable variety to the ordinary feeding routine. let the bran be thoroughly well steeped and mixed, and a portion of cooked oats or chopped carrots intermingled with it. this will induce almost any animal to partake of the bran, from which otherwise many delicate feeders will resolutely turn. i have strongly recommended cooked feeding, even against the uproar of a general outcry against it, because i have seen and proved its efficacy. last november, on the first tuesday in the month--the opening day with the kildare hounds--we had a splendid run, during which, however, i was amazed to find that my great horse, pleader, sweated heavily--a thing which had never previously been the case. in fact, it had always been my boast that when other horses were thoroughly done, mine had not turned a hair; but, on the day in question, he was in a white lather, and i thought appeared distressed. upon coming home, and speaking about it in my stable, i was informed that the boiler was in some way out of order, and the horses had, unknown to me, been fed upon uncooked oats during the preceding three days. had i required any confirmation of my theory, this circumstance would certainly have furnished it, and entirely defeats the general supposition that cooked food renders horses soft. i have now given the best advice i can upon the subject of feeding, and i shall not again refer to it, nor to anything connected with the treatment or stable management of horses, as the subject is an endless one, everybody entertaining an opinion of his own, which it shall not be my ambition to upset. what i have said has been in kindness, and with a view to benefiting both man and beast; but i do not by any means expect the majority of my readers to coincide in my views. there is a stolid determination general throughout the world to stick to old customs and old-fashioned ways and habits, no matter how excellent the modern ones may be, and so the "horse and mill" go daily round. masters object to my system because it involves an outlay in the erecting of a proper boiler and other necessary adjuncts; servants object to it because it gives them a little additional trouble. it is far easier to lounge to the oat-bin, fill a measure from it, and thrust it before the animal, not caring whether it is rejected or otherwise, than to fetch the water and fill the boiler and go through the labours of a process which, in itself exceedingly simple, is made to appear complicated and laborious by the amount of fuss and discontent which are brought to bear upon the work. there is an old saying, "if you want a thing well done, do it yourself"; but, unfortunately, there are some things--and this is one--which ladies and gentlemen cannot do, and there is no doubt whatever that servants accustomed to the old style of management will never willingly adopt the new--unless they belong to that rare and select and most exclusive _few_ who have their masters' interest at heart. much information has been asked of me relative to the subject of holding reins. how often shall i say that there is no fixed rule, and that a method which may look well for park-riding will be totally out of place in the hunting-field. i have been asked how i hold my own bridle, and i shall answer that i almost invariably ride with a single rein, and you can understand my method readily if you will follow me whilst i endeavour to explain. take your pocket-handkerchief, pass it through the back of any ordinary chair, and bring the ends evenly towards you, holding them for an instant with your right hand, which must, _pro tem._, represent the buckle. place your left hand within the loop thus formed, the little finger resting firmly against the near-side, about four inches above the right hand; grasp the opposite side between the forefinger and thumb, left hand (the two sides of the handkerchief representing the reins); press the off-side slightly inward with the pressure of your thumb, slipping it entirely away from the control of the right hand; then bring the near-side, which still is held loosely by the right, under the thumb of the left, and hold it firmly. you will thus see that you establish a sort of "cross rein," and that you have, and are able to maintain, a secure grip upon either side. by an outward movement or slight turning of the wrist, accompanied by pressure of the little finger, you will control your horse upon the near-side of his mouth, whilst by an inward movement and pressure of the forefinger you will be able to command him upon the other or off-side. it must be borne in mind that these movements should be from the wrist _only_, and not from the arm or shoulder. a good rider will keep the elbows close to the sides, just drawing the line finely between that pinioned look which is so disfiguring, and the detestable flapping, like the wings of an unquiet bird, in which so many riders, both male and female, so frequently indulge. i have seen ladies, who wished to have an appearance of hard riding, leaning forward in the saddle and working their elbows in an unsightly manner, the hands (influenced by the elbows) sawing also, and the poor horse, with open mouth and straining jaws, staggering along in distress, fighting his bridle, and presenting altogether a melancholy spectacle. a firm even seat, elbows close, head erect, and strong steady hands held _low_--these are the characteristics of a good and lady-like rider. in going across country put _both_ hands to your bridle, and keep your horse's head straight and well in hand, but do not attempt to pull him nor interfere with him at his fences, or you will undoubtedly come to grief. if you ride with a bit and bridoon my advice is, ride your horse--even though he be a puller--upon the snaffle, and keep the curb rein looped over your little finger, hanging quite loose, yet in such a position that you can if necessary take it up at a second's notice. i cannot too often impress upon you the advisability of being conciliatory and kind in your manner to everybody with whom you may come in contact. no matter how exalted your rank may be, you can all the better afford to be courteous to those beneath you. kind words cost nothing, and are as balm to the hearer. many of the lower orders are quite as much gentry at heart, and far more so, than those who hide their unworthiness beneath the convenient shadow of a "family tree." i have been more than once pained upon hunting days by the extreme contempt and rudeness with which ladies have treated the poor, who have asked nothing from them save the innocent and inexpensive privilege of seeing them mount and canter away with the field. it is all very well to say, "i do not like to be stared at," but even to those who _most_ dislike it, surely it is worth a little self-sacrifice to see the undisguised enjoyment and listen to the original observations of the irish peasantry, to whom a sight of the hounds--especially when followed by ladies--is a treat they never care to miss. i was riding last winter in company with a lady, very noble, very handsome, very proud. we came up to a branch of a river, upon the brink of which some country folk had gathered, with the innocent desire of seeing it jumped. a poor man, very quiet-looking and harmless, was actually knocked down and immersed in the water by a reckless young officer, who galloped over him, and went on without even glancing back at the spot where the poor half-drowned creature stood wringing his dripping clothing, yet not uttering a syllable of reproach. my companion roared with laughter, first at the catastrophe, and then at me for sympathising with the sufferer. "apologise!" she cried, in a high key. "_how_ could captain dash apologise to a man like that? it would be different had he been a _gentleman_." i thought so too, if the meaning of the word "he" had only been reversed; but i said nothing, and we went on. a few fields further we came to a terrible obstacle--a high post and rails, with a deep and yawning ditch upon the landing side. three or four of us went at it: the rest turned away and sought the road. i got over safely, my noble pleader proving himself, as usual, worthy of my confidence. captain dash came next, safely also; and then my ill-starred lady friend, whose horse (an inferior timber-jumper) bungled, and left her completely prostrate upon the wet earth. never a pause did captain dash make in his onward career, although he glanced back when he heard her shriek, and, incredible as it may appear, i thought i saw him smile, for it was ever his saying that ladies had no business hunting, and always deserved mischance; but the poor man, at whose immersion she had laughed a few moments before, came running to her relief, rendered her every assistance in his power, replaced her in the saddle, expressed regret for her accident, and positively declined to accept of any remuneration for his services. which of these men, think you, was the gentleman? i know what i thought respecting the question; and i judged that my friend's opinion was formed as mine, for she now loves and cares the poor, and suffers the rich to care themselves, as every true-hearted and christian woman should; and, moreover, on glancing over a book of my poems which i lent her some time later, i found a leaf turned down, as though to mark these lines-- "what is a gentleman? is it a thing decked with a scarf-pin, a chain, and a ring, dressed in a suit of immaculate style, sporting an eye-glass, a lisp, and a smile? talking of operas, concerts, and balls, evening assemblies, and afternoon calls, sunning himself at "at homes" and bazaars, whistling mazurkas, and smoking cigars? "what is a gentleman? say, is it one boasting of conquests and deeds he has done, one who unblushingly glories to speak things which should call up a flush to his cheek? one who, whilst railing at actions unjust, robs some young heart of its pureness and trust; scorns to steal money, or jewels, or wealth, thinks it no crime to take honour by stealth? "what is a gentleman? is it not one knowing instinctively what he should shun, speaking no word that could injure or pain, spreading no scandal and deep'ning no stain? one who knows how to put each at his ease, striving instinctively always to please; one who can tell by a glance at your cheek when to be silent, and when he should speak? "what is a gentleman? is it not one honestly eating the bread he has won, living in uprightness, fearing his god, leaving no stain on the path he has trod? caring not whether his coat may be old, prizing sincerity far above gold, recking not whether his hand may be hard, stretching it boldly to grasp its reward? "what is a gentleman? say, is it birth makes a man noble, or adds to his worth? is there a family-tree to be had shady enough to conceal what is bad? seek out the man who has god for his guide, nothing to blush for, and nothing to hide; be he a noble, or be he in trade, _this_ is the gentleman nature has made." now, kind reader, farewell. if i have given you instruction, called a laugh to your lips, or taught you to prize and cherish the priceless creature which god has generously sent for our enjoyment and our use, i shall cheerfully lay aside my pen, happy in the conviction that i have not written in vain. yet, shall i say in the song-words, "_au revoir. pas adieu!_" for we meet again, i trust, soon and often; but the subject upon which i have been writing has come to an end. whilst acknowledging the kindness of my friends, i would desire also to shake hands with my enemies. life is short, and so it behoves us to bear no malice. to those who have unkindly criticised me i offer freely a forgiving hand and heart. i have never wilfully offended any, and if my efforts have not come quite up to the standard of excellence which certain captious critics have set up, i have at least done my best, and have been careful, in propounding theories which might appear new and uncommon, to state that such things were according to my notions, in which, however, i did not expect all persons to coincide. so long as the world lasts so long will there be differences of opinion; but it is not because such exist that ill-feeling should creep in, and christian charity become a thing of nought. in ancient days, when the apostles were upon the earth, these things were as they are now; yet the great example, to whose pure and simple teaching we all hopefully look, inspired the command, "_let brotherly love continue._" so be it, reader, with you and with me. part iv. hunting in ireland. there is at present a mighty outcry in our poor land. not against "battle, murder, and sudden death," landlord-killing, and "boycotting," but against our royal pastime--hunting. the tenant-farmers are uproarious in their opposition to it; and, with a headstrong determination which cannot be too strongly condemned, refuse to listen to the voice of the reasoner. we are but in the beginning of our season, yet is our prospect marred and our pleasure spoilt by the blind idiotcy, not of the few, but, unfortunately, of the many. they have but one cry, "you are ruining our grass-lands!" a more egregious error could not possibly exist. is it wilful blindness or merely the desire to banish landlordism from the country which induces this senseless outcry? if the latter, there is unhappily every probability that the outcriers will succeed; if the former, there may be some hope of ultimately unclosing their sealed eyelids. a body of horsemen galloping over grassland during the hunting season can never occasion injury; it is simply an absurdity to endeavour to maintain a contrary theory. a great friend of mine and a most practical gentleman, who possesses a large common attached to his grounds, upon which he can, if desirable, exercise his horses, always prefers doing so throughout the winter upon his finest grass-land. he maintains, and correctly, that they do it an immensity of good, and once offered (to prove the correctness of his judgment) to give the use of the said land to the colonel of a cavalry regiment stationed in his vicinity--to do all his work upon throughout the winter months. the offer, after some demur, was accepted, and proved to be most advantageous to the land-owner. being an enthusiastic follower of the ward union stag-hounds, i am enabled to state that i have galloped with them, in company with at least two hundred other riders, across the ward country and over the fairyhouse lands, which are--as is well known--of a singularly wet and holding nature; and this not once, but many times throughout the season. yet, so early as april, at which date the famous fairyhouse races take place, no track or footmark can be seen upon the luxuriant grass. again, when riding in winter through phoenix park, i have been struck by the state of mud to which it has been reduced through the frequent galloping of horses over its surface; yet, in summer it grows the finest grass, and is as smooth as a billiard-table. one day in june, three years ago, a grand review was held there in honour of the queen's birthday. a terrible shower came down--one of those mighty floods which can, in a few moments, transform a beauteous green sward into a hideous mass of unsightly mire and dirt. those on foot ploughed patiently through it, sinking ankle-deep at every step; those upon horseback, myself included, churned it beneath their horses' feet, until not a trace was visible of the emerald carpet, which, one short hour before, had afforded firm footing for many thousands of spectators. three weeks later, i rode through that park again; the velvety turf was green and fresh as ever, nor was there visible _one trace_ of the countless feet which had, as it were, waded over it so short a time before. the day upon which st. stephen's park was, through the princely generosity of lord ardilaun, opened to the public, was a wet, or at least a damp one, and thousands upon thousands of roughly-shod feet cut up the grassy sward; yet, in a few brief days, it was rich and verdant as before. nor do i think there is in our noble phoenix park a more luxuriant stretch of grass-land than is "the nine acres" upon which polo players continually assemble. having thus, then, endeavoured to prove that the galloping of horses is in no way injurious to pasture lands, i shall proceed to the consideration of other matters connected with the subject in question. if hunting in ireland were abolished, then indeed might the cries of her children ascend heavenward, for i know not what would become of her! the gentry who are now resident landlords, maintaining large and costly establishments, would migrate to other countries and more genial climes. servants would seek in vain for employment. boot-makers, clothiers, saddlers, harness-makers, would find no custom. the farmer would sigh vainly for a price for his corn. hay and straw would be a drug in the market. hunting-lodges would remain unlet, growing mouldy with time and damp. butchers, bakers, poulterers, butter-makers would be alike involved in one common ruin; for the houses of the gentry would be empty, and desolation would overspread the land! no buyers then for high-priced hunters and promising colts, which now command so high a figure; no merging of grades and mingling of classes in that happy contact which the hunting-field so well engenders; none of that delicious feeling of equality which the peer and the peasant seem alike to acknowledge whilst participating side by side in the dangers and excitement of the chase. all would be stillness, solitude, and gloom! suffer me, then, to implore my countrymen and countrywomen to do all in their power to promote the pleasures of hunting. it must immensely benefit even those who do not actually participate in the sport, inasmuch as it brings rich and poor into happy contact, and causes a vast amount of money to be circulated, which enriches the pockets of the poorer classes, and brings grist to many a mill which would otherwise stand desolate, with disused and motionless wheel. to us who _do_ participate in it, there is no need for speech. which of us does not know the pleasures of preparing for the glorious sport? the early rousing up from slothful slumber, the anxious outward glance at the weather, that fitful tyrant which makes or mars our enjoyment; the donning of hunting garments, the packing of sandwich boxes, the filling of flasks with whisky, or better, _far_ better, with strong cold tea; the cheery drive to the meet, the many happy faces assembled there, the greetings amongst friends, the praisings of the pack, the trot to the covert, the dashing of the hounds into the gorse, the sweet music which proclaims that reynard is at home, the joyous sound of the "gone away!" the hurry-scurry to be first and foremost in their wake, the anathemas hurled against those who are over-riding them, the tumbling at the fences, the picking up again, the drowning in the rivers, the fishing out by the wreckers, the maddening excitement of traversing an intricate country, the wild desire to be in at the death, the saving of our horses over holding lands, the riding of them up to their bridles where the going is good, the last mighty effort, the final fence cleared, and the canter up to where the huntsman is holding aloft the brush and mask, and the hounds are breaking up their fox! who that has ever experienced these joys will be likely to forget them, or will fail to promote, by every means in his power, so health-giving and enlivening a sport? we have one very serious drawback to our hunting in ireland, and, indeed, in many other places also--namely, wire fencing. i saw something of a tragic incident occur last season whilst hunting with the meath hounds. we came up to an impassable fence, and all made for the gate, which was open; but the owner of the land rushed out from his dwelling, shut it in our faces, and insolently refused to allow us to pass. threats and entreaties were alike vain. he called us every name in the calendar, and consigned us all to a very ugly place, in language which was certainly not parliamentary. many of the field turned off and sought another way, but two or three of the bold ones charged the gate, and got over, clearing man and all! i and one other took the fence--a mad proceeding, which gave us both an ugly fall; but we scrambled up somehow, and succeeded in picking up the hounds. late in the evening, whilst hunting another fox, he led us over the same identical ground, and a hard-riding gentleman, first at this mighty obstacle, charged it boldly, but, alas, with what a result! the farmer had, during our absence, run a stiff wire through the fence, which, catching the horse in the breast, turned him completely over, breaking the rider's arm, and otherwise severely injuring him. some members of the hunt, seeing what had occurred, besieged the offender's dwelling, and he had an extremely uncomfortable ten minutes. i have heard persons aver that the man was badly treated, and that he had a perfect right to wire his fences if he so willed. undoubtedly he had, if it were done openly and in such a way that the wiring could be discerned, but not, by petty treachery, to imperil the safety, if not the lives, of a large number of persons. my advice to farmers would be this; wire the fences if necessary; but, at the commencement of the hunting season, cut away, say twenty yards of the wiring at the poorest point of the field, and mark the spot with a pole and flag. every rider would assuredly make for it as being the only jumpable place, and at the close of the season a few boys with five-grained forks would speedily set all to rights; nor can there be any doubt that the best crop in the field would be on that particular spot. allowing even for a moment, for argument's sake, that expense, trouble, or loss might be thus occasioned, there is not a master of hounds in all ireland--neither, i fancy, in any other country--who would not willingly and cheerfully indemnify the owner of the land. but so long as the world lasts, so long will there be blindness; and until the "happy hunting-grounds" are reached, horses and horsemen will be daily anathematised by the self-willed cultivators of our native soil. part v. hunting in america. there is a great land across the atlantic where they do great things, and utter great sayings, and patent great inventions, and erect great buildings--and where, in short, the inhabitants beat us (as they themselves say) "all to fits!" a mighty nation they are, too--god prosper them as they deserve; but there is one thing at least in which we can say, without boasting, we are able to beat them, and that is, in our hunting. a fox-hunt in america is a very tame and inglorious proceeding, and one which decidedly would not come under our definition of "sport." american hunting differs in the first instance from ours, inasmuch as it is always a summer pastime. the extreme severity of the winters necessitates this, as during the cold season neither men nor horses can work. the disadvantages of summer hunting are of course numerous. the heat is excessive, and the crops are in the ground. most of the american farmers and graziers own their land, and the greater number of them will not suffer hoofs to cross it. this is partly from a spirit of surly independence--partly from an ignorant determination to hold with stolid obstinacy to that most erroneous belief, that the galloping of horses is injurious to grass-lands. but, anyhow, the objection exists; and as it is vain to attempt to overrule it, a compromise is effected between hunting under difficulties and not hunting at all. the system pursued is this. a man--usually a stout-limbed peasant--is sent out, who drags an aniseeded bag across country, and over the lands and fences of such as will permit it, or who are themselves in the habit of joining in the chase. then, when the field has assembled, the hounds are laid on, and work their way after the drag, a "bag-man" being provided to blood them at the finish. sometimes the pack comes too close upon the dragger, and then a nasty scene ensues, which is pleasanter not described. fortunately for men, horses, and hounds, hunting is but little indulged in throughout america. i mean, of course, fox-hunting, for i cannot attempt to cry down the many splendid and manly hunts of other descriptions in which the americans carry off the palm. in many parts of the country--more especially in the states--the people so affect trotting-horses, that the matter has become a craze. it is a fact, which has more than once been proved, that four legs capable of carrying any sort of frame a mile in less than two-and-a-quarter minutes, will easily fetch a thousand pounds; and if the animal is in condition to repeat the performance several times in one day, his price will range correspondingly higher. the usual arrangement--very seldom varied--is that the "trots" shall be mile heats; and as the horses are, generally speaking, pretty well done up at the finish, owing to pace, excitement, and temperature, twenty minutes are allowed between each heat for "cooling off" purposes. when a horse is distanced in one of these trials, he is at once withdrawn; and the judges have the privilege, which they use, of distancing a horse for breaking--or, as we would say, commencing to run--which is, as may be supposed, a thing most difficult to prevent. sometimes a racehorse is hitched double with a trotter. this is called, in american parlance, a running-mate. the runner takes all the weight and draft of the "sulky," and the trotter merely trots alongside of him. it requires a very level-headed horse to keep evenly to his trot, with a runner tearing away at sweeping pace beside him, and the trial is regarded as simply one of skill, and is rarely successful. a trotter who can coolly and evenly maintain his trot when hitched with a racer, can command for his owner any amount of money, even though he be in all other respects comparatively worthless. races, of which many are held at rhode island, are as distinct as possible from trots. the courses are made circular; as much so, at least, as the lie of the land will permit, and are beautifully constructed, the grading being especially attended to. they are generally enclosed by a very high boarded fence, an admission fee being charged at the opening. this arrangement is found to answer admirably, as the amount demanded--although not an extravagant one--is sufficient to exclude a goodly number of racing roughs, whose interest in the sport is not more keen than their desire to investigate the contents of their neighbours' pockets. trotting-tracks are constructed upon the same principles as race-courses, but the track is harder. sometimes, however, although not frequently, races and trots are held over the same course, and when this is done the track is carefully softened for the races, by a harrowing process, which is most carefully carried out. most of the hacks and hunters in use in america--a very large portion, at least, of the saddle-horses--are racers which have been rejected from the racing-stables. this is particularly the case at east greenwich, and throughout the states. some of these horses are "weeds," but a few of them are well worthy of the high prices given for them, being really splendid animals, in spite of the crabbing which they receive at the judge's hands before they are thrown out of the contest, and passed over to the proprietorship of dealers in hacks. very fine horses of the hunter class are bred in kentucky--the yorkshire of america--and are sold at comparatively low rates. i saw a magnificent chestnut, seventeen two in height, with grand action, and so superbly ribbed-up and built as to be capable of carrying twenty stone, which had been sold there to an enterprising irish speculator for three hundred and twenty dollars, a good deal less than eighty pounds of our money. the animal afterwards fetched upwards of six hundred guineas at tattersall's, to carry a top-weight millionaire with the whaddon chase hounds. this was, however, an exceptional case, for it is not usually an easy thing, nor even possible, to make money by trading in kentucky hunters. a few speculative european dealers have from time to time tried it, but their efforts have not been crowned with the anticipated reward, the reason being, that travelling expenses swallow up profits. seven days and nights of constant journeying must be gone through before the animals are brought to the atlantic sea-board; and then there is the crossing to encounter, with its cost and perils. altogether, it is scarcely a profitable venture, and some who have embarked in it will, i know, be quite ready to endorse my opinions upon the subject. stag-hunting used to be very prevalent in distant parts of america. strangers traversing tracts of country north of the ohio will be told this by guides and fellow-travellers, and will marvel that in such a district it could ever have been a popular sport. anything more perilous it would be impossible to conceive, the "going" being principally up and down precipitous inclines, dotted at frequent intervals with huge boulders, half buried in the reedy grass, over which the horses blunder and stumble at almost every stride,--not unfrequently hurling their riders headlong down some dangerous ravine. those who have enjoyed the very doubtful pleasure of hunting at the cape, know something of the perils of the mimosa tree, which grows there in such deadly luxuriance. a similar danger-trap exists in the stag-hunting districts of america, the long sharp thorns proving terribly destructive to the flesh of man and beast. it is almost impossible to escape these trees. they grow singly and in groups, with long, light, swaying branches, treacherously outstretched; and if an excited steed, or an unwary rider comes too near to one of them, no close-set company of razors could do more cruel injury, nor make greater havoc of saddlery and clothing. when we come to regard the question of district hunting in a comparative light, few will hesitate to admit that in spite of all the drawbacks consequent upon wire-fencing, fox-trapping, and hound-poisoning, there are worse countries to hunt in than dear old england; and we who know the sweet delights of a good gallop over rich grass-lands, dotted picturesquely with the harmless beech or elm, and with nothing more dangerous to negotiate than fair broad fences and five-barred gates, need never sigh for the yawning ravines of foreign hunting-grounds, with their treacherous boulders and dangerous mimosas. correspondence. ladies on horseback. to the editor of _the illustrated sporting and dramatic news_. sir,--i have read with keen interest the article on "ladies on horseback" in your last number. i find several things in it which differ from my preconceived ideas, but it is impossible not to perceive that the writer, mrs. power o'donoghue, speaks from an experience which makes her an undoubted authority. with reference to safety-stirrups, for instance. i have always seen that the ladies of my family were provided with them, and your contributor's objection seems not to be based upon the mechanism of the stirrup when in proper order, but on the circumstance that it is "almost invariably stiff," through neglect. i must admit that i have seen a lady hung up in a safety-stirrup; but surely it is possible to see that the stirrup will work before setting out for a ride or a day's hunting, and if the iron is large enough, so that "the padding over the instep" will not "cause the foot to become firmly embedded," are we to understand that the safety-stirrup is objectionable? mrs. power o'donoghue has a poor opinion of "john the coachman, and jem the groom," but i am lucky in having trustworthy people in my stable. what stirrup would your contributor have instead of the one with which so large a proportion of ladies ride? another thing that i should like to know more about is the saddle recommended in the article. "accustom yourself from the beginning to the use of a properly constructed saddle, made as straight as a board, no dip whatever," this writer says. now i have never, so far as my recollection goes, even seen such a saddle, and may i ask what are the advantages of a thoroughly straight saddle, and what are the disadvantages of the inevitable slope or dip? i ask purely for information, for i am perfectly ready to submit my judgment and hitherto received notions to the dictum of a lady who is clearly so competent to treat the matter as your contributor. would the lady have straight saddles also for men? is a question which incidentally occurs to me. i am far from supposing that a thing must be right because it is in general use, but there seem good reasons for the adoption of the ordinary shaped saddle, and i should be very glad if your contributor would let us know her reasons for departing from custom. before concluding, let me thank you for a series of articles which cannot fail to be of value to those for whom they are intended. i am, sir, your obedient servant, h. de v. r. * * * * * sir,--i feel bound to answer the letter of "h. de v. r." which appeared in your journal of last week's issue. with regard to the "safety-stirrup," there could not be much objection to it if it were made sufficiently large to prevent the padding over the instep from causing the foot to become embedded; and if, likewise, some careful and competent person were ready and willing to give the machinery of it a thorough examination immediately before entrusting the safety of a lady to such an uncertain support. but how seldom is this the case? servants--even the most careful--are, to say the least of it, apt to overlook these important details; and when the steed is led to the door the cavalier who is to escort the lady is too much occupied in admiring his fair charge, talking to her, arranging with her where they shall ride, fastening her gloves, or performing a like office for himself, to worry his head about such an apparently insignificant thing as her stirrup. provided he ascertains that it is the required length, he troubles himself no further about it, and probably in nine cases out of ten the dandy youth would not even comprehend the meaning of the term "safety" as applied to the article in question. no doubt it often happens that an elderly father, a matter-of-fact husband, a phlegmatic uncle, or a careful brother may be upon the spot, with wits and hands ready to avert danger; but how frequently, also, is it the fashionable stripling who escorts the lady--a cousin, or a lover, perhaps--ignorant of all connected with riding, except the pleasure of it; or the booted and belted servant, who touches his hat, and thinks he has done his duty because the saddle is clean and the horse sleek and shiny; or the riding-master, who has come out in a hurry, anxious and flurried at the last moment to see that everything _looks_ right, and who has had no time to see after such minor accessories as stirrups, or has left the matter (if he thought of it at all) in the hands of the groom, who has left it alone altogether. this being the case, i maintain that a stirrup encumbered with machinery is unsuited to a lady, because, although she may have an escort who will look after it, there is the possibility that she may not have such good fortune. moreover, a stirrup made sufficiently large to bear padding over the instep, and yet enable the foot to slip easily in and out, must of necessity be a considerable weight, and this alone would be an objection, especially to a hunting lady, who calculates to a nicety every ounce which her steed has to carry. i have said that a small racing, or jockey-stirrup, is the _nicest_ in which a lady can ride, and i am bound to adhere to my judgment. so much for the first portion of "h. de v. r.'s" letter. now we come to the second. my "poor opinion of john, the coachman, and jem, the groom," is based, not upon their untrustworthiness, but upon their want of capacity as teachers of the equine art. i have never yet, in all my experience, met with any servant who was capable of instructing a lady how to ride; yet i have been fairly astonished to find the contrary idea quite general amongst parents in the country, who fondly hope that their daughters may one day adorn a saddle and grace a hunting-field. "i shall have mary and jenny taught immediately now," said a lady to me one day in the course of last summer,--"they shall have a pony a-piece, and john (the groom) shall teach them." of course, i said nothing, my principle of noninterference standing me in good stead; but when an hour or so later, i beheld the said john disporting himself, and showing off his equestrian skill upon one of the carriage-horses, i really felt pity for the two charming little girls who were so soon to be handed over to his doubtful tuition. and now for the third portion of your correspondent's letter: namely, the question of the straight saddle. "h. de v. r." says he has never seen any such; and i consider this extremely probable, for he will recollect my saying that a saddle such as i described should be made to order, as it is certainly not in general use--but i am not altogether singular in my advocacy of it. peat and co., piccadilly, or box and co., abbey street, dublin, will manufacture saddles of this description in excellent style, but only to order, for they have not yet found sufficient favour--or, to express it better, are not sufficiently known--to have become popular, and manufacturers therefore will not keep them in stock. the advantages of a straight saddle are manifold. firstly, it is the only means by which a lady can learn the necessary art of riding from balance. this can be acquired by sitting _on_ a saddle, but never by sitting _in_ one. secondly, she can, when riding upon a straight saddle, change and shift her position, which as a necessary consequence changes her weight upon the horse's back, and saves him from being galled. a noble lady wrote to me some time since, "i know not how it is; all my horses are laid up with sore backs; and yet my saddle is well padded." i guessed the secret at once; she was riding in a sort of well, or chair, from which her heavy weight could never for an instant shift, and hence the trouble of which she complained. i sent her a sketch of my saddle, with the address of the man who had made it, and she has since been a staunch upholder of my theory. thirdly, the best figure in the world would look to disadvantage if seated in a saddle with a dip or slope; whereas a well-made woman, attired in a habit properly fitted about the waist and hips, never looks to such complete advantage as when sitting gracefully and at ease upon a well constructed straight-made saddle. fourthly, if in taking an up-jump the horse misses his footing and struggles in an unsuccessful effort to recover himself, the lady may--if riding upon a straight saddle--succeed in slipping from it to a situation of comparative safety; but, if she has a high projection of iron and stiff leather just behind her, it bars her movement, and as a consequence the horse falls back _upon_ her, and catching her between his weight and the edge of the ditch or furrow, as the case may be, injures her spine, sometimes fatally, and frequently in a serious manner. the question, "do i also advocate straight saddles for men's use?" is answered by my reminding "h. de v. r." that there is no analogy between a gentleman's position upon horseback and that of a lady. what would be a necessity, or at least a _luxury_, for the one would be eminently unsuited for the other. a man's superior activity and greater liberty of motion place him ever at an advantage. and whilst upon this subject i would strongly urge upon all humane riders, especially the male portion of them, to have their saddles made high _in front_, so as not to press upon the horse's withers, causing him much needless suffering. a space capable of accommodating at least two fingers should be between withers and saddle, and were this attended to we should see fewer skin abrasions and unsightly lumps upon poor submissive animals, and less of that stuffing of handkerchiefs between cruel leather and bleeding flesh which so frequently pains the sorrowing eyes of sensitive and pitying persons. i think i have now dealt fully with "h. de v. r.'s" letter, and must thank the writer of it for his complimentary observations, and his kindly appreciation of my labours in a cause which i certainly have very much at heart. apologising for trespassing thus far upon your valuable space. i am, sir, yours obediently, nannie power o'donaghue. october , . * * * * * sir,--many readers of _the illustrated sporting and dramatic news_ hope that mrs. power o'donoghue, in her very interesting letters upon "ladies on horseback," will touch fully on the most important thing, viz. "the ladies' horse." one sees ladies riding all sorts; some too big, some too small, some good shoulders and no backs, others just the reverse; not one out of twenty what it ought to be. also, up to what weight should it be? what is the average weight of ladies, and the difference in ordinary dress to the habit? it is often said that, owing to the peculiar seat, the weight being all on one side, a lady tires a horse much more than a man; certainly you often see ladies' horses going short with the near hind leg, possibly from this cause. could not the weight of side-saddles be reduced? those used by the empress of austria could not have weighed lb., and she was herself a light woman. anything on this subject will interest many readers. i am, &c. eques. * * * * * sir,--there is one point to which i should like to call the attention of the writer of the able and interesting articles on "ladies on horseback," which she appears to have altogether overlooked in her enumeration of the articles of a lady's riding attire. it is the use of a spur by lady equestrians. the recently invented lady's spur consists of one sharp point so constructed as not to injure the habit. in hunting, a spur is indispensable, and in park-riding is very desirable for a lady, who has so much less control over her horse than a man. young girls just beginning to ride will find the use of a spur most beneficial in managing their steeds. hired horses are never altogether to be trusted, and in the case of their showing temper or laziness, two or three pricks with a lady's spur will subdue them far more quickly than the application of a whip. i have more than once ridden a horse that was a confirmed jibber, and have always found a few determined thrusts with my spur, combined with an efficiently applied whip, never failed to bring him down. i confidently recommend all ladies, and especially young girls just beginning the art of equitation, to procure a lady's spur, and never to mount a horse without it. i am, &c. mabel florence rayne. the firs, cheltenham, oct. th, . * * * * * sir,--i suppose it would be impossible to advance any opinions to which there would not be objections raised, but i write, not in a cavilling spirit, but as one really anxious for information, to know whether mrs. power o'donoghue would seriously advocate striking a horse between the ears when it rears. surely such a thing would be exceedingly dangerous for any lady to attempt, and, as your correspondent is writing solely for ladies, i conclude she refers to them in the present instance. i feel very strongly upon this point, because an uncle of mine, some years ago, when out riding tried this experiment at the advice of a friend. the horse (not a vicious one) suddenly reared; my uncle loosened the reins and urged it forward, but finding this ineffectual, struck it violently between the ears with his hunting-whip. the animal, maddened, i presume, by the pain, reared straight on end and fell backward; its rider being a very agile man, slipped off sideways, and thus escaped nearly certain death; but had the rider been a lady instead of a gentleman the consequences must have been fatal; and with so light a switch as a lady usually carries, a blow between the ears could only serve to irritate without producing any good effect. i would ask one more question: why does your correspondent so strongly object to the use of the "old-fashioned slipper" stirrup? i am rather curious on this point, because i have ever since the tender age of four, when my riding experiences began, used the shoe-stirrup, and i have always thought it so safe, because my foot slips out in a second. i am aware that it is extremely unfashionable, as in rotton row you hardly see a lady using it; but i keep to it still, not so much with the idea of its safety, but for comfort, especially in trotting. i find it extremely difficult to keep an iron stirrup from slipping back into the instep, and, being used to rise pressing on the toes, i think that rising from the instep is more difficult and doubles the exertion of trotting. in conclusion, i must express a hope that mrs. power o'donoghue will not give me credit for writing in a spirit of unfriendly criticism; but as i am exceedingly fond of riding, i feel an interest in working out this subject to its fullest extent. i am sure all lady riders must feel grateful to mrs. power o'donoghue for the valuable and useful instructions contained in her interesting letters, and one has only to pay a visit to the row between and in the season, to see how much they are needed by the generality of the "ladies on horseback." i am, &c. equestrina. october th, . * * * * * sir,--though not an "aggrieved stirrup-maker," it may not be out of place if i, as a saddler of many years' experience and a great lover of horses, offer a few comments on the "hints and instructions" set forth in your paper for the benefit of ladies on horseback, written by one of the sex who is evidently an authority on the subject she treats so ably. there is no doubt these articles will be read with great interest by very many ladies who desire to acquit themselves well on horseback, and also by their gentlemen friends who are anxious to conduce to the safety and comfort of their fair companions in that delightful exercise, but cannot have the same knowledge to impart the theoretical instructions now given by your lady writer, whose criticisms will therefore be valuable to both. in following her remarks, it occurs to me that i may perhaps venture on a little comment without being considered too intrusive. the objection taken to children riding is no doubt formed on good grounds, but i think that with care young ladies might be permitted at a much earlier age than sixteen to acquire some practice in the saddle; it is true that young girls are liable to curvature of the spine, when allowed to ride day after day on the same side of their pony, but i have understood that this danger is obviated by changing their position to the other side on alternate days, and i should be glad to learn what are the objections to this. it seems to me rather desirable that ladies should have equal facility in riding on either side, but there may be reasons against it of which i am ignorant. this lady says that the nicest bridle for a beginner is a plain ring-snaffle, but states further that few horses will go in it; the latter remark, if correct, (which i should venture to doubt), raises a fatal objection to the ring-snaffle, as i fear that not one young lady in twenty, under amateur teaching, would be put upon a perfectly trained nag, desirable as this must be; and thus an ordinary stout mouth plain snaffle, or plain bar with single rein, would surely be preferable. i fancy it would be found of much advantage if riding was taught in the first instance without the use of reins at all, the horse simply being led by an attendant; the learner thus gets a proper balance, without depending on the bridle for support, as many are found to do. for a young girl i should like to know what is the objection to a pad, or pilch as they are called, made for use on either side. these, having no tree, are nearly level, but there is perhaps a chance of its turning round if the rider does not sit straight; for a grown girl, the properly made saddle is better every way. in common with your correspondent "h. de v. r.," i fail quite to understand how a side-saddle is to be made "as straight as a board." a saddle is made on a foundation, or tree, of wood and iron, which should be shaped for the back intended to bear it, and must be raised slightly in front for the wither and behind to clear the backbone; but it is right that the seat should be as level as possible. this is probably the lady's meaning. it is very essential that the saddle should fit the horse correctly and be of suitable size and shape for the rider; the former consideration is too often overlooked and thus entails discomfort to both. there are saddles, and saddles, as ladies often find to their cost. a very large proportion in use here, and more abroad, are put together in birmingham and walsall on the slop system; they will please the eyes of an inexperienced purchaser, but are formed with little regard to the requirements of the poor animals who suffer under them, or of their riders' comfort, and it is probable that these are the saddles against which ladies are very properly warned. it is really indispensable for a lady's comfort in riding that she should have a good saddle, made by a competent and conscientious saddler, whose business it is to see that it is suitable. considering the number of years that a good saddle with care will last, it is inconceivable that the comparatively small additional price should be grudged for a perfect and satisfactory article by a maker of repute, instead of the machine-made slop rubbish, by which many a good animal is injured and the temper of his rider seriously chafed. enough about saddles for the present, so i will go to the next point under discussion--the stirrup. your lady rider must have been very unfortunate in her use of the safety-stirrup, which, in my opinion, does in practice usually justify its name. i have known very many instances in which ladies have owed immunity from serious accident to its use. as "h. de v. r." justly says, the mechanism of the stirrup (which is very simple) should not be allowed to get out of order by neglect; surely the lady or her friends, particularly if so "knowledgeable" as the writer of the article, might [they "_might_." that they so often do not, and that danger so frequently results from the neglect, is the grievance and complaint of our contributor.--ed. _i.s. & d.n._] take the trouble personally to see that her stirrup is not out of order from rust, and in no other way but one can it be so; the other way is that if the groom ignorantly or carelessly adjusts the stirrup for use hind part before, the inner stirrup cannot be released, and the rider's foot, in case of a fall, will be helplessly fixed in the stirrup. this eventuality, however, does not detract from the real value of the safety-stirrup, for neglect and ignorance will entail direful consequences in all ways. next to the safety-stirrup, i quite believe that a plain steel stirrup of suitable size, with side pieces at the bottom to take sharp pressure off the foot, is the most suitable for ladies' use, and i always condemn the small padded stirrup, which is, indeed, a fruitful source of danger to lady riders. with the rest of mrs. o'donoghue's dissertation i cordially agree, and believe it would be beneficial if both men and ladies practised riding without the aid of the stirrup; and the same rule applies to and is generally practised by men, as i saw a few days ago on a german barrack-ground, where an awkward squad was being trained in that manner. the art of putting a lady up is one that should be practised more than it is by horsemen; my first attempt resulted in the lady slipping down again, and on my hat, which suffered even more than my self-esteem. on one occasion in the crimea, years ago, i was riding with a lady and her husband, the former dismounted at mrs. seacole's for refreshment, and on being put up again by her husband with more vigour than skill, the poor lady was sent over her horse's back to the ground on the other side, and being somewhat portly, was shaken severely. i fear many ladies have suffered in the same way from the awkwardness of their attendants, but i have seen ladies so agile as to mount from the ground without assistance--rather a difficult feat, and requiring much practice. having trespassed so much on your space i must not proceed further now, but shall be happy to air my notions again, if agreeable to your readers and riders. yours, &c. jermyn. * * * * * sir,--my papers entitled "ladies on horseback" have called forth many letters. some of these you have printed, some have been forwarded to me from your office, and many have been received at my own house. i shall regard it as a favour if you will permit me to reply to a few of them through the medium of your paper, as in answering one i shall answer many who have written upon the same subject. j. v.--when the horse took head with me and leaped into the farm-yard (as depicted by mr. sturgess) i had no way of getting out except by the passage and kitchen of the farm-house, as the gates of the yard were locked, and the owner of the place--who was away at the neighbouring town--had the key in his pocket. eques.--the reason why ladies ride "all sorts of horses" is that comparatively few keep horses of their own, and those who are without them and are fond of riding, jump eagerly at the offer of a friend's mount, whether it be suitable or otherwise. a nice horse for a lady may be thus described: height about - ; colour dark bay or brown, well-set sloping shoulders, good back, arched loins, firm and graceful neck, small head and ears, shapely clean-cut legs, and good firm feet. a horse of this description will be well up to or st. for a heavy weight an animal should be selected with a short wide back, powerful quarters, big healthy hocks, and stoutly-built fore-legs. the _average_ weight of ladies is about st. summer costume and riding gear would weigh about equally, but velvet or sealskin would outweigh a habit. a lady seated upon a properly-made saddle, if she has been well taught, will never have her weight "all on one side." the reason why horses go short with the near hind leg is because ladies ride from the stirrup, leaning their full weight upon it, and galling the animal's back. the stirrup is meant to assist, not to _support_, the rider. old-fashioned side-saddles are all too heavy; but a well-constructed modern saddle can scarcely be improved upon. it is a mistake to ride in too light a saddle, as it brings the weight of the body too near the horse's back. that used by the empress of austria weighed lbs., which is about a correct standard. ladybird.--nobody who has any regard for life and limb now rides through dublin. all wise persons gave it up when pavement and tram-lines made the city what it is. consequently the park is deserted, and only a solitary horseman is seen in stephen's green. inquirer.--the shoe should be made to _fit the foot_. it is most cruel, and is a fruitful source of lameness, to pare the foot away to make it fit a ready-made shoe. if you cannot trust your farrier, change him. this advice also applies to james r., but i do not undertake to answer questions respecting the treatment or management of the horse. mabel florence rayne.--i had not forgotten nor overlooked the important uses of the spur. you will find the subject treated in my papers upon hunting and hunting-costume. i do not, however, _at all_ approve of its use for beginners, as such are certain, through nervousness, to press the left heel close to the horse's side, and, if furnished with a spur, would cause him much needless pain and irritation, besides endangering their own safety. robert keating.--best thanks for letter and papers. g. elliot.--for riding with a bit and bridoon, place a rein between each finger of your left hand, and hold them securely with your thumb, reserving your right hand for your whip; or take your reins in both hands, and ride your horse upon the curb, or snaffle, according to his temperament. for riding with a single rein, place the near leather under your little finger and the off one between the first and second fingers, which is as good a way as any; but i have already said that there is no fixed rule for holding reins, and a good rider will constantly change them about, and move the bridle in her horse's mouth, which prevents him hanging upon his bit. jane carr.--i scarcely know whether to regard your letter as a compliment or the reverse. my labours have been _totally_ unassisted; nor has my experience of this world shown me that its occupants are sufficiently philanthropic to labour that another may reap the merit and the reward. l. k.--the subject is not within my province. mayhew's _horse management_, published by allen & co., , waterloo place, london, is the best i can recommend. huntsman.--it is for ladies i am writing. eleanor.--thanks; but if i adopted one half of the suggestions offered, a strange result would ensue. happily my papers went to press without _anybody_ (save the editor) having had a glance at them. he generously accepted them upon their merits; but had i shown them to others i should either have altered something in every second line or have given offence to numerous well-meaning persons. when i was a child i committed to memory the inimitable fable of "the miller, his son, and his ass," and have taken the moral of it as a guide through life. goodall.--a short hunting-crop without a lash would do. equestrina.--if a horse rears with me in a vicious manner i hit him between the ears, but i do not by any means expect my readers to coincide in all my views, and those who know a better plan can, of course, adopt it. if an animal rears slightly i lean forward against his neck, touch him with my heel, and speak to him. if he persists, and i see any danger of his falling back, i hit him between the ears with the butt-end of my whip, not sufficiently heavily to "madden him," nor even to cause him the least pain, but to occasion him to duck his head, which he invariably does; and if at that instant i hit him sharply with my heel, he drops at once and lashes out behind. allowing for a moment that such a mode of action may be open to objection, is it not better (seeing that it is frequently efficacious) than sitting quietly and permitting one's-self to be fallen back upon, without making any effort to avert the catastrophe? my objection to the slipper-stirrup is founded on the knowledge that it encourages ladies to lean their weight upon it. "it feels so comfortable," i heard a lady say, "so like a resting-board beneath my foot, that i _cannot help_ riding from it." an iron stirrup with the foot well home is the proper thing to ride in; and remember it is from the instep and _not_ from the toes that you should rise. the iron should meet the waist of the boot-sole, and a long flat heel (i do not mean one of those atrocities known as a _high_ one) should be worn on the boot. jermyn.--your letter almost answers itself. the pad or pilch _is_ apt to turn round, for it is only one little girl in twenty who sits straight. you judge my meaning rightly about the straight saddle, but i opine that it is the stuffing which should be arranged to guard the backbone from pressure, and that it is in no way necessary to raise the _seat_ at the back. i must again say, for the third time, that a plain ring-snaffle is the _nicest_ for a lady's use, and also maintain my opinion that few horses will go in it, according to _my_ ideas of "going." a horse who goes well in a ring-snaffle must have a perfect temper and a perfect mouth, a combination as rare in the equine as in the human tribe. for ordinary hunters and roadsters i do not recommend it, simply because they will not go in such a bridle; but i shall ever hold to my opinion that it is the nicest and the least puzzling for a beginner. katie.--not worth denying. it is one of those worthless untruths which i have long since learned to treat with contempt. liverpudlian.--your suggestion is so good that i shall certainly adopt it. nothing could be better adapted for riding in than a warm jersey, buttoned in front. being elastic it would allow full play for the arms and shoulders, and would also display a good figure to advantage. if you, or some other, would only get up a sufficient amount of courage to turn a deaf ear to the hateful and oft-recurring "what will be said?" we might have many useful and elegant innovations of which at present we know nothing. young wife.--there can be no impropriety in what you say. "honi soit qui mal y pense?" so long as you have a good conscience and your husband's approval you need care little for what the world says. x. y. z., dashaway, and countryman.--i cannot reply to your letters. thanking you, sir, for your kindness in granting me so much of your valuable space, i am, &c. nannie power o'donoghue. october . * * * * * sir,--the "recently-invented lady's spur," mentioned in your last issue by "mabel florence kayne," was patented towards the close of the last century, and illustrations of it, and of other spurs on the same principle, can be seen at the patent office. i quite concur in the recommendation that a lady should always wear a spur, and it will be seen from the last article by mrs. power o'donoghue that a spur forms part of her hunting equipment; but i strongly advise ladies to wear a spur with a rowel having only five points, which should be long and sharp. the spur with one point and a spring sheath is commonly sold by saddlers for ladies' use, but is liable to break or get out of order, and is always discarded in favour of the one with a five-pointed rowel by ladies who have tried the latter. mrs. power o'donoghue is doing good service to ladies by protesting against the stirrups facetiously so-called "safety." i always advise a lady to use a perfectly plain steel stirrup, but a tolerably heavy one. why cannot the stirrup be attached to a lady's saddle in the same manner as to a gentleman's? then, in case of accident, the stirrup and leather would come away together. an excellent bit for a lady's horse is a curb-bit, suspended in the horse's mouth by two large rings, to which the snaffle-reins are also attached. this bit is very light or very severe, at the rider's wish. i am, &c. southern cross. october , . * * * * * sir,--continuing my remarks on this subject, i am bound to say that your contributor gives sufficient answer to the question of the safety-stirrup in explaining that the objection is removed providing the inner stirrup is large enough for the foot to be easily extricated; the stirrup being made in three different sizes, this is a matter easily adjusted. the shoe-stirrup referred to by "equestrina" was in use by ladies for many years, and in point of safety i think no objection can be raised to it; the same shape of stirrup is much affected by men in south america. the instructions in part second of mrs. power o'donoghue's writings are very admirable, except that i do not see the utility of a lady's striking a rearing horse between the ears, with the few ounces of whip usually carried. i have known men do so with a loaded whip, and knocking a horse down to cure him of this vice, but it would be scarcely advisable for a lady to try this. i am rather surprised to see it stated as a fact that both rearing and plunging maybe entirely prevented by using the so-called anti-rearing bit martingale. it certainly may prevent rearing on the first attempt if the horse's head is kept down tightly by this martingale attached to the breastplate, but as the latter is seldom worn except for hunting, it cannot be intended to recommend it for that purpose, for it would infallibly follow that the fixed martingale would bring both horse and rider to grief at the very first fence they attempted to clear, and if the horse had sufficient liberty of action to jump freely, the martingale would be no obstruction to his rearing. i know from my own experience that a horse can be knocked down by a blow on the head. i was once doing a little private mounted practice at sword exercise, preparatory to a prize competition, and grasping my sword with thick gloves on, the weapon somehow turned in my hand, caught my mare below the ear on the bridle-hand, and knocked her completely off her legs, to our mutual amazement, though no great harm was done. i do not see what analogy there can be between the powerful chifney bit and a rearing martingale; the effect of the latter may be secured by attaching a split martingale, with leather or spring billets, to the mouth-rings of any bit in use, snaffle or pelham; but i believe that a horse can, if determined, rear all the same, and it certainly would not prevent plunging or bucking. for a restive or jibbing horse in saddle i have always found a short running martingale very useful; the rider should shorten and lower the right rein well down the horse's shoulder, apply the right leg and spur sharply, and turn the horse round like a teetotum until he is dizzy, then give him both spurs when his head is in the right direction. this will set him going before he knows where he is, and is a practice i have found very efficacious, but not easily applicable by ladies. on the subject of bits, my own favourite is the hanoverian pelham; it will generally hold the strongest puller, and, with a light hand, i have never met a horse that would not face it. for show or park riding there is none better; it is, however, not suited to those who trust to the bridle-reins for their balance in the saddle. "eques" inquires "what is the average weight of ladies?" this is a difficult query, but as ladies ride at all weights between six and eleven stone, with a margin each way, i should suppose the average would be about - / stone, exclusive of saddle, &c. a lady who is an indifferent rider would throw more weight on one side than the other, one cause of so many sore backs from side-saddles; but a thoroughly good horsewoman would sit with as level a balance as a man. the weight of good modern side-saddles is much reduced, but they cannot well be made under lb., with furniture, and are usually considerably more. if the empress of austria uses a saddle of lb. only (as some have averred), she must ride on a man's steeplechase-saddle, which perhaps would not be a difficult performance for a lady who is said to be in the habit of driving four-in-hand. i am much impressed by the recital of your contributor's adventures and hair-breadth escapes on the saddle, particularly on the occasion she refers to when invited by a friend to ride the big bay horse. if the friend was a gentleman, i must repeat the opinion i heard expressed by a lady when reading the article--that any man who would wilfully expose a woman to risk her life on such a brute behaved disgracefully. there is no object in creation to my mind more attractive than a graceful woman controlling with ease a fine and well-trained horse; but no one with due respect for the sex would wish to see her taking the place of a rough rider. yours, &c. jermyn. * * * * * sir,--although i care nothing for anything that may be said about myself, i am ever loyal to my friends, and it seems to me hard that one of the truest of them should be spoken of as having "behaved disgracefully" by a writer who, with more impetuosity than judgment, jumps at conclusions without waiting to hear the truth. when i was riding homeward after the leap into the farm-yard, i met the owner of the horse upon the road, driving out with a friend. the moment he heard what had occurred he took me off the animal, changed my saddle to the very quiet horse he was driving, and actually, after nearly an hour's delay, succeeded in putting the harness upon the "big bay," and, having done so, drove him home regardless of his own safety, or rather of his danger, which was imminent. i do not think there are many men at his time of life, and in his delicate state of health, who would have done the same thing rather than chance a second runaway. he had _no_ reason to suppose that any such thing would, in the first instance, have happened, and i believe it was attributable to the fact that the horse had been ridden a day or two previously by a very wild rider, who had spoilt his mouth and manners, and who subsequently apologised to me for having been the cause of what occurred. i might have mentioned all this before, and certainly should have done so had i thought that such necessity should have arisen. i would remind "jermyn" that my observations respecting the martingale were confined to my papers on _road-riding_, not on hunting, and would also thank him, with my best obeisance, for calling me a rough-rider. i am, sir, yours obediently, nannie power o'donoghue. october , . * * * * * sir,--i must, in justice to myself, ask you to be so kind as to grant me space in your influential journal to reply to the very serious charge "jermyn" brought against me in your issue of the th of the past month. i am the friend who asked mrs. power o'donoghue to ride "the big bay," and yet i believe that nobody in all the world has a higher esteem for that lady, nor a truer regard for her safety than i have. indeed there are few men in ireland (if one) worth being called the name, who would not willingly lay down their own lives rather than imperil the life of one so universally beloved. the horse up to the day of the runaway had been perfectly quiet and most easily managed. he carried me two seasons to hounds, never making a mistake nor pulling in the least. not being able to ride, having shortly before met with a very serious accident, i lent "the big bay" to a hard-riding young officer for a day's hunting. he unfortunately must have made too free use of his long-necked spurs, and, totally unknown to me, ruffled the horse's temper; the animal remembering the treatment he received, and finding but a feather on his back, when excited by the music of the hounds, overpowered his rider; but, thank heaven, no serious accident occurred. i was unutterably shocked and distressed on hearing of the occurrence, and may state that on the day in question i was driving in my dog-cart, accompanied by a gentleman (late an officer in her majesty's service) who can vouch for the truth of my statement, when mrs. o'donoghue came up to me and told me of her very narrow escape. i did not hesitate an instant to say, "i will take out the horse i am driving. you know him to be a perfect mount, and i will put 'the big bay' in my trap." the lady did not wish me to do so, knowing the risk i ran in putting a horse in harness that had never been in such before. i at last succeeded in prevailing on her not to lose the day's sport, changed the saddle with great difficulty, and attached "the big bay" to my dog-cart; after a few plunges and an endeavour to get away, he settled down, and has since gone grandly. my friend, though a very bold man, would not get in with me for some time. i hope after this explanation your correspondent will be sufficiently generous to allow that i did all in my power to insure the safety of a most precious life. with regard to the term "rough-rider," as applied by "jermyn" to mrs. o'donoghue, i feel assured if he knew the lady he would not for worlds have used such an expression. i am, sir, your most obedient servant, one who has ridden to hounds for over sixty years. * * * * * sir,--i should by no means recommend a young lady to wear a spur when learning in a riding-school, but from my own experience i strongly advise all girls beginning to ride on the road never to mount their steeds without a sharp spur on their left boot. the second time i went out riding, when i was fourteen, my cob, startled by some noise, suddenly began to rear and pitch vigorously. i applied my whip sharply across his flank, but without effect. i then gave him a series of sharp pricks with my spur, which completely subdued him. had i been without a spur i should probably have been thrown and severely injured. i should certainly prefer a spur with a rowel as "southern cross" recommends, but would it not be apt to tear the habit? i am, &c. mabel florence rayne. the firs, cheltenham, november , . * * * * * sir,--a correspondent in your last number advises ladies to use a rowel spur, with five prongs, long and sharp, so, as a friend of horses, i am inclined to write an objection to their taking this advice. in the first place, from the nature of a lady's seat, her armed heel would often unintentionally irritate and annoy the horse; and in the second place many would probably use this instrument of torture too severely, and therefore cruelly. a rowel spur, with five long and sharp prongs--in fact, a jockey's spur--is a much more severe instrument than is required for ordinary riding, either by man or woman, and the advantage of the ladies' bore spur is, that it can only be applied when intended, and then is quite sufficiently severe. i have no objection to ladies, who are good horsewomen, wearing a spur, and using it, too, as severely as necessary, but i have great objections to any unnecessary pain or annoyance being given to my friends, the horses. another lady correspondent of yours says that a spur is quite indispensable for hunting. if she means that it should always be worn in case it is required, i agree; but i have ridden a courageous high-tempered horse for years with hounds without ever using the spur. i am, &c. fair play. glasgow, st november . * * * * * sir,--as the subject of spurs and other riding equipment for ladies seems at the present time to occupy and interest many of your fair readers, permit me, on behalf of my sisters, who are horsewomen of some experience, both at home and in the colonies, and who have practically tried most known riding-costumes, to recommend, through the medium of your columns, the following as a comfortable and serviceable riding-dress for a lady, for long country rides, picnics, &c.; of course not for the park, or a lawn meet. habit--a short, strong hunting-skirt, short enough to walk in with comfort, with jacket of same cloth as skirt, made loose enough to admit of a jersey being worn under it if required; a wide leather belt for the waist, fastening with a buckle. this belt will be found a great comfort and support when on horseback for many hours. hat of soft felt, or a melon-shaped hat. pantaloons of chamois leather, buttoning close at the ankles. hussar or wellington boots, reaching to about four inches of the knee, to be worn over the pantaloons, made of peel leather with _moderate_-sized heels, tipped with brass, and soles strong but not thick. a leather stud should be sewn on the left boot, about - / inches above the heel, on which stud the spur should rest, and thus be kept in its place without tight buckling. the spur found to be the most useful after the trial of many is a rowel spur of plated steel, about two inches to two and-a-half inches long, strong and light, hunting shape, and fastened with a strap and buckle, the foot-strap of plated steel chain. this chain foot-strap looks neater than a leather one, and does not become cut or worn out when on foot on rough or rocky ground. the rowel pin is a screw pin; thus the rowel can be changed at pleasure, and a sharp or a blunt one fitted as is required by the horse one rides. the spur i mention can be obtained of messrs. maxwell & co., piccadilly, london; or of mr. thompson, saddler, dawson street, dublin. some ladies affect two spurs--one, the right, being fitted with a blank rowel; this is, of course, for appearance sake when dismounted. i have not often seen two spurs worn. i am not alluding to miss bird's riding-costume, as described in her books, _life in the sandwich islands_ and _the rocky mountains_. she rode _à la cavalière_, in a mexican saddle, and wearing big rowel mexican spurs, and appears from her account to have preferred this style of riding to the modern style and side-saddle. some years ago i saw a photograph of the queen of naples (i think in ), representing the queen mounted _à la cavalière_, wearing a high felt hat, a long white cloak, patent-leather jack-boots, and gilt spurs. can any of your readers inform me if this style of riding for ladies is a custom of southern italy as well as mexico and the sandwich islands? i am, &c. jack spur. * * * * * sir,--i cannot regret that my letter has given the authoress of this work, and also the owner of the "big bay" horse, an opportunity of explaining the circumstances attending her mount on that puissant but headstrong animal, and of repudiating the erroneous construction put upon it, as probably the same idea may have occurred to many other readers of the anecdote, who may not have cared to express their sentiments. i must say, however, that i am very sorry if my remarks occasioned pain to either of your correspondents. the explanation given shows clearly that no blame was really attributable to the gentleman who offered the mount, and i can well believe he never dreamt of danger with the horse in such skilful hands. no one would doubt the sincerity of the statement given, that the horse was put in harness for the first time and driven away, after such an experience of his temper; but it speaks more highly for the courage than discretion of his owner, and i can well understand the friend's hesitation to share the driving-seat, for there are few things more trying to the nerves than to sit behind a determined bolter. perhaps i write feelingly, having been in that predicament myself three years ago, resulting in a fractured hip and permanent lameness. i will most certainly admit that the chivalrous gentleman did all, and more than was necessary, to avert further peril to the lady who had so narrow an escape. as for the obnoxious term "rough rider," to which exception is taken, it was intended to be used generally and not individually; if it has unfortunately happened that mrs. power o'donoghue, whom i have never had the pleasure of seeing, took it in a personal sense, i most sincerely beg her forgiveness, and will ask her rather to accept, as applicable to herself, the earlier remarks about ladies on horseback at the conclusion of my letter, and the assurance of my belief that such a gentlewoman as she is described could never be a _rough_ rider in any way. i am, &c. jermyn. * * * * * sir,--the spur with a five-pointed rowel was strongly recommended for ladies' use many years ago in the _queen_, and is worn by many: it does not tear the habit, and is not more severe than the spring-sheath spur with a point of the same length, as only one point of the rowel can prick the horse at a time; indeed, it is not so severe, as it can be applied with a very slight touch, which generally is all that is required, whilst the spring-sheath spur must be applied with sufficient force to overcome the resistance of the spring, with the result that the horse is often more sharply pricked than the rider intends. the points of a lady's spur should be long enough to be effective if the skirt of the habit intervenes, as, with any arrangement, it sometimes will do, when, if the points are too short, the horse does not feel it. i dissent from the statement of "fairplay" that, "from the nature of a lady's seat, her armed heel would often unintentionally irritate and annoy her horse." if applied to a clumsy rider the statement is accurate, but a lady who is a moderately good rider has no difficulty in keeping her foot in the proper position, and a lady's left foot should be in the same position as a man's; whilst, as a lady has the third crutch to steady her left leg, she has less excuse than a man would have for the unintentional use of the spur; but this evil carries its own antidote, for the lady would soon perceive the result of the irritation, and become more careful. the best way to cure a boy of turning out his toes and holding on with his heels is to give him a pair of long-necked spurs, and then put him on a fidgetty horse; a few minutes' experience teaches him more than a month of lecturing. i never knew of a mishap occurring to a lady through accidentally spurring her horse, but i have known many instances of ladies being put to great inconvenience and annoyance through not wearing a spur, and i do not understand why a lady should be more likely than a man to use it with undue severity. that it is an advantage to a lady is clearly shown by the fact that a lady who once tries one always continues its use. "fairplay" is also mistaken about the spring-sheath spur, for it is as readily applied as any other, though more force is required, which is objectionable, and especially so in park riding, when the spring of the horse to an unintentionally sharp application betrays the action of the rider. i claim to be as good a friend of horses as "fairplay," but i have some regard for the rider as well as for the horse, and i consider that, whilst we are justified in riding horses, we are justified in using such reasonable aids as we find most satisfactory to ourselves; and i have no sympathy with anyone who objects to a lady availing herself of the convenience and assistance so readily supplied by a judiciously-used spur, which every horseman knows cannot, in very many cases, be obtained by any other means, and which he never hesitates to avail himself of. in these days of locomotion a lady loses a great deal of the pleasures of travelling, and of the opportunities of seeing the countries she may visit, unless she can and will ride such horses as she may meet with in those countries; and even in the rural districts of england there is many an old nag of the "proputty proputty" type, which (though not possessed of the special points of a lady's horse--"oh! such a lovely mane and tail") will carry a lady tolerably well if he feels the spur occasionally. if "mabel florence rayne" tries the rowel spur and the bit i mentioned in my former letter, i am sure she will be satisfied with them, and perhaps she will write her opinion for the benefit of others. the excellent and sensible letters of mrs. power o'donoghue will probably convince people that a horse, when he has a lady on his back, is very much the same kind of animal, and requires very much the same kind of management, as when he is ridden by a man. if mrs. power o'donoghue can obtain this result, she will sweep away many of the peculiar prejudices and ideas that now prevail as to all matters appertaining to ladies on horseback. i am, &c. southern cross. * * * * * sir,--in the article under the above-mentioned heading, published in your issue of the th november, mrs. power o'donoghue recommends that horses' tails should not be docked. dealers, when offering horses for sale, do not usually volunteer any information as to whether the horses have been docked. i wish, therefore, to inform any intending purchasers who may not know how to ascertain whether a horse has been docked, and who may wish to obtain some which have not been disfigured in this manner, that if the dock (that is, the portion of the tail which consists of bones and muscles, &c.) is in its natural state, the hair grows thickly at the end or tip of it, and there is no bare space there; but if it has been shortened by a portion of it being cut off (or docked), there is at the end or tip of it a circular space of about an inch in diameter, entirely bare of hair. when a horse has been docked, the hair of the tail scarcely grows after it has reached to within six or seven inches above the hocks. the hocks of a large horse are about twenty-five inches above the ground. it is a general custom with london dealers to cut the hair of the tail very short before offering a horse for sale, so that it does not come down lower than to a distance of about nine inches above the hocks. the buyer cannot then tell to what length the tail is likely to grow. if customers would refuse to buy horses with the hair of the tail cut short, perhaps the practice in question would be discontinued by the dealers. i am, sir, &c. x. y. z. london, november , . * * * * * sir,--in your paper of last week i notice a letter on the advisability of ladies on horseback adopting the cross-saddle in place of the side, that is to say, in plain english, ride astride. this i have done abroad when far beyond conventional bondage, and it is incomparably better. your correspondent points out the evils resulting from the one-sided twisted seat, which a lady now has, and also, in the same paper, the authoress of _ladies on horseback_ says how impossible it is with only one foot in the stirrup to rise comfortably to a high trotter. now i should never have dared to name such a change had it not been thus mooted. society will shriek out and say, "woman would be indeed out of place thus." why? i am sure with a proper dress there is nothing to hurt the extremely proper feelings of the most modest. all who have hunted know that the _very_ short skirted habits at times display, well, say the leg of the fair _equestrienne_ most liberally. now the dress for the cross-horse style is much the same as a bathing suit, loose zouave drawers drawn close below the knee, and fastened tightly over the boot at the ankle; a loose tunic, long enough to come almost to the knee when mounted, lightly belted at the waist, a cape falling over the shoulders, not quite to the elbows. this is my attire when free to ride in the _only_ really comfortable way, a foot in each stirrup. oh, no woman would ever be twisted and packed on to a side saddle again if she could help it, after once enjoying the ease and freedom, as well as complete control of her horse which a man's seat gives. so far as exhibitions of limbs go, it is much more delicate, and there is nothing to offend the most sensitive lady in this style. only it is not fashionable. when shall we cease to prostrate ourselves before that juggernaut of fashion? for all paces and in every instance it is better, and the risk of accidents is reduced at _least one half_. it is a wonderful ease in long rides to _vary the stirrup length_. the military, almost straight-leg, trot, i think the easiest, but, on the other hand, some of the best riders i have ever seen abroad ride with a very short stirrup; it is a matter of habit and custom. but if the fashion were once introduced here, i know it would prove a priceless boon to ladies who love riding. let some lady who has the opportunity once try it in her own private grounds (at first) or in some quiet, out-of-the-way country lane or moorland, and she will be surprised. it is a _new existence on horseback_, and _nothing_ indelicate about it, clad as i have named. oh, what a difference it does make. it is twenty-three years now since i first took the idea from a book published by a lady, entitled, _unprotected females in norway_, and whenever i can, i always ride so, of course abroad or even in the far north of scotland. what a sensation in the row would a party of ladies make thus mounted! again, it is much easier for the horse, having your weight fairly distributed, not all perched on one side. your seat is much firmer; leaping is, oh, so easy; in fact, your power seems doubled in every way. in case of conflict with your horse, you feel a veritable centaur compared with the side seat, where you have no grip, only the aid of the saddle, but with the aid of your own knees and a foot on each side of the horse i think i _could not be thrown_. oh, i wish it could be initiated, dear mr. editor. do use your influence in this direction. and it really looks well when the dress is well-made and tasty, and you feel so very free and at ease, can turn about any way, not pinned on to your horse, or rather on to your saddle, as ladies are. i could give full directions to make an outfit for going abroad in this style; you would smile at my saddle i know, but it is so comfortable. i can hardly bear to ride on an orthodox one now. that is the worst of it. i have been mounted on mules in this manner in honduras, and ridden immense distances without being stiff or tired unduly. some of these are the animals to try _your mettle and seat_, and i was only once thrown, owing to a stirrup-leather breaking. then a lady is able to use spurs as easily as possible, no trouble about habit skirts tearing or getting in the way of the spur. with a sharp spur on each foot you can do anything with your horse, so very different from the wretched box spurs, eternally entangled in your habit or out of order. i do wish an association could be formed to carry out the idea; one or two could not do it, it must be simultaneous. for little girls it would be simply invaluable as an improvement on the present style, which really does cause distortion of the spine and a one-sided carriage when girls ride much. do please ventilate this question, and oblige very much, yours, &c. hersilie. p.s.--i have taken your paper ever since october nd, when i first saw _ladies on horseback_ in it, and have been much pleased with it, and also much amused with the correspondence thereon, but i never expected to see ladies' change of seat advocated, and am so glad to-day to find that it is. * * * * * sir,--permit me to state that the object in having the screw rowel-pin in the spur, recommended by me for the use of ladies in your number of november th, is in order to enable the wearers to use a mild or a severe rowel, according to the requirements of the horses they ride. i am very much against sharp spurs for ladies (or gentlemen either), unless they are absolutely required; but from some experience, both at home and abroad, i am quite convinced that the wearing of a spur should be the rule and not the exception. if the rowel is moderately sharp only, no cruelty can arise, less i maintain than in the use of a whip. i strongly object to the use of the sheath spur because of its severity; it must be applied with a _kick_ to be of any use, and the effect is usually much more punishing than there is any necessity for. if ladies will use rowel spurs with _moderately_ sharp rowels, such as are usual in gentlemen's park spurs, they will find that they are in possession of a very useful aid (certainly not a cruel one), and if fitted on a neat patent leather hussar or wellington boot, a very ornamental one as well. i am, &c. jack spur. december, . * * * * * sir,--the correspondence on mrs. power o'donoghue's articles has contained many remarks on ladies' spurs, but i have noticed scarcely any reference to one point which i think is worth consideration--namely, the mode of fastening. i think ladies would find it an advantage to wear what are known as "spring" or "box" spurs, instead of those fastening with the usual straps, or strap and chain. i have never seen a lady's spur of this description, but possibly they are made--if not, they easily could be. they are much the most easy to attach or remove, and there is no chance of a strap being cut in walking or otherwise, or of an over-tight buckle hurting the foot. their principal advantage, however, is not one of mere convenience, but of safety; the absence of strap and buckle removes one element in a great danger--that of the foot sticking in the stirrup in a fall. captain whyte-melville speaks from observation of the risk of the buckle catching in the angle of the stirrup-iron, and says he has never seen a spurless boot so entangled. he is arguing against the wearing of spurs at all; but the risk is avoided if box spurs be worn. since i became convinced that the strap and buckle were a quite possible, though perhaps unlikely, source of danger, i have altogether discarded them, and have felt my feet more free in the stirrups in consequence. box spurs are certainly not fashionable in the hunting-field, and i have often seen people looking askance at them; i suppose a particular man misses the finish that the strap gives to the boot. but i don't think that matters much, and to ladies it would not matter at all, as the difference could very seldom be detected. in getting spurs or boxes, i find it convenient to adhere always to the regulation cavalry size, because then one's old spurs fit one's new boots, and _vice versâ_. it would be well to have a uniform standard for ladies' spurs also. i have not ventured to say anything on the subject of spurs generally--my own opinion is that legitimate occasion for their use is excessively rare--and i dare say my suggestion may seem very trivial. but i do not think any precaution is trivial which lessens, however slightly, the risk of that most disagreeable and dangerous of accidents--getting "hung up." i am, sir, your obedient servant, oxonian. ball. col., oxon., december, . * * * * * sir,--i cannot but feel flattered that my _ladies on horseback_ papers should have called forth so large a correspondence. i have read every letter most carefully, and on perusing that of "hersilie," which appeared in last week's issue, it struck me, from two of her observations, that persons might suppose i had said something to advocate the style of riding of which she approves. permit me to say, emphatically, that i have never done so, and that i fervently hope, in the interests of my sex, that such a practice may never be introduced. modesty is, in my opinion, a woman's most exquisite attribute; once this, or the semblance of it, is lost, her fairest charm is gone. nothing could be more ungraceful or more unwomanly than for women to ride like men; and for short women or "little girls," it would be _most_ objectionable. i maintain that a lady who knows how to sit has a far safer and surer seat on a side-saddle than a man can ever have, and that her grip of the pommels affords her infinitely greater security than a man's "grip of the knees." "hersilie" is correct in saying that short-skirted hunting-habits frequently ride up, but she might just as well say that hunting-hats frequently fall off, and that ladies' back hair frequently comes down--giving these facts as a reason for discarding head-gear, whether natural or artificial. as a rule, nothing that is properly made and properly adjusted ever comes to grief. it is by going to cheap and incompetent habit-makers, neglecting to stitch elastics to their hats, and plaiting the hair too loosely (being also too sparing of hair-pins), that ladies are inconvenienced and made to blush. two yards wide round the hem is ample for a hunting-habit, which should fit like a glove about the hips. first-class tailors always have a model horse, upon which they mount their lady customers, and thus secure the right position for the slope at the knee, upon which so much of the "set" of the skirt depends. a well-dressed woman, sitting properly upon a well-constructed saddle, cannot, in my opinion, be improved upon for style and comfort, and i hope it will be long indeed before ladies strive to follow in any way the customs or callings of the sterner sex. i may add that one of the chief recommendations of a box spur is that it does _not_ get out of order, nor can it possibly become entangled, unless the habit-skirt be one of those which some ladies still persist in wearing--nearly twice too long, and quite three times too wide. i earnestly hope "hersilie" will take these observations in good part. i make them in a perfectly friendly spirit. i feel kindly towards all ladies, especially those who love horses; and so i offer "hersilie" a warm shake-hands, and hope she will fight me as much as ever she likes--in a friendly way, of course! now, a word to "jack spur." i think he is under a mistake in averring that there is any severity in the sheath spur. he says it must be applied with a _kick_. as i always ride with one, and never with any other description, i must entirely differ from him in this opinion. a slight pressure is alone necessary. no gentlewoman would be guilty of kicking her horse. i strongly object to rowels, as i hold to the belief that almost anybody--except a really first-class _équestrienne_--would be likely to hurt or worry the horse in an unnecessary manner. strange to say, i had only got thus far in my letter when the post brought me a communication from stirling, signed "reform," begging of me to advocate ladies riding upon the cross-saddle. were it not that the writer says so many nice, kind things of myself (for which i beg to thank her) i should be really angry at the tremendous display of zeal thus wasted upon so unworthy a subject. it is true that a lady's seat on horseback prevents her pressing her horse up to his bridle as a man can, _unless_--but there _is_ the unless--she knows how to do it. a good stout hunting-crop, properly used, will admirably fulfil the duties of the second leg; but in all my experience, and it is a pretty wide one, i have never seen more than two lady riders who had any idea of making a horse gallop or sending him up to his bit. i do not mean riding his head off--we unfortunately see too much of that; but pressing him up to his work, and riding him with firm, _accomplished_ hands, such as are only to be obtained by good teaching, long and constant practice, and real love of the art. to give some idea of the hazy notion which most persons have about riding, a lady who came to call upon me in london, and who certainly meant to be most kind and polite, said, as we sat at our afternoon tea, "i am looking at your hands; how well-developed they are, from _pulling your horses_, i suppose!" she thought i was offended when i told her that my riding gloves were no. , and that i never pulled my horses; but i am not captious, nor would it be possible to take offence with one who so little intended to cause it. the offer which i made at the conclusion of my _ladies on horseback_, to answer private inquiries, has led to such a host of letters that, although i regularly devote one hour every morning to the task of replying to each in turn, i find it impossible to keep pace with the work. will you, therefore, sir, with the kindness extended to me upon a former occasion, suffer me to answer a few of my correspondents through the medium of your columns. richard r.--one measure three times daily, with a good double-handful of indian corn mixed through it. captain swordarm.--the oats will require two waters. the grains should swell and separate, like rice boiled for curries. evelyn harkess.--your parcel has not reached me. my tailor will endeavour to please you. jane v.--a very cruel practice. reform.--you will see that i have acknowledged your letter. judging by the postmark it should have come to hand three days ago, but you gave the wrong address, and it went on a seeking expedition. "dublin" will at any time find me. this is also for "quilp," "b. max," and "violet grey." ella.--your horse is evidently a rough trotter, and can never be pleasant to ride. try to exchange or sell him. mary perplexed.--the pommels of your saddle are most likely too far apart; that is, the leaping head is placed too low. if you cannot change it, ride with a longer stirrup-leather. i have been lately shown the preparation for an improved side-saddle, by messrs. f. v. nicholls & co., of jermyn street, comprising a patented arrangement for the third crutch or leaping-head. i think that this will be a great boon to those ladies who, like myself, have suffered inconvenience and accident from the leaping-head being a fixture, and not in the position required to afford a proper degree of support, and at the same time to admit of the stirrup-leather being used of correct length for an easy, secure, and graceful seat. the improvement of the new saddle consists in a sliding socket or apparatus, by which the leaping-head can be moved freely backward or forward to any position, and instantly fixed firmly by the rider herself, thus enabling a lady to alter at any time the length of her stirrup, and yet gain every requisite support from the third crutch. another little innovation by the same experienced saddlers in riding bridles, an adaptation of my favourite double-ring snaffle. the loose rings of the snaffle have some extra loops, appended to which is a short noseband, acted upon by one rein, giving a powerful effect in stopping a runaway horse, whilst the use of the other rein singly has the pleasant and easy nature of the ordinary snaffle-bridle. the principle of this bridle, which is called "the improved newmarket snaffle" is, of course, equally applicable to the use of persons of either sex. giles.--have the shoe taken off and give him rest. ursa major.--there is no real cure for ringbone. do not waste your money. claude, emma vane, n. parkes, henry b., rhoda, nellie k., and thirty-one others, write to me for--photographs! i am sorry that "for lack of gold" i cannot supply a kindly public with my pictures, and i am not vain enough to state publicly where they may be had. nimrod.--pleader was purchased from me last week by the earl of eglinton. it will, therefore, be unnecessary for me to reply to any further inquiries respecting him. i named his price and made no change, nor was i asked to do so. cropper.--you were evidently sitting loosely, and thus suffered for your carelessness. you will not be caught napping the next time. anxious, martha, and a host of others have asked me a very familiar question, "how i learned to ride?" i have hitherto avoided answering, rather than introduce a name whose owner did not wish me to do so. but i think i may hope to win his pardon. most, if not all, my skill in the saddle is mainly due to the kind and untiring patience of my dear old friend and teacher, mr. allan mcdonogh, who--despite his threescore years and ten--was, up to the time of his lamentable accident, ever ready to act as my pilot and instructor. enquirer.--ride a steady horse, and your nerve will come back again. mine did, after a much more terrible mischance. corsican brother.--it is not true. critic.--you only discovered one mistake, but there are really _three_ in my story, "in search of a wonder," which appeared in the christmas number of this journal. in place of "hustled me out _of_ a sort of enclosure," read "_to_ a sort of enclosure." also, "suddenness" requires two n's, and "carr_a_ttella" is the correct way to spell a word which signifies a small cart or rough carriage peculiar to the piedmontese. these are all printer's errors, and should have been corrected by me, but i revised my proof in a crowded coffee-room of a london hotel, with at least a dozen persons talking to me as i did so, and thus, being also pressed for time, a few mistakes escaped my notice. to you, sir, and to all my friends, best wishes for the new year, and many grateful thanks for more kindness than i can deem myself worthy of. yours obediently, nannie power o'donoghue. dublin, december . * * * * * sir,--in case no one more able than myself answers "hersilie's" letter in this week's number of your valuable paper, will you allow me, in the name of many lady riders who "can" use the side-saddle, to write and protest against the idea cropping up of our riding like men? i cannot help feeling justly indignant with those who try to introduce such a radical change, for, surely, we are already too much inclined to follow all the ways and pursuits of the opposite sex without so far forgetting ourselves as to wish to ride as they do. i do not want to criticise what one is often obliged to do in foreign lands; there it may prove a necessity, for the riding is not simply for pleasure, but often the only means of transport, and the horses may not be fitted for our saddles, nor we accustomed to their paces; but, in england, the idea of a number of ladies fantastically dressed and mounted like men must shock many of your readers. i hope "x. y. z.," who first wrote in favour of this change some weeks ago, may pardon me if i say that the ladies of his or her acquaintance who, in consequence of only one stirrup, cannot avoid inclining the head and shoulders too much to the left, &c., and in addition gall their horses' backs, had better not attempt to ride at all. what is a prettier sight than a neatly-dressed englishwoman riding a horse, "as a lady," and should we retain the same respect we now get if we gave up, in this particular, the few feminine tokens left to us. why not let us accept the male attire altogether? it would be far more to our comfort in getting about on foot, and if one change is so advisable, surely the other is quite as sensible. i agree with "hersilie" in thinking that the habits of the present day are indelicately short, and i cannot see that ladies ride any better showing their boots and with their arms akimbo than they did a year or so ago, when their feet were covered and no daylight showed between their arms. i come of as "horsey" a family as any in england, and have ridden ever since i could sit upright; but i never experienced, or knew that my sisters experienced, any of the troubles "x. y. z." and "hersilie" complain of. my father, who was our sole instructor, put us on any animal that he thought likely to suit his own riding, and no matter where we were, in the hunting-field or elsewhere, the least deviation from sitting square would bring from him the sharp reprimand of, "what are you doing? bring that left shoulder up, and don't let me see any daylight between your arms!" he also insisted that our stirrups should be short, even to discomfort, until we got used to it; but this prevented any chance of our hurting the horse's back, which most frequently comes from a lady riding with a long stirrup, and when she trots having to seek her stirrup, which constantly moves her saddle, and makes her as well look most awkward and one-sided. if not trespassing too much, may i say one other little word in the interest of the horses i love so well? over and over again, lately, have i seen the advice given in your paper that we should never be without a spur. now, sir, if my experience can have any weight, i will say that i have hunted and ridden across country in all parts of gloucestershire all my young days, that i was put on horses whether they or i liked it or not, both kind, unkind, or violent ones, and i am thankful to say that the idea of my wearing a spur never entered my father's head nor mine. it seems to me such an underhand way of punishing one's horse--a real feminine species of torture, for no one sees the dig, dig, dig, but there it is all the time; and many a horse, i firmly believe, comes to grief with its rider simply because, not understanding its power, she taxes it beyond its strength. not one horse in twenty will refuse, or need either whip or spur if he knows his mistress, and if he does he is not fit for inexperienced riders. i wish every girl was taught as i have been, "that a horse can do no wrong." this made me study the peculiarities of every animal i was put upon, and i have never had an accident of any kind. every horsewoman who loves riding must be proud of the feats accomplished by mrs. power o'donoghue in the side-saddle, but would she be admired or respected as she is if she turned out as a man and rode as men do? it is being able to sit square and ride straight on a side-saddle, that we should be vain of, and not wish to make a change, which could only bring englishwomen down in the estimation of all those who are now so justly proud of them on horseback. i am, sir, yours, &c. the ladybird. december , . * * * * * sir,--will you allow me to make one or two remarks upon a letter i read last night in your valuable paper? it is from a correspondent speaking of the ill effects produced by the use of side-saddles. in the first place your correspondent should remember that the back of the horse, as well as the shoulder, is soft and tender when not in condition, that is, in constant work, and not fit for either riding or driving long distances at once, without damage. get the back carefully and well seasoned, or accustomed to the side-saddle, during the time the horse is getting into condition for the hunting-field, and use a leather saddle-cloth under the saddle; let it be long enough, and not the shape of the saddle, and have all properly put on the horse, and you will not come to grief with six or seven hours' work, or before the lady is tired; that is, provided the lady will sit well down and steady in her saddle, and keep her horse as much from trotting as possible. her horse must learn to canter slowly both to cover and home, it will be much better for the horse and much easier for the lady when she is accustomed to it; she will not be troubled any more with horses with sore backs. another remark from "x. y. z." is, it is said that curvature of the spine sometimes ensues from children being taught at too early an age to ride on side-saddles. i fear the mistake is by the said children not having been taught how to sit or to put themselves in form for their own comfort, but left to sit as they like on horseback and get bad habits they cannot get rid of, never throwing the weight of the body in its proper place. then, as to the remark about the riding-habit on the pommels, that disadvantage either has, or ought to have, passed away a long time ago; for i am well satisfied that a lady can so dress herself for the hunting-field in boots, bedfords, and plenty of flannel that she can keep herself warm and comfortable without a great, strong, heavy, long riding-habit. let the habit be short and very light, and by no means bound round the bottom part with anything strong, but left so that it will give way either in a fall or in leaping through a high fence. i wonder if mr. lovell had his knife in his pocket when he saw his daughter suspended by the habit, which would neither tear nor be removed; had it been of light, thin material, and short, the sad accident would not have occurred. i am satisfied a little care and proper attention will put all things right of which your correspondent complains. i am, &c. o. p. december, . * * * * * sir,--in your issue of the th december, "farmer" writes that his horses are fed upon oats which have been soaked in cold water, and that he has the corn thus prepared because he could not easily manage to have a steaming apparatus for cooking the food in the way that is recommended by mr. edward mayhew m.r.c.v.s., in his _illustrated horse management_. the plan that i have adopted during the last two months has been to have the oats put in a pail (made of oakwood) in the evening, and to pour upon them from a kettle a sufficient quantity of boiling water to rise a little above the oats; a sack is placed over it to keep in the heat, and the oats are then left to soak during the night; on the following morning the husk is so much softened that it will yield to the pressure of the thumb and finger. in this state the oats are more easily digested by the horse, and it is better for his teeth than to have to bite a hard substance. a wooden pail is preferable to a zinc one, because it does not conduct the heat from the oats so much as one of the latter description does. a lid would be, perhaps, better than a sack. the pail should not be filled with the oats, because the latter will swell when soaked. in the stall in our stable there is no water-trough at the side of the manger, and in order that the horse may have water within reach during the day and night, a zinc pail is placed in and at the end of the manger, and the handle of it is secured by a chain to the iron bars forming the upper part of the partition between the two stalls. in the loose-box, a pail containing water is suspended by a chain to some iron bars placed inside the window. i am, &c. x. y. z. london, december, . * * * * * sir,--i cannot but feel flattered that mrs. o'donoghue has so frankly and kindly invited me to "break a lance" with her. i do, with both my hands and with all my heart, reciprocate her "warm shake-hands," and, vizor down and spear in rest, ride full tilt at her in fair and open fight to do my poor _devoirs_, if you will allow me once again to enter the lists in your paper. if mrs. o'donoghue will read her paper in your number for november th she will find these words: "my companion was in ease while i was in torture." why was this? "because he had a leg on either side of his mount, his weight equally distributed, and an equal support upon both sides; in fact, he had, as all male riders have, the advantage of a double support in the rise; consequently, at the moment when his weight was removed from the saddle, it was thrown upon both sides, and this equal distribution enabled him to accomplish without fatigue that slow rise and fall which is so tiring to a lady whose weight, when she is out of the saddle, is thrown entirely upon one delicate limb, thus inducing her to fall again as soon as possible." again, in the very next paragraph, mrs. o'donoghue says, "a man will be able to stand in his stirrups for a considerable time, even to ride at a gallop, so doing because he transfers his weight equally to his feet; but how rarely do we see a lady balanced upon one leg! the sensation is not agreeable, and would, moreover, be unpleasantly productive of wrung backs." these are verbatim extracts from "part three continued." i think my preference for a leg on each side of my horse, and a distribution of my weight equally on to each foot, is most eloquently and forcibly justified by mrs. o'donoghue when she wrote the above. i did not suggest, or at any rate did not mean to suggest, that she advocated a cross-seat for ladies, but that she unmistakably pointed out the great advantages of such a seat her own words abundantly testify. again, some of the healthiest children i have ever seen are poor little gipsy girls, who, from being able to mount a donkey, have always ridden astride when once past the pannier period of their nomadic life. also, some of the short, stout peasant women of normandy ride thus, as well as the indian squaws, and certainly these will compare favourably as to robust health with their side-saddle sisters of civilisation; to say nothing of the south american ladies. we have also the testimony of many lady travellers as to the superiority of a cross-seat when horseback is the only mode of transit. i cannot admit that in any case, even for "short women" or "little girls," it would be "most objectionable," that is, from a hygienic point of view. on the score of modesty, _de gustibus_, &c. &c. but then i allow a great latitude on such a point (our highest order carries the truest motto, _honi soit qui mal y pense_). in fact, i do not regard it as a question of modesty at all; simply of convenience, efficiency, and comfort. mrs. o'donoghue also says how rare it is to meet with a perfect lady's horse. "in all my wide experience i have met but two." why? because a lady (and mainly on account of her side-seat, as i believe) is heavily handicapped as compared with a man in her choice of a horse, or, i should say, in her requirements from her horse. every remark in the whole of the papers, "ladies on horseback," as to kindness, temper, and gentleness in the treatment of a horse i most cordially endorse, and i have to thank the fair authoress for the pleasure i have had in their perusal. a word or two in answer to "the ladybird." in reply to her opening remarks, i merely observe, "use is second nature," and had she happened to have lived before "anne of bohemia" introduced side-saddles she would have had no room for "indignation"; possibly in that case she would have always ridden pillion. oh! if we could only once realise how much we are the slaves of fashion, how soon would the yoke be broken! contrast the crinoline of and the umbrella-case attire of ; put a fashionable belle of the latter alongside her sister of only twenty years earlier mode. what a satire on taste, on modesty so called! but i would also ask "ladybird" (if it be worth her while) to read again my letter of the th, and she will find i did not complain of the side-saddle, which i have an idea i _can_ use, but pointed out its great inferiority (which i maintain) to the cross-saddle. the best test perhaps is the foreign one. mount a horse without a saddle, but properly bitted, and then decide which is the more natural and easier seat; in one case you feel an appendage; in the other almost part of the horse. in the name of womanhood i repudiate the suggestion of an "underhand way of punishment," being "a real feminine species of torture." perhaps it is, under the skirts of a habit, possible to "dig, dig, dig," for no one sees, truly; but surely no lady could, or would, spur her horse for the sake of tormenting him; in my attire at any rate it would not be unseen. the extraordinary teaching that a "horse can do no wrong" is an axiom with which i cannot agree. i have been mounted on horses that "could do no right," or if they could do it would not. and it has taken me all my time and taxed all my energies to prevent them from doing the things which they ought not to do; for i do object to a horse attempting to erect himself in a perpendicular attitude, either from a fore or aft basis, when i am on his back, and i rejoice to know that i have (in such cases) on each foot a sharp spur to use with him as a cogent argument in convincing him that ordinary progression on four legs is infinitely better than saltimbantique performance on two--at least from my, his rider's, point of view. on a well-bred, highly-trained animal a spur is scarce ever required to be used, but even then the emergency may arise. i really laughed outright when i read what you, sir, said of the "shoals of letters" arriving from fair correspondents "desiring to ride" as "hersilie" suggested, but this only convinces me that there are many ladies who feel that it would be--just exactly as i described it--"a new life on horseback." i could add much more on the subject, but have already trespassed too long on your space. i only repeat, let any lady once fairly try it, and she will always prefer it. i do not for a moment imagine she will always do it. i admit we must conform to custom, and i strongly deprecate individual eccentricity, especially in a lady. i shall continue to read all that appears in your paper on this and kindred topics with deep interest. again, i specially thank mrs. power o'donoghue for her genial and kindly expression of goodwill, and again heartily shake the shadowy hand she offers. i quite believe a no. gloved hand can control a horse as well as any , ½, or , if it only be possessed of the cunning. and thanking you, sir, for your kindness, allow me as a woman to have the last word, and again assert, "the cross seat is much the better." yours, &c. hersilie. ambleside (_pro tem._), dec. . * * * * * sir,--kindly permit me to say a few words in reply to "hersilie's" letter, which appeared in your issue of last week. i am referred to my own paper in your number for november , but "hersilie" does not quote correctly, or perhaps the error is the printer's. i think i said "my companion was _at_ ease, whilst i was in torture." now, i merely related the incident with which these words were associated in order to instruct ladies how to avoid the double rise--not to advocate for a single instant their riding upon a cross-saddle. i am quite ready to reiterate my statement that the position of a man enables him to ride a rough or clumsy trotter with infinitely greater ease than can a woman; but women should not, in my opinion, ride such _at all_, nor should i have done so, as related in your paper of november , were it not that my host, an immensely heavy man, had none but big rough horses in his stable, and i was obliged either to accept a mount upon one of them, for at least _once_, or give offence to a dear kind friend, which i would not do to avoid even a greater amount of inconvenience than i experienced upon the occasion in question. the cross-seat is not the only thing which ladies may envy the sterner sex, without at the same time advocating the propriety of encroaching upon their privileges. for my own part i never yet set out to walk on a wet or muddy day without sincerely envying every man who passed me, his big boots, tucked-up trousers, and freedom from the petticoats and furbelows which encumber us and make us feel miserable in the rain; yet i certainly never felt the _smallest_ desire to adopt his costume. nor have i ever seen two persons, or two big dogs, engaged in fighting, that i did not envy the man who rushed between the combatants and stopped the unseemly exhibition; yet i decidedly experienced no wish to do it myself. it would not be my place. men have their costume, their avocations, their sayings and doings, their varied callings in the world, and women have theirs. each should be separate and distinct from the other. a manly woman, or a womanly man, is, in the eyes of all rightly-judging persons, a most objectionable creature. there are many things which a woman may legitimately admire, and, in a certain sense, _envy_, yet with which she should never desire to meddle, unless she is ambitious to merge her womanhood in the semblance of man. the cross-saddle is one of these. it may do very well in the wilds of a country whose inhabitants are from childhood accustomed to it, and where all ride alike, but not in civilised england. as well seek to advocate the dress (or undress) of the indian squaws, as to endeavour to introduce their style of riding into a land whose daughters are as modest as they are fair. "hersilie" says:--"i do not regard it as a question of modesty at all, simply of convenience, efficiency, and comfort." the subject is one upon which a woman can touch but very lightly, yet may i affirm that if all women were to lay aside their chief charm, and simply go in for "convenience, efficiency, and comfort," society would present fewer attractions than it at present does? i shall leave "the ladybird" to answer for herself, but i cannot help saying that i think "hersilie" is _hard_ upon her. she and i have met but once, yet i know that she is gentle and highborn, and worthy of nothing but the love of which her own christian heart is composed. you, sir, must also fight your own little battle, and tell "hersilie" she is not to "laugh outright" at any of your "circular notes." she may laugh, of course, at small fry like myself, but i really _can't_ have my editor laughed at! nor my sweet "ladybird" crushed! and now, having said so much, i once again offer a shadowy hand to my adversary, and hope that though at present we see one another but darkly, we may yet do so "face to face," and meet as friends. a word, with your permission, to correspondents:-- evelyn harkess.--i have discovered your parcel. i thought you were sending it addressed to _me_. you shall have the contents in a few days. flink.--there is never one worth buying, although unwise persons bid fast and high. try a private source, and beware of imposition. r. king.--the horse is sold. h. dunbar, shamus o'brien, w. hatfield, and rose marie.--your questions are of too personal a nature. if time permits i will answer privately. ignoramus.--dose him with aloes until he is dead sick; then put a saddle on him, with a sand-bag at either side, and ring him for an hour. i warrant he will allow a man upon his back after this, nor will he seek to dislodge him either. it is much better and more humane than the whipping and spurring which is so grievous to a sensitive looker-on. hugh.--apply to mr. chapman, oaklands, cheltenham. i. stark.--how shall i thank you? but i know not when i can ride again. your recipe, if effectual, would be indeed invaluable. i shall look for a purchaser for your cob. may-blossom.--the nicest modern saddles have no stitching about them. call at , jermyn street. nimrod ii.--i have nothing that would suit you, nor do i ever sell my horses, unless under exceptional circumstances. i am, of course, flattered that so many are desirous of possessing what i have ridden, but my stable is _extremely_ limited. see my reply to hugh. hannah powell.--i shall answer by letter. synnorix.--i said in a former letter that there was no cure for ringbone; i have since heard of one which i consider invaluable, and the lady who possesses it would sell it for a trifling sum. apply to mrs. slark, rose cottage, bletchley. i hope ursa major will see this reply to synnorix, and will profit by my advice, which is to apply at once for the cure. k. c., redcar.--i am pleased you found my system effectual, but are you sure you did not carry it out too rigorously? few would have such courage. jockey.--an authority says fairyhouse, and i dare say he is right, although there is a double at punchestown--a big one--at which many a good man and true has come to signal grief. i saw a fine young racer killed there last year. to edith, paul pry, jane burkitt, constance haye, and mousquetaire, many thanks. if you write to the editor he may perhaps give you information as to the possibility of what you ask. yours obediently, nannie power o'donoghue. * * * * * sir,--as i learned from a recent letter from that most amiable and talented lady, mrs. power o'donoghue, that her teacher has been the fine old sportsman, allen mcdonogh, i need wonder no longer at her having become the very brilliant horsewoman which undoubtedly she is. a finer or more graceful horseman than her teacher was, has never lived. since growing years and increasing weight prevented him from riding his own horses he has brought out very many crack gentlemen riders within the past twenty years, some of them quite shining lights. amongst some may be enumerated his great friend, captain tempest, th hussars; captain prichard rayner, th dragoon guards; mr. laurence, th hussars; captain, now major, hutton, st royal dragoons; captain brown, of the royal horse artillery, who unfortunately was killed a few years since crossing the railway returning from a steeplechase meeting held near london; captain ricardo, th hussars; lieutenant-colonel mccalmont, th hussars; captain soames, th hussars; and the ever-to-be-regretted captain the hon. greville nugent; and last, but by no means least, mr. thomas beasley, besides many others, all these gentlemen, excepting mr. laurence, having their first winning mount on mr. mcdonogh's horses. as professionals, he brought out paddy gavin and george gray, the former of whom, when scarcely more than a child, and weighing but st. lb., rode and won the prince of wales' steeplechase, at punchestown, on blush rose. i think i may be permitted to mention two of mr. mcdonogh's daring feats. when riding sailor in a steeplechase, over an awfully severe country, close to the town of bandon, co. cork (where started, amongst nine others, the celebrated horses monarch and valentine, the latter running second, two years later, for the liverpool grand national, and the former sold soon afterwards to the great marquis of waterford for a large sum, showing that the company at bandon was by no means a contemptible lot), in this race, the distance of which was - / miles, sailor fell four times, each time unseating his rider; yet so active was his pilot in those days that he was as quickly in the saddle as out of it. at his fourth and last fall, the horse chested the bank, flung his rider some distance from him, and having a tight hold of the bridle reins, the throat-lash gave way, and the bridle came off the horse's head. as sailor was getting on his legs, mr. mcdonogh jumped into the saddle, and setting his horse going was soon in pursuit of the leaders. there were in the - / miles that had yet to be travelled nearly ten awkward double-posted fences. the third last impediment was a narrow lane--called in irish a "boreen"--with an intricate bank into and out of it. the riders of valentine and monarch had bridles; consequently they could steady their horses and jump in and out "clever." not so mr. mcdonogh, who had nothing to guide his horse but his whip. steering the animal, however, for the "boreen" he put him at his best pace, and without ever laying an iron on it, he went from field to field and landed alongside the leaders. the riders of the other horses, seeing he had no power to guide his mount, endeavoured to put him outside a post that had to be gone round to make the turn into the straight line for home; but the young jockey, stretching his arms almost round his horse's nose, by some means got him straight, and, making the remainder of the running, won easily. valentine's rider at the scales objected to sailor for not having carried a bridle, but mr. mcdonogh was able to draw the weight, and was declared the winner amidst the wildest enthusiasm. the other extraordinary performance occurred one day on his pet mount, the celebrated brunette, at cashel. when riding mountain hare the previous day over the same course he was crossed by an old woman at an ugly up bank. the horse struck the woman in the chest and very nearly put an end to his rider also, who, in the fall, got his collar-bone and six ribs broken. the late dr. russell, of cashel, was quickly by his side, and telling the marquis of waterford of the serious injuries mr. mcdonogh had received, that most noble-hearted man instantly sent for his carriage, which, with two post-horses, speedily took the invalid to the hotel in cashel. the collarbone being set and ribs bandaged, he passed a miserable night. brunette was in a race the next day, and as he would allow no man to sit on her back, he got out of his bed, mounted the mare, and, bandaged as he was and in great pain, won the race. lord waterford's regalia was second, his lordship jestingly remarking that if he had known brunette's master would have ridden her he would have left him lying at the bank, in conclusion, mr. editor, permit me to say that we irish are charmed with mrs. o'donoghue's writings, as also with your most interesting and beautifully got-up paper. yours, &c. maurice lawlor. battlemount, ballytore, co. kildare. * * * * * sir,--notwithstanding the enterprise of the large number of ladies who, you say, desire to ride after the fashion of the mexican senoras, i venture to hope that the present custom of riding in a side-saddle will not be departed from by ladies, except in case of necessity; and i point out that in india, south africa, and all the australian colonies the side-saddle is always used, though there can be no doubt that if there was any real advantage in the mexican style it would be readily adopted in new countries. many persons appear to be quite unaware of what the lady's seat in the side-saddle should be. i describe it thus: let a man seat himself properly in his saddle, shorten the left stirrup two or three holes, and then, without moving his body or his left leg, put his right leg over the horse's wither; the man will then be seated on his horse precisely as a lady should be seated in her side-saddle. a lady's seat in a side-saddle, of the size suited to her, is extremely firm; any one who has not tried a side-saddle with the third crutch has no idea of the firm seat that a lady has. i was quite astonished when i tried it, and i believe that, after practising for a day or two to get the balance, i could ride any horse in a side-saddle that i could ride at all; whilst the exploits of ladies show clearly that a change of style is not required for the purpose of obtaining a more secure seat. one of the greatest difficulties that ladies have to contend with in this country in learning to ride is that they often get such poor instructors. many of those who call themselves riding masters are little better than grooms, and the people who offer to turn out accomplished horsewomen in twelve easy lessons for £ s. must know that, except in a few cases of natural special aptitude, they cannot do much more than teach a lady how to avoid tumbling too quickly out of the saddle. on the other hand, a lady who has been through a full course of instruction from a good master, has little to learn except those matters of detail which experience alone can teach; but far better than any professional instruction is that constant and careful supervision from a good horseman, such as mrs. power o'donoghue and "the ladybird" mentioned in a late issue, one who will not be afraid of being called a "bother" when he points out and corrects every fault, however small. i consider, sir, that you have given good advice to ladies when you say, "i think a lady should wear a spur," though she may not often find it necessary to use it. in your last issue two experienced ladies give their opinions on this subject; one disapproves of the spur, the other says she always wears one. everyone will agree with "the ladybird" that when it is "dig, dig, dig" all the time, such use of a spur is improper; for though a sharp stroke is required sometimes--for instance, mrs. power o'donoghue, when describing her flight into the farmyard, says: "i dug him with my spur"--the proper way to apply a spur is, in general, as described by mrs. power o'donoghue in your last issue, by pressure. the term "box spur" is usually applied to spurs that fit into spring boxes or sockets in the heels of the boots; a spur with a spring sheath over the point is usually called a "sheath spur"; for hunting, anything that will act as a goad will answer the desired purpose, but for park or road riding the spur should be one with which a very slight touch or a sharp stroke can be given, as may be required. i know that the spur with a five-pointed rowel is preferred by ladies who have tried it to any other; but, whatever spur is selected, a lady should take care that the points are long enough to be effective when the habit intervenes. i think, sir, with you, that a lady should always wear a spur; and i notice in this correspondence, the ladies who denounce the use of a spur almost invariably say that they have never tried one; whilst ladies who have once experienced the advantage and convenience of it, never willingly mount a horse without one. there is not any real mystery about ladies' riding or ladies' horses; almost any horse that will carry a man will carry a woman, and the latter, when on horseback, ought to be provided, as nearly as possible, with the same aids and appliances as are required by the former. it is not every lady who can indulge in the luxury of a three-hundred-guinea saddle-horse, and the treatment that may answer with such a horse is not necessarily suited to an ordinary hack; yet some of the handsomest and most highly-trained ladies' horses in the row are ridden with a spur, and it is only proper that they should be; they have been trained by the professional lady riders with a spur, and they are accustomed to receive from a slight touch of the spur the indications of the rider's wish; whilst as to the common livery-stable hacks, it is often painful to ride them until they feel that you are provided with spurs, when their whole nature appears to change, and you can enjoy a tolerably pleasant ride. "the ladybird" says she was taught "that a horse can do no wrong." as a matter of theory the idea is a very pretty one, but i can only say, as a simple matter of fact, that i have often known a horse exhibit a very large amount of what the late mr. artemus ward called "cussedness"; and i know of nothing that, when a horse is in that frame of mind, will bring him to his senses so quickly, so effectually, and with so much convenience to the rider, as a sharp spur. in far-off lands, i was once nearly two hours doing a distance of some seven miles on a new purchase. i was then without spurs; but the next day, when i was provided with them, the same animal did the same distance easily and pleasantly in about forty minutes. i very much dislike to see a lady use a whip to her horse: and, as i have always proved spurs to be a great convenience, i recommend a lady to wear one, and to use it _when necessary_ in preference to the whip. i am, &c. southern cross. december, . * * * * * sir,--since i have come to london i have been asked so many questions respecting the reason why ladies so often "pull their horses," that i feel i may accomplish some good by answering, or may at least assist in doing away with a very crying evil. my opinion is that there is usually but one reason, viz. because the horses pull them; but for a woman to pull against a pulling horse only increases the evil. it is a fallacy, and can never accomplish the desired end. a determined puller cannot, under any circumstances, be suitable to a lady, and should never be ridden by one, unless she be a sufficiently good rider and have sufficiently good hands to make the horse's mouth, which is not the case with one woman in five hundred, or, i might almost say, one man either. horses that pull have been almost invariably spoilt in the training. occasionally a fine-mouthed animal will be ruined by an ignorant or cruel rider, but i must say, in justice to my sex, that they are seldom guilty of doing it. the fault lies amongst men. many women are ignorant riders; but, thank god! the blot of cruelty rarely defaces their name. women are naturally gentle, kindly, and--_cowardly_; three things calculated not to injure a horse, except it be the latter, which enables him to discover that he can be master if he please. doubtless there are cruel women, also, who cut and lash, and tug and spur, and treat heaven's noble gifts as though they were mere machinery, and not flesh and blood like ourselves; but how often shall i say, in answer to the numerous cases cited to me, that in writing upon this or any other subject i speak of the rule, not of the isolated exceptions. when a man begins to break a horse he regularly prepares for combat. he sets himself to work with a resolute determination to fight and be fought, as though he had a strong rebellious spirit to deal with and conquer, instead of a loving, kindly, timid nature, which needs nought save gentleness to make it amenable to even the rudest hand. the man begins by pulling; the horse, on the schoolboy "tit for tat" principle, pulls against him in return; is sold before his education (bad as it has been) is half completed; is ridden out to exercise by grooms with heavy iron hands; is handed over to the riding-school and to carry young ladies when every bit of spirit has been knocked out of him, except the determined one of pulling--pulls resolutely against the feeble hands striving to control him; is pulled and strained at in return, and becomes in time a confirmed and unmanageable brute. i wish i could persuade ladies _not_ to pull their horses. in a former number i endeavoured to tell them the proper method of managing or dealing with a pulling animal: neither to drop their hands to him, nor to pull one ounce against him. he will be certain after a few strides to yield a bit, when the hands--hitherto firm, should immediately yield to him, thus establishing a sort of give and take principle, which will soon be perfectly understood by the intelligent creature under control. we do not half appreciate our horses. every touch of our fingers, every word we utter, every glance from our eye is noted by the horse, and is valued or resented as it deserves. so many animals are made unruly by the undue use of a severe curb that i strongly advise a trial of the snaffle only, holding the curb-rein loosely over the little finger, so that it may be in an instant taken up in case it prove necessary, which, in my opinion, it rarely will. to illustrate my meaning, on monday last i rode a mare for a lady, who was very desirous of ascertaining whether the animal was capable of carrying a lady with safety. the groom, who was to accompany me, was evidently extremely nervous. he told me, as we started, that the mare had never done any saddle work, except with a very wild young gentleman-rider, who had bitted her severely, and yet found her difficult to manage; and he implored me earnestly to keep a good hold of the curb. i found that she hung desperately upon her bridle, kept her head between her knees with a strong, determined, heavy pull upon the bit, and rough, jerky action, which was most unpleasant. when i got her into the row she nearly pulled my arms out in her canter--the tug she had upon the bridle was quite terrific; and, evidently prepared for the accustomed fight, she put back her ears and shook her wicked head angrily. i rode her from palace gate to hyde park corner in the same manner as i have sought to impress upon my lady readers--namely, not pulling one atom against her, but keeping my hands low and firm, and yielding slightly to her in her stride. by the time we had turned at the corner she had quite given up fighting. i then dropped the curb, and rode her entirely upon the snaffle. the effect was magical. she lifted her head, ceased pulling altogether, and went along in a pleasant joyous canter, going well up to her bridle, but not attempting any liberties whatever, in an hour's time, as you, sir, who were riding with me will bear testimony, i was holding her with _one hand_, stooping forward, and making much of her with the other, an attention which she evidently regarded as a pleasing novelty, and highly appreciated. finding her slightly untractable during the ride homeward i once more lightly took up the curb. it maddened her in a moment. she turned round and round, ran me against a cart, and behaved so excitedly that it required my best skill, confidence, and temper to restore her equanimity and steer her safely (using the snaffle only) to her destination. on dismounting i observed to the groom that considering the amount of exercise and excitement through which she had passed, it was wonderful she had not sweated. his answer was that she was always fed upon cooked food, and that the chief sustenance of the horse which he himself was riding--a remarkably fine three-year-old--was boiled barley. i have never, myself, tried this feeding, but if looks and condition may be regarded as recommendation, it must be most excellent. i am, sir, yours obediently, nannie power o'donoghue. * * * * * sir,--i have been very greatly interested by the remarks on saddles, spurs, &c., made by your lady correspondents. my husband is a large ranchero, or cattle-farmer, on the rio grande, between mexico and texas, and naturally i have had much experience of hard as well as long-distance riding. having been accustomed to hunting when i was a girl, i came out here with an exaggerated idea of my skill in horsemanship. my first ride in mexico was one of three hundred miles, which we did in seven days; i rode on an english hunting-saddle almost, if not quite, as "straight as a board." after the second day i found it as uncomfortable a seat as could be desired, and was glad to change it for the peon's ordinary mexican saddle, which i found perfectly easy and comparatively comfortable to my english one. this last i have found exceedingly fatiguing and ill-adapted to a long journey, although very good for a few hours' ride after wild cattle, which is a certain approach to hunting, although the jumping is not stiff. lately i had another saddle sent out from england, which was a little deeper, and i find it much more useful for long distances. as ladies are not in the habit of riding steeplechases, i would venture to suggest that, for hard riding, such as hunting, the saddle might rather be heavier than lighter, as i am sure that this must give more relief to the horse's back. in fact, i believe that the sore backs so often produced by ladies' saddles are more frequently caused by the saddle being too light than too heavy. i quite agree with some of your correspondents that the padded stirrup is most dangerous, as it is not easy to get the foot out quickly if anything should happen. the principle, as stated by the mexicans, of striking a horse between the ears is not to bring him down by _fright_, but to bring him down by _force_, so as to "stun" him. now, do you think that any of your fair correspondents could accomplish this with a light park or hunting-whip? i may be very bold to offer any suggestions, but the lady's sidesaddle of the nineteenth century is very far from being pleasant. why should not ladies in this age of progression begin to ride on saddles shaped like a man's, with the same seat a man uses? it would be much more comfortable, as even a stout lady could not look much more ungraceful than she does now, besides materially lessening the danger. i send you a sketch of a mexican saddle. i am, &c. campesina. san antonio de bexar, texas, u.s.a. p.s.--i would not like you to imagine that i intend to slight such an admirable authority as mrs. power o'donoghue, but i should be much obliged to any of your correspondents for the design of an improved saddle, suitable alike for riding a young nervous horse and for journey purposes. i have a design for such a saddle, but i do not know how far it may be practicable. i think if ladies would give their ideas upon this subject through the medium of your columns, some real improvement might be arrived at. c. * * * * * sir,--in your issue of the th november my letter appeared, recommending that the use of side-saddles should be discontinued. your correspondent, "jack spur," mentions, in a letter published on the th november, that in some works concerning the sandwich islands, in the northern pacific ocean, and the rocky mountains, north america, the authoress, miss isabella l. bird, states that she was accustomed, while there, to ride on horseback astride. a few extracts from her above-mentioned writings will probably interest your readers. when in hawaii, or owyhee, one of the sandwich islands, the authoress referred to accompanied some friends on horseback to the anuenue falls on the wailuku river (a river which forms a boundary between two great volcanoes), and on that occasion used a side-saddle, but was afterwards advised by one of the party to follow the native fashion of riding astride. having acted upon this advice, she was well satisfied with the result of the trial, and continued to adopt that style while in the sandwich islands, and also in the rocky mountains, where she remained nearly four months. the following extract from a letter written by her about the th of january, from hilo, hawaii, and published in _the hawaiian archipelago: six months in the sandwich islands_, , page , gives further particulars of her visit to the anuenue falls, above referred to:-- "everything was new and interesting, but the ride was spoiled by my insecure seat in my saddle, and the increased pain in my spine which riding produced. once, in crossing a stream, the horses had to make a sort of downward jump from a rock, and i slipped round my horse's neck; indeed, on the way back i felt that on the ground of health i must give up the volcano, as i would never consent to be carried to it, like lady franklin, in a litter. when we returned, mr. severance suggested that it would be much better for me to follow the hawaiian fashion, and ride astride, and put his saddle on the horse. it was only my strong desire to see the volcano which made me consent to a mode of riding against which i have so strong a prejudice; but the result of the experiment is that i shall visit kilanea thus or not at all. the native women all ride astride on ordinary occasions in the full sacks, or holukus, and on gala days in the pan, the gay winged dress which i described in writing from honolulu. a great many of the foreign ladies in hawaii have adopted the mexican saddle also" (this means that they ride astride) "for greater security to themselves and ease to their horses on the steep and perilous bridle-tracks, but they wear full turkish trousers, and jauntily-made dresses reaching to the ankles." after leaving the sandwich islands she went to the rocky mountains, and in a letter dated the rd of october, and published in _a lady's life in the rocky mountains_, , she writes from the colorado district, north america:-- "i rode sidewise till i was well through the town, long enough to produce a severe pain in my spine, which was not relieved for some time even after i had changed my position. it was a lovely indian summer day, so warm that the snow on the ground looked an incongruity." from the fact that many ladies, when in the sandwich islands, ride astride, and that miss bird found this position preferable in many respects to that which a side-saddle obliges the rider to take, i infer that ladies in england would be pleased if a change in the mode of riding were introduced. proprietors of circuses will perhaps permit me to offer for their consideration that by allowing this mode of riding to form a part of some of the circus performances, they might do a great deal towards causing it to be recognised by the public as the correct style, and that one great obstacle in the way of its being generally adopted by horsewomen would then be removed. i wish also to suggest that it should be taught at several riding-schools, so that a large number of pupils may commence at the same time. i am, sir, your obedient servant, x. y. z. * * * * * sir,--the letters of your correspondent, mrs. power o'donoghue, are very instructive and trustworthy, because founded upon practical experience. in her letter of last week she recommends the feeding of hunters upon _cooked food_. this to many sportsmen will be a new theory; not so to me, and i wish to confirm her views, but i carry them out in a more economical way. my establishment is but a small one. i cannot afford space or attendance for a cooking-house, but i believe i arrive at the same results as she does, by steeping my oats in cold water for a given number of hours, and adding a pound of indian meal, with a handful of chopped hay and oaten straw to each feed three times a day. my horses have a constant supply of water in a manger in a convenient corner of their stables. i believe horses fed upon dry oats and hay suffer much from thirst. i observe my horses take many sups of water through the day, but take much less on the whole than when watered upon the old practice twice daily. practically, i find my horses very healthy, strong, and enduring, and i would freely recommend the adoption of this mode of feeding hunters to my sporting friends. farmer. * * * * * sir,--i am still so inundated with correspondence--many writers asking me precisely the same questions--that i shall regard it as a favour if you will again allow me to answer a few of them through the medium of your paper. conn. dashpur.--you and your horse were immersed in the river, simply because you did not give him sufficient head-room to enable him to take the jump with safety. in coming up to a wide stretch of water you should always leave your mount abundant opportunity to extend his head and neck, nor should you wait to do this until you are just on the brink,--it will then, most likely, be too late to save you and him a wetting. a horse stretches his neck coming up to a water-jump, partly that he may see well what is before him, and partly because his intelligence tells him that he cannot compass it if tightly reined in. leave him his head, and if he is a hunter worth riding he will calculate his distance and bear you safely over. at the same time you must remember to give him sufficient support when he lands, or he may peck, or roll, and give you an ugly fall. a horse is much more liable to come down over a water-jump than at a fence, for the swinging pace at which you must necessarily send him at it--combined with the _absolute_ necessity for leaving him complete freedom of his head--forbids that "steadying" process, which, at the hands of an accomplished rider, usually ensures safety over wall or ditch. questions similar to yours have been asked me by h. cadlicott, maurice hone, and guy. in answering one, therefore, i reply to each. ellice greenway.--your ms. never reached me; you must have misdirected it,--but in any case i could not have been of service to you, as i have no time for revising other people's work, nor would my recommendation carry any weight. publishers judge for themselves. your papers must go in on their merits, and be accepted or rejected accordingly. i quite agree with you that declined mss. should--when accompanied by a stamped and addressed envelope--be returned to the sender with the least possible delay. no matter how great or hurried may be the business of an office, there is in reality no excuse for inattention to this rule. the very best and busiest of the weekly journals comply with it, and persons who do not want to be treated with snobbish indifference had better not write for any other. perhaps if you call, or send a line privately to the editor, you may succeed in getting back your work; but do not be expectant. king lear.--the horse you name attained his victory in . he carried st. lbs. g. hunt.--beauparc; but he did not win. p. ryall.--at thirsk. he fell at the second obstacle, and although speedily remounted, his chance was extinguished. pinnace ran well, and was in great form. his defeat was a surprise, but your informant has not given you reliable details. james.--read _silk and scarlet_, one of the "druid" series. thanks for too flattering opinion. fordham.--the course is a most trying one, and the feat was one never before attempted by a lady. i did it to show that my horse was capable of accomplishing the task, and the risk was not what you describe it, for he was too clever to put a foot astray. major stone of the th accompanied me, and gave me a good lead. the only time i passed him was when his horse refused at an ugly post and rail. it is not true that he was thrown. he rode splendidly, managing a difficult horse. there was no "crowd," and in short it is evident that you have received an exaggerated account of the affair. j. dunne.--he won at newcastle in . collins w.--she was, in my opinion, unfairly handicapped, and the verdict was general respecting the matter. douglas.--the horse was not shot for five hours after, and lay quivering all that time. the owner was absent, and four of us galloped in search of him. nobody was to blame. mr. w. b. morris, th hussars, was the rider, and no better ever wore silk. montauban.--i have already detailed at some length my objections to children riding before they have strength and judgment sufficient to enable them to manage a horse. moreover, if a child--say a little girl--gets a severe fall, the shock to her nervous system is most likely to be a lasting one, and in some cases is never got over; whereas grown girls are less liable to fall, if they have any sort of fair teaching, and certainly have stronger nerves and firmer resolution to enable them to bear the casualties attendant upon the practice of the art. curious.--griffin and hawkes, of birmingham, by the burning of whose premises some of my most valued mss. were lost. jessica.--it is quite untrue. her imperial majesty dresses and mounts in ordinary fashion. there is not one word of truth in the widely-circulated statement that her habit is buttoned on after she has mounted, nor is her jacket ever made "tight." it is close-fitting and beautifully adapted to her figure, but sufficiently large to leave her abundant room to move in. the empress despises tight stays, gloves, and boots. her waist is small, but not wasp-like. the absurd announcement that it measured but twelve inches (recently published in one of the weekly journals) is as false as it is foolish. nobody could exist with such a deformity. the empress takes morning exercise upon a trapeze. her hair is dark, shaded to gold-colour, like a wood in autumn. the report that she dyes it is one of the many calumnies of which she is the subject, but which happily cannot harm her. she is _not_ affable; her manner is stately in the extreme, to all except those with whom she desires to converse. she speaks fair but not fluent english. this reply to jessica is also for frank kurtz, amy robsart, and alicia bond. julius.--it was not i who wrote it. i got the credit of it, but did not covet the distinction. george k.--nobody assists me. of course you mean as an amanuensis: otherwise your question would be an offence. i write my thoughts in short-hand, and copy at leisure for the press. my time for writing is when the house is quiet,--generally from p.m. to or in the morning. i have answered you--but against my will, as i much dislike personal questions. were i to reply to such in general, my entire life would be laid bare to the eyes of a disinterested public, in order to gratify a few persons, who have no motive save one of idle curiosity. t. cannon.--_grandfather's hunter_ is sold out. _horses and horsemen_ is to be had, but its price puts it beyond the pale of ordinary purchasers. try bumpus, or mudie. oxonian.--you are wrong,--nor have i asked your opinion. it is easier to criticise than to write. having done the former, pray do the latter, and submit to others' criticism. marcia flood.--two yards round the hem is amply sufficient width. i consider the price you name quite exorbitant. try one of those mentioned by me in my chapter upon riding-gear. thanking you, sir, for your kindness in granting me so much of your valuable space. i am, yours obediently, nannie power o'donoghue. * * * * * sir,--in a recent edition "jack spur" asks if it is usual in any country for ladies to ride _à la_ duchess de berri, _i.e._ as a gentleman, astride. in mexico and the states of the river plate this is the usual mount of the fair ones of the district, and, clad in loose turkish pantalettes tucked into the riding-boots of soft yellow leather, a loose sort of tunic secured by a belt, and wearing the _ladies'_ "sombrero," very charming these fair _équestriennes_ look, and splendid horsewomen they are. talk of ladies, your "fair play" should see the long, sharp, mexican spurs attached to the heels of these fair prairie-rangers, and witness how unsparingly they are used. sometimes i, who am no namby-pamby rider, and have seen my share of rough work, have ventured to remonstrate in a half-jocular manner (as became a stranger and foreigner) when riding along with a mexican lady, who generally keeps her steed at a full gallop by the remorseless application of these instruments of punishment. but the reply was merely a silvery laugh, and "ah, senor, here horses are cheap, and when one is finished we have plenty more for the catching. come along!" my experience of ladies on horseback as a rule is that they are more severe than men; perhaps it is thoughtlessness, but certainly for hard riding and severe spurring i have never seen any to surpass a mexican senora, whose favourite pace is a stretching gallop without cessation, until her steed is perfectly pumped out, and as horseflesh is of no value whatever, and no society for the prevention of cruelty to animals exists, i am afraid i must record a verdict of cruelty against some of the most charming women i ever met. to their fellow mortals all kindness and goodness, but when mounted on their mustang they seem to forget that he can feel either fatigue or pain. certainly the temptation is great. a horse is of no value; you seldom mount the same twice on a journey, and across the beautiful prairies a wild gallop is the pace. but i should be sorry to see an english lady dismount from her steed, leaving him utterly exhausted and pumped out, and his flanks streaming with blood from deep spur-strokes. this i have too often seen in south america. everyone does it, and it is little thought of; but by all means let us cherish a better feeling, and not give any needless pain to that noble animal, the horse. let the ladies avoid the use of sharp spurs; most horses ridden by ladies here are perfectly amenable to the whip and rein, and the use of the spur is somewhat inharmonious with the gentle character of our english women. guacho. st. leonards, . * * * * * "the correspondence upon this subject, called forth by mrs. power o'donoghue's admirable papers 'ladies on horseback,' has been so voluminous, and appears likely to go on for such a lengthened period, that i am reluctantly obliged to bring it to a close, in order to make space for other matter."--ed. _illustrated sporting and dramatic news._ london: printed by w. h. allen & co., , waterloo place, s.w. works published by w. h. allen & co. how to ride and school a horse, with a system of horse gymnastics. by edward l. anderson. crown vo. s. d. * * * * * mayhew (edward) illustrated horse doctor. being an accurate and detailed account, accompanied by more than pictorial representations, characteristic of the various diseases to which the equine race are subjected; together with the latest mode of treatment, and all the requisite prescriptions written in plain english. by edward mayhew, m.r.c.v.s. vo. s. d. contents.--the brain and nervous system.--the eyes.--the mouth.--the nostrils.--the throat.--the chest and its contents.--the stomach, liver, &c.--the abdomen.--the urinary organs.--the skin.--specific diseases.--limbs.--the feet.--injuries.--operations. "the book contains nearly pages of valuable matter, which reflects great credit on its author, and, owing to its practical details, the result of deep scientific research, deserves a place in the library of medical, veterinary, and non-professional readers."--_field._ "the book furnishes at once the bane and the antidote, as the drawings show the horse not only suffering from every kind of disease, but in the different stages of it, while the alphabetical summary at the end gives the cause, symptoms, and treatment of each."--_illustrated london news._ mayhew (edward) illustrated horse management.--containing descriptive remarks upon anatomy, medicine, shoeing, teeth, food, vices, stables; likewise a plain account of the situation, nature, and value of the various points; together with comments on grooms, dealers, breeders, breakers, and trainers; embellished with more than engravings from original designs made expressly for this work. by e. mayhew. a new edition, revised and improved by j. i. lupton, m.r.c.v.s. vo. s. contents.--the body of the horse anatomically considered. physic.--the mode of administering it, and minor operations. shoeing.--its origin, its uses, and its varieties. the teeth.--their natural growth, and the abuses to which they are liable. food.--the fittest time for feeding, and the kind of food which the horse naturally consumes. the evils which are occasioned by modern stables. the faults inseparable from stables. the so-called "incapacitating vices," which are the results of injury or of disease. stables as they should be. grooms.--their prejudices, their injuries, and their duties. points.--their relative importance, and where to look for their development. breeding.--its inconsistencies and its disappointments. breaking and training.--their errors and their results. * * * * * daumas (e.) horses of the sahara, and the manners of the desert. by e. daumas, general of the division commanding at bordeaux, senator, &c. &c. with commentaries by the emir abd-el-kadir (authorized edition). vo. s. "we have rarely read a work giving a more picturesque and, at the same time, practical account of the manners and customs of a people, than this book on the arabs and their horses."--_edinburgh courant._ thurston & co. billiard table manufacturers. lamp makers and gas fitters. _by appointment to her majesty the queen, and her royal highness the princess of wales._ established a.d. . , catherine street, strand, london. _prize medal, sydney, , first award._ s. & h. harris's , mansell street, e., ebonite waterproof blacking for hunting or walking boots. requires no brushing. harness composition (waterproof). saddle paste (waterproof). jet black oil, for harness. black dye, for staining harness, and all kinds of leather. waterproof dubbin, for boots and harness. breeches powder, for cleaning hunting breeches. polishing paste, for cleaning metals and glass. s. & h. harris, , mansell street, e. h. peat & co., , piccadilly, london, w., saddlers & harness makers to their royal highnesses the prince of wales, the duke of edinburgh, _her majesty's cavalry and the crown agents for the colonies._ [the following advertisements have been moved from the beginning of the book.] [illustration: silver medal vienna . paris . philadelphia .] swaine adeney, whip manufacturers, _to the queen, the prince and princess of wales and the royal family_, , piccadilly, london, w. whips of every description for riding, driving, & hunting, &c. whips mounted in gold and silver, for presentation, always on hand. hunting flasks, horns, &c. the new level-seat side saddle, with adjustable third crutch and other improvements, as recommended and used by mrs. power o'donoghue, authoress of "ladies on horseback," &c. &c. this perfect side saddle is moderate in price, light and elegant in appearance, faultless in materials and workmanship, ensures ease, comfort, and security to the rider, and obviates sore backs with horses. made to order and measure by f. v. nicholls & co., hunting & military saddlers, manufacturers of harness, horse clothing, whips, and stable requisites, , jermyn street, haymarket, london. the gentleman's narrow-grip "brough" saddle, any size and weight, from £ , complete. the gentleman rider's racing saddle, £ to £ , complete, very roomy, with buckskin flaps, &c. the improved newmarket & ing guy snaffle bridles, for pulling horses. branch business: , artillery place, woolwich. rowlands' odonto or pearl dentifrice has been celebrated for more than half a century as the best, purest, and most fragrant preparation for the teeth ever made. health depends in a great measure upon the soundness of the teeth, and all dentists will allow that neither washes nor pastes can possibly be as efficacious for polishing the teeth and keeping them sound and white as a pure and non-gritty tooth-powder; such rowlands' odonto has always proved itself to be. great care must be taken to ask for rowlands' odonto, of , hatton garden, london, and to see that each box bears the d. government stamp, without which no odonto is genuine. rowlands' macassar oil is universally in high repute for its unprecedented success during the last years in promoting the growth, restoring, improving, and beautifying the human hair. for children it is especially recommended, as forming the basis of a beautiful head of hair, while its introduction into the nursery of royalty is a sufficient proof of its merits. it is perfectly free from any lead, mineral, or poisonous ingredients. rowlands' kalydor produces a beautiful pure and healthy complexion, eradicates freckles, tan, prickly heat, sunburn, &c., and is most cooling and refreshing to the face, hands, and arms during hot weather. _ask any perfumery dealer for rowlands' articles, of , hatton garden, london, and avoid spurious worthless imitations._ messrs. jay _have the honour to solicit a visit from the beau monde to inspect a variety of elegant silk costumes, mantles, artistic millinery, hats, also novelties in dress, specially selected in paris from the best artistes representing the fashions of the season._ , , , , , & , regent street, w. w. faulkner, ladies' & gentlemen's hunting, shooting, & walking boot maker, , south molton street, bond street, w. _manufacturer of the celebrated edinburgh boot varnish, blacking, and waterproof leather dressing._ military boots. the "bective" boots and shoes to match costumes. improved flexura boots. mountain boots. skating boots. [illustration: a boot] lawn tennis shoes. oxford shoes. slippers to any style. ladies' riding & hunting boots of every description. _the shape of the feet taken and lasts modelled on the most approved, anatomical principles, and kept exclusively for each customer._ w. faulkner begs most respectfully to call the attention of ladies and gentlemen to the boot tree branch. boot trees assist to keep the boots in proper shape, preventing them from wrinkling and shrinking after they have been worn in the wet; they can be cleaned better, and do not require so much blacking, thereby preventing the deleterious effect produced by its frequent application. lasts and boot trees of every description manufactured on the premises. ladies residing in the country can have boots or boot trees sent their exact size by forwarding an old boot by post. _to h.r.h. princess christian._ sykes, josephine, & co. "corsets." , regent street, london, and a, old steyne, brighton. riding corsets of every description made to order. manufactories {rue rambuteau, paris. {great castle street, london. how to ride and school a horse by e. l. anderson. _crown vo. price, s. d._ "it requires the study of only a very few pages of this book to convince the reader that the author thoroughly understands his subject."--_illustrated sporting and dramatic news._ "concise, practical directions for riding and training, by which the pupil may become his own master."--_land and water._ "a useful and carefully-written volume."--_sporting times._ "it is sensible and practical."--_whitehall review._ "we cordially commend this book."--_indian daily news._ "the work is a good riding-master's book, with no superfluous words, and with plain, straightforward directions throughout. the chapter on 'the walk and the trot' seems to us especially practical and good."--_farmer._ "goes straight to the core of the subject, and is throughout replete with sound sense."--_home news._ "cannot fail to be of service to the young equestrian, while it contains many hints that may be advantageously borne in mind by experienced riders."--_scotsman._ "mr. anderson gives good practical advice, and we commend the work to the attention of our readers."--_live stock journal._ london: w. h. allen & co., waterloo place. the illustrated horse doctor being an accurate and detailed account, accompanied by more than pictorial representations, characteristic of the various diseases to which the equine race are subjected; together with the latest mode of treatment, and all the requisite prescriptions written in plain english. by edward mayhew, m.r.c.v.s. _vo._, _s._ _d._ contents.--the brain and nervous system.--the eyes.--the mouth.--the nostrils.--the throat.--the chest and its contents.-- the stomach, liver, &c.--the abdomen.--the urinary organs.--the skin.--specific diseases.--limbs.--the feet.--injuries.--operations. "the book contains nearly pages of valuable matter, which reflects great credit on its author, and, owing to its practical details, the result of deep scientific research, deserves a place in the library of medical, veterinary, and non-professional readers."--_field._ "the book furnishes at once the bane and the antidote, as the drawings show the horse not only suffering from every kind of disease, but in the different stages of it, while the alphabetical summary at the end gives the cause, symptoms and treatment of each."--_illustrated london news._ illustrated horse management. containing descriptive remarks upon anatomy, medicine, shoeing, teeth, food, vices, stables; likewise a plain account of the situation, nature, and value of the various points; together with comments on grooms, dealers, breeders, breakers, and trainers. embellished with more than engravings from original designs made expressly for this work. by e. mayhew. _a new edition, revised and improved_, _vo._, _s._, by j. i. lupton, m.r.c.v.s. contents:--the body of the horse anatomically considered. _physic._ --the mode of administering it, and minor operations. _shoeing._-- its origin, its uses, and its varieties. _the teeth._--their natural growth, and the abuses to which they are liable. _food._--the fittest time for feeding, and the kind of food which the horse naturally consumes. the evils which are occasioned by modern stables. the faults inseparable from stables. the so-called "incapacitating vices," which are the results of injury or of disease. stables as they should be. _grooms._--their prejudices, their injuries, and their duties. _points._--their relative importance, and where to look for their development. _breeding._--its inconsistencies and its disappointments. _breaking and training._--their errors and their results. london: w. h. allen & co., waterloo place. selection from w. h. allen & co.'s catalogue. sketches from nipal. historical and descriptive, with anecdotes of court life and wild sports of the country in the time of maharaja jang bahadur, g.c.b. with illustrations of religious monuments, architecture, and scenery, from the author's own drawings. by the late henry ambrose oldfield, m.d., many years residency surgeon at khatmandu, nipal. vols. vo., _s._ "the work is full of facts, intelligently observed and faithfully recorded."--_saturday review._ "we have nothing but unqualified praise for the manner in which dr. oldfield's manuscript has been edited and published by his relatives. the sketches have just claims to rank very high amongst the standard works on the kingdoms of high asia."--_spectator._ records of sport and military life in western india. by the late lieutenant-colonel g. t. fraser, formerly of the st bombay fusiliers, and more recently attached to the staff of h.m.'s indian army. with an introduction by colonel g. b. malleson, c.s.i. crown vo., _s._ _d._ "the style is free from humbug and affectation, and none of the stories are incredible.... some of the anecdotes about the early life of outram confirm the opinion of that gallant officer held by his contemporaries."--_saturday review._ "records his experience in a very simple and unaffected manner, and he has stirring stories to tell."--_spectator._ thirteen years among the wild beasts of india; their haunts and habits. from personal observation; with an account of the modes of capturing and taming wild elephants. by g. p. sanderson, officer in charge of the government elephant keddahs at mysore. with full-page illustrations and three maps. second edition. fcp. to. £ _s._ latchford & willson, , upper st. martin's lane, london, w.c., by appointment to her majesty, h.r.h. the prince of wales, &c. &c. makers of all kinds of bridle-bits, stirrups, & spurs. all modern fashions, army regulations, &c. the loriner: latchford on bridle-bits and the bitting of horses. illustrated, s. prize medal, paris. _just published, price s. d._, a system of school training for horses. by e. l. anderson, author of "how to ride and school a horse." "he is well worthy of a hearing."--_bell's life._ "there is no reason why the careful reader should not be able, by the help of this little book, to train as well as ride his horse."--_land and water._ "each successive stage of the school system is carefully traced, and anyone accustomed to the management of horses will therefore be able to follow and appreciate the value of mr. anderson's kindly method of training."--_daily chronicle._ london: w. h. allen & co., waterloo place. house! stable! field! w. clark's elastic waterproof polish, for hunting, shooting, and fishing boots; also for ladies' and gentlemen's ordinary walking boots and shoes. w. clark's brown boot-top fluid, for restoring brown top-boots to their original colour; also a cream for polishing, making them equal to new. w. clark's breeches paste, for softening and preserving hunting breeches, gloves, &c. w. clark's boot-top powders, of various colours, white, pink, rose pink, straw, salmon, natural, flesh, cream, drab, melton brown, three colours of brown, all of the newest description. w. clark's liquid shoe blacking, the best in the world for softening, preserving, and superior brilliancy. w. clark's waterproof harness blacking requires neither oil nor dye. w. clark's newly-invented paste, for harness, patent and enamelled leathers. this preparation does not wash off, it renders the leather soft, and produces a polish superior to any of its kind in existence. w. clark's plate powder, for cleansing and restoring plate, brass, and metals of every description. w. clark's saddle paste, for softening, preserving, and beautifying saddles, bridles, and every description of brown leather, &c. w. clark's metropolitan polish. this article is used for ladies' and gentlemen's patent, enamel, bronze glace, morocco, kid boots and shoes, producing a superior polish. w. clark's patent kid reviver, for cleaning black kid boots and shoes, making them equal to new, also for reviving all kinds of black, blue, and dark silks, removes grease spots. w. clark's ne plus ultra raven jet french varnish, for ladies' and gentlemen's evening dress and ordinary walking boots and shoes, producing a most brilliant polish, warranted not to crack or soil the finest cambric. w. clark's brass paste produces a fine polish upon brass, copper, tin, pewter, britannia metal, coach glasses, and windows. w. clark's waterproof pouch paste, for pouches, belts, straps, knapsacks, canteen coverings, boots, leggings &c. w. clark's embrocation for horses and cattle, gives immediate relief in all cases of lameness, sore throat, influenza, and rheumatism. w. clark's patent horse clippers. [illustration: no. .] has been before the public for years, giving the greatest satisfaction, the cheapest and best in the market. [illustration: no. ] a one-handed machine for heads, ears, necks, quarters, stomachs, stifle, and all difficult parts; also extensively used in cutting the human hair in hot climates, where it is required to be cut close. saddlery, harness, horse clothing &c. saddlers by appointment. urch & co., (established ,) , long acre, london, w.c. manufacturers of every description of saddlery, harness, &c. wholesale and retail. _a large assortment always kept in stock._ urch and co.'s patent double spring bar for releasing the stirrup leather when thrown, can be seen at the above establishment "in working order." _by appointment to h.m. the queen of england._ _by appointment to h.m. the queen of denmark._ redfern, ladies' tailors, by special appointments _to h.r.h. the princess of wales and h.i.h. the empress of russia_, , conduit street, bond street, london, w. specialities-- riding habits, _from specially prepared melton cloths, &c._ john redfern and sons would particularly draw the attention of ladies to their improvements in the cut of riding habit skirts, on the proper set of which depends the whole effect of the habit. these improvements, while maintaining a tight, well-fitting appearance, give perfect comfort and safety to the rider. driving coats, _from waterproofed box-cloths, faced cloths, tweeds, &c._ these, together with j. r. and son's improved newmarket coats, will be found most useful for driving to meet and for constant wear. branch businesses at cowes, isle of wight, and , rue de rivoli (place de la concorde), paris. "the most noted firm of ladies' tailors in the world, and, be it said, the most original."--extract from _court journal_. _by appointment to h.m. the queen of england._ _by appointment to h.m. the queen of denmark._ redfern, ladies' tailors, by special appointments to h.r.h. the princess of wales and h.i.h. the empress of russia, , conduit street, bond street, london, w. speciality-- yachting & travelling gowns. *** from original colourings in cloth and serge, &c. _the firm personally superintend every order, and a perfect fit is guaranteed._ n.b.--on the occasion of the visit to england of h.s.h. the princess helena of waldeck, in march , john redfern and sons had the honour of making for her serene highness. on the visit of h.i.m. the empress eugenie, accompanied by the late napoleon iii., j. r. and sons had a similar honour. on the visit of h.i.h. the crown princess of germany, j. r. and sons had the honour of making for her imperial highness and all the princesses. on the visit to the queen of t.r.h. the princesses of hesse darmstadt, j. r. and sons had the honour of making for their royal highnesses. on the visit to her majesty of the daughters of h.r.h. the late princess alice, j. r. and sons had a similar honour. branch businesses at cowes, isle of wight, and , rue de rivoli (place de la concorde), paris. "the most noted firm of ladies' tailors in the world, and, be it said, the most original."--extract from _court journal_. ladies' riding boots. established . n. thierry, established . ladies' and gentlemen's boot & shoe manufacturer, london, { quadrant, regent street, w., {and , gresham street, e.c. manchester, , st. ann's sq.; liverpool, , bold st. _complete illustrated price lists post free._ [illustration: ladies' riding boot, s., all patent or with morocco legs.] no inferior articles kept. all goods warranted and marked in plain figures. the largest stock of best quality goods in england always ready. , pairs to choose from. [illustration: ladies' newmarket riding boot, cloth legs, s.] note.--_to order, s. per pair extra for fitting and keeping special lasts._ ladies' spurs, silver plate, strap, & buckle complete, s, d. _price list of a few leading articles, ladies' department_:-- boots. button or lace s. d. do. do. hessians, from s. d. do. do. cork clumps s. d. do. high glacé louis xv. heels s. s. shoes. oxford tie, morocco s. d. do. do. glacé s. d. do. richelieu, louis xv. heels s. d. patent court heels and bows s. d. glacé kid, embroidered. s. d. a great variety of very fashionable ladies' dress shoes in glace kid or satin (various colours), embroidered jet, gold, steel, or bijou. a large assortment of children's boots and shoes, and every variety of gents' riding, walking, & dress boots & shoes. goods sent on approval on receipt of satisfactory references (a london tradesman preferred), or cheque for the amount. an old boot or shoe should be sent as a guide for size, paper patterns and other measurements being of little use. goods that do not suit will be exchanged or the money returned. five per cent. discount for cash. _please note-- , regent street quadrant, as there is another house of the same surname in the street._ transcriber's note obvious typographical errors have been corrected. a list of corrections is found at the end of the text. inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been maintained. a list of inconsistently spelled and hyphenated words is found at the end of the text. the lady and her horse, being hints selected from various sources and compiled into a system of equitation. by major t. a. jenkins. madras: printed and published by pharoah and co. athenÆum press, mount road. . contents. _page._ introductory address preparatory remarks directions for mounting the seat and balance holding the reins aids and indications guiding animations soothing corrections vices paces of the horse leaping road riding dismounting concluding remarks equitation. introductory address. "what delight to back the flying steed, that challenges the wind for speed! seems native more of air, than earth! whose burden only lends him fire! whose soul is in his task, turns labour into sport and makes your pastime his!" '_love chase._' "the chief point in horsemanship", colonel greenwood observes in his "hints on horsemanship" "is to get your horse to be of your party; and not only to obey, but to obey willingly,"--"good riding as a whole is indeed no trifle, and is worth acquiring by those whose pleasure or business it is to ride, because it is soon, and easily acquired, and when acquired it becomes habitual, and is as easy, nay much more so; and infinitely more safe, than bad riding. good riding is an affair of skill, but bad riding is an affair of courage." yet, in no other art, are there so many self-thought amateurs. many ladies have a decided objection to going through the ordeal of a riding school; others have no opportunity of obtaining instructions, and the generality consider, that they are in possession of all that can be acquired upon the subject, when they have discovered a mode of retaining the seat, and guiding the horse; but to those who wish to sit a horse through all his paces, firmly, yet gracefully, to have the animal entirely under command, and as if imbued with one intelligence, to unite boldness, with modesty, and employ energy, without losing delicacy, these hints are addressed. preparatory remarks. _a lady's riding dress_, should be neat, and compact, at the same time she should carefully avoid the slightest approach to a _mannish_ appearance; she may study the becoming, provided there be nothing in her whole toilette likely to become disarranged or loosened by wind, or violent exercise. the hair should be so arranged that it cannot be blown about the eyes, and the hat should be perfectly secured on the head. so much for outward appearance, in other respects comfort alone should be studied. _the whip_, should be light, and stiff. when too pliable, a lady frequently touches her horse with it unintentionally, thereby teasing and exciting him, and moreover such a whip is useless as an "aid." _the lady's bridle_, should be, what is called a double bitted bridle, consisting of a bit with a curb-chain; and a snaffle, two separate head-stalls, united by one brow-band, each, with a separate rein. the _curb-bit_ is a very powerful implement, the best for all purposes is a light one; in choosing a bit for a horse, the distance between the cheeks, should accord with the width of the horse's mouth; they should be of an average length, and the mouth-piece should be only sufficiently arched, to admit of the horse's tongue passing freely underneath it. the bit should be placed in the horse's mouth, so that the mouth-piece be one inch above the lower tusk, the curb chain should be laid flat, and smooth under the jaw, and so loose, as to allow a finger to pass freely inside of it. the _snaffle_ acts as an auxiliary to the curb-bit, and is placed above it in the horse's mouth, it should bear slightly upon the corners of the mouth, but not so as to wrinkle the cheeks. for a person who has not a light hand, the curb-bit may, with advantage, be placed a little higher in the horse's mouth; and when the mouth may be wanting in delicacy, it may be lowered a little, but it should never touch the tusk, or it will fret the horse. the _reins_ should be soft, flexible, and of a good quality, the rein which is attached to the curb-bit is usually fastened in the centre by a sewing, while that attached to the snaffle may be known, by its having a small buckle in the centre. _throat-strap_ should not be buckled too tightly, but only sufficiently so, to prevent the headstalls of the bridle, from getting out of place. _martingales_, though frequently used, are very seldom necessary if the horse has been educated, and taught to carry his head properly, and to be _obedient to the bit_; but if a horse carries his head high, or be unsteady and fretful, then a light running martingale will be found of service; it must however be attached to the snaffle reins, and never to the curb-bit reins. the _saddle_ should be roomy, but not too large, it should in short, be made to fit the person. the third crutch is indispensable, as it renders the seat so much more secure, and if properly fitted, it never incommodes the rider. the saddle should be placed on the horse's back, so as not in the least to interfere with the action of the horse's shoulder, and care must be taken that the pad, or stuffing, only rests on the horse's ribs, leaving in the centre a thorough channel, over the spine. _the lady's horse_ should be good tempered, free and willing, for a sluggish horse is the most unpleasant of any to a lady; but he must not be restless, nor impatient in company: he should be steady, and safe on the roads, smooth in all his paces; and with these natural qualifications which are essential, he must be properly broken, and taught to go collectedly in all his paces; and particularly to lead off in a canter with the right leg; to arch his neck on the reins being felt, to be obedient, and light in hand; it is further desirable that the horse should possess elegance of figure, power, and action, with speed in all his paces. however, much will depend upon the person, for whom he is intended, as a timid rider would be alarmed by the sprightliness of a free going horse, which might perfectly suit a lady with a light hand, and a steady seat. a young horse is naturally unsteady, the beau ideal of a lady's horse, is an officer's charger, about ten years old, as he still possesses life and spirit, without the freshness of a colt. directions for mounting. the lady holding the falling folds of her habit in both hands, walks up to the horse's head, or side; but never behind him, lest he should kick at her. there should be two persons in attendance, the groom should stand before the horse's head, with a hand on each side of the bridle, close to his mouth, to keep him steady; the gentleman takes the reins in his left hand, separating them with his forefingers, the lady receives them in her right hand, in like manner, and lets them glide gently and evenly through her fingers, until her hand reaches the near crutch, which she takes hold of; and having passed the whip over the saddle, she holds it also in her right hand. standing close to the near side of the saddle, and facing the gentleman who has taken a lock of the mane in his left hand, the lady places her left foot, which he stoops to receive, full in his right hand, lets the habit fall from her left hand, which she places upon his right shoulder, leaning thereon, and assisted by her hold on the crutch, she springs up from her right instep, as uprightly as possible, having been careful not to place her left foot too far forward, but keeping it directly under her, she straightens her left knee and assumes an upright position; the gentleman, when he feels her spring, accelerates the movement, by simultaneously lifting his hand high enough, to place the lady on the saddle, she steadying herself, by the hold she has with her right hand, seats herself, and places her right leg between the two outward pommels, the gentleman places her foot in the stirrup, and she takes the reins in her left hand. to adjust the habit, the lady raises herself by placing her right hand on the off pommel and standing in her stirrup, the gentleman shakes the back part of the skirt into its place, she re-seats herself, and raising her right knee to free the habit, the gentleman assists to adjust the front part of the skirt by gently drawing it forward. the seat and balance. a lady seldom appears to greater advantage than when mounted on a fine horse, that is, if her deportment be graceful; and her position corresponds with his paces and attitudes; but the reverse is the case, if, instead of acting with, and influencing the movements of, the horse, she appears to be tossed to and fro, and overcome by them. she should rise, and descend, advance, and stop with, and not after the animal. from this harmony of motion results ease, elegance, and a good effect. the lady should sit in such a position, that the weight of her body may rest on the centre of the saddle, and so far back, as just to admit of her right leg passing easily round the crutch, for if the knee be too far forward, the seat will be very insecure; the right foot should be flat to the saddle, the toe turned downwards, that it may not be seen through the habit, when a firmer seat is required, the heel should be depressed, as doing so, will tend to brace the muscles of the leg, and give a firmer hold on the crutch. the _left leg_ and knee must be in close contact with the saddle, from the knee the leg should fall in a natural position, the foot should be parallel to the horse's side, and close to it, the heel slightly depressed. the stirrup leather should be adjusted accordingly, as it is only of use, to support the foot in its proper position, too long a stirrup throws the rider on one side, and raises the right hip, too short a stirrup again, forces the knee outwards, and throws the seat too much to the right, giving to the rider a distorted appearance. a small strap fastened to the surcingle about two inches above the stirrup, passing round the stirrup leather, with a play of about three inches, adds greatly to the security of the seat, as it prevents the leg from flying out from the saddle. the _arms_ should hang straight down from the shoulder, nearly close to the sides, but not stiffly, the elbows bent, and the hands level with the elbows, the right arm and hand, when not occupied with the reins, may be allowed to hang straight from the shoulder. the whip should be held with the lash downwards, between the two fingers and thumb. the whip may also be carried in the manner adopted by gentlemen; but care should be taken that its point does not tickle, or irritate the horse. _the proper position of the bridle hand_, is immediately opposite to the centre of the waist, and about three or four inches from it, the wrist should be slightly rounded, the back of the hand to the front, the knuckles opposite to the horse's ears, the thumb uppermost, and pressed over the third joint of the finger. the hand should not be allowed to move across the body, all the movements being made by the wrist. the arm from the shoulder to the waist, must be one continued spring, impulsive to the motion of the horse's head, moving backwards and forwards as he moves, for if it be not so, the horse's mouth will be spoiled by the dead pull upon it. the _body_ must always be in a situation, as well to preserve the balance, as to maintain the seat. the shoulders should be thrown back, so as to open the chest as much as possible. the rider should look in the direction, and lean to the side the horse is turning to, which is in fact the _necessary balance_. holding the reins. there are various ways of holding the reins, depending upon fancy, and circumstances; such as the fineness of a horse's mouth, and the delicacy of the rider's hand. _holding a single rein._--the rein is taken in the centre where the joining is, between the fore-finger and thumb of the right hand, and drawn towards the body, the left hand is placed over the reins, and the little finger is inserted between them; the hand is then closed, and the reins are drawn through the fingers, by the right hand, until a proper feeling is obtained upon the horse's mouth; the loop end of the rein is allowed to drop over the fore-finger, and the thumb is placed upon the rein, to prevent its slipping. _holding a double rein._--the curb rein being held as directed, the loop of the snaffle rein is placed over the curb rein in the palm of the left hand, or, to have a double bearing upon the horse's mouth, the rein may be drawn, till the required tension is obtained, the left rein lying over the curb rein in the palm of the hand, the right snaffle rein, passing between the second and third fingers. in dividing the reins with the little finger, the right rein, which passes over that finger, is always a little longer than the other, and requires to be shortened, if this be not attended to, the horse will be ridden chiefly upon the left rein, his head will be bent to the left, and he will not be looking the way he is going. _holding the curl and snaffle reins separated._--the curb being held as directed in the first described method, the snaffle rein is taken in the same manner, in the right hand, below the left; the principal bearing is brought upon this rein, which keeps the horse's head steady, while with the left hand the horse's mouth is kept alive, by a play on the bit, giving and taking, but, at the same time retaining a light bearing upon the horse's mouth. this is an excellent method for holding the reins with a fiery, high actioned horse, not up to hand. _adjusting the reins._--the rider should take hold of the loop end of the rein, and draw it through her hand until the proper bearing and tension has been obtained. aids and indications. all those motions of the body, the hand, the leg, and the whip, which either indicate the rider's wishes, or in some degree assist the horse to perform them, are, in the art of riding denominated 'aids;' in their execution, a perfect combination, and the greatest uniformity, exactness, and delicacy are required. _the indications of the hand_ are of two sorts, guiding and retaining, those of the leg and whip, are also of two sorts, guiding and urging. the aids serve to put the horse in movement, to direct, and to stop him; they should not only decide the pace which the horse is to take, but also signify to him, the rate at which each pace is to be executed, and also determine his carriage during the performance of it. the power of these aids, and the degree of severity to be used, must be governed by circumstances, and the sensibility of the horse. _the hand_, being placed holding the reins, as previously described, and the reins being drawn to that determined length, that the bracing of the muscles of the hand would rein the horse back, and the easing of them permit him to advance freely; if the hand be held steady, as the horse advances in a trot, the fingers will feel by the tightening and loosening of the reins, a slight sensation or tug, occasioned by the measure or cadence of every step, this sensation or tug, which is reciprocally felt in the horse's mouth, by means of the correspondence between the hand and the mouth, is called the appui; and while this appui is preserved, the horse is in perfect obedience to the rider, the hand directing him with the greatest ease, so that the horse seems to work by the will of the rider, rather than by the compulsion of the hand. when a horse is ridden on a snaffle, he only feels the direct pull more or less of the rider's hand, with a curb-bit in his mouth the effect is different, and more powerful, on account of the lever which tightens the curb-chain on the horse's jaw. a curb in a rough and uneven hand, becomes an instrument of extreme torture; the hand should always be firm, but delicate, the horse's mouth should never be surprised, by any sudden transition of the bearing from tight to slack, or from slack to tight, every thing in horsemanship should be effected by degrees. the rider should never rest her hand upon the pommel, as by doing so, she at once destroys the sympathy which ought to exist between the hand and the horse's mouth. _fineness of mouth_, means a mouth that is perfectly trained, and responds to the determined action of a sensitive hand. the acquirement of the bearing upon the horse's mouth, the turning the horse upon the proper rein, the power of collecting the horse, and retaining him on his proper balance, smoothness of indications, in the shortening of the reins, and the working together of the hand, leg, and whip, are the unseen, and unappreciated foundation, upon which good riding stands; these, and not strength, nor violence commands the animal, with these, the horse will rely on the hand, comply to it, and without force on the rider's part, he will bend to the hand in every articulation. without these, however unintentional on the rider's part, she will be perpetually subjecting him to the severest torture, to defend himself against which, he will resist the hand, poke his nose, stiffen his neck, and every other part of his body; for the horse can endure no greater torture, than that resulting from an uneven hand. _the leg and whip._--the leg should hang straight from the knee, easy and steady, and be near to the horse's sides; the pressure being increased as occasion required, but the size and substance of the flap of the saddle, in numerous cases, renders the pressure of the leg nugatory, therefore, as the whip is the chief additional aid a lady has to depend upon, its exact management ought to be reduced to a perfect science. every movement and touch of the whip must be made for purpose and effect; it can be used on both sides of the horse, as the case may require; the lady will have no difficulty in using it, on the right, or off side of the horse: but to use the whip on the near side requires caution and address. to strike the near forehand; the lady should raise the whip gently to an upright position, holding it with a firm grasp, she should then let the whip suddenly descend along the shoulder, and instantly remove it: she should be careful not to strike the horse on any part of the head except in cases of vice. to strike the near hind quarters, the lady must pass her right hand gently behind her waist, as far as the arm will reach, without distorting the body; and holding the whip between the two first fingers and thumb, strike the horse. this position is most excellent practice, by compelling the pupil to draw in her waist to its proper place: and until a lady can perform it easily, without disturbing the position and action of her bridle hand, she will fail in attaining a graceful and elegant carriage. the whip on the one side, pressed to the horse's side, corresponds with the leg on the other, but except in moving straight-forward, they should not be applied opposite to each other; that the pressure of one, may not counteract the effect of the other; thus the one intended to communicate a forward impulse, should be applied further forward, to keep the horse up to hand, than that, which communicates an impulse to the horse to step side ways, which should be applied behind the girth. the rider must always bear in mind, that every movement of the bridle, the leg, and of the whip, is felt, and responded to, by the sensitiveness of the horse; when she errs, the horse goes wrong, it is therefore indispensable that they should act in conjunction. guiding. the horse, previous to moving forward, should be made to collect himself, to arch his neck, and to stand evenly upon both his hind legs, for thereupon depends the balance of the horse's body, his lightness in hand, and proper carriage. _to advance._--the lady should call the attention of the horse, by an increased bearing upon the reins, and at the same time should animate him, by closing the leg, and using the whip gently on the right flank; having communicated a sufficient impulse to the horse, to carry him forward, she should at the same moment, by turning up the back of her hand, ease the pressure upon the reins, and prevent him to move forward: but she should not slacken the reins, because by doing so, the horse's head and neck may relapse into a position, which the hand cannot control. to turn the horse, colonel greenwood in his book of "hints on horsemanship" observes, "when you wish to turn to the right, pull the right rein stronger than the left; this is common sense--the common error is, when you wish to turn to the right, to pass the hand to the right, by which the right rein is slackened, and the left rein tightened, across the horse's neck; and the horse is required to turn to the right, when the left rein is pulled." _to turn to the right._--the hand, holding the reins the proper length, and having a correct appui or feeling of the horse's mouth, must not be moved from its position, in a line with the crest; but the tightening of the rein, must be effected, by turning the wrist; the little finger, with the first joint pressing against the rein, is raised, and turned towards the right shoulder; thus giving a double feeling, or pressure upon the right rein, and turning the horse's head in the desired direction, the pressure of the left rein against the neck, which follows, induces the horse to turn to the right. or the right hand may be placed upon the right rein, to tighten it. the pressure with the left leg, should at the same time be increased, to prevent the horse from throwing his hind quarters too much outwards, or to the left. the rider's body should incline inwards, and face the direction turning to. if the whip be used, it should be applied upon the left shoulder, with a continued pressure, till the turn has been completed. _to turn to the left._--the lady should increase the bearing upon the left rein, by turning the back of her hand downwards, so as to bring the little finger towards the left shoulder; at the same time, she should apply the whip to the horse's right flank, to make him collect himself, and to prevent him, from throwing his hind-quarters too much to the right; when the horse has completed the turn, the bearing and pressure should be equalized, to induce the horse to move straight forward. the horse, when at a stop, may be made to turn quite round by making him move his hind-quarters only. _to circle the horse to the right, on his fore-hand._--the lady should apply her leg, to the horse's side, as far back as she can; to induce him to step to the right, with his hind legs; at the same time, she must increase the bearing upon the left rein; if the horse does not readily obey the pressure of the foot, she may pass her hand behind her waist, and touch the horse with the whip gently on his left flank. _to circle the horse to the left, on the forehand._--the lady should apply the whip gently to the horse's right flank, to induce him to step to the left, she should have a double bearing upon the right rein, and she should at the same time press her foot against the horse's side, as far forward as she can, to oppose the movement of the fore-legs. the horse can be made to turn on his hind legs, by the movement only of his fore-hand. the lady _to turn the horse to the right_, must apply her leg as far back as possible, to keep the horse's haunches steady; at the same time, she should with the bit, bend the horse's head a little to the right, to induce him to step with his fore-feet to the right. if necessary, the whip may be used, by gentle touches upon the left shoulder. _to turn on the haunches to the left._--the lady must press her whip on the horse's right flank, and her leg, against his side as far forward as possible, at the same time, she should communicate an impulse to the horse, to step to the left, to turn the horse quite round when in movement; the lady should first bring her horse to a momentary stop, and then proceed to turn him. _to stop._--the lady must close her leg smartly to the horse's side, to make him bring his haunches under him; at the same instant she must increase the bearing upon the reins, gradually yet firmly, by turning the back of her bridle hand downwards, and drawing it back, and upwards; the body should also be thrown backwards, to give weight to the pull: as soon as the horse has obeyed the check and remains still, the lady should ease the bearing upon the reins. if the lady does not give an impulse to the horse, by the pressure of her leg to his side, to bring his haunches under him, but merely pulls the bridle, the horse might be stopped by strength of arm, but it would be entirely on his fore-hand; and she would be thrown up and down in her saddle, in a very helpless way. the stop should not be made too suddenly. _reining back._--the great use of reining back, is to render the horse obedient, and tractable. the lady should first make her horse collect himself, when well balanced, she should communicate an impulse to the horse, by the pressure of her leg and whip to his sides, to induce him to raise one of his hind feet, at the moment of his doing so, she should double the feeling upon both reins, by drawing her hand back, and turning her little finger up towards her chest; the horse, to recover his balance, will step back. the movement of the hand must be repeated, at each step of the horse; should the horse bring his haunches too much under him, the bearing upon the reins must be eased, and the pressure of the leg and whip, increased, to give him a forward impulse. the horse must not be allowed to hurry, or run back out of hand, nor to diverge from the straight line; he should be guided, by an increased pressure of either rein, as may be necessary, and by an additional pressure with the leg, or whip, to keep his hind-quarters in the desired direction. _reining in._--the object desired is, to make the horse assume a more correct balance. the lady should shorten her reins a little, by drawing them through her left hand, thus keeping the bit-hand low and steady, with an extra bearing upon the reins; she should with her right hand, play with the snaffle rein, and at the same time, communicate to the horse a forward impulse; the horse feeling the bit to be an insurmountable obstacle, will, in place of throwing his weight forward, bring his haunches under him. should the urging indication be applied too abruptly, the horse may throw so much weight forward, as to pull the reins out of the rider's hands; if used judiciously, and controlled by the hand, the horse will collect himself, arch his neck, champ the bit, and be ready for any movement. this practice gives the horse confidence, for most young horses are afraid of the bit; and if frightened by too sudden a jerk upon the reins will never after, go kindly up to hand. the lady having learnt the indications necessary, to induce the horse to move either, his fore-hand round his haunches, or his croup round his fore-hand; may next proceed to apply them, so as to induce the horse to move diagonally, or sideways. _shoulder in._--in this movement the horse's body is bent more or less. the pupil should separate her reins, and take one in each hand, holding them rather short; if the horse is to move to the left, her right hand must be drawn back to her hip, to bend the horse's head to the right, her left hand should be advanced to guide the horse, she must apply her whip by light touches to the horse's right side, in line with the girths, to induce him to step diagonally. _passaging._--signifies moving side ways.--if the retaining and urging indications be given with equal force, but the right rein be felt the stronger, the horse will incline to the right; to induce him to move his hind quarters also in that direction, the urging indication upon the left flank must be increased, by the rider applying her leg to the horse's side, as far back as she can, if necessary, she may pass her whip behind her waist, and touch the horse with it, on his left flank. in passaging to the left, the whip should be used by gentle touches, on the horse's right shoulder, or flank as may be necessary. the rider should lean to the side, the horse is moving to. animations. _animations_ are intended to produce greater speed, or to render the horse more lively, and on the alert, without increasing his pace; some horses scarcely ever require animations, while others are so dull, and deficient in mettle, as to call them frequently into use. the slightest movement of the body, the hand, or the leg, is enough to rouse the well bred, and thoroughly trained animal; but it is necessary with sluggish horses, that the animations, to be so spirited and united, as almost to become corrections: in fact, what is mere animation to the one horse, would be a positive correction to another. animations should be used in all cases, when the horse, contrary to the rider's inclination, either decreases his speed, droops his head, bears heavily and languidly upon the bit, or begins to be lazy and slovenly in the performance of his pace. a good rider foresees the necessity for an animation, before the horse actually abates his speed, or loses the _ensemble_ of his action, and the grace and spirit of his deportment. it is much easier to maintain, than to restore a horse's animation; therefore, the whip, the hand, the leg, or the voice, should do its office a few moments before, rather than at a time, when doing so has become indispensable. a slight motion of the fingers of the bridle hand, serves as an excellent animation; it reminds the horse of his duty, awakens the sensibility of his mouth, and preserves a proper correspondence between that, and the hand. when it is necessary to recur to animation frequently, they ought to be varied; even the whip, if it be often used, unless with different degrees of force, will lose its effect. soothings. we should endeavor, as xenophon observes, "to make ourself to our horse, the organ of pleasure, and that he should associate with our presence, the idea of the absence of pain." horses are by degrees made obedient, through the hope of recompense, as well as the fear of punishment; to use these two incentives with judgment, is a very difficult matter, requiring much thought, much practice and good temper; mere force, and want of skill, and coolness, tend to confirm vice and restiveness. the voice, the leg and the whole body, may be employed to soothe and encourage. high mettled or fretful horses, it is often necessary to soothe, and timid ones to encourage. a spirited animal is frequently impatient when first mounted, or if a horse or carriage pass him at a quick rate; in either case, the rider should endeavor to soothe her horse, by speaking to him in a calm gentle tone; she should keep her whip as motionless as possible, taking even more care than usual, that its lash do not touch his flank, her seat should be easy, her leg still, and her bridle hand steady. the perfection of soothing consists in the rider sitting so still, and easy, as not to add in the least, to the horse's animation, at the same time being on her guard, so as to be able to meet any contingency that may occur. corrections. the best horse sometimes requires correction, but the sooner a lady gets rid of a horse that she is compelled to _flog_, the better; the effect is most unpleasant, though the éclát may be great, and such a sight would destroy every previously formed idea of her grace and gentleness: moderate corrections are however some times necessary, and the lady should make no scruple of having recourse to them when absolutely necessary, but not otherwise. the best way to correct a horse is to dishearten him, and make him do what he would fain avoid, not so much by force and obstinate resolution, in contesting with him openly, and directly, when he is perfectly prepared to resist; as by a cool opposition, and indirect means. there are different methods of attaining the same end, and those which are the least obvious to the animal should be adopted; a lady cannot rival him in physical strength, but she may conquer him by ingenuity, or subdue him by a calm determined assumption of superior power: severe flogging seldom produces good effect, and all quarrels between a horse and his rider should be avoided; on the other hand, too much indulgence may induce him to think that she is afraid of him; should he do so, she will find that he will exercise every means to convince her, that he considers himself her master, instead of acknowledging by implicit obedience, that she is his. when it is necessary to use the whip as a correction, it should be applied, by giving the horse two or three smart cuts in a line with the girths, or on the shoulder. the lady should not fret her horse, by continually tapping him with the whip. vices. the word vice, is used to signify those actions which arise from a perverse, or mischievous disposition--those, in which the horse opposes his own will, to that of his rider, or those in which he purposely attempts to injure other horses, or the persons about him. a lady certainly should not ride any horse, that is addicted to shying, stumbling, rearing, or any other kind of vice; but she ought nevertheless, to be prepared against their occurrence; for, however careful, and judicious those persons, by whom her horse is selected, may be, and however long a trial she may have had of his temper, and merits, she cannot be sure, even with the best tempered horse, that she may not have to exercise her skill, to save herself from danger; she should therefore, be prepared against frailty, or accident. when a horse resists, or suddenly becomes uneasy in his gait, instead of punishing the animal; the bridle, saddle, girths, &c., should be examined, to ascertain the cause, and remedy it. for want of this necessary precaution, the poor animal is often used ill, without reason, and being forced into despair, is in a manner obliged to act accordingly, be his temper and inclination ever so good. _weakness_ frequently drives horses into being vicious, when any thing beyond their strength is required of them: great care should therefore be taken, to ascertain from what cause the opposition arises. _resistance_ in horses, is often a mark of strength and vigour, and proceeds from high spirits, but punishment would turn it into vice; a timorous rider, or a passionate person, would alike spoil the horse; the former, by suffering him to have his own will, establishes bad habits, and creates new ones; for horses find out many ways, and means of opposing what is demanded to them; many will imperceptibly gain a little every day on their riders; the lady must however always treat the horse kindly, at the same time show him that she does not fear him. the other, from want of reason, and temper, enrages the horse, and causes him to become vicious. horses of a bad disposition or temper, are exceedingly subtle, and watch their opportunity; they first, as it were, feel for their rider's firmness of seat, and her resolution, and are sure to defend themselves upon that point, on which they expect she will attack them; now, the object of the lady in this contest must be, to frustrate the horse's intentions, and protect herself from injury in the struggle. some horses have a vicious habit of _turning round suddenly_; instead of endeavouring to prevent him, in which the lady would in all probability be foiled, were she to try to do so by force; the better plan is, to turn the horse smartly round to the side to which he is turning, until his head has made a complete circle, and he finds to his astonishment, that he is precisely in the place from which he started. should he, on the lady attempting to urge him forward, repeat the trick; she should pull him round on the same side three or four times, and assist the hand in doing so, by a smart aid of the whip, or the leg; while this is doing, she must take care to preserve her balance, by an inclination of the body, towards the centre of the circle which is described by the horse's head in his revolution. the same plan may be pursued, when the horse endeavors _to turn a corner contrary to the wish of his rider_; and if he be successfully baffled three or four times, it is most probable that he will not renew his attempts. when a horse _refuses to advance_, and probably whipping would increase his obstinacy, or make him rear, or bolt away in an opposite direction, it is advisable, on the same principle, to make him walk backwards, until he evinces a willingness to advance: should the rider not mind her horse giving a kick or two, a couple of smart cuts over the croup, will generally prove successful. should a horse _back into difficulties_; he must be turned with his head towards the danger, and then backed off, until there be sufficient room to handle him. restive horses, and even docile animals when put out of temper, sometimes _rear up against a wall or a carriage_; an inexperienced rider, in such a situation, would strive to pull his head _from_ the wall, which would bring her knee in contact with it, consequently, all further chastisement thereupon ceases; for were the rider to make her horse plunge, her legs would be crushed against the wall, the horse discovering the rider's weakness, and that punishment had ceased; would turn it to her disadvantage, and on future occasions fly to the wall for shelter. instead of _from_ the wall. the horse's head should be pulled _towards_ it, so as to place his eye, in place of his rider's knee, against it. she should use her leg, and whip, to force the croup out, when the horse can be easily backed off, and he will never go near a wall again. some horses will _stand stock still_, if ladies have the patience to sit on their backs, and keep them in the same spot for a time, it is the most proper punishment for such an offence, and will surely cure that mode of defence. when a horse begins to _kick_, the rider must bear forcibly upon his mouth, and keep his head up, at the same time, she should press her leg to the horse's side, keeping her body well back, to save herself from being thrown forwards. she should use as little coercion as possible, and be careful to preserve her own temper, and her seat; should the horse, in spite of her exertions, get his head down; she must endeavour to give him a smart blow with her whip on his head, which will induce him to throw it up, and thereby stop his kicking; should an opportunity occur, she should also try to give the horse, two or three smart turns; this may also be done with effect, as a preventative, should she detect any incipient attempts in the animal to kick. _rearing_ is a bad vice, and in weak horses especially, a dangerous one. when the horse rears, the rider must cease to bear upon the mouth, she should lean her body well forward, towards his neck, and with her right hand take hold of the mane, to save herself from falling off, or pulling the horse backwards upon her; as the horse comes to the ground with his fore-feet, not before, she should give him a few smart cuts with the whip on his croup, to force him forward, and endeavor to pull him round two or three times, and thus divert him from his object; the latter course may also be adopted to prevent rearing, if the rider can foresee the horse's intention. if a lady have the misfortune to be mounted on a _runaway_ horse, she may avoid evil consequences, if she can but contrive to retain her self-possession. she must endeavor also to retain her seat at all hazards, sitting well back and perfectly quiet, for the least symptom of alarm on her part, will increase the terror, or determination of the horse. she should not attempt to throw herself off the horse, except in cases when the horse may be taking her into imminent danger; she should separate her reins, holding the curb in her left hand, and the snaffle in her right, and pull at each alternately; which renders the mouth more sensitive, than a dead heavy pull upon any one bit, and the horse consequently more obedient to the hand. should an open space present itself, turning a horse in a circle, will frequently bring him up in a few seconds. _plunging_, is very common amongst restive horses. if the horse continue to do so in one place, or backing; he must be urged forward; but if the horse does it flying forward, he should be kept back, and ridden slowly for some time. _starting_, often proceeds from a defect in sight, which therefore should be carefully looked to. when a horse starts or shies, no notice should be taken of the movement, further, than to meet him, with the proper bearings and pressures, to compel him to move in the true direction; should he however, be alarmed at an object, and instead of going up to, or passing it, turn round; he should be soothed, and brought up gently to it, caressed at every step, he advances. to attempt to force the horse up to the object he dreads, would not only be ridiculous and dangerous, but the punishment would add to the alarm, and the horse would take an early opportunity to shy afresh, at the first strange object that presented itself, and very probably he would add another start, in anticipation of the chastisement that might be in store for him. thus, what was originally a failing from defect of vision, or ebullition of spirit from over feeding, or want of proper exercise, becomes a vice rooted, and confirmed, and of a dangerous character. when passing an object that the horse may be alarmed at, his head should be turned away from it, rather than towards it, a good rider thus prevents her horse from shying, while the young and bad rider, by the reverse treatment, of pulling a horse's head towards the object, and whipping him up to it, makes her horse shy. the horse should never be allowed to evade passing the object, but he should be got past in the manner, that occasions the least alarm to, or contention with him. when the horse starts, the rider should instantly direct her eyes to the horse's ears, when her body will naturally take the same direction that the horse shies to, but if her eyes be directed to what the horse shies from, she may loose her balance, and fall. paces of the horse. the _walk_ is the least raised, the slowest, and the most gentle of all the paces; but it should be an animated quick step, and to be pleasant to the rider, it must be true; that is, it should be conducted by a harmonious elevation and setting down of the feet, each foot being dropped flat on the ground, and not, as is too often the case, the toe being placed first, and then the heel. one lady by a good seat and hand, will cause her horse to carry his head, with his neck arched, and to elevate and extend his limbs, the one in unison with the other; another, by her bad hand, and seat, will bring the horse she rides, to step short, and irregular, and so mix his trot, with his walk, as to do little more than shuffle over the ground. previous to urging the horse into a walk, the lady should ascertain that he is well in hand, and on his proper balance; then, by turning her hand, with the little finger towards her breast, she must increase the bearing upon the horse's mouth, to draw his attention, and at the same instant, she must communicate to him, by closing the leg, and using the whip gently upon the right side, a sufficient impulse to carry him forward, easing, as he advances, the bearing upon the mouth, by the hand resuming its proper position, but she must not slacken the reins. in the walk, the reins should be held so that the rider have a delicate, but distinct feeling of the horse's mouth, to cause the horse to carry his head in a proper position, and to keep time in the beats of his action, but not held so tightly, as to impede the measurement of his steps, or to make him, on being slightly animated, break from a walk into a trot. the rider's body should be erect but pliable, neither obeying too much the action of the horse, nor yet resisting it. if the horse do not exert himself sufficiently, or hang on the bit, he should be animated, by a play on the snaffle bridle; should he break into a trot, he must be checked, but the bearing upon the reins, must neither be so firm nor continued, as to make him stop. _the trot_, is a more animated pace. to make the horse advance from the walk into a trot, the horse must, with the leg and whip, be urged into greater animation, at the same time retained, by an increased bearing upon the reins. the lady must be careful, to retain the lightness in hand, without counteracting the impulse necessary to the movement, when the animal will proceed with that safety, which is natural to a horse balanced and light in hand. when the horse trots, the lady must preserve her balance, steadiness and pliancy, as in the walk; the rise in the trot, is to be acquired by practice; when the horse in his action raises the rider from her seat, she should advance her body, and rest a considerable portion of her weight, upon her right knee; by means of which and the bearing of her left foot upon the stirrup, she may return to her former position, without being jerked; but she must carefully time her movements to the horse's action, and the closer she maintains her seat, consistently with her own comfort the better. the _canter_, and _gallop_, are paces of still higher animation; the canter is a repetition of bounds, during which the forehand raises first, and higher than the hind quarters; it is the most elegant and agreeable of all the paces, when properly performed by horse and rider; its perfection consists in its union and animation, rather than its speed. a horse may canter false, disunited with the fore, or disunited with the hind legs, for instance, if a horse is cantering in a circle to the right, leads with his near fore leg, followed by the near hind leg, he is cantering false. if leading with the near fore leg, the off hind, remains further back than the near one, he is said to be disunited; if leading with the proper fore leg, the off hind remains further back than the left, the pace must be rectified. the lady should learn to ascertain by the motion of the horse, if his canter be false or true, and she should acquire the means, of making him rectify his action. a horse must not be allowed to canter with either leg leading at his own will, but must be made to do so, at the will of the rider. when cantering with the off fore-leg leading, the pace is more agreeable to the lady, consequently a lady's horse should be taught to start off into a canter, with his right leg leading. there are many opinions, as to what are the proper indications to be given to the horse, to induce him to lead with either particular leg, but considering that a horse when cantering in a circle to the right, must lead with the off-fore, and that the indications in that case are, a double bearing upon the right rein, and an increased pressure with the leg, or whip on the left side of the horse, these appear to be the most rational. to start the horse into a _canter_ with the right or off-fore leg leading. the lady having her horse properly animated, light in hand, and well balanced, should, as in the walk, draw the horse's attention, by an increased bearing upon both reins, but upon the right rein the stronger; and at the same time, by a strong pressure of the leg, or heel, and by the application of the whip to the horse's left shoulder, communicate to him, an impulse to carry him forward. if the horse hesitates to canter, she should pass the whip behind her waist, and strike the horse on his near-hind-quarter; the whip must not be used on the right side of the horse, because muscular action being retractile, doing so, would cause him to draw back his right leg, rather than to advance it before the left. to start the horse into a canter, with the left leg leading, the extra bearing must be made upon the left rein, and the horse should be touched with the whip on the right shoulder or flank. it is an excellent lesson to cause the horse to change the leading leg, when in the canter, so that upon any disturbance of pace, or change of direction, the action of the one, may be as familiar, and as easy to the rider, as the other. the lady should sit well down in the centre of the saddle, with her body perfectly upright, and square to the front, without stiffness or constraint, she must continue the bearings upon the horse's mouth, throughout the entire pace, and if the horse flags in his movements, or does not respond to the action of the bridle-hand, then the whip must be instantly applied. in turning a corner, or cantering in a curve, the lady must incline her body in that direction, to preserve her balance, and she must be careful that the bridle arm, does not acquire the bad habit, of moving from the side of the body, and throwing the elbow outwards. the _gallop_, is a further increase of pace upon the full canter, but no lady of taste ever gallops on the road, into this pace, the lady's horse is never urged, nor permitted to break, excepting in the field. the action being the same as that of the canter, excepting being more extended and quicker, nothing further need be said in this place. leaping. a lady's horse must be perfectly steady, and thoroughly trained, before she attempts to put him to a leap. leaping is beneficial, as it tends to confirm the seat, and enables the rider more effectually to preserve her balance, should she ever be mounted upon an unsteady, or vicious horse. the skill in leaping consists principally, in the rider's own acute anticipation of the horse's spring, and in participating in his movements, going over with him, as a part of the horse's-self; she must not, by being late, and hanging back, have to be jerked forward by the spring; which operating at an angle of the person, pitches the rider over the horse's head, before the animal's fore-quarters reach the ground. preparatory to the leap, the rider should take up the snaffle rein, and slacken the curb; because the snaffle acting in the corners of the horse's mouth, lifts up his head, and allows him more freedom, whereas the curb-bit acting lower down in the mouth, tends to draw the head and chin inwards, towards the breast, and restrains his power of extension. leaps are of two kinds, the "standing" and the "flying." in the standing leap, or leap over a height from a standing position; the horse raises himself on his hind feet, and springs from his hind legs, throwing himself over the object. the flying leap, is taken from any pace, it differs from the standing leap, principally in agility, and in the horse being more extended in his movements. the position of the rider is to be governed in this, as in all other cases, by the action of the horse; no weight should be borne on the stirrup, the right leg must press strongly the middle pommel, and the left, be closed to the saddle. the bridle should be held so as to offer no check to the horse's movement, but should the horse show an unwillingness to jump, or be inclined to swerve, it is prudent to keep him firmly in hand, until the moment of his spring, when the tension on the reins may be lessened. _a standing jump._--the rider must press her leg close against the saddle, she must animate the horse to jump, by gently lifting his head; as he raises on his haunches for the leap, she should yield the reins, to give him ample room to extend his neck and shoulders, and to exert himself; as his fore-quarters ascend, the lady should lean slightly forward, keeping her head upright and steady; as he springs, she resumes her upright position, and as he descends, she inclines her body backwards to balance herself; urging, and at the same time restraining the horse, to induce him to collect, and fully recover himself upon his legs. _the flying leap._--in the flying leap, the seat is to be preserved, as in the standing leap, but the horse's posture being more horizontal, the lady need not lean forward as he raises; she must approach the leap in such a manner, as neither to hurry or flurry the horse, but so as to allow him a full view of the place he has to go over. holding the horse's head with the snaffle, with a firm but delicate hand, straight to his jump, she brings him up at an animated pace. as he springs, she must slightly yield the reins, as he descends, she must incline her body backwards pressing her left leg firmly to the third crutch, and looking straight to her front, she will retain her seat and balance immoveably; she then resumes the tension of the reins; and the moment the horse touches the ground, she should be prepared to use her whip if necessary, to induce the horse to collect himself, to prevent him from stumbling or falling. road riding. when persons are pursuing their business or pleasure on the road, precise formality, and attention to the strict rules of riding, would interrupt their enjoyment. the rudiments of the art being once known, when on the road, no more of it is to be applied, than will, with the greatest ease, facilitate our designs. when nothing more is required of the horse, than to perform the natural paces, he will walk, trot, and gallop with the greatest freedom. the rider participates in the like ease, or unrestrained liberty, but this ease or inattention, is not to suffer unseemly habits to take place, such as the back and shoulders to get round, the head to shake, the leg to dangle, and beat against the horse's side. these errors may creep on a person, who has not been confirmed in the principles by sufficient practice; but when habits of good riding are once firmly established, the ease and liberty the rider assumes, will not exceed propriety, risk her security, nor abandon, nor baffle her horse,--her hand will keep its situation and properties, though the body be turned to any extreme for the purpose of conversing, and the like, nor will the body by any freedom it takes, throw itself out of balance, nor take the liberty, when it cannot be done with safety. this freedom and ease, so desirable and so universally admired, is affected by every person who is in the habit of riding, but with this difference, some possess system, with negligence, and ease, and others merely negligence and ease, without system. a lady's horse should be sure footed, but the best become careless. when a horse trips, he should be kept more than usually collected. it is useless to whip a horse after stumbling, as it is also after shying, for it is clear, he would not run the risk of breaking his knees nor his nose if he could help it. a bad horsewoman throws her horse down, which a good horsewoman does not do. that is, because a bad horsewoman hurries her horse, over bad ground, or down hill, or over loose stones, or rough and broken ground, lets him flounder into difficulties, and when there, pulls him so that he cannot see, nor exert himself to get out of them and expecting chastisements, the horse springs to avoid it, before he has recovered his feet, and goes down with a tremendous impetus; if she have to cross a rut to the right, she probably forces her horse across it, when the right foot is on the ground; in which case, unless the horse collect himself, and jump; if he attempts to step across it, the probability is, that crossing his legs, he knocks one against the other and falls. the reverse of all this, colonel greenwood, writes, should be the case, if the lady have not sufficient tact to feel, which of her horse's feet is on the ground, she must allow him his own time for crossing, which will be, when the left foot is on the ground. the rider should habitually choose her horse's ground for him, this by practice, will become as easy to her, as choosing her own path when walking. it is a common error to suppose, that a rider can support a horse when falling, lift him over a leap, or hold him up, they are mechanical impossibilities. were a similar weight attached to the thin rein of a lady's bridle, could the lady lift it with her left hand. a pull from the curb, will indeed give the horse so much pain in the mouth, that he will throw up his head, and the rider flatters herself that she has saved her horse from falling; but this error is not harmless, by so doing, she prevents his seeing to foot out any unsafe ground; and further, when an unmounted horse stumbles, nature teaches him to drop his head and neck, which relieves the shoulders of their weight, and that is the instant that the horse makes his effort to recover himself; the muscular power employed to raise the head and neck, will act to sink his knees, for as much as the rider pulls up, so much will she pull down. the great point is, to keep the horse so well balanced and in hand, with his legs well under him, that should the horse stumble, or get into difficulties, he is able to recover himself without much exertion. _when proceeding along a road_, the rule is, to keep to the left side of it, but when about to pass those travelling in the same direction, though at a less speedy pace; to pass on their right. a party meeting another passes to the right, that is, the right hands of the parties meeting, are towards each other. _a gentleman riding with a lady_, should be on her right side, as on that side, if the road be dirty, he does not bespatter the lady's habit, and on that side also, he is situated next the carriages, and various objects they meet, or which may be passing near them. if a lady find her horse become affected and uneasy in his gait, she should endeavor to ascertain the cause, the probability is, there will be found to be something wrong, in the bridle or saddle or perhaps a stone in the horse's foot, and she should have it remedied if possible. a lady should also habitually prevent her horse out-walking, or lagging behind her companions, she is either very unsociable, or a bad horsewoman, who does not keep abreast of them. a lady, although advised to ride in general on the curb bridle, should occasionally use both hands to the reins. it assists in obtaining a firm seat, by giving greater power and command over the horse; it prevents the strain on the left arm, which is the natural result of holding a horse entirely with one hand, it makes the pressure upon the animal's mouth more even, which is so truly essential to the comfort of both horse and rider, it keeps the shoulders square, a very important point in the elegance of a young lady's appearance, it causes the elbows to be even on either side instead of one being infinitely in the rear of the other, as is too often the case, and though last not least, it keeps the whip quiet until its use is called for. there is a piece of inhumanity practised, as much, perhaps more by ladies than by gentlemen, it is, _riding a horse fast on hard ground_. if the ground be hard and even, a collected canter may be allowed, but one hour's gallop on hard and uneven ground, would do the soundest horse irremediable injury, his sinews would be strained, his joints prematurely stiffened, fever in the feet would be produced, and the horse would be deprived at once, and for ever, of his elasticity and action, and be brought prematurely a cripple to the grave. dismounting. the first operation preparatory to dismounting is, to bring the horse to an easy yet perfect stop. if the lady be light, and dexterous, she may dismount without assistance. the lady when preparing to dismount, should take the reins in her right hand, and put the whip in her left. the reins should be held sufficiently tight, to restrain the horse from advancing; and yet not so firmly, as to cause him to back, rear, or swerve. the lady should next disengage her right leg from the pommel clearing her dress as she raises her knee; place her right hand on the near crutch, and take her foot out of the stirrup. if the lady be assisted, the gentleman taking her left hand in his left, places his right hand under her left elbow, which she keeps firm to her side; as she springs, he supports her in her descent, she retains hold of the crutch or of the hunting pommel; as she quits the saddle, she turns to face the gentleman, who stands near the horse's shoulder, and alights on the ground on the balls of her feet. if the lady dismount without assistance, after clearing her foot from the stirrup, she places her right hand on the near crutch, and her left upon the third crutch or hunting pommel, she must spring clear from the saddle facing towards the horse's side as she descends. by whatever mode the lady dismount, she should, to prevent an unpleasant shock on reaching the ground bend her knees, suffer her body to be perfectly pliant, and alight upon the balls of her feet; she is not to relinquish her hold, nor the gentleman to withdraw his support, until she be perfectly safe on the ground. concluding remarks. riding for recreation, and riding for improvement, are distinct things, yet both are necessary. many persons unacquainted with the principles of "horsemanship," can perceive no other excellence, than riding boldly, and riding fast, and some even assert, that a horse broken by a riding master, has been spoiled; this idea is easily accounted for, as the better a horse is broken or educated, the more unsuited he is for an awkward rider. there are many, it is true, who have been in the habit of riding from their infancy, who, although they never have had any instructions, ride hunting, or on a straight road admirably well; but many more affect to ride as well, who commit the greatest absurdities. though the ordinary modes of riding may gratify, and convey one on a horse's back, wherever the will directs, yet, from want of knowledge of the true principles of riding, one is continually exposed to innumerable hazards. most persons are desirous to ride well, though not in a _manége_ style. to ride well, a lady must be perfectly at her ease, with a hand capable of managing her horse, with facility to herself, and comfort to her animal. these requirements will be sooner attained, by a few proper lessons, with study and application, than by years of riding without them. to conclude, a lady on horseback cannot look too quiet; she should appear perfectly at her ease, and in perfect temper with her horse; in short whether natural, or acquired, she should seem, "born with a sweet temper, a light hand, and a good seat." transcriber's note the following typographical errors were corrected: page error hand is them changed to hand is then by implict changed to by implicit all probabilty changed to all probability should he soothed changed to should be soothed carressed changed to caressed applicacation changed to application perpectly changed to perfectly to a leap, changed to to a leap. rider's own accute changed to rider's own acute of the horses changed to of the horse's the following words were inconsistently spelled. fore-hand / forehand head-stalls / headstalls transcriber's note a number of typographical errors have been maintained in this version of this book. they have been marked with a [+] and a description may be found in the complete list at the end of the text. irregular and non-standard spelling has been maintained as printed. lectures on horsemanship, wherein is explained every necessary instruction for both ladies and gentlemen, in the useful and polite art of riding, with ease, elegance, and safety, by t. s. professor of horsemanship. _london_: . lecture on horsemanship. address to the audience. ladies and gentlemen. permit me to observe that the horse is an animal, which, from the earliest ages of the world, has been destined to the pleasure and services of man; the various and noble qualities with which nature has endowed him sufficiently speaking the ends for which he was designed. mankind were not long before they were acquainted with them, and found the means of applying them to the purposes for which they were given: this is apparent from the histories and traditions of almost all nations, even from times the most remote; insomuch that many nations and tribes, or colonies of people, who were entirely ignorant, or had but very imperfect notions, of other improvements and arts of life; and even at this day[ -*] are unacquainted with them, yet saw and understood the generous properties of this creature in so strong a light as to treat him with fondness and the greatest attention, sufficiently to declare the high opinion they entertained of his merit and excellence; nay in various regions, and in the most distant ages, were so far from being strangers to the many services of which the horse was capable, as to have left rules and precepts concerning them, which are so true and just, that they have been adopted by their successors; and as all art is progressive, and receives additions and improvements in its course, as the sagacity of man at different times, or chance and other causes happen and concur: so that having the ancient's foundation to erect our building, it is natural to suppose that the structure has received many beauties and improvements from the experience and refinement of latter times. it is generally supposed that the first service in which the horse was employed, was to assist mankind in making war, or in the pleasures and occupations of the chase. _xenophon_, who wrote three hundred years before the birth of _christ_, says, in an express treatise which he wrote on horsemanship, that cyrus hunted on horseback, when he had a mind to exercise himself and horses. herodotus speaks of hunting on horseback as an exercise used in the time of _darius_, and it is probably of much earlier date. he particulatly[+] mentions a fall which darius had from his horse in hunting, by which he dislocated his heel: these and thousands of quotations more, which might be produced as proofs of the utility of the horse, in remote ages, are truths so indisputably attested that to enlarge farther upon it would be a superfluous labour, and foreign to my present undertaking. on mounting your horse. first we will suppose your horse properly saddled and bridled. take your bridoun-rein (if you have bit and bridoun) your right-hand, shifting it till you have found the center of the rein; then with your switch or whip in your left-hand, place your little finger between the reins, so that the right rein lies flat in your hand upon three fingers, and your thumb pressing your left rein flat upon the right, keeping your thumb both upon right and left rein, firm upon your fore-finger; and in this position you ease your hand a little and slide it firmly down the reins upon your horse's neck, taking a firm hold of a lock of his mane, which will assist you in springing to mount: remember that when you attempt to mount, that your reins are not so tight as to check your horse, or to offend his mouth, so as to cause him to _rear_, or _rein_ back, but that your action is smooth and light as possible. your horse being firmly stayed, you next take your stirrup-leather in your right-hand, about four inches from the stirrup-iron, and fix one third of your foot in the stirrup, standing square with your horse's side; next take a firm hold with your right hand on the cantlet or back part of the saddle, rather on the off side of it, and with your left knee prest firm against the horse's side, spring yourself up perpendicularly, bending the small of your back and looking chearfully up rather than down. the next move you make is to remove your right-hand from the cantlet and place it firm upon the pummel, or front of your saddle, bearing your weight upon it, at the same time bend your right knee, and bring your body round, looking strait over your horse's head, letting yourself firmly and easily down into your seat, with the shoulders easily back, bent well in your waist or loins, and your chest well presented in front, with a pleasant uncontracted countenance. you of course next recover or take your switch, which is done by putting your right-hand over your left, and with a quick firm motion take it in your right hand, holding the same perpendicularly. proceed us next to the adjusting the reins, which is of the utmost use. supposing you ride with bit and bridoun, being four in number, place them all even and flat in your left hand, exactly in the same manner as described in taking the bridoun in mounting; that is to say, your four reins placed even, the one upon the other, remembering always to place your bridouns on the outsides, so that you may any time lengthen or shorten them at pleasure, without putting the whole into confusion, and cause the bit to act alone, or bridoun alone, or both bit and bridoun to act together. i have observed before that only your little finger should be between the reins when only two, it is the same now four, so now your two reins on the right side of your horse's neck lie flat upon your three fingers in your left-hand, your two left reins placed flat upon the right, and your thumb pressed flat upon all four. this is the only sure method to keep your reins firm, free from confusion, and to cause them to act properly; which any lady or gentleman will be convinced of if they will only give themselves the pleasure to practise, as i cannot call it a trouble. if it should be demanded why the horse would not ride as well with only the bridoun, without the bit? my answer is that suppose your horse becomes hard and heavy in hand, on being rode by both bit and bridoun, where they have both acted together: you on this shorten your bit-reins whereby they act alone the bridouns becoming slack, your horse instantly becomes light in hand, as though touched by a _magick stick_, reining his neck properly, is immediately light before, gathers himself upon his haunches, and what appeared, but _now_ a _garronly_ sluggish beast wears the appearance of a well dressed horse. well and thorough broke horses with mouths made fine and to answer the nicest touch of feeling, are in general rode by the bit alone, the bridouns hanging loose and seem more for ornament than use; but yet in the hand of a skillful horseman are of the greatest utility; for by handling your right bridoun-rein lightly with your whip hand at proper times; you can always raise your horse's head if too low, you may take the liberty of easing your bit-reins at times, so that playing upon his mouth, as it were an _instrument of musick_, you will always keep his mouth in tune. i cannot find a juster simile than, that the horse is the instrument and the rider the player; and when the horse is well broke and tuned properly, and the rider knows how to keep him in that state, he is never at a loss to play upon him; but if suffered to go out of tune, by the want of skill in the horseman, and to imbibe bad habits, the horseman not being able to screw him up, and tune him as before: the instrument is thrown by as useless, or may be sold for a trifle, and by chance falling into able hands, that know how to manage and put him once more together; he again becomes as good as ever: and this i have often been a witness to. thus much for the adjustment of the reins in the hand. the horseman's seat: the principles and rules which have hitherto been given for the horseman's seat are various, and even opposite, according as they have been adopted by different masters, and taught in different countries, almost by each master in particular; and every nation having certain rules and notions of their own. let us see, however, if art has discovered nothing that is certain and invariably true.--the italians, the spaniards, the french and, in a word, every country where riding is in repute, adopt each a posture which is peculiar to themselves: the foundation of their general notions is the same, but each country has prescribed rules for the placing the man on the saddle. this contrariety of opinions which have their origin more in prejudice than in truth and reality, has given rise to many vain reasonings and speculations, each system having its followers; and as if truth was not always the same, and unchangeable, but at liberty to assume various and even opposite shapes; sometimes one opinion prevailed, sometimes another, insomuch that those who understand nothing of the subject, but yet are desirous of being informed, by searching it to the bottom, have hitherto been lost in doubt and perplexity. there is nevertheless a sure and infallible method, by the assistance of which it would be very easy to overturn all these systems; but not to enter into a needless detail of the extravagant notions, which the seat alone has given rise to; i will here endeavour to trace it from principles by so much the more solid, as their authority will be supported by the most convincing and self evident reasons. in order to succeed in an art where the mechanism of the body is absolutely necessary, and where each part of the body has its proper functions, which are peculiar to that part; it is most certain that all and every part of the body should be in a natural posture: were they in an imperfect situation they would want that ease and freedom which is inseparable from grace; and as every motion which is constrained being false in itself, and incapable of justness, it is clear that the part so constrained and forced would throw the whole into confusion; because each part belonging to and depending upon the whole body, and the body partaking of the constraint of its parts, can never feel that fixed point, that just counterpoise and equality, in which alone a fine and just execution consists. the objects to which a master, anxious for the advancement of his pupil, should attend, are infinite. to little purpose will it be to keep the strictest eye upon all the parts and limbs of his pupil's body; in vain will he endeavour to remedy all the defects and faults which are found in the posture of almost every scholar in the beginning, unless he is intimately acquainted with the close dependance[+] and connexion there is between the motions of one part of the body with the rest; a correspondence caused by the reciprocal action of the muscles, which govern and direct them: unless, therefore, he is master of this secret, and has his clue to the labyrinth, he will never attain the end he proposes; particularly in his first lessons, upon which the success of the rest always depend. these principles being established we may reason in consequence of them with clearness. in horsemanship, the body of man is divided into three parts; two of which are moveable, the third immoveable. the first of the two moveable parts is the trunk or body, down to the waist; the second is from the knees to the feet; so that the immoveable part is between the waist and the knees. the parts then which ought to be without motion are the fork, or twist of the horseman, and his thighs; now that these parts should be kept without motion, they ought to have a certain hold and center to rest upon, which no motion that the horse can make can disturb or loosten; this point or center is the basis of the hold which the horseman has upon his horse, and is what is called the seat; now if the seat is nothing else but this point or center, it must follow, that not only the true grace, but the symmetry and true proportion of the whole attitude depend upon those parts of the body that are immoveable. let the horseman then place himself at once, upon his twist, sitting exactly in the middle of the saddle; let him support this posture, in which the twist alone seems to sustain the weight of the whole body, by moderately leaning upon his buttock. let the thighs be turned inward, and rest flat upon the sides of the saddle; and in order to this let the turn of the thighs proceed directly from the hips, and let him employ no force or strength to keep himself in the saddle, but trust entirely to the weight of his body and thighs; this is the exact equilibrio: in this and this only consists the firmness and support of the whole _building_; a firmness which young beginners are never sensible of at first, but which is to be acquired, and will always be attained by exercise and practise. i demand but a moderate stress upon the buttocks, because a man that sits full upon them can never turn his thighs flat to the saddle; the thighs should always lay flat to the saddle, because, the fleshy part of them being insensible, the horseman would not otherwise be able so nicely to feel the motions of his horse: i insist that the turn of the thigh must be from the hip, because it can never be natural, but as it proceeds from the hollow of the hip bone. i insist farther that the horseman never avails himself of the strength or help of his thighs, except he lets his whole weight rest upon the center, as before described; because the closer he presses them to the saddle, the more will he be lifted above the saddle on any sudden or iregular[+] motion of the horse. having thus firmly placed the immovable parts, i now pass on to the first of the _movables_, which is as i have already observed the body as far as to the waist. i comprehend in the body, the head, the shoulders, the breast, the arms, hands, reins and waist of the horseman. the head should be free, firm and easy, in order to be ready for all the natural motions that the horseman may make in turning to one side or the other. it should be firm, that is to say, strait, without leaning to the right or left, neither advanced nor thrown back; it should be easy because if otherwise it would occasion a stiffness, and that stiffness affecting the different parts of the body, especially the back bone, the whole would be without ease and constrained. the shoulders alone influence by their motions that of the breast the reins and waist. the horseman should present or advance his breast, by that his whole figure opens and displays itself; he should have a small hollow in his reins, and push the waist forward to the pommel of the saddle, because this position corresponds and unites him to all the motions of the horse. now only throwing the shoulders back, produces all these effects, and gives them exactly in the degree that is requisite; whereas if we were to look for the particular position of each part seperately[+] and by itself, without examining the connection that there is between the motions of one part with those of another, there would be such a bending in his reins that the horseman would be, if i may so say, hollow backed; and as from that he would force his breast forward and his waist towards the pommel of the saddle, he would be flung back, and must sit upon the rump of the horse. the arms should be bent at the elbows, and the elbows should rest equally upon the hips; if the arms were strait, the consequence would be, that the hands would be too low, or at too great a distance from the body; and if the elbows were not kept steady, they would of consequence, give an uncertainty and fickleness to the hand, sufficient to ruin it for ever. it is true that the _bridle-hand_ is that which absolutely ought to be steady and immoveable; and we might conclude from hence, that the left elbow only ought to rest upon the hip; but grace consists in the exact proportion and symmetry of all the parts of the body, and to have the arm on one side raised and advanced, and that of the other kept down and close to the body would present but an aukward and disagreeable appearance. it is this which determines the situation of the hand which holds the whip; the left hand being of an equal heighth with the elbow; so that the knuckle of the little finger, and the tip of the elbow be both in a line, this hand then being rounded neither too much nor too little, but just so that the wrist may direct all its motions, place your right hand, or the whip hand, lower and more forward than the bridle hand. it should be lower than the bridle hand because if it was upon a level with it, it would restrain or obstruct its motions; and were it to be higher, as it cannot take so great a compass as the bridle hand, which must always be kept over against the horseman's body: it is absolutely necessary to keep the proportion of the elbows, that it should be lower than the other. the legs and feet make up the second division of what i call the moveable parts of the body: the legs serve for two purposes, they may be used as aids or corrections to the horse, they should then be kept near the sides of the horse, and in a perpendicular line with the horseman's body; for being near the part of the horse's body where his feeling is most delicate, they are ready to do their office in the instant they are wanted. moreover, as they are an apendix[+] of the thighs if the thigh is upon its flat in the saddle, they will by a necessary consequence be turned just as they ought, and will infallibly give the same turn to the feet, because the feet depend upon them, as they depend upon the thighs. the toe should be held a little higher then[+] the heel, for if the toe was lowest the heel would be too near the sides of his horse and would be in danger of touching his horse with his spurs at perhaps the very instant he should avoid such aid or correction. many persons notwithstanding, when they raise their toe, bend and twist their ankle as if they were lame in the part. the reason of this is very plain; because they make use of the muscles in their legs and thighs, whereas they should only employ joint of the foot for this purpose,[+] such is in short the mechanical disposition of all the parts of the horseman's body. these ideas properly digested the practitioner will be able to prescribe rules for giving the true and natural seat, which is not only the principles of justness, but likewise the foundation of all grace in the horseman, of course, the first endeavour of those who wish to become horsemen, should be to attain a firm and graceful seat: the perfection of which, as of most other arts and accomplishments depend upon the ease and simplicity with which they are executed, being free from affectation and constraint as to appear quite natural and familiar. therefore the immoveable parts as before observed ought to be so far without motion as not to wriggle and roll about so as to disturb the horse, or render the seat weak and loose: but the thighs may be relaxed to a certain degree with propriety and advantage, when the horse hesitates and doubts whether he shall advance or not; and the body may likewise, upon some occasions, become moveable and change its posture to a certain degree, as when the horse _retains_ himself, it may be flung back more or less as the case requires; and consequently inclined forward when the horse rises so high as to be in danger of falling backwards; what keeps a ship on the sea steady? ballast, by the same rule, what keeps the horseman steady? trusting to the weight of his body: it is for this reason that beginners are first made to ride without stirrups; for were they allowed to use them before they had acquired an equilibrio and were able to stretch their legs and thighs well down, so as to set firmly in the saddle, and close to it, they would either loose their stirrups by not being able to keep their feet in them; or the stirrups must be taken up much too short, in which case the rider would be pushed upwards from the saddle, and the seat destroyed throughout; as the parts of the body like the links of a chain depending upon one another, safety likewise requires they should ride without them at first, as in case of falling tis less dangerous. it is the general practice of those who undertake to teach horsemanship, when they put a scholar upon a horse, to mix and confound many rules and precepts together, which ought to be distinct and seperate;[+] such as making him attend to the guidance of the horse, demanding an exactness of hand, and other particulars, which they croud[+] upon him before he is able to execute, or even understand half of them. i would recommend a slower pace at first being likely to gain more ground at the ending post, and not to perplex the scholar with _aids_, of the effects of the _hand_, and more nice and essential parts of the art: till the seat is gained and confirmed. for this purpose let the seat alone be cultivated for some time, and when the scholar is arrived at a certain degree of firmness and confidence so as to be trusted, i would always advise the master to take hold of the longeing rein and let the pupil intirely leave the governing of his horse to him, going sufficiently to both hands holding his hands behind him. this will, i insist upon it very soon settle him with firmness to the saddle, will place his head, will stretch him down in his saddle, will teach him to lean gently to the side to which he turns so as to unite himself to his horse and go with him and will give that firmness ease, and just poize of body, which constitute a perfect _seat_, founded in truth and nature and upon principles so certain, that whoever shall think fit to reduce them to practise will find them confirmed and justified by it. nor would it be improper to accustom the scholar to mount and dismount on both sides of his horse, as many things may occur to make it necessary, as well as that he cannot have too much activity and address, for this reason tis a pity that the art of _vaulting_ is discontinued.--and there is another duty too essential to be omitted, but hitherto not performed by matters, which is to instruct their pupils in the _principles_ and theory of the _art_, explaining how the natural paces are performed, wherein they differ from each other, and in what their perfection consists; which, by not joining theory with practice, are unknown to many, who may shine in a menage, but work as mechanically and superficially as the very horse thay[+] ride. having thus far said what with practice will be sufficient to form the seat of the horseman, i shall next endeavour to describe the use of the bridle hand and its effects, &c. of the bridle hand. the knowledge of the different characters, and different natures of horses, together with the vices and imperfections, as well as the exact and just proportions of the parts of a horse's body, is the foundation upon which is built the theory of the art of horsemanship; but this theory will be useless and even unnecessary if we are not able to carry it into execution. this depends upon the goodness and quickness of feeling; and in the delicacy which nature alone can give, and which she does not always bestow. the first sensation of the hand consists in a greater or less degree of fineness in the touch or feeling; a feeling in the hand of the horseman, which ought to communicate and answer to the same degree of feeling in the horse's mouth, because there is as much difference in the degrees of feeling in men as there is in the mouths of horses. i suppose then a man, who is not only capable to judge of a horse's mouth by theory, but who has likewise by nature that fineness of touch which helps to form a good hand; let us see then what are the rules which we should follow in order to make it perfect, and by which we must direct all its operations. a horse can move four different ways; he can _advance_, go _back_, turn to the _right_ and to the _left_; but he cannot make these different movements except the hand of the rider permits him, by making four other motions which answer to them; so that there are five different positions for the hand. the first is that general position from which proceed the other four. hold your hand three inches breadth from your body, as high as your elbow, in such a manner that the joint of your little-finger be upon a right line with the tip of your elbow; let your wrist be sufficiently rounded so that your knuckles may be kept directly above the neck of your horse; let your finger nails be exactly opposite your body, the little finger rather nearer to it than the others; your thumb quite flat upon the reins, separated as before described, and this is the general _position_. does your horse go forwards, or rather would you have him go forwards? yeild to him your hand, and for that purpose turn your nails downwards, in such a manner as to bring your thumb near your body, and your little-finger then from it, and bring it to the place where your knuckles were in the first position. keeping your nails directly above the neck of your horse.--this is the second position. would you make your horse go backwards, quit the first position; let your wrist be quite round, your thumb in the place of the little finger in the second position, and the little-finger in that of the thumb, turning your nails quite upwards, and towards your face, and your knuckles will be towards your horse's neck.--this is the third position. would you turn your horse to the right? leave the first position; carry your nails to the right, turning your hand upside down, in such a manner that your thumb be carried out to the left, and the little-finger brought in to the right.--this is the fourth position. lastly, would you turn your horse to the left? quit again the first position, carry the back of your hand a little to the left, so that the knuckles come under a little, that your thumb may incline to the right, and the little-finger to the left.--this makes the fifth position. these different positions, however, alone are not sufficient; we must be able to pass from one to the other with readiness and order. three qualities are necessary to the hand. viz. firm, gentle, and light: i call that a firm hand, or steady hand whose feeling corresponds exactly with the feeling in the horse's mouth, and which consists in a certain degree of steadiness, which constitutes that just correspondence between the hand and the horse's mouth, which every horseman wishes to find. an easy or gentle hand. i call that which, relaxing a little of its strength and firmness, eases and mitigates the degree of feeling between the hand and horse's mouth, which i have already described. lastly, the light hand is that which lessens still more the feeling between the rider's hand and the horse's mouth, which was before moderated by the gentle hand. the hand, therefore, with respect to these properties must operate in part, within certain degrees, and depends upon being more or less felt, or yeilded to the horse, or with-held. it should be a rule with every horseman not to pass from one extreme to another; from a firm hand to a slack one; so that in the motion of the hand on no account jump over that degree of sensation which constitutes the easy or gentle hand: were you once to go from a firm strong hand to a slack one, you then entirely abandon your horse; you would surprise him, deprive him of the support he trusted to, and precipitate him on his shoulders; supposing you do this at an improper time. on the contrary, were you to pass from the slack to the tight rein, all at once, you must jerk your hand, and give a violent shock to the horse's mouth; which rough and irregular motion would be sufficient to falsify and ruin a good mouth; it is indispensably necessary, therefore, that all its opeperations[+] should be gentle and light, and in order to this, it is necessary that the wrist alone should direct and govern all its motions, by turning and steering it as it were, through every motion it is to make[+] in consequence then of these principles, i insist that the wrist be kept so round that your knuckles may be always directly above the horse's neck, and that your thumb be always kept flat upon the reins. in reality were your wrist to be more or less rounded than in the degree i have fixed, you could never work with your hand but by means of your arm, and besides it would appear as though you were lame; again were your thumb not to be upon the flat of the reins, pressed hard upon your fore finger, they would be constantly slipping away, and lengthened, and in order to recover them you would be obliged every minute to raise your hand and arm, which would throw you into disorder and make you lose that justness without which no horse will be obedient and work with readiness and pleasure to himself. it is nevertheless true, that with horses well dressed one may take liberties; these are motions called descents of the hand; either by dropping the knuckles directly and at once upon the horse's neck, or by taking the reins in the right hand about four inches above the left, letting them slide through the left, dropping your right hand at the same time upon the horse's neck, or else by putting the horse under the button as it is called: that is by taking the end of the reins in your right hand, quitting them intirely with your left hand and letting the end of them fall upon your horse's neck, these motions however, which give grace to the horseman, never should be made but with great caution, and exactly when your horse is well together and in hand; and take care in counterbalancing by throwing back your body, that the weight of the body lie upon his haunches. the bit and snaffle were they to be kept constantly in one place in his mouth, would of course dull the sense of feeling, and become benumbed and callous; this shews the necessity of continually yeilding and drawing back the hand to keep the horse's mouth fresh and awake. it is therefore self evident that a heavy handed horseman can never break a horse to any degree of nicety, or ride one which is already broke to any degree of exactness. besides these rules, there are others not less just and certain; (but whose niceness and refinement is not the lot of every person to taste and understand) my hand being in the first position, i open my two middle fingers, i consequently ease and slacken myright[+] rein; i shut my hand, the right rein operates again, resuming its place as before, i open my little finger and carrying the end of it upon the right rein, i thereby slacken the left and shorten the right; i shut my hand entirely and immediately open it again, i thereby lessen the degree of tension and force of the two reins at the same time; again i close my hand not quite so much, but still i close it. it is by these methods and by the vibration of the reins, that i unite the feeling in my hand with that in the horse's mouth, and thus i play with a fine and made mouth, and freshen and relieve the two bars in which the feeling resides. therefore, it is that correspondence and sensation between the horse's mouth and the hand of the rider, which alone can make him submit with pleasure to the constraint of the bit. having thus explained the different positions and motions of the hand, permit me in a few words to shew the effects which they produce in horsemanship? the hand directs the reins, the reins operate upon the branches of the bit; the branches upon the mouth-piece and the curb, the mouth-piece operates upon the bars, and the curb upon the chin of the horse. so far for the management of the bridle hand upon thorough-broke and well-dressed horses. but in breaking young horses for any purpose, the reins in all cases ought to be separated, nothing so unmeaning, nothing so ineffectual as the method of working with them joined or held in only one hand, this is very evident in the instances of colts, and of stiff necked, and unworked horses of all kinds, with them it is impossible to do anything without holding a rein in either hand, which rein operates with certainty and governs the side of the neck to which it belongs, and surely this is a shorter way of working than to make, or rather attempt to make the left rein determine the horse to the right, and the right guide him to the left. in the above instances of stiff awkward horses this can never be done; and altho it is constantly practised with those which are _drest_, yet it is certain they obey, and make their _changes_ more from _docility_ and _habit_, than from the influence of the _outward_ rein, which ought only to act, to balance and support, while the inner bends, inclines, and guides the horse to the hand to which he is to go. this can never be done so fully and truly with the reins joined, as when they are separated into each hand, and if double or _running_ reins were used instead of single as with a snaffle or[ -*] _meadow's_ bit, they would afford more compass and power to the horseman to bend and turn his horse. the manner of holding the reins high as condemed[+] by some writers, possessing themselves with a notion that they ruin the hocks of the horses. for my own part i do not know what those writers mean, unless by them we are to understand the haunches; and then this method instead of ruining, will work and assist them, for the head and fore quarters are raised up, his weight of course is thrown upon his haunches, for one end being raised the other must be kept down. it is nothing more than a natural cause, which will always produce a natural effect, for instance, ballance a pole upona[+] wall so that it acts in equilibrium, only raise one end, the other of course must be lowered, it is the same with a horse, as you cannot rise his fore parts but by bringing his haunches more under him. i would here wish to remark that horses should never be compelled by force untill[+] they know what you wish from them, for let them be however disobedient in their disposition, yet are all of them more or less sensible of good and bad usage from their masters; the best method then to convey your intention to them so that they shall understand you, is to reward them when they do well, and to punish them when disobedient, this rule though contained in few words yet is of universal use in horsemanship. and xenophon, who wrote a treatise on horsemanship, more than two thousand years ago, among other notable remarks, when speaking on horse-breaking, wherein he concludes thus: "but there is one rule to be inviolably observed above all others; that is, never approach your horse in a passion; as anger never thinks of consequences and forces us to do what we afterwards repent." begging pardon for this short but useful digression, i again observe that such are the principles upon which the perfection and justness of the aids of the hand depend; all others are false and not to be regarded.--thus far for the bridle hand, and its effects. lecture on horsemanship. addressed to the ladies. among all the various writers on the art of horsemanship, notwithstanding, side-saddles have been known and in use in england more then[+] six hundred years ago, even in richard's time, for in the reign of this prince side-saddles were first known here, as it will appear from the following anecdote, by a warwick historian, in which he says. "and in his days also began the detestable custom of wearing long pointed shoes, fastened with chains of silver, and sometimes gold, up to the knees, likewise noble ladies then used high heads, and robes with long trains, and seats or side-saddles on their horses, by the example of the respectable queen anne, daughter of the king of bohemia, who first introduced this custom in this kingdom: for before, women of every rank rode as men do, with their legs astride their horses." thus says our warwick historian, so that side saddles appear to have been used many centuries ago, and that formerly the female sex took the fashion of riding like men, for which they are reprehended, by a greek historian, and hard indeed is the equestrian situation of the ladies, for if they are to be accused of indelicacy for riding after the manner of men, they are greatly to be pitied in hazarding their safety as they do, in riding after the _manner_ of _women_. however as no one hath ever yet lent a helping hand in putting pen to paper on the subject, by way of adding, if possible, to the ladies, elegance, ease and safety on horse back; i shall without any other apology then assuring those ladies who may please to read what i write on the matter, is well meant, and are such ideas that have occured[+] to me in many years study, and practice in the manage.[+] directions in mounting. let the ostler or servant being on the off side the horse, with right hand holding the bridoun reins, to properly stay the horse, and his left hand on the part of the saddle called the crutch, by this method both horse and saddle will be kept firm and steady, it is the riding master's duty to examine the bridle whether it is properly placed, the curb, chain, or chin chain in due order, the saddle in a proper place, and the girths sufficiently tight, &c. direct the lady then to take her whip, or switch in the right hand, the small end of it turned towards the horse's croup, then with the right hand take a firm hold of the pommell of the saddle standing upright with her right shoulder square, and in a line with the horse's left, she then bending the left knee pretty much, the master or gentleman who asists[+] her standing facing the lady, he stooping a little receives the lady's left foot in his hands being clasped firm together, the lady must then be directed to straiten her knee, being now bent, with a firmness and elasticity pressing her left hand on the man's left shoulder, making a little spring at the same time, by which the riding-master, gentleman, or servant, if permitted, by paying due attention to these rules will spring the lady on the saddle with the greatest ease and safety. _the method of adjusting the petticoats_; i then place the lady's foot in the stirrup tho' it is a wonder if a proper length, being guess work, as we are now to suppose this to be the first lesson, and the stirrup cannot be properly fixed, till the lady is in her seat, i say i then give her the stirrup, directing she may take a firm hold with the left hand of a lock of the horse's mane, at the same time she having a firm hold of the crutch with the right, by which means she rises herself up from the saddle, standing firm in the stirrup, looking rather over the off side of the horse's neck, the intention of this is that the attendant shall adjust the coats so as they sit smooth and easy, by pulling them round a little to the right, then on returning to the saddle, or seat, and while in coming down she must put her right knee over the pommel of the saddle, and by these simple rules she will find all comfortable and easy; in regard to the adjustment of the bridle reins, and the managing and directing the horse by them, pay strict attention to those set down in the first lecture addressed to the gentlemen; let the whip be placed firm and easy in the right hand, with the taper or small end downwards, and the arm hanging carelessly down without contraction, and when the whip is made use off, let it be by means of the wrist, without lifting the arm from the body, and be careful not to touch the horse with the whip too backward as many of them will kick on their being flogged in that part, which if it should not occasion a fall, would much alarm the young scholar, before she has acquired any degree of ballance. directions for the length of the stirrup. the stirrup should be such length as when the lady sits upright and properly on her seat, with the knee being easily bent, the heel kept back, with the toe raised a little higher than the heel, so that the heel, hip and the shoulder, are in a line and as upright as when walking along, for if otherwise it is unjust and not agreeable to nature; for suppose you are riding along the road with the foot stuck out and so forward as the horses front of his shoulder, as is not uncommon to see girls riding in this manner along the road in the country, as tho' they were directing with their foot which road their horse should take, i say this method is not only very unbecoming but very unsafe, for instance if riding carelessly along the road with the foot and leg in this attitude being to pass some stubborn or inflexible object on the left or near side, perhaps before you are aware or apprised of the danger you might have your foot and leg sorely bruised, nay even dragged from your horse, i have seen similar instances to this, happen more than once, even when the foot has been in a good situation by ladies who unthinkingly have endeavoured to pass objects to the left when they could as easily have passed those objects to the _right_, which ladies should make an invariable rule so to do at all times, if possible; for reasons which must be plain to any one, who will think one minute on the matter; another inconvenience will frequently arise by suffering the leg and foot to be in this horrid form, which is, the stirrup leather will frequently press against the leg, so as to hurt it very much, this i have often had beginners complain of, by saying the buckle of the stirrup hurt them, when behold i never use a buckle to my stirrups on the left side, as they are always fastened and buckled on the off side, for _two_ particular good advantages which arise from it; the principal of which is, that as the pressure or bearing coming from the off side, it greatly assists in keeping the saddle even, especially with those ladies through a bad habit who accustom themselves to bear hard on the stirrup which is nothing more then[+] a habit, and want of learning to ride the right way at first. the other reason is, you can lengthen or shorten the stirrup at pleasure, without disturbing the lady at all, and without even dismounting yourself, if you are riding on the road, as the business is done on the off side the horse, nay i have altered the stirrup often without stopping at all. i insist upon it therefore if the stirrup does not hang perpendicular, or the same as when left to itself and no one on horseback, the end is totally destroyed, for what the stirrup was designed; which is in the _first_ place to carry the weight of, and only the weight of the rider's leg, without which support it would soon become fatigued and tired: and _secondly_, if you accustom yourself to carry your foot properly, as before directed, that is your heel in a line with your hip and shoulder, letting your foot rest even in the stirrup, carrying only the weight of your leg, with the toe a little raised, it will never fail to assist you in your balance, if you happen to lose it to the left, it is also ready to save you if you should happen to lose your balance to the right, by pressing the calf of your leg strongly and firmly to the side of your horse, and being always near your horse's side it is a quick aid in supporting him, and to force him forward, it is also of the greatest use, by pressing it strongly to his side, in assisting to turn your horse to the left, and likewise in throwing your horse's croup off when you wish to make him go into a canter, by which means he will be forced to go off with the right leg foremost. and _lastly_, it is of the utmost utility in supporting you in the continuance of the spring trot, a pace now greatly in fashion, and should be practised by all who accustom themselves to ride any length of journies, as it enables them to make some degree of speed, and by changing their paces often from walk, to trot, and gallop, their journey becomes less tedious to them. of the seat, and form of the side saddle. in the first place i would strongly recommend a large seated saddle, very high on the cantlet or back part, and a regular sweep from thence to the front or pommell, for some saddles, more shame be it spoken, are so small, and the seat so rounded in the middle, that to sit on them is next to balancing themselves on a round pole, a comfortable situation truly for a lady! i say again let me recommend a large seated saddle; i mean let it be large in proportion to the size of the lady, and high in the cantlet, nay i am confident that they might be contrived to advantage, were they constructed with peaks, and the peak carried on from the back part of the saddle to within four inches of the front on the off side; this with the addition of a burr, as it is called, to support the left knee, would greatly assist the lady in keeping the body on a good balance and sufficiently back: which might prevent many accidents. if these hints should strike any lady or gentleman as being reasonable, and should they be inclined to have a saddle so constructed, i should think myself happy in explaining myself more fully on the subject. _now in regard to the seat for a lady_, i sincerely wish i was able to prescribe a more firm _one_ than the present fashion will admit of, however i will do my endeavour to handle it in the best manner i can; and first let the whole weight of the body rest firmly upon the center of the saddle, leaning nei her[+] to one side or the other, with the shoulders easily back, and the chest presented well forward; a lady cannot be too nice and circumspect, in accustoming herself to sit upright, without contraction, in any part, _nothing so graceful, nothing so safe as ease_ of _action_; do not let the stirrup carry more than the weight of the leg, except in case of the swing trot, or when assisting to keep the ballance,[+] two material disadvantages arise from ladies accustoming themselves to bear heavy in the stirrup, and loll about, constantly twisting themselves to the near or left side of the horse: first it destroys their whole figure, making the same appear deformed and crooked; and if they were to continue in the habit of riding would confirm them in such deformed attitude, in its becoming second nature, by constant use; this is a truth too frequently witnessed, by practising without the right method. secondly, the other disadvantage most materially affects the horse; for by their so constantly leaning themselves to the near side, the side-saddle being so pulled and pressed against the withers or shoulder of the horse on the off side, keeping up a continual friction, and this being the case, i defy all the sadlers in the kingdom to prevent the saddle from wringing and galling the poor beast, especially in the heat of the summer; the only remedy is to take away the cause, by sitting properly, and the effect ceases of course. the notions which some ladies have entertained, as to fear to let their daughters be taught to ride, least it should make them grow crooked and awry, i insist that they are false, and quite the reverse; the cause is, as before observed, by their contracting bad habits of their own, and not being instructed on approved principles, so that the effect is caught hold of, while the cause lies unsought for; from my own knowledge and experience i could relate several instances wherein young ladies instead of growing crooked by learning to ride, have been greatly relieved from those complaints, and even quite eradicated by the practice of riding, i will here beg leave to mention an instance or two which will serve to prove what good effects may arise from this pleasant and healthful exercise. a young lady about seventeen years of age who had been afflicted for twelve months with a stiffness in her neck and shoulders, and it was observable that the right shoulder was grown much larger than the left. she on coming to the riding house to observe her fellow scholars take their lessons, of which she became much pleased, and wished much to learn to ride.--the governess consulted me on the matter, but said she feared it might make her grow worse as she had been told that riding sometimes caused ladies to become crooked, however, by my reasoning the matter with her she was convinced in her own opinion and caused the young lady to write to her parents in jamaica, and had permission by return of packet to ride according to my directions, which were briefly as follows, being in the month of march, and of course rather a cold piercing air, i advised new unwashed flannel every time she took a lesson to be worn next the skin on the part affected, _she rode_, of course a strong perspiration took place, she was much fatigued for the first six or seven lessons, however after then as she began to be acquainted with the use of her bridle hands, as i made her use both; and give great part of the lessons, in small circles to right and left; the consequence was that by persevering in this method for two successive months the parts became naturally relaxed and pliable, and by continuing to practice she entirely recovered her alacrity and spirits, and also became acquainted with the art of riding, which i hope she may long live to practice with ease and safety to herself in her native country. another young lady from the same school had a particular habit of leaning her shoulders and neck forward, i have frequently heard it called pokeing, and all the dancing-master's instructions had for years been ineffectual. i believe she was more fond of riding than dancing instructions, for the governess of the young lady before-mentioned often asserted that the riding master had done more in setting her scholar upright and keeping her shoulders easily back, in the space only of two months, than the dancing master, though capable in his profession, had been able to accomplish in three years. i hope to be pardoned for this little digression, not doubting but those ladies who will give themselves time to consider the foregoing, will be convinced that it is agreeable to reason and nature. now to say some little more of the seat, which cannot be too much attended to, being in a great measure the foundation of safety to a lady when on horseback, and as such i would strongly recommend the lady being in the menage, or in any proper place, the horse being very quiet and to be trusted to; then let the lady seat herself properly on the saddle as before directed, _only_ without the stirrup, and not to take the reins, leaving the direction of the horse to the riding master, or to whoever she can with safety trust the government to; and in this manner take half an hour's practice every day, as nothing will so greatly assist in acquiring a good and just balance. i do not advise this method to be gone rapidly about, as she may make use both of stirrup and reins at first, and when she has acquired a firmness and ballance in some degree, may first quit the stirrup, and in a lesson or two, the reins.[+] remembering to go to right and left circle alternately and progressively.[+] viz. from _walk_ to trot and gallop; i hope i need not say that the horse should be remarkably steady, and properly broke to go in circles to right and left by the longeing rein. i say this method will settle and give the scholar a firmness not to be acquired by any other means, will teach them to unite themselves with their horse, and go along with him, it will bring about that confidence, firmness, ease, and just poize of body which serves to constitute what is called a perfect _seat_, acquired by the rules of art, and agreeable to nature, and i here beg leave to quote a few lines which the great berringer observes applicable to this subject, "it is astonishing to think how this work so immediately necessary could have been deferred so long, that while rewards were given, public trials appointed, and laws enacted to promote an useful and generous breed of horses, no step should have been taken on the other hand to qualify and instruct the youth of the kingdom, of both sex in the superior art of riding; for the getting on the back of an horse to be conveyed from one place to another without knowing what the animal is enabled by nature, art and practice to perform, is not _riding_, the knowledge and utility of which consists in being able to discern and dexterous to employ the means by which the horse may be brought to execute what the rider requires of him with propriety, readiness and safety, and this knowledge in the rider and obedience in the horse should be so intimately connected as to form one _perfect whole_, this union being so indispensably necessary that where it is not, there is no meaning, the rider and horse talk different languages, and all is confusion, while many and fatal mischiefs may ensue, the rider may be wedged in the timber which he strives to rend, and fall the victim of his own ignorance and rashness." i have now observed such rules which with practice will form as good and perfect a _seat_ as the customary mode of riding will admit of. it remains now with practice and perseverance to make perfect. when riding on the road. when a lady has taken sufficient practice in the menage or elsewhere, so as to be able to steer and guide her horse, and particularly can stop him firm and well upon his haunches, and also knows by practice how to unite herself to the horse, provided he should stop suddenly by his own will, an instance which frequently happens, therefore it is essential that the rider should become sensible of every action of the horse by that kind of sympathy of feeling which should subsist between them, so as to know his intentions as quick as thought, in this and all other actions he may be inclined to, which are likely to offend and endanger the rider, or himself; i would earnestly recommend the lady to make herself acquainted with every help so as to gaurd[+] and defend herself on all occasions, such as her horse stumbling, shying, starting, running away, running back, rearing, kicking, and plunging; yet horses addicted to any of those vices are by no means fit, or should have ladies set upon knowingly, but as a lady cannot always be so fortunate as to get the possession of one of those hackneys we call a nonpareil, tho' every dealer you enquire of for one will say he can sell it you, therefore place not too much confidence in him you purchase your horse from, or the horse himself, even after you have rode him some time, for you scarce ever can be certain but he may play you some of those tricks, especially if his keep is above his work, as i have always found the best lady's hackneys require constant practice to keep them in tune. it is necessary the lady should have a sharp eye upon the road she is travelling, taking care by the gentle assistance of the bridle hand to steer and guide her horse into the best, to avoid all stones and uneven places, and never to ride near the edge of any deep ditch or sudden precipice, for altho, heaven be praised, accidents very seldom happen, yet if for the want of a little care and due management one should happen in one hundred years, that one would be one too many: the lady should pay great attention to the horse when going down a steep hill, and endeavour to put him together and upon his haunches, and to perform this, she must feel his mouth lightly and firmly with the bridle hand, at the same time making use of some of the helps used to force him to go forward, such as clicking with your voice, a gentle touch with the whip, or the heel, so she stays him a little by the bridle hand at the same time he is forced forwards by the other helps or aids and if properly timed, by doing enough without over doing, he will be put together, and of course kept on a light proper action which must be in the real action of a trot, that is with his two corner legs in the air at one time and two on the ground, by such means the horse will always be kept on a sure ballance and never be in danger of falling, on the other hand if the horse is sufferd to go loose and unasisted[+] by the bridle hand, and the other aids as before described, when going down a steep hill he will most commonly go into that unnatural pace called the amble which is moving his side legs together instead of his corner legs, this pace is very unsafe notwithstanding the ancients used arts in breaking the horse to the amble, on account of its being so much easier than the trot, but as it is a known maxim in physic that giving ease and performing a cure are two different things, so here an easy pace and a safe one are as diametrically opposite, and that the amble is an unsafe pace is easy to be conceived by the horse losing so large a portion of his ballance, to prove which only try these simple experiments. take a wooden horse[+] let his two corner legs be taken away and he will stand, but take away his two sides leg and he falls, again one often sees at a farrier's shop when a horse is wanted to be shod in haste, two smiths can work at the same time, by taking each of them a corner leg, therefore how careful should we be to keep our hackneys on a safe action, and awake under us on all occasions. the lady should endeavour to make herself acquainted with those objects which horses are most subject to be alarmed at, and first of all is a windmill in full sail, next some can never be brought to go comfortably by a tilted waggon, especially if meeting it, others dislike asses very much, some dislike to face a man wheeling a barrow or an umbrella extended, an arch drain which is frequently seen to carry the water away thro the banks in a turnpike road, its laying low and of course presents itself very suddenly, will sadly alarm some, and any object suddenly presenting itself is almost sure to affright and alarm any horse in spirits,[+] i once saw a lady get a fall, by a cow suddenly presenting its head over a hedge, yet a more steady animal never was, as i used her four years and never knew her start either before or after; let it be remembered that horses are more apt to be shy or start in the dusk of the evening than in broad day light, horses with bad eyes are almost sure to start, yet starting is not a sure sign of bad eyes, as many imagine it, i mention these few observations in regard to starting because horses which are most free from those faults, it may happen to some times; as horses like men are not alway in the same temper: never ride on a fast pace by any lane's end, or in turning any sudden or short turn, for two reasons; first, that it is unsafe as the horse might be subject to fall for want of being supported, and put together by shortening his pace, and secondly by your not being able to discern the objects which might present themselves to you so as to disturb and alarm your horse: these little hints kept well in mind may be the means of preventing many accidents. finis. footnotes: [ -*] such as the wild arabs, indians, &c. [ -*] used by sir sidney meadows. transcriber's note the following misspellings and typographical errors were maintained. page error particulatly should read particularly dependance should read dependence iregular should read irregular seperately should read separately apendix should read appendix higher then should read more than purpose, should read purpose. seperate; should read separate croud should read crowd thay should read they opeperations should read operations to make should read to make. myright should read my right condemed should read condemned upona should read upon a untill should read until more then should read more than occured should read occurred manage should read menage asists should read assists more then should read more than nei her should read neither ballance, should read ballance. the reins. should read the reins, progressively. should read progressively, gaurd should read guard unasisted should read unassisted wooden horse should read wooden horse, spirits, should read spirits. proofreading team the diverting history of john gilpin one of r. caldecott's picture books [illustration: the diverting history of john gilpin] [illustration] ==the diverting history of john gilpin:== _showing how he went farther than he intended, and came safe home again._ [illustration: written by william cowper with drawings by r. caldecott.] john gilpin was a citizen of credit and renown, a train-band captain eke was he, of famous london town. john gilpin's spouse said to her dear, "though wedded we have been these twice ten tedious years, yet we no holiday have seen. "to-morrow is our wedding-day, and we will then repair unto the 'bell' at edmonton, all in a chaise and pair. "my sister, and my sister's child, myself, and children three, will fill the chaise; so you must ride on horseback after we." [illustration: the linendraper bold] he soon replied, "i do admire of womankind but one, and you are she, my dearest dear, therefore it shall be done. "i am a linendraper bold, as all the world doth know, and my good friend the calender will lend his horse to go." quoth mrs. gilpin, "that's well said; and for that wine is dear, we will be furnished with our own, which is both bright and clear." john gilpin kissed his loving wife. o'erjoyed was he to find. that though on pleasure she was bent, she had a frugal mind. [illustration] [illustration] the morning came, the chaise was brought, but yet was not allowed to drive up to the door, lest all should say that she was proud. so three doors off the chaise was stayed, where they did all get in; six precious souls, and all agog to dash through thick and thin. smack went the whip, round went the wheels, were never folks so glad! the stones did rattle underneath, as if cheapside were mad. john gilpin at his horse's side seized fast the flowing mane, and up he got, in haste to ride, but soon came down again; for saddletree scarce reached had he, his journey to begin, when, turning round his head, he saw three customers come in. so down he came; for loss of time, although it grieved him sore, yet loss of pence, full well he knew, would trouble him much more. [illustration: the customers] [illustration] 'twas long before the customers were suited to their mind, when betty screaming came downstairs, "the wine is left behind!" "good lack!" quoth he, "yet bring it me, my leathern belt likewise, in which i bear my trusty sword when i do exercise." now mistress gilpin (careful soul!) had two stone bottles found, to hold the liquor that she loved, and keep it safe and sound. each bottle had a curling ear, through which the belt he drew, and hung a bottle on each side, to make his balance true. then over all, that he might be equipped from top to toe, his long red cloak, well brushed and neat, he manfully did throw. now see him mounted once again upon his nimble steed, full slowly pacing o'er the stones, with caution and good heed. [illustration] but finding soon a smoother road beneath his well-shod feet, the snorting beast began to trot, which galled him in his seat. [illustration] "so, fair and softly!" john he cried, but john he cried in vain; that trot became a gallop soon, in spite of curb and rein. so stooping down, as needs he must who cannot sit upright, he grasped the mane with both his hands, and eke with all his might. his horse, who never in that sort had handled been before, what thing upon his back had got, did wonder more and more. away went gilpin, neck or nought, away went hat and wig; he little dreamt, when he set out, of running such a rig. the wind did blow, the cloak did fly like streamer long and gay, till, loop and button failing both. at last it flew away. [illustration] then might all people well discern the bottles he had slung; a bottle swinging at each side, as hath been said or sung. the dogs did bark, the children screamed, up flew the windows all; and every soul cried out, "well done!" as loud as he could bawl. away went gilpin--who but he? his fame soon spread around; "he carries weight! he rides a race! 'tis for a thousand pound!" and still as fast as he drew near, 'twas wonderful to view how in a trice the turnpike-men their gates wide open threw. [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] and now, as he went bowing down his reeking head full low, the bottles twain behind his back were shattered at a blow. down ran the wine into the road, most piteous to be seen, which made the horse's flanks to smoke, as they had basted been. [illustration] but still he seemed to carry weight. with leathern girdle braced; for all might see the bottle-necks still dangling at his waist. [illustration] thus all through merry islington these gambols he did play, until he came unto the wash of edmonton so gay; and there he threw the wash about on both sides of the way, just like unto a trundling mop, or a wild goose at play. [illustration] at edmonton his loving wife from the balcony spied her tender husband, wondering much to see how he did ride. "stop, stop, john gilpin!--here's the house!" they all at once did cry; "the dinner waits, and we are tired;" said gilpin--"so am i!" [illustration] but yet his horse was not a whit inclined to tarry there; for why?--his owner had a house full ten miles off, at ware. so like an arrow swift he flew, shot by an archer strong; so did he fly--which brings me to the middle of my song. [illustration] away went gilpin, out of breath, and sore against his will, till at his friend the calender's his horse at last stood still. [illustration] the calender, amazed to see his neighbour in such trim, laid down his pipe, flew to the gate. and thus accosted him: "what news? what news? your tidings tell; tell me you must and shall-- say why bareheaded you are come, or why you come at all?" now gilpin had a pleasant wit, and loved a timely joke; and thus unto the calender in merry guise he spoke: "i came because your horse would come; and, if i well forebode, my hat and wig will soon be here, they are upon the road." the calender, right glad to find his friend in merry pin, returned him not a single word, but to the house went in; whence straight he came with hat and wig, a wig that flowed behind, a hat not much the worse for wear, each comely in its kind. [illustration] he held them up, and in his turn thus showed his ready wit: "my head is twice as big as yours, they therefore needs must fit." [illustration] "but let me scrape the dirt away, that hangs upon your face; and stop and eat, for well you may be in a hungry case." said john, "it is my wedding-day, and all the world would stare if wife should dine at edmonton, and i should dine at ware." so turning to his horse, he said "i am in haste to dine; 'twas for your pleasure you came here, you shall go back for mine." ah! luckless speech, and bootless boast! for which he paid full dear; for while he spake, a braying ass did sing most loud and clear; whereat his horse did snort, as he had heard a lion roar, and galloped off with all his might, as he had done before. [illustration] away went gilpin, and away went gilpin's hat and wig; he lost them sooner than at first, for why?--they were too big. [illustration] now mistress gilpin, when she saw her husband posting down into the country far away, she pulled out half-a-crown; and thus unto the youth she said that drove them to the "bell," "this shall be yours when you bring back my husband safe and well." [illustration] the youth did ride, and soon did meet john coming back amain; whom in a trice he tried to stop, by catching at his rein. but not performing what he meant, and gladly would have done, the frighted steed he frighted more, and made him faster run. away went gilpin, and away went postboy at his heels, the postboy's horse right glad to miss the lumbering of the wheels. [illustration] six gentlemen upon the road, thus seeing gilpin fly, with postboy scampering in the rear. they raised the hue and cry. "stop thief! stop thief! a highwayman!'" not one of them was mute; and all and each that passed that way did join in the pursuit. [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] and now the turnpike-gates again flew open in short space; the toll-man thinking, as before, that gilpin rode a race. and so he did, and won it too, for he got first to town; nor stopped till where he had got up, he did again get down. now let us sing, long live the king, and gilpin, long live he; and when he next doth ride abroad. may i be there to see. [illustration] [illustration] randolph caldecott's picture books "the humour of randolph caldecott's drawings is simply irresistible, no healthy-minded man, woman, or child could look at them without laughing." _in square crown to, picture covers, with numerous coloured plates._ john gilpin the house that jack built the babes in the wood the mad dog three jovial huntsmen sing a song for sixpence the queen of hearts the farmer's boy the milkmaid hey-diddle-diddle and baby bunting a frog he would a-wooing go the fox jumps over the parson's gate come lasses,and lads ride a cock horse to banbury cross, &c. mrs. mary blaize the great panjandrum himself _the above selections are also issued in four volumes, square crown to, attractive binding, red edges. each containing four different books, with their coloured pictures and numerous outline sketches_ r. caldecott's picture book no. r. caldecott's picture book no. hey-diddle-diddle-picture book the panjandrum picture book _and also_ _in two volumes, handsomely bound in cloth gilt, each containing eight different books, with their coloured pictures, and numerous outline sketches._ r. caldecott's collection of pictures and songs no. r. caldecott's collection of pictures and songs no. miniature editions, _size - / by - / art boards, flat backs_ four volumes entitled r. caldecott's picture books nos. , , and _each containing coloured plates and numerous outline sketches in the text._ _crown to picture covers_ randolph caldecott's painting books. three volumes _each with outline pictures to paint, and coloured examples._ _oblong to, cloth._ a sketch book of r. caldecott's. _containing numerous sketches in colour and black and white._ london. frederick warne & co. ltd. & new york. _the published prices of the above picture books can be obtained of all booksellers or from the illustrated catalogue of the publishers_ printed and copyrighted by edmund evans, ltd., rose place, globe road, london, e. . transcriber's note obvious typographical errors have been corrected. a list of corrections is found at the end of the text. oe ligatures have been expanded. [illustration: frontispiece page .] riding recollections. by g. j. whyte-melville. _with illustrations by edgar giberne._ fifth edition. london: chapman and hall, , piccadilly. . [_all rights reserved._] london: r. clay, sons, and taylor, printers, bread street hill. dedicated, on behalf of "the bridled and saddled," to the "booted and spurred." contents. chapter i. page kindness chapter ii. coercion chapter iii. the use of the bridle chapter iv. the abuse of the spur chapter v. hand chapter vi. seat chapter vii. valour chapter viii. discretion chapter ix. irish hunters chapter x. thorough-bred horses chapter xi. riding to fox-hounds chapter xii. riding _at_ stag-hounds chapter xiii. the provinces chapter xiv. the shires list of illustrations. page the dorsetshire farmer's plan of teaching horses to jump timber "if he should drop his hind legs, _shoot_ yourself off over his shoulders in an instant, with a fast hold of the bridle, at which tug hard, even though you may not have regained your legs" "lastly, when it gets upon bachelor, or benedict, or othello, or any other high-flyer with a suggestive name, it sails away close, often too close, to the hounds leaving brothers, husbands, even admirers, hopelessly in the rear" (_frontispiece_) "perhaps we find an easy place under a tree, with an overhanging branch, and sidle daintily up to it, bending the body and lowering the head as we creep through, to the admiration of an indiscreet friend on a rash horse who spoils a good hat and utters an evil execration, while trying to follow our example" "when we canter anxiously up to a sign-post where four roads meet, with a fresh and eager horse indeed, but not the wildest notion towards which point of the compass we should direct his energies, we can but stop to listen, take counsel of a countryman, &c." at bay "'come up horse!' and having admonished that faithful servant with a dig in the ribs from his horn, blows half-a-dozen shrill blasts in quick succession, sticks the instrument, i shudder to confess it, in his boot, and proceeds to hustle his old white nag at the best pace he can command in the wake of his favourites" "the king of the golden mines" riding recollections. riding recollections. as in the choice of a horse and a wife a man must please himself, ignoring the opinion and advice of friends, so in the governing of each it is unwise to follow out any fixed system of discipline. much depends on temper, education, mutual understanding and surrounding circumstances. courage must not be heated to recklessness, caution should be implied rather than exhibited, and confidence is simply a question of time and place. it is as difficult to explain by precept or demonstrate by example how force, balance, and persuasion ought to be combined in horsemanship, as to teach the art of floating in the water or swimming on the back. practice in either case alone makes perfect, and he is the most apt pupil who brings to his lesson a good opinion of his own powers and implicit reliance on that which carries him. trust the element or the animal and you ride aloft superior to danger; but with misgiving comes confusion, effort, breathlessness, possibly collapse and defeat. morally and physically, there is no creature so nervous as a man out of his depth. in offering the following pages to the public, the writer begs emphatically to disclaim any intention of laying down the law on such a subject as horsemanship. every man who wears spurs believes himself more or less an adept in the art of riding; and it would be the height of presumption for one who has studied that art as a pleasure and not a profession to dictate for the ignorant, or enter the lists of argument with the wise. all he can lay claim to is a certain amount of experience, the result of many happy hours spent with the noble animal under him, of some uncomfortable minutes when mutual indiscretion has caused that position to be reversed. if the few hints he can offer should prove serviceable to the beginner he will feel amply rewarded, and will only ask to be kindly remembered hereafter in the hour of triumph when the tyro of a riding-school has become the pride of a hunting-field,--judicious, cool, daring, and skilful--light of hand, firm of seat, thoroughly at home in the saddle, a very centaur "encorpsed and demi-natured with the brave beast." chapter i. kindness. in our dealings with the brute creation, it cannot be too much insisted on that mutual confidence is only to be established by mutual good-will. the perceptions of the beast must be raised to their highest standard, and there is no such enemy to intelligence as fear. reward should be as the daily food it eats, punishment as the medicine administered on rare occasions, unwillingly, and but when absolute necessity demands. the horse is of all domestic animals most susceptible to anything like discomfort or ill-usage. its nervous system, sensitive and highly strung, is capable of daring effort under excitement, but collapses utterly in any new and strange situation, as if paralysed by apprehensions of the unknown. can anything be more helpless than the young horse you take out hunting the first time he finds himself in a bog? compare his frantic struggles and sudden prostration with the discreet conduct of an exmoor pony in the same predicament. the one terrified by unaccustomed danger, and relying instinctively on the speed that seems his natural refuge, plunges wildly forward, sinks to his girths, his shoulders, finally unseats his rider, and settles down, without further exertion, in the stupid apathy of despair. the other, born and bred in the wild west country, picking its scanty keep from a foal off the treacherous surface of a devonshire moor, either refuses altogether to trust the quagmire, or shortens its stride, collects its energies, chooses the soundest tufts that afford foothold, and failing these, flaps its way out on its side, to scramble into safety with scarce a quiver or a snort. it has been there before! herein lies the whole secret. some day your young one will be as calm, as wise, as tractable. alas! that when his discretion has reached its prime his legs begin to fail! therefore cultivate his intellect--i use the word advisedly--even before you enter on the development of his physical powers. nature and good keep will provide for these, but to make him man's willing friend and partner you must give him the advantage of man's company and man's instruction. from the day you slip a halter over his ears he should be encouraged to look to you, like a child, for all his little wants and simple pleasures. he should come cantering up from the farthest corner of the paddock when he hears your voice, should ask to have his nose rubbed, his head stroked, his neck patted, with those honest, pleading looks which make the confidence of a dumb creature so touching; and before a roller has been put on his back, or a snaffle in his mouth he should be convinced that everything you do to him is right, and that it is impossible for _you_, his best friend, to cause him the least uneasiness or harm. i once owned a mare that would push her nose into my pockets in search of bread and sugar, would lick my face and hands like a dog, or suffer me to cling to any part of her limbs and body while she stood perfectly motionless. on one occasion, when i hung in the stirrup after a fall, she never stirred on rising, till by a succession of laborious and ludicrous efforts i could swing myself back into the saddle, with my foot still fast, though hounds were running hard and she loved hunting dearly in her heart. as a friend remarked at the time, "the little mare seems very fond of you, or there might have been a bother!" now this affection was but the result of petting, sugar, kind and encouraging words, particularly at her fences, and a rigid abstinence from abuse of the bridle and the spur. i shall presently have something to say about both these instruments, but i may remark in the mean time that many more horses than people suppose will cross a country safely with a loose rein. the late colonel william greenwood, one of the finest riders in the world, might be seen out hunting with a single curb-bridle, such as is called "a hard-and-sharp" and commonly used only in the streets of london or the park. the present lord spencer, of whom it is enough to say that he hunts one pack of his own hounds in northamptonshire, and is always _in the same field with them_, never seems to have a horse pull, or until it is tired, even lean on his hand. i have watched both these gentlemen intently to learn their secret, but i regret to say without avail. this, however, is not the present question. long before a bridle is fitted on the colt's head he should have so thoroughly learned the habit of obedience, that it has become a second instinct, and to do what is required of him seems as natural as to eat when he is hungry or lie down when he wants to sleep. this result is to be attained in a longer or shorter time, according to different tempers, but the first and most important step is surely gained when we have succeeded in winning that affection which nurses and children call "cupboard love." like many amiable characters on two legs, the quadruped is shy of acquaintances but genial with friends. make him understand that you are his best and wisest, that all you do conduces to his comfort and happiness, be careful at first not to deceive or disappoint him, and you will find his reasoning powers quite strong enough to grasp the relations of cause and effect. in a month or six weeks he will come to your call, and follow you about like a dog. soon he will let you lift his feet, handle him all over, pull his tail, and lean your weight on any part of his body, without alarm or resentment. when thoroughly familiar with your face, your voice, and the motions of your limbs, you may back him with perfect safety, and he will move as soberly under you in any place to which he is accustomed as the oldest horse in your stable. do not forget, however, that education should be gradual as moon-rise, perceptible, not in progress, but result. i recollect one morning riding to covert with a dorsetshire farmer whose horses, bred at home, were celebrated as timber-jumpers even in that most timber-jumping of countries. i asked him how they arrived at this proficiency without breaking somebody's neck, and he imparted his plan. the colt, it seemed, ran loose from a yearling in the owner's straw-yard, but fed in a lofty out-house, across the door of which was placed a single tough ashen bar that would not break under a bullock. this was laid on the ground till the young one had grown thoroughly accustomed to it, and then raised very gradually to such a height as was less trouble to jump than clamber over. at three feet the two-year old thought no more of the obstacle than a girl does of her skipping-rope. after that, it was heightened an inch every week, and it needs no ready reckoner to tell us at the end of six months how formidable a leap the animal voluntarily negotiated three times a day. "it's never put no higher," continued my informant; "i'm an old man now, and that's good enough for me." i should think it was! a horse that can leap five feet of timber in cold blood is not likely to be pounded, while still unblown, in any part of england i have yet seen. [illustration: page .] now the dorsetshire farmer's system was sound, and based on common sense. as you bend the twig so grows the tree, therefore prepare your pupil from the first for the purpose you intend him to serve hereafter. an arab foal, as we know, brought up in the bedouin's tent, like another child, among the bedouin's children, is the most docile of its kind, and i cannot but think that if he lived in our houses and we took as much notice of him, the horse would prove quite as sagacious as the dog; but we must never forget that to harshness or intimidation he is the most sensitive of creatures, and even when in fault should be rather cautioned than reproved. an ounce of illustration is worth a pound of argument, and the following example best conveys the spirit in which our brave and willing servant should be treated by his lord. many years ago, when he hunted the cottesmore country, sir richard sutton's hounds had been running hard from glooston wood along the valley under cranehoe by slawston to holt. after thirty minutes or so over this beautiful, but exceedingly stiff line, their heads went up, and they came to a check, possibly from their own dash and eagerness, certainly, at that pace and amongst those fences, _not from being overridden_. "turn 'em, ben!" exclaimed sir richard, with a dirty coat, and hotspur in a lather, but determined not to lose a moment in getting after his fox. "yes, sir richard," answered morgan, running his horse without a moment's hesitation at a flight of double-posts and rails, with a ditch in the middle and one on each side! the good grey, having gone in front from the find, was perhaps a little blown, and dropping his hind legs in the farthest ditch, rolled very handsomely into the next field. "it's not _your_ fault, old man!" said ben, patting his favourite on the neck as they rose together in mutual good-will, adding in the same breath, while he leapt to the saddle, and tranby acknowledged the line--"forrard on, sir richard!--hoic together, hoic! you'll have him directly, my beauties! he's a quorn fox, and he'll do you good!" i had always considered ben morgan an unusually fine rider. for the first time, i began to understand _why_ his horse never failed to carry him so willingly and so well. i do not remember whether dick webster was out with us that day, but i am sure if he was he has not forgotten it, and i mention him as another example of daring horsemanship combined with an imperturbable good humour, almost verging on buffoonery, which seems to accept the most dangerous falls as enhancing the fun afforded by a delightful game of romps. his annual exhibition of prowess at the islington horse show has made his shrewd comical face so familiar to the public that his name, without farther comment, is enough to recall the presence and bearing of the man--his quips and cranks and merry jests, his shrill whistle and ready smile, his strong seat and light, skilful hand, but above all his untiring patience and unfailing kindness with the most restive and refractory of pupils. dick, like many other good fellows, is not so young as he was, but he will probably be an unequalled rider at eighty, and i am quite sure that if he lives to the age of methuselah, the extreme of senile irritability will never provoke him to lose his temper with a horse. presence of mind under difficulties is the one quality that in riding makes all the difference between getting off with a scramble and going down with a fall. if unvaried kindness has taught your horse to place confidence in his rider, he will have his wits about him, and provide for _your_ safety as for his own. when left to himself, and not flurried by the fear of punishment, even an inexperienced hunter makes surprising efforts to keep on his legs, and it is not too much to say that while his wind lasts, the veteran is almost as difficult to catch tripping as a cat. i have known horses drop their hind legs on places scarcely affording foothold for a goat, but in all such feats they have been ridden by a lover of the animal, who trusts it implicitly, and rules by kindness rather than fear. i will not deny that there are cases in which the _suaviter in modo_ must be supplemented by the _fortiter in re_. still the insubordination of ignorance is never wholly inexcusable, and great discretion must be used in repressing even the most violent of outbreaks. if severity is absolutely required, be sure to temper justice with mercy, remembering that, in brute natures at least, the more you spare the rod, the less you spoil the child! chapter ii. coercion. i recollect, in years gone by, an old and pleasant comrade used to declare that "to be in a rage was almost as contemptible as to be in a funk!" doubtless the passion of anger, though less despised than that of fear, is so far derogatory to the dignity of man that it deprives him temporarily of reason, the very quality which confers sovereignty over the brute. when a magician is without his talisman the slaves he used to rule will do his bidding no longer. when we say of such a one that he has "lost his head," we no more expect him to steer a judicious course than a ship that has lost her rudder. both are the prey of circumstances--at the mercy of winds and waves. therefore, however hard you are compelled to hit, be sure to keep your temper. strike in perfect good-humour, and in the right place. many people cannot encounter resistance of any kind without anger, even a difference of opinion in conversation is sufficient to rouse their bile; but such are seldom winners in argument or in fight. let them also leave education alone. nature never meant them to teach the young idea how to shoot or hunt, or do anything else! it is the cold-blooded and sagacious wrestler who takes the prize, the calm and imperturbable player who wins the game. in all struggles for supremacy, excitement only produces flurry, and flurry means defeat. who ever saw mr. anstruther thompson in a passion, though, like every other huntsman and master of hounds, he must often have found his temper sorely tried? and yet, when punishment is absolutely necessary to extort obedience from the equine rebel, no man can administer it more severely, either from the saddle or the box. but whether double-thonging a restive wheeler, or "having it out" with a resolute buck-jumper, the operation is performed with the same pleasant smile, and when one of the adversaries preserves calmness and common sense, the fight is soon over, and the victory gained. it is not every man, however, who possesses this gentleman's iron nerve and powerful frame. for most of us, it is well to remember, before engaging in such contests, that defeat is absolute ruin. we must be prepared to fight it out to the bitter end, and if we are not sure of our own firmness, either mental or physical it is well to temporise, and try to win by diplomacy the terms we dare not wrest by force. if the latter alternative must needs be accepted, in this as in most stand-up fights, it will be found that the first blow is half the battle. the rider should take his horse short by the head and let him have two or three stingers with a cutting whip--not more--particularly, if on a thorough-bred one, as low down the flanks as can be reached, administered without warning, and in quick succession, sitting back as prepared for the plunge into the air that will inevitably follow, keeping his horse's head well-up the while to prevent buck-jumping. he should then turn the animal round and round half-a-dozen times, till it is confused, and start it off at speed in any direction where there is room for a gallop. blown, startled, and intimidated, he will in all probability find his pupil perfectly amenable to reason when he pulls up, and should then coax and soothe him into an equable frame of mind once more. such, however, is an extreme case. it is far better to avoid the _ultima ratio_. in equitation, as in matrimony, there should never arise "_the first quarrel_." obedience, in horses, ought to be a matter of habit, contracted so imperceptibly that its acquirement can scarcely be called a lesson. this is why the hunting-field is such a good school for leaping. horses of every kind are prompted by some unaccountable impulse to follow a pack of hounds, and the beginner finds himself voluntarily performing feats of activity and daring, in accordance with the will of his rider, which no coercion from the latter would have induced him to attempt. flushed with success, and if fortunate enough to escape a fall, confident in his lately-discovered powers, he finds a new pleasure in their exercise, and, most precious of qualities in a hunter, grows "fond of jumping." the same result is to be attained at home, but is far more gradual, requiring the exercise of much care, patience, and perseverance. nevertheless, when we consider the inconvenience created by the vagaries of young horses in the hunting field, to hounds, sportsmen, ladies, pedestrians, and their own riders, we must admit that the irish system is best, and that a colt, to use the favourite expression, should have been trained into "an accomplished lepper," before he is asked to carry a sportsman through a run. mr. rarey, no doubt, thoroughly understood the nature of the animal with which he had to deal. his system was but a convenient application of our principle, viz., judicious coercion, so employed that the brute obeys the man without knowing why. when forced to the earth, and compelled to remain there, apparently by the mere volition of a creature so much smaller and feebler than itself, it seemed to acknowledge some mysterious and over-mastering power such as the disciples of mesmer profess to exercise on their believers, and this, in truth, is the whole secret of man's dominion over the beasts of the field. it is founded, to speak practically, on reason in both, the larger share being apportioned to the weaker frame. if by terror or resentment, the result of injudicious severity, that reason becomes obscured in the stronger animal, we have a maniac to deal with, possessing the strength of ten human beings, over whom we have lost our only shadow of control! where is our supremacy then? it existed but in the imagination of the beast, for which, so long as it never tried to break the bond, a silken thread was as strong as an iron chain. perhaps this is the theory of all government, but with the conduct and coercion of mankind we have at present nothing to do. there is a peculiarity in horses that none who spend much time in the saddle can have failed to notice. it is the readiness with which all accommodate themselves to a rider who succeeds in subjugating _one_. some men possess a faculty, impossible to explain, of establishing a good understanding from the moment they place themselves in the saddle. it can hardly be called hand, for i have seen consummate horsemen, notably mr. lovell, of the new forest, who have lost an arm; nor seat, or how could colonel fraser, late of the th hussars, be one of the best heavy-weights over such a country as meath, with a broken and contracted thigh? certainly not nerve, for there are few fields too scanty to furnish examples of men who possess every quality of horsemanship except daring. what is it then? i cannot tell, but if you are fortunate enough to possess it, whether you weigh ten stone or twenty, you will be able to mount yourself fifty pounds cheaper than anybody else in the market! be it an impulse of nature, or a result of education, there is a tendency in every horse to make vigorous efforts at the shortest notice in obedience to the inclination of a rider's body or the pressure of his limbs. such indications are of the utmost service in an emergency, and to offer them at the happy moment is a crucial test of horsemanship. thus races are "snatched out of the fire," as it is termed, "by riding," and this is the quality that, where judgment, patience, and knowledge of pace are equal, renders one jockey superior to the rest. it enables a proficient also to clear those large fences that, in our grazing districts especially, appear impracticable to the uninitiated, as if the horse borrowed muscular energy, no less than mental courage, from the resolution of his rider. on the racecourse and in the hunting field, custance, the well-known jockey, possesses this quality in the highest degree. the same determined strength in the saddle, that had done him such good service amongst the bullfinches and "oxers" of his native rutland, applied at the happy moment, secured on a great occasion his celebrated victory with king lud. there are two kinds of hunters that require coercion in following hounds, and he is indeed a master of his art who feels equally at home on each. the one must be _steered_, the other _smuggled_ over a country. as he is never comfortable but in front, we will take the rash horse first. let us suppose you have not ridden him before, that you like his appearance, his action, all his qualities except his boundless ambition, that you are in a practicable country, as seems only fair, and about to draw a covert affording every prospect of a run. before you put your foot in the stirrup be sure to examine his bit--not one groom in a hundred knows how to bridle a horse properly--and remember that on the fitting of this important article depends your success, your enjoyment, perhaps your safety, during the day. horses, like servants, will never let their master be happy if they are uncomfortable themselves. see that your headstall is long enough, so that the pressure may lie on the bars of the horse's mouth and not crumple up the corners of his lips, like a gag. the curb-chain will probably be too tight, also the throat-lash; if so, loosen both, and with your own hands; it is a pleasant way of making acquaintance, and may perhaps prepossess him in your favour. if he wears a nose-band it will be time enough to take it off when you find he shows impatience of the restriction by shaking his head, changing his leg frequently, or reaching unjustifiably at the rein. i am prejudiced against the nose-band. i frankly admit a man in a minority of one _must_ be wrong, but i never rode a horse in my life that, to my own feeling, did not go more comfortably when i took it off. look also to your girths. for a fractious temper they are very irritating when drawn too tight, while with good shape and a breast-plate, there is little danger of their not being tight enough. when these preliminaries have been carefully gone through mount nimbly to the saddle, and take the first opportunity of feeling your new friend's mouth and paces in trot, canter, and gallop. here, too, though in general it should be avoided for many reasons, social, agricultural, and personal, a little "larking" is not wholly inexcusable. it will promote cordiality between man and beast. the latter, as we are considering him, is sure to be fond of jumping, and to ride him over a fence or two away from other horses in cold blood will create in his mind the very desirable impression that you are of a daring spirit, determined to be in front. take him, however, up to his leap as slow as he will permit--if possible at a trot. even should he break into a canter and become impetuous at last, there is no space for a violent rush in three strides, during which you must hold him in a firm, equable grasp. as he leaves the ground give him his head, he cannot have "too much rope," till he lands again, when, as soon as possible, you should pull him back to a trot, handling him delicately, soothing him with voice and gesture, treating the whole affair as the simplest matter of course. do not bring him again over the same place, rather take him on for two or three fields in a line parallel to the hounds. by the time they are put into covert you will have established a mutual understanding, and found out how much you _dislike_ one another at the worst! it is well now to avoid the crowd, but beware of taking up a position by yourself where you may head the fox! no man can ride in good-humour under a sense of guilt, and you _must_ be good-humoured with such a mount as you have under you to-day. exhaust, therefore, all your knowledge of woodcraft to get away on good terms with the hounds. the wildest romp in a rush of horses is often perfectly temperate and amenable when called on to cut out the work. should you, by ill luck, find yourself behind others in the first field, avoid, if possible, following any one of them over the first fence. even though it be somewhat black and forbidding, choose a fresh place, so free a horse as yours will jump the more carefully that his attention is not distracted by a leader, and there is the further consideration, based on common humanity, that your leader might fall when too late for you to stop. no man is in so false a position as he who rides over a friend in the hunting field, except the friend! take your own line. if you be not afraid to gallop and the hounds _run on_, you will probably find it plain sailing till they check. should a brook laugh in your face, of no unreasonable dimensions, you may charge it with confidence, a rash horse usually jumps width, and there will be plenty of "room to ride" on the far side. it takes but a few feet of water to decimate a field. i may here observe that, if, as they cross, you see the hounds leap at it, even though they fall short, you may be sure the distance from bank to bank is within the compass of a hunter's stride. at timber, i would not have you quite so confident. when, as in leicestershire, it is set fairly in line with the fence and there is a good take-off, your horse, however impetuous, may leap it with impunity in his stroke, but should the ground be poached by cattle, or dip as you come to it, beware of too great hurry. the feat ought then to be accomplished calmly and collectedly at a trot, the horse taking his time, so to speak, from the motions of his rider, and jumping, as it is called, "to his hand." now when man and horse are at variance on so important a matter as pace, the one is almost sure to interfere at the wrong moment, the other to take off too soon or get too close under his leap; in either case the animal is more likely to rise at a fence than a rail, and if unsuccessful in clearing it a binder is less dangerous to flirt with than a bar. lord wilton seems to me to ride at timber a turn slower than usual, lord grey a turn faster. whether father and son differ in theory i am unable to say, i can only affirm that both are undeniable in practice. mr. fellowes of shottisham, perhaps the best of his day, and mr. gilmour, _facile princeps_, almost walk up to this kind of leap; colonel, now general pearson, known for so many seasons as "the flying captain," charges it like a squadron of sikh cavalry; captain arthur smith pulls back to a trot; lord carington scarcely shortens the stride of his gallop. who shall decide between such professors? much depends on circumstances, more perhaps on horses. assheton smith used to throw the reins on a hunter's neck when rising at a gate, and say,--"take care of yourself, you brute!"--whereas the celebrated lord jersey, who gave me this information of his old friend's style, held his own bridle in a vice at such emergencies, and both usually got safe over! perhaps the logical deduction from these conflicting examples should be not to jump timber at all! but the rash horse is by this time getting tired, and now, if you would avoid a casualty, you must temper valour with discretion, and ride him as skilfully as you _can_. he has probably carried you well and pleasantly during the few happy moments that intervened between freshness and fatigue; now he is beginning to pull again, but in a more set and determined manner than at first. he does not collect himself so readily, and wants to go faster than ever at his fences, if you would let him. this careless, rushing style threatens a downfall, and to counteract it will require the exercise of your utmost skill. carry his head for him, since he seems to require it, and endeavour, by main force if necessary, to bring him to his leaps with his hind legs under him. half-beaten horses measure distance with great accuracy, and "lob" over very large places, when properly ridden. if, notwithstanding all your precautions, he persists in going on his shoulders, blundering through his places, and labouring across ridge and furrow like a boat in a heavy sea, take advantage of the first lane you find, and voting the run nearly over, make up your mind to view the rest of it in safety from the hard road! ride the same horse again at the first opportunity, and, if sound enough to come out in his turn, a month's open weather will probably make him a very pleasant mount. the "slug," a thorough-bred one, we will say, with capital hind-ribs, lop ears, and a lazy eye, must be managed on a very different system from the foregoing. you need not be so particular about his bridle, for the coercion in this case is of impulsion rather than restraint, but i would advise you to select a useful cutting-whip, stiff and strong enough to push a gate. not that you must use it freely--one or two "reminders" at the right moment, and an occasional flourish, ought to carry you through the day. be sure, too, that you strike underhanded, and not in front of your own body, lest you take his eye off at the critical moment when your horse is measuring his leap. the best riders prefer such an instrument to the spurs, as a stimulant to increased pace and momentary exertion. you will have little trouble with this kind of hunter while hounds are drawing. he will seem only too happy to stand still, and you may sit amongst your friends in the middle ride, smoking, joking, and holding forth to your heart's content. but, like the fox, you will find your troubles begin with the cheering holloa of "gone away!" on your present mount, instead of avoiding the crowd, i should advise you to keep in the very midst of the torrent that, pent up in covert, rushes down the main ride to choke a narrow handgate, and overflow the adjoining field. emerging from the jaws of their inconvenient egress, they will scatter, like a row of beads when the string breaks, and while the majority incline to right or left, regardless of the line of chase as compared with that of safety, some half dozen are sure to single themselves out, and ride straight after the hounds. select one of these, a determined horseman, whom you know to be mounted on an experienced hunter; give him _plenty of room_--fifty yards at least--and ride his line, nothing doubting, fence for fence, till your horse's blood is up, and your own too. i cannot enough insist on a jealous care of your leader's safety, and a little consideration for his prejudices. the boldest sportsmen are exceedingly touchy about being ridden over, and not without reason. there is something unpleasantly suggestive in the bit, and teeth, and tongue of an open mouth at your ear; while your own horse, quivering high in air, makes the discovery that he has not allowed margin enough for the yawner under his nose! it is little less inexcusable to pick a man's pocket than to ride in it; and no apology can exonerate so flagrant an assault as to land on him when down. reflect, also, that a hunter, after the effort to clear his fence, often loses foothold, particularly over ridge and furrow, in the second or third stride, and falls at the very moment a follower would suppose he was safe over. therefore, do not begin for yourself till your leader is twenty yards into the next field when you may harden your heart, set your muscles, and give your horse to understand, by seat and manner, that it must be in, through, or over. beware, however, of hurrying him off his legs. ride him resolutely, indeed, but in a short, contracted stride; slower in proportion to the unwillingness he betrays, so as to hold him in a vice, and squeeze him up to the brink of his task, when, forbidden to turn from it, he will probably make his effort in self-defence, and take you somehow to the other side. not one hunter in a hundred can jump in good form when going at speed; it is the perfection of equine prowess, resulting from great quickness and the confidence of much experience. an arrant refuser usually puts on the steam of his own accord, like a confirmed rusher, and wheels to right or left at the last moment, with an activity that, displayed in a better cause, would be beyond praise. the rider, too, has more command of his horse, when forced up to the bit in a slow canter, than at any other pace. thoroughbred horses, until their education is complete, are apt to get very close to their fences, preferring, as it would seem, to go into them on this side rather than the other. it is not a style that inspires confidence; yet these crafty, careful creatures are safer than they seem, and from jumping in a collected form, with their hind-legs under them, extricate themselves with surprising address from difficulties that, after a little more tuition, they will never be in. they are really less afraid of their fences, and consequently less flurried, than the wilful, impetuous brute that loses its equanimity from the moment it catches sight of an obstacle, and miscalculating its distance, in sheer nervousness--most fatal error of all--takes off too soon. i will now suppose that in the wake of your pilot you have negotiated two or three fences with some expenditure of nerve and temper, but without a refusal or a fall. the cutting-whip has been applied, and the result, perhaps, was disappointing, for it is an uncertain remedy, though, in my opinion, preferable to the spur. your horse has shown great leaping powers in the distances he has covered without the momentum of speed, and has doubled an on-and-off with a precision not excelled by your leader himself. if he would but jump in his stride, you feel you have a hunter under you. should the country be favourable, now is the time to teach him this accomplishment, while his limbs are supple and his spirit roused. if he seems willing to face them, let him take his fences in his own way; do not force or hurry him, but keep fast hold of his head without varying the pressure of hand or limb by a hairsbreadth; the least uncertainty of finger or inequality of seat will spoil it all. should the ditch be towards him, he will jump from a stand, or nearly so, but, to your surprise, will land safe in the next field. if it is on the far side, he will show more confidence, and will perhaps swing over the whole with something of an effort in his canter. a foot or two of extra width may cause him to drop a hind-leg, or even bring him on his nose;--so much the better! no admonition of yours would have proved as effectual a warning--he will take good care to cover distance enough next time. dispense with your leader now, if you are pretty close to the hounds, for your horse is gathering confidence with every stride. he can gallop, of course, and is good through dirt--it is also understood that he is fit to go; there are not many in a season, but let us suppose you have dropped into a run; if he carries you well to the finish, he will be a hunter from to-day. after some five and twenty minutes, you will find him going with more dash and freedom, as his neighbours begin to tire. you may now ride him at timber without scruple, when not too high, but avoid a rail that looks as if it would break. to find out he may tamper with such an obstacle is the most dangerous discovery a hunter can make. you should send him at it pretty quick, lest he get too near to rise, and refuse at the last moment. he may not do it in the best of form, but whether he chances it in his gallop, or bucks over like a deer, or hoists himself sideways all in a heap, with his tail against your hat, at this kind of fence this kind of horse is most unlikely to fall. the same may be said of a brook. if he is within a fair distance of the hounds, and you see by the expression of his ears and crest that he is watching them with ardent interest, ride him boldly at water should it be necessary. it is quite possible he may jump it in his stride from bank to bank, without a moment's hesitation. it is equally possible he may stop short on the bank, with lowered head and crouching quarters as if prepared to drink, or dive, or decline. he will do none of these. sit still, give him his head, keep close into your saddle, not moving so much as an eyelash, and it is more than probable that he will jump the stream standing, and reach the other side, with a scramble and a flounder at the worst! if he should drop his hind-legs, _shoot_ yourself off over his shoulders in an instant, with a fast hold of the bridle, at which tug hard; even though you may not have regained your legs. a very slight help now will enable him to extricate himself, but if he is allowed to subside into the gulf, it may take a team of cart horses to drag him out. when in the saddle again give him a timely pull; after the struggle you will be delighted with each other, and have every prospect of going on triumphantly to the end. [illustration: page .] i have here endeavoured to describe the different methods of coercion by which two opposite natures may be induced to exert themselves on our behalf in the chase. every horse inclines, more or less, to one or other extreme i have cited as an example. a perfect hunter has preserved the good qualities of each without the faults, but how many perfect hunters do any of us ride in our lives? the chestnut is as fast as the wind, stout and honest, a safe and gallant fencer, but too light a mouth makes him difficult to handle at blind and cramped places; the bay can leap like a deer, and climb like a goat, invincible at doubles, and unrivalled at rails, but, as bold lord cardigan said of an equally accomplished animal, "it takes him a long time to get from one bit of timber to another!" while the brown, even faster than the chestnut, even safer than the bay, would be the best, as he is the pleasantest hunter in the world--only nothing will induce him to go near a brook! it is only by exertion of a skill that is the embodiment of thought in action, by application of a science founded on reason, experience and analogy, that we can approach perfection in our noble four-footed friend. common-sense will do much, kindness more, coercion very little, yet we are not to forget that man is the master; that the hand, however light, must be strong, the heel, however lively, must be resolute; and that when persuasion, best of all inducements, seems to fail, we must not shrink from the timely application of force. chapter iii. the use of the bridle. the late mr. maxse, celebrated some fifty years ago for a fineness of hand that enabled him to cross leicestershire with fewer falls than any other sportsman of fifteen stone who rode equally straight, used to profess much comical impatience with the insensibility of his servants to this useful quality. he was once seen explaining what he meant to his coachman with a silk-handkerchief passed round a post. "pull at it!" said the master. "does it pull at you?" "yes, sir," answered the servant, grinning. "slack it off then. does it pull at you now?" "no, sir." "well then, you double-distilled fool, can't you see that your horses are like that post? if you don't pull at _them_ they won't pull at _you_!" now it seems to me that in riding and driving also, what we want to teach our horses is, that when we pull at them they are _not_ to pull at us, and this understanding is only to be attained by a delicacy of touch, a harmony of intention, and a give-and-take concord, that for lack of a better we express by the term "hand." like the fingering of a pianoforte, this desirable quality seems rather a gift than an acquirement, and its rarity has no doubt given rise to the multiplicity of inventions with which man's ingenuity endeavours to supply the want of manual skill. it was the theory of a celebrated yorkshire sportsman, the well-known mr. fairfax, that "every horse is a hunter if you don't throw him down with the bridle!" and i have always understood his style of riding was in perfect accordance with this daring profession of faith. the instrument, however, though no doubt producing ten falls, where it prevents one, is in so far a necessary evil, that we are helpless without it, and when skilfully used in conjunction with legs, knees, and body by a consummate horseman, would seem to convey the man's intentions to the beast through some subtle agency, mysterious and almost rapid as thought. it is impossible to define the nature of that sympathy which exists between a well-bitted horse and his rider, they seem actuated by a common impulse, and it is to promote or create this mutual understanding that so many remarkable conceits, generally painful, have been dignified with the name of bridles. in the saddle-room of any hunting-man may be found at least a dozen of these, but you will probably learn on inquiry, that three or four at most are all he keeps in use. it must be a stud of strangely-varying mouths and tempers which, the snaffle, gag, pelham, and double-bridle are insufficient to humour and control. as it seems from the oldest representations known of men on horseback, to have been the earliest in use, we will take the snaffle first. this bit, the invention of common-sense going straight to its object, while lying easily on the tongue and bars of a horse's mouth, and affording control without pain, is perfection of its kind. it causes no annoyance and consequently no alarm to the unbroken colt, champing and churning freely at the new plaything between his jaws; on it the highly trained charger bears pleasantly and lightly, to "change his leg,"--"passage"--or "shoulder in," at the slightest inflection of a rider's hand; the hunter leans against it for support in deep ground; and the race-horse allows it to hold him together at nearly full-speed without contracting his stride, or by fighting with the restriction, wasting any of his gallop in the air. it answers its purpose admirably _so long as it remains in the proper place_, but not a moment longer. directly a horse by sticking out his nose can shift this pressure to his lips and teeth, it affords no more control than a halter. with head up, and mouth open, he can go how and where he will. in such a predicament only an experienced horseman has the skill to give him such an amount of liberty without license as cajoles him into dropping again to his bridle, before he breaks away. once off at speed, with the conviction that he is master, however ludicrous in appearance, the affair is serious enough in fact. many centuries elapsed, and a good deal of unpleasant riding must have been endured, before the snaffle was supplemented with a martingale. judging from the elgin marbles, this useful invention seems to have been wholly unknown to the greeks. though the men's figures are perfect in seat and attitude through the whole of that spirited frieze which adorned the parthenon, not one of their horses carries its head in the right place. the ancient greek seems to have relied on strength rather than cunning, in his dealings with the noble animal, and though he sat down on it like a workman, must have found considerable difficulty in guiding his beast the way he wanted to go. but with a martingale, the most insubordinate soon discover that they cannot rid themselves of control. it keeps their heads down in a position that enables the bit to act on the mouth, and if they must needs pull, obliges them to pull against that most sensitive part called the bars. there is no escape--bend their necks they must, and to bend their necks means to acknowledge a master and do homage to the rider's will. it is a well-known fact, and i can attest it by my own experience, that a _twisted_ snaffle with a martingale will hold a runaway when every other bridle fails; but to guide or stop an animal by the exercise of bodily strength is not horsemanship, and to saw at its mouth for the purpose cannot be expected to promote that sympathy of desire and intention which we understand by the term. if we look at the sporting prints of our grandfathers and great-grandfathers, as delineated, early in the present century, we observe that nine out of every ten hunters were ridden in plain snaffle bridles, and we ask ourselves if our progenitors bred more docile beasts, or were these drinkers of port wine, bolder, stronger, and better horsemen than their descendants. without entering on the vexed question of comparative merit in hounds, hunters, pace, country and sport, at an interval of more than two generations, i think i can find a reason, and it seems to me simply this. most of these hunting pictures are representations of the chase in our midland counties, notably leicestershire and northamptonshire, then only partially inclosed; boundary fences of large properties were few and far between, straggling also, and ill-made-up, the high thorn hedges that now call forth so much bold and so much timid riding, either did not exist, or were of such tender growth as required protection by a low rail on each side, and a sportsman, with flying coat-tails, doubling these obstacles neatly, at his own pace, forms a favourite subject for the artist of the time. twenty or thirty horsemen, at most, comprised the field; in such an expanse of free country there must have been plenty of room to ride, and we all know how soon a horse becomes amenable to control on a moor or an open down. the surface too was undrained, and a few furlongs bring the hardest puller to reason when he goes in over his fetlocks every stride. hand and heel are the two great auxiliaries of the equestrian, but our grandfathers, i imagine, made less use of the bridle than the spur. with increased facilities for locomotion, in the improvement of roads and coaches, hunting, always the english gentleman's favourite pastime, became a fashion for every one who could afford to keep a horse, and men thought little of twelve hours spent in the mail on a dark winter's night in order to meet hounds next day. the numbers attending a favourite fixture began to multiply, second horses were introduced, so that long before the use of railways scarlet coats mustered by tens as to-day by fifties, and the _crowd_, as it is called, became a recognized impediment to the enjoyments of the day. meantime fences were growing in height and thickness; an improved system of farming subdivided the fields and partitioned them off for pastoral or agricultural purposes; the hunter was called upon to collect himself, and jump at short notice, with a frequency that roused his mettle to the utmost, and this too in a rush of his fellow-creatures, urging, jostling, crossing him in the first five minutes at every turn. under such conditions it became indispensable to have him in perfect control, and that excellent invention, the double-bridle, came into general use. i suppose i need hardly explain to my reader that it loses none of the advantages belonging to the snaffle, while it gains in the powerful leverage of the curb a restraint few horses are resolute enough to defy. in skilful hands, varying, yet harmonising, the manipulation of both, as a musician plays treble and bass on the pianoforte, it would seem to connect the rider's thought with the horse's movement, as if an electric chain passed through wrist, and finger, and mouth, from the head of the one to the heart of the other. the bearing and touch of this instrument can be so varied as to admit of a continual change in the degree of liberty and control, of that give-and-take which is the whole secret of comfortable progression. while the bridoon or snaffle-rein is tightened, the horse may stretch his neck to the utmost, without losing that confidence in the moral support of his rider's hand which is so encouraging to him if unaccompanied by pain. when the curb is brought into play, he bends his neck at its pressure to a position that brings his hind-legs under his own body and his rider's weight, from which collected form alone can his greatest efforts be made. have your curb-bit sufficiently powerful, if not high in the _port_, at any rate long in the _cheek_, your bridoon as _thick_ as your saddler can be induced to send it. with the first you bring a horse's head into the right place, with the second, if smooth and _very_ thick, you keep it there, in perfect comfort to the animal, and consequently to yourself. a thin bridoon, and i have seen them mere wires, only cuts, chafes, and irritates, causing more pain and consequently more resistance, than the curb itself. i have already mentioned the fineness of mr. lovell's hand (alas! that he has but one), and i was induced by this gentleman to try a plan of his own invention, which, with his delicate manipulation, he found to be a success. instead of the usual bridoon, he rode with a double strap of leather, exactly the width of a bridle-rein, and twice its thickness, resting where the snaffle ordinarily lies, on the horse's tongue and bars. with his touch it answered admirably, with mine, perhaps because i used the leather more roughly than the metal, it seemed the severer of the two. but a badly-broken horse, and half the hunters we ride have scarcely been taught their alphabet, will perhaps try to avoid the restraint of a curb by throwing his head up at the critical moment when you want to steady him for a difficulty. if you have a firm seat, perfectly independent of the bridle,--and do not be too sure of this, until you have tried the experiment of sitting a leap with nothing to hold on by--you may call in the assistance of the running-martingale, slipping your curb-rein, which should be made to unbuckle, through its rings. your _curb_, i repeat, contrary to the usual practice, and _not your snaffle_. i will soon explain why. the horse has so docile a nature, that he would always rather do right than wrong, if he can only be taught to distinguish one from the other; therefore, have all your restrictive power on the same engine. directly he gives to your hand, by affording him more liberty you show him that he has met your wishes, and done what you asked. if you put the martingale on your bridoon rein you can no longer indicate approval. to avoid its control he must lean on the discomfort of his curb, and it puzzles no less than it discourages him, to find that every effort to please you is met, one way or the other, by restraint. so much for his convenience; now for your own. i will suppose you are using the common hunting martingale, attached to the breast-plate of your saddle, not to its girths. be careful that the rings are too small to slip over those of the curb-bit; you will be in an awkward predicament if, after rising at a fence, your horse in the moment that he tries to extend himself finds his nose tied down to his knees. neither must you shorten it too much at first; rather accustom your pupil gradually to its restraint, and remember that all horses are not shaped alike; some are so formed that they must needs carry their heads higher, and, as you choose to think, in a worse place than others. tuition in all its branches cannot be too gradual, and nature, whether of man or beast, is less easily driven than led. the first consideration in riding is, no doubt, to make our horses do what we desire; but when this elementary object has been gained, it is of great importance to our comfort that they should accept our wishes as their own, persuaded that they exert themselves voluntarily in the service of their riders. for this it is essential to use such a bridle as they do not fear to meet, yet feel unwilling to disobey. many high-couraged horses, with sensitive mouths, no uncommon combination, and often united to those propelling powers in hocks and quarters that are so valuable to a hunter, while they scorn restraint by the mild influence of the snaffle, fight tumultuously against the galling restriction of a curb. for these the scion of a noble family, that has produced many fine riders, invented a bridle, combining, as its enemies declare, the defects of both, to which he has given his name. in england there seems a very general prejudice against the pelham, whereas in ireland we see it in constant use. like other bridles of a peculiar nature it is adapted for peculiar horses; and i have myself had three or four excellent hunters that would not be persuaded to go comfortably in anything else. i need hardly explain the construction of a pelham. it consists of a single bit, smooth and jointed, like a common snaffle, but prolonged from the rings on either side to a cheek, having a second rein attached, which acts, by means of a curb-chain round the lower jaw, in the same manner, though to a modified extent, as the curb-rein of the usual hunting double-bridle, to which it bears an outward resemblance, and of which it seems a mild and feeble imitation. i have never to this day made out whether or not a keen young sportsman was amusing himself at my expense, when, looking at my horse's head thus equipped, he asked the simple question: "do you find it a good plan to have your snaffle and curb all in one?" i _did_ find it a good plan with that particular horse, and at the risk of appearing egotistical i will explain why, by narrating the circumstances under which i first discovered his merits, illustrating as they do the special advantages of this unpopular implement. the animal in question, thoroughbred, and amongst hunters exceedingly speedy, was unused to jumping when i purchased him, and from his unaffected delight in their society, i imagine had never seen hounds. he was active, however, high-couraged, and only too willing to be in front; but with a nervous, excitable temperament, and every inclination to pull hard, he had also a highly sensitive mouth. the double-bridle in which he began his experiences annoyed him sadly; he bounced, fretted, made himself thoroughly disagreeable, and our first day was a pleasure to neither of us. next time i bethought me of putting on a pelham, and the effect of its greater liberty seemed so satisfactory that to enhance it, i took the curb-chain off altogether. i was in the act of pocketing the links, when a straight-necked fox broke covert, pointing for a beautiful grass country, and the hounds came pouring out with a burning scent, not five hundred yards from his brush. i remounted pretty quick, but my thoroughbred one--in racing language, "a good beginner"--was quicker yet, and my feet were hardly in the stirrups, ere he had settled to his stride, and was flying along in rather too close proximity to the pack. happily, there was plenty of room, and the hounds ran unusually hard, for my horse fairly broke away with me in the first field, and although he allowed me by main force to steady him a little at his fences, during ten minutes at least i know who was _not_ master! he calmed, however, before the end of the burst, which was a very brilliant gallop, over a practicable country, and when i sent him home at two o'clock, i felt satisfied i had a game, good horse, that would soon make a capital hunter. now i am persuaded our timely _escapade_ was of the utmost service. it gave him confidence in his rider's hand; which, with this light pelham bridle he found could inflict on him no pain, and only directed him the way he delighted to go. on his next appearance in the hunting-field, he was not afraid to submit to a little more restraint, and so by degrees, though i am bound to admit, the process took more than one season, he became a steady, temperate conveyance, answering the powerful conventional double-bridle with no less docility than the most sedate of his stable companions. we have seen a great deal of fun together since, but never such a game of romps as our first! why are so many brilliant horses difficult to ride? it ought not to be so. the truest shape entails the truest balance, consequently the smoothest paces and the best mouth. the fault is neither of form nor temper, but originates, if truth must be told, in the prejudices of the breaker, who will not vary his system to meet the requirements of different pupils. the best hunters have necessarily great power behind the saddle, causing them to move with their hind-legs so well under them, that they will not, and indeed cannot lean on the rider's hand. this the breaker calls "facing their bit," and the shyer they seem of that instrument, the harder he pulls. up go their heads to avoid the pain, till that effort of self-defence becomes a habit, and it takes weeks of patience and fine horsemanship to undo the effects of unnecessary ill-usage for an hour. eastern horses, being broke from the first in the severest possible bits, all acquire this trick of throwing their noses in the air; but as they have never learned to pull, for the oriental prides himself on riding with a "finger," you need only give them an easy bridle and a martingale to make them go quietly and pleasantly, with heads in the right place, delighted to find control not necessarily accompanied by pain. and this indeed is the whole object of our numerous inventions. a light-mouthed horse steered by a good rider, will cross a country safely and satisfactorily in a pelham bridle, with a running martingale on the _lower_ rein. it is only necessary to give him his head at his fences, that is to say, to let his mouth alone, the moment he leaves the ground. that the man he carries can hold a horse up, while landing, i believe to be a fallacy, that he gives him every chance in a difficulty by sitting well back and not interfering with his efforts to recover himself, i know to be a fact. the rider cannot keep too quiet till the last moment, when his own knee touches the ground, then, the sooner he parts company the better, turning his face towards his horse if possible, so as not to lose sight of the falling mass, and, above all, holding the bridle in his hand. the last precaution cannot be insisted on too strongly. not to mention the solecism of being afoot in boots and breeches during a run, and the cruel tax we inflict on some brother sportsman, who, being too good a fellow to leave us in the lurch, rides his own horse furlongs out of his line to go and catch ours, there is the further consideration of personal safety to life and limb. that is a very false position in which a man finds himself, when the animal is on its legs again, who cannot clear his foot from the stirrup, and has let his horse's head go! i believe too that a tenacious grasp on the reins saves many a broken collar-bone, as it cants the rider's body round in the act of falling, so that the cushion of muscle behind it, rather than the point of his shoulder, is the first place to touch the ground; and no one who has ever been "pitched into" by a bigger boy at school can have forgotten that this part of the body takes punishment with the greatest impunity. but we are wandering from our subject. to hold on like grim death when down, seems an accomplishment little akin to the contents of a chapter professing to deal with the skilful use of the bridle. the horse, except in peculiar cases, such as a stab with a sharp instrument, shrinks like other animals from pain. if he cannot avoid it in one way he will in another. when suffering under the pressure of his bit, he endeavours to escape the annoyance, according to the shape and setting on of his neck and shoulders, either by throwing his head up to the level of a rider's eyes, or dashing it down between his own knees. the latter is by far the most pernicious manoeuvre of the two, and to counteract it has been constructed the instrument we call "a gag." this is neither more nor less than another snaffle bit of which the head-stall and rein, instead of being separately attached to the rings, are in one piece running through a swivel, so that a leverage is obtained on the side of the mouth of such power as forces the horse's head upwards to its proper level. in a gag and snaffle no horse can continue "boring," as it is termed against his rider's hand; in a gag and curb he is indeed a hard puller who will attempt to run away. but with this bridle, adieu to all those delicacies of fingering which form the great charm of horsemanship, and are indeed the master touches of the art. a gag cannot be drawn gently through the mouth with hands parted and lowered on each side so as to "turn and wind a fiery pegasus," nor is the bull-headed beast that requires it one on which, without long and patient tuition, you may hope to "witch the world with noble horsemanship." it is at best but a schoolmaster, and like the curbless pelham in which my horse ran away with me, only a step in the right direction towards such willing obedience as we require. something has been gained when our horse learns we have power to control him; much when he finds that power exerted for his own advantage. i would ride mine in a chain-cable if by no other means i could make him understand that he must submit to my will, hoping always eventually to substitute for it a silken thread. all bridles, by whatever names they may be called, are but the contrivances of a government that depends for authority on concealment of its weakness. hard hands will inevitably make hard pullers, but to the animal intellect a force still untested is a force not lightly to be defied. the loose rein argues confidence, and even the brute understands that confidence is an attribute of power. change your bridle over and over again, till you find one that suits your hand, rather, i should say, that suits your horse's mouth. do not, however, be too well satisfied with a first essay. he may go delightfully to-day in a bit that he will learn how to counteract by to-morrow. nevertheless, a long step has been made in the right direction when he has carried you pleasantly if only for an hour. should that period have been passed in following hounds, it is worth a whole week's education under less exciting conditions. a horse becomes best acquainted with his rider in those situations that call forth most care and circumspection from both. broken ground, fords, morasses, dark nights, all tend to mutual good understanding, but forty minutes over an inclosed country establishes the partnership of man and beast on such relations of confidence as much subsequent indiscretion fails to efface. the same excitement that rouses his courage seems to sharpen his faculties and clear his brain. it is wonderful how soon he begins to understand your meaning as conveyed literally from "hand to mouth," how cautiously he picks his steps amongst stubs or rabbit-holes, when the loosened rein warns him he must look out for himself, how boldly he quickens his stride and collects his energies for the fence he is approaching, when he feels grip and grasp tighten on back and bridle, conscious that you mean to "catch hold of his head and send him at it!" while loving you all the better for this energy of yours that stimulates his own. and now we come to a question admitting of no little discussion, inasmuch as those practitioners differ widely who are best capable of forming an opinion. the advocates of the loose rein, who though outnumbered at the covert-side, are not always in a minority when the hounds run, maintain that a hunter never acquits himself so well as while let completely alone; their adversaries, on the other hand, protest that the first principle of equitation, is to keep fast hold of your horse's head at all times and under all circumstances. "you pull him into his fences," argues finger. "_you_ will never pull him out of them," answers fist. "get into a bucket and try to lift yourself by the handles!" rejoins finger, quoting from an apposite illustration of colonel greenwood's, as accomplished a horseman as his brother, also a colonel, whose fine handling i have already mentioned. "a horse isn't a bucket," returns fist, triumphantly; "why, directly you let his head go does he stop in a race, refuse a brook, or stumble when tired on the road?" it is a thousand pities that he cannot tell us which of the two systems he prefers himself. we may argue from theory, but can only judge by practice; and must draw our inferences rather from personal experience than the subtlest reasoning of the schools. now if all horses were broke by such masters of the art as general lawrenson and mr. mackenzie greaves, riders who combine the strength and freedom of the hunting field with the scientific exercise of hands and limbs, as taught in the _haute école_, so obedient would they become to our gestures, nay, to the inflection of our bodies, that they might be trusted over the strongest lordship in leicestershire with their heads quite loose, or, for that matter, with no bridle at all. but equine education is usually conducted on a very different system to that of monsieur baucher, or either of the above-named gentlemen. from colthood horses have been taught to understand, paradoxically enough, that a dead pull against the jaws means, "go on, and be hanged to you, till i alter the pressure as a hint for you to stop." it certainly seems common sense, that when we tug at a horse's bridle he should oblige us by coming to a halt, yet, in his fast paces, we find the pull produces a precisely contrary effect; and for this habit, which during the process of breaking has become a second nature, we must make strong allowances, particularly in the hurry and excitement of crossing a country after a pack of hounds. it has happened to most of us, no doubt, at some period to have owned a favourite, whose mouth was so fine, temper so perfect, courage so reliable, and who had so learned to accommodate pace and action to our lightest indications, that when thus mounted we felt we could go tit-tupping over a country with slackened rein and toe in stirrup, as if cantering in the park. as we near our fence, a little more forbidding, perhaps, than common, every stride seems timed like clockwork, and, unwilling to interfere with such perfect mechanism, we drop our hand, trusting wholly in the honour of our horse. at the very last stride the traitor refuses, and whisks round. "_et tu brute!_" we exclaim--"are _you_ also a brute?"--and catching him vigorously by the head, we ram him again at the obstacle to fly over it like a bird. early associations had prevailed, and our stanch friend disappointed us, not from cowardice, temper, nor incapacity, but only from the influence of an education based on principles contrary to common sense. the great art of horsemanship, then, is to find out what the animal requires of us, and to meet its wishes, even its prejudices, half-way. cool with the rash, and daring with the cautious, it is wise to retain the semblance, at least, of a self-possession superior to casualties, and equal to any emergency, from a refusal to a fall. though "give and take" is the very first principle of handling, too sudden a variation of pressure has a tendency to confuse and flurry a hunter, whether in the gallop or when collecting itself for the leap. if you have been holding a horse hard by the head, to let him go in the last stride is very apt to make him run into his fence; while, if you have been riding with a light hand and loosened rein, a "chuck under the chin" at an inopportune moment distracts his attention, and causes him to drop short. "how did you get your fall?" is a common question in the hunting-field. if the partner at one end of the bridle could speak, how often would he answer, "through bad riding;" when the partner at the other dishonestly replies, "the brute didn't jump high enough, or far enough, that was all." it is well for the most brilliant reputations that the noble animal is generous as he is brave, and silent as he is wise. i have already observed there are many more kinds of bridles than those just mentioned. major dwyer's, notably, of which the principle is an exact fitting of bridoon and curb-bits to the horse's mouth, seems to give general satisfaction; and lord gardner, whose opinion none are likely to dispute, stamps it with his approval. i confess, however, to a preference for the old-fashioned double-bridles, such as are called respectively the dunchurch, nos. and , being persuaded that these will meet the requirements of nine horses out of ten that have any business in the hunting-field. the first, very large, powerful, and of stronger leverage than the second, should be used with discretion, but, in good hands, is an instrument against which the most resolute puller, if he insists on fighting with it, must contend in vain. thus tackled, and ridden by such a horseman as mr. angerstein, for instance, of weeting, in norfolk, i do not believe there are half-a-dozen hunters in england that could get the mastery. whilst living in northamptonshire i remember he owned a determined runaway, not inappropriately called "hard bargain," that in this bridle he could turn and twist like a pony. i have no doubt he has not forgotten the horse, nor a capital run from misterton, in which, with his usual kindness, he lent him thus bridled to a friend. i have seen horses go very pleasantly in what i believe is called the half-moon bit, of which the bridoon, having no joint, is shaped so as to take the curve of the animal's mouth. i have never tried one, but the idea seems good, as based on the principle of comfort to the horse. when we can arrive at that essential, combined with power to the rider, we may congratulate ourselves on possessing the right bridle at last, and need have no scruple in putting the animal to its best pace, confident we can stop it at will. we should never forget that the faster hounds run, the more desirable is it to have perfect control of our conveyance; and that a hunter of very moderate speed, easy to turn, and quick on its legs, will cross a country with more expedition than a race-horse that requires half a field to "go about;" and that we dare not extend lest, "with too much way on," he should get completely out of our hand. once past the gap you fancied, you will never find a place in the fence you like so well again. chapter iv. the abuse of the spur. "you may ride us, with one soft kiss, a thousand furlongs, ere with spurs we heat an acre." says hermione, and indeed that gentle lady's illustration equally applies to an inferior order of beings, from which also man derives much comfort and delight. it will admit of discussion whether the "armed heel," with all its terrors, has not, on the race-course at least, lost more triumphs than it has won. i have been told that fordham, who seems to be first past the judges' chair oftener than any jockey of the day, wholly repudiates "the tormentors," arguing that they only make a horse shorten his stride, and "shut up," to use an expressive term, instead of struggling gallantly home. judging by analogy, it is easy to conceive that such may be the case. the tendency of the human frame seems certainly to contract rather than expand its muscles, with instinctive repugnance at the stab of a sharp instrument, or even the puncture of a thorn. it is not while receiving punishment but administering it that the prize-fighter opens his shoulders and lets out. there is no doubt that many horses, thoroughbred ones especially, will stop suddenly, even in their gallop, and resent by kicking an indiscreet application of the spurs. a determined rider who keeps them screwed in the animal's flanks eventually gains the victory. but such triumphs of severity and main force are the last resource of an authority that ought never to be disputed, as springing less from fear than confidence and good-will. it cannot be denied that there are many fools in the world, yet, regarding matters of opinion, the majority are generally right. a top-boot has an unfinished look without its appendage of shining steel; and, although some sportmen assure us they dispense with rowels, it is rare to find one so indifferent to appearances as not to wear spurs. there must be some good reason for this general adoption of an instrument that, from the days of chivalry, has been the very stamp and badge of a superiority which the man on horseback assumes over the man on foot. let us weigh the arguments for and against this emblem of knighthood before we decide. in the riding-school, and particularly for military purposes, when the dragoon's right hand is required for his weapon, these aids, as they are called, seem to enhance that pressure of the leg which acts on the horse's quarters, as the rein on his forehand, bringing his whole body into the required position. perhaps if the boot were totally unarmed much time might be lost in making his pupil understand the horseman's wishes, but any one who has ridden a perfectly trained charger knows how much more accurately it answers to the leg than the heel, and how awkwardly a horse acquits himself that has been broke in very sharp spurs; every touch causing it to wince and swerve too far in the required direction, glancing off at a tangent, like a boat that is over ready in answering her helm. patience and a light switch, i believe, would fulfil all the purposes of the spur, even in the _manége_; but delay is doubtless a drawback, and there are reasons for going the shortest way on occasion, even if it be not the smoothest and the best. it is quite unnecessary, however, and even prejudicial, to have the rowels long and sharp. nothing impedes tuition like fear; and fear in the animal creation is the offspring of pain. granted, then, that the spur may be applied advantageously in the school, let us see how far it is useful on the road or in the hunting-field. we will start by supposing that you do not possess a really perfect hack; that desirable animal must, doubtless, exist somewhere, but, like pegasus, is more often talked of than seen. nevertheless, the roadster that carries you to business or pleasure is a sound, active, useful beast, with safe, quick action, good shoulders, of course, and a willing disposition, particularly when turned towards home. how often in a week do you touch it with the spurs? once, perhaps, by some bridle-gate, craftily hung at precisely the angle which prevents your reaching its latch or hasp. and what is the result of this little display of vexation? your hack gets flurried, sticks his nose in the air, refuses to back, and compels you at last to open the gate with your wrong hand, rubbing your knee against the post as he pushes through in unseemly haste, for fear of another prod. when late for dinner, or hurrying home to outstrip the coming shower, you may fondly imagine that but for "the persuaders" you would have been drenched to the skin; and, relating your adventures at the fire-side, will probably declare that "you stuck the spurs into him the last mile, and came along as hard as he could drive." but, if you were to visit him in the stable, you would probably find his flanks untouched, and would, i am sure, be pleased rather than disappointed at the discovery. happily, not one man in ten knows _how_ to spur a horse, and the tenth is often the most unwilling to administer so severe a punishment. ladies, however, are not so merciful. perhaps because they have but one, they use this stimulant liberally, and without compunction. from their seat, and shortness of stirrup, every kick tells home. concealed under a riding-habit, these vigorous applications are unsuspected by lookers-on; and the unwary wonder why, in the streets of london or the park, a ladies' horse always appears to go in a lighter and livelier form than that of her male companion. "it's a woman's hand," says the admiring pedestrian. "not a bit of it," answers the cynic who knows; "it's a woman's heel." but, however sparing you may be of the spurs in lane or bridle-road, you are tempted to ply them far too freely in the anxiety and excitement of the hunting-field. have you ever noticed the appearance of a white horse at the conclusion of some merry gallop over a strongly fenced country? the pure conspicuous colour tells sad tales, and the smooth, thin-skinned flanks are too often stained and plastered with red. many bad horsemen spur their horses without meaning it; many worse, mean to spur their horses at every fence, and _do_. a leicestershire notability, of the last generation once dubbed a rival with the expressive title of "a hard funker;" and the term, so happily applied, fully rendered what he meant. of all riders "the hard funker" is the most unmerciful to his beast; at every turn he uses his spurs cruelly, not because he is _hard_, but because he _funks_. let us watch him crossing a country, observing his style as a warning rather than an example. hesitation and hurry are his principal faults, practised, with much impartiality, in alternate extremes. though half-way across a field, he is still undecided where to get out. this vacillation communicates itself in electric sympathy to his horse, and both go wavering down to their fence, without the slightest idea what they mean to do when they arrive. some ten strides off the rider makes up his mind, selecting, probably, an extremely awkward place, for no courage is so desperate as that which is founded on fear. want of determination is now supplemented by excessive haste and, with incessant application of the spurs, his poor horse is hurried wildly at the leap. that it gets over without falling, as happens oftener than might be supposed, seems due to activity in the animal rather than sagacity in the rider, and a strong instinct of self-preservation in both; but such a process, repeated again and again during a gallop, even of twenty minutes, tells fearfully on wind and muscle, nor have many hunters sufficient powers of endurance to carry these exacting performers through a run. still the "h. f." would be nothing without his spurs, and i grant that to him these instruments are indispensable, if he is to get from one field to another; but of what use are they to such men as mr. gilmour, captain coventry, sir frederic johnston, captain boyce, mr. hugh lowther, and a host more that i could name, who seem to glide over leicestershire, and other strongly-fenced countries, as a bird glides through the air. day after day, unless accidentally scored in a fall, you may look in vain for a spur-mark on their horses sides. shoulders and quarters, indeed, are reddened by gashes from a hundred thorns; but the virgin spot, a handsbreadth behind the girths, is pure and stainless still. yet not one of the gentlemen i have named will ride without the instrument he uses so rarely, if at all; and they must cherish, therefore, some belief in its virtue, when called into play, strong enough to counterbalance its indisputable disadvantages--notably, the stabbing of a hunter's side, when its rider's foot is turned outwards by a stake or grower, and the tearing of its back or quarters in the struggle and confusion of a fall. there is one excellent reason that, perhaps, i may have overlooked. it is tiresome to answer the same question over and over again, and in a field of sportsmen you are sure to be asked almost as many times, "why don't you wear spurs?" if you set appearances at defiance by coming into the hunting-field without them. in my personal recollection i can only call to mind one man who systematically abjured so essential a finish to the horseman's dress and equipment. this was mr. tomline of leigh lodge, a leicestershire farmer and horse-dealer, well-known some thirty years ago as one of the finest riders and straightest goers that ever got into a saddle. his costume, indeed, was not of so careful a nature that want of completeness in any one particular could spoil the general effect. he _always_ hunted in a rusty, worn pilot-jacket, drab breeches with strings untied, brown-topped boots, and a large ill-fitting hat, carrying in his hand a ground-ash plant, totally useless for opening a gate if he did not happen to jump it. yet thus accoutred, and generally on a young one, so long as his horse's condition lasted, he was sure to be in front, and, when the fences were rougher than common, with but two or three companions at most. i have not yet forgotten the style in which i once saw him coax a four-year-old to jump a "bottom" under launde, fortified by a high post and rail--down-hill--a bad take off--and almost a ravine on the far side! with his powerful grip and exquisite handling, he seemed to persuade the pupil that it was as willing as the master. my own spurs were four inches long, and i was riding the best hunter in my stable, but i don't think i would have had the same place for fifty pounds! a paradox, like an irishman's bull, will sometimes convey our meaning more impressively than a logical statement. it seems paradoxical, yet i believe it is sound sense to say that no man should arm his heels with spurs unless he is so good a rider as to be sure they shall not touch his horse. to punish him with them involuntarily is, of course, like any other blunder totally inadmissible, but when applied with intention, they should be used sparingly and only as a last resource. that there _are_ occasions on which they rouse a horse's energies for a momentary effort, i am disposed to admit less from my own experience than the opinion of those for whose practical knowledge in all such matters i have the greatest respect. both the messrs. coventry, in common with other first-rate steeple-chase riders, advocate their use on rare occasions and under peculiar circumstances. poor jem mason never went hunting without them, and would not, i think, have hesitated to apply them pretty freely if required, but then these could all spur their horses in the right place, leaning back the while and altering in no way the force and bearing of hand or seat. most men, on the contrary, stoop forward and let their horses' heads go when engaged in this method of compulsion, and even if their heels _do_ reach the mark, by no means a certainty, gain but little with the rowels compared to all they lose with the reins. there is no fault in a hunter so annoying to a man whose heart is in the sport as a tendency _to refuse_. it utterly defeats the timid and damps the courage of the bold, while even to him who _rides_ that he may hunt rather than _hunts_ that he may _ride_, it is intensely provoking, as he is apt to lose by it that start which is so invaluable in a quick thing, and, when a large field are all struggling for the same object, so difficult to regain. this perversity of disposition too, is very apt to be displayed at some fence that will not admit of half-measures, such as a rail low enough to jump, but too strong to break, or a ditch so wide and deep that it must not be attempted as a standing leap. in these cases a vigorous dig with the spurs at the last moment will sometimes have an excellent effect. but it must not be trusted as an unfailing remedy. nearly as many hunters will resent so broad a hint, by stopping short, and turning restive, as will spring generously forward, and make a sudden effort in answer to the appeal. for this, as for every other requirement of equitation, much depends on an insight into his character, whom an enthusiastic friend of mine designates "the bolder and wiser animal of the two." few men go out hunting with the expectation of encountering more than one or two falls in the best of runs, although the score sometimes increases very rapidly, when a good and gallant horse is getting tired towards the finish. twenty "croppers" in a season, if he is well-mounted, seems a high average for the most determined of bruisers, but a man, whom circumstances impel to ride whatever he can lay hands on, must take into consideration how he can best rise from the ground unhurt with no less forethought than he asks his way to the meet or inquires into the condition of his mount. to such a bold rider the spur may seem an indispensable article, but he must remember that even if its application should save him on occasion, which i am not altogether prepared to admit, the appendage itself is most inconvenient when down. i cannot remember a single instance of a man's foot remaining fixed in the stirrup who was riding without spurs. i do not mean to say such a catastrophe is impossible, but i have good reason to know that the buckle on the instep, which when brightly polished imparts such a finish to the lustrous wrinkles of a well-made boot, is extremely apt to catch in the angle of the stirrup iron, and hold us fast at the very moment when it is most important to our safety we should be free. i have headed this chapter "the abuse of the spur," because i hold that implement of horsemanship to be in general most unmercifully abused, so much so that i believe it would be far better for the majority of horses, and riders too, if it had never come into vogue. the perfect equestrian may be trusted indeed with rowels sharp and long as those that jingle at the mexican's heels on his boundless prairies, but, as in the days of chivalry, these ornaments should be won by prowess to be worn with honour; and i firmly believe that nine out of every ten men who come out hunting would be better and more safely carried if they left their spurs at home. chapter v. hand. what is it? intellect, nerve, sympathy, confidence, skill? none of these can be said to constitute this quality; rather it is a combination of all, with something superinduced that can only be called a magnetic affinity between the aggressive spirit of man and the ductile nature of the beast. "he spurred the old horse, and _he held him tight_, and leaped him out over the wall," says kingsley, in his stirring ballad of "the knight's last leap at alten-ahr;" and kingsley, an excellent rider himself, thus described exactly how the animal should have been put at its formidable fence. most poets would have let their horse's head go--the loose rein is a favourite method of making play in literature--and a fatal refusal must have been the result. the german knight, however, whose past life seems to have been no less disreputable than his end was tragic, had not "lived by the saddle for years a score," to fail in his horsemanship at the finish, and so, when he came to jump his last fence, negotiated it with no less skill than daring--grim, quiet, resolute, strong of seat, and firm of hand. the latter quality seems, however, much the rarer of the two. for ten men who can stick to the saddle like centaurs you will hardly find one gifted with that nicety of touch which horses so willingly obey, and which, if not inborn, seems as difficult to acquire by practice as the draughtsman's eye for outline, or the musician's ear for sound. attention, reflection, painstaking, and common sense, can, nevertheless, do much; and, if the brain will only take the trouble to think, the clumsiest fingers that ever mismanaged a bridle may be taught in time to humour it like a silken thread. i have been told, though i never tried the experiment, that if you take bold chanticleer from his perch, and, placing his bill on a table, draw from it a line of chalk by candle-light, the poor dazed fowl makes no attempt to stir from this imaginary bondage, persuaded that it is secured by a cord it has not strength enough to break. we should never get on horseback without remembering this unaccountable illusion; our control by means of the bridle is, in reality, little more substantial than the chalk-line that seems to keep the bird in durance. it should be our first consideration so to manage the rein we handle as never to give our horse the opportunity of discovering our weakness and his own strength. how is this to be effected? by letting his head go, and allowing him to carry us where he will? certainly not, or we should have no need for the bridle at all. by pulling at him, then, with main strength, and trying the muscular power of our arms against that of his shoulders and neck? comparing these relative forces again, we are constrained to answer, certainly not; the art of control is essentially founded on compromise. in riding, as in diplomacy, we must always be ready to give an inch that we may take an ell. the first principle of horsemanship is to make the animal believe we can rule its wildest mood; the next, to prevent, at any sacrifice, the submission of this plausible theory to proof. you get on a horse you have never seen before, improperly bitted, we may fairly suppose, for few men would think of wasting as many seconds on their bridle as they devote minutes to their boots and breeches. you infer, from his wild eye and restless ear that he is "a bit of a romp;" and you observe, with some concern, that surrounding circumstances, a race, a review, a coursing-meeting, or a sure find, it matters little which, are likely to rouse all the tumultuous propensities of his nature. obviously it would be exceedingly bad policy to have the slightest misunderstanding. the stone of sisyphus gathered impetus less rapidly than does a horse who is getting the better of his rider; and john gilpin was not the first equestrian, by a good many, for whom "the trot became a gallop soon, in spite of curb and rein." "i am the owner, i wish i could say the _master_, of the four best hunters i ever had in my life," wrote one of the finest horsemen in europe to a brother proficient in the art; and although so frank an avowal would have seemed less surprising from an inferior performer, his friend, who was also in the habit of riding anything, anywhere, and over everything, doubtless understood perfectly what he meant. now in equitation there can be no divided empire; and the horse will most assuredly be master if the man is not. in the interests of good government, then, beware how you let your authority literally slip through your fingers, for, once lost, it will not easily be regained. draw your reins gently to an equal length, and ascertain the precise bearing on your horse's mouth that seems, while he is yet in a walk, to influence his action without offending his sensitiveness. but this cannot be accomplished with the hands alone; these members, though supposed to be the prime agents of control, will do little without the assistance of legs and knees pressing the sides and flanks of the animal, so as to urge him against the touch of his bit, from which he will probably show a tendency to recoil, and, as it is roughly called, "forcing him into his bridle." the absence of this leg-power is an incalculable disadvantage to ladies, and affords the strongest reason, amongst many, why they should be mounted only on temperate and perfectly broken horses. how much oftener would they come to grief but that their seat compels them to ride with such long reins as insure light hands, and that their finer sympathy seems fully understood and gratefully appreciated by the most sympathetic of all the brute creation! the style adopted by good horsewomen, especially in crossing a country, has in it much to be admired, something, also, to be deprecated and deplored. they allow their horses plenty of liberty, and certainly interfere but little with their heads, even at the greatest emergencies; but their ideas of pace are unreasonably liberal, and they are too apt to "chance it" at the fences, encouraging with voice and whip the haste that in the last few strides it is judicious to repress. it seems to me they are safer in a "bank-and-ditch" country than amongst the high strong fences of the grazing districts, where a horse must be roused and held together that he may jump well up in the air, and extend himself afterwards, so as to cover the wide "uncertainties" he may find on the landing side. for a bank he is pretty sure to collect himself without troubling his rider; and this is, perhaps, why irishmen, as a general rule, use such light bridles. now, a woman cannot possibly bring her horse up to a high staked-and-bound fence, out of deep ground, with the strength and resolution of a man, whose very grip in the saddle seems to extort from the animal its utmost energies. half measures are fatal in a difficulty, and, as she seems unable to interfere with good effect she is wise to let it alone. we may learn from her, however, one of the most effective secrets of the whole art, and that is, to ride with long reins. "always give them plenty of rope," said poor jem mason, when instructing a beginner; and he certainly practised what he preached. i have seen his hands carried so high as to be level with his elbows, _but his horse's head was always in the right place_; and to this must be attributed the fact that, while he rode to hounds straighter than anybody else, he got comparatively few falls. a man with long reins not only affords his horse greater liberty at his fences, but allows him every chance of recovery should he get into difficulties on landing, the rider not being pulled with a jerk on the animal's neck and shoulders, so as to throw both of them down, when they ought to have got off with a scramble. let us return to the horse you have lately mounted, not without certain misgivings that he may be tempted to insubordination under the excitement of tumult, rivalry, or noise. when you have discovered the amount of repression, probably very slight, that he accepts without resentment, at a walk, increase your pace gradually, still with your legs keeping him well into his bridle, carrying your hands low down on his withers, and, if you take my advice, with a rein in each. you will find this method affords you great control of your horse's head, and enables you, by drawing the bit through his mouth, to counteract any arrangement on his part for a dead pull, which could have but one result. should you, moreover, find it necessary to jump, you can thus hold him perfectly straight at his fences, so that he must either decline altogether or go exactly _where you put him_. young, headstrong horses are exceedingly apt to swerve from the place selected for them, and to rise sideways at some strong bit of timber, or impracticable part of a bullfinch; and this is a most dangerous experiment, causing the worst kind of falls to which the sportsman is liable. riding thus two-handed, you will probably find your new acquaintance "bends" to you in his canter better than in his trot, and if so, you may safely push him to a gallop, taking great care, however, not to let him extend himself too much. when he goes on his shoulders, he becomes a free agent; so long as his haunches are under him, you can keep him, as it is called, "in your hand." there is considerable scope for thought in this exercise of manual skill, and it is always wise to save labour of body by use of brain. take care then, to have your front clear, so that your horse may flatter himself he is leading his comrades, when he will not give you half so much trouble to retain him in reasonable bounds. strategy is here required no less than tactics, and horsemanship even as regards the bridle, is quite as much a matter of head as hand. if you are out hunting, and have got thus far on good terms, you will probably now be tempted to indulge in a leap. we cannot, unfortunately, select these obstacles exactly as we wish; it is quite possible your first fence may be high, strong, and awkward, with every probability of a fall. take your horse at it quietly, but resolutely, in a canter, remembering that the quicker and _shorter_ his strides, while gathering _impetus_, the greater effort he can make when he makes his spring. above all, measure with your eye, and endeavour to show him by the clip of your thighs, and the sway of your body, exactly where he should take off. on this important point depends, almost entirely, the success of your leap. half a stride means some six or seven feet; to leave the ground that much too soon adds the width of a fair-sized ditch to his task, and if the sum total prove too much for him you cannot be surprised at the result. this is, i think, one of the most important points in horsemanship as applied to riding across a country. it is a detail in which lord wilton particularly excels, and although so good a huntsman must despise a compliment to his mere riding, i cannot refrain from mentioning tom firr, as another proficient who possesses this enviable knack in an extraordinary degree. many of us can remember "cap" tomline, a professional "rough rider," living at or near billesdon, within the last twenty years, as fine a horseman as his namesake, whom i have already mentioned, and a somewhat lighter weight. for one sovereign, "cap," as we used to call him, was delighted to ride anybody's horse under any circumstances, over, or into any kind of fence the owner chose to point out. after going brilliantly through a run, i have seen him, to my mind most injudiciously, desired to lark home alongside, while we watched his performance from the road. he was particularly fond of timber, and notwithstanding that his horse was usually rash, inexperienced, or bad-tempered, otherwise he would not have been riding him, i can call to mind very few occasions on which i saw him down. one unusually open winter, when he hunted five and six days a week from october to april, he told me he had only fifteen falls, and that taking the seasons as they came, thirteen was about his average. nor was he a very light-weight--spare, lengthy, and muscular, he turned twelve stone in his hunting clothes, which were by no means of costly material. horses rarely refused with him, and though they often had a scramble for it, as seldom fell, but under his method of riding, sitting well down in the saddle, with the reins in both hands, they never took off wrong, and in this lay the great secret of his superiority. when i knew him he was an exceedingly temperate man; for many years i believe he drank only water, and he eschewed tobacco in every form. "the reason you gentlemen have such _bad nerves_," he said to me, jogging home to melton one evening in the dusk that always meets us about somerby, "is because you smoke so much. it turns your brains to a kind of vapour!" the inference was startling, i thought, and not complimentary, but there might be some truth in it nevertheless. we have put off a great deal of time at our first fence, let us do it without a fall, if we can. when a hunter's quarters are under him in taking off, he has them ready to help him over any unforeseen difficulty that may confront him on the other side. should there be a bank from which he can get a purchase for a second effort, he will poise himself on it lightly as a bird, or perhaps, dropping his hind-legs only, shoot himself well into the next field, with that delightful elasticity which, met by a corresponding action of his rider's loins, imparts to the horseman such sensations of confidence and dexterity as are felt by some buoyant swimmer, wafted home on the roll of an incoming wave. strong hocks and thighs, a mutual predilection for the chase, a bold heart between the saddle-flaps, another under the waistcoat, and a pair of light hands, form a combination that few fences after christmas are strong enough or blind enough to put down. and now please not to forget that soundest of maxims, applicable to all affairs alike by land or sea--"while she lies her course, let the ship steer herself." if your horse is going to his own satisfaction, do not be too particular that he should go entirely to yours. so long as you can steady him, never mind that he carries his head a little up or a little down. if he shakes it you know you have got him, and can pull him off in a hundred yards. keep your hands quiet and not too low. it is a well-known fact, of which, however, many draughtsmen seem ignorant, that the horse in action never puts his fore-feet beyond his nose. you need only watch the finish of a race to be satisfied of this, and indeed the derby winner in his supreme effort is almost as straight as an old-fashioned frigate, from stem to stern, while a line dropped perpendicularly from his muzzle would exactly touch the tips of his toes. now, if your hands are on each side of your horse's withers, you make him bend his neck so much as to contract his stride within three-quarter speed, whereas when you carry them about the level of your own hips, and nearly as far back, he has enough freedom of head to extend himself without getting beyond your control, and room besides to look about him, of which be sure he will avail himself for your mutual advantage. i have ridden hunters that obviously found great pleasure in watching hounds, and, except to measure their fences, would never take their eyes off the pack from field to field, so long as we could keep it in sight. these animals too, were, invariably fine jumpers, free, generous, light-hearted, and as wise as they were bold. i heard a very superior performer once remark that he not only rode every horse differently, but he rode the same horse differently at every fence. all i can say is, he used to ride them all in the same place, well up with the hounds, but i think i understand what he meant. he had his system of course, like every other master of the art, but it admitted of endless variations according to circumstances and the exigencies of the case. no man, i conclude, rides so fast at a wall as a brook, though he takes equal pains with his handling in both cases, if in a different way, nor would he deny a half-tired animal that support, amounting even to a dead pull, which might cause a hunter fresh out of his stable to imagine his utmost exertions were required forthwith. nevertheless, whether "lobbing along" through deep ground at the punishing period, when we wish our fun was over, or fingering a rash one delicately for his first fence, a stile, we will say, downhill with a bad take-off, when we could almost wish it had not begun, we equally require such a combination of skill, science, and sagacity, or rather common-sense, as goes by the name of "hand." when the player possesses this quality in perfection it is wonderful how much can be done with the instrument of which he holds the strings. i remember seeing the reverend john bower, an extraordinarily fine rider of the last generation, hand his horse over an ugly iron-bound stile, on to some stepping-stones, with a drop of six or seven feet, into a leicestershire lane, as calmly as if the animal had been a lady whom he was taking out for a walk. he pulled it back into a trot, sitting very close and quiet, with his hand raised two or three inches above the withers, and i can still recall, as if i had seen it yesterday, the curve of neck and quarters, as, gently mouthing the bit, that well-broken hunter poised lightly for its spring, and landing in the same collected form, picked its way daintily, step by step, down the declivity, like a cat. there was a large field out, but though leicestershire then, as now, had no lack of bold and jealous riders, who could use heads, hands, and beyond all, their heels, nobody followed him, and i think the attempt was better left alone. another clergyman of our own day, whose name i forbear mentioning, because i think he would dislike it for professional reasons, has the finest bridle-hand of any one i know. "_you good man_," i once heard a foreigner observe to this gentleman, in allusion to his bold style of riding; "_it no matter if you break your neck!_" and although i cannot look on the loss of such valuable lives from the same point of view as this continental moralist, i may be permitted to regret the present scarcity of clergymen in the hunting-field. it redounds greatly to their credit, for we know how many of them deny themselves a harmless pleasure rather than offend "the weaker brethren," but what a dog in the manger must the weaker brother be! i have never heard that these "hunting parsons," as they are called, neglect the smallest detail of duty to indulge in their favourite sport, but when they _do_ come out you may be sure to see them in the front rank. can it be that the weaker brother is jealous of his pastor's superiority in the saddle? i hope not. at any rate it seems unfair to cavil at the enjoyment by another of the pursuit we affect ourselves. let us show more even-handed justice, if not more charity, and endeavour at least to follow the good man's example in the parish, though we are afraid to ride his line across the fields. it would be endless to enter on all the different styles of horsemanship in which fine hands are of the utmost utility. on the race-course, for instance, it seems to an outsider that the whole performance of the jockey is merely a dead pull from end to end. but only watch the lightest urchin that is flung on a two-year-old to scramble home five furlongs as fast as ever he can come; you will soon be satisfied that even in these tumultuous flights there is room for the display of judgment, patience, though briefly tried, and manual skill. the same art is exercised on the light smooth snaffle, held in tenacious grasp, that causes the heavily-bitted charger to dance and "passage" in the school. it differs only in direction and degree. as much dexterity is required to prevent some playful flyer recently put in training from breaking out in a game of romps, when he ought to be minding his business in "the string" as to call forth the well-drilled efforts of a war-horse, answering wrist and leg with disciplined activity, ready to "rein back," "pass," "wheel,"-- "and high curvet that not in vain, the sword-sway may descend amain on foeman's casque below." chifney, the great jockey of his day, wrote an elaborate treatise on handling, laying down the somewhat untenable position, that even a racehorse should be held as if with a silken thread. i have noticed, too, that our best steeplechase riders have particularly fine hands when crossing a country with hounds; nor does their professional practice seem to make them over-hasty at their fences, when there is time to do these with deliberation. i imagine that to ride a steeplechase well, over a strong line, is the highest possible test of what we may call "all-round" horsemanship. my own experience in the silk jacket has been of the slightest; and i confess that, like falstaff with his reasons, i never fancied being rattled quite so fast at my fences "on compulsion." one of the finest pieces of riding i ever witnessed was in a steeplechase held at melton, as long ago as the year , when, happening to stand near the brook, _eighteen feet of water_, i observed my friend captain coventry come down at it. choosing sound ground and a clear place, for it was already beginning to fill with numerous competitors, he set his horse going, at about a hundred yards from the brink; in the most masterly manner, increasing the pace resolutely but gradually, so as not to flurry or cause the animal to change his leg, nearly to full speed before he took off. i could not have believed it possible to make a horse go so fast in so collected a form; but with the rider's strength in the saddle, and perfectly skilful hands, he accomplished the feat, and got well over, i need hardly say, in his stride. but, although a fine "bridle-hand," as it is called, proves of such advantage to the horseman in the hurry-skurry of a steeplechase or a very quick thing with hounds, its niceties come more readily under the notice of an observer on the road than in the field. perhaps the ride in hyde park is the place of all others where this quality is most appreciated, and, shall we add? most rarely to be found. a perfect park hack, that can walk or canter five miles an hour, no light criterion of action and balance, should also be so well broke, and so well ridden, as to change its leg, if asked to do so, at every stride. "with woven paces," if not "with waving arms," i have seen rider and horse threading in and out the trees that bisect rotten row, without missing _one_, for half a mile on end; the animal leading with near or off leg, as it inclined to left or right, guided only by the inflection of the rider's body, and the touch, too light to be called a pressure, of his knee and leg. how seldom does one see a horse ridden properly round a corner. he is usually allowed to turn on his shoulders, with his hind-legs too far back to be of the slightest assistance if he slips or stumbles, and should the foothold be greasy, as may happen in london streets, down he comes flat on his side. even at a walk, or slow trot, he should be collected, and his outer flank pressed inwards by his rider's heel, so that the motive power in hocks and thighs is kept under his own body, and the weight on his back. in the canter it stands to reason that he should lead with the inner leg, otherwise it is very possible he may cross the other over it, and fall like a lump of lead. i remember seeing the famous lord anglesey ride his hack at that pace nineteen times out of piccadilly into albemarle street, before it turned the corner exactly to his mind. the handsome old warrior who _looked_ no less distinguished than he _was_, had, as we know, a cork leg, and its oscillation no doubt interfered with those niceties of horsemanship in which he delighted. nevertheless at the twentieth trial he succeeded, and a large crowd, collected to watch him, seemed glad of an opportunity to give their waterloo hero a hearty cheer as he rode away. perhaps the finest pair of hands to be seen amongst the frequenters of the park in the present day belong to mr. mackenzie greaves, a retired cavalry officer of our own service, who, passionately fond of hunting and everything connected with horses, has lately turned his attention to the subtleties of the _haute école_, nowhere better understood, by a select few, than in paris, where he usually resides. to watch this gentleman on a horse he has broken in himself, gliding through the crowd, as if by mere volition, with the smoothness, ease, and rapidity of a fish arrowing up a stream, makes one quite understand how the myth of the centaur originated in the sculpture and poetry of greece. in common with general laurenson, whose name i have already mentioned as just such another proficient, his system is very similar to that of monsieur baucher, one of the few lovers of the animal either in france or england, who have so studied its character as to reduce equine education to a science. its details are far too elaborate to enter on here, but one of its first principles, applied in the most elementary tuition, is never to let the horse recoil from his bridle. "drop your hands!" say nine good riders out of ten, when the pupil's head is thrown up to avoid control. "not so," replies baucher. "on the contrary, tighten and increase your pressure more and more, keeping the rebel up to his bit with legs and spurs if necessary, till _he_ yields, not you; then on the instant, rapidly and dexterously, as you would strike in fly-fishing, give to him, and he will come into your hand!" i have tried his method myself, in more than one instance, and am inclined to think it is founded on common sense. but in all our dealings with him, we should remember that the horse's mouth is naturally delicate and sensitive though we so often find it hardened by violence and ill-usage. the amount of force we apply, therefore, whether small or great, should be measured no less accurately than the drops of laudanum administered to a patient by the nurse. reins are intended for the guidance of the horse, not the support of his rider, and if you do not feel secure without holding on by something, rather than pluck at his mouth, accept the ridicule of the position with its safety, and grasp the mane! seriously, you may do worse in a difficulty when your balance is in danger, and instinct prompts you to restore it, as, if a horse is struggling out of a bog, has dropped his hind-legs in a brook, or otherwise come on his nose without actually falling, nothing so impedes his endeavours to right himself as a tug of the bridle at an inopportune moment. that instrument should be used for its legitimate purposes alone, and a strong seat in the saddle is the first essential for a light hand on the rein. chapter vi. seat. some people tell you they ride by "balance," others by "grip." i think a man might as well say he played the fiddle by "finger," or by ear. surely in either case a combination of both is required to sustain the performance with harmony and success. the grip preserves the balance, which in turn prevents the grip becoming irksome. to depend on the one alone is to come home very often with a dirty coat, to cling wholly by the other is to court as much fatigue in a day as ought to serve for a week. i have more than once compared riding to swimming, it seems to require the same buoyancy of spirits, the same venture of body, the same happy combination of confidence, strength, and skill. the seat a man finds easiest to himself, says the inimitable mr. jorrocks, "will in all humane probability be the easiest to his 'oss!" and in this, as in every other remark of the humorous grocer, there is no little wisdom and truth. "if he go smooth, i am,"[ - ] said a frenchman, to whom a friend of mine offered a mount, "if he go rough, i shall not remain!" and doubtless the primary object of getting into a saddle, is to stay there at our own convenience, so long as circumstances permit. [ - ] _j'y suis._ but what a number of different attitudes do men adopt, in order to insure this permanent settlement. there is no position, from the tongs in the fender, to the tailor on his shop-board, into which the equestrian has not forced his unaccustomed limbs, to avoid involuntary separation from his beast. the dragoon of fifty years ago was drilled to ride with a straight leg, and his foot barely resting on the stirrup, whereas the oriental cavalry soldier, no mean proficient in the management of horse and weapon, tucks his knees up nearly to his chin, so that when he rises in the saddle, he towers above his little arab as if he were standing rather than sitting on its back. the position, he argues, gives him a longer reach, and a stronger purchase for the use of sword and spear. if we are to judge by illuminated copies of froissart, and other contemporary chronicles, it would seem that the armour-clad knight of the olden time, trusting in the depth and security of his saddle, _rode so long_ as to derive no assistance whatever from his stirrups, sitting down on his horse as much as possible, in dread, may be, lest the point of an adversary's lance should hoist him fairly out of his place over a cantle six inches high, and send him clanging to the ground, in mail and plate, surcoat, helmet and plumes, with his lady-love, squires, yeomen, the marshals of the lists, and all his feudal enemies looking on! now the length of stirrup with which a man should ride, and in its adjustment consists much of the ease, grace, and security of his position, depends on the conformation of his lower limbs. if his thighs are long in proportion to his frame, flat and somewhat curved inwards, he will sit very comfortably at the exact length that raises him clear of his horse's withers, when he stands up in his stirrups with his feet home, and the majority of men thus limbed, on the majority of horses, will find this a good general rule. but when the legs are short and muscular, the thighs round and thick, the whole frame square and strong, more like wrestling than dancing, and many very superior riders are of this figure, the leathers must be pulled up a couple of holes, and the foot thrust a little more forward, to obtain the necessary security of seat, at a certain sacrifice of grace and even ease. to look as neat as one can is a compliment to society, to be safe and comfortable is a duty to oneself. much also depends on the animal we bestride. horses low in the withers, and strong behind the saddle, particularly if inclined to "catch hold" a little, require in all cases rather shorter stirrups than their easier and truer-shaped stable-companions, nay, the varying roundness of barrel at different stages of condition affects the attitude of a rider, and most of us must have remarked, as horse and master get finer drawn towards the spring, how we let out the stirrups in proportion as we take in waistbelt, and saddle girths. men rode well nevertheless, witness the elgin marbles, before the invention of this invaluable aid to horsemanship; and no equestrian can be considered perfect who is unable in a plunge or leap to stick on his horse bare-backed. every boy should be taught to ride without stirrups, but not till he is tall and strong enough to grasp his pony firmly between his knees. a child of six or seven might injure itself in the effort, and ten, or eleven, is an early age enough for our young gentleman to be initiated into the subtleties of the art. my own idea is that he should begin without reins, so as to acquire a seat totally independent of his hands, and should never be trusted with a bridle till it is perfectly immaterial to him whether he has hold of it or not. neither should it be restored, after his stirrups have been taken away, till he has again proved himself independent of its support. when he has learnt to canter round the school, and sit firm over a leaping bar, with his feet swinging loose, and his hands in his pockets, he will have become a better horseman than ninety-nine out of every hundred who go out hunting. henceforward you may trust him to take care of himself, and _swim alone_. in every art it is well to begin from the very first with the best method; and i would instil into a pupil, even of the tenderest years, that although his legs, and especially his knees, are to be applied firmly to his pony's sides, as affording a security against tumbling off, it is _from the loins_ that he must really ride, when all is said and done. i dare say most of us can remember the mechanical horse exhibited in piccadilly some ten or twelve years ago, a german invention, remarkable for its ingenuity and the wonderful accuracy with which it imitated, in an exaggerated degree, the kicks, plunges, and other outrages practised by the most restive of the species to unseat their riders. shaped in the truest symmetry, clad in a real horse's skin, with flowing mane and tail, this automaton represented the live animal in every particular, but for the pivot on which it turned, a shaft entering the belly below its girths, and communicating through the floor with the machinery that set in motion and regulated its astonishing vagaries. on mounting, the illusion was complete. its very neck was so constructed with hinges that, on pulling at the bridle, it gave you its head without changing the direction of its body, exactly like an unbroken colt as yet intractable to the bit. at a word from the inventor, spoken in his own language to his assistants below, this artificial charger committed every kind of wickedness that could be devised by a fiend in equine shape. it reared straight on end; it lunged forward with its nose between its fore-feet, and its tail elevated to a perpendicular, awkward and ungainly as that of a swan _in reverse_. it lay down on its side; it rose to its legs with a bounce, and finally, if the rider's strength and dexterity enabled him still to remain in the saddle, it wheeled round and round with a velocity that could not fail at last to shoot him out of his seat on to the floor, humanely spread with mattresses, in anticipation of this inevitable catastrophe. it is needless to say how such an exhibition _drew_, with so horse-loving a public as our own. no gentleman who fancied he could "ride a bit" was satisfied till he had taken his shilling's worth and the mechanical horse had put him on his back. but for the mattresses, piccadilly could have counted more broken collar-bones than ever did leicestershire in the blindest and deepest of its novembers. rough-riders from the life-guards, blues, artillery, and half the cavalry regiments in the service, came to try conclusions with the spectre; and, like antagonists of some automaton chess-player, retired defeated and dismayed. for this universal failure, one could neither blame the men nor the military system taught in their schools. it stands to reason that human wind and muscle must sooner or later succumb to mechanical force. the inventor himself expressed surprise at the consummate horsemanship displayed by many of his fallen visitors, and admitted that more than one rough-rider would have tired out and subjugated any living creature of real flesh and blood; while the essayists universally declared the imitation so perfect, that at no period of the struggle could they believe they were contending with clock-work, rather than the natural efforts of some wild unbroken colt. but those who succeeded best, i remarked (and i speak with some little experience, having myself been indebted to the mattresses in my turn), were the horsemen who, allowing their loins to play freely, yielding more or less to every motion of the figure, did not trust exclusively for firmness of seat to the clasp of their knees and thighs. the mere balance rider had not a chance, the athlete who stuck on by main force found himself hurled into the air, with a violence proportioned to his own stubborn resistance; but the artist who judiciously combined strength with skill, giving a little _here_ that he might get a stronger purchase _there_, swaying his body loosely to meet and accompany every motion, while he kept his legs pressed hard against the saddle, withstood trick after trick, and shock after shock creditably enough, till a hint muttered in german that it was time to displace him, put such mechanism in motion as settled the matter forthwith. there was one detail, however, to be observed in the equipment of the mechanical horse that brings us to a question i have heard discussed amongst the best riders with very decided opinions on either side. formerly every saddle used to be made with padding about half an inch deep, sewn in the front rim of the flap against which a rider rests his knee, for the purpose, as it would seem, of affording him a stronger seat with its resistance and support. thirty or forty years ago a few noted sportsmen, despising such adventitious aid, began to adopt the open, or plain-flapped saddle; and, although not universal, it has now come into general use. it would certainly, of the two, have been the better adapted to the automaton i have described, as an inequality of surface was sadly in the way when the figure in its downward perpendicular, brought the rider's foot parallel with the point of its shoulders. the man's calf then necessarily slipped over the padding of his saddle, and it was impossible for him to get his leg back to its right place in time for a fresh outbreak when the model rose again to its proper level. as i would prefer an open saddle for the artificial, so i do for the natural horse, and i will explain why. i take it as a general and elementary rule, there is no better position for a rider than that which brings shoulder, hip, knee, and heel into one perpendicular line. a man thus placed on his horse cannot but sit well down with a bend in his back, and in this attitude, the one into which he would naturally fall, if riding at full speed, he has not only security of seat, but great command over the animal he bestrides. he will find, nevertheless, in crossing a country, or otherwise practising feats of horsemanship requiring the exercise of strength, that to get his knee an inch or two in advance of the correct line will afford such leverage as it were for the rest of his body as gives considerable advantage in any unusual difficulty, such as a drop-leap, for instance, with which he may have to contend. now in the plain-flapped saddle, he can bend his leg as much as he likes, and put it indeed where he will. this facility, too, is very useful in smuggling through a gap by a tree, often the most convenient egress, to make use of which, with a little skill and prudence, is a less hazardous experiment than it looks. a horse will take good care not to graze his own skin, and the space that admits of clearing his hips is wide enough for his rider's leg as well, if he hangs it over the animal's shoulder just where its neck is set on to the withers. but i would caution him to adopt this attitude carefully and above all, in good time. he should take his foot out of the stirrup and make his preparatory arrangements some three or four strides off at least, so as to accommodate his change of seat to the horse's canter before rising at the leap, and if he can spare his hand nearest the tree, so as to "fend it off" a little at the same time, he will be surprised to find how safely and pleasantly he accomplished a transit through some awkward and dangerous fence. but he must beware of delaying this little manoeuvre till the last moment, when his horse is about to spring. it is then too late, and he will either find himself so thrown out of his seat as to lose balance and grip too, or will try to save his leg by shifting it back instead of _forward_, when much confusion, bad language, and perhaps a broken knee-pan will be the result. amongst other advantages of the open saddle we must not forget that it is cheaper by twenty shillings, and so sets off the shape of his forehand as to make a hunter look more valuable by twenty pounds. nevertheless, it is still repudiated by some of our finest horsemen, who allege the sufficient reason that an inch or so of stuffing adds to their strength and security of seat. this, after all is, the _sine quâ non_, to which every article of equipment, even the important items of boots and breeches, should be subservient, and i may here remark that ease and freedom of dress are indispensable to a man who wishes to ride across a country not only in comfort, but in safety. i am convinced that tight, ill-fitting leathers may have broken bones to answer for. many a good fellow comes down to breakfast, stiff of gait, as if he were clothed in buckram, and can we wonder that he is hurt when thus hampered and constrained, he falls stark and rigid, like a paste-board policeman in a pantomime. i have already protested against the solecism of saving yourself by the bridle. it is better, if you _must_ have assistance, to follow the example of two or three notoriously fine riders and grasp the cantle of the saddle at the risk of breaking its tree. but in my humble opinion it is not well to be in the wrong even with plato, and, notwithstanding these high authorities, we must consider such habits, however convenient on occasion, as errors in horsemanship. to a good rider the saddle ought to be a place of security as easy as an armchair. i have heard it asserted, usually by persons of lean and wiry frames, that with short legs and round thighs, it is impossible to acquire a firm seat on horseback; but in this, as in most matters of skill, i believe nature can be rendered obedient to education. few men are so clumsily shaped but that they may learn to become strong and skilful riders if they will adopt a good system, and from the first resolve to sit _in the right place_; this, i think, should be in the very middle of the saddle, while bending the small of the back inwards, so that the weight of the body rests on that part of a horse's spine immediately behind his withers, under which his fore feet are placed, and on which, it has been ascertained, he can bear the heaviest load. when the animal stands perfectly still, or when it is extended at full speed, the most inexperienced horseman seems to fall naturally into the required position; but to preserve it, even through the regulated paces of the riding school demands constant effort and attention. the back-board is here, in my opinion, of great assistance to the beginner, as it forces him into an attitude that causes him to sit on the right part of his own person and his horse's back. it compels him also to carry his hands at a considerable distance off the horse's head, and thus entails also the desideratum of long reins. the shortest and surest way, however, of attaining a firm seat on horseback is, after all, to practise without stirrups on every available opportunity. many a valuable lesson may be taken while riding to covert and nobody but the student be a bit the wiser. thus to trot and canter along, for two or three miles on end is no bad training at the beginning of the season, and even an experienced horseman will be surprised to find how it gets him down in his saddle, and makes him feel as much at home there as he did in the previous march. the late captain percy williams, as brilliant a rider over a country as ever cheered a hound, and to whom few professional jockeys would have cared to give five pounds on a race-course, assured me that he attributed to the above self-denying exercise that strength in the saddle which used to serve him so well from the distance home. when quartered at hounslow with his regiment, the th lancers, like other gay young light dragoons, he liked to spend all his available time in london. there were no railroads in those days, and the coaches did not always suit for time; but he owned a sound, speedy, high-trotting hack, and on this "bone setter" he travelled backwards and forwards twelve miles of the great bath road, with military regularity, half as many times a week. he made it a rule to cross the stirrups over his horse's shoulders the moment he was off the stones at either end, only to be replaced when he reached his destination. in three months' time, he told me, he had gained more practical knowledge of horsemanship, and more muscular power below the waist, than in all the hunting, larking, and riding-school drill of the previous three years. grace is, after all, but the result of repressed strength. the loose and easy seat that seems to sway so carelessly with every motion, can tighten itself by instinct to the compression of a vice, and the "prettiest rider," as they say in ireland, is probably the one whom a kicker or buck-jumper would find the most difficult to dislodge. no doubt in the field, the ride, the parade, or the polo-ground a strong seat is the first of those many qualities that constitute good horsemanship. the real adept is not to be unseated by any catastrophe less conclusive than complete downfall of man and beast; nay, even then he parts company without confusion, and it may be said of him as of "william of deloraine," good at need in a like predicament-- "still sate the warrior, saddle fast, till, stumbling in the mortal shock, down went the steed, the girthing broke, hurled in a heap lay man and horse." but i have a strong idea sir william did not let his bridle go even then. chapter vii. valour. "he that would venture nothing must not get on horseback," says a spanish proverb, and the same caution seems applicable to most manly amusements or pursuits. we cannot enter a boat, put on a pair of skates, take a gun in hand for covert shooting, or even run downstairs in a hurry without encountering risk; but the amount of peril to which a horseman subjects himself seems proportioned inversely to the unconsciousness of it he displays. "where there is no fear there is no danger," though a somewhat reckless aphorism, is more applicable, i think, to the exercise of riding than to any other venture of neck and limbs. the horse is an animal of exceedingly nervous temperament, sympathetic too, in the highest degree, with the hand from which he takes his instructions. its slightest vacillation affects him with electric rapidity, but from its steadiness he derives moral encouragement rather than physical support, and on those rare occasions when his own is insufficient, he seems to borrow daring and resolution from his rider. if the man's heart is in the right place, his horse will seldom fail him; and were we asked to name the one essential without which it is impossible to attain thorough proficiency in the saddle, we should not hesitate to say nerve. _nerve_, i repeat, in contradistinction to _pluck_. the latter takes us into a difficulty, the former brings us out of it. both are comprised in the noble quality we call emphatically valour, but while the one is a brilliant and imposing costume, so is the other an honest wear-and-tear fabric, equally fit for all weathers, fine and foul. "you shiver, colonel--you are afraid," said an insubordinate major, who ought to have been put under arrest then and there, to his commanding officer on the field of prestonpans. "i _am_ afraid, sir," answered the colonel; "and if you were as much afraid as i am, _you would run away_!" i have often thought this improbable anecdote exemplifies very clearly that most meritorious of all courage which asserts the dominion of our will over our senses. the colonel's answer proves he was full of valour. he had lots of pluck, but as he was bold enough to admit, a deficiency of nerve. now the field of diana happily requires but a slight per-centage of daring and resolution compared with the field of mars. i heard the late sir francis head, distinguished as a soldier, a statesman, an author, and a sportsman, put the matter in a few words, very tersely--and exceedingly to the point. "under fire," said he, "there is a guinea's-worth of danger, but it comes to you. in the hunting-field, there is only three-ha'p 'orth, but _you go to it_!" in both cases, the courage required is a mere question of degree, and as in war, so in the chase, he is most likely to distinguish himself whose daring, not to be dismayed, is tempered with coolness, whose heart is always stout and hopeful, while he never loses his head. now as i understand the terms pluck and nerve, i conceive the first to be a moral quality, the result of education, sentiment, self-respect, and certain high aspirations of the intellect; the second, a gift of nature dependent on the health, the circulation, and the liver. as memory to imagination in the student, so is nerve to pluck in the horseman. not the more brilliant quality, nor the more captivating, but sound, lasting, available for all emergencies, and sure to conquer in the long run. we will suppose two sportsmen are crossing a country equally well mounted, and each full of valour to the brim. a, to quote his admiring friends, "has the pluck of the devil!" b, to use a favourite expression of the saddle-room, "has a good nerve." both are bound to come to grief over some forbidding rails at a corner, the only way out, in the line hounds are running, and neither has any more idea of declining than had poor lord strathmore on a similar occasion when jem mason halloaed to him, "eternal misery on this side my lord, and certain death on the other!" so they harden their hearts, sit down in their saddles, and this is what happens:-- a's horse, injudiciously sent at the obstacle, _because_ it is awkward, a turn too fast, slips in taking off, and strikes the top-rail, which neither bends nor breaks, just below its knees. a flurried snatch at the bridle pulls its head in the air, and throws the animal skilfully to the ground at the moment it most requires perfect freedom for a desperate effort to keep on its legs. rider and horse roll over in an "imperial crowner," and rise to their feet looking wildly about them, totally disconnected, and five or six yards apart. this is not encouraging for b, who is obliged to follow, inasmuch as the place only offers room for one at a time, but as soon as his leader is out of the way, he comes steadily and quietly at the leap. his horse too, slips in the tracks of its fallen comrade, but as it is going in a more collected form, it contrives to get its fore-legs over the impediment, which catches it, however, inside the hocks, so that, balancing for a moment, it comes heavily on its nose. during these evolutions, b sits motionless in the saddle, giving the animal complete liberty of rein. an instinct of self-preservation and a good pair of shoulders turn the scale at the last moment, and although there is no denying they "had a squeak for it" in the scramble, b and his horse come off without a fall. now it was pluck that took both these riders into the difficulty, but nerve that extricated one of them without defeat. i am not old enough to have seen the famous mr. assheton smith in the hunting-field, but many of my early leicestershire friends could remember him perfectly at his best, when he hunted that fine and formidable country, with the avowed determination, daily carried out, _of going into every field with his hounds_! the expenditure of valour, for it really deserves the name necessary to carry out such a style of riding can only be appreciated by those who have tried to keep in a good place during thirty or forty minutes, over any part of the quorn and cottesmore counties lying within six miles of billesdon. where should we be but for the gates? i think i may answer, neither there nor thereabouts! i have reason to believe the many stories told of "tom smith's" skill and daring are little, if at all, exaggerated. he seems admitted by all to have been the boldest, as he was one of the best, horsemen that ever got into a saddle with a hunting-whip in his hand. though subsequently a man of enormous wealth, in the prime of life, he lived on the allowance, adequate but not extravagant, made him by his father, and did by no means give those high prices for horses, which, on the principle that "money makes the mare to go," are believed by many sportsmen to ensure a place in the front rank. he entertained no fancies as to size, action, above all, peculiarities in mouths and tempers. little or big, sulky, violent, or restive, if a horse could gallop and jump, he was a hunter the moment he found himself between the legs of tom smith. there is a namesake of his hunting at present from melton, who seems to have taken several leaves out of his book. captain arthur smith, with every advantage of weight, nerve, skill, seat, and hand, is never away from the hounds. moreover, he always likes his horse, and his horse always seems to like him. this gentleman, too, is blessed with an imperturbable temper, which i have been given to understand the squire of tedworth was _not_. instances of tom smith's daring are endless. how characteristic was his request to a farmer near glengorse, that he would construct such a fence as should effectually prevent the field from getting away in too close proximity to his hounds. "i can make you up a stopper," said the good-natured yeoman, "and welcome; but what be you to do yourself, squire, for i know you like well to be with 'em when they run?" "never mind me," was the answer, "you do what i ask you. i never saw a fence in this country i couldn't get over _with a fall_!" and, sure enough, the first day the hounds found a fox in that well-known covert, tom smith was seen striding along in the wake of his darlings, having tumbled neck-and-crop over the obstacle he had demanded, in perfect good humour and content. if valour then, is a combination of pluck and nerve, he may be called the most valorous sportsman that ever got upon a horse, while affording another example of the partiality with which fortune favours the bold, for although he has had between eighty and ninety falls in a season, he was never really hurt, i believe, but once in his life. "that is a _brave_ man!" i have heard lord gardner say in good-humoured derision, pointing to some adventurous sportsman, whose daring so far exceeded his dexterity as to bring horse and rider into trouble; but his lordship's own nerve was so undeniable, that like many others, he may have undervalued a quality of which he could not comprehend the want. most hunting-men, i fancy, will agree with me, that of all obstacles we meet with in crossing a country, timber draws most largely on the reserve fund of courage hoarded away in that part of a hero's heart which is nearest his mouth. the highest rails i ever saw attempted were ridden at by lord gardner some years ago, while out with mr. tailby's hounds near the ram's head. with a fair holding scent, and the pack bustling their fox along over the grass, there was no time for measurement, but i remember perfectly well that being in the same field, some fifty yards behind him, and casting longing looks at the fence, totally impracticable in every part, i felt satisfied the corner he made for was simply an impossibility. "we had better turn round and go home!" i muttered in my despair. the leap consisted of four strong rails, higher than a horse's withers, an approach down hill, a take-off poached by cattle, and a landing into a deep muddy lane. i can recall at this moment, the beautiful style in which my leader brought his horse to its effort. very strong in the saddle, with the finest hands in the world, leaning far back, and sitting well down, he seemed to rouse as it were, and concentrate the energies of the animal for its last half-stride, when, rearing itself almost perpendicularly, it contrived to get safe over, only breaking the top rail with a hind leg. this must have lowered the leap by at least a foot, yet when i came to it, thus reduced, and "made easy," it was still a formidable obstacle, and i felt thankful to be on a good jumper. of late years i have seen mr. powell, who is usually very well mounted, ride over exceedingly high and forbidding timber so persistently, as to have earned from that material, the _nom de chasse_ by which he is known amongst his friends. but perhaps the late lord cardigan, the last of the brudenells, afforded in the hunting-field, as in all other scenes of life, the most striking example of that "pluck" which is totally independent of youth, health, strength, or any other physical advantage. the courage that in advanced middle-age governed the steady manoeuvres of bulganak, and led the death-ride at balaclava, burned bright and fierce to the end. the graceful seat might be less firm, the tall soldier-like figure less upright, but mars, one of his last and best hunters, was urged to charge wood and water by the same bold heart at seventy, that tumbled langar into the uppingham road over the highest gate in leicestershire at twenty-six. the foundation of lord cardigan's whole character was valour. he loved it, he prized it, he admired it in others, he was conscious and proud of it in himself. so jealous was he of this chivalrous quality, that even in such a matter of mere amusement as riding across a country, he seemed to attach some vague sense of disgrace to the avoidance of a leap, however dangerous, if hounds were running at the time, and was notorious for the recklessness with which he would plunge into the deepest rivers though he could not swim a stroke! this i think is to court _real_ danger for no sufficient object. lord wolverton, than whom no man has ridden straighter and more enthusiastically to hounds, ever since he left oxford, once crossed the thames in this most perilous fashion, for he, too, has never learnt to swim, during a run with "the queen's." "but," said i, protesting subsequently against such hardihood, "you were risking your life at every stroke." "i never thought of that," was the answer, "till i got safe over, and it was no use bothering about it then." lord cardigan however, seemed well aware of his danger, and, in my own recollection, had two very narrow escapes from drowning in these uncalled-for exploits. the gallant old cavalry officer's death was in keeping with his whole career. at threescore years and ten he insisted on mounting a dangerous animal that he would not have permitted any friend to ride. what happened is still a mystery. the horse came home without him, and he never spoke again, though he lived till the following day. but these are sad reflections for so cheerful a subject as daring in the saddle. red is our colour, not black, and, happily, in the sport we love, there are few casualties calling forth more valour than is required to sustain a bloody nose, a broken collar-bone, or a sound ducking in a wet ditch. yet it is extraordinary how many good fellows riding good horses find themselves defeated in a gallop after hounds, from indecision and uncertainty, rather than want of courage, when the emergency actually arises. though the danger, according to sir francis head, is about a hap'orth, it might possibly be valued at a penny, and nobody wants to discover, in his own person, the exact amount. therefore are the chivalry of the midland counties to be seen on occasion panic-stricken at the downfall or disappearance of a leader. and a dozen feet of dirty water will wholly scatter a field of horsemen who would confront an enemy's fire without the quiver of an eye-lash. except timber, of which the risk is obvious, at a glance, nothing frightens the _half_-hard, so much as a brook. it is difficult, you see, to please them, the uncertainty of the limpid impediment being little less forbidding than the certainty of the stiff! but it does require dash and coolness, pluck and nerve, a certain spice of something that may fairly be called valour, to charge cheerfully at a brook when we have no means of ascertaining its width, its depth, or the soundness of its banks. horses too are apt to share the misgivings of their riders, and water-jumping, like a loan to a poor relation, if not done freely, had better not be done at all. the fox, and consequently the hounds, as we know, will usually cross at the narrowest place, but even if we can mark the exact spot, fences, or the nature of the ground may prevent our getting there. what are we to do? if we follow a leader, and he drops short, we are irretrievably defeated, if we make our own selection, the gulf may be as wide as the thames. "send him at it!" says valour, "and take your chance!" perhaps it is the best plan after all. there is something in luck, a good deal in the reach of a horse's stride at a gallop, and if we _do_ get over, we _rather_ flatter ourselves for the next mile or two that we have "done the trick!" to enter on the subject of "hard riding," as it is called, without honourable mention of the habit and the side-saddle, would in these days betray both want of observation and politeness; but ladies, though they seem to court danger no less freely than admiration, possess, i think, as a general rule, more pluck than nerve. i can recall an instance very lately, however, in which i saw displayed by one of the gentlest of her sex, an amount of courage, coolness, and self-possession, that would have done credit to a hero. this lady, who had not quite succeeded in clearing a high post-and-rail with a boggy ditch on the landing side, was down and under her horse. the animal's whole weight rested on her legs, so as to keep her in such a position, that her head lay between its fore and hind feet, where the least attempt at a struggle, hemmed in by those four shining shoes, must have dashed her brains out. she seemed in no way concerned for her beauty, or her life, but gave judicious directions to those who rescued her as calmly and courteously as if she had been pouring out their tea. the horse, though in that there is nothing unusual, behaved like an angel, and the fair rider was extricated without very serious injury; but i thought to myself, as i remounted and rode on, that if a legion of amazons could be rendered amenable to discipline they would conquer the world. no man, till he has tried the experiment, can conceive how awkward and powerless one feels in a lady's seat. they themselves affirm that with the crutch, or second pommel on the near side, they are more secure than ourselves; but when i see those delicate, fragile forms flying over wood and water, poised on precipitous banks, above all, crashing through strong bullfinches, i am struck with admiration at the mysteries of nature, among which not the least wonderful seems the feminine desire to excel. and they _do_ excel when resolved they will, even in those sports and exercises which seem more naturally belonging to the masculine department. it was but the other day, a boatman in the channel told me he saw a lady swimming alone more than half a mile off shore. now that the universal rink has brought skating into fashion, the "many-twinkling feet," that smoothest glide and turn most deftly, are shod with such dainty boots as never could be worn by the clumsier sex. at lawn-tennis the winning service is offered by some seductive hoyden in her teens; and, although in the game of cricket the graces have as yet been males, at no distant day we may expect to see the best batsman at the oval bowled out, or perhaps caught by a woman! yes, the race is in the ascendant. it takes the heaviest fish,--i mean _real_ fish--with a rod and line. it kills its grouse right and left--in the moor among the heather. it shoulders a rifle no heavier than a pea-shooter, but levels the toy so straight that, after some cunning stalk, a "stag of ten" goes down before the white hand and taper finger, as becomes his antlers and his sex. lastly, when it gets upon bachelor, or benedict, or othello, or any other high-flyer with a suggestive name, it sails away close, often too close, to the hounds, leaving brothers, husbands, even admirers hopelessly in the rear. now, i hope i am not going to express a sentiment that will offend their prejudices, and cause young women to call me an old one, but i do consider that, in these days, ladies who go out hunting _ride a turn too hard_. far be it from me to assert that the field is no place for the fair; on the contrary, i hold that their presence adds in every respect to its charms. neither would i protest against their jumping, and relegate them to the bridle-roads or lanes. nothing of the kind. let the greatest care be taken in the selection of their horses; let their saddles and bridles be fitted to such a nicety that sore backs and sore mouths are equally impossible, and let trustworthy servants be told off to attend them during the day. then, with everything in their favour, over a fair country, fairly fenced, why should they not ride on and take their pleasure? but even if their souls disdain to follow a regular pilot (and i may observe his office requires no little nerve, as they are pretty quick on to a leader if he gets down), i would entreat them not to try "cutting out the work," as it is called, but rather to wait and see one rider, at least, over a leap before they attempt it themselves. it is frightful to think of a woman landing in a pit, a water-course, or even so deep a ditch as may cause the horse to roll over her when he falls. with her less muscular frame she is more easily injured than a man; with her finer organisation she cannot sustain injury as well. it turns one sick to think of her dainty head between a horse's hind-legs, or of those cruel pommels bruising her delicate ribs and bosom. it is at least twenty to one in _our_ favour every time we fall, whereas with her the odds are all the other way, and it is almost twenty to one she must be hurt. what said the wisest of kings concerning a fair woman without discretion? we want no solomon to remind us that with her courage roused, her ambition excited, all the rivalry of her nature called into play, she has nowhere more need of this judicious quality than in the hunting-field. chapter viii. discretion. it has been called the better part of valour, and doubtless, when wanting, the latter is as likely to sustain irretrievable reverses as a ship without a rudder, or a horse without a bridle. the two should always travel together; but it appears to me that we meet the cautious brother most frequently on our journey through life. in the chase, however, they seem to share their presence impartially enough. valour is very much to the front at the covert side, and shows again with great certainty after dinner; but discretion becomes paramount and almost ubiquitous when the hounds run, being called on indeed to act for us in every field. sometimes, particularly when countries are blind early in november, we abandon ourselves so entirely to its guidance as little by little to lose all our self-reliance, till at last we feel comfortable nowhere but in the high road; and most of us, i dare say, can recall occasions on which we have been so utterly discomfited by an early disappointment (in plain english a fence we were afraid to jump) as to give in without an effort, although the slightest dash of valour at the right moment would have carried us triumphantly out of defeat. never mind. like a french friend of mine, who expresses his disinclination to our _chasse au renard_ by protesting, "_monsieur, je ne cherche pas mes émotions à me casser le cou_," when we are avowedly in pursuit of pleasure we ought to take it exactly as suits us best. there are two ends of the string in every run with hounds. wisdom pervades each of these, but eschews the various gradations between. in front rides valour with discretion; in rear, discretion without valour; and in the middle a tumultuous throng, amongst whom neither quality is to be recognised. with too little of the one to fly, not enough of the other to creep, they waver at the fences, hurry at the gaps, get in each other's way at the gates, and altogether make exceedingly slow progress compared to their efforts and their excitement. valour without discretion, i had almost forgotten to observe, was down and under his horse at the first difficulty. we will let the apex of the pyramid alone for the present, taking the safest and broadest end of the hunt first. if, then, you have achieved so bad a start that it is impossible to make up your lee-way, or if you are on a hack with neither power nor intention to ride in the front rank, be sure you cannot take matters too coolly should you wish to command the line of chase and see as much as possible of the fun. i am supposing the hounds have found a good fox that knows more than one parish, and are running him with a holding scent. however favourable your start, and fate is sure to arrange a good one for a man too badly mounted to avail himself of it, let nothing induce you to keep near the pack. at a mile off you can survey and anticipate their general direction, at a quarter that distance you must ride every turn. do not be disordered by the brilliancy of the pace should their fox go straight up wind. if he does not sink it within five minutes he means reaching a drain, and another five will bring the "who-whoop!" that marks him to ground. this is an unfailing deduction, but happily the most discreet of us are apt to forget it. time after time we are so fooled by the excitement of our gallop that even experience does not make us wise, and we enjoy the scurry, exclaiming, "what a pity!" when it is over, as if we had never been out hunting before. it would be useless to distress your hack for so short a spin, rather keep wide of the line, if possible, on high ground, and calculate by the wind, the coverts, and the general aspect of the country, where a fox is most likely to make his point. i have known good runs in the shires seen fairly, from end to end, by a lady in a wagonette. when business really begins, men are apt to express in various ways their intention of taking part. some use their eyes, some their heels, and some their flasks. do you trust your brains, they will stand you in better stead than spurs, or spectacles, or even brandy diluted with curaçoa. keep your attention fixed on the chase, watch the pack as long as you can, and when those white specks have vanished into space, depend on your own skill in woodcraft and knowledge of country to bring you up with them again. above all, while they are actually in motion, distrust the bobbing hats and spots of scarlet that you mark in a distant cluster behind the hedge. what are they but the field? and the field, if it is _really_ a run, are pretty sure to be _out of it_. the first flight you will find very difficult to keep in view. at the most it consists of six or seven horsemen riding fifty or a hundred yards apart, and even its followers become so scattered and detached that in anything like an undulating country they are completely hidden from observation. if you _do_ catch a glimpse of them, how slow they seem to travel! and yet, when you nick in presently, heaving flanks, red faces, and excited voices will tell a very different tale. trotting soberly along, then, with ears and eyes wide open, carefully keeping down wind, not only because the hounds are sure to bend in that direction, but also that you can thus hear before you see them, and take measures accordingly, you will have ridden very few miles before you are gladdened by the cheerful music of the pack, or more probably a twang from the horn. the scent is rarely so good as to admit of hounds running for thirty or forty minutes without a check; indeed, on most days they are likely to be at fault more than once during the lapse of half an hour, when the huntsman's science will be required to cast them, and, in some cases, to assist them in losing their fox. now is your time to press on with the still undefeated hack. if you are wise you will not leave the lanes to which i give you the credit of having stuck religiously from the start. at least, do not think of entering a field unless the track of an obvious bridle-road leads safely into the next. a man who never jumps at all can by no possibility be "pounded," whereas the easiest and safest of gaps into an inclosure may mean a bullfinch with two ditches at the other end. perhaps you will find yourself ahead of every one as the hounds spread, and stoop and dash forward with a whimper that makes the sweetest of music in your ears. perhaps, as they swarm across the very lane in which you are standing, discretion may calmly open the gate for valour, who curses him in his heart, wondering what business he has to be there at all. there is jealousy even in the hunting-field, though we prefer to call it keenness, emulation, a fancy for riding our own line, and i fear that with most of us, in spite of the kindly sympathies and joyous expansion of the chase, "_ego et præterea nihil_" is the unit about which our aspirations chiefly revolve. "what is the use?" i once heard a plaintive voice lamenting behind a blackthorn, while the hounds were baying over a drain at the finish of a clipping thirty minutes on the grass. "i've spoilt my hat, i've torn my coat, i've lamed my horse, i've had two falls, i went first, i'll take my oath, from end to end, and there's that d--d fellow on the coffee-coloured pony gets here before me after all!" there are times, no doubt, when valour must needs yield the palm to discretion. let us see how this last respectable quality serves us at the other and nobler extremity of the hunt, for it is there, after all, that our ambition points, and our wishes chiefly tend. "are you a hard rider?" asked an inquiring lady of mr. jorrocks. "the hardest in england," answered that facetious worthy, adding to himself, "i may say that, for i never goes off the 'ard road if i can help it." now instead of following so cautious an example, let us rather cast overboard a superfluity of discretion, that would debar us the post of honour we are fain to occupy, retaining only such a leavening of its virtue as will steer us safely between the two extremes. while the hounds are racing before us, with a good scent, in an open country, let our gallant hunter be freely urged by valour to the front, while at the same time, discretion holds him hard by the head, lest a too inconsiderate daring should endanger his rider's neck. if a man has the luck to be on a good timber-jumper, now is the time to take advantage freely of its confidential resources. if not pulled about, and interfered with, a hunter that understands his business leaps this kind of fence, so long as he is fresh, with ease to himself and security to his rider. he sees exactly what he has to do, and need not rise an inch higher, nor fling himself an inch farther than is absolutely necessary, whereas a hedge induces him to make such exertions as may cover the uncertainty it conceals. but, on the other hand, the binder will usually bear tampering with, which the bar will _not_, therefore _if_ your own courage and your horse's skill tempt you to negotiate rails, stiles, or even a gate--and this last is _very_ good form--sound discretion warns you to select the first ten or fifteen minutes of a run for such exhibitions, but to avoid them religiously, when the deep ground and the pace have begun to tell. assheton smith himself, though he scouted the idea of ever turning from anything, had in so far the instinct of self-preservation, that when he thought his horse likely to fall over such an obstacle, he put him at it somewhat _a-slant_, so that the animal should get at least one fore-leg clear, and tumble on to its side, when this accomplished rider was pretty sure to rise unhurt with the reins in his hand. now this diagonal style of jumping, judiciously practised, is not without its advantages at less dangerous fences than the uncompromising bit of timber that turns us over. it necessarily increases the width of a bank, affording the horse more room for foothold, as it decreases the height and strength of the growers, by taking them the way they lie, and may, on occasion, save a good hunter from a broken back, the penalty for dropping both hind legs simultaneously and perpendicularly into some steep cut ditch he has failed to cover in his stride. discretion, you observe, should accompany the hardest riders, and is not to be laid aside even in the confusion and excitement of a fall. this must prove a frequent casualty with every man, however well-mounted, if the hounds show sport and he means to be with them while they run. it seems a paradox, but the oftener you are down, the less likely you are to be hurt. practice soon teaches you to preserve presence of mind, or, as i may be allowed to call it, discretion, and when you know exactly where your horse is, you can get away from him before he crushes you with the weight of his body. a foot or a hand thrust out at the happy moment, is enough to "fend you off," and your own person seldom comes to the ground with such force as to do you any harm, if there is plenty of dirt. in the absence of that essential to sport, hunters are not distressed, and therefore do not often fall. if, however, you have undertaken to temper the rashness of a young one with your own discretion, you must expect occasional reverses; but even thus, there are many chances in your favour, not the least of which is your pupil's elasticity. lithe and agile, he will make such gallant efforts to save himself as usually obviate the worst consequences of his mistake. the worn-out, the under-bred, or the distressed horse comes down like a lump of lead, and neither valour nor discretion are much help to us then. from the pace at which hounds cross a country, there is unfortunately no time to practise that most discreet manoeuvre called "leading over," when the fence is of so formidable a nature as to threaten certain discomfiture, yet i have seen a few tall, powerful, active men, spring off and on their horses with such rapidity as to perform this feat successfully in all the hurry of a burst. the late colonel wyndham, who, when he commanded the greys, in which regiment he served at waterloo, was said by george the fourth to be the handsomest man in the army, possessed with a giant's stature the pliant agility of a harlequin. a finer rider never got into a saddle. weighing nineteen stone, i have seen him in a burst across leicestershire, go for twenty minutes with the best of the light-weights, occasionally relieving his horse by throwing himself off, leaping a fence alongside of it, and vaulting on again, without checking the animal sufficiently to break its stride. the lamented lord mayo too, whose tall stalwart frame was in keeping with those intellectual powers that india still recalls in melancholy pride, was accustomed, on occasion, thus to surmount an obstacle, no less successfully among the bullfinches of northamptonshire than the banks and ditches of kildare. perhaps the best rider of his family, and it is a bold assertion, for when five or six of the brothers are out hunting, there will always be that number of tall heavy men, answering to the name of bourke in the same field with the hounds, lord mayo, or rather lord naas (for the best of his sporting career closed with his succession to the earldom), was no less distinguished for his daring horsemanship, than his tact in managing a country, and his skill in hunting a pack of hounds. that he showed less forethought in risking a valuable life than in conducting the government of an empire, we must attribute to his personal courage and keen delight in the chase, but that he humorously deplored the scarcity of discretion amongst its votaries, the following anecdote, as i had it from himself, sufficiently attests. while he hunted his own hounds in kildare, his most constant attendant, though on foot, was a nondescript character, such as is called "a tight boy" in ireland, and nowhere else, belonging to a class that never seem to do a day's work, nor to eat a plentiful meal, but are always pleasant, obliging, idle, hungry, thirsty, and supremely happy. running ten miles on foot to covert, mick, as he was called, would never leave the hounds till they reached their kennels at night. thus, plodding home one evening by his lordship's horse, after an unusually long and fatiguing run, the rider could not help expostulating with the walker on such a perverse misapplication of strength, energy, and perseverance. "why, look at the work you have been doing," said his lordship; "with a quarter of the labour you might have earned three or four shillings at least. what a fool you must be, mick, to neglect your business, and lose half your potatoes, that you may come out with my hounds!" mick reflected a moment, and looked up, "ah! me lard," replied he, with such a glance of fun as twinkles nowhere but in the irish blue of an irish eye, "it's truth your lardship's spakin' this night; _'av there was no fools, there'd be sorra few fox-hunters!_" let us return to the question of discretion, and how we are to combine it with an amusement that makes fools of us all. while valour, then, bids us take our fences as they come, discretion teaches us that each should be accomplished in the manner most suitable to its peculiar requirements. when a bank offers foothold, and we see the possibility of dividing a large leap by two, we should pull back to a trot, and give our horse a hint that he will do well to spring on and off the obstacle in accordance with a motion of our hand. if, on the contrary, his effort must be made at a black and forbidding bullfinch, with the chance of a wide ditch, or even a tough ashen rail, beyond, it is wise, should we mean having it at all, to catch hold of the bridle and increase our pace, for the last two or three strides, with such energy as shall shoot us through the thorns like a harlequin through a trap-door, leaving the orifice to close up behind, with no more traces of our transit than are left by a bird! [illustration: page .] perhaps we find an easy place under a tree, with an overhanging branch, and sidle daintily up to it, bending the body and lowering the head as we creep through, to the admiration of an indiscreet friend on a rash horse who spoils a good hat and utters an evil execration while trying to follow our example. or it may be, rejoicing to find ourselves on arable land, that actually rides light, and yet carries a scent, "solid and tall, the rasping wall" challenges us a quarter of a mile off to face it or go home, for it offers neither gate nor gap, and seems to meet the sky-line on either side. i do not know whether others are open to the same deception, but to my own eye, a wall appears more, and a hedge less, than its real height at a certain distance off. the former, however, is a most satisfactory leap when skilfully accomplished, and not half so arduous as it looks. "have it!" says valour. "yes, but very slow," replies discretion. and, sure enough, we calm the free generous horse into a trot, causing him to put his very nose over the obstacle before taking off; when bucking into the air, like a deer, he leaves it behind him with little more effort than a girl puts to her skipping-rope. the height an experienced wall-jumper will clear seems scarcely credible. a fence of this description, which measurement proves to be fully six feet, was jumped by the well-known colonel miles three or four years ago in the badminton country without displacing a stone, and although the rider's consummate horsemanship afforded every chance of success, great credit is due to the good hunter that could make such an effort with so heavy a man on its back. the knack of wall-jumping, however, is soon learned even by the most inexperienced animals, and i may here observe that i have often been surprised at the discretion shown by young horses, when ridden close to hounds, in negotiating fences requiring sagacity and common sense. i am aware that my opinion is singular, and i only give it as the result, perhaps exceptional, of my own limited experience; but i must admit that i have been carried by a pupil, on his first day, over awkward places, up and down banks, in and out of ravines, or under trees, with a docility and circumspection i have looked for from the veterans in vain. perhaps the old horse knows me as well as i know him, and thinks also that he knows best. i am bound to say he never fails me when i trust him, but he likes his head let alone, and insists on having it all his own way. when his blood is really up, and the hero of a hundred fights considers it worth while to put forth his strength, i am persuaded he is even bolder than his junior. not only at the fences, however, do we require discretion. there is a right way and a wrong of traversing every acre of ground that lies between them. on the grass, we must avoid crossing high ridge-and-furrow in a direct line; rather let us take it obliquely, or, if the field be not too large, go all the way round by the headland. for an unaccustomed horse there is nothing so trying as those up-and-down efforts, that resemble the lurches of a boat in a heavy sea. a very true-shaped animal will learn to glide smoothly over them after a season or two, but these inequalities of surface must always be a tax on wind and muscular powers at best. the easiest goer in ridge-and-furrow that we have yet seen is a fox. surely no other quadruped has nature gifted with so much strength and symmetry in so small a compass. amongst the ploughs, though the fences are happily easier, forethought and consideration are even more required for ground. after much rain, do not enter a turnip-field if you can help it, the large, frequent roots loosen the soil, and your horse will go in up to his hocks; young wheat also it is well to avoid, if only for reasons purely selfish; but on the fallows, when you find a _wet_ furrow, lying the right way, put on steam, splash boldly ahead, and never leave it so long as it serves you in your line. the same may be said of a foot-path, even though its guidance should entail the jumping of half-a-dozen stiles. sound foothold reduces the size of any leap, and while you are travelling easily above the ground, the rest of the chase, fox and hounds too, as well as horses, though in a less degree, are labouring through the mire. when your course is intersected by narrow water-cuts, for purposes of irrigation, by covered drains, or deep, grass-grown cart-ruts, it will be well to traverse them obliquely, so that, if they catch the stride of his gallop, your horse may only get one foot in at a time. he will then right himself with a flounder, whereas, if held by both legs, either before or behind, the result is a rattling fall, very dangerous to his back in the one case, and to your own neck in the other. valour of course insists that a hunter should do what he is bid, but there are some situations in which the beast's discretion pleads reasonably enough for some forbearance from its master. if a good horse, thoroughly experienced in the exigencies of the sport, that you have ridden a season or two, and flatter yourself you understand, persistently refuses a fence, depend upon it there is sufficient reason. the animal may be lame from an injury just received, may have displaced a joint, broken a tendon, or even ruptured an artery. perhaps it is so blown as to feel it must fall in the effort you require. at any rate do not persevere. horses have been killed, and men also, through a sentiment of sheer obstinacy that would not be denied, and humanity should at least think shame to be out-done in discretion by the brute. a horse is a wise creature enough, or he could never carry us pleasantly to hounds. an old friend of mine used to say: "people talk about size and shape, shoulders, quarters, blood, bone, and muscle, but for my part, give me a hunter with brains. he has to take care of the biggest fool of the two, and think for both!" discretion, then, is one of the most valuable qualities for an animal charged with such heavy responsibilities, that bears us happy and triumphant during the day, and brings us safe home at night. who would grudge a journey across st. george's channel to find this desirable quality in its highest perfection at ballinasloe or cahirmee? for indeed it is not too much to say that whatever we may think of her natives, the most discreet and sagacious of our hunters come over from the emerald isle. chapter ix. irish hunters. "an' niver laid an iron to the sod!" was a metaphor i once heard used by an excellent fellow from limerick, to convey the brilliant manner in which a certain four-year-old he was describing performed during a burst, when, his owner told me, he went clean away from all rivals in his gallop, and flew every wall, bank, and ditch, in his stride. the expression, translated into english, would seem to imply that he neither perched on the grass-grown banks, with all four feet at once, like a cat, nor struck back at them with his hind legs, like a dog; and perhaps my friend made the more account of this hazardous style of jumping, that it seemed so foreign to the usual characteristics of the irish horse. for those who have never hunted in ireland, i must explain that the country as a general rule is fenced on a primitive system, requiring little expenditure of capital beyond the labour of a man, or, as he is there called, "a boy," with a short pipe in his mouth and a spade in his hand. this light-hearted operative, gay, generous, reckless, high-spirited, and by no means a free worker, simply throws a bank up with the soil that he scoops out of the ditch, reversing the process, and filling the latter by levelling the former, when a passage is required for carts, or cattle, from one inclosure to the next. i ought nevertheless to observe, that many landlords, with a munificence for which i am at a loss to account, go to the expense of erecting massive pillars of stone, ostensibly gate-posts, at commanding points, between which supports, however, they seldom seem to hang a gate, though it is but justice to admit that when they do, the article is usually of iron, very high, very heavy, and fastened with a strong padlock, though its object seems less apparent, when we detect within convenient distance on either side a gap through which one might safely drive a gig. it is obvious, then, that this kind of fence, at its widest and deepest, requires considerable activity as well as circumspection on a horse's part, and forbearance in handling on that of a rider. the animal must gather itself to spring like a goat, on the crest of the eminence it has to surmount, with perfect liberty of head and neck, for the climb, and subsequent effort, that may, or may not be demanded. neither man nor beast can foresee what is prepared for them on the landing side, and a clever irish hunter brings itself up short in an instant, should the gulf be too formidable for its powers, balancing on the brink, to look for a better spot, or even leaping back again into the field from which it came. that the irishman rides with a light bridle and lets it very much alone is the necessary result. his pace at the fences must be slow, because it is not a horse's nature, however rash, to rush at a place like the side of a house; and instinct prompts the animal to collect itself without restraint from a rider's hand, while any interference during the second and downward spring would only tend to pull it back into the chasm it is doing its best to clear. the efforts by which an irish hunter surmounts these national impediments is like that of a hound jumping a wall. the horse leaps to the top with fore-and-hind feet together, where it dwells, almost imperceptibly, while shifting the purchase, or "changing," as the natives call it, in the shortest possible stride, of a few inches at most, to make the second spring. every good english hunter will strike back with his hind legs when surprised into sudden exertion, but only a proficient bred, or at least, taught in the sister island, can master the feat described above in such artistic form as leads one to believe that, like pegasus, the creature has wings at every heel. no man who has followed hounds in meath, kilkenny, or kildare will ever forget the first time, when, to use the vernacular of those delightful countries, he rode "an accomplished hunter over an intricate lep!" but the merit is not heaven-born. on the contrary, it seems the result of patient and judicious tuition, called by irish breakers "training," in which they show much knowledge of character and sound common sense. in some counties, such as roscommon and connemara, the brood mare indeed, with the foal at her foot, runs wild over extensive districts, and, finding no gates against which to lean, leaps leisurely from pasture to pasture, pausing, perhaps, in her transit to crop the sweeter herbage from some bank on which she is perched. where mamma goes her little one dutifully follows, imitating the maternal motions, and as a charming mother almost always has a charming daughter, so, from its earliest foalhood, the future hunter acquires an activity, courage, and sagacity that shall hereafter become the admiration of crowded hunting-fields in the land of the saxon far, far away! but whereas in many parts of ireland improved agriculture denies space for the unrestrained vagaries of these early lessons, a judicious system is adopted that substitutes artificial education for that of nature. "it is wonderful we don't get more falls," said one of the boldest and best of lady riders, who during many seasons followed the pilotage of jem mason, and but for failing eye-sight, could sometimes have gone before him, "when we consider that we all ride half-broken horses," and, no doubt, on our side of the channel, the observation contained a great deal of truth. but in this respect our neighbours show more wisdom. they seldom bring a pupil into the hunting-field till the elementary discipline has been gone through that teaches him when he comes to his fence _what to do with it_. he may be three, he may be four. i have seen a sportsman in kilkenny so unassumingly equipped that instead of boots he wore wisps of straw called, i believe, "_sooghauns_" go in front for a quarter of an hour on a two-year old! whatever his age, the colt shows himself an experienced hunter when it is necessary to leap. not yet _mouthed_, with unformed paces and wandering action, he may seem the merest baby on the road or across a field, but no veteran can be wiser or steadier when he comes within distance of it, or, as his owner would say, when he "challenges" his leap, and this enthusiast hardly over-states the truth in affirming that his pupil "would change on the edge of a razor, and never let ye know he was off the queen's high-road, god bless her, all the time!" the irishman, like the arab, seems to possess a natural insight into the character of a horse; with many shortcomings as grooms, not the least of which are want of neatness in stable-management, and rooted dislike to hard work, except by fits and starts, they cherish extraordinary affection for their charges, and certainly in their dealings with them obviously prefer kindness to coercion. i do not think they always understand feeding judiciously, and many of them have much to learn about getting horses into condition; but they are unrivalled in teaching them to jump. though seldom practised, there is no better system in all undertakings than "to begin with the beginning," and an irish horse-breaker is so persuaded of this great elementary truth that he never asks the colt to attempt three feet till it has become thoroughly master of two. with a cavesson rein, a handful of oats, and a few yards of waste ground behind the potato-ground or the pig-styes, he will, by dint of skill and patience, turn the most blundering neophyte into an expert and stylish fencer in about six weeks. as he widens the ditch of his earthwork, he necessarily heightens its bank, which his simple tools, the spade and the pipe, soon raise to six or seven feet. when the young one has learned to surmount this temperately, but with courage, to change on the top, and deliver itself handsomely, with the requisite fling and freedom, on the far side, he considers it sufficiently advanced to take into the fields, where he leads it forthwith, leaving behind him the spade, but holding fast to the corn, the cavesson, and the pipe. here he soon teaches his colt to wait, quietly grazing, or staring about, while he climbs the fence he intends it to jump, and almost before the long rein can be tightened it follows like a dog, to poke its nose in his hand for the few grains of oats it expects as a reward. some breakers drive their pupils from behind, with reins, pulling them up when they have accomplished the leap; but this is not so good a plan as necessitating the use of the whip, and having, moreover, a further disadvantage in accustoming the colt to stop dead short on landing, a habit productive hereafter of inconvenience to a loose rider taken unawares! when he has taught his horse thus to _walk_ over a country, for two or three miles on end, the breaker considers it, with reason, thoroughly trained for leaping, and has no hesitation however low its condition, in riding it out with the hounds. who that has hunted in ireland but can recall the interest, and indeed amusement, with which he has watched some mere baby, strangely tackled and uncouthly equipped, sailing along in the front rank, steered with consummate skill and temper by a venerable rider who looks sixty on horseback, and at least eighty on foot. the man's dress is of the shabbiest and most incongruous, his boots are outrageous, his spurs ill put on, and his hat shows symptoms of ill-usage in warfare or the chase; but he sits in the saddle like a workman, and age has no more quenched the courage in his bright irish eye, than it has soured the mirth of his temperament, or saddened the music of his brogue. you know instinctively that he must be a good fellow and a good sportsman; you cannot follow him for half a mile without being satisfied that he is a good rider, and you forget, in your admiration of his beast's performance, your surprise at its obvious youth, its excessive leanness, and the unusual shabbiness of its accoutrements. inspecting these more narrowly, if you can get near enough, you begin to grudge the sums you have paid bartley, or wilkinson and kidd, for the neat turn-out you have been taught to consider indispensable to success. you see that a horse may cross a dangerous country speedily and in safety, though its saddle be pulpy and weather-stained, with unequal stirrup-leathers, and only one girth; though its bridle be a pelham, _with_ a noseband, and _without_ a curb-chain, while one rein seems most untrustworthy, and the other, for want of a buckle, has its ends tied in a knot. and yet, wherever the hounds go, thither follow this strangely-equipped pair. they arrive at a seven-foot bank, defended by a wide and, more forbidding still, an enormously deep ditch on this side and with nothing apparently but blue sky on the other. while the man utters an exclamation that seems a threat, a war-cry, and a shout of triumph combined, the horse springs to the summit, perches like a bird, and disappears buoyantly into space as if furnished, indeed, with wings, that it need only spread to fly away. they come to a stone-gap, as it is termed; neither more nor less than a disused egress, made up with blocks of granite into a wall about five feet high, and the young one, getting close under it, clears the whole out of a trot, with the elasticity and the very action of a deer. presently some frightful chasm has to be encountered, wide enough for a brook, deep enough for a ravine, boggy of approach, faced with stone, and offering about as awkward an appearance as ever defeated a good man on his best hunter and bade him go to look for a better place. our friend in the bad hat, who knows what he is about, rides at this "yawner" a turn slower than would most englishmen, and with a lighter hand on his horse's mouth, though his legs and knees are keeping the pupil well into its bridle, and, should the latter want to refuse, or "renage," as they say in ireland, a disgrace of which it has not the remotest idea, there is a slip of ground-ash in the man's fingers ready to administer "a refresher" on its flank. "did ye draw now?" asks an irishman when his friend is describing how he accomplished some extraordinary feat in leaping, and the expression, derived from an obsolete custom of sticking the cutting-whip upright in the boot, so that it has come to mean punishment from that instrument, is nearly always answered--"i did _not_!" light as a fairy, our young, but experienced hunter dances down to the gulf, and leaves it behind with scarce an effort, while an unwashed hand bestows its caress on the reeking neck that will hereafter thicken prodigiously in some saxon stable on a proper allowance of corn. if you are riding an irish horse, you cannot do better than imitate closely every motion of the pair in front. if not, you will be wise, i think, to turn round and go home. presently we will hope, for the sake of the neophyte, whose condition is by no means on a par with his natural powers, the hounds either kill their fox, or run him to ground, or lose, or otherwise account for him, thus affording a few minutes' repose for breathing and conversation. "it's an intrickate country," observes some brother-sportsman with just such another mount to the veteran i have endeavoured to describe; "and will that be the colt by chitchat out of donovan's mare? does he 'lep' well now?" he adds with much interest. "the beautifullest ever ye see!" answers his friend, and nobody who has witnessed the young horse's performances can dispute the justice of such a reply. it is not difficult to understand that hunters so educated and so ridden in a country where every leap requires power, courage, and the exercise of much sagacity, should find little difficulty in surmounting such obstacles as confront them on this side of the channel. it is child's play to fly a leicestershire fence, even with an additional rail, for a horse that has been taught his business amongst the precipitous banks and fathomless ditches of meath or kildare. if the ground were always sound and the hills somewhat levelled, these irish hunters would find little to stop them in leicestershire from going as straight as their owners dared ride. practice at walls renders them clever timber-jumpers, they have usually the spring and confidence that make nothing of a brook, and their careful habit of preparing for something treacherous on the landing side of every leap prevents their being taken unawares by the "oxers" and doubles that form such unwelcome exceptions to the usual run of impediments throughout the shires. there is something in the expression of their very ears while we put them at their fences, that seems to say, "it's a good trick enough, and would take in most horses, but my mother taught me a thing or two in connemara, and you don't come over me!" unfortunately the shires, as they are called _par excellence_, the vale of aylesbury, a perfect wilderness of grass, and indeed all the best hunting districts, ride very deep nine seasons out of ten, so that the irish horse, accustomed to a sound lime-stone soil and an unfurrowed surface in his own green island, being moreover usually much wanting in condition, feels the added labour, and difference of action required, severely enough. it is proverbial that a horse equal to fourteen stone in ireland is only up to thirteen in leicestershire, and english purchasers must calculate accordingly. but if some prize-taker at the dublin horse show, or other ornament of that land which her natives call the "first flower of the earth and first gem of the sea," should disappoint you a little when you ride him in november from ranksborough, the coplow, crick, melton-spinney, christmas-gorse, great-wood, or any other favourite covert in one of our many good hunting countries, do not therefore despond. if he fail in deep ground, or labour on ridge and furrow, remember he possesses this inestimable merit that _he can go the shortest way_! because the fence in front is large, black, and forbidding, you need not therefore send him at it a turn faster than usual; he is accustomed to spring _from his back_, and cover large places out of a trot. if you ride your own line to hounds, it is no slight advantage thus to have the power of negotiating awkward corners, without being "committed to them" fifty yards off, unable to pull up should they prove impracticable; and the faculty of "jumping at short notice," on this consideration alone, i conceive to be one of the choicest qualities a hunter can possess. also, even in the most favoured and flying of the "grass countries," many fences require unusual steadiness and circumspection. if they are to be done at all, they can only be accomplished by creeping, sometimes even _climbing_ to the wished-for side. the front rank itself will probably shirk these unaccustomed obstacles with cordial unanimity, leaving them to be triumphantly disposed of by your new purchase from kildare. he pokes out his nose, as if to inspect the depth of a possible interment, and it is wise to let him manage it all his own way. you give him his head, and the slightest possible kick in the ribs. with a cringe of his powerful back and quarters, a vigorous lift that seems to reach two-thirds of the required distance, a second spring, apparently taken from a twig weak enough to bend under a bird, that covers the remainder, a scramble for foothold, a half stride and a snort of satisfaction, the whole is disposed of, and you are alone with the hounds. though, under such circumstances, these seem pretty sure to run to ground or otherwise disappoint you within half-a-mile, none the less credit is due to your horse's capabilities, and you vow next season to have nothing but irish nags in your stable, resolving for the future to ride straighter than you have ever done before. but if you are so well pleased now with your promising patlander, what shall you think of him this time next year, when he has had twelve months of your stud-groom's stable-management, and consumed ten or a dozen quarters of good english oats? though you may have bought him as a six-year old, he will have grown in size and substance, even in height, and will not only look, but feel up to a stone more weight than you ever gave him credit for. he can jump when he is blown _now_, but he will never be blown _then_. condition will teach him to laugh at the deep ground, while his fine shoulders and true shape will enable him, after the necessary practice, to travel across ridge and furrow without a lurch. he will have turned out a rattling good horse, and you will never grudge the cheque you wrote, nor the punch you were obliged to drink, before his late proprietor would let you make him your own. gold and whisky, in large quantities and judiciously applied, may no doubt buy the best horses in ireland. but a man must know where to look for them, and even in remote districts, will sometimes be disappointed to find that the english dealers have forestalled him. happily, there are so many good horses, perhaps i should say, so few _rank bad ones_, bred in the country, that from the very sweepings and leavings of the market, one need not despair of turning up a trump. a hunter is in so far like a wife, that experience alone will prove whether he is or is not good for nothing. make and shape, in either case, may be perfect, pedigree unimpeachable, and manners blameless, but who is to answer for temper, reflection, docility, and the generous staying power that accepts rough and smooth, ups and downs, good and evil, without a struggle or a sob? when we have tried them, we find them out, and can only make the best of our disappointment, if they do not fully come up to our expectations. there is many a good hunter, particularly in a rich man's stable, that never has a chance of proving its value. with three or four, we know their form to a pound; with a dozen, season after season goes by without furnishing occasion for the use of all, till some fine scenting day, after mounting a friend, we are surprised to learn that the flower of the whole stud has hitherto been esteemed but a moderate animal, only fit to carry the sandwiches, and bring us home. i imagine, notwithstanding all we have heard and read concerning the difficulty of buying irish horses in their own country, that there are still scores of them in cork, limerick, and other breeding districts, as yet unpromised and unsold. the scarcity of weight-carriers is indisputable, but can we find them here? the "light man's horse," to fly under sixteen stone, is a "black swan" everywhere, and if _not_ "a light man's horse," that is to say, free, flippant, fast, and well-bred, he will never give his stalwart rider thorough satisfaction; but in ireland, far more plentifully than in england, are still to be found handsome, clever, hunting-like animals fit to carry thirteen stone, and capital jumpers at reasonable prices, varying from one to two hundred pounds. the latter sum, particularly if you had it with you in _sovereigns_, would in most localities insure the "pick of the basket," and ten or twenty of the coins thrown back for luck. i have heard it objected to irish hunters, that they are so accustomed to "double" all their places, as to practise this accomplishment even at those flying fences of the grazing districts which ought to be taken in the stride, and that they require fresh tuition before they can be trusted at the staked-and-bound or the bullfinch, lest, catching their feet in the growers as in a net, they should be tumbled headlong to the ground. i can only say that i have been well and safely carried by many of them on their first appearance in leicestershire, as in other english countries, that they seemed intuitively to apprehend the character of the fences they had to deal with, and that, although being mortal, they could not always keep on their legs, i cannot remember one of them giving me a fall _because_ he was an irish horse! how many their nationality has saved me, i forbear to count, but i am persuaded that the careful tuition undergone in youth, and their varied experience when sufficiently advanced to follow hounds over their native country, imparts that facility of powerful and safe jumping, which is one of the most important qualities among the many that constitute a hunter. they possess also the merit of being universally well-bred. this is an advantage no sportsman will overlook who likes to be near hounds while they run, but objects to leading, driving, or perhaps _pushing_ his horse home. till within a few years, there was literally _no_ cart-horse blood in ireland. the "black-drop" of the ponderous clydesdale remained positively unknown, and although the suffolk punch has been recently introduced, he cannot yet have sufficiently tainted the pedigrees of the country, to render us mistrustful of a golden-coated chestnut, with a round barrel and a strong back. no, their horses if not quite "clean-bred," as the irish themselves call it, are at least of illustrious parentage on both sides a few generations back, and this high descent cannot but avail them, when called on for long-continued exertion, particularly at the end of the day. juvenal, hurling his scathing satire against the patricians of his time, drew from the equine race a metaphor to illustrate the superiority of merit over birth. however unanswerable in argument, he was, i think, wrong in his facts. men and women are to be found of every parentage, good, bad, and indifferent; but with horses, there is more in race than in culture, and for the selection of these noble animals at least, i can imagine no safer guide than the aristocratic maxim, "blood will tell!" chapter x. thorough-bred horses. i have heard it affirmed, though i know not on what authority, that if we are to believe the hunting records of the last hundred years, in all runs so severe and protracted as to admit of only one man getting to the finish, this exceptional person was in _every_ instance, riding an old horse, a thorough-bred horse, and a horse under fifteen-two! perhaps on consideration, this is a less remarkable statement than it appears. that the survivor was an old horse, means that he had many years of corn and condition to pull him through; that he was a little horse, infers he carried a light weight, but that he was a thorough-bred horse seems to me a reasonable explanation of the whole. "the thorough-bred ones never stop," is a common saying among sportsmen, and there are daily instances of some high-born steed who can boast "his sire from the desert, his dam from the north," galloping steadily on, calm and vigorous, when the country behind him is dotted for miles with hunters standing still in every field. it is obvious that a breed, reared expressly for racing purposes, must be the fastest of its kind. a colt considered good enough to be "put through the mill" on newmarket heath, or middleham moor, whatever may be his shortcomings in the select company he finds at school, cannot but seem "a flyer," when in after-life he meets horses, however good, that have neither been bred nor trained for the purpose of galloping a single mile at the rate of an express train. while these are at speed he is only cantering, and we need not therefore be surprised that he can keep cantering on after they are reduced to a walk. in the hunting-field, "what kills is the pace." when hounds can make it good enough they kill their fox, when horses _cannot_ it kills _them_, and for this reason alone, if for no other, i would always prefer that my hunters should be quite thorough-bred. though undoubtedly the best, i cannot affirm, however, that they are always the _pleasantest_ mounts; far from it, indeed, just at first, though subsequent superiority makes amends for the little eccentricities of gait and temper peculiar to pupils from the racing-stable in their early youth. an idle, lurching mover, rather narrow before the saddle, with great power of back and loins, a habit of bearing on its rider's hand, one side to its mouth, and a loose neck, hardly inspires a careful man with the confidence necessary for enjoyment; coming away from ranksborough, for instance, down-hill, with the first fence leaning towards him, very little room, his horse too much extended, going on its shoulders, and getting the better of him at every stride! but this is an extreme case, purposely chosen to illustrate at their worst, the disadvantages of riding a thorough-bred horse. it is often our own fault, when we buy one of these illustrious cast-offs, that our purchase so disappoints us after we have got it home. many men believe that to carry them through an exhausting run, such staying powers are required as win under high weights and at long distances on the turf. their selection, therefore, from the racing-stable, is some young one of undeniably stout blood, that when "asked the question" for the first time, has been found too slow to put in training. they argue with considerable show of reason, that it will prove quite speedy enough for a hunter, but they forget that though a fast horse is by no means indispensable to the chase, a _quick_ one is most conducive to enjoyment when we are compelled to jump all sorts of fences out of all sorts of ground. now a yearling, quick enough on its legs to promise a turn of speed, is pretty sure to be esteemed worth training, nor will it be condemned as useless, till its distance is found to be just short of half-a-mile. in plain english, when it fails under the strain on wind and frame, of galloping at its very best, eight hundred and seventy yards, and "fades to nothing" in the next ten. now this collapse is really more a question of speed than stamina. there is a want of reach or leverage somewhere, that makes its rapid action too laborious to be lasting, but there is no reason why the animal that comes short of five furlongs on the trial-ground, should not hold its own in front, for five miles of a steeple-chase, or fifteen of a run with hounds. these, in fact, are the so-called "weeds" that win our cross-country races, and when we reflect on the pace and distance of the liverpool, four miles and three-quarters run in something under eleven minutes, at anything but feather-weights, and over all sorts of fences, we cannot but admire the speed, gallantry, and endurance, the essentially _game_ qualities of our english horse. and here i may observe that a good steeple-chaser, properly sobered and brought into his bridle, is one of the pleasantest hunters a man can ride, particularly in a flying country. he is sure to be able to "make haste" in all sorts of ground, while the smooth, easy stride that wins between the flags is invaluable through dirt. he does not lose his head and turn foolish, as do many good useful hunters, when bustled along for a mile or two at something like racing pace. very quick over his fences, his style of jumping is no less conducive to safety than despatch, while his courage is sure to be undeniable, because the slightest tendency to refuse would have disqualified him for success in his late profession, wherein also, he must necessarily have learnt to be a free and brilliant water-jumper. indeed you may always take _two_ liberties with a steeple-chase horse during a run (not more). the first time you squeeze him, he thinks, "oh! this is the brook!" and putting on plenty of steam, flings himself as far as ever he can. the second, he accepts your warning with equal good will. "all right!" he seems to answer, "this is the brook, coming home!" but if you try the same game a third time, i cannot undertake to say what may happen, you will probably puzzle him exceedingly, upset his temper, and throw him out of gear for the day. we have travelled a long way, however, from our original subject, tuition of the thorough-bred for the field, or perhaps i should call it the task of turning a bad race-horse into a good hunter. like every other process of education this requires exceeding perseverance, and a patience not to be overcome. the irritation of a moment may undo the lessons of a week, and if the master forgets himself, you may be sure the pupil will long remember which of the two was in fault. never begin a quarrel if it can possibly be avoided, because, when war is actually declared, you must fight it out to the bitter end, and if you are beaten, you had better send your horse to tattersall's, for you will never be master again. stick to him till he does what you require, trusting, nevertheless, rather to time than violence, and if you can get him at last to obey you of his own free will, without knowing why, i cannot repeat too often, you will have won the most conclusive of victories. when the late sir charles knightley took sir marinel out of training, and brought him down to pytchley, to teach him the way he should go (and the way of sir charles over a country was that of a bird in the air), he found the horse restive, ignorant, wilful, and unusually averse to learning the business of a hunter. the animal, was, however, well worth a little painstaking, and his owner, a perfect centaur in the saddle, rode him out for a lesson in jumping the first day the hounds remained in the kennel. at two o'clock, as his old friend and contemporary, mr. john cooke informed me, he came back, having failed to get the rebel over a single fence. "but i have told them not to take his saddle off," said sir charles, sitting down to a cutlet and a glass of madeira, "after luncheon i mean to have a turn at him again!" so the baronet remounted and took the lesson up where he had left off. nerve, temper, patience, the strongest seat, and the finest hands in england, could not but triumph at last, and this thorough-bred pair came home at dinner-time, having larked over all the stiffest fences in the country, with perfect unanimity and good will. sir marinel, and benvolio, also a thorough-bred horse, were by many degrees, sir charles has often told me, the best hunters he ever had. shuttlecock too, immortalized in the famous billesdon-coplow poem, when "villiers esteemed it a serious bore, that no longer could shuttlecock fly as before," was a clean thorough-bred horse, fast enough to have made a good figure on the race-course, but with a rooted disinclination to jump. that king of horsemen, the grandfather of the present lord jersey, whom i am proud to remember having seen ride fairly away from a whole leicestershire field, over a rough country not far from melton, at seventy-three, told me that this horse, though it turned out eventually one of his safest and boldest fencers, at the end of six weeks' tuition would not jump the leaping-bar the height of its own knees! his lordship, however, who was blessed in perfection, with the sweet temper, as with the personal beauty and gallant bearing of his race, neither hurried nor ill-used it, and the time spent on the animal's education, though somewhat wearisome, was not thrown away. mr. gilmour's famous _vingt-et-un_, the best hunter, he protests, by a great deal that gentleman ever possessed, was quite thorough-bred. seventeen hands high, but formed all over in perfect proportion to this commanding frame, it may easily be imagined that the power and stride of so large an animal made light of ordinary obstacles, and i do not believe, though it may sound an extravagant assertion, there was a fence in the whole of leicestershire that could have stopped _vingt-et-un_ and his rider, on a good scenting day some few years ago. such men and such horses ought never to grow old. mr. william cooke, too, owned a celebrated hunter called advance, of stainless pedigree, as was december, so named from being foaled on the last day of that month, a premature arrival that lost him his year for racing purposes by twenty-four hours, and transferred the colt to the hunting-stables. mr. cooke rode nothing but this class, nor indeed could any animal less speedy than a race-horse, sustain the pace he liked to go. whitenose, a beautiful animal that the late sir richard sutton affirmed was not only the best hunter he ever owned, but that he ever saw or heard of, and on whose back he is painted in sir f. grant's spirited picture of the cottesmore meet, was also quite thorough-bred. when sir richard hunted the burton country, whitenose carried him through a run so severe in pace and of such long duration, that not another horse got to the end, galloping, his master assured me, steadily on without a falter, to the last. by the way, he was then of no great age, and nearer sixteen hands than fifteen-two! this was a very easy horse to ride, and could literally jump anything he got his nose over. a picture to look at, with a coat like satin, the eyes of a deer, and the truest action in his slow as in his fast paces, he has always been my ideal of perfection in a hunter. but it would be endless to enumerate the many examples i can recall of the thorough-bred's superiority in the hunting-field. those i have mentioned belong to a by-gone time, but a man need not look very narrowly into any knot of sportsmen at the present day, particularly _after_ a sharpish scurry in deep ground, before his eye rests on the thin tail, and smoothly turned quarters, that need no gaudier blazon to attest the nobility of their descent. if you mean, however, to ride a thorough-bred one, and choose to _make_ him yourself, do not feel disappointed that he seems to require more time and tuition than his lower-born cousins, once and twice removed. in the first place you will begin by thinking him wanting in courage! where the half-bred one, eager, flurried, and excited, rushes wildly at an unaccustomed difficulty, your calmer gentleman proceeds deliberately to examine its nature, and consider how he can best accomplish his task. it is not that he has less valour, but more discretion! in the monotonous process of training, he has acquired, with other tiresome tricks, the habit of doing as little as he can, in the different paces, walk, canter, and gallop, of which he has become so weary. even the excitement of hunting till hounds _really_ run, hardly dissipates his aristocratic lethargy, but only get him in front for one of those scurries that, perhaps twice in a season turn up a fox in twenty minutes, and if you _dare_ trust him, you will be surprised at the brilliant performance of your idle, negligent, wayward young friend. he bends kindly to the bridle he objected to all the morning, he tucks his quarters in, and _scours_ through the deep ground like a hare, he slides over rather than jumps his fences, with the easy swoop of a bird on the wing, and when everything of meaner race has been disposed of a field or two behind, he trots up to some high bit of timber, and leaps it gallantly without a pause, though only yesterday he would have turned round to kick at it for an hour! still, there are many chances against your having such an opportunity as this. most days the hounds do _not_ run hard. when they do, you are perhaps so unfortunate as to lose your start, and finally, should everything else be in your favour, it is twenty to one you are riding the wrong horse! therefore, the process of educating your young one, must be conducted on quieter principles, and in a less haphazard way. if you can find a pack of harriers, and _their master does not object_, there is no better school for the troublesome or unwilling pupil. but remember, i entreat, that horsebreaking is prejudicial to sport, and most unwelcome. you are there on sufferance, take care to interfere with nobody, and above all, keep wide of the hounds! the great advantage you will find in harehunting over the wilder pursuit of the fox, is in the circles described by your game. there is plenty of time to "have it out" with a refuser, and indeed to turn him backwards and forwards if you please, over the same leap, without fear of being left behind. the "merry harriers" are pretty sure to return in a few minutes, and you can begin again, with as much enthusiasm of man and horse as if you had never been out of the hunt at all! whip and spur, i need hardly insist, cannot be used too sparingly, and anything in the shape of haste or over-anxiety is prejudicial, but if it induces him to jump in his stride, you may ride this kind of horse a turn faster at his fences, than any other. you can trust him not to be in too great a hurry, and it is his nature to take care of himself. till he has become thoroughly accustomed to his new profession, it is well to avoid such places as seem particularly distasteful and likely to make him rebel. his fine skin will cause him to be a little shy of thick bullfinches, and his sagacity mistrusts deep or blind ditches, such as less intelligent animals would run into without a thought. rather select rails, or clean upright fences, that he can compass and understand. try to imbue him with love for the sport and confidence in his rider. after a few weeks, he will turn his head from nothing, and go straighter, as well as faster, and longer than anything in your stable. an old meltonian used to affirm that the first two articles of his creed for the hunting season were, "a perfectly pure claret, and thorough-bred horses." of the former he was unsparing to his friends, the latter he used freely enough for himself. certainly no man gave pleasanter dinners, or was better carried, and one might do worse than go to melton with implicit reliance on these twin accessories of the chase. all opinions must be agreed, i fancy, about the one, but there are still many prejudices against the other. heavy men especially declare they cannot find thorough-bred horses to carry them, forgetting, it would seem, that size is no more a criterion of strength than haste is of speed. the bone of a thorough-bred horse is of the closest and toughest fibre, his muscles are well developed, and his joints elastic. do not these advantages infer power, no less than stamina, and in our own experience have we not all reason to corroborate the old-fashioned maxim, "it is action that carries weight"? nimrod, who understood the subject thoroughly, observes with great truth, that "'wind' is strength; when a horse is blown a mountain or a mole-hill are much the same to him," and no sportsman who has ever scaled a highland hill to circumvent a red-deer, or walk up to "a point," will dispute the argument. what a game animal it is, that without touch of spur, at the mere pleasure and caprice of a rider, struggles gallantly on till it drops! there used to be a saying in the prize ring, that "seven pounds will lick the best man in england." this is but a technical mode of stating that, _cæteris paribus_, weight means strength. thirty years ago, it was a common practice at melton to weigh hunters after they were put in condition, and sportsmen often wondered to find how the eye had deceived them, in the comparative tonnage, so to speak, and consequently, the horse-power of these different conveyances; the thorough-bred, without exception, proving far heavier than was supposed. an athlete, we all know, whether boxer, wrestler, pedestrian, cricketer or gymnast, looks smaller in his clothes, and larger when he is stripped. similarly, on examining in the stable, "the nice little horse" we admired in the field, it surprises us to find nearly sixteen hands of height, and six feet of girth, with power to correspond in an animal of which we thought the only defect was want of size. a thorough-bred one is invariably a little bigger, and a great deal stronger than he looks. of his power to carry weight, those tall, fine men who usually ride so judiciously and so straight, are not yet sufficiently convinced, although if you ask any celebrated "welter" to name the best horse he ever had, he is sure to answer, "oh! little so-and-so. he wasn't up to my weight, but he carried me better than anything else in the stable!" surely no criterion could be more satisfactory than this! it may not be out of place to observe here, as an illustration of the well-known maxim, "horses can go in all shapes," that of the three heaviest men i can call to mind who rode perfectly straight to hounds, the best hunter owned by each was too long in the back. "sober robin," an extraordinary animal that could carry mr. richard gurney, riding twenty stone, ahead of all the light-weights, was thus shaped. a famous bay-horse, nearly as good, belonging to the late mr. wood of brixworth hall, an equally heavy man, who when thus mounted, never stopped to open a gate! had, his owner used to declare, as many vertebræ as a crocodile, and colonel wyndham whose size and superiority in the saddle i have already mentioned, hesitated a week before he bought his famous black mare, the most brilliant hunter he ever possessed, because she was at least three inches too long behind the saddle! i remember also seeing the late lord mayo ride fairly away from a pytchley field, no easy task, between lilbourne and cold ashby, on a horse that except for its enormous depth of girth, arguing unfailing wind, seemed to have no good points whatever to catch the eye. it was tall, narrow, plain-headed, with very bad shoulders, and very long legs, all this to carry at least eighteen stone; but it was nearly, if not quite, thorough-bred. we need hardly dwell on the advantages of speed and endurance, inherited from the arab, and improved, as we fondly hope, almost to perfection, through the culture of many generations, while even the fine temper of the "desert-born" has not been so warped by the tricks of stable-boys, and the severity of turf-discipline, but that a little forbearance and kind usage soon restores its natural docility. in all the qualities of a hunter, the thorough-bred horse, is, i think, superior to the rest of his kind. you can hardly do better than buy one, and "make him to your hand," should you be blessed with good nerves, a fine temper, and a delicate touch, or, wanting these qualities, confide him to some one so gifted, if you wish to be carried well and pleasantly, in your love for hunting, perhaps i should rather say, for the keen and stirring excitement we call "riding to hounds." chapter xi. riding to fox-hounds. "if you want to be near hounds," says an old friend of mine who, for a life-time, has religiously practised what he preaches, "the method is simple, and seems only common sense--_keep as close to them as ever you can_!" but i think, though, with his undaunted nerve, and extraordinary horsemanship, he seems to find it feasible enough, this plan, for most people, requires considerable management, and no little modification. i grant we should never let them slip away from us, and that, in nine cases out of ten, when defeated by what we choose to call "a bad turn" it is our own fault. at the same time, there are many occasions on which a man who keeps his eyes open, and knows how to ride, can save his horse to some purpose, by travelling inside the pack, and galloping a hundred yards for their three. i say _who keeps his eyes open_, because, in order to effect this economy of speed and distance, it is indispensable to watch their doings narrowly, and to possess the experience that tells one when they are _really_ on the line, and when only flinging forward to regain, with the dash that is a fox-hound's chief characteristic, the scent they have over-run. constant observation will alone teach us to distinguish the hounds that are right; and to turn with them judiciously, is the great secret of "getting to the end." we must, therefore, be within convenient distance, and to ensure such proximity, it is most desirable to get a good start. let us begin at the beginning, and consider how this primary essential is to be obtained. directly a move is made from the place of meeting, it is well to cut short all "coffee-house" conversation, even at the risk of neglecting certain social amenities, and to fix our minds at once on the work in hand. a good story, though pleasant enough in its way, cannot compare with a good run, and it is quite possible to lose the one by too earnest attention to the other. a few courteous words previously addressed to the huntsman will ensure his civility during the day; but this is not a happy moment for imparting to him your opinion on things in general and his own business in particular. he has many matters to occupy his thoughts, and does not care to see you in the middle of his favourites on a strange horse. it is better to keep the second whip between yourself and the hounds, jogging calmly on, with a pleasant view of their well-filled backs and handsomely-carried sterns, taking care to pull up, religiously murmuring the orthodox caution--"ware horse!" when any one of them requires to pause for any purpose. you cannot too early impress on the hunt servants that you are a lover of the animal, most averse to interfering with it at all times, and especially in the ardour of the chase. if the size and nature of the covert will admit, you had better go into it with the hounds, and on this occasion, but no other, i think it is permissible to make use of the huntsman's pilotage at a respectful distance. where there are foxes there is game, where game, riot. a few young hounds must come out with every pack, and the _rate_ or _cheer_ of your leader will warn you whether their opening music means a false flourish or a welcome find. also where he goes you can safely follow, and need have no misgivings that the friendly hand-gate for which he is winding down some tortuous ride will be nailed up. besides, though floundering in deep, sloughy woodlands entails considerable labour on your horse, it is less distressing than that gallop of a mile or two at speed which endeavours, but usually fails, to make amends for a bad start; whereas, if you get away on good terms, you can indulge him with a pull at the first opportunity, and those scenting days are indeed rare on which hounds run many fields without at least a hover, if not a check. some men take their station outside the covert, down wind, in a commanding position, so as to hear every turn of the hounds, secure a front place for the sport, and--head the fox! but we will suppose all such difficulties overcome; that a little care, attention, and common sense have enabled you to get away on good terms with the pack; and that you emerge not a bowshot off, while they stream across the first field with a dash that brings the mettle to your heart and the blood to your brain. do not, therefore, lose your head. it is the characteristic of good manhood to be physically calm in proportion to moral excitement. remember there are two occasions in chase when the manner of hounds is not to be trusted. on first coming away with their fox, and immediately before they kill him, the steadiest will lead you to believe there is a burning scent and that they cannot make a mistake. nevertheless, hope for the best, set your horse going, and if, as you sail over, or crash through, the first fence, you mark the pack driving eagerly on, drawn to a line at either end by the pace, harden your heart, and thank your stars. it is all right, you may lay odds, you are in for a really good thing! i suppose i need hardly observe that the laws of fox-hunting forbid you to follow hounds by the very obvious process of galloping in their track. nothing makes them so wild, to use the proper term, as "riding on their line;" and should you be ignorant enough to attempt it, you are pretty sure to be told _where_ you are driving them, and desired to go there yourself! no; you must keep one side or the other, but do not, if you can help it, let the nature of the obstacles to be encountered bias your choice. ride for ground as far as possible when the foothold is good; the fences will take care of themselves; but let no advantages of sound turf, nor even open gates, tempt you to stray more than a couple of hundred yards from the pack. at that distance a bad turn can be remedied, and a good one gives you leisure to pull back into a trot. remember, too, that it is the nature of a fox, and we are now speaking of fox-hunting, to travel down wind; therefore, as a general rule, keep to leeward of the hounds. every bend they make ought to be in your favour; but, on the other hand should they chance to turn up wind, they will begin to run very hard, and this is a good reason for never letting them get, so to speak, out of your reach. i repeat, as a _general rule_, but by no means without exception. in leicestershire especially, foxes seem to scorn this fine old principle, and will make their point with a stiff breeze blowing in their teeth; but on such occasions they do not usually mean to go very far, and the gallant veteran, with his white tag, that gives you the run to be talked of for years, is almost always a wind-sinker from wold or woodland in an adjoining hunt. suppose, however, the day is perfectly calm, and there seems no sufficient reason to prefer one course to the other, should we go to right or left? this is a matter in which neither precept nor personal experience can avail. one man is as sure to do right as the other to do wrong. there is an intuitive perception, more animal than human, of what we may call "the line of chase," with which certain sportsmen are gifted by nature, and which, i believe, would bring them up at critical points of the finest and longest runs if they came out hunting in a gig. this faculty, where everything else is equal, causes a to ride better than b, but is no less difficult to explain than the instinct that guides an indian on the prairie or a swallow across the sea. it counsels the lady in her carriage, or the old coachman piloting her children on their ponies, it enables the butcher to come up on his hack, the first-flight man to save his horse, and above all, the huntsman to kill his fox. the duke of beaufort possesses it in an extraordinary degree. when so crippled by gout, or reduced by suffering as to be unable to keep the saddle over a fence, he seems, even in strange countries, to see no less of the sport than in old days, when he could ride into every field with his hounds. and i do believe that now, in any part of gloucestershire, with ten couple of "the badger-pyed" and a horn, he could go out and kill his fox in a bath-chair! perhaps, however, his may be an extreme case. no man has more experience, few such a natural aptitude and fondness for the sport. lord worcester, too, like his father, has shown how an educated gentleman, with abilities equal to all exigencies of a high position that affords comparatively little leisure for the mere amusements of life, can excel, in their own profession, men who have been brought up to it from childhood, whose thoughts and energies, winter and summer, morning, noon, and night, are concentrated on the business of the chase. this knack of getting to hounds then--should we consider genius or talent too strong terms to use for proficiency in field sports--while a most valuable quality to everybody who comes out hunting, is no less rare than precious. if we have it we are to be congratulated and our horses still more, but if, like the generality of men, we have it _not_, let us consider how far common sense and close attention will supply the want of a natural gift. it was said of an old friend of mine, the keenest of the keen, that he always rode as if he had never seen a run before, and should never see a run again! this, i believe, is something of the feeling with which we ought to be possessed, impelling us to take every legitimate advantage and to throw no possible chance away. it cannot be too often repeated that judicious choice of ground is the very first essential for success. therefore the hunting-field has always been considered so good a school for cavalry officers. there seems no limit to the endurance of a horse in travelling over a hard and tolerably level surface, even under heavy weight, but we all know the fatal effect of a very few yards in a steam-ploughed field, when the gallant animal sinks to its hocks every stride. keep an eye forward then, and shape your course where the foothold is smooth and sound. in a hilly country choose the sides of the slopes, above, rather than below, the pack, for, if they turn away from you, it is harder work to gallop up, than down. in the latter case, and for this little hint i am indebted to lord wilton, do not increase your speed so as to gain in distance, rather preserve the same regular pace, so as to save in wind. descending an incline at an easy canter, and held well together, your horse is resting almost as if he were standing still. it is quite time enough when near the bottom to put on a spurt that will shoot him up the opposite rise. on the grass, if you _must_ cross ridge-and-furrow, take it a-slant, your horse will pitch less on his shoulders, and move with greater ease, while if they lie the right way, by keeping him on the crest, rather than in the trough of those long parallel rollers, you will ensure firm ground for his gallop, and a sounder, as well as higher take-off for the leap, when he comes to his fence. i need hardly remind you that in all swampy places, rushes may be trusted implicitly, and experienced hunters seem as well aware of the fact as their riders. vegetable growth, indeed, of any kind has a tendency to suck moisture into its fibres, and consequently to drain, more or less, the surface in its immediate vicinity. the deep rides of a woodland are least treacherous at their edges, and the brink of a brook is most reliable close to some pollard or alder bush, particularly on the upper side, as mr. bromley davenport knew better than most people, when he wrote his thrilling lines:-- "then steady, my young one! the place i've selected above the dwarf willow, is sound, i'll be bail; with your muscular quarters beneath you collected, prepare for a rush like the limited mail!" but we cannot always be on the grass, nor, happily are any of us obliged, often in a life time, to ride at the whissendine! in ploughed land, choose a wet furrow, for the simple reason that water would not stand in it unless the bottom were hard, but if you cannot find one, nor a foot-path, nor a cart-track trampled down into a certain consistency, remember the fable of the hare and the tortoise, pull your horse back into a trot, and never fear but that you will be able to make up your leeway when you arrive at better ground. it is fortunate that the fences are usually less formidable here than in the pastures, and will admit of creeping into, and otherwise negotiating, with less expenditure of power, so you may travel pretty safely, and turn at pleasure, shorter than the hounds. there _are_ plough countries, notably in gloucestershire and wilts, that ride light. to them the above remarks in no way apply. inclosed with stone walls, if there is anything like a scent, hounds carry such a head, and run so hard over these districts, that you must simply go as fast as your horse's pace, and as straight as his courage admits, but if you have the duke of beaufort's dog-pack in front of you, do not be surprised to find, with their extraordinary dash and enormous stride, that even on the pick of your stable, ere you can jump into one field they are half-way across the next. in hunting, as in everything else, compensation seems the rule of daily life, and the very brilliancy of the pace affords its own cure. either hounds run into their fox, or, should he find room to turn, flash over the scent, and bring themselves to a check. you will not then regret having made play while you could, and although no good sportsman, and, indeed, no kind-hearted man, would overtax the powers of the most generous animal in creation, still we must remember that we came out for the purpose of seeing the fun, and unless we can keep near the hounds while they run we shall lose many beautiful instances of their sagacity when brought to their noses, and obliged to hunt. there is no greater treat to a lover of the chase than to watch a pack of high-bred fox-hounds that have been running hard on pasture, brought suddenly to a check on the dusty sun-dried fallows. after dashing and snatching in vain for a furlong or so, they will literally quarter their ground like pointers, till they recover the line, every yard of which they make good, with noses down and sterns working as if from the concentrated energy of all their faculties, till suspicion becomes certainty, and they lay themselves out once more, in the uncontrolled ecstasy of pursuit. now if you are a mile behind, you miss all these interesting incidents, and lose, as does your disappointed hunter, more than half the amusement you both came out to enjoy. the latter too, works twice as hard when held back in the rear, as when ridden freely and fearlessly in front. the energy expended in fighting with his rider would itself suffice to gallop many a furlong and leap many a fence, while the moral effect of disappointment is most disheartening to a creature of such a highly-strung nervous organisation. look at the work done by a huntsman's horse before the very commencement of some fine run, the triumphant conclusion of which depends so much on his freshness at the finish, and yet how rarely does he succumb to the labour of love imposed; but then he usually leaves the covert in close proximity to his friends the hounds, every minute of his toil is cheered by their companionship, and, having no leeway to make up he need not be overpaced when they are running their hardest, while he finds a moment's leisure to recover himself when they are hunting their closest and best. in those long and severe chases, to which, unhappily, two or three horses may sometimes be sacrificed, the "first flight" are not usually sufferers. death from exhaustion is more likely to be inflicted cruelly, though unwittingly on his faithful friend and comrade, by the injudicious and hesitating rider, who has neither decision to seize a commanding position in front, nor self-denial to be satisfied with an unassuming retirement in rear. his valour and discretion are improperly mixed, like bad punch, and fatal is the result. a timely pull means simply the difference between breathlessness and exhaustion, but this opportune relief is only available for him who knows exactly how far they brought it, and where the hounds flashed beyond the line of their fox at a check. i remember in my youth, alas! long ago, "the old sportsman"--a character for whom, i fear, we entertained in my day less veneration than we professed--amongst many inestimable precepts was fond of propounding the following:-- "young gentleman, nurse your hunter carefully at the beginning of a run, and when the others are tired he will enable you to see the end." [illustration: page .] now with all due deference to the old sportsman, i take leave to differ with him _in toto_. by nursing one's horse, i conclude he meant riding him at less than half-speed during that critical ten minutes when hounds run their very hardest and straightest. if we follow this cautious advice, who is to solve the important question, "which way are they gone?" when we canter anxiously up to a sign-post where four roads meet, with a fresh and eager horse indeed, but not the wildest notion towards which point of the compass we should direct his energies? we can but stop to listen, take counsel of a countryman who unwittingly puts us wrong, ride to points, speculate on chances, and make up our minds never to be really on terms with them again! no, i think on the contrary, the best and most experienced riders adopt a very different system. on the earliest intimation that hounds are "away," they may be observed getting after them with all the speed they can make. who ever saw mr. portman, for instance, trotting across the first field when his bitches were well out of covert settling on the line of their fox?--and i only mention his name because it occurs to me at the moment, and because, notwithstanding the formidable hills of his wild country and the pace of his flying pack, he is always present at the finish, to render them assistance if required, as it often must be, with a sinking fox. "the first blow is half the battle" in many nobler struggles than a street-brawl with a cad, and the very speed at which you send your horse along for a few furlongs, if the ground is at all favourable, enables you to give him a pull at the earliest opportunity, without fear lest the whole distant panorama of the hunt should fade into space while you are considering what to do next. not that i mean you to over-mark, or push him for a single stride, beyond the collected pace at which he travels with ease and comfort to himself; for remember he is as much your partner as the fairest young lady ever trusted to your guidance in a ball-room: but i _do_ mean that you should make as much haste as is compatible with your mutual enjoyment, and, reflecting on the capricious nature of scent, take the chance of its failure, to afford you a moment's breathing-time when most required. at all periods of a fox-chase, be careful to _anticipate a check_. never with more foresight than when flying along in the ecstasy of a quick thing, on a brilliant hunter. keep an eye forward, and scan with close attention every moving object in front. there you observe a flock of sheep getting into line like cavalry for a charge--that is where the fox has gone. or perhaps a man is ploughing half-a-mile further on; in all probability this object will have headed him, and on the discretion with which you ride at these critical moments may depend the performance of the pack, the difference between "a beautiful turn" and "an unlucky check." the very rush of your gallop alongside them will tempt high-mettled hounds into the indiscretion of over-running their scent. whereas, if you take a pull at your horse, and give them plenty of room, they will swing to the line, and wheel like a flock of pigeons on the wing. always ride, then, to _command_ hounds if you can, but never be tempted, when in this proud position, to press them, and to spoil your own sport, with that of every one else. if so fortunate as to view him, and near enough to distinguish that it is the hunted fox, think twice before you holloa. more time will be lost than gained by getting their heads up, if the hounds are still on the line, and even when at fault, it is questionable whether they do not derive less assistance than excitement from the human voice. much depends on circumstances, much on the nature of the pack. i will not say you are never to open your mouth, but i think that if the inmates of our deaf and dumb asylums kept hounds, these would show sport above the average, and would seldom go home without blood. noise is by no means a necessary concomitant of the chase, and a hat held up, or a quiet whisper to the huntsman, is of more help to him than the loudest and clearest view-holloa that ever wakened the dead "from the lungs of john peel in the morning." we have hitherto supposed that you are riding a good horse, in a good place, and have been so fortunate as to meet with none of those reverses that are nevertheless to be expected on occasion, particularly when hounds run hard and the ground is deep. the best of hunters may fall, the boldest of riders be defeated by an impracticable fence. hills, bogs, a precipitous ravine, or even an unlucky turn in a wood may place you at a mile's disadvantage, almost before you have realised your mistake, and you long for the wings of an eagle, while cursing the impossibility of taking back so much as a single minute from the past. it seems so easy to ride a run when it is over! but do not therefore despair. pull yourself well together, no less than your horse. keep steadily on at a regulated pace, watching the movements of those who are with the hounds, and ride inside them, every bend. no fox goes perfectly straight--he must turn sooner or later--and when the happy moment arrives be ready to back your luck, and _pounce_! but here, again, i would have your valour tempered with discretion. if your horse does not see the hounds, be careful how you ride him at such large places as he would face freely enough in the excitement of their company. not one hunter in fifty is really fond of jumping, and we hardly give them sufficient credit for the good-humour with which they accept it as a necessity for enjoyment of the sport. avoid water especially, unless you have reason to believe the bottom is good, and you can go in and out. even under such favourable conditions, look well to your egress. there is never much difficulty about the entrance, and do not forget that the middle is often the shallowest, and always the soundest part of a brook. when tempted therefore to take a horse, that you know is a bad water-jumper, at this serious obstacle; you are most likely to succeed, if you only ask him to jump half-way. should he drop his hind-legs under the farther bank, he will probably not obtain foothold to extricate himself, particularly with your weight on his back. we are all panic-stricken, and with reason, at the idea of being submerged, but we might wade through many more brooks than we usually suppose. i can remember seeing the rowsham, generally believed to be bottomless, forded in perfect safety by half-a-dozen of the finest and heaviest bullocks the vale of aylesbury ever fattened into beef. this, too, close to a hunting-bridge, put there by baron rothschild because of the depth and treacherous nature of the stream! a hard road, however, though to be avoided religiously when enjoying a good place with hounds, is an invaluable ally on these occasions of discomfiture and vexation, if it leads in the same direction as the line of chase. on its firm, unyielding surface your horse is regaining his wind with every stride. should a turnpike-gate bar your progress, chuck the honest fellow a shilling who swings it back and never mind the change. we hunt on sufferance; for our own sakes we cannot make the amusement too popular with the lower classes. the same argument holds good as to feeing a countryman who assists you in any way when you have a red coat on your back. reward him with an open hand. he will go to the public-house and drink "fox-hunting" amongst his friends. it is impossible to say how many innocent cubs are preserved by such judicious liberality to die what charles payne calls "a natural death." and now your quiet perseverance meets its reward. you regain your place with the hounds and are surprised to find how easily and temperately your horse, not yet exhausted, covers large flying fences in his stride. a half-beaten hunter, as i have already observed, will "lob over" high and wide places if they can be done in a single effort, although instinct causes him to "cut them very fine," and forbids unnecessary exertion; but it is "the beginning of the end," and you must not presume on his game, enduring qualities too long. the object of your pursuit, however, is also mortal. by the time you have tired an honest horse in good condition the fox is driven to his last resources, and even the hounds are less full of fire than when they brought him away from the covert. i am supposing, of course, that they have not changed during the run. you may now save many a furlong by bringing your common sense into play. what would you do if you were a beaten fox, and where would you go? certainly not across the middle of those large pastures where you could be seen by the whole troop of your enemies without a chance of shelter or repose. no; you would rather lie down in this deep, overgrown ditch, sneak along the back of that strong, thick bullfinch, turn short in the high, double hedgerow, and so hiding yourself from the spiteful crows that would point you out to the huntsman, try to baffle alike his experienced intelligence and the natural sagacity of his hounds. such are but the simplest of the wiles practised by this most cunning beast of chase. while observing them, you need no further distress the favourite who has carried you so well than is necessary to render the assistance required for finishing satisfactorily with blood; and here your eyes and ears will be far more useful than the speed and stamina of your horse. who-whoop! his labours are now over for the day. do not keep him standing half-an-hour in the cold, while you smoke a cigar and enlarge to sympathising ears on his doings, and yours, and theirs, and those of everybody concerned. rather jog gently off as soon as a few compliments and congratulations have been exchanged, and keep him moving at the rate of about six miles an hour, so that his muscles may not begin to stiffen after his violent exertions, till you have got him home. jump off his honest back, to walk up and down the hills with him as they come. he well deserves this courtesy at your hands. if you ever go out shooting you cannot have forgotten the relief it is to put down your gun for a minute or two. and even from a selfish point of view, there is good reason for this forbearance in the ease your own frame experiences with the change of attitude and exercise. if you can get him a mouthful of gruel, it will recruit his exhausted vitality, as a basin of soup puts life into a fainting man; but do not tarry more than five or six minutes for your own luncheon, while he is sucking it in, and the more tired he seems, remember, the sooner you ought to get him home. if he fails altogether, does not attempt to trot, and wavers from side to side under your weight, put him into the first available shelter, and make up your mind, however mean the quarters, it is better for him to stay there all night than in his exhausted condition to be forced back to his own stable. with thorough ventilation and plenty of coverings, old sacks, blankets, whatever you can lay hands on, he will take no harm. indeed, if you can keep up his circulation there is no better restorative than the pure cold air that in a cow-shed, or out-house, finds free admission, to fill his lungs. you will lose your dinner perhaps. what matter? you may even have to sleep out in "the worst inn's worst room," unfed, unwashed, and without a change of clothes. it is no such penance after all, and surely your first duty is to the gallant generous animal that would never fail _you_ at your need, but would gallop till his heart broke, for your mere amusement and caprice. of all our relations with the dumb creation, there is none in which man has so entirely the best of it as the one-sided partnership that exists between the horse and his rider. chapter xii. riding _at_ stag-hounds. i have purposely altered the preposition at the heading of this, because it treats of a method so entirely different from that which i have tried to describe in the preceding chapter. at the risk of rousing animadversion from an experienced and scientific majority, i am prepared to affirm that there is nearly as much intelligence and knowledge of the animal required to hunt a deer as a fox, but in following the chase of the larger and higher-scented quadruped there are no fixed rules to guide a rider in his course, so that if he allows the hounds to get out of sight he may gallop over any extent of country till dark, and never hear tidings of them again. therefore it has been said, one should ride _to_ fox-hounds, but _at_ stag-hounds, meaning that with the latter, skill and science are of little avail to retrieve a mistake. deer, both wild and tame, so long as they are fresh, seem perfectly indifferent whether they run up wind or down, although when exhausted they turn their heads to the cold air that serves to breathe new life into their nostrils. perhaps, if anything, they prefer to feel the breeze blowing against their sides, but as to this there is no more certainty than in their choice of ground. other wild animals go to the hill; deer will constantly leave it for the vale. i have seen them fly, straight as an arrow, across a strongly enclosed country, and circle like hares on an open down. sometimes they will not run a yard till the hounds are at their very haunches; sometimes, when closely pressed, they become stupid with fear, or turn fiercely at bay. "have we got a good deer to-day?" is a question usually answered with the utmost confidence, yet how often the result is disappointment and disgust. nor is this the case only in that phase of the sport which may be termed artificial. a wild stag proudly carrying his "brow, bay, and tray" over exmoor seems no less capricious than an astonished hind, enlarged amongst the brickfields of hounslow, or the rich pastures that lie outstretched below harrow-on-the-hill. one creature, familiar with every inch of its native wastes, will often wander aimlessly in a circle before making its point; the other, not knowing the least where it is bound, will as often run perfectly straight for miles. my own experience of "the calf," as it has been ignominiously termed, is limited to three packs--mr. bissett's, who hunts the perfectly wild animal over the moorlands of somerset and north devon; baron rothschild's, in the vale of aylesbury; and lord wolverton's blood-hounds, amongst the combes of dorsetshire and "doubles" of the blackmoor vale. with her majesty's hounds i have not been out more than three or four times in my life. let us take the noble chase of the west country first, as it is followed in glorious autumn weather through the fairest scenes that ever haunted a painter's dream; in horner woods and cloutsham ball, over the grassy slopes of exmoor, and across the broad expanse of brendon, spreading its rich mantle of purple under skies of gold. we could dwell for pages on the associations connected with such classical names as badgeworthy-water, new-invention, mountsey gate, or wooded glenthorne, rearing its garlanded brows above the severn sea. but we are now concerned in the practical question, how to keep a place with mr. bissett's six-and-twenty-inch hounds running a "warrantable deer" over the finest scenting country in the world? you may ride _at_ them as like a tailor as you please. the ups and downs of a devonshire _coombe_ will soon put you in your right place, and you will be grateful for the most trifling hint that helps you to spare your horse, and remain on any kind of terms with them, on ground no less trying to his temper and intelligence than to his wind and muscular powers. till you attempt to gallop alongside you will hardly believe how hard the hounds are running. they neither carry such a head, nor dash so eagerly, i might almost say _jealously_, for the scent as if they were hunting their natural quarry, the fox. this difference i attribute to the larger size, and consequently stronger odour, of a deer. every hound enjoying his full share, none are tempted to rob their comrades of the mysterious pleasure, and we therefore miss the quick, sharp turns and the _drive_ that we are accustomed to consider so characteristic of the fox-hound. they string, too, in long-drawn line, because of the tall, bushy heather, necessitating great size and power, through which they must make their way; but, nevertheless, they keep swinging steadily on, without a check or hover for many a mile of moorland, showing something of that fierce indomitable perseverance attributed by byron to the wolf-- "with his long gallop that can tire the hound's deep hate and hunter's fire." if you had a second eclipse under you, and rode him fairly with them, yard for yard, you would stop him in less than twenty minutes! yet old practitioners, notably that prince of sportsmen the rev. john russell, contrive to see runs of many hours' duration without so entirely exhausting their horses but that they can travel some twenty miles home across the moor. such men as mr. granville somerset, the late mr. dene of barnstaple, mr. bissett himself, though weighing twenty stone, and a score of others--for in the west good sportsmen are the rule, not the exception--go well from find to finish of these long, exhausting chases, yet never trespass too far on the generosity and endurance of the noble animal that carries them to the end. and why? because they take pains, use their heads sagaciously, their hands skilfully, and their heels scarcely at all. to their experience i am indebted for the following little hints which i have found serviceable when embarked on those wide, trackless wastes, brown, endless, undulating, and spacious as the sea. there are happily no fences, and the chief obstructions to be defeated, or rather _negotiated_, are the "combes"--a succession of valleys that trend upward from the shallow streams to the heathery ridges, narrowing as they ascend till lost in the level surface of the moor. never go down into these until your deer is sinking. so surely as you descend will you have to climb the opposite rise; rather keep round them towards the top, watching the hounds while they thread a thousand intricacies of rock, heather, and scattered copse-wood, so as to meet them when they emerge, which they will surely do on the upper level, for it is the nature of their quarry to rise the hill aslant, and seek safety, when pressed, in its speed across the flat. a deer descends these declivities one after another as they come, but it is for the refreshment of a bath in their waters below, and instinct prompts it to return without delay to higher ground when thus invigorated. only if completely beaten and exhausted, does it become so confused as to attempt scaling a rise in a direct line. the run is over then, and you may turn your horse's head to the wind, for in a furlong or two the game will falter and come down again amongst its pursuers to stand at bay. [illustration: page .] coast your "combes," therefore, judiciously, and spare your horse; so shall you cross the heather in thorough enjoyment of the chase till it leads you perhaps to the grassy swamps of exmoor, the most plausible line in the world, over which hounds run their hardest--and now look out! if exmoor were in leicestershire, it would be called a bog, and cursed accordingly, but every country has its own peculiarities, and a north devon sportsman more especially, on a horse whose dam, or even grandam, was bred on the moor, seems to flap his way across it with as much confidence as a bittern or a curlew. could i discover how he accomplished this feat i would tell you, but i can only advise you to ride his line and follow him yard for yard. there are certain sound tracks and pathways, no doubt, in which a horse does not sink more than fetlock deep, and mr. knight, the lord of the soil, may be seen, on a large handsome thorough-bred hunter, careering away as close to the pack as he used to ride in the vale of aylesbury, but for a stranger so to presume would be madness, and if he did not find himself bogged in half a minute, he would stop his horse in half a mile. choose a pilot then, mr. granville somerset we will say, or one of the gentlemen i have already named, and stick to him religiously till the welcome heather is brushing your stirrup-irons once more. on brendon, you may ride for yourself with perfect confidence in the face of all beholders, bold and conspicuous as dunkery beacon, but on exmoor you need not be ashamed to play follow my leader. only give him room enough to fall! as, although a full-grown or warrantable stag is quickly found, the process of separating it from its companions, called "tufting," is a long business, lasting for hours, you will be wise to take with you a feed of corn and a rope halter, the latter of which greatly assists in serving your horse with the former. you will find it also a good plan to have your saddles previously well stuffed and repaired, lined with smooth linen. the weather in august is very hot, and your horse will be many hours under your weight, therefore it is well to guard against a sore back. jump off, too, whenever you have the chance; a hunter cannot but find it a delightful relief to get rid of twelve or thirteen stone bumping all day against his spine for a minute or two at a time. i have remarked, however, with some astonishment that the heavier the rider the more averse he seems to granting this indulgence, and am forced to suppose his unwillingness to get down proceeds, as my friend mr. grimston says, from a difficulty in getting up again! this gentleman, however, who, notwithstanding his great weight, has always ridden perfectly straight to hounds, over the stiffest of grass countries, obstinately declines to leave the saddle at any time under less provocation than a complete turn over by the strength of a gate or stile. to mention "the honourable robert" brings one by an irresistible association of ideas into the wide pastures of that grassy paradise which mortals call the vale of aylesbury. here, under the excellent management of sir nathaniel rothschild, assisted by his brother mr. leopold, the _carted_ deer is hunted on the most favourable terms, and a sportsman must indeed be prejudiced who will not admit that "ten mile points" over grass with one of the handsomest packs of hounds in the world, are most enjoyable; the object of chase, when the fun is over, returning to mentmore, like a gentleman, in his own carriage, notwithstanding. fred cox is the picture of a huntsman. mark howcott, his whip, fears nothing in the shape of a fence, and will close with a wicked stag, in or out of water, as readily as a policeman collars a pickpocket! the horses are superb, and so they ought to be, for the fences that divide this grazing district into fields of eighty and a hundred acres grow to the most formidable size and strength. unless brilliantly mounted neither masters nor servants could hold the commanding position through a run that they always seem to desire. in riding to these hounds, as to all others, it is advisable to avoid the crowd. many of the hedgerows are double, with a ditch on each side, and to wait for your turn amongst a hundred horsemen, some too bold, some too cautious, would entail such delay as must prove fatal with a good scent. happily, there are plenty of gates, and a deer preferring timber to any other leap, usually selects this convenient mode of transit. should they be chained, look for a weak place in the fence, which, being double, will admit of subdividing your leap by two, and your chance of a fall by ten. at first you may be somewhat puzzled on entering a field to find your way out. i will suppose that in other countries you have been accustomed to select the easiest place at once in the fence you are approaching, and to make for it without delay, but across these large fields the nature of an obstacle deceives your eye. the two contiguous hedges that form one boundary render it very difficult to determine at a distance where the easiest place _is_, so you will find it best to follow the hounds, and take your chance. the deer, like your horse, is a large quadruped, and, except under unusual circumstances, where one goes the other can probably follow. this, i fear, is a sad temptation to ride on the line of hounds. if you give way to it, let the whole pack be at least two or three hundred yards in front, and beware, even then, of tail hounds coming up to join their comrades. be careful also, never to jump a fence in your stride, till you see the pack well into the next field. a deer is very apt to drop lightly over a wall or upright hedge just high enough to conceal it, and then turn short at a right angle under this convenient screen. it would be painful to realise your feelings, poised in air over eight or ten couple of priceless hounds, with a chorus of remonstrances storming in the rear! it is no use protesting you "didn't touch them," you "didn't mean it," you "never knew they were there." better ride doggedly on, over the largest places you can find, and apologise humbly to everybody at the first check. when a fox goes down to water he means crossing, not so the deer. if at all tired, or heated, it may stay there for an hour. on such occasions, therefore, you can take a pull at your horse and your flask too if you like, while you look for the best way to the other side. when induced to leave it, however, the animal seems usually so refreshed by its bath, as to travel a long distance, and on this, as on many other occasions in stag-hunting, the run seems only beginning, when you and your horse consider it ought to be nearly over. directly you observe a deer, that has hitherto gone straight, describing a series of circles, you may think about going home. it is tired at last, and will give you no more fun for a month. you should offer assistance to the men, and, even if it be not accepted, remain, as a matter of courtesy, to see your quarry properly taken, and sent back to the paddock in its cart. with all stag-hounds, the same rules would seem to apply. never care to view it, and above all, unless expressly requested to do so for a reason, avoid the solecism of "riding the deer." on the mode in which this sport is conducted depends the whole difference between a wild exhilarating pastime and a tame uninteresting parade. though prejudice will not allow it is the _real_ thing, we cannot but admit the excellence of the imitation, and a man must possess a more logical mind, a less excitable temperament, than is usually allotted to sportsmen, who can remember, while sailing along with hounds running hard over a flying country, that he is only "trying to catch what he had already," and has turned a handsome hairy-coated quadruped out of a box for the mere purpose of putting it in again when the fun is over! follow every turn then, religiously, and with good intent. you came out expressly to enjoy a gallop, do not allow yourself to be disappointed. if nerve and horse are good enough, go into every field with them, but, i intreat you, ride like a sportsman, and give the hounds plenty of room. this last injunction more especially applies to that handsome pack of black-and-tans with which lord wolverton, during the last five or six seasons, has shown extraordinary sport for the amusement of his neighbours on the uplands of dorset and in the green pastures that enrich the valley of the stour. these blood-hounds, for such they are, and of the purest breed, stand seven or eight-and-twenty inches, with limbs and frames proportioned to so gigantic a stature. their heads are magnificent, solemn sagacious eyes, pendent jowls, and flapping ears that brush away the dew. thanks to his lordship's care in breeding, and the freedom with which he has drafted, their feet are round and their powerful legs symmetrically straight. a spirited and truly artistic picture of these hounds in chase, sweeping like a whirlwind over the downs, by mr. goddard, the well-known painter, hangs on lord wolverton's staircase in london, and conveys to his guests, particularly after dinner, so vivid an idea of their picturesque and even sporting qualities as i cannot hope to represent with humble pen and ink. one could almost fancy, standing opposite this masterpiece, that one heard _the cry_. full, sonorous, and musical, it is not extravagant to compare these deep-mouthed notes with the peal of an organ in a cathedral. yet they run a tremendous pace. stride, courage, and _condition_ (the last essential requiring constant care) enable them to sustain such speed over the open as can make a good horse look foolish! while, amongst enclosures, they charge the fences in line, like a squadron of heavy dragoons. yet for all this fire and mettle in chase, they are sad cowards under pressure from a crowd. a whip cracked hurriedly, a horse galloping in their track, even an injudicious _rate_, will make the best of them shy and sulky for half the day. only by thorough knowledge of his favourites, and patient deference to their prejudices, has lord wolverton obtained their confidence, and it is wonderful to mark how his perseverance is rewarded. while he hunts them they are perfectly handy, and turn like a pack of harriers; but if an outsider attempts to "cap them on," or otherwise interfere, they decline to acknowledge him from the first; and should they be left to his guidance, are quite capable of going straight home at once, with every mark of contempt. in a run, however, their huntsman is seldom wanting. his lordship has an extraordinary knack of _galloping_, getting across a field with surprising quickness on every horse he rides, and is not to be turned by the fence when he reaches it, so that his hounds are rarely placed in the awkward position of a pack at fault with no one to look to for assistance. he has acquired, too, considerable familiarity with the habits of his game, and has a holy horror of going home without it, so perseveres, when at a loss, through many a long hour of cold hunting, slotting, scouring the country for information, and other drawbacks to enjoyment of his chase. as he says himself, "the worst of a deer is, you can't leave off when you like. nobody will believe you if you swear it went to ground!" part of the country in his immediate neighbourhood seems made for stag-hunting. large fields, easy slopes, light fences, and light land, with here and there a hazel copse, bordering a stretch for three or four miles of level turf, like launceston down, or blandford race-course, must needs tempt a deer to go straight no less than a horseman, but the animal, as i have said, is unaccountably capricious, and if we could search his lordship's diary i believe we should find his best runs have taken place over a district differing in every respect from the above. as soon as the leaves are fallen sufficiently to render the blackmoor vale rideable, it is his greatest pleasure to take the blood-hounds down to those deep, level, and strongly-enclosed pastures, over which, notwithstanding the size and nature of the fences, he finds his deer (usually hinds) run remarkably well, and make extraordinary points. ten miles, on the ordnance map, is no unusual distance, and is often accomplished in little more than an hour. for men who enjoy _riding_ i can conceive no better fun. not an acre of plough is to be seen. the enclosures, perhaps, are rather small, but this only necessitates more jumping, and the fences may well satisfy the hungriest, or as an irishman would say, the _thirstiest_, of competitors! they are not, however, _quite_ so formidable as they look. to accomplish two blind ditches, with a bank between, and a hedge thereon, requires indeed discretion in a horse, and cool determination in its rider, but where these exist the large leap is divided easily by two, and a good man, who _means going_, is not often to be _pounded_, even in the blackmoor vale. nothing is _quite_ perfect under the sun, not your own best hunter, nor your wife's last baby, and the river stour, winding through them in every direction, somewhat detracts from the merit of these happiest of hunting-grounds. a good friend to the deer, and a sad hindrance to its pursuers, it has spoilt many a fine run; but even with this drawback there are few districts in any part of england so naturally adapted to the pleasures of the chase. the population is scanty, the countrymen are enthusiasts, the farmers the best fellows on earth, the climate seems unusually favourable; from the kindness and courtesy of sir richard glynn and mr. portman, who pursue the _legitimate_ sport over the same locality, and his own personal popularity, the normal difficulties of his undertaking are got over in favour of the noble master, and everybody seems equally pleased to welcome the green plush coats and the good grey horses in the midst of the black-and-tans. if i were sure of a fine morning and a _safe mount_, i would ask for no keener pleasure than an hour's gallop with lord wolverton's blood-hounds over the blackmoor vale. chapter xiii. the provinces. a distinguished soldier of the present day, formerly as daring and enthusiastic a rider as ever charged his "oxers" with the certainty of a fall, was once asked in my hearing by a mild stranger, "whether he had been out with the crawley and horsham?" if i remember right. "no, sir!" was the answer, delivered in a tone that somewhat startled the querist, "i have never hunted with any hounds in my life but the quorn and the pytchley, and i'll take d----d good care i never do!" now i fancy that not a few of our "golden youth," who are either born to it, or have contrived in their own way to get the "silver spoon" into their mouths, are under the impression that all hunting must necessarily be dead slow if conducted out of leicestershire, and that little sport, with less excitement, is to be obtained in those remote regions which they contemptuously term the provinces. there never was a greater fallacy. if we calculate the number of hours hounds are out of kennel (for we must remember that the quorn and belvoir put two days into one), we shall find, i think, that they run hard for fewer minutes, in proportion, across the fashionable countries than in apparently less-favoured districts concealed at sundry out-of-the-way corners of the kingdom. nor is this disparity difficult to understand. fox-hunting at its best is a wild sport; the wilder the better. where coverts are many miles apart, where the animal must travel for its food, where agriculture is conducted on primitive principles that do not necessitate the huntsman's horror, "a man in every field," the fox retains all his savage nature, and is prepared to run any distance, face every obstacle, rather than succumb to his relentless enemy, the hound. he has need, and he seems to know it, of all his courage and all his sagacity, as compelled to fight alone on his own behalf, without assistance from that invaluable ally, the crowd. a score of hard riders, nineteen of whom are jealous, and the twentieth determined not to be beat, forced on by a hundred comrades all eager for the view and its stentorian proclamation, may well save the life of any fox on earth, with scarce an effort from the animal itself. but that hounds are creatures of habit, and huntsmen in the flying countries miracles of patience, no less than their masters, not a nose would be nailed on the kennel-door, after cub-hunting was over, from one end of the shires to the other. nothing surprises me so much as to see a pack of hounds, like the belvoir or the quorn, come up _through_ a crowd of horses and stick to the line of their fox, or fling gallantly forward to recover it, without a thought of personal danger or the slightest misgiving that not one man in ten is master of the two pair of hoofs beneath him, carrying death in every shoe. were they not bred for the make-and-shape that gives them speed no less than for fineness of nose, but especially for that _dash_ which, like all victorious qualities, leaves something to chance, they could never get a field from the covert. it does happen, however, that, now and again, a favourable stroke of fortune puts a couple of furlongs between the hounds and their pursuers. a hundred-acre field of well saturated grass lies before them, down go their noses, out go their sterns, and away they scour, at a pace which makes a precious example of young rapid on a first-class steeple-chase horse with the wrong bridle in its mouth. but how differently is the same sport being carried out in his father's country, perhaps by the old gentleman's own pack, with which the young one considers it slow to hunt. let us begin at the beginning and try to imagine a good day in the provinces, about the third week in november, when leaves are thin and threadbare on the fences, while copse and woodland glisten under subdued shafts of sunlight in sheets of yellow gold. what says mr. warburton, favoured of diana and the muses? "the dew-drop is clinging to whin-bush and brake, the sky-lark is singing, merry hunters, awake! home to the cover, deserted by night, the little red rover is bending his flight--" could words more stirringly describe the hope and promise, the joy, the vitality, the buoyant exhilaration of a hunting morning? so the little red rover, who has travelled half-a-dozen miles for his supper, returns to find he has "forgotten his latch-key," and curls himself up in some dry, warm nook amongst the brushwood, at the quietest corner of a deep, precipitous ravine. here, while sleep favours digestion, he makes himself very comfortable, and dreams, no doubt, of his own pleasures and successes in pursuit of prey. presently, about half-past eleven, he wakes with a start, leaps out of bed, shakes his fur, and stands to listen, a perfect picture, with one pad raised and his cunning head aslant. yes, he recognized it from the first. the "yooi, wind him, and rouse him!" of old matthew's mellow tones, not unknown in a gin-and-water chorus when occasion warrants the convivial brew, yet clear, healthy, and resonant as the very roar of challenger, who has just proclaimed his consciousness of the drag, some five hours old. 'tis an experienced rover, and does not hesitate for an instant. stealing down the ravine, he twists his agile little body through a tangled growth of blackthorn and brambles, crosses the stream dry-footed with a leap, and, creeping through the fence that bounds his stronghold, peers into the meadow beyond. no smart and busy whip has "clapped forward" to view and head him. matthew, indeed, brings out but one, and swears he could do better without _him_. so the rover puts his sharp nose straight for the solitude he loves, and whisking his brush defiantly, resolves to make his point. he has been gone five minutes when the clamour of the find reaches his ears, twice that time ere the hounds are fairly out of covert on his line; so, with a clear head and a bold heart, he has leisure to consider his tactics and to remember the main earth at crag's-end in the forest, twelve miles off as the crow flies. [illustration: page .] challenger, and charmer his progeny, crash out of the wood together, fairly howling with ecstasy as their busy noses meet the rich tufted herbage, dewy, dank, and tainted with the maddening odour that affords such uncontrolled enjoyment. "_harve art_ him, my _lards_!" exclaims old matthew, in doric accents, peculiar to the kennel. "come up, horse!" and, having admonished that faithful servant with a dig in the ribs from his horn, blows half-a-dozen shrill blasts in quick succession, sticks the instrument, i shudder to confess it, in his boot, and proceeds to hustle his old white nag at the best pace he can command in the wake of his favourites. "dang it! they're off," exclaims a farmer, who had stationed himself on the crest of the hill, diving, at a gallop, down a stony darkling lane, overgrown with alder, brambles, honeysuckle, all the garden produce of uncultivated nature, lush and steaming in decay. the field, consisting of the squire, three or four strapping yeomen, a parson, and a boy on a pony, follow his example, and making a good turn in the valley, find themselves splashing through a glittering, shallow streamlet, still in the lane, with the hounds not a bowshot from them on the right. "and pace?" inquires young rapid, when his father describes the run to him on christmas-eve. "of course you had no pace with so good a point?" "pace, sir!" answers the indignant parent; "my hounds _run_ because they can _hunt_. i tell you, they were never off the line for an hour and three-quarters! matthew _would_ try to cast them once, and very nearly lost his fox, but charmer hit it off on the other side of the combe and put us right. he's as like old challenger as he can stick; a deal more like than _you_ are to _me_." young rapid concedes the point readily, and the squire continues his narrative: "i had but eighteen couple out, because of a run the week before--i'll tell you about it presently,--five-and-thirty minutes on the hills, and a kill in the open, that lamed half the pack amongst the flints. you talk of pace--they went fast enough to have settled the best of you, i'll warrant! but i'm getting off the line--i've not done with the other yet. i never saw hounds work better. they came away all together, they hunted their fox like a cluster of bees; swarming over every field, and every fence, they brought him across tinglebury tor, where it's always as dry as that hearth-stone, through a flock of five hundred sheep, they rattled him in and out of combe-bampton, though the lower woods were alive with riot--hares, roe, fallow-deer, hang it! apes and peacocks if you like; had old matthew not been a fool they would never have hesitated for a moment, and when they ran into him under crag's-end, there wasn't a man-jack of them missing. not one--that's what i call a pack of hounds! "the best part of it? so much depends on whether you young fellows go out to hunt, or to ride. for the first half-hour or so we were never off the grass--there's not a ploughed field all the way up the valley till you come to shifner's allotments, orchard and meadow, meadow and orchard, fetlock-deep in grass, even at this time of year. why, it carries a side-scent, like the heather on a moor! i suppose you'd have called _that_ the best part. i didn't, though i saw it _well_ from the lane with matthew and the rest of us, all but the vicar, who went into every field with the hounds--i thought he was rather hard on them amongst those great blind, tangled fences; but he's such a good fellow, i hadn't the heart to holloa at him--it's very wrong though, and a man in his profession ought to know better. "i can't say they checked exactly in the allotments, but the manure and rubbish, weeds burning, and whatnot, brought them to their noses. that's where matthew made such a fool of himself; but, as i told you, charmer put us all right. the fox had crossed into combe-bampton and was rising the hill for the downs. "i never saw hounds so patient--they could but just hold a line over the chalk--first one and then another puzzled it out, till they got on better terms in hazlewood hanger, and when they ran down into the valley again between the cliffs there was a cry it did one's heart good to hear. "i had a view of him, crossing parker's piece, the long strip of waste land, you know, under craven clump; and he seemed as fresh as you are now--i sat as mute as a mouse, for six-and-thirty noses knew better where he'd gone than i did, and six-and-thirty-tongues were at work that never told a lie. the vicar gave them plenty of room by this time, and all our horses seemed to have had about enough! "'i wish we mayn't have changed in the hanger,' said matthew, refreshing the old grey with a side-binder, as they blundered into the lane, but i knew better--he had run the rides, every yard, and that made me hope we should have him in hand before long. "it began to get very interesting, i was near enough to watch each hound doing his work, eighteen couple, all dogs, three and four season hunters, for i hadn't a single puppy out. i wish you had been there, my boy. it was a real lesson in hunting, and i'll tell you what i thought of them, one by ----. hulloh! yes. you'd better ring for coffee--hanged if i don't believe you've been fast asleep all the time!" but such runs as these, though wearisome to a listener, are most enjoyable for those who can appreciate the steadiness and sagacity of the hound, no less than the craft and courage of the animal it pursues. there is an indescribable charm too, in what i may call the _romance_ of hunting,--the remote scenes we should perhaps never visit for their own sake, the broken sunlight glinting through copse and gleaming on fern, the woodland sights, the woodland sounds, the balmy odours of nature, and all the treats she provides for her votaries, tasted and enjoyed, with every faculty roused, every sense sharpened in the excitement of our pursuit. these delights are better known in the provinces than the shires, and to descend from flights of fancy to practical matters of £ _s._ _d._, we can hunt in the former at comparatively trifling expense. in the first place, particularly if good horsemen, we need not be nearly so well-mounted. there are few provincial countries in which a man who knows how to ride, cannot get from one field to another, by hook or by crook, with a little creeping and scrambling and blundering, that come far short of the casualty we deprecate as "a rattling fall!" his horse must be in good condition of course, and able to gallop; also if temperate, the more willing at his fences the better, but it is not indispensable that he should possess the stride and power necessary to cover some twenty feet of distance, and four or five of height, at every leap, nor the blood that can alone enable him to repeat the exertion, over and over again, at three-quarter speed in deep ground. to jump, as it is called, "from field to field," tries a horse's stamina no less severely than his courage, while, as i have already observed, there is no such economy of effort, and even danger, as to make two small fences out of a large one. i do not mean to say that there are any parts of england where, if hounds run hard, a hunter, with a workman on his back, has not enough to do to live with them, but i do consider that, _cæteris paribus_, a good rider may smuggle a moderate horse over most of our provincial countries, whereas he would be helpless on the same animal in leicestershire or northamptonshire. there, on the other hand, an inferior horseman, bold enough to place implicit confidence in the first-class hunter he rides, may see a run, from end to end, with considerable credit and enjoyment, by the simple process of keeping a good hold of his bridle, while he leaves everything to the horse. but he must not have learned a single letter of the noble word "funk." directly his heart fails, and he interferes, down they both come, an _imperial crowner_, and the game is lost! many of our provincial districts are also calculated, from their very nature, to turn out experienced sportsmen no less than accomplished riders. in large woods, amongst secluded hills, or wild tracts of moor intersected by impracticable ravines, a lover of the chase is compelled by force of circumstances to depend on his own eyes, ears, and general intelligence for his amusement. he finds no young rapid to pilot him over the large places, if he _means going_; no crafty band of second-horsemen to guide him in safety to the finish, if his ambition is satisfied with a distant and occasional view of the stirring pageant; no convenient hand-gate in the corner, no friendly bridge across the stream; above all, no hurrying cavalcade drawn out for miles, amongst which to hide, and with whom pleasantly to compare notes hereafter in those self-deceiving moments, when "dined, o'er our claret, we talk of the merit, of every choice spirit that rode in the run. but here the crowd, sir, can talk just as loud, sir, as those who were forward enjoying the fun!" no. in the provinces our young sportsman must make up his mind to take his own part, to study the coverts drawn, and find out for himself the points where he can see, hear, and, so to speak, command hounds till they go away; must learn how to rise the hill with least labour, and descend it with greatest dispatch, how to thread glen, combe, or dale, wind in and out of the rugged ravine, plunge through a morass, and make his way home at night across trackless moor, or open storm-swept down. by the time he has acquired these accomplishments, the horsemanship will have come of itself. he will know how to bore where he cannot jump, to creep where he must not fly, and so manage his horse that the animal seems to share the intentions and intelligence of its rider. if he can afford it, and likes to spend a season or two in the shires for the last superlative polish, let him go and welcome! he will be taught to get clear of a crowd, to leap timber at short notice, to put on his boots and breeches, and that is about all there is left for him to learn! in the british army, though more than a hundred regiments constitute the line, each cherishes its own particular title, while applying that general application indiscriminately to the rest. i imagine the same illusion affects the provinces, and i should offend an incalculable number of good fellows and good sportsmen, were i to describe as _provincial_ establishments, the variety of hunts, north, south, east, and west, with which i have enjoyed so much good company and good fun. each has its own claim to distinction, some have collars, all have sport. grass, i imagine, is the one essential that constitutes pre-eminence in a hunting country, and for this the shires have always boasted they bear away the palm, but it will surprise many of my readers to be told that in the south and west there are districts where this desideratum seems now more plentiful than in the middle of england. the blackmoor vale still lies almost wholly under pasture, and you may travel to-day forty miles by rail, through the counties of dorset and somerset, in general terms nearly from blandford to bath, without seeing a ploughed field. what a country might here be made by such an enthusiast as poor "sam reynell," who found meath without a gorse-covert, and drew between thirty and forty "sure finds" in it before he died! independently of duty, which ought to be our first consideration, there is also great convenience in hunting from home. we require no large stud, can choose our meets, and, above all, are indifferent to weather. a horse comes out so many times in a season; if we don't hunt to-day we shall next week. compare this equable frame of mind with the irritation and impatience of a man who has ten hunters standing at the sign of "the hand-in-pocket," while he inhabits the front parlour, without his books, deprived of his usual society and occupations, the barometer at set fair, and the atmosphere affording every indication of a six-weeks' frost! let us see in what the charm consists that impels people to encounter bad food, bad wine, bad lodgings, and above all, protracted boredom, for a campaign in those historical hunting-grounds, that have always seemed to constitute the rosiest illusion of a sportsman's dream. chapter xiv. the shires. "every species of fence every horse doesn't suit, what's a good country hunter may here prove a brute," sings that clerical bard who wrote the billesdon-coplow poem, from which i have already quoted; and it would be difficult to explain more tersely than do these two lines the difference between a fair useful hunter, and the flyer we call _par excellence_ "a leicestershire horse!" alas! for the favourite unrivalled over gloucestershire walls, among dorsetshire doubles, in the level ploughs of holderness, or up and down the wild derbyshire hills, when called upon to gallop, we will say, from ashby pastures to the coplow, after a week's rain, at quorn pace, across quorn fences, unless he happens to possess with the speed of a steeple-chaser, the courage of a lion and the activity of a cat! for the first mile or two "pristinæ virtutis haud immemor" he bears him gallantly enough, even the unaccustomed rail on the far side of an "oxer," elicits but a startling exertion, and a loud rattle of horn and iron against wood, but ere long the slope rises against him, the ridge-and-furrow checks his stride, a field, dotted with ant-hills as large as church-hassocks and not unlike them in shape, to catch his toes and impede his action, changes his smooth easy swing to a laborious flounder, and presently at a thick bullfinch on the crest of a grassy ridge, out of ground that takes him in nearly to his hocks, comes the crisis. too good a hunter to turn over, he gets his shoulders out and lets his rider see the fall before it is administered, but down he goes notwithstanding, very effectually, to rise again after a struggle, his eye wild, nostril distended, and flanks heaving, thoroughly pumped out! he is a good horse, but you have brought him into the wrong country, and this is the result. it would be a hopeless task to extract from young rapid's laconic phrases, and general indifference, any particulars regarding the burst in which, to give him his due, he has gone brilliantly, or the merits of the horse that carried him in the first flight without a mistake. he wastes his time, his money, his talents, but not his words. for him and his companions, question and answer are cut short somewhat in this wise:-- "did you get away with them from the punchbowl?" "yes, i was among the lucky ones." "is, 'the king of the golden mines' any use?" "i fancy he is good enough." and yet he is reflecting on the merits of self and co. with no little satisfaction, and does not grudge one shilling of the money--a hundred down, and a bill for two hundred and fifty--that the horse with the magnificent name cost him last spring. their performance, i admit, does them both credit. i will endeavour to give a rough sketch of the somewhat hazardous amusement that puts him out of conceit with the sport shown by his father's hounds. let us picture to ourselves then, rapid junior, resplendent in the whitest of breeches and brightest of boots, with a single-breasted, square-cut scarlet coat, a sleek hat curly of brim, four feet of cane hunting-whip in his hand, a flower at his breast, and a toothpick in his mouth, replaced by an enormous cigar as somebody he doesn't know suggests they are not likely to find. though he looks so helpless, and more than half-asleep, he is wide-awake enough in fact, and dashes the weed unlighted from his lips, when he spies the huntsman stand up in his stirrups as though on the watch. there lurks a fund of latent energy under the placidity of our friend's demeanour, and, as four couple of hounds come streaming out of cover, he shoots up the bank rather too near them, to pick his place without hesitation in an ugly bullfinch at the top. two of his own kind are making for the same spot at the same moment, and our young friend shows at such a crisis, that he knows how to ride. taking "the king of the golden mines," hard by the head, he changes his aim on the instant, and rams the good horse at four feet of strong timber, leaning towards him, with an energy not to be denied. over they go triumphantly, "the king," half affronted, "catching hold" with some resentment, as he settles vigorously to his stride. what matter? most of the pack are already half-way across the next field, for leicestershire hounds have an extraordinary knack of flying forward to overtake their comrades. his father would be delighted with the performance, and would call it "scoring to cry," but young rapid does not trouble himself about such matters. he is only glad to find they are out of his way, and thinks no more about it, except to rejoice that he can "put the steam on," without the usual remonstrance from huntsman and master. the king can gallop like a race-horse, and is soon at the next leap--a wide ditch, a high staked-and-bound hedge, coarse, rough and strong, with a drop and what you please, on the other side. this last treat proves to be a bowed-out oak-rail, standing four feet from the fence. "the king," full of courage, and going fast, bounds over the whole with his hind legs tucked under him like a deer, ready, but not requiring, to strike back, while two of rapid's young friends with whom he dined yesterday, and one he will meet at dinner to-day, fly it in similar form, nearly alongside. an ugly, overgrown bullfinch, with a miniature ravine, or, as it is here called, "a bottom," appears at the foot of the hill they are now descending, and, as there seems only one practicable place, these four reckless individuals at once begin to race for the desirable spot. the king's turn of speed serves him again; covering five- or six-and-twenty feet, he leaps it a length in front of the nearest horse, and a couple of strides before the other two, while loud reproachful outcries resound in the rear because of harmony's narrow escape--the king's forefoot, missing that priceless bitch by a yard! our young gentleman, having got a lead now, begins to ride with more judgment. he trots up to a stile and pops over in truly artistic form; better still, he gives the hounds plenty of room on the fallow beyond, where they have hovered for a moment and put down their noses, holding his hand up to warn those behind, a "bit of cheek," as they call this precautionary measure, which he will be made to remember for some days to come! he is not such a fool but that he knows, from experience in the old country, how a little patience at these critical moments makes the whole difference between a good day's sport and a bad. it would be provoking to lose the chance of a gallop now, when he has got such a start, and is riding the best horse in his stable, so he looks anxiously over his shoulder for the huntsman, who is "coming," and stands fifty yards aloof, which he considers a liberal allowance, that the hounds may have space to swing. to-day there is a good scent and a good fox, a combination that happens oftener than might be supposed. harmony, who, notwithstanding her recent peril, has never been off the line, though the others over-shot it, scours away at a tangent, with the slightest possible whimper, and her stern down, the leading hounds wheeling to her like pigeons, and the whole pack driving forward again, harder than before. it is a beautiful turn; young rapid would admire it, no doubt, were his attention not distracted by the gate out of the field, which is chained up, and a hurried calculation as to whether it is too high for the king to attempt. the solution is obvious. i need hardly say he jumps it gallantly in his stride. it would never do, you see, to let those other fellows catch him, and he sails away once more with a stronger lead than at first. what a hunting panorama opens on his view!--a downward stretch of a couple of miles, and a gentle rise beyond of more than twice that distance, consisting wholly of enormous grass fields, dotted here and there with single trees, and separated by long lines of fences, showing black and level on that faded expanse of green. the smoke from a farm-house rises white and thin against the dull sky in the middle distance, and a taper church-spire points to heaven from behind the hill, otherwise there is not an object for miles to recall everyday life; and young rapid's world consists at this moment of two reeking pointed ears, with a vision of certain dim shapes, fleeting like shadows across the open--swift, dusky, and noiseless as a dream. his blood thrills with excitement, from the crown of his close-cropped head to his silken-covered heel, but education is stronger than nature, and he tightens his lips, perhaps to repress a cheer, while he murmurs--"over the brook for a hundred! and the king never turned from water in his life." two more fences bring him to the level meadow with its willows. harmony is shaking herself on the farther bank, and he has marked with his eye the spot where he means to take off. a strong pull, a steady hand, the energy of a mile gallop condensed into a dozen strides, and the stream passes beneath him like a flash. "it's a _rum_ one!" he murmurs, standing up in his stirrups to ease the good horse, while one follower exclaims "bravo! rapid. go along, old man!" as the speaker plunges overhead; and another, who lands with a scramble, mutters, "d----n him, i shall never catch him! my horse is done to a turn _now_." "the king," his owner thinks, is well worth the £ that has _not_ been paid. the horse has caught his second wind, and keeps striding on, strong and full of running, though temperate enough now, and, in such a country as this, a truly delightful mount. [illustration: page .] there is no denying that our friend is a capital horseman, and bold as need be. "the king of the golden mines," with a _workman_ on his back, can hardly be defeated by any obstacle that the power and spring of a quadruped ought to surmount. he has tremendous stride, and no less courage than his master, so fence after fence is thrown behind the happy pair with a sensation like flying that seems equally gratifying to both. the ground is soft but sound enough; the leaps, though large, are fair and clean. one by one they are covered in light, elastic bounds, of eighteen or twenty feet, and for a mile, at least, the king scarcely alters his action, and never changes his leg. young rapid would ask no better fun than to go on like this for a week. once he has a narrow escape. the fox having turned short up a hedgerow after crossing it, the hounds, though running _to kill_, turn _as_ short, for which they deserve the praise there is nobody present to bestow, and rapid, charging the fence with considerable freedom, just misses landing in the middle of the pack. i know it, because he acknowledged it after dinner, professing, at the same time, devout thankfulness that master and huntsman were too far off to see. just such another turn is made at the next fence, but this time on the near side. the hounds disappear suddenly, tumbling over each other into the ditch like a cascade. peering between his horse's ears, the successful rider can distinguish only a confused whirl of muddy backs, and legs, and sterns, seen through a cloud of steam; but smothered growls, with a certain vibration of the busy cluster, announce that they have got him, and rapid so far forgets himself as to venture on a feeble "who--whoop!" before he can leap from the saddle the huntsman comes up followed by two others, one of whom, pulling out his watch, with a delighted face repeats frantically, "seven-and-twenty minutes, and a kill in the open! _what_ a good gallop! not the ghost of a check from end to end. seven-and-twenty minutes," and so on, over and over again. while the field straggle in, and the obsequies of this good fox are properly celebrated, a little enthusiasm would be justifiable enough on the part of a young gentleman who has "had the best of it" unquestionably through the whole of so brilliant a scurry. he might be expected to enlarge volubly, and with excusable self-consciousness, on the pace, the country, the straight running of the fox, the speed and gallantry of the hounds; nor could we blame him for praising by implication his own determined riding in a tribute to "the king of the golden mines." but such extravagancies are studiously repudiated and repressed by the school to which young rapid belongs. all he _does_ say is this-- "i wonder when the second horses will come up? i want some luncheon before we go and find another fox." i have already observed that in the shires we put two days into one. where seventy or eighty couple of hounds are kept and thirty horses, to hunt four times a week, with plenty of country, in which you may find a fox every five minutes, there can be no reason for going home while light serves; and really good scenting days occur so rarely that we may well be tempted to make the most of one even with jaded servants and a half-tired pack of hounds. the field, too, are considerably diminished by three or four o'clock. one has no second horse, another must get home to write his letters, and, if within distance of melton, some hurry back to play whist. everything is comparative. with forty or fifty horsemen left, a huntsman breathes more freely, and these, who are probably enthusiasts, begin to congratulate themselves that the best of the day is yet to come. "let us go and draw melton spinney," is a suggestion that brightens every eye; and the duke will always draw melton spinney so long as he can see. it is no unusual thing for his hounds to kill, and, i have been told, they once _found_ their fox by moonlight, so that it is proverbial all over his country, if you only stop out late enough, you are sure of a run with the belvoir at last. and then, whether you belong to the school of young rapid or his father, you will equally have a treat. are you fond of hounds? here is a pack that cannot be surpassed, to delight the most fastidious eye, satisfy the most critical taste. do you like to see them _hunt_? watch how these put their noses down, tempering energy with patience, yet so bustling and resolute as to work a bad scent into a good one. are you an admirer of make-and-shape? mark this perfect symmetry of form, bigger, stronger, and tougher than it looks. do you understand kennel management and condition? ask gillard why his hounds are never known to tire, and get from him what hints you can. lastly, do you want to gallop and jump, defeat your dearest friends, and get to the end of your best horse? that is but a moderate scenting-day, on which the belvoir will not afford opportunity to do both. if you can live with them while they run, and see them race into their fox at the finish, i congratulate you on having science, nerve, all the qualities of horsemanship, a good hunter, and, above all, a good groom. these remarks as to pace, stoutness, and sporting qualities, apply also to the quorn, the cottesmore, and the pytchley. this last, indeed, with its extensive range of woodlands in rockingham forest, possesses the finest hunting country in england, spacious enough to stand six days a week in the mildest of winters all the season through. under the rule of lord spencer, who has brought to bear on his favourite amusement the talent, energy, and administrative powers that, while they remained in office, were so serviceable to his party, the pytchley seems to have recovered its ancient renown, and the sport provided for the white collars during the last year or two has been much above the average. his lordship thoroughly understands the whole management of hounds, in the kennel and the field, is enthusiastically fond of the pursuit, and, being a very determined rider as well as an excellent judge of a horse, is always present in an emergency to observe the cause and take measures for the remedy. will goodall has but little to learn as a huntsman, and, like his father, the unrivalled will goodall of belvoir celebrity, places implicit confidence in his hounds. "they can put me right," seems his maxim, "oftener than i can put them!" if a man wanted to see "a gallop in the shires" at its best, he should meet the pytchley some saturday in february at waterloo gorse, but i am bound to caution him that he ought to ride a brilliant hunter, and, as young rapid would say, "harden his heart" to make strong use of him. large grass fields, from fifty to a hundred acres in extent, carrying a rare scent, are indeed tempting; but to my own taste, though perhaps in this my reader may not agree with me, they would be more inviting were they not separated by such forbidding fences. a high black-thorn hedge, strong enough to hold an elephant, with one, and sometimes two ditches, fortified, moreover, in many cases, by a rail placed half a horse's length off to keep out cattle from the thorns, offers, indeed, scope for all the nobler qualities of man and beast, but while sufficiently perilous for glory, seems to my mind rather too stiff for pleasure! and yet i have seen half-a-dozen good men well-mounted live with hounds over this country for two or three miles on end without a fall, nor do i believe that in these stiffly fenced grazing grounds the average of dirty coats is greater than in less difficult-looking districts. it may be that those who compete are on the best of hunters, and that a horse finds all his energies roused by the formidable nature of such obstacles, if he means to face them at all! and now a word about those casualties which perhaps rather enhance than damp our ardour in the chase. mr. assheton smith used to say that no man could be called a good rider who did not _know how to fall_. founded on his own exhaustive experience there is much sound wisdom in this remark. the oftener a man is down, the less likely is he to be hurt, and although, as the old joke tells us, absence of body as regards danger seems even preferable to presence of mind, the latter quality is not without its advantage in the crisis that can no longer be deferred. i have seen men so flurried when their horses' noses touched the ground as to fling themselves wildly from the saddle, and meet their own apprehensions half-way, converting an uncertain scramble into a certain downfall. now it should never be forgotten that a horse in difficulties has the best chance of recovery if the rider sits quiet in the middle of his saddle and lets the animal's head alone. it is always time enough to part company when his own knee touches the ground, and as he then knows exactly _where_ his horse is, he can get out of the way of its impending body, ere it comes heavily to the earth. if his seat is not strong enough to admit of such desirable tenacity, let him at least keep a firm hold of the bridle; that connecting link will, so to speak, "preserve his communications," and a kick with one foot, or timely roll of his own person, will take him out of harm's way. the worst fall a man can get is to be thrown over his horse's head, with such violence as to lay him senseless till the animal, turning a somersault, crushes his prostrate body with all the weight of its own. such accidents must sometimes happen, of course, but they are not necessarily of every-day occurrence. by riding with moderate speed at his fences, and preserving, on all occasions, coolness, good-humour, and confidence in his partner, a sportsman, even when past his prime, may cross the severest parts of the harborough country itself with an infinitesimal amount of danger to life and limb. kindness, coercion, hand, seat, valour, and discretion should be combined in due proportion, and the mixture, as far as the hunting-field is concerned, will come out a real _elixir vitæ_ such as the pale rosicrucian poring over crucible and alembic sought to compound in vain. i cannot forbear quoting once more from the gallant soul-stirring lines of mr. bromley davenport, himself an enthusiast who, to this day, never seems to remember he has a neck to break! "what is time? the effusion of life zoophytic, in dreary pursuit of position or gain. what is life? the absorption of vapours mephitic, the bursting of sunlight on senses and brain. such a life has been mine, though so speedily over, condensing the joys of a century's course, from the find, till they ate him near woodwell-head covert, in thirty bright minutes from banksborough gorse!" yes, when all is said and done, perhaps the very acme and perfection of a _riding_ run, is to be attained within fifteen miles of melton. a man who has once been fortunate enough to find himself, for ever so short a distance, leading "the cream of the cream, in the shire of shires," will never, i imagine, forget his feelings of triumph and satisfaction while he occupied so proud a position; nor do i think that, as a matter of mere amusement and pleasurable excitement, life can offer anything to compare with a good horse, a good conscience, a good start, and "a quick thirty minutes from banksborough gorse." the end. london: r. clay, sons, and taylor, bread street hill, e.c. _ , piccadilly, london, w. november, ._ chapman and hall's catalogue of books. including drawing examples, diagrams, models, instruments, etc. issued under the authority of the science and art department south kensington, for the use of schools and art and science classes. new novels. new novel, by the duke de pomar. a secret marriage. by the duke de pomar. author of "fashion and passion," &c. &c. 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[_in the press._ _topinard (dr. paul)_-- anthropology. with a preface by professor paul broca, secretary of the société d'anthropologie. with numerous illustrations forming a new volume of "the library of contemporary science." [_in november._ _trollope (anthony)_-- the prime minister. vols. crown vo, cloth, £ . s. australia and new zealand. a cheap edition in four parts, with the maps, small vo, cloth, s. each. new zealand. victoria and tasmania. new south wales and queensland. south australia and western australia. hunting sketches. cloth, s. d. travelling sketches. cloth, s. d. clergymen of the church of england, s. d. the belton estate. s. the way we live now. with illustrations vols. demy vo, £ s. 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[_in october._ elementary drawing-book. directions for introducing the first steps of elementary drawing in schools and among workmen. small to, cloth, s. d. fortnightly review.--first series, may, , to dec. . vols. cloth, s. each. new series, to . in half-yearly volumes. cloth, s. each. from january, , to december, , in half-yearly volumes. cloth, s. each. german national cookery for english kitchens. with practical descriptions of the art of cookery as performed in germany, including small pastry and confectionery, preserving, pickling, and making of vinegars, liqueurs, and beverages, warm and cold, also the manufacture of the various german sausages. post vo, cloth, s. our creed: being an appeal to the church of england regarding some doubts about the truth of ecclesiastical christianity. by a barrister. demy vo, s. our own misanthrope. reprinted from "vanity fair." by ishmael. crown vo, s. past days in india; or, sporting reminiscences of the valley of the saone and the basin of singrowlee. by a late customs officer, n. w. provinces, india. post vo, s. d. pro nihilo: the prelude to the arnim trial. an english edition. demy vo, s. d. shooting, yachting, and sea-fishing trips, at home and on the continent. second series. by "wildfowler," "snapshot." vols., crown vo, £ s. shooting and fishing trips in england, france, alsace, belgium, holland, and bavaria. by "wildfowler," "snapshot." vols. large crown vo, £ s. sport in many lands. by "the old shekarry." with illustrations. vols. demy vo, £ s. universal catalogue of books on art. compiled for the use of the national art library, and the schools of art in the united kingdom. in vols. crown to, half-morocco, £ s. wolf hunting and wild sport in brittany. by the author of "dartmoor days," &c. with illustrations by colonel crealocke, c. b. large crown vo, s. south kensington museum science and art handbooks. _published for the committee of council on education._ bronzes. by c. drury e. fortnum, f.s.a. with numerous woodcuts. forming a new volume of "the south kensington museum art handbooks." [_in october._ plain words about water. by a. h. church, m.a., oxon., professor of chemistry in the agricultural college, cirencester. published for the committee of council on education. in the press. animal products: their preparation, commercial uses, and value. by t. l. simmonds, editor of the _journal of applied science_, large crown vo, s. d. food: a short account of the sources, constituents, and uses of food; intended chiefly as a guide to the food collection in the bethnal green museum. by a. h. church, m.a., oxon., professor of chemistry in the agricultural college, cirencester. large crown vo, s. science conferences. delivered at the south kensington museum. crown vo, s. economic entomology. by andrew murray, f.l.s., aptera. with numerous illustrations. large crown vo, s. d. handbook to the special loan collection of scientific apparatus. large crown vo, s. the industrial arts: historical sketches. with illustrations. demy vo, s. d. textile fabrics. by the very rev. daniel rock, d.d. with numerous woodcuts. large crown vo, s. d. ivories: ancient and mediÃ�val. by william maskell. with numerous woodcuts. large crown vo, s. d. ancient & modern furniture & woodwork. by john hungerford pollen. with numerous woodcuts. large crown vo, s. d. maiolica. by c. drury e. fortnum, f.s.a. with numerous woodcuts. large crown vo, s. d. musical instruments. by carl engel. with numerous woodcuts. large crown vo, s. d. manual of design, compiled from the writings and addresses of richard redgrave, r.a., surveyor of her majesty's pictures, late inspector-general for art, science and art department. by gilbert r. redgrave. with woodcuts. large crown vo, s. d. persian art. by major r. murdock smith, r.e. with additional illustrations. [_in november._ carlyle's (thomas) works. library edition complete. handsomely printed in vols. demy vo, cloth, £ . sartor resartus. the life and opinions of herr teufelsdrockh. with a portrait, s. d. the french revolution. a history. vols., each s. life of frederick schiller and examination of his works. with supplement of . portrait and plates, s. the supplement _separately_, s. critical and miscellaneous essays. with portrait vols., each s. on heroes, hero worship, and the heroic in history. s. d. past and present, s. oliver cromwell's letters and speeches. with portraits. vols., each s. latter-day pamphlets. s. life of john sterling. with portrait, s. history of frederick the second. vols., each s. translations from the german. vols., each s. general index to the library edition. vo, cloth, s. early kings of norway: also an essay on the portraits of john knox. crown vo, with portrait illustrations, s. d. cheap and uniform edition. _in vols., crown vo, cloth, £ s._ the french revolution: a history. vols., s. oliver cromwell's letters and speeches, with elucidations, &c. vols., s. lives of schiller and john sterling, vol., s. critical and miscellaneous essays. vols., £ s. sartor resartus and lectures on heroes, vol., s. latter-day pamphlets. vol., s. chartism and past and present, vol., s. translations from the german of musÃ�us, tieck, and richter, vol., s. wilhelm meister, by göthe. a translation. vols., s. history of friedrich the second, called frederick the great. vols. i. and ii., containing part i.--"friedrich till his accession." s. vols. iii. and iv., containing part ii.--"the first two silesian wars." s, vols. v., vi., vii., completing the work, £ s. people's edition. _in vols., small crown vo. price s. each vol., bound in cloth; or in sets of vols. in , cloth gilt, for £ s._ sartor resartus. french revolution. vols. life of john sterling. oliver cromwell's letters and speeches. vols. on heroes and hero worship. past and present. critical and miscellaneous essays. vols. latter-day pamphlets. life of schiller. frederick the great. vols. wilhelm meister. vols. translations from musÃ�us, tieck, and richter. vols. general index. dickens's (charles) works. original editions. _in demy vo._ the mystery of edwin drood. with illustrations by s. l. fildes, and a portrait engraved by baker. cloth, s. d. our mutual friend. with forty illustrations by marcus stone. cloth, £ s. the pickwick papers. with forty-three illustrations by seymour and phiz. cloth, £ s. nicholas nickleby. with forty illustrations by phiz. cloth, £ s. sketches by "boz." with forty illustrations by george cruikshank. cloth, £ s. martin chuzzlewit. with forty illustrations by phiz. cloth, £ s. dombey and son. with forty illustrations by phiz. cloth, £ s. david copperfield. with forty illustrations by phiz. cloth, £ s. bleak house. with forty illustrations by phiz. cloth, £ s. little dorrit. with forty illustrations by phiz. cloth, £ s. the old curiosity shop. with seventy-five illustrations by george cattermole and h. k. browne. a new edition. uniform with the other volumes, £ s. barnaby rudge: a tale of the riots of 'eighty. with seventy-eight illustrations by g. cattermole and h. k. browne. uniform with the other volumes, £ s. christmas books: containing--the christmas carol; the cricket on the hearth; the chimes; the battle of life; the haunted house. with all the original illustrations. cloth, s. oliver twist and tale of two cities. in one volume. cloth, £ s. oliver twist. separately. with twenty-four illustrations by george cruikshank. a tale of two cities. separately. with sixteen illustrations by phiz. cloth, s. [asterism] _the remainder of dickens's works were not originally printed in demy vo._ library edition. _in post vo. with the original illustrations, vols., cloth, £ ._ _s.__d._ pickwick papers illustrns., vols. nicholas nickleby " vols. martin chuzzlewit " vols. old curiosity shop and reprinted pieces " vols. barnaby rudge and hard times " vols. bleak house " vols. little dorrit " vols. dombey and son " vols. david copperfield " vols. our mutual friend " vols. sketches by "boz" " vol. oliver twist " vol. christmas books " vol. a tale of two cities " vol. great expectations " vol. pictures from italy and american notes " vol. uncommercial traveller " vol. child's history of england " vol. edwin drood and miscellanies " vol. christmas stories from "household words," &c. " vol. the "charles dickens" edition. _in crown vo. in vols., cloth, with illustrations, £ s. d._ pickwick papers illustrations martin chuzzlewit " dombey and son " nicholas nickleby " david copperfield " bleak house " little dorrit " our mutual friend " barnaby rudge " old curiosity shop " a child's history of england " edwin drood and other stories " christmas stories, from "household words" " tale of two cities " sketches by "boz" " american notes and reprinted pieces " christmas books " oliver twist " great expectations " hard times and pictures from italy " uncommercial traveller " the life of charles dickens. uniform with this edition, with numerous illustrations. vols. s. d. each. the illustrated library edition. _complete in volumes. demy vo, s. each; or set, £ ._ this edition is printed on a finer paper and in a larger type than has been employed in any previous edition. the type has been cast especially for it, and the page is of a size to admit of the introduction of all the original illustrations. no such attractive issue has been made of the writings of mr. dickens, which, various as have been the forms of publication adapted to the demands of an ever widely-increasing popularity, have never yet been worthily presented in a really handsome library form. the collection comprises all the minor writings it was mr. dickens's wish to preserve. sketches by "boz." with illustrations by george cruikshank. pickwick papers. vols. with illustrations by phiz. oliver twist. with illustrations by cruikshank. nicholas nickleby. vols. with illustrations by phiz. old curiosity shop and reprinted pieces. vols. with illustrations by cattermole, &c. barnaby rudge and hard times. vols. with illustrations by cattermole, &c. martin chuzzlewit. vols. with illustrations by phiz. american notes and pictures from italy, vol. with illustrations. dombey and son. vols. with illustrations by phiz. david copperfield. vols. with illustrations by phiz. bleak house. vols. with illustrations by phiz. little dorrit. vols. with illustrations by phiz. a tale of two cities. with illustrations by phiz. the uncommercial traveller. with illustrations by marcus stone. great expectations. with illustrations by marcus stone. our mutual friend. vols. with illustrations by marcus stone. christmas books. with illustrations by sir edwin landseer, r.a., maclise, r.a., &c. &c. history of england. with illustrations by marcus stone. christmas stories. (from "household words" and "all the year round.") with illustrations. edwin drood and other stories. with illustrations by s. l. fildes. household edition. _in crown to vols. now publishing in weekly penny numbers and sixpenny monthly parts. each penny number will contain two illustrations._ volumes completed. oliver twist, with illustrations, cloth, s. d.; paper, s. d. martin chuzzlewit, with illustrations, cloth, s.; paper, s. david copperfield, with illustrations and a portrait, cloth, s.; paper, s. bleak house, with illustrations, cloth, s.; paper, s. little dorrit, with illustrations, cloth, s.; paper, s. pickwick papers, with illustrations, cloth, s.; paper, s. barnaby rudge, with illustrations, cloth, s.; paper, s. a tale of two cities, with illustrations, cloth, s. d.; paper, s. d. our mutual friend, with illustrations, cloth, s.; paper, s. nicholas nickleby, with illustrations by f. barnard, cloth, s.; paper, s. great expectations, with illustrations by f. a. frazer, cloth, s. d.; paper, s. d. old curiosity shop, with illustrations by charles green, cloth, s.; paper, s. sketches by "boz," with illustrations by f. barnard, cloth, s. d.; paper, s. d. hard times, with illustrations by h. french, cloth, s.; paper, s. d. dombey and son, with illustrations by f. barnard, cloth, .; paper, s. uncommercial traveller, with illustrations by e. g. dalziel, cloth, s. d.; paper, s. d. messrs. chapman & hall trust that by this edition they will be enabled to place the works of the most popular british author of the present day in the hands of all english readers. the next volume will be christmas books. people's edition. pickwick papers. in boards. illustrated. s. sketches by boz. in boards. illustrated. s. oliver twist. in boards. illustrated. s. nicholas nickleby. in boards. illustrated. s. mr. dickens's readings. _fcap. vo, sewed._ christmas carol in prose, s. cricket on the hearth, s. chimes: a goblin story, s. story of little dombey. s. poor traveller, boots at the holly-tree inn, and mrs. gamp, s. a christmas carol, with the original coloured plates; being a reprint of the original edition. small vo, red cloth, gilt edges, s. the library of contemporary science. some degree of truth has been admitted in the charge not unfrequently brought against the english, that they are assiduous rather than solid readers. they give themselves too much to the lighter forms of literature. technical science is almost exclusively restricted to its professed votaries, and, but for some of the quarterlies and monthlies, very little solid matter would come within the reach of the general public. but the circulation enjoyed by many of these very periodicals, and the increase of the scientific journals, may be taken for sufficient proof that a taste for more serious subjects of study is now growing. indeed there is good reason to believe that if strictly scientific subjects are not more universally cultivated, it is mainly because they are not rendered more accessible to the people. such themes are treated either too elaborately, or in too forbidding a style, or else brought out in too costly a form to be easily available to all classes. with the view of remedying this manifold and increasing inconvenience, we are glad to be able to take advantage of a comprehensive project recently set on foot in france, emphatically the land of popular science. the well-known publishers mm. reinwald and co., have made satisfactory arrangements with some of the leading _savants_ of that country to supply an exhaustive series of works on each and all of the sciences of the day, treated in a style at once lucid, popular, and strictly methodic. the names of mm. p. broca, secretary of the société d'anthropologie; ch. martins, montpellier university; c. vogt, university of geneva; g. de mortillet, museum of saint germain; a. guillemin, author of "ciel" and "phénomènes de la physique;" a. hovelacque, editor of the "revue de linguistique;" dr. dally, dr. letourneau, and many others, whose cooperation has already been secured, are a guarantee that their respective subjects will receive thorough treatment, and will in all cases be written up to the very latest discoveries, and kept in every respect fully abreast of the times. we have, on our part, been fortunate in making such further arrangements with some of the best writers and recognised authorities here, as will enable us to present the series in a thoroughly english dress to the reading public of this country. in so doing we feel convinced that we are taking the best means of supplying a want that has long been deeply felt. the volumes in actual course of execution, or contemplated, will embrace such subjects as: science of language. [_ready._ biology. [_in november._ anthropology. [_in december._ comparative mythology. astronomy. prehistoric archÃ�ology. ethnography. geology. hygiene. political economy. physical and commercial geography. philosophy. architecture. chemistry. education. general anatomy. zoology. botany. meteorology. history. finance. mechanics. statistics, &c. &c. all the volumes, while complete and so far independent in themselves, will be of uniform appearance, slightly varying, according to the nature of the subject, in bulk and in price. when finished they will form a complete collection of standard works of reference on all the physical and mental sciences, thus fully justifying the general title chosen for the series--"library of contemporary science." "this is a translation of the first work of a new french series of popular scientific works. the high character of the series, and also its bias, may be inferred from the names of some of its writers, e.g. p. broca, ch. martins, c. vogt, &c. the english publishers announce that the present volume will be followed immediately by others on anthropology and biology. if they are like their precursor, they will be clear and well written, somewhat polemical, and nobly contemptuous of opponents.... the translator has done his work throughout with care and success."--_athenæum_, sept. , . lever's (charles) works. the original edition with the illustrations. _in vols. demy vo. cloth, s. each._ cheap edition. _fancy boards, s. d._ charles o'malley. tom burke. the knight of gwynne. martins of cromartin. the daltons. roland cashel. davenport dunn. dodd family. sir brooke fosbrooke. bramleighs of bishop's folly. lord kilgobbin. _fancy boards, s._ the o'donoghue. fortunes of glencore. harry lorrequer. one of them. a day's ride. jack hinton. barrington. tony butler. maurice tiernay. luttrell of arran. rent in the cloud and st patrick's eve. con cregan. arthur o'leary. that boy of norcott's. cornelius o'dowd. sir jasper carew. _also in sets, vols. cloth, for £ s._ trollope's (anthony) works. cheap edition. _boards, s. d., cloth, s. d._ phineas finn. orley farm. can you forgive her? phineas redux. he knew he was right. ralph the heir. the bertrams. eustace diamonds. vicar of bullhampton. _boards, s., cloth, s._ kellys and o'kellys. mcdermot of ballycloran. castle richmond. belton estate. miss mackensie. lady anna. rachel ray. tales of all countries. mary gresley. lotta schmidt. la vendÃ�e. doctor thorne. whyte-melville's works. cheap edition. _crown vo, fancy boards, s. each, or s. d. in cloth._ uncle john. a novel. the white rose. cerise. a tale of the last century. brookes of bridlemere. "bones and i;" or, the skeleton at home. "m., or n." similia similibus curantur. contraband; or, a losing hazard. market harborough; or, how mr. sawyer went to the shires. sarchedon. a legend of the great queen. songs and verses. satanella. a story of punchestown. the true cross. a legend of the church. katerfelto. a story of exmoor. sister louise; or, a story of a woman's repentance. chapman & hall's _list of books, drawing examples, diagrams, models, instruments, &c._ including those issued under the authority of the science and art department, south kensington, for the use of schools and art and science classes. _bartley (g. c. t.)_-- catalogue of modern works on science and technology. post vo, sewed, s. _benson (w.)_-- principles of the science of colour. small to, cloth, s. manual of the science of colour. coloured frontispiece and illustrations. mo, cloth, s. d. _bradley (thomas)_--_of the royal military academy, woolwich_-- elements of geometrical drawing. in two parts, with plates. oblong-folio, half-bound, each part s. selections (from the above) of plates, for the use of the royal military academy, woolwich. oblong-folio, half-bound, s. _burchett_-- linear perspective. with illustrations. post vo, cloth, s. practical geometry. post vo, cloth, s. definitions of geometry. third edition. mo, sewed, d. _cubley (w. h.)_-- a system of elementary drawing. with illustrations and examples. imperial to, sewed, s. _davison (ellis a.)_-- drawing for elementary schools. post vo, cloth, s. model drawing. mo, cloth, s. the amateur house carpenter: a guide in building, making, and repairing. with numerous illustrations, drawn on wood by the author. demy vo, s. d. _delamotte (p. h.)_-- progressive drawing-book for beginners. mo, s. d. _dicksee (j. r.)_-- school perspective. vo, cloth, s. _dyce_-- drawing-book of the government school of design: elementary outlines of ornament. plates. small folio, sewed, s.; mounted, s. introduction to ditto. fcap. vo, d. _foster (vere)_-- drawing-books: (_a_) forty numbers, at d. each. (_b_) fifty-two numbers, at d. each. the set _b_ includes the subjects in _a_. _henslow (professor)_-- illustrations to be employed in the practical lessons on botany. prepared for south kensington museum. post vo, sewed, d. _hulme (f. e.)_-- sixty outline examples of freehand ornament. royal vo, mounted, s. d. _jewitt_-- handbook of practical perspective. mo, cloth, s. d. _kennedy (john)_-- first grade practical geometry. mo, d. freehand drawing-book. mo, cloth, s. d. _lindley (john)_-- symmetry of vegetation: principles to be observed in the delineation of plants. mo, sewed, s. _marshall_-- human body. text and plates reduced from the large diagrams. vols., cloth, £ s. _newton (e. tulley, f.g.s.)_-- the typical parts in the skeletons of a cat, duck, and codfish, being a catalogue with comparative descriptions arranged in a tabular form. demy vo, s. _oliver (professor)_-- illustrations of the vegetable kingdom. plates. oblong vo, cloth. plain, s.; coloured, £ s. _puckett (r. campbell)_-- sciography, or radial projection of shadows. crown vo, cloth, s. _redgrave_-- manual and catechism on colour. fifth edition. mo, sewed, d. _robson (george)_-- elementary building construction. oblong folio, sewed, s. _wallis (george)_-- drawing-book. oblong, sewed, s. d.; mounted, s. _wornum (r. n.)_-- the characteristics of styles: an introduction to the study of the history of ornamental art. royal vo, cloth, s. directions for introducing elementary drawing in schools and among workmen. published at the request of the society of arts. small to, cloth, s. d. drawing for young children. containing copies. mo, cloth, s. d. educational division of south kensington museum: classified catalogue of. ninth edition. vo, s. elementary drawing copy-books, for the use of children from four years old and upwards, in schools and families. compiled by a student certificated by the science and art department as an art teacher. seven books in to, sewed: book i. letters, d. " ii. ditto, d. " iii. geometrical and ornamental forms, d. " iv. objects, d. " v. leaves, d. " vi. birds, animals, &c., d. " vii. leaves, flowers, and sprays, d. [asterism] or in sets of seven books, s. d. engineer and machinist drawing-book, parts, plates. folio, £ s; mounted, £ s. examination papers for science schools and classes. published annually, d. (postage, d.) principles of decorative art. folio, sewed, s. science directory. mo, sewed, s. (postage, d.) art directory, mo, sewed, d. (postage, d.) copies for outline drawing: letters a. o. s., three sheets, mounted, s. de la rue's outlines of animals, s. dyce's elementary outlines of ornament, selected plates, mounted back and front, s.; unmounted, sewed, s. weitbricht's outlines of ornament, reproduced by herman, plates, mounted back and front, s. d.; unmounted, s. morghen's outlines of the human figure reproduced by herman, plates, mounted back and front, s.; unmounted, s. d. one set of four plates, outlines of tarsia, from gruner, mounted, s. d. unmounted, d. albertolli's foliage, one set of four plates, mounted, s. d.; unmounted, d. outline of trajan frieze, mounted, s. wallis' drawing-book, mounted, s.; unmounted, s. d. outline drawings of flowers, eight sheets, mounted, s. d.; unmounted, d. hulme, f. e., sixty examples of freehand ornament, mounted, s. d. copies for shaded drawing: course of design. by ch. bargue (french), selected sheets, at s., and at s. each. £ s. renaissance rosette, unmounted, d.; mounted, d. shaded ornament, mounted, s. d. ornament from a greek frieze, mounted, d.; unmounted, d. part of a pilaster from the altar of st. biagio at pisa mounted, s.; unmounted, s. early english capital, mounted, s. gothic patera, unmounted, d.; mounted, s. renaissance scroll, tomb in s. m. dei frari, venice, unmounted, d.; mounted, s. d. moulding of sculptured foliage, decorated, unmounted, d.; mounted, s. d. architectural studies. by j. b. tripon. plates, £ . mechanical studies. by j. b. tripon, s. per dozen. foliated scroll from the vatican, unmounted, d.; mounted, s. d. twelve heads after holbein, selected from his drawings in her majesty's collection at windsor. reproduced in autotype. half-imperial, s. lessons in sepia, s. per dozen, or s. each. small sepia drawing copies, s. per dozen, or s. each. coloured examples: a small diagram of colour, mounted, s. d.; unmounted, d. two plates of elementary design, unmounted, s.; mounted, s. d. petunia, mounted, s. d.; unmounted, s. d. pelargonium, mounted, s. d.; unmounted, s. d camellia, mounted, s. d.; unmounted, s. d. group of camellias, s. nasturtium, mounted, s. d.; unmounted, s. d. oleander, mounted, s. d.; unmounted, s. d. torrenia asiatica. mounted, s. d.; unmounted, s. d. pyne's landscapes in chromo-lithography ( ), each, mounted s. d.; or the set, £ s. cotman's pencil landscapes (set of ), mounted, s. " sepia drawings (set of ), mounted, £ . allonge's landscapes in charcoal ( ), at s. each, or the set, £ s. . bunch of fruit, pears, &c., s. d. . " " apples, s. d. . " " white grapes and plums, s. d. . " " black grapes and peaches, s. d. . " " plums, mulberries, &c., s. d. . bouquet of flowers, large roses, &c., s. d. . " " roses and heartsease, s. d. . " " small camellias, s. d. . " " poppies, &c., s. d. . " " chrysanthemums, s. d. . " " large camellias, s. d. . " " lilac and geranium, s. d. . " " camellia and rose, s. d. . " " small camellias and blue bells, s. d. . " " large dahlias, s. d. . " " roses and lilies, s. d. . " " roses and sweet peas, s. d. . " " large roses and heartsease, s. . " " large bouquet of lilac, s. d. . " " dahlias and fuchsias, s. d. solid models, &c.: *box of models, £ s. a stand with a universal joint, to show the solid models, &c., £ s. *one wire quadrangle, with a circle and cross within it, and one straight wire. one solid cube. one skeleton wire cube. one sphere. one cone. one cylinder. one hexagonal prism. £ s. skeleton cube in wood, s. d. -inch skeleton cube in wood, s. *three objects of _form_ in pottery: indian jar, } celadon jar,} s. d. bottle, } *five selected vases in majolica ware, £ s. *three selected vases in earthenware, s. imperial deal frames, glazed, without sunk rings, s. *davidson's smaller solid models, in box, £ . *davidson's advanced drawing models ( models), £ . *davidson's apparatus for teaching practical geometry ( models), £ . *binn's models for illustrating the elementary principles of orthographic projection as applied to mechanical drawing, in box, £ s. vulcanite set square, s. large compasses with chalk-holder, s. *slip, two set squares and t square, s. *parkes' case of instruments, containing -inch compasses with pen and pencil leg, s. *prize instrument case, with -inch compasses, pen and pencil leg, small compasses, pen and scale, s. -inch compasses with shifting pen and point, s. d. small compass in case, s. * models, &c., entered as sets, cannot be supplied singly. large diagrams. astronomical: twelve sheets. prepared for the committee of council on education by john drew, ph. dr., f.r.s.a. £ s.; on rollers and varnished, £ s. botanical: nine sheets. illustrating a practical method of teaching botany. by professor henslow, f.l.s. £ ; on canvas and rollers, and varnished, £ s. illustrations of the principal natural orders of the vegetable kingdom. by professor oliver, f.r.s., f.l.s. imperial sheets, containing examples of dried plants, representing the different orders. £ s. the set. catalogue and index to oliver's diagrams, s. building construction: ten sheets. by william j. glenny, professor of drawing, king's college. in sets, £ s. laxton's examples of building construction in two divisions: first division, containing imperial plates, s. second division, containing imperial plates, s. busbridge's drawings of building construction, sheets. mounted, s. d.; unmounted, s. d. geological: diagram of british strata. by h. w. bristow, f.r.s., f.g.s. a sheet, s; mounted on roller and varnished, s. d. mechanical: diagrams of the mechanical powers, and their applications in machinery and the arts generally. by dr. john anderson. this series consists of diagrams, highly coloured on stout paper, feet inches by feet inches, price £ per set; mounted on common rollers, £ . diagrams of the steam-engine. by professor goodeve and professor shelley. these diagrams are on stout paper, inches by inches, highly coloured. the price per set of diagrams ( - / sheets), £ s. these diagrams can be supplied varnished and mounted on rollers at s. d. extra per sheet. examples of machine details. a series of coloured diagrams. by professor unwin. £ s. selected examples of machines, of iron and wood (french). by stanislas pettit. sheets, £ s.; s. per dozen. busbridge's drawings of machine construction ( ). mounted, s.; unmounted, s. d. lessons in mechanical drawing. by stanislas pettit, s. per dozen; also larger sheets, being more advanced copies, s. per dozen. lessons in architectural drawing. by stanislas pettit. s. per dozen; also larger sheets, being more advanced copies, s. per dozen. physiological: eleven sheets. illustrating human physiology, life size and coloured from nature. prepared under the direction of john marshall, f.r.s., f.r.c.s., &c. each sheet, s. d. on canvas and rollers, varnished, £ s. . the skeleton and ligaments. . the muscles, joints, and animal mechanics. . the viscera in position.--the structure of the lungs. . the organs of circulation. . the lymphatics or absorbents. . the organs of digestion. . the brain and nerves.--the organs of the voice. . the organs of the senses, plate . . the organs of the senses, plate . . the microscopic structure of the textures and organs, plate . . the microscopic structure of the textures and organs, plate . human body, life size. by john marshall, f.r.s., f.r.c.s. . the skeleton, front view. . the muscles, front view. . the skeleton, back view. . the muscles, back view. . the skeleton, side view. . the muscles, side view. . the female skeleton, front view. each sheet, s. d.; 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"pluck' changed to "pluck" panicstricken changed to panic-stricken light man' changed to light man's page changed to page . may turn you changed to may turn your ads £ s changed to £ s. (below experiences of a planter...) ads £ s changed to £ s. (below the life and times of prince charles...) ads [_in november_ changed to [_in november._ ads s. d changed to s. d. (below struggle for national education) ads schmid (herman changed to schmid (herman) ads civilisation,' changed to civilisation," ads [_in november_ changed to [_in november._ ads was right changed to was right. ads sprays, d changed to sprays, d. ads female skeleton changed to female skeleton, the following words were inconsistently spelled or hyphenated. a-slant / aslant black-thorn / blackthorn clock-work / clockwork down-hill / downhill every-day / everyday eye-lash / eyelash free-hand / freehand hand-gate / handgate head-stall / headstall lee-way / leeway nose-band / noseband race-course / racecourse race-horse / racehorse steeple-chase / steeplechase thorough-bred / thoroughbred transcriber's note obvious typographical errors have been corrected. a list of corrections is found at the end of the text. oe ligatures have been expanded. [illustration] [illustration: graceful riding a pocket manual for equestrians, by s.c. waite esq^{re} london robert hardwicke piccadilly and all booksellers.] graceful riding. a pocket manual for equestrians. abridged and revised from "waite's equestrian's manual," dedicated to h.r.h. prince albert. by s. c. waite, esq. london: robert hardwicke, , piccadilly: and all booksellers. . preface. the author's last publication, "the equestrian's manual," having met with so kind a reception from the press and the public--one which he looks upon with the greatest gratitude--has induced him to compile for the use of equestrians of both sexes the present little work, in the sincere hope that his humble efforts may, in some degree, aid in obviating the many severe and often fatal accidents, the result, in most instances, of inexperience in horsemanship. should he have attained this end, and given some instruction to the nervous and timid, or any to the experienced equestrian, he will feel himself well repaid. introduction. the science of equitation has for many years been allowed, by the testimony and strong recommendation of the most eminent of the faculty, to be an accomplishment highly conducive and most beneficial to health; assisting the blood in its proper circulation through the frame, on which depends wholly good spirits, and freedom from bilious, hypochondriacal, and nervous affections. parents should not neglect to have imparted to their children an art so calculated for the development of grace and beauty in maturity, and, above all other considerations, _one_ that so eminently guards against the many diseases of this varying climate; diseases which are, in fact, almost, if we may use the term, "indigenous" to the spring and summer of life. physicians, of the past and present time, whose mere names should be sufficient to procure every patronage, are in favour of the acquirement of this most essential and elegant science. the skill necessary to become a perfect rider, can only be obtained through the tuition of a first-rate master; and, as far as the accomplishment can be explained within the limits of a book, the author has endeavoured to do so; but he repeats there is much which cannot be written, and is only to be acquired through personal tuition. lessons in the school _alone_ can seldom make a good rider. in it the horse and the pupil become accustomed to the same monotonous routine day after day; but when they emerge on the road it is found that the expert rider of the _school_ is deficient in tact and skill; and, in fact, has learnt but little. the nature of the animal will occasion this; changing the scene of every-day objects in the school, for the great variety he must meet on the road, gives an impetus to his hitherto dormant spirit; then the rider will find that he must exert all the skill and judgment he possesses to keep his horse under the proper control indispensable to his safe guidance. in conclusion, should this work contribute to the enlightenment of ladies and gentlemen desirous of becoming _finished equestrians_, it will have accomplished the end for which it was undertaken. description of plates. plate i. the first figure represents waite's improved seat. the position is on the same system as the cavalry, but being more _négligé_ in appearance, and much less constrained in feeling, although equally correct, imparts a more elegant and graceful seat to the rider. heavy dragoon. hussar. plate ii. racing. hunting. park. plate iii. the first figure represents the general seat of ladies on their saddles. the second shows the position of a lady when mounted according to mr. waite's method of tuition; by it a firm seat is gained on the saddle, and consequently it is more secure than the usual seat; being also more graceful and elegant in appearance, and giving the rider a superior command over her horse, and obviating the danger of the habit-skirt becoming entangled in the horse's legs. part i. [illustration] character and management of the horse, with directions for riding. a knowledge of the general character and disposition of the horse is really and absolutely necessary to his skilful management, from his extremely nervous sensibility, his aptness to take the various impressions of fear, affection, or dislike, to any of which he is naturally very quickly disposed. "reas'ning at ev'ry step he treads, man yet mistakes his way; while meaner things by instinct led are rarely known to stray." speaking in soothing terms to a horse, so that he may become familiar to the voice, gives him confidence in his rider, which is of the _utmost importance_. at all times more is to be accomplished with the animal by gentle means than could possibly be done by harsh ones: kindness, or its opposite, is speedily conveyed to and retained in his memory, which is remarkably retentive. this mutual confidence is perfectly appreciated by the arabs. they invariably treat their horses with the greatest kindness and affection; they are the bedouins' beloved and stanch companions, and on them is the arabs' sole reliance in their predatory excursions; they inhabit the same tent, and the neck of the horse is not unfrequently the pillow of the arab and his family; yet no accident ever occurs; the kindness with which he is treated gives him an affection for his master, a desire to please, and a pride in exerting every energy in obedience to his command. bad habits are speedily acquired by the horse, and when once learned, are very difficult to break him of. _in nine cases out of ten they arise_ from the _stupidity, joined to the brutality_, of an _idle, drunken, ill-tempered_ groom; _who, when out of temper, invariably vents his rage_ upon the unoffending animal, which, at last, to protect (or revenge) itself from the besotted tormentor, acquires a habit of kicking and biting at every person and thing coming within its reach, fearing that they are about to maltreat it. many horses are condemned as _vicious_, and actually are rendered so through _timidity_ on the part of the _rider_. the animal may be playful from rest, or a lively temper by nature; the rider, _whose judgment_ may not enable him to _discriminate_ between playfulness, nervousness, or vice, becomes alarmed, and, consequently, loses his self-command; and, perhaps, not having learned the _correct mode of using_ his _hands and reins_, in his _boisterous endeavours_ to _save himself from falling_, imparts fear to his horse. the animal naturally imagines he has been guilty of some great fault, and is _fearful of punishment_; and should he _not be familiar with the voice of his rider_, then a mutual struggle for safety takes place, and causes an accident. the horse is _then_ condemned as "_vicious_," though the rider was _alone_ in fault. the _same horse_, in the hands of an _experienced_ horseman, would become as quiet as ever. we often find that really dangerous horses have been reclaimed by ladies riding them! this is entirely owing to their using them _gently_, but firmly, and speaking to them kindly; by these means confidence is imparted, and makes them "all that a horse should be, which nought did lack save a good rider on so proud a back." a few minutes' riding will be sufficient to discover the nature and temper of a horse, likewise what system of treatment has been pursued towards him (which, in consequence, must be still followed). there are very many persons who are considered good horsemen, who have no fear, and will ride anything, or _at_ anything, yet have no idea, beyond the mere fact of riding, whether the saddle, bridle, and accoutrements are properly placed. the neglect of attending to these matters has caused many serious accidents. the _method_ of gracefully _holding_ and _using_ the _reins_ is _very important_, although but _little understood_ or _attended_ to; in fact, it seems but _a secondary_ consideration with riding-masters, where it should be a sine qua non. one person may pull at a runaway horse with all his strength, but to no purpose; another possessing that knowledge shall be able to manage, and hold him with a pack-thread. * * * * * runaway horses are most frequently made so by bad and timid riders, who make use of a whip and spurs without having a _firm seat_. such persons are easily unseated on the horse shying, or jumping about in a playful mood; then, in their endeavours to recover themselves, they slacken their reins, and at the same time unintentionally goad him with their spurs, or strike him with their whip. in clutching at the reins, the horse becoming frightened, naturally increases his speed, until, from the continued irritation of whip and spur, in the terrified horseman's futile attempts to subdue him, the horse becomes maddened with terror and excitement, and ultimately throws his rider. * * * * * shying is often the result of skittishness or affectation at first. this may be easily overcome and cured, at its commencement, by the judicious treatment of the rider, in using firmness tempered with kindness; avoiding all harsh measures, and passing the horse several times quietly by the object which caused him to shy. a word, half-scolding, half-encouraging, with a gentle pressure of the heel, or a slight touch of the spur or whip, will convince him there is nothing to fear; and, further, will give the animal _confidence_ in his rider on future occasions. * * * * * kicking is a dangerous vice, and generally the result of an idle groom or stable-boy playing with the horse, and pinching him on the loins; so that, should any extraneous substance be in the padding of the saddle, or the flaps of a coat touch him there, or even a hand be thoughtlessly laid on his quarters, he immediately commences kicking to dislodge the cause. once succeeding, he has invariably recourse to the same remedy, until the habit becomes confirmed. there are many valuable horses ruined by thoughtlessness and folly.--this is more frequently the case with animals of high courage. in many instances, a _very trivial_ alteration in the adjustment of the saddle or bridle, &c. (had the rider been properly instructed, and therefore possessing the knowledge how such alterations should be made), would have saved great danger and annoyance to the rider, and _unnecessary_ pain to the horse. * * * * * when a horse is kicking, the rider should throw his body _well back_, raise the horse's head, and apply the whip smartly over his shoulders. rearing is very dangerous, and most difficult to break. it is often caused by the bit being too sharp for the horse, his mouth being tender, or perhaps sore. _when rearing_, the whole weight of horse and rider being thrown perpendicularly on the animal's hind legs, the _most trifling_ check from the rider's hand would cause him to fall backwards; the rider must drop his hand as before, loosen the reins, and throw his whole weight on his shoulders, at the same time catching him 'round the neck with his right hand. these directions will much assist in bringing him down on his feet again, and prevent the rider's body from falling backwards. unsteadiness in mounting is very often the consequence of the horse's eagerness and anxiety to start. it is generally the fault with thorough-bred, high-couraged, young and nervous horses. it is a most annoying fault, especially with elderly and timid riders, many of whom are frequently thrown before they can firmly seat themselves. this is only to be cured by an active and good horseman, combined with firm, though gentle and kind, usage; by approaching him gently and patting him, mounting at the _first_ effort, and when seated, restraining him, patting his neck, and speaking kindly to him, but, at the same time, not allowing him to move until he is perfectly quiet. in a few days he will be quite cured of his fault. remember! _harshness must never be used_ in this case, as great mischief may be done by such a course, and the habit _will be confirmed_. kindness will succeed generally in most cases of vice; harshness _never will_ in any! the position of the saddle should be in accordance with the formation of the horse's shoulders, and about a hand's breadth from them, so as not in any way to interfere with or impede the _free action_ of the muscles. the malposition of the saddle, particularly in horses with upright shoulders, is the cause of many horses falling, from its pressing too much on the shoulders, and by that means confining the action of the muscles, which thus become benumbed, and lose their elasticity. a partial deadening of the limbs having taken place, the horse, from want of vitality in the legs, stumbles, and is unable, through the torpidity of the muscles, to recover himself, and falls to the ground; in many cases he has been known to fall as if shot. the saddle should be wide, and roomy. the length of the stirrups should be such as to give ease to both horse and rider; the latter ought at all times to assimilate his movements in the saddle to those of the horse in his stride. a tight rein should always be avoided, because, if he carries his head low, it tends to deaden his mouth, and teaches him the bad habit of depending upon the bridle for support; in which case, he always goes heavily in hand, and on his shoulders. the horse should at all times be taught to go on his haunches. if the horse naturally carries his head well, it is better to ride him with a light hand, only just feeling his mouth. "with neck like a rainbow, erecting his crest, pamper'd, prancing, and pleased, his head touching his breast; scarcely snuffing the air, he's so proud and elate, the high-mettled racer first starts for the plate." old song. on properly fixing the bridle, saddle, &c. the bridle. in fitting the bridle, the curb bit should be placed so that the mouth-piece be but one inch above the lower tusk,--in mares, two inches above the corner tooth; the bridoon touching the corner of the lips, so as to fit easy, without wrinkling them; the headstall parallel to the projecting cheek-bone, and behind it; the throat lash should be sufficiently long to fall just below the cheek-bone, and not lay over or upon it; the nose band should be placed low--but that must depend very much on the size of the horse's mouth--and not buckled tight; the curb, when properly fitted, should be flat and smooth in the hollow of the lips, so as to admit one finger easily between. the saddle should be placed in the middle of the horse's back, about a hand's breadth, or four or five inches, from the shoulders, so as to give perfect freedom to the action of the muscles of the shoulders. the girths must be laid evenly one over the other, and admit freedom for one finger between the girth and the horse's belly. the surcingle should fit neatly over the girths, and not be buckled tighter than they are. the large ring of the breastplate or martingale should be placed about two inches above the sharp breast-bone, and should allow of the hand being laid flat between it and the shoulders. the stirrups. in length they should be so that the bottom edge of the bar is about three inches above the heel of the boot. the author always adopts the following method for ascertaining the correct length of the stirrups, viz.:--he takes up the stirrup-iron with the right hand, at the same time placing the bottom of the stirrup-iron under the left arm-pit, he extends the _left_ arm until the fingers of _that_ hand _easily touch_ the stirrup _buckles_; _this_ is a _sure criterion_ with most people. on mounting. in mounting, the horse should always be approached quietly on the near (or left) side, and the reins taken up steadily. the snaffle (or bridoon) rein first, then pass this rein along the palm of the left hand, between the forefinger and thumb. the curb rein must now be drawn over the little finger, and both reins being held of an equal length, and having an even pressure on the horse's mouth, must be laid over each other, being held firmly in the hand, the thumb pressing hard upon them to prevent them slipping through the fingers. be particular that the reins are not taken up too short, for fear it might cause the horse to rear or run back; _they must be held neither too tight nor too slack_, _but having an equal feeling of the horse's mouth_. next take up a handful of the mane with the right hand, bring it through the full of the left hand (otherwise the palm), and twist it round the thumb. take hold of the stirrup with the right hand, the thumb in front. place the left foot in the stirrup as far as the ball of it, placing the right hand on the cantle (or back part of the saddle), and, by a spring of the right foot from the instep, the rider should raise himself up in the stirrup, then move the hand from the cantle to the pummel, to support the body while the right leg passes clearly over the horse's quarters; the rider's right knee closes on the saddle and the body falls gently into it. the left hand now quits the mane, and the second stirrup must be taken without the help of eye or hand. the left hand (the bridle hand) must be placed with the wrist rounded outwards, opposite the centre of the body, and about three inches from it, letting the right arm drop unconstrained by the side of the thigh. position in the saddle. the rider must sit upright, and equally balanced in the middle of his saddle, head erect, and his shoulders well thrown back, his chest advanced, the small of his back bent forward, but without stiffness. the hollow part of the arm should hang down straight from the shoulder, the lower part square to the upper, the thighs well stretched down, the _flat part_ to the saddle, so that the fore part of the knees may press and grasp it. let the legs hang down easily and naturally, close to the horse's sides, with the feet parallel to the same, and the heels well depressed; the toes raised from the instep, and as near the horse's sides as the heels; the feet retained in the stirrups by an easy play of the ankle and stirrup, the stirrup to be kept under the ball of the foot, the joint of the wrist kept easy and pliable, so as to give and take as occasion may require. _a firm and well-balanced position on horseback is of the utmost importance_, it affects the horse in every motion, and failure in this proves one of his greatest impediments, and will naturally injure him in all his movements. in riding, the hands and legs should act in correspondence in everything, the latter being always held subservient to the former. it is easy to discover those who have been thoroughly instructed in the _manége_, by their firm, graceful, and uniform position in the saddle, and their ready and skilful application of the aids or motions, and the correct appliance of the bridle, hands, and legs; such being _indispensable_ to the skilful guidance and control of the horse. part ii. on the reins, &c. the author most particularly wishes to impress upon his readers the value of riding with double reins for safety sake, and in order to avoid the numerous accidents arising from reins breaking, the tongues of buckles giving way, and the sewing of the reins to their bits coming undone. when there is but _one rein_, the rider is left quite at the mercy of an affrighted and infuriated animal; where, had there been two, he would still have sufficient command over the animal to prevent accidents. there is another equally urgent reason for riding with double reins, viz., the continual use of the curb materially tends to deaden the sensitiveness of the horse's mouth; from the constant and unavoidable drag upon the single rein, especially if tender-mouthed, he is made uneasy and fidgetty, causing him to throw his head about, and go extremely heavy in hand, and frequently rear or run back, to the very great danger and annoyance of his rider, particularly when happening in a crowded drive. it is very requisite to ride a horse occasionally _well up to the curb bit_, and to _keep him well up to it_ with the whip and heel, so that he may get used to _work on his haunches_. by this means he will be thrown upon them, and, consequently, "go light in hand," the greater weight being taken from off his forehand, by which his carriage and general appearance is materially improved. after many essays, the author has found the following method to be the _most correct and_ safe for holding the reins, when using _one_ or _both_ hands. by it the rider has a much firmer hold--or, in professional parlance, "purchase"--upon the reins, in keeping them from slipping, consequently, a greater command over the horse, and can more readily allow either rein to slip should he desire to use but one. for holding the reins in one hand. the reins should hang _untwisted_ from the bits. the rider must take up the bridoon reins with his right hand, and pass the second and third fingers of the bridle, or left, hand between them, draw up the reins with the right hand, until the horse's mouth can be felt, and then pass them between the forefinger and thumb. next take up the _curb reins_ (again with the right hand), and pass the little finger of the bridle hand between them, draw them up, as before directed, with the right hand, until the rider perceives there is an equal length and feeling with the _bridoon_ reins. the _latter_ having _rather_ the strongest pressure on the animal's mouth. this done, _lay them also over_ between the forefinger and thumb, and press down the thumb firmly upon them to keep them from slipping; the hand to be held with the wrist rounded outwards, opposite the centre of the body, and about four inches from it. _the right arm_ should hang without restraint, and _slightly_ bent, by the thigh, the whip being held about twelve inches from its head, with the point turned _upwards_. using both hands. take the bridoon reins between the second and third, and the curb reins between the third and fourth, fingers of each hand, each rein having an equal bearing on the horse's mouth; the hands are to be held about six inches apart, with the wrists rounded outwards, and the thumbs pressing firmly upon the reins, the elbows well down, and held near to the sides, the whip held as directed above. riding on one rein. take up that particular rein with the right hand, and pass the second and third fingers of the bridle hand between them, then draw up the reins, but be careful, in doing so, not to hold the horse too tight in hand; the other rein should hang down, having the little finger passed between them, and the thumb also over them, so that they may be caught hold of, and drawn up quickly on any sudden emergency; the loose reins are to hang between those in use. the whip. the whip being a requisite aid in the management and guidance of the horse, should be used as an instrument of correction, and by no means to be _played_ with, nor _flourished about_. when using the whip for punishment, _scold_ at the same time; by this means, with a cross word will be associated the idea of chastisement. however, far more can be achieved by kindness than by any harsh measure; but when such instances occur that it is _absolutely necessary_, never hesitate to _punish well_, so that the animal may thoroughly understand that it is _punishment_ that is meant for his fault--_not play_. "a man of kindness to his beast is kind, but brutal actions show a brutal mind: remember he who made thee, made the brute, who gave thee speech and reason, form'd him mute; he can't complain, but god's omniscient eye beholds thy cruelty. he hears his cry. he was designed thy servant--not thy drudge; but know, that his creator is thy judge." colt-breaking by the guachos is performed in the same mode as the kalmucks, with the lasso; the idea of being thrown, let a horse do what he pleases, never occurs to a guacho. according to them, a "good rider" is a man who can manage an untamed colt, and one, if his horse should fall, could alight unhurt upon his feet. at the moment of a horse falling backwards they can slip quietly off, and, on the instant of his rising, jump on him again. they never seem to exert muscular force, and appear to ride very loosely, as if every moment they must fall off: yet should his horse be suddenly frightened, the guacho will start, and take, simultaneously, fright with the horse. there is nothing done on foot by the guachos that cannot be done on horseback; even _mounted_ beggars are to be seen in the streets of buenos ayres and mendoza. it is not, therefore, surprising that, with such multitudes of horses, that the people should all be riders, and excel all other nations in their expertness and boldness in their management. the pampas and prairie indians, whose forefathers fled from the spanish horsemen, as if they were fatal apparitions, now seem to be part and parcel of the horse. they affirm the proudest attitude of the human figure is when a man bending over his horse, lance in hand, is riding _at_ his enemy. the guachos, who ride so beautifully, declare it is utterly impossible to vie with mounted indians; they have such a way of urging on their horses by cries, and a peculiar motion of their bodies; even were they to change horses, the indians would beat them. the turks prefer the turkman horse to the pure-blooded, slender arabian. in fact, from their trying mode of riding, the fine limbs of the arab could not stand the shock upon them, their favourite manoeuvre being to make a dead stop when galloping at full speed. to accomplish this feat, they use a very severe bit, which, of course, destroys the _sensibility_ of their horses' mouths; while, on the contrary, the arabs use only a plain snaffle, which preserves all the sensitiveness of the animals' mouths. the toorkman, or turkman horses.--these are much esteemed by the persians. they are large and swift, and possess extraordinary powers of endurance, though they are exceedingly awkward in appearance. turkistan is their native region, which lies north-east of the caspian sea; but their tribes are widely dispersed over persia, asia minor, and syria. the persians are great admirers of horsemanship, and a bad rider affords them infinite amusement. "an officer of an english frigate having gone ashore to visit the envoy, and being mounted on a very spirited horse, and a very bad rider, caused great entertainment to the persian populace. the next day the man who supplied the ship with vegetables, and spoke a little english, said to the officer, 'don't be ashamed, sir, nobody knows you--bad rider! i tell them you, like all english, ride well, but that time they see you very drunk!' we were much amused at this conception of our national character. the persian thought it would have been _a reproach for a man of a warlike nation not to ride well_, but none for a european to get drunk."[ -*] [ -*] _vide_ "the horse and his rider." the syrian horses are reared with the utmost tenderness and care; they are fondled and played with like children. the syrian horse is equally good on mountainous, or stony ground, as on the plain; he is indefatigable, and full of spirit. the timarli ride horses of the syrian breed, mostly from their possessing these inestimable qualifications. the neapolitan horse.--this horse is small, but compact and strong; the head rather large; the neck short, and bull-shaped: the prototype of the horses represented on the bassi-relievi of ancient roman sculpture. he is capable of living on hard fare, and undergoing great fatigue. he is frequently vicious and headstrong; this is chiefly owing to his harsh treatment; though very high-spirited, he would, with gentle usage, become extremely docile and good tempered. the districts of apulia, abruzzi, and parts of calabria furnish this excellent animal. the neapolitans have taken extreme pains in the breeding of their horses; they make great display of them in their streets during the carnival, and through lent. the aristocratic families have excellent studs of great spirit and beauty. part iii. on the paces of the horse. the walk. of all the paces, the walk is the easiest to the rider, _provided_ he sits in the centre of his horse's back, as it consists of an alternate depression of the fore and hind quarters. the motion may be compared to the vibration of the beam of a pair of scales. the walk should be light, firm, and quick; the knee must be moderately bent, the leg should appear suspended in the air for an instant, and the foot fall perfectly flat to the ground. it is very difficult to confine young and mettlesome horses to a walk; great good temper, with a firm light hand, are requisite to accomplish this. when such horses change to a trot they should be _stopped for a minute_ or two, and _then_ allowed to proceed again. if the animal carries his head well, ride him with a moderately loose rein, raising the hand when he tries to break into a trot. the trot. the trot is allowed, by professionals, to be the only just basis upon which equestrians can ever attain a secure and graceful seat, combined with confidence and firmness. the rider has more control over the motions of his body in this pace than any other: in this the body is well brought down into the saddle by its own weight, and finds its true equilibrium. when the rider wishes to make his horse trot, let him ease his reins and press the calves of his legs gently; when his horse is at a trot, let him feel both his reins, raise his horse's forehand, and keep his haunches well under him. the canter. the rider must have a light and firm feeling of both reins to raise his horse's forehand; at the same time, with a pressure of both calves, to bring the animal's quarters well under him, having a double feeling of the inward rein, and a strong pressure of the outward leg, to cause him to strike off in unison. at all times the horse should be taught to lead off with either fore leg; by doing so his legs will not be so much shaken, especially the off fore leg, which is the one he most generally leads off on. this must be the case when he is _continually throwing_ the greater part of his weight upon the leading fore leg, as it comes to the ground, which causes lameness of the foot, and strains the back sinews of the legs. being thoroughly taught to change his legs, the horse is better enabled to perform long journeys, with facility and comfort both to himself and his rider. turning. in the turn either to the right or left, the reins must be held quite evenly, so that the horse may be immediately made to feel the aid of the rider's hands; he (the rider) must then have a double feeling on the inward rein, also retaining a steady feeling on the _outward_; the horse being kept up to the hand by a pressure of both legs, the outward leg being the stronger. reining back. the rider should frequently practise reining back, which is of the utmost service both to himself and his horse: by it, the rider's hand is rendered firm and materially strengthened; and the pliancy of wrist so essential to the complete management of the horse is achieved, likewise causing the body of the rider to be well thrown back and his chest expanded, thus forcing, and preserving, an _erect_ position in the saddle. also, the _carriage_ of the horse becomes greatly improved; his head is maintained in its correct position, and he is compelled to work correctly on his haunches. _in_ "_reining back_," the horseman requires a light and steady feeling of both reins, a pressure of both legs, so as to raise his horse's forehand and keep his haunches _well under_ him, at the same time _easing_ the reins, and _feeling them again_ after every step. stopping. none are thoroughly taught until quite au fait in the stop. it is of _far greater importance_ than may be _usually_ imagined. in the first place, it shows the horse to be _well under_ command, especially when the rider is able to do so _instantaneously_: it saves in the second place, many serious and inevitable accidents from carriages, horsemen, &c., such as crossing before suddenly pulling up, turning quickly round a corner, or coming unawares upon the rider. care must be taken to make the stop _steadily_; _not_ by a _sudden jerk_ upon the _bit_; by doing so the horse, if "tender mouthed," will be made to rear and plunge. to make the horse stop properly, the bridle-hand must be kept low, and the knuckles turned down. the rider's body must be well thrown back; he must have a steady feeling of both reins, and, _closing_ both legs for a moment, so keep his horse well up to hand. n. b.--the rider's hands always must be eased as soon as halted. leaping. much depends upon the manner of bringing a horse up to the leap; he should be taken up straight and steady to it, with the reins held in each hand--they must be kept low, with the _curb_-rein held loosely. the rider's body should be kept erect, pliant, and easy in its movements. as the animal is in the act of rising in his leap and coming again to the ground, the rider's body must be well thrown back. the sitting of a leap, _well_, is entirely dependent upon the proper balance of the body; thereby the weight is thrown correctly into the saddle, and thus _meets_ the horse's movements. the standing leap. let the rider take up his horse at an animated pace, halt him with a light hand upon his haunches; when rising at the leap, the rider should only just feel the reins, so as to prevent them becoming slack, when he springs forward, yielding them without reserve; as, at the time, the horse must be left quite at liberty. as the horse's hind feet come to the ground, the rider must again collect him, resume his usual position, and move on at the same pace. his body must be inclined forward as the horse rises, and backwards as he alights. flying leap. the horse must not be hurried, but taken up at a brisk pace, with a light and steady hand, keeping his head perfectly steady and straight to the bar or fence. this position is the same as in the standing leap; and the aids required are the same as for making a horse canter. if held too tight in the act of leaping, the horse is likely to overstrain himself, and fall. if hurried at a leap, it may cause him to miss his distance, and spring too soon, or too late; therefore his pace must be regulated, so that he may take his spring distant enough, and proportionate to its height, so that he may clear it. when nearing the leap the rider must sit perfectly square, erect, pliant, and easy in the act of leaping; on arriving at the opposite side of the leap, throw the body well back, and again have the horse well in hand. swimming a horse. the rider must take up and cross his stirrups, which will prevent the horse from entangling himself or his rider; should he commence plunging and struggling in the water, _then quite_ loosen the _curb_-reins, and scarcely feel the bridoon; any attempt to guide the horse must be made by the slightest touch of the rein possible. the rider also must have his chest as much over the horse's withers as he can, and throw his weight forward, holding on by the mane, to prevent the rush of water from carrying him backwards. should a horse appear distressed, a person unable to swim may, with great safety, hold firmly by the mane, and throw himself out flat on the water; by those means he relieves the animal from his weight, and the horse coming once more into his depth, the rider may again recover his position in the saddle. bolting, or running away. this dangerous habit is to be found very generally in nervous and young horses, who at the least noise, become alarmed, and try to escape; quickening their pace, they break from a trot to a gallop, until terrified with the impotent struggles of their riders to stop them, or the sound of wheels behind them, they become maddened, and dash on in their perilous career. once a horse finds he has succeeded in these efforts, on any recurrence of noise or cause of affright, he will pursue the same course, to the imminent peril of life, limb,--not only of the rider or driver,--but of whoever or whatever he may chance to meet in his impetuous flight. the habit at length becomes confirmed, and it is alone by the utmost nerve and coolness, tempered with firmness and kindness, that we may hope eventually to overcome the disease. when a horse is known to have a disposition for running away, a firm, steady hold should be kept over him, at the same time speaking soothingly and encouragingly; but, at the least symptom, checking sharply and scolding him, and never allowing him to increase his pace of his own accord, as fear will oftentimes cause him at length to break into a gallop. either in riding or driving, the reins should be held firmly, and the horse had well in hand; but not by a constant pull to deaden the sensitiveness of his mouth; taking care occasionally to ease the reins and keep the mouth alive by a gentle motion of the bit, only just loosening them, so that on any symptom of running away or bolting, they may be caught up quickly, and the horse be well placed under command, without frightening him. by a little judicious management in this way, with patience, kindness tempered with firmness, a cure in most cases will be completed in a short time. in riding and driving horses addicted to running away, be _very particular_ that all portions of the horse furniture be sound and strong, more _especially the reins_ and bits. part iv. [illustration] advice to ladies. preparatory to a lady mounting her horse, she should carefully approach to the shoulder. the quietest animal will sometimes kick on a person coming suddenly to him from behind; but if neared in the manner described, he cannot possibly contrive to bite or kick. it is also correct to allow the horse to see his rider as much as possible, as it obviates the fright occasioned by a person getting suddenly on his back, that he has not previously seen coming to him. the habit. both the habit and _under_ garments should be full, as upon this so much depends the requisite ease and graceful appearance. the habit should not, however, be too long, as it is liable to become entangled in the horse's legs. sometimes serious and even fatal falls have occurred from this cause, particularly if the horse falls to the ground, as the habit cannot be speedily extricated from under him. the author here strongly advises a lady _never_ to tuck her skirts tight over the crutch of her saddle, but take pains to have them so easy, as to be enabled on the instant to disengage _both_ skirts and knee. a facility, _in this_, can only be acquired by _constant_ practice; and it is of far greater importance to the lady equestrian to attain, than may appear at the first glance. had this _apparently slight_ attainment been made a matter of _moderate_ consideration, many a parent need not have had to deplore the _death or disfigurement_ of a beloved child. when a lady has her habit drawn over the crutch of her saddle, and tucked tightly in under her leg (for the purpose of keeping the skirt in its proper position), she denies herself the full liberty of her knee, and in case of accident, to be off the horse. on the slightest warning, though _foreseen_, whatever the danger, the _tightness_ of the lady's dress will not allow her to get her leg out of its place, in time to make any effectual effort to save herself; also, it is probable that the habit might get entangled in the pummel, and she, frightened of course, would become unable to disengage her foot from the stirrup (or shoe), in which case she inevitably experiences the most appalling of all accidents,--_being dragged powerless, by a terrified horse, a considerable distance along the road_. before closing this portion of his subject, the author is rejoiced that the extremely dangerous and most unnecessary fashion of wearing "habit brooches" is now no longer adopted,--things solely invented for "trade purposes,"--and to any, and especially to a graceful horsewoman, a truly ridiculous article to wear: never to be patronized by a lady, anxious for her own safety and the feelings of her family and friends. to illustrate this:--the position of a lady on horseback is greatly limited, when compared to that of a gentleman; necessarily then, when her skirt is confined by a "habit brooch," _all power_ must be taken away, and _all chance_ of escape, when an accident occurs. a _very_ slight fall to the lady may be fatal, where, had she had the full liberty of her skirt, it would have been very trivial. the _proper_ arrangement of the skirt of the riding-dress, to prevent its flying about, entirely depends on the lady herself. mounting. two persons are absolutely necessary to assist a lady to mount; one to keep the horse quiet, by standing in front of him, and holding the reins close to the bit, _one rein in each hand_; the other is for assisting her to mount. the lady, having regulated her habit, must stand perfectly erect; her right hand; having the bridoon-rein hanging loosely on the thumb, being placed upon the upright horn of the saddle (her whip held between the thumb and forefinger), her right side towards and close to it. the second person, who is to assist the lady to mount, must now place himself near to, and almost fronting her; having united his hands by putting his fingers between each other, and stooping down near to the ground, receives the lady's left foot, which should be placed firmly in them, care being previously taken that no part of her skirt is under it. the left knee should be kept as straight as possible, in order to give additional purchase, while lifting her perpendicularly and gracefully into the saddle. the lady must then place her left hand on his right shoulder, and as he lifts her, _she must spring from the instep_, at the same time guiding herself into the saddle with her right hand. having gained her saddle, the lady should take hold of her habit with her right hand, close to the knee, and raise it sufficiently to allow of the right knee dropping _well home_ into the crutch, and keeping it there, as far as she possibly can, immovable. rules for gaining the correct position in the saddle. before a lady mounts she must endeavour to carry in her mind's eye the _centre_ of her saddle. on _this centre_ she must, as nearly as possible, place herself; and to assist her memory, she should take it for a rule, to keep her eyes in a straight line between the horse's ears when lifted into it. by these means, after a little practice, she will not fail to drop almost insensibly into the correct position; the weight of her body being thrown full into the centre of the saddle, rendering her seat firm and easy to her horse and herself. for example:--should we place a weight on one side of a table, the other side having nothing on it as a balance, if it does not actually fall, it will become extremely insecure and unsteady; but, on the contrary, if the weight be placed in the centre, the table will be safe and steady, even if ricketty before; therefore, if the lady does not sit "square" (that is, quite in the centre) on her horse, she must inevitably throw all her weight to one side, and thereby destroy her power over the horse, and instead of giving him his correct action, render him unsafe, and shambling in his gait. the position in the saddle. to obtain a correct position in the saddle, the lady must keep her head erect, and her shoulders well thrown back, which will have the effect of expanding the chest, and giving the requisite hollowness to the small of the back. it is also most important that the rider should keep her body from the waist to the bust very easy, in no way to be constrained, more especially across the loins. by observing these directions, the lady will be enabled to accommodate herself, without uneasiness, to the motions of her horse. when the upper portion of the body regulates itself by its _elasticity_ to the paces of the horse, there is this additional advantage,--let the animal plunge or struggle as it may, if the rider keeps her knee immovable in its place, her left foot in the stirrup (with the toe turned in, which eminently assists her seat and balance), and preserves her presence of mind, and overcomes any approach to nervousness, she cannot be unseated. the arms. they should hang _perfectly_ independent of the body, from the shoulders near the sides, _yet quite_ free from having a constrained appearance. the legs. the right leg from the hip to the knee should be kept down in the saddle, and, as much as the rider possibly can, without moving. the lady will materially assist herself in this object by drawing _the heel backwards_. the left leg must hang steady, _yet_ not, by any means, rest its weight in the stirrup, for in consequence of the muscles of the leg being round, the foot will naturally turn outward, thus causing a wavering, tottering seat, inclining the body too much out of balance, and giving a disunited motion to the horse, and an ungraceful and deformed appearance to the rider. to prevent this, the knee must be kept firmly pressed to the saddle; and, as before remarked, by depressing the heel, the toe will be naturally turned in. the stirrup. the position of the foot in the stirrup is of great importance; upon it depends much; keeping the correct balance of the body on the horse, which consists in sitting perfectly square and erect, and preserving a steady position in the saddle. in fitting the stirrup the lady ought to have her length correctly arranged, which is done in the following manner:--the stirrup leg must hang quite free from the hip-joint, the knee being slightly bent, with the toes raised and turned in towards the horse's side. keep the foot fixed as immovable as possible in the stirrup, allowing the pressure alone to come from the toes to the bridge of the foot, which will have the effect of giving the elasticity and regularity of movement required in the horse's quickened paces. the _length_ of the stirrup must be made a matter of importance. on it, in a very great measure, _depends_ a steady, firm seat. the stirrup too long. in the lady's endeavours to retain her foot in the stirrup, her weight must preponderate on the left side; if the stirrup be _too short_, it necessarily gives a rolling motion to her body, destructive alike to grace, elegance, and security of seat, and will prevent her seating herself sufficiently back in her saddle. on the reins (_vide_ p. ). holding the reins in one hand (_vide_ p. ). using both hands (_vide_ p. ). riding on one rein (_vide_ p. ). the whip (_vide_ p. ). the bridle hand. the motion of the lady's hand must be confined to the _wrist_--as in pianoforte playing--the action coming from _it alone_. by the management of the reins, in concert with the yielding or retraction of the wrists, the horse is guided in his paces. by this mode the sensibility and goodness of his mouth is preserved; the beauty of his action is developed; steadiness is combined with security in his paces, and the safety of his rider is secured. the degree of command, which the animal can be placed under, _entirely depends on the degree of proficiency_ acquired in this branch. guiding. there are _four_ motions requisite in guiding a horse. _to go forward._--lengthen the reins, and give the animal his liberty. for this purpose the lady's hand must be guided by the _action_ of her wrist, and, at the same time, she must apply gently her whip. here, it is proper to remark, the lady's bridle, or left, hand must never be left inactive, but, by practice, she must endeavour to understand the art of _feeling the horse's mouth_; should the bridle hand _not_ be kept in constant use this will never come easy to the rider, the hand will be unsteady, and the horse will become the same. _to go backward._--the reins must be shortened a little, the back of the hand turned down, the little finger next the body; the weight of the rider should be thrown back, with the little finger slightly pulled in towards the waist, then the horse will readily step back. _to turn to the right._--the hand must be turned upwards, which will direct the little finger to the right. throw the balance of the body into the turn, by inclining the bust to the right and applying the whip, which will cause the horse to move forward as he turns, obey the hand, and cross his legs one over the other, correctly. _to turn to the left._--let the hand be turned down, so that the little finger may be directed to the left; the bust must also be turned to the left, and the hand up, with the left heel applied to his side, and the whip to his right shoulder. dismounting. there is tact necessary in dismounting, in order that the lady may avoid the _exposé_ and inelegance, attendant upon, as it were, being lifted from the saddle in a groom's arms. previous to dismounting, the groom must stand by the horse's head, holding the reins close to the bit, to keep him as steady as possible. the lady having removed her foot from the stirrup, and passed her hand down to free her skirt, etc., from all chance of catching to the saddle or stirrup, should remove her knee out of the crutch; at the same time taking the precaution to disengage the habit from that side. then holding the crutch with her right hand (the rein hanging loosely on the thumb), and now placing her left hand on her groom's right arm, near the wrist; his arm being extended for the purpose, she must spring lightly and clear from the saddle, slightly inclining the bust towards the horse's shoulder. by this method the lady will quite disengage herself, and descend gently to the ground. maxims to be attended to. be particular to avoid nervousness and hurry, either in mounting or dismounting. take time, and have everything correctly arranged before starting; serious accidents have occurred frequently from being in haste to start off. arrange the habit, length of stirrup, and have the saddle-bands and buckles properly examined before the journey is begun, to prevent having to stop on the road. be careful to keep the hand active, and watch the movements of the horse; by this means the rider will never be thrown off her guard, and will be prepared for every emergency. keep the horse's mouth always in play, so as to keep up its fine feeling, _indispensable_ to his correct guidance. never allow the reins to hang loosely on the horse's neck, crutch, or pummel of the saddle. this oversight frequently causes serious and fatal accidents. _always_ use _double_ reins. should one become useless, there is still another to rely upon. before the author concludes, he begs to be allowed to _impress_ upon his fair readers, that an _elegant_ and accomplished _equestrian_ becomes an equally _graceful pedestrian_, from the improved carriage acquired from proficiency in the former accomplishment. to become an _elegant pedestrian_ is no mean task, nor is it an _easy_ one to accomplish. yet it is of the utmost importance to a lady, _in particular_, to master it. how often, in our experience through life, have we met with a lovely face and perfect figure,--everything that could constitute the perfection of female beauty, _while at rest_!--but once in _motion_, the illusion is dispelled from a _bad carriage and shuffling gait_, the perfect form becomes quite common-place. these two destructives to beauty can be entirely eradicated by attention to the following directions, and which apply equally to walking and riding. keep the bust and head _erect_; the shoulders _well thrown back_. the motive power to proceed from the hips _alone_. perseverance in these few directions will soon give all that is required for a graceful and healthy carriage. finally.--at all times _trust to your reins for security_, in cases of danger. _never_ grasp the pummel of the saddle. never use a "habit brooch." remarks on saddlery. i have been quite surprised to see, in such a city as london, the paucity of really good saddles. most of them would disfigure any horse they were put upon, with flaps of all shapes but the right. to say how a saddle should be made, would be quite impossible, as it solely depends on the horse and his rider; for instance, a thin and sweepy saddle will not suit a horse with round, heavy shoulders, and wide over his loins. many imagine that cut-back saddles are less liable to injure the rider, than ordinary ones; this is quite fallacious. the saddle must have the head, or what is called, the pummel, to begin upon; and the further _that_ can be carried forward the better; but the nearer it is got under the seat, the more likely is it _to seriously injure_ the rider. in _side_-saddles there is great variety; but the requisites for a _first-rate_ side-saddle, to my idea, and one i would not hesitate in recommending, should be _length_ (_indispensable_), _a leaping-head_, _no off-head_, and it should be cut as nearly level as possible. none, i may say, can dispute my first remark, and _none_ who have ridden with the leaping-head will ever after be _without it_. there are those who say no, to the off-head being cut away, "for should a lady become nervous, she could not steady herself so well as if the head had been left on;" here i fully agree, but beg to say in reply, that before a lady attempts the road or anywhere where she might be placed in such a critical position, she must have her nerves so strengthened through her equestrian education, that she need not look to the off-head of her saddle for safety; her _point d'appui_ is the leaping-head. when holding on by the off-head, the lady of course loses _the use_ of one hand. next, her horse may go where he pleases, for she cannot get her hands down to have a good pull at his mouth. then, in hunting, the poor lady's wrists are everlastingly bruised by the off-head, to say nothing of the danger of their being broken by it. bridles. there is a great variety of bridles. generally speaking, the plainer the bridle the better, more especially for hunting and hacking; for the former, let your bit be long in the check (_i.e._, in moderation), the mouth-piece thick, having the bridoon the same, the _suaviter in modo_ being much more agreeable than the _fortiter in re_, to all animals. for hack bridles, any fancy check may do, if the horse's head be sufficiently handsome; but let me request my readers not to put a fancy bridle on a coarse-bred, common horse. the throat lash. simple as it may appear, it spoils the heads of all horses, as it is usually made. it should be long enough to fall just below the cheek-bone, and not to lay _on_ or _over_ it, as it makes the animal's head look short and thick. nose band. not as they were used in days past, _attached_ to bridle, but _separate_. no one knows its efficacy when placed low, but those who have tried it; its exact position will, of course, depend much on the size of the mouth. chin strap. some imagine this is not an indispensable thing to a bridle, either in hunting or hacking, _but it is_, more especially in _pelham's_. i have seen a horse in tossing his head, throw the pelham bit over on to his face; had a chin strap been attached to the bridle, this could not have happened. the equestrian's manual. (_dedicated to h.r.h. prince albert._) by s. c. waite, esq. opinions of the press. standard. mr. waite's book will put _every one_, who shall obey its instructions, in the way of riding _well_; for it does as much as a book can to teach the theory of the art. it is a book to be purchased and carefully read by every one, not an experienced horseman, who purposes to ride or buy a horse, and even the _experienced_ horseman will find in it _valuable_ information. morning advertiser. this work reflects high credit on mr. waite for its practical lucidity, and the pleasing manner in which the instructions are imparted. his directions for _curing_ the acquired _bad_ habits of horses, too often the results of ill usage, or violence of ignorant grooms and horse-breakers, are excellent. the position of the saddle, the proper fixing of it and the bridle, the _best_ method of mounting, position in the saddle (illustrated by diagrams), are carefully and sensibly treated on. the third section, "advice to ladies," is novel, and the hints _invaluable, not only to the fair sex, but to those who may have to instruct them in the graceful art of equitation_. morning chronicle. in bringing under notice a new book, practical and highly amusing, upon the noble art of horsemanship, which has emanated from the pen of a well-known and accomplished professor thereof, we have pleasure in stating the reader will find in these pages excellent practical hints and sound suggestions on the art of riding well; and, in the manner of training and treating horses we sincerely concur with, and we honour and respect mr. waite, when he so forcibly inculcates kindness and gentleness, though combined with firmness, as essentials in the education and treatment of the horse; hardships, cruelty, and neglect he strongly deprecates. the instructions in the proper seat and carriage on horseback, the management of the whip and rein, are minutely explained, and of the greatest utility. he is particularly attentive to the ladies, and admitting the power they lose by their peculiar seat, he gives the best recommendations for remedying the evil, as far as possible, by securing an exactly central fix upon the saddle, the best form of which he learnedly discusses. speaking seriously, all fair riders ought, for their own sake, to profit by his advice, the result of long experience. sunday times. mr. waite, an _experienced professor_ of the art, has given us a hand-book, _in which_ will be found a great variety of instruction, by which the equestrian will receive such directions for the management of his horse, under a variety of circumstances, as must prove of _great value_ to him. observer. this work is _evidently_ the production of one who has acquired a _thorough_ acquaintance with the subject, and who, moreover, possesses the _rare advantage_ of communicating his instructions in a manner peculiarly _ample_ and _clear_. we have seen _no_ other work in which such a variety of information on the subject is embraced. the advice to ladies is most valuable. mr. s. c. waite, author of "the equestrian's manual," (_dedicated to h.r.h. prince albert,_) with advice to purchasers of horses, &c., and originator of the improved military seat (obviating ruptures), and positions for ladies and gentlemen on horseback.--(vide _opinions of the press, april, ._) mr. waite has been requested by a numerous circle of personal friends to submit to the notice of the public an ointment, proved to be invaluable to the owners of racing and hunting establishments, breeders, farmers, &c., for restoring hair on broken knees, and where it has been lost, through accidents, disease, blistering, firing, &c., &c.; it is likewise available for dogs in reproducing hair, bare from mange, scalds, burns, and abrasions. mr. waite obtained the above valuable recipe from the late celebrated and eccentric character, patrick jones, of dublin, familiarly known in military and sporting circles, and throughout the kingdom, as "old paddy," who, after an unfailing success in its use, in all parts of the world (where called by his military duties), for a period verging on eighty years (and by him obtained from his father), on his death-bed, in , confided the secret to the present proprietor. to be had in pots at _s._, _s._, _s._, and _s._ _d._, and in lb. canisters for hounds after mange, &c., &c., at £ . _s._ testimonials. _from_ dr. bunting, _the great american horse tamer and breaker_. , onslow terrace, brompton, _may nd, ._ sir,--i beg to certify that i have used your "old paddy jones's ointment" for restoring hair on horses and dogs, in _numerous_ cases of valuable horses, and in _no instance_ has it failed in its efficacy, and i consider it to be invaluable to every establishment where horses and dogs are kept. in future, i shall never be without it. wishing you every success, believe me to be truly yours, j. g. bunting. s. c. waite, esq., _brompton._ patent american break office, mason's riding school, brompton, _july th, ._ sir,--having used your "old paddy jones's ointment" for restoring the hair on horses and dogs, i have great pleasure in testifying to its _good_ qualities in all the cases i have had in hand, and think it will be a _great boon_ to all keeping either a horse or dog. i remain, sir, yours obediently, to s. c. waite, esq., henry hurst. _brompton._ robert hardwicke, printer, , piccadilly. transcriber's note the following typographical errors were corrected. page error mettle some changed to mettlesome that a gentleman changed to that of a gentleman [frontispiece: "i fine you one hundred dollars and costs!"] the pony rider boys in new england or an exciting quest in the maine wilderness by frank gee patchin author of the pony rider boys in the rockies, the pony rider boys in texas, the pony rider boys in montana, the pony rider boys in the ozarks, the pony rider boys in the alkali, the pony rider boys in new mexico, the pony rider boys with the texas rangers, the pony rider boys on the blue ridge, etc., etc. illustrated philadelphia henry altemus company copyrighted, , by howard e. altemus printed in the united states of america contents chapter i--a bitter disappointment the original wonder of chillicothe. tad makes a sacrifice for his mother's sake. plotters get their heads together. a pony rider boy left behind. a dash to the open country. chapter ii--camping on the piscataqui words of wisdom from the guide. chunky's proposal is voted down. tad butler surprises his fellows. an exhibition of horsemanship. "i never saw anything like that outside of a circus." chapter iii--a joyful reunion a gentleman in the woodpile. a name with a handle at both ends. tad voices his regrets. indian charlie john joins the outfit. wild howls startle the pony rider camp. chapter iv--baiting the honey bees the indian's pack lands on chunky. "i'm killed! i'm killed!" cale vaughn shows the boys how to lure the bees. stacy gets a new idea. tad learns to walk up a tree. chapter v--new tricks in woodcraft camp making a science. how to make a browse-bed. how to cache food so animals cannot get it. why the boy's fire always failed. making a fire in the rain. the woodsman's trick. chapter vi--the fat boy's revenge in the heart of the big woods. coons hold nightly conversations. stacy loses himself six times in one morning. oil of anise draws unwelcome visitors. bees in force attack the indian. chapter vii--stampeded by an intruder a bear come to camp on the anise trail. charlie john up a tree. what happened when the bear kissed chunky. "fat boy him up a tree." tad ropes mr. bruin; then the fun begins. chapter viii--an interrupted forage the bear gets a section of tad's trousers. boys take to the trees and bruin takes the camp. cale shoots to kill. stacy's practical joke is exposed. "the boss bee was scouting me." chapter ix--bear steak for breakfast bruin causes a change of camp. chunky's heart is weak when there is work to do. learning to make a "kitchi-plak-wagn" and a "kekauviscoe saster." "oh help!" wails chunky. chapter x--blazing a forest trail "every time you turn around the scenery has shifted." learning to live in the woods. birch bark lights the way. "silver face is calling me." a difficult job done well. chapter xi--facing new obstacles camping in the rain in the dark of night. "don't be scared, boys, i'm going to shoot!" stacy decides that he has had enough. tad butler noses out the way. chapter xii--chunky meets a bull moose "indians have sharp eyes." stacy beholds a terrifying sight. charged by an angry moose. too frightened to yell. the bull bumps his head against a tree. chapter xiii--an exciting day in camp the fat boy slays his helpless victim. "i did it with my knife." chunky's boasts are loud and vigorous. tad butler makes a little investigation on his own hook. the guide holds opinions about stacy's bravery. chapter xiv--laid up by an accident broken bones put the guide out of business. first aid to the injured. chunky lets the cat out of the bag. the timber cruiser hears the story of the fat boy's prowess. "i guess i've got a right to talk about myself if i want to." chapter xv--a disastrous journey bears strip the camp food. charlie john and stacy set out for town. "i'd like to see the place where chunky could not get into trouble." the indian returns alone. "chunky is in jail at matungamook!" chapter xvi--bad news from the front pony rider boys go to their chum's assistance. a grilling night journey. charlie john leads the way. the arrival at the scene of trouble. twittering birds the harbingers of an eventful day. chapter xvii--chunky in a predicament a frying pan awakens the indian. "game warden git fat boy!" what came of stacy's bragging. called before the bar of justice. "where is the prisoner?" chapter xviii--the verdict of the court "stacy did not leave much to the imagination, did he?" the same old moose with new trimmings. "stacy brown, stand up!" the fat boy brags to the court. the professor voices his indignation. "one hundred dollars and costs! pay your fine or go to jail!" chapter xix--paying the fiddler "can you cross my palm for $ . ?" not money enough in the outfit to pay chunky's fine. stacy loses his pony. looks like a week of fasting for the pony rider boys. dead broke in the maine woods. the wolf at the door. chapter xx--"look who's here!" tad and ned get a job and earn fifty cents. his companions punish the fat boy. cale vaughn hears the news and hurried to town. the guide proves himself a friend in need. chapter xxi--young woodsmen on the trail again "i don't want to be like other folks." blaze marks lead the boys astray. tad follows a year-old trail. on the verge of a panic. "we are lost!" declares butler. chapter xxii--lost in the big woods "when you are lost sit down and think it over." tad and stacy find themselves in a predicament. "there is nothing like being a cheerful idiot." "get ready for trouble!" chapter xxiii--an exciting quest the ponies stampeded. a raging moose wrecks the camp. chunky up a tree again. tad shows his resourcefulness. dishes are made from bark. dining with nature. chapter xxiv--the signal smoke tad rounds up the live stock. "chunky would hoodoo the best organized force in the world." cale vaughn on the trail of the lost. "heap big smoke!" charlie john makes a discovery. the end of the long trail. chapter i a bitter disappointment "here's tad. he'll tell us," cried walter perkins. "oh, tad, how long a trip is it to the maine woods from here?" "that depends upon whether you walk or ride," answered tad butler, walking slowly up to the barn of banker perkins where three brown-faced boys were sitting in the doorway, polishing bridles, mending saddles and limbering up their lassos. "of course you know what we mean," urged ned rector with a grin. "yes, i know what you mean." "he isn't mean. you're the mean one," interjected stacy brown, otherwise known among his fellows as chunky, the fat boy. "chunky, remember we are at home in chillicothe now and are supposed to set examples to our less fortunate fellow citizens. any fellow who can get into the village paper the way you have done ought to hold his head pretty high," chuckled rector. stacy threw out his chest. "you mean that lion-catching article?" ned nodded. "yes, that was a pretty swell article. they think i'm the original wonder here in chillicothe." "you are. there can be no doubt of that," laughed tad. "i'm glad you've come, tad," continued ned, turning to young butler. "we are planning for the new trip to the maine woods. i shall be glad to get east. i've never been far east. any of the rest of you been east?" "well, i have been out to skinner's farm. that's east of the village," declared stacy brown. "please, please!" begged ned, a pained expression appearing on his face. "leave all that sort of nonsense to entertain us after we get into the woods. we don't mind so much your playing the fool when we are away from home, but here it is different. we don't want to be disgraced in this town where we are--" "some pumpkins," finished chunky. "well, yes; that's it, i guess," agreed ned. "we were waiting for you to talk over what we should take along," declared walter. "i have been studying and reading and talking with abe parkinson, who, you know, used to live up in maine. he says we must travel very light; that going is hard up there in the woods. he says we don't want an ounce of excess baggage, or we'll never get anywhere. do you know anything about it, tad?" "yes. i guess mr parkinson is right about that. it will be real roughing, perhaps more so than anything you fellows ever have experienced, for you will be a long way from civilization." "but we'll get plenty to eat, won't we?" begged stacy, glancing anxiously at tad. "you usually do." "chunky can browse on green leaves if we get out of food," chuckled rector. "now, i call that real mean," complained the fat boy. "what did i ever do to you to merit such a fling as that?" "you made a noise like a rattlesnake once and got me dumped into the bushes. remember that?" chunky did. an appreciative grin spread over his round face. "i haven't got even with you for that, but i shall some day and mine will be a terrible revenge. br-r-r!" "oh, fudge!" scoffed the fat boy. "you talk easily, but no one is afraid of you." "we aren't here to fight," reproved walter. "we are here to talk over our journey, and now that tad has arrived let's get to business, as father would say." "especially if you owed him money and couldn't pay it," laughed stacy. "are you all ready, tad?" tad's face grew serious. "boys, i'm afraid i can't go with you this time," answered butler in a low tone. "can't go?" exploded the boys. "no, i think not, this time. some other time, perhaps." "nonsense! is this some kind of joke?" demanded rector. "it's no joke, ned. i mean it." "but what--why--" "i'll tell you, boys." "don't tell us. we can't bear to hear disagreeable things," mourned stacy. "go on, tad, we want to know," urged walter. "well, the whole thing is that mother isn't well. she hasn't been well all winter. she is not so well now as she was a month ago, and--" tad swallowed and moistened his lips with his tongue. "i couldn't think of leaving her alone, just now; no, not for anything." "then you won't go?" questioned stacy. tad shook his head. "that settles it. neither will i," decided chunky. "oh, yes you will. you will go on just the same as before, and you will have just as good a time. after you get out into the open again you'll forget that i am not along." "what! do you think i would trust my precious person to these savages?" demanded the fat boy with a gesture that took in ned rector and walter perkins. "why, i'd never come back!" "no great loss if you didn't," muttered rector. tad laughed. "you are old enough to take care of yourself, chunky. you will have the professor to protect you in case anything goes wrong." "no, we can't have it that way," declared perkins, with a slow shake of the head. "if you don't go, we don't. but really, i don't see why you can't. my folks will look after mrs. butler, and--" tad shook his head with emphasis. "my mind is made up," he said. "oh, that's too bad," groaned the lads. "that's a burning shame," added stacy. "i'm hot all over. that's why i know it's a burning shame." "leave off joking," commanded ned savagely. "this isn't anything to laugh about. what appears to be the matter with your mother, tad?" "i--i think it's her lungs," replied the boy a bit unsteadily. "what she needs is mountain air," declared chunky. "i know. she ought to go to the mountains." "i agree with you," said tad. "it is my idea that i can get her to go with me, for part of the summer at least, and then--" "what's the matter with taking her along with us?" interrupted rector. "no, that wouldn't do," answered tad. "she couldn't stand it." "of course she couldn't. that shows how much you know, ned rector," scoffed stacy brown. "what do you propose to do all summer, tad?" asked ned thoughtfully. "oh, i shall work at something. i'm not going to be idle. perhaps mr. perkins will have something to do that will keep me out of mischief for the summer after i get back," answered butler with a faint smile. "it's my opinion that this is all foolishness," declared ned. "i'm going to see your mother." tad laid a hand on ned's arm. "please say nothing to my mother about it. my mind is made up, and that's all there is to it. of course, it will be a bitter disappointment to me not to go with you, but i guess i shall get over it. it would be more bitter to me if anything--anything happened to mother." "and professor is coming on next week," muttered walter. "i guess we had better give it up for this season, fellows." "no. i won't have it that way," urged tad. "you'll make me feel worse about it if you do anything like that. your plans are made." "yes, we will let things stand as they are for the present," agreed rector. "but i shan't give up the idea that you are going with us. why--but what's the use in talking about it? walt, is your father at home?" "he is at the bank." "then i'm going over to see him." "what about?" questioned tad suspiciously. "i've got a little matter of business that i want to talk over with him." "want to borrow some money, eh?" grinned chunky. "no, we'll leave that business to you." "that reminds me, tad, could you--could you cross my palm for five cents this afternoon?" asked the fat boy solemnly. "eh? do what?" "cross my palm for five cents?" "say, this is a new habit, isn't it, this borrowing money?" "oh, i'll pay you back when i get my allowance," protested stacy. "i wasn't thinking about that. take my word for it, this borrowing business is bad business," rebuked tad. "didn't i always pay you back everything i borrowed of you?" protested stacy indignantly. "yes, yes, but--here's five cents. will that be enough?" "well," reflected the fat boy, "you might make it twenty-five if you are flush today." tad passed over a quarter, the other boys regarding the proceeding with disapproving eyes. "now that you have made a touch, is it permissible to ask what you are going to do with all that money?" inquired rector. "it is." "well?" "they've got a lot of fresh buns over at the bakery. i can get thirty-six of them for a quarter. it's a bargain, too." "buns!" growled ned in a tone of disgust. "don't you ever think of anything but something to eat?" "yes--something that i haven't got to eat." "go get your buns and pass them around," suggested walter smilingly. "i guess not. there won't be more than enough for me," answered stacy. "there's selfishness for you," nodded ned. but ned did stacy an injustice. the fat boy was simply teasing the others. he intended to bring back the "bargain" and share it with his companions, which he did shortly after that, though tad was not there to help eat the hot buns that stacy brought. little more was said on the subject nearest to the hearts of the boys, but their disappointment was keen at tad's decision not to accompany them on their visit to the maine woods, for which place they were to start within a few days. "i can't wait for the buns," said tad. "i must be getting home, but i will help you boys get ready for the trip and see you off." "no, you won't see us off," shouted ned. "you will see yourself off along with the rest of us." to this young butler merely shook his head as he turned away, retracing his steps towards home. for a few minutes after tad's departure, ned rector and walter perkins sat with heads closed together, talking earnestly. finally walter got up and started for his father's place of business at a brisk walk. later in the afternoon there was a conference between walter and his parents. in the meantime, tad had gone home. he had been insistent that he would not leave his mother, and mrs. butler was fully as insistent that he should accompany his companions on their coming journey. but tad was firm. it was the first time he ever had opposed his mother so stubbornly. mrs. butler had been ailing for some time and tad was greatly worried over her condition. it was this concern for the mother that was on the boy's mind now, rather than his disappointment at not being able to go with his friends. there was only one encouraging factor; his mother, while not well-to-do, was far from being in want. though she did not feel that she should incur the expense of going away, tad was determined that she should. late in the afternoon banker perkins and his wife called at the butler home and had a long talk with mrs. butler. tad had ridden out of town on his pony to bring in some horses that had been shipped in from the west to be sold. there were some "tough ones" in the bunch of western stock, and none of the town boys could be induced to help corral and drive in the stock for the owner. this work was a recreation for tad, and the five dollars a day that he received for his services during the sale, in cutting out, roping and riding mustangs for prospective buyers, he considered the easiest money he had ever earned. besides this, tad's riding was an exhibition in itself, and it drew scores of spectators. the result was that the five dollars a day paid to tad was a most excellent investment for the owner. the coast being clear for the rest of the afternoon, mr. perkins and his wife were uninterrupted in their talk with mrs. butler. mrs. butler, like her son, possessed a mind of her own, and the banker had some difficulty in bringing her around to his point of view, but before the perkinses left the butler home mrs. butler had agreed to their plans, not so much on her own account as that of the boy of whom she was so justly proud. it was decided between them, however, to leave matters as they were for the present. "i want to try the boy a little further," added the banker. "of course, i know him pretty well now, but if he goes through with what he has declared he will, you need never worry about his success in life. a boy who can do that is all right in every way." the week drew to a close. tad had completed his work with the horse dealer and collected his money, which he turned over to his mother on saturday night. "at this rate i'll be able to retire by and by," smiled the lad. "you will have more money to spend on your trip this summer," was the reply. "yes. my trip with you to the mountains." "oh, no, i didn't mean that. you know what i mean, tad." "i'm not going, mother. my mind is made up." "will it be much of a disappointment to you if you do not go with your friends?" "now, you know it won't," replied tad playfully, as he passed an arm around his mother's waist. "what fun could i possibly have that would compare with going away with you and seeing you grow back into perfect health?" mrs. butler smiled proudly, though she sighed at the thought of the pleasant jaunt that her son offered so readily to give up. a few days later the other boys decided that they would go on without tad if they must, though they grumbled a good deal. tad butler came forward, taking a hearty interest in all their preparations for this hike in the saddle. he put their kits in shape, made a new lariat for ned rector, mended the tents, and in general threw himself as heartily into all the advanced work as though he were going himself. on the day of their departure professor zepplin arrived to take charge of the party, as he had been doing for several seasons past. three of the boys and the professor rode to the station, there to car their stock, tad plodding along on foot, feeling strangely unfamiliar with himself at such a time. yet, from young butler's face, one would have thought him the happiest of all the party that gathered at the station, and perhaps down in his heart he was happy, knowing that he was doing what he knew to be his duty to the mother that he loved so well. there was a real shadow, however, on the happiness of his companions--the inability of tad to go with them on their summer's outing. mr. perkins was at the station to see the boys off. he, with tad and half a hundred villagers, stood on the platform waving their hats and shouting their good-byes to the departing pony rider boys. as the train pulled out, stacy brown was observed hanging over the railing of the rear coach wiping his eyes and pretending to weep, while the spectators laughed at the funny sight. mr. perkins turned inquiringly to tad. "well, tad, i suppose this isn't a particularly happy occasion for you?" he said. "why not sir?" "don't you feel the least bit disappointed that you are not on that train yonder?" "of course i am disappointed, but i am satisfied that i have done right. that's the best sort of happiness after all. don't you think so, mr. perkins?" for answer the banker extended an impulsive hand, clasping tad's in a strong, appreciative grip. tad walked back with mr. perkins, leaving him at the latter's place of business, then the lone pony rider boy strolled meditatively homeward. reaching the yard, tad walked around to the stable, which he entered, and stepping into the stall of his pony, he patted the little animal affectionately. the pony whinnied appreciatively. "well, old boy," said tad, "you are disappointed just the same as am i. but we'll have a good many nice rides this summer. we'll ride out every night to fetch deacon skinner's cows home, and maybe we'll rope one now and then just to keep our hands in. shall we have a little ride now just to forget, you know? all right, come along then." the pony backed from its stall as if fully understanding the words of its master. a few moments later tad was galloping away from town, the little hoofs of his pet mount throwing up a cloud of dust on the broad highway that led to the open country and the fresh green fields. chapter ii camping on the piscataqui a full week had passed since the departure of the pony rider boys from chillicothe. during that time they had leisurely made their way toward their destination, having gone by way of new york and up long island sound on a boat. eventually they had reached bangor, on the penobscot, whence they proceeded in a northwesterly direction to dover, a short distance from where they were now encamped on the banks of the piscataqui river. at dover they had been joined by the guide who was to accompany them. the latter was cale vaughn, a raw-boned, jolly-faced yankee, much more talkative than had been most of the guides on their previous wanderings. cale, it was said, was the best woodsman in the north, a man who simply could not be hopelessly lost in the woods. professor zepplin was asking the guide about this same thing as they lounged at their campfire after having eaten their breakfast on this cool but glorious spring morning. the professor wanted to know if it were possible for a man to be so good a woodsman that he could not be lost. "if there is such a man i'd like to set eyes on him," answered the guide. "have you ever been lost in the big woods?" questioned stacy, hoping to draw out some of cale's experiences. "more times than i've got hairs in my head." "then there isn't much hope for us after we reach the forest yonder," declared ned rector, nodding toward the faint fringe of deep green that lay to the northwest of them. "it's easy enough to keep track of yourself if you follow a few simple rules," answered vaughn. "and what are they?" asked walter. "water always runs down hill," reminded the guide with a significant smile. "eh? of course it does," scoffed stacy. "did anyone ever see it run uphill?" "i've known folks that thought it did," chuckled the guide. "why, i can show you watercourses where you'd be willing to stake your life the water was running in a certain direction, whereas it's going the other way." "humph!" grunted chunky. "they couldn't fool me that way." "you think so?" laughed cale. "i know so," retorted stacy. "well, now suppose we were standing beside a stream, say like the river before us, only in a place where the direction of the current deceived you. i said the water was running that way, the way it does, and you declared it was moving in the other direction, how would you prove whether you were right or wrong?" stacy puffed up with importance. "that's easy." "well, answer mr. vaughn's question," commanded the professor. "why, i'd throw ned rector's hat into the water. if it floated that way, i'd win. if it floated the other way, mr. vaughn would win. in either case ned would lose," answered the fat boy solemnly. "you win," grinned the guide. "he wouldn't win if he threw _my_ hat in the water," growled rector. "don't let me catch you tossing my hat overboard." "oh, i'd see to it that you didn't catch me," jeered the fat boy. "that's funny. even tad would have laughed at that," spoke up walter. "i am afraid tad isn't laughing just now," said ned. "no, i'm laughing for him. ha, ha, ha! haw, haw!" brayed stacy. "you were speaking of getting lost," professor zepplin reminded the guide. "yes. another important thing to keep in mind is that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. by keeping these things in mind you are likely to find your way." "provided you know where you are going in the first place," observed stacy. "i don't. i'm lost before i find myself when i get in the woods." "we will take a few lessons in woodcraft when we get into the spruce forest," promised cale. "by the way, we don't seem to be making much headway in that direction," answered rector. "we have been loafing here for a whole day. why the delay?" "we are waiting for charlie john," replied the guide. charlie john, it may be explained here, was a half-breed indian whom the party was taking along to do the rough work, to bear the extra burdens, to help cut a path for them when they found themselves in a thicket too dense to permit the passage of the ponies. none of them, except the guide, had seen charlie, but cale said the fellow was all right so far as behavior was concerned, though charlie was not overburdened with brains. "we've got too much of that here already," replied ned. "that's what's the trouble with our outfit." stacy strolled over to rector, gravely snipped off the latter's hat and holding it top-up shook the hat vigorously. "nothing doing," said the fat boy, replacing the hat on the head of its owner, while ned's face flushed, and the others laughed. "i decline to be disturbed by chunky's antics," howled ned. "he thinks he's funny, but no one else does. when do you think that lazy half-breed will be along, mr. vaughn?" "he should be here some time today," answered cale. "if you boys want something to do why don't you go fishing? there's plenty of fish in the river here." "let chunky do the fishing," drawled ned. "it needs a lazy man to make a good fisherman." "oh!" cried stacy, his face breaking out into a broad smile. "now i understand. remember that fine mess of trout that ned caught when we were in the rockies? i wish i could fish like that. i'd be willing to be called a lazy one." "i know what you are going to get, young man," answered rector, slowly getting to his feet. "what am i going to get?" "you're going to get the opportunity to prove whether you are lazy or not, for i'm going to throw you into the river right now." "you can't do it," retorted stacy belligerently. "i'll show you whether i can or not." the professor opened his mouth to reprove the two boys, then closed it again, a smile curling his lips, causing the bristling beard to bristle still more fiercely. with arms about each other, struggling, red of face, perspiring, ned rector and stacy brown staggered down the sloping bank towards the river, each striving with all his strength to get the upper hand of the other. splash! the two boys disappeared in the water. "can they swim?" asked the guide, glancing a bit anxiously at the professor. "like fish," answered professor zepplin tersely. about that time two bobbing heads appeared above the water, only to disappear again, leaving some froth and a sea of bubbles on the surface. when next they appeared they were a long way from shore, but were swimming toward the bank, each with a hand on the other's coat collar, swimming with one hand. "look at the twin fish," howled walter. the swimmers did not answer him. they were too busy looking after themselves. ned started to get to his feet as they reached shallow water, but stacy was ahead of him. the fat boy butted ned in the stomach, whereupon stacy very calmly sat down on his companion's head, which was under water. "let him up!" cried walter. "get off! he'll drown!" shouted the guide. "don't get excited. it will do him a lot of good to drown a few times. i've always observed that drowned persons are extremely well behaved persons." the guide gripped stacy by the collar and dragged him from his victim, while walter was helping ned up. ned was purple in the face. he had been under water about as long as was good for him, though not quite long enough to suit the fat boy. a few seconds more, however, and rector would have thrown chunky, whereupon it would have been the fat boy's turn to swallow some water. "i--i slipped," explained ned between chokes. "so i observed," replied stacy solemnly. "that was very rough and ungentlemanly, stacy," rebuked the professor. "rough on ned, yes, sir. you would have thought so if i'd been sitting on your head under water." "never mind, prof--professor. i'll take--take care of him," coughed rector. "you tried to a little while ago. mr. vaughn, who won that bout?" "you win on points," laughed the guide. "if i had been a fish i'd have won in every other way. i'll tell you what, ned. you said i was the lazy man and i ought to do the fishing. i'll do it and give you a chance to show how active you are. i will fix up a hook and line, then you jump in the water and swim around the bait just like a trout. you can make a grab for the hook once in a while it you want to. if i catch you by the upper lip i'm a good fisherman. if i don't, you are a good fish. what do you say?" the others did the saying before rector had a chance to speak. chunky's proposition was too much even for the gravity of professor zepplin, whose body shook with laughter. "think i'm a trout?" growled ned. "no, you're a clam." ned started for stacy, really angry now, but he was halted by the stern voice of the professor. "young gentlemen, this thing has gone far enough. you will lose your tempers, then there will be trouble." "lose our tempers?" demanded stacy. "why, i'm so mad now that i'm speechless. look out for me. somebody hold me!" "we miss tad butler. he was the one who held you in check, as i see the matter now," nodded the professor. "i wasn't aware, professor, that chunky had ever been in check," smiled walter. "that's what i say," agreed ned. "it is high time something were done to curb him. there is no telling what he may not do now that tad isn't here. i wish he were." stacy did not answer for the moment. he was gazing off over the rugged landscape with wondering eyes. finally he turned, thrusting both hands in his trousers pockets, his chest swelling with importance. "you win," he said. "win what?" demanded ned sullenly. "your wish." "i haven't made any wish. what did i wish?" "you wished tad butler were here." "huh! i wish my wish might come true." "i told you it had." "what do you mean, chunky?" questioned walter suddenly. "why, tad's here now. you fellows don't use your eyes. you can't any of you see beyond the ends of your noses." the eyes of professor zepplin were twinkling. cale vaughn was regarding the lads quizzically. all at once walter perkins uttered a wild yell and bounding to his feet started off at a lively sprint. ned rubbed his eyes, scarcely believing what they saw. a horseman was galloping toward them at a fast gait. the figure of the horseman was slight, clad in khaki, a broad-brimmed sombrero waving in one hand. "whoo-oo-pee!" yelled the horseman, his voice coming to them faintly. "it _is_ tad!" howled ned, then he too started off at a run. "they are a lively crowd, sir," observed the guide, turning to the professor. "you will think so before you get through with this job," answered the professor grimly. "i have had several seasons of it, and i'm thankful to be able to say that i am still able to be about, though i have been on the verge of nervous prostration more than once." the horseman, tad butler in reality, was now rapidly bearing down on the camp. walter was far ahead of the pursuing ned, but chunky made no attempt to run out to meet his companion. he was still standing with hands in trousers pockets solemnly regarding the scene. walter and tad were nearing each other, when the former stumbled and fell. tad raised a hand and walter, understanding, lifted one hand also, whereupon tad charged him at a gallop. the horseman swerved at the second when it seemed as if he must run down the kneeling boy, then the palms of the two lads met with a smack, tad having leaned from the saddle. to the amazement of cal vaughn, who was not much of a horseman, the slender form of walter perkins seemed to rise right up into the air without effort on his part. walt landed astride of the pony just behind the rider, and at touch of spur the little pony straightened out and reached for the camp at a full run, nearly bowling over ned rector, who barely got out of the way in time to save himself from being run down. "well, what do you think of that?" exclaimed the guide. "i never saw anything like that outside of a circus." chapter iii a joyful reunion "howdy, fellows," greeted tad laughingly as he leaped from his pony, followed by walter who, less gracefully, fell off. "didn't look for me just yet, did you?" professor zepplin had hurried forward; his face was wreathed in smiles as he grasped the hand of the pony rider boy. "this is mr. vaughn, our guide," announced the professor. "i am very glad to know you, sir," answered tad, smiling up into the strong face of cale vaughn, winning that gentleman's regard on the instant. "and, ahem! this is mr. stacy brown, the handy man," announced chunky, pushing his way to the front and extending a hand to tad. "hello, chunky. not growing thin, are you?" "be kind enough not to call attention to my superfluities. i am somewhat sensitive, you know." "i beg your pardon," answered tad gravely. just then ned rector came running in, puffing and blowing. "is that the way you treat me after i have run a mile more or less to welcome you?" demanded ned, as tad gripped him in a bear-like embrace. "my, you're wet!" laughed tad, holding rector off to look at him. "yes, he's been in bathing with his clothes on," observed the fat boy solemnly. "something ought to be done to break him of such slovenly habits. but how do you happen to be here, if i may be so bold as to inquire?" "don't you know?" questioned tad, glancing at the smiling faces around him. stacy shook his head. "come over and sit down, and i'll tell you about it. by the way, have you folks anything to eat? i'm starving." "you're not getting chunky's disease, are you?" sneered ned, trying to appear greatly displeased, but not making much of a success of the attempt. "i am afraid i am, boys. well, mr. and mrs. perkins fixed it up to have mother go with them to the mountains. you see, mrs. perkins is rather delicate and mr. perkins wanted her to go to the mountains, where he had taken a cottage for the summer. of course he couldn't be with her all the time, having to attend to his business at home, so he asked mother to go along for company. in fact, i guess he insisted. mother agreed. i think she did so that i might join you boys. i came with them as far as utica, n.y. you see, they went to the adirondacks. i had to come on after they had made those plans. i think mr. perkins fixed it up on purpose, so we would all be satisfied. i knew mother would be in good hands and i knew she would feel better about it if i came on and joined you." "but how did you find us?" urged rector. "why, they told me, at the village, that you were camping out here. they gave me directions so i couldn't miss you." "hm-m-m!" mused the fat boy, screwing up his features and regarding tad narrowly. "how did you know we were in this part of the country?" "everybody in new england knows that," laughed tad. "yes, they know chunky is here," agreed ned. "it strikes me that there is a gentleman of color in the woodpile," observed stacy. "in fact, i might say there are several of them hidden in the stove wood." "yes, i reckon you're right. and you didn't know a thing about it?" chuckled butler. stacy shook his head. "but we may have had our suspicions--our suspicions, you understand?" said the fat boy. "still, there are several things that need explanation." "professor, you knew about this all the time, didn't you?" demanded ned. the professor stroked his beard. "i see no harm in saying that i did." "he was in the conspiracy, boys, but i didn't know a thing about it until the day before i left chillicothe," said tad. "then professor zepplin knew about it before we left home, eh?" questioned stacy. "i guess he did," admitted walter. stacy fixed a stern gaze on the smiling walter perkins. "you in this thing, too, walt?" he demanded. "i plead guilty," answered perkins, flushing violently. "well, i call it a shame to deceive innocent boys like that. but, sir," added chunky, turning pompously to tad butler, "i welcome you in the name of the pony rider boys. we will now kill the fatted calf." "in other words, stacy brown," interjected rector. "it's a good thing you are here, tad. there is no holding chunky. why, you have no idea how he is acting. am i right, professor?" "i will admit that stacy is at times inclined to be rude," nodded professor zepplin. "everyone is against me," growled stacy. "everything i do is the wrong thing and nothing that i do is right. you fellows don't stop to think what tame affairs these trips would be without somebody to poke fun at. i am the mark for everyone. the trouble with me is that i am not valued at my true worth. mr. vaughn, have you learned to know me well enough to realize how valuable i am to this company?" "i'll confess that i should be lonesome without you," agreed the guide with a nod. "there, i'm glad someone in this outfit has the sense to recognize a good thing when he sees it. how about a fire for cooking?" "i will build the fire," cried tad, proceeding at once to heap the sticks into a little pyramid under the crane that cale had arranged. butler eyed the contrivance critically. "it is plain to be seen that someone has been camping before. that is an excellent idea." tad soon had a blazing fire going. in the meantime, stacy had hastened to fill the kettle, while vaughn got out the edibles, the others busying themselves in setting the table, which in this instance was a blanket stretched over four stakes driven into the ground, with saplings for stringers, and over which the blanket was stretched taut. none of these arrangements escaped the keen eyes of tad butler. soon the odor of boiling coffee and frying bacon was in the air, and though the campers had had their breakfast only an hour or so before, each began to sniff the air appreciatively. "smells good, doesn't it?" grinned stacy. "sort of gives me an appetite, too." "i don't think you need an odor to give you an appetite, unless you have changed a great deal since i saw you last," answered tad butler. all were soon gathered about the table, and though the forenoon was not yet half ended, each seemed to possess a midday appetite. tad told them about the trip from chillicothe, which had been uneventful, then made them tell him all about their experiences since they left home. cale vaughn found so much amusement in the conversation that every little while he forgot to eat. stacy always reminded him that he wasn't doing his duty by the food. "do we move today?" asked tad. "we are waiting for the indian," said the guide. "the who?" wondered tad. "oh, a fellow with two handles to his name, but without any name to nail them to," answered stacy. "he means charlie john," explained ned. "charlie john? that _is_ a funny name," smiled butler. "it might be handy, too. in case you woke up and wanted to say something to him in a hurry, it wouldn't make any difference whether you called him john charlie or charlie john or just plain charlie or just plain john," said chunky. "handy kind of name, isn't it?" tad agreed that it was, especially for lazy folks, to which ned and walter also agreed most heartily. "when is this man with the double-back-action name expected?" asked tad. "oh, today sometime," replied vaughn. "today with charlie means any time between midnight last night and midnight tonight, so we might as well make up our minds to remain here until tomorrow. we shall get an early start in the morning and make a good bit of a hike tomorrow, and we'll be in the woods some time tomorrow." "over yonder?" asked tad, nodding toward the dark blue ridge on the horizon. "how far it it?" "about twenty miles as the crow flies." "or the hawk flops," added the fat boy, who, by this time, under the influence of the hot sun and the hotter victuals, was perspiring freely. tad regarded stacy quizzically. "chunky, you look like a steamed pudding," he laughed. "yes, an underdone one," suggested ned. "that may be," agreed stacy solemnly. "but i can keep on baking till i am done, while you are so tough on the outside that the inside of you never would get done." "ned, i guess that one reached the spot," chuckled walter. "never touched me," grinned rector. "there! what did i tell you?" demanded stacy triumphantly. "his outside shell is so thick that you couldn't break through it with a mall." "did father send any word to me?" asked walter, for the time being putting an end to the argument. "oh, yes, i forgot. i have a letter for you in my pocket," replied tad, flushing. "how careless of me." "had i done that you fellows wouldn't have stopped talking about it for a month," complained stacy. walter perkins was too deeply engrossed in his letter to give heed, but after he had read it through he read the letter aloud to his companions. "you haven't any letters for me secreted about your person, have you, tad?" questioned chunky humbly. "no; that is the only letter i have, or had," answered tad. "chunky, perhaps you will get yours in the next mail," suggested ned. "yes; i expect that it will come by airplane route, but i hope it isn't a package. it might hit someone when it fell." "you wouldn't object were it a package of food, would you?" questioned tad teasingly. "well, that might make a difference," agreed stacy. "in that event perhaps i could stand having it land on my head." tad, during the afternoon, got better acquainted with cale vaughn. he found the guide to be a well-read and intelligent man, different from the type of guide that the pony rider boys had known on their previous summer outings in the saddle. cale was less taciturn, too, and seemed to take the keenest possible delight in the jokes and pranks of the boys that he was to guide through the maine wilderness. vaughn was not much of a horseman, and he had brought a pony along, not because he expected to ride much, but because he needed something to carry his pack. when cale was looking over tad's pony, "silver face," the boy discovered that the man knew little about horses, though tad was too polite to mention the fact. that evening they gathered about the campfire with all hands relating experiences. stacy brown recounted, for cale's benefit, how he had hunted lion in the grand canyon; how he had fought a battle single-handed and won. the fat boy went over the story three times, each time enlarging upon it, cale observing him with a good-natured smile, but making no comment. he was forming his estimate of stacy, though brown was unaware of the fact. it was late when they finally turned in, and still no charlie john had arrived. cale sat up to wait for him, and the indian came in with his pack at five minutes before midnight. "where put um?" asked the half-breed. "over there," answered cale carelessly, with a wave of the hand. the indian's pack weighed some seventy-five pounds. it looked like a laundry bag. the instant he flung the pack down there came a yell, a series of wild howls that brought every member of the camp to his feet. groans and moans from under the indian's pack attracted their attention to that point. at the first yell, cale sprang forward and began pulling off the pack. "you lummox!" he fumed, giving the indian a menacing glance. chapter iv baiting the honey bees the indian had dumped his seventy-five pound pack on the sleeping chunky. chunky's howls grew more lusty as the pack was jerked from his body. "are you hurt?" begged cale. "i'm killed! i'm killed!" "you are pretty noisy for a dead man. let's see how badly you are hurt." "that tree fell right-right across me." "it wasn't a tree. charlie john dropped his pack on you," the guide informed him. "he did, eh?" cried stacy, sitting up. "yes, but he didn't see you. you were lying here in the shadow. perhaps i am the one to blame. i told him to drop his pack over here, not thinking that you were there." "why don't you folks finish me in a decent way, if you are so anxious to get rid of me?" demanded the fat boy, dropping over on his back and commencing to moan again. "here you, stop that nonsense!" commanded tad butler, grabbing stacy and jerking him to his feet. "any fellow who can raise a rumpus like that isn't hurt at all. so this is charlie john, is it?" "this is the man," nodded the guide. tad shook hands with the indian, who grunted his acknowledgment. the others made themselves known to the half-breed and after a time the camp settled down to quietness, chunky disturbing the quiet at intervals by a groan, for he really had sustained a severe jolt. the next morning they were up at daylight. after an early breakfast the party set out for the dark blue ridge in the distance, and after an uneventful day they made camp at the foot of old bald mountain. they had reached the forest. the tall spruce trees were sighing overhead, the odor of pine was strong in their nostrils, and the bracing air put new life into every one of the party. at supper that night tad chanced to mention that he had been stung by a bee just before they made camp. cale was interested at once. he asked where this had occurred. tad told him. "we shall have some honey in the morning," said the guide with a smile. "how will you find it?" asked the professor. "i will lure the bees. i will show you after supper. you lead me to the place where you got the sting." this tad did, the boys following, full of interest. vaughn eyed the trees about them with keen glances. "i guess we shall have to set a trap for them," he decided, drawing a small vial from a receptacle in his belt. shaking the bottle well he drew the cork and touched it against the trunk of a tree, after which he corked the bottle and replaced it. "what is that stuff?" asked the professor. "oil of anise." "what does it do?" "calls the bees. if there are any about here you will see them in the morning. it will call bears and several other animals, too," smiled the guide. "will this call the bears?" urged stacy. "no, i haven't used enough of it. besides, there are no bears down here. we may find bear after we have got deeper into the woods. it is bees we are after at the present moment." the boys marveled greatly at this. they had never heard of this use for oil of anise, and they were full of curiosity as to the outcome of the experiment. at daybreak, on the following morning, vaughn awakened the boys. "time to look for bees," he said. "charlie, you get breakfast while we are away. make some biscuit or cakes. you know how, don't you?" "me know." cale got his rope----not a lasso, but a rope about seven feet long and very limber. thus equipped, all hands started out, vaughn in the lead, his glances everywhere. "ou--ouch!" howled chunky. "i'm stung! i'm stung!" "that's good," cried the guide. "there he is!" "good? good?" moaned the fat boy, dancing about holding his nose, the part that had been touched by the stinger of a bee. "i meant the bee, not the sting," hastily explained the guide. "there are more of them," called tad. "my, they're all here, aren't they?" "watch them, boys. we must find out what direction they take after they leave here." "there goes one to the left," cried ned. cale started on a run. he halted a few paces from the tree. "spread out over the place. if any of you sees a bee, call to me. they don't live far from here. i can tell by the way they act. here come more of them." the guide appeared to have the eyes of a hawk. he could see a bee where the others were able to discover nothing at all. cale followed the trail like a hound, except that his nose and eyes were in the air instead of on the ground. vaughn, after running some fifteen or twenty rods, dodging trees, leaping rocks and fallen trunks, came to a sudden halt. the rest of the party was floundering some distance in his rear. "i think we are close to it now. use your eyes. look for a hole in a tree or a crotch that looks as if it might hold a bees' nest. this looks to me like a bee tree," he announced. the guide unslung his rope, and, taking off his boots, passed the rope about the trunk of the tree, holding the free ends in his hands, and leaning well back he began to climb. this was accomplished by frequently hitching the rope up, then taking a step upward. the boys watched his ascent with fascinated eyes. they had never seen anything like this. vaughn was as agile as a cat. "i believe i could do that," declared chunky. "try it," urged the boys. the fat boy did. after several attempts he succeeded in walking up the trunk of a tree for fully ten feet. chunky grinned down at them jeeringly. "you fellows are not so smart as you think you are, eh? why, with a little practice i believe i could walk on a ceiling with my head down. i'd be the human fly, then, wouldn't i? i--yeow! i'm falling!" the fat boy had leaned forward, forgetting in his enthusiasm that he must throw his full weight on the rope by leaning backward. of course the rope slipped, and down came stacy. tad sprang forward to catch him. he only partially succeeded. stacy struck the ground and rolled off, howling lustily, while tad butler went sprawling on his back. to add to the fat boy's discomfiture two bees struck him under the right eye, bringing from the lad fresh howls of pain. by this time, cale had reached the part of the tree where he believed the bees' store of honey might be found. there was nothing there. tad had turned his attention to the tree that chunky tried to climb. about twenty-five feet up he had made out a broad crotch, and as a ray of light from the rising sun shot across the crotch the boy thought he saw some bees dart out. at least he was sure he had seen several dark streaks cross the bar of light. "i think they are up this tree, mr. vaughn. shall i try it?" "no, you may get stung and fall down. i will be there in a minute." the guide descended much faster than he had gone up. reaching the ground, he eyed the tree critically, then shinned up it with somewhat more speed than he had climbed in the first instance. "this is the bee tree," he called down before he got to the crotch. cale then hastily got down, covered his face with a head protector of netting, put on his gloves, then went up again. no sooner had he reached the crotch than a black swarm enveloped his head and body. the infuriated bees were attacking him from all sides. "anything there?" called tad. "i should say there is! i won't take it all." "how are you going to get the honey down?" asked ned. "i will pass it down to you. i have a long rope with me." wrapping several combs of honey in a second piece of netting, which he fastened to the end of his rope, the guide lowered it to the waiting hands of the pony rider boys. it was a sticky mess. stacy brown was so full of anticipation that he forgot his stings for the moment, and his were the first hands to reach the bundle. as he grasped it, stacy uttered a piercing scream and clapped both hands to his eyes. his head was covered with the angry bees, and they were peppering every exposed part of his face. "oh, wow!" howled the fat boy, starting away on a run. he fell over a log and went rolling and groveling in the brush and dead leaves. "have you anything that will help him, professor?" asked tad. "i guess he has been pretty badly stung." "yes, there's some ammonia in my kit at the camp. i'll take him back." "let me do it, professor," offered ned. "very good." ned hastened to the suffering chunky and, assisting him up, led the boy back to the camp. ned found the ammonia, but by this time the fat boy's eyes were swollen almost shut. in applying the ammonia, rector accidentally held the mouth of the bottle under the patient's nose. chunky took a deep breath. the fat boy's howls called the others to camp on the run. "he--he did it on purpose," wailed stacy as they came running to the scene demanding to know what fresh disaster had befallen chunky. "i didn't do it on purpose," protested ned indignantly. "i was trying to help him. it isn't my fault that he took a smell of the stuff. i was nearly strangled by it myself. that is what i get for trying to be a good fellow. you doctor yourself." "let me attend to him," said the professor, getting down on his knees to examine the swollen face. "you did get stung, didn't you?" "strange none of the rest of us was stung," wondered walter. "they must have known that chunky was the easy mark," grinned ned. "but i am sorry for you, chunky. i would rather have been stung myself." "i wish you had been," moaned the fat boy. "it would have served you right." "that will do," rebuked the professor. "did you get any honey?" stammered the suffering chunky. "about twenty-five pounds of it," answered vaughn triumphantly, coming up at this juncture, bearing his prize into camp. "give me some of it!" cried stacy. "yes, give the poor child a taste," begged ned. "it may lead him to forget his troubles, and incidentally give us a rest from his howls." a liberal chunk was broken off and handed to stacy, who sat up instantly and began munching it contentedly, peering out through the narrow slits between lids that were swollen almost shut. "be careful," warned tad. "there may be a bee in the comb." "i'll eat it if there is," mumbled stacy. "it's good." "we can see that," grinned ned. after making away with this piece, stacy demanded more. to keep him quiet they gave the fat boy another chunk. breakfast was about ready to serve when stacy again woke the echoes with his howls. this time there was a new note in his tone. instead of holding his hands to his face, stacy was holding his stomach, groaning dismally, moaning and rolling over and over. "for goodness' sake, what is the matter with that boy now?" demanded walter. "he is crying for more honey," scoffed ned. "fat boy git pain under belt," volunteered charlie john. the boys looked at each other and burst out laughing. "i was waiting for that," nodded cale. "for what?" questioned tad. "for the report. any fellow who can eat a pound of rich honey before breakfast is entitled to have a stomach ache a yard wide. give him a cup of hot coffee." "wait, i will fix him up," said the professor. in a moment he was forcing a draught between the unwilling lips of the fat boy. it was a hot dose, too, and it brought fresh moans from stacy, but it had its effect, and in a few minutes stacy was able to sit up and take interest in the breakfast that was now being served. "give--give me some honey," begged chunky. "i think you have had enough for the present," warned vaughn. "i want some honey," insisted the fat boy. "no more honey today," answered the professor incisively. "stacy, what are we going to do with you?" "give me honey." "we can't be bothered with you in this way. you will have to exercise better judgment, or i shall be forced to send you home. we are out for an enjoyable trip, not to carry along an indiscreet young man like yourself," warned professor zepplin. "i--i can't help it if i get stung, can i?" muttered chunky. "no, but you need not permit your eyes to get bigger than your stomach." "bigger than my stomach? why--i can't see out of my eyes now. bigger than my stomach? pshaw!" "we will drop the subject for the present," decided the professor sharply, whereat stacy subsided for the time being. owing to the lad's condition, however, the party concluded not to start on until later in the day, mr. vaughn offering to give the others some instruction in woodcraft to fill up the time from then until the afternoon. professor zepplin treated the bee stings, stacy taking a certain sense of pride in his condition because it made him feel that he was a sort of martyr. the honey was delicious, and the boys ate too much of it, but none would admit that he suffered any ill effects. poor chunky did not get another taste all the rest of the day. yet the fat boy, while nursing his stings, was planning something that would fill the camp of the pony rider boys with excitement and give them a thrill that would last them for some days. chapter v new tricks in woodcraft "camp making is a science," said cale vaughn that night, after they had selected a suitable site for their night's lodging. "in the woods you should first clear the site of brush and all dead leaves, for the danger of fire is very great in these big timber tracts. just a little carelessness might do a million dollars' worth of damage. if you have to burn off the rubbish, do so in small spots at a time, then backfire toward the center. be extremely careful about this. while one is unpacking, the others will be engaged in cutting poles for the tents, getting the food ready, each man having his task to perform. i don't need to advise you on that point. you boys can beat me in pitching a camp. you could give points to a circus man, i really believe. in case your ground is too rocky to permit driving in stakes, you may erect two tripods at a convenient distance apart on which to place the ridge pole. if you have no ridge pole use a rope instead." "that is a good idea. i never thought of it," nodded butler. "in this way you can make a self-supporting framework without driving a single stick into the ground. then comes your bed. how would you go to work to make a browse-bed, master tad?" "either stick the pine or cedar stems into the ground until they will hold you up, or pile the browse in until you have enough to lie on," answered tad. "that will do very well, but the woodsman likes to take a little more pains, especially if he is going to remain in camp for a few days, as we shall do." "we are ready to learn," nodded rector. "then i will explain. first smooth the ground, leaving no stones, stubs or hummocks. cut head and foot logs a foot thick, and side logs which may be somewhat smaller. pin them down with inverted crotches, making a rectangular framework on the ground to keep the browse in place. do you get me?" "yes, yes," answered the boys. "i never knew how to make my bed so it wouldn't slip out from under me in the night," laughed tad. "in the morning i usually find myself lying on the bare ground, no matter how carefully i have made my bed." "so i have observed," smiled the guide. "we will have charlie do this work hereafter, but it might be a good idea for you boys to help in order to get your hands in. there will be many times when you will have to do it for yourselves." "we have had to do so many times already," muttered walter. "to continue with our subject, next fell a thriving balsam or hemlock--spruce, pine or cedar will do if you can get nothing else--and strip off the fans." the boys drew closer, for they were learning something that was of no little interest to them. "place a course of boughs a foot long against the head-log, butts down and to the front, then shingle another layer in front of these and continue in that way down to the foot of the bed, leaving only the tips of the boughs showing." "that is something like my way of making the browse-bed," said tad. "yes, except that yours is a heap of greens, not a bed," answered the guide. tad agreed to this with a nod. "new greens should be put in every day to freshen your bed and keep it soft." "it strikes me that a bed of that sort means a lot of work," observed rector. "i could sleep myself to death on that kind of couch," mused stacy. "you can do that all right on the hard ground," answered butler. "ever hear stacy snore, mr. vaughn?" "i have not had that pleasure." "oh, it won't be any pleasure. take my word for that," asserted ned. "no, you will think a troop of trained sea lions have broken loose and strayed out in the woods. never heard anything like it in my life," said tad. "outside of a zoological garden, tad," added ned. "having finished this," resumed the guide, "we come to the question of caring for the food. i presume you have lost grub now and then?" "principally through the medium of stacy brown's mouth," answered ned. "hang your salt pork or bacon to a tree beside the fireplace where it will be handy. if you are in a country where there are thieving varmints, suspend the stuff from a wire or cord secured to two trees sheltering the stuff from sun and rain. if you have packs, pile them neatly together, covering them with canvas; or, in the event of not having any of the latter, make a thatch roof of boughs. protect your saddles and trappings in the same way, making sure that the lash ropes cannot get wet and shrink. have everything where you know where to find it in the darkest night and where it will not be overlooked when you break camp." "i see we have a lot to learn," said tad. "yes, we've been thinking we knew it all," agreed chunky. "for a more permanent camp, of course you would go more into detail." "please explain," urged tad. "yes, tell us everything. we shall probably decide to live in the woods one of these days," added rector. stacy shook his head slowly. "i don't think i want to go into permanent camp, if there's any more work about it than we have to do already." "there is considerably more," smiled cale. "you know how to make a dining table. i have shown you that already. you will want to make a kitchen table in the same way, using sticks, as you will have no boards. dig a sink hole into which to throw your refuse, sprinkling ashes or dirt over the stuff every day, otherwise you will be pestered with flies. if you have a spring handy it will be a good place in which to keep fresh meat, such as venison. the outside of the meat will come out white and stringy, but the inside of it will keep fresh and sweet for weeks, provided no bears come nosing around after the stuff." "i am afraid such a plant would not last long in these woods," said tad. "not long," agreed the guide. "however, there is a simple way to scare off the animals. all you have to do is to tie a white rag to a stick directly over this cache. it will cause them to keep a safe distance away ordinarily. speaking of caching or storing food for future use, there are several ways of doing this. my usual way is to suspend the stuff from a wire strung between trees, high enough to be out of the reach of any prowling animals. be sure to peel the bark from the trees to which your line is fastened. that will prevent the animals from climbing the tree." "what do you think of it, boys?" asked tad, glancing at his companions. "i never thought there was so much to it," answered rector. "oh, i haven't begun yet," laughed vaughn. "please, please don't begin, then, if you are going to put all this into practice. i want to get some fun out of this trip, not make a slave of myself," begged stacy amid a general laugh. "i think you boys have had enough instruction for one day. perhaps i am telling you some things that you know already?" "no, no; go on," begged the boys. "yes, go on, i can stand it to hear about it, if i don't have to do any of the work," nodded chunky solemnly. "let's see. well, suppose i talk to you about campfires. come over by the fire and sit down. our friend, master stacy, is weary after his bee experience, and i don't know that i blame him," said vaughn with a merry twinkle in his eyes. "i'll warrant he isn't half as tired as the bees that stung him. they surely will have contracted the hook-worm disease," declared ned. "now we are ready to hear about the campfire," reminded tad, after they had seated themselves. the professor, who had been reading, laid down his book to listen. "as you know from sad experience, some green woods will not burn," began the guide. "leaving aside the woods that will not burn, i'll mention some of those that will do good service when green. hickory is the best of all. it makes a hot fire, lasts a long time, and burns down to a bed of coals that will keep up an even heat for hours. next in value are the chestnut, oak and dogwood. black birch is excellent, too, doing its own blowing." "blowing?" questioned the professor. "yes, sir. that means that the oil in the birch assists its combustion, so that the wood needs no coaxing to make it burn. sugar maple is good, too, but it is too valuable a tree to waste. locust and mulberry are good fuel. now white ash makes one of the first-class campfire fuels. it is easy to cut and tote and catches fire readily." "what about kindling?" interjected tad. "yes, kindling," urged stacy. "i've burned up half of my old shirts trying to start fires." "the birch bark is one of the best," answered the guide. "besides, it makes good torches. it is full of resinous oil, blazes up at once, will burn in any wind, and even wet sticks may be kindled with it." "that's new," nodded butler. "stacy, there's your job. you won't have to sacrifice any more shirts in trying to start a campfire," said ned. "your job, from now on, is peeling birch bark for kindling." "pitch pine, of course, affords the best knots," continued cale. "splits from a stump whose outside has been burned are rich in resin. don't pick up sticks from the ground, but rather those from the down wood. ordinarily you will find fine dry wood in a tree that has been shivered by lightning." "br-r-r!" shivered the fat boy. "to get to our subject--fire--you must remember that more necessary than kindling or firewood is air. what i mean is, don't jumble your fuel together any old way, but build up a systematic structure so the air can draw under it and upward through the pile." "that's why my shirts wouldn't burn," interrupted the fat boy. "i jammed them down in the pile of wood just as i'd ram a wad into a muzzle-loading gun." "just like you," affirmed rector. "lay two good-sized sticks on the ground for a foundation to begin with. across them at right angles place a few dry twigs or splinters so they do not quite touch. on these, one at each side, lay your paper or bark, then on top of this put two other cross sticks, smaller than the bed sticks; over this a cross layer of larger twigs just as you would build a cob house, but gradually increasing the size of the sticks as you work up toward the top of your house. you try that and see if you don't have a roaring fire in a minute after you apply the match. we will build one, or rather you boys may, when we get into our camp tomorrow." "great!" agreed the boys. "there are numerous methods, such as 'trapper's fire,' 'hunter's fire,' 'indian's fire,' and the like. i will tell you about them at some other time. you will get them all jumbled into one if i tell you now. i will add that, for warmth, you should build a low fire. if you build up a big, roaring fire you can't get near it. the low fire enables you to hover over it. that's an indian trick. i could go on talking about fires from now until tomorrow morning, but the best way is to take these up one by one and learn them by actual experience. that we will do as we go along. you boys are fine woodsmen already, but like all the rest of us, you still have some things to learn. i am going to teach you all i know, and if you will watch charlie john you may be able to get some points from him." "most interesting indeed," agreed the professor. "the first rainy day we have i will show you how to build a fire in quick time when everything is soaked. tomorrow we will put some of our theories regarding camp-making and fire-building into practice. just now it's time for our chuck and then some stories over the evening fire," concluded the guide. chapter vi the fat boy's revenge the pony rider boys had never had so interesting a guide as cale vaughn proved himself to be. he always had something new to explain to them, and his explanations were put in a most attractive form. it was late that night when the boys turned in, and early on the following morning they were on their way to the next camping place where they might remain for a few days, taking short exploration trips from that central base. this day's riding was the hardest of all they ever had experienced. it is true they followed a small watercourse, but the going was terrific. not only did the trees stand so close together as to make riding a terror, but saplings and thick underbrush, together with occasional rocks, hidden fallen trunks, and other obstacles, made traveling a perilous proceeding. there was danger to the boys, and there was danger of the ponies breaking their legs. to add to their troubles, the mosquitoes got busy quite early in the forenoon, and smacks of open palms against irritated cheeks were heard on all sides. stacy brown's red face was the most conspicuous thing in the outfit. cale vaughn walked and led his horse, as did some of the others, but stacy refused to walk so long as he had a horse that would hold him up. as a result, the fat boy suffered more than all the others. the indian, having been told where they would make camp, had shouldered his pack and strode off through the forest, soon disappearing under the giant trees of the maine wilderness. ponies were irritable and rebellious by the time the party halted for the noonday rest and luncheon. the boys by this time did not know where they were. tad knew that the guide was laying his course by the little stream which came into view now and then, but the lad saw no signs of a trail. he was glad his was not the responsibility of finding the way for the party, for this was surely a primeval forest. "some woods, eh?" was stacy brown's way of describing it. "a fine place to hide, in case someone were after us," he added. "in that event we shouldn't be looking for a hiding place, young man!" "maybe you wouldn't," retorted stacy. "nor would you. you are simply talking to make conversation," answered tad. the argument was ended by the voice of the guide ordering the party to be on the move again. cale knew that they would have to make time in order to reach before dark the place he had decided upon for the night's camp. the indian, no doubt, was already there. so the boys tore their way through the thickets, here and there making wide detours to avoid an unusually rough piece of going. twilight was upon them ere they halted to make camp in a dense thicket of spruce, the tops of which they could not see in the faint light, but later on the moon came up, silvering the tops of the pines. with it came the voices of the night, the voices of the deep forest. birds twittered here and there, a crow croaked hoarsely in a tree near at hand, and something went scudding away from the outskirts of the camp as cale shied a stone in that direction. he was the only one who had heard anything at that point. suddenly there came the sound of what appeared to be human beings talking in low tones. the boys started up, looking first at each other, then at the guide. vaughn lay before the fire, his head supported by his arms. he was undisturbed. it was all too familiar to him, who had spent so many hundred nights in this same impenetrable forest. "wha--what was that?" stammered chunky. "didn't you hear someone talking, mr. vaughn?" asked tad. the guide twisted his head from side to side two times. "didn't you hear it?" insisted ned. "i heard several things," answered cale. "yes, so did i," spoke up the professor. "i am quite sure it was persons speaking." "there it goes again," cried tad. "didn't you boys ever hear that before?" smiled cale. the lads confessed that they never had. "why, that is the 'coons talking to each other." "the 'coons?" exclaimed chunky, opening his eyes wide. "this is a funny place for 'coons up in this wilderness. what do they live on?" "they browse for a living. i mean the four-legged kind. animals!" "oh! i thought you meant--" "is it possible that that noise is made by 'coons?" interrupted professor zepplin. cale nodded. "yes; they are conversational little gentlemen. probably are trying to decide upon the best way of getting a meal out of our camp. boys, tomorrow morning we shall have to busy ourselves at daylight. we are going to have a lesson in permanent camp building, you know." "yes, sir," chorused the lads. "afterward, if you are agreeable, we will take a tramp over the mountain to a place where a ranger friend of mine lives." "rangers?" questioned stacy. "i didn't know they had texas rangers in maine." "stacy, you are silly," rebuked tad. "nor do they," answered the guide. "the kind i speak of is a forest ranger." "what do they range?" asked walter. "the forest," answered rector. "that's all there is to range up here." "the forest rangers watch the forests," explained vaughn. "it is their business to see that no timber is cut unlawfully and to watch out for fires and warn campers and hunters to be careful. it is a fine life." "i should think it would be," agreed the fat boy. "but better for them than for me, with the talking 'coons and other things that you can hear but don't see. i'll get another ghost scare if this keeps on. i wish it were morning." "morning will come soon enough," answered the guide. morning did. with it came work, and plenty of it. vaughn let the boys do the work of making permanent camp, he instructing them in the work as they went along, applying some of the theories he had expounded to them on the previous day. "woodcraft, boys," explained the guide, "is, as perhaps you may know, the art of getting along in the wilderness with just what nature has placed within your reach. when you are able to find your way through an uncharted wilderness like this one, when you know the trees and the plants, the animal life, when you know how to live comfortably, then you may call yourselves good woodsmen. i might say that there are few of them in this day and age. and as a matter of fact, there are not very many places in america where woodcraft is called for. this is one of the places where it is needed unless you expect to get lost and starve to death. from what i have seen of you boys i should say you might easily get lost, but you all possess natural resourcefulness. you would manage to live and keep going, though you might have a hard time of it." by eight o'clock the immediate work was finished. cale announced that they would start off for a hike, as he had suggested the day before. when stacy learned that they were going to walk, and that they would tramp ten or fifteen miles before they returned, he balked. "not for me!" announced the fat boy firmly, sitting down on a lichen-covered rock. "this cold rock shall jump out of his pit sooner than i, and don't you forget that for a moment!" "oh, come along," begged tad. "no, sir. i'll ride, if the rest do." "you can't ride where we are going," replied cale. "then i don't go." no amount of urging would induce the lad to change his mind, so they decided to go on without him. charlie john would be in the camp all day, so cale said it would be all right for chunky to remain. he warned the half-breed to see to it that master stacy did not stray from camp, knowing full well that the fat boy would lose himself were he to get ten rods from the camp. stacy did. not once, but six times before noon did he lose himself. fortunately he had not strayed far. his yells reached the ears of the indian, who, with many grunts of disapproval, stalked out and brought the lost boy back to camp, sternly ordering him to remain there. but chunky was stubborn. he was determined to go out and back freely and try to find his way. that was why he became lost so many times. the noonday meal was the only thing that caused him to change his mind. after dinner, while charlie john was washing the dishes and stowing the food, stacy began rummaging about the camp. all too soon this occupation proved uninteresting to one who possessed chunky's energy in finding useless things to do with all his might. "even sleeping will be more fun," decided the fat boy. so he vanished behind the flap of his tent and lay down. his snoring, however, soon proved altogether too much for even the placid nerves of an indian to endure. charlie john stole in soft-footed, shaking the youngster, then drawing him to his feet. "what are you trying to do to me?" indignantly demanded chunky. "too much saw-mill noise--no good," declared the indian. "make that noise again, then me show you something indians do to stop noise." stolidly charlie john departed from the tent, but there was nothing stolid about the fat boy's quivering rage. "if mr. copper face can't let me alone, i'll make him wish he had," growled stacy, shaking angry fists at the retreating indian. in his rummaging about the camp young brown had discovered a ten-ounce bottle of anise-seed oil, and as chunky now gazed at this bottle the light of new mischief began to dawn in his eyes. charlie john would have done well to watch him. "heap big fun!" muttered the fat boy, choking down too visible evidences of glee. "i'll scatter this around the camp and bring a million-billion bees here. then i'll hide in my tent, and, as the bees won't know where to find me, they'll devote all their time to charlie. when he gets it too bad i'll holler to him to come into the tent and hear me snore. wow!" in a short time, while the indian was at a little distance, stacy had sprinkled considerable of the oil on the ground. charlie john, returning, sniffed suspiciously, but chunky had the bottle out of sight. charlie, however, had a keen nose, so he watched in silence. stacy's innocent face betrayed nothing, and the boy kept on sprinkling a ring of oil clear around the camp. he was chuckling to himself all the time, congratulating himself on the happy idea that had come to him with the finding of the anise oil. stacy was confident that he was going to have the time of his life. in this the fat boy was right, though he did not realize fully to just what that fun would lead. had he realized, no doubt he would have replaced the stopper in the oil bottle without the loss of a second. the buzzing of a bee recalled him to the peril of his position. the buzz was very businesslike, too. stacy made a vicious strike at the sound, then dived for the protection of his tent. reaching that, he jerked the flap shut and peered out, red-faced, big-eyed. charlie john, who had been bending over a garbage hole that he had just dug, suddenly leaped straight up into the air, clapping a hand to the back of his neck. a busy bee had momentarily alighted there, and, before leaving, the bee had pricked the tough hide of the half-breed. ere charlie had recovered from his surprise he got another sting. stacy was about to yell again, but catching a glimpse of the indian's face, convulsed with anger, stacy quickly withdrew into the tent, prudently closing the flap and tying it on the inside. the boy then sat down and, with arms clasped about his knees, rocked back and forth, fairly choking with laughter. he could hear the indian thrashing about on the outside. the sound was sweet music to the ears of the fat boy. then a new sound was heard. it was a yell, and the yell was pitched in a new key. stacy stepped out to see what was going on, then he, too, uttered a yell, louder and more piercing than that of the indian. chapter vii stampeded by an intruder the sight that had so affected stacy brown was that of a black bear nosing about the camp. the animal was apparently following the anise oil trail that stacy had laid with such care. the fat boy watched with fascinated eyes for a moment. but, as the bear turned its attention to the camp, stacy beat a hasty retreat into the tent. once inside and the flap pulled shut he made bold to peer out. he saw charlie john calmly sitting astride the crotch of a tree some ten feet from the ground. the indian did not seem to be worrying. no bears would be likely to reach him up there unless, perhaps, mr. bruin decided to climb the tree, which he would not do so long as there remained anything of interest in the camp below. stacy ducked back as he saw the animal heading in his direction. the lad waited, fully expecting to see the pointed, inquisitive nose poked through the tent opening. but, no bear coming, stacy again crept to the front on hands and knees, and, pulling the flap back slightly, peered out. something cold and chilling poked him in the face. it was mr. bruin's nose. with an unearthly yell, the fat boy leaped back and sprang to the rear of the tent. he turned just in time to see the bear ambling in. stacy whipped out his hunting knife, slitting the canvas at the rear, and made a run for the nearest tree, which proved to be a sapling. he started to climb it, then changing his mind grabbed up a rope and shinned up the tree occupied by charlie. charlie helped him up, panting. "fat boy much big fool," granted the indian. "see here, don't you say that again," threatened chunky angrily. "why didn't you stay down there and fight him?" "no gun, no fight." "no, i see not," answered the boy dryly. "that's what's the matter with me. i didn't have a gun. did you see him come into my tent? there he goes. now what's he up to?" "him eat plenty butter." him did. the bear ate two pounds of butter that he had pawed from the table. the animal licked his chops and looked for more. fortunately the rest of the butter was suspend from a wire strung between two trees out of reach. the animal tried to get at this, failing in which it squatted down at the base of the tree where the half-breed and the boy were seeking security. "he's going to keep us here all the rest of the day," groaned chunky. the indian broke off a piece of limb and taking careful aim threw it at the bear. it smote mr. bruin on the point of his tender nose. the bear uttered a snarl and a growl, then began to rub his paws over the smarting nose. he danced about very much as had stacy brown when stung by the bees, and the fat boy shouted with glee. he shouted louder when the animal suddenly wheeled about on its haunches and began ambling from the camp. "me fix um," grinned the indian, sliding to the ground. "you certainly did give him the run," agreed chunky. "will he come back?" stacy was still prudently sitting astride the limb. "him no come back." "good. i wish he had taken a slice out of you while he was here," added the lad under his breath. "come down. him no come back." "thank you, i will, seeing that you put it that way," answered chunky, descending from the tree. "we know how to give hears the run, don't we, john charles?" "huh! much fool!" grunted the indian. "much butter gone," he added, ruefully surveying the butter plate. "guide him git mad." "that won't hurt us any, john. he will be glad to know that we drove the bear off. i'll tell him what a brave thing we did. hark!" "white men come back," nodded john. "how do you know?" "hear um." "yes, i hear something, too, but i don't know who or what i hear." "hear um. mr. vaughn no come 'long." "you have sharp ears, mr. john charles. we'll see how good your hearing really is." stacy opened his eyes when, a few minutes later, all of the party came hiking into camp, with the exception of cale vaughn. the indian's sharp ears had heard aright. "where's the guide?" demanded chunky. "he left us on the other side of the creek to follow out a bear track that he just picked up," answered tad. "he will be here pretty soon." "what, haven't you anything to eat?" called ned. "not time yet. besides, johnnie charles and brown stacy have been busy most of the afternoon." john grinned. "you fellows chasing bear tracks, eh?" "no. following them," corrected tad. "if you want to catch bears you had better stay right here in the camp. this is the headquarters for bears as well as for pony rider boys." "what has been going on here?" asked tad, eyeing the fat boy keenly, observing that stacy's face was flushed and excited. "what's been going on? i'll tell you. we had a call from a bear, a bear almost as big as my pony." "what, bears here in camp?" exclaimed walter apprehensively. "yes, bears here in camp. but i drove him off after a fierce hand-to-hand conflict in which i nearly lost my life. yes, sir, i fought that bear right there in my tent and--and you can see the result of the fray if you will go in my tent." "where did you say you were when the bear was here?" interrupted butler. "fat boy up tree," the half-breed informed them. "i thought so," nodded tad, grinning. "well, tell us about the bear." "him eat butter from table, then him go way again," answered charlie. "i really believe there has been a bear here," pondered ned. "you are right there has. you go look in my tent, if you don't believe me," answered stacy. "yes, sir, and i slapped him right in the face when he tried to kiss me. what do you think of that?" "tried to kiss you?" questioned walter. "yes. stuck his cold nose right against my nose. ugh! didn't he, john?" the indian nodded, but without realizing what stacy was saying. "why didn't you shoot him?" asked butler. "gun in other tent," replied charlie. "yes. and we don't need guns. i was going to use my trusty knife, but i didn't want to hurt the poor thing." added chunky. "brave man," remarked ned. "i am glad i wasn't here," said walter. "i know i should have been scared half to death. weren't you scared, chunky?" "what! me scared?" demanded the fat boy, throwing out his chest. "did you ever hear of stacy brown being scared? oh, wow! yeow!" "what, what, what---" shouted the professor. "there he is again!" yelled stacy. "run! run, fellows; he's after us! run, i tell you!" stacy, acting upon his own advice was already shinning up a tree. the others were not far behind him. so sudden had been the appearance of bruin that they had no time to think. even tad butler followed the rest when the bear ambled toward him. charlie john, at the first alarm, had made tracks for the protection of the crotch where he had sought security on the first visit of the bear. "more bear," grunted the indian. "what do you mean?" called ned. "he means this isn't the same one," stacy informed them. "i thought you weren't afraid?" jeered ned rector. "i'm not," protested stacy. "no, i see you are not. why don't you get down and fight him, then?" "i--i haven't got my knife," stammered the fat boy. tad began scrambling from the tree. "tad, tad!" called the professor. "yes, sir?" "what are you going to do?" "i'm going to get that bear if i can." "get back there!" tad slipped off the rope that he had bound about his waist before starting out on the hike that morning. each one of the party had put away his rifle upon reaching camp. some had their hunting knives on their persons, but those were their only weapons. [illustration: tad's rope wriggled out.] the bear was now ambling about the camp, nosing into everything in sight, helping himself to such food as he was able to find, overturning packs and dishes in the search for more. observing tad, mr. bruin lurched toward the boy. tad was struggling with his rope to get it in shape to cast. "run, tad!" shouted rector. tad did run, dodging here and there to gain time. in a few moments he had his rope ready, then began a hide-and-seek game between bear and boy, the pony rider boy watching for an opportunity to use the rope. all at once his rope wriggled out. the big loop slipped neatly over the head of the bear and was quickly jerked taut. such a yell as went up from the boys in the trees! even the professor shouted his approval. but the bear became suddenly electrified. rearing on his hind legs he began pawing at the leash, snarling and growling furiously. tad meanwhile was dancing here and there, jerking on the rope, tugging and trying his best to pull his captive down to all fours. tad might as well have sought to pull over one of the tall spruce, for the bear's strength, of course, was far superior to that of the boy who had roped him. ned rector, by this time, was scrambling from the tree. tad was too busy to observe what his companion was doing. ned ran for his tent, appearing a moment later with his rifle. "look out!" warned the professor. "you will hit one of us." "no, i won't. i guess i can't miss the mark so close as this." ned, at the first favorable opportunity, raised his rifle and, taking quick aim, fired. the bear staggered backward, and tad fell over flat on his back. ned rector had shot the rope in two close up to mr. bruin's head. "shoot again! quick!" yelled tad. instead of doing so, rector, seeing what he had done, hurled his rifle away and made a dash for a tree, for the bear was ambling toward him, showing his teeth and growling angrily. tad had sprung to his feet and was looking about for the rifle when a yell from the boys up the trees caused him to glance back apprehensively. what he saw decided the lad on the instant. three other bears, large ones, were ambling into camp, nosing about and sniffing the ground. at this juncture, in his excitement, stacy fell out of the tree. tad ran to assist the fat boy up again, but chunky needed no help. he was in more of a hurry than he ever had been in his life. this time he shinned up a sapling, the nearest tree to him. the sapling bent under his weight; it bent perilously close to one of the bears--so close, in fact, that the fat boy's feet struck the head of the bear. the animal raised on its haunches and swung a mighty paw. the paw caught stacy brown, sending him rolling, tumbling and yelling over the ground. the boys who were perched in the trees groaned. ned began scrambling down again. "stay where you are!" shouted tad. chapter viii an interrupted forage young butler, regardless of the presence of the bears, ran to the assistance of the unfortunate fat boy. tad jerked stacy to his feet, then with a firm grip on the latter's collar ran him toward one of the larger trees, up which he assisted chunky. the panting of a bear seemed close to tad's ears when he had finished this task. he had just time to jump aside to avoid the sweep of a paw. tad jumped as far up as possible, throwing arms and legs about the trunk of the same tree. at that moment he lost a section of his trousers, which was left in the claws of bruin. tad quickly hitched up a few inches higher, panting from his exertions, and there he clung for a moment to get his breath. in the meantime the bear was exerting itself to reach him. "climb, climb! he'll get you!" shouted ned. "he can't reach me." "look out. there comes another one. he is bigger!" warned walter. "grab the rope!" yelled rector, letting the loop of his lasso drop over tad butler's head. tad hunched the rope under his arms. "can you hold me?" "yes, i've got a hitch around a limb," answered ned. the boy half way up the tree rested more of his weight on the rope. a moment of this and he began to climb, ned assisting by hauling up on the rope with all his strength. butler was soon resting beside him. "thank you," said tad. "you aren't much of a shot, but you helped me up." "yes. i could shoot better than that with a pop-gun," jeered stacy from an adjoining tree. "you keep still. i don't see that you have been doing much, for a brave man, except to get us into more trouble," retorted ned. the professor had become very much excited, and nearly fell out of the tree while suddenly shifting his position. "charlie, why don't you do something?" shouted the professor. charlie hunched his shoulders. "get down there and shoot them, why don't you?" demanded professor zepplin. "no gun, no shoot," answered charlie john. "some of us can't shoot when we do have a gun," piped chunky. "it takes a pretty good shot to shoot a rope in two," answered butler mischievously, stealing a look at the flushed face of ned rector. "but what are we going to do?" demanded the professor. "from the present outlook i think we shall be tree dwellers, for a time at least," answered tad. "has any of you a suggestion to make?" "i move that ned rector climb down and make faces at the bears. they will run away sure then." "oh, keep still. if they didn't run at sight of you, nothing under the skies will frighten them," retorted ned disgustedly. "no, they didn't run away. they wanted to kiss me," answered the fat boy triumphantly. despite their perilous situation the boys laughed, but professor zepplin did not. he sat astride a limb tugging savagely at his whiskers. tad suggested to ned that he was afraid the professor would pull the whiskers out. the report of a rifle some distance to the westward of the camp called the attention of the party sharply in that direction. "that's mr. vaughn," cried tad. "what is he shooting at?" asked walter. "i don't know, but maybe he has found the bear he went out after," suggested tad. there was no second shot, so they concluded that the guide had missed his shot and lost whatever he had shot at. tad began uttering long-drawn calls, the call of the woodsman which he had learned from cale vaughn. after a time a faint call was heard in answer. "he heard us," yelled stacy. in the meantime the three bears were having a merry time down in the camp. they even searched the tents for plunder, foraging everywhere, doing damage to everything that they did not eat, clawing the outfit over ruthlessly. the guide's voice was heard calling again. it sounded much nearer this time, and the pony rider boys raised their voices in an appealing yell. cale heard it. he knew instinctively that something was wrong at the camp, and started for home at a brisk run. as he neared the camp he proceeded with more caution. every few moments the boys would set up their long drawn calls, but as there were no more answers to them, they feared that cale had gone away on another trail. suddenly a loud report that seemed to be right in the camp, so startled them that some of them nearly fell out of the trees. chunky uttered a yell. following the report, the most amazing thing happened to one of the bears that was standing on its hind feet pawing at the table. the bear toppled over backwards, clawed the air as it lay flat on its back, then rolled over on its side where it lay still. _bang!_ a second bear followed the first, except that he plunged forward, rolled over, and did not move again. the third bear, with a growl, ambled into the bushes and disappeared. "it's the guide!" cried tad. "hurrah!" yelled ned. "wasn't that some shooting? oh, mr. vaughn!" "ye-o-w!" yelled stacy in a shrill, penetrating voice. "whoo--ee!" cried tad. "you've got them," roared walter. "one ran away. hurry and you'll get him." cale, at this juncture, made a sudden appearance from a thicket of bushes, rifle thrust ahead of him ready for instant service. "where did he go?" "that way," shouted tad, slipping down the tree and bounding off in the direction taken by the third bear. the others followed him down to the ground, while cale ran off in pursuit of the escaping bear. stacy brown, constituting himself the leader of the party, was shouting directions to them. "oh, go way back somewhere and sit down," begged ned. "go climb a tree. that's the best place for you," retorted stacy. "boys, stop your quarreling," commanded the professor. "we aren't quarreling," answered rector. "no, that's just our way of having fun," agreed stacy. "we love each other too well to quarrel, don't we, fatty?" questioned rector, grinning broadly. "of course we do. didn't i save your life today?" "i'd like to know how," bristled ned. "he got away," announced vaughn, returning to camp. "this place looks as if it had been struck by a tornado," added the guide. "what has been going on here?" "well, you see the big bear and the middle-sized bear and the weeny-teeny bear came home for their bowl of soup. not finding the soup they tried to eat up pony rider boys," began stacy. "i don't understand it," reflected cale. "bears don't ordinarily act that way." "these weren't ordinary bears. neither was the one that kissed me this afternoon," declared stacy. vaughn fixed his gaze on the fat boy. "what are you getting at?" "oh, nothing much. a big, big bear called on me in my tent this afternoon. we drove him out of the camp, we did. you ought to have been here. why, when he left the camp after i had rebuked him, his tail was dragging on the ground, and--" "he must have been a new species of bear to have a tail as long as that," laughed cale. "well, anyhow, we drove him off, put him to rout, packed him off bag and baggage. i guess he is running yet. you never saw such a scared beast in your life." "i guess he isn't running very fast," returned cale dryly. "why isn't he running?" retorted stacy, offended at the guide's tone. "because i shot him about a mile the other side of the creek," answered vaughn. "he was a small bear and he didn't appear to be very much frightened." the boys had a good laugh at the fat boy's expense. "that was another bear, probably the child of the one we chased," declared stacy, not to be downed thus easily. "perhaps," agreed cale. "but that doesn't explain the peculiar actions of these fellows, nor of the first one. charlie, how did the bears act when you first saw them?" he demanded, turning to the indian. "him smell for something--so." the half-breed went through the motions of sniffing over the ground, against the trees, and toward the tents. "just so," nodded vaughn. "the question is, what caused them to do that? something here must have attracted them. do you know what it was?" "not know," muttered the indian. "do you know, master stacy?" fixing a keen gaze on the fat boy. "how should i know?" replied stacy indifferently. "i didn't know but perhaps you might," returned cale. the guide stood his rifle against a tree and walked about the camp with apparent carelessness, looking into the tents, examining the provisions through which the bears had foraged. finally he returned to chunky. "how much of that oil of anise did you use to attract those bears?" he demanded sharply. chunky flushed to the roots of his hair. "why--i--i--" "where is the bottle?" "i--i threw it away." "you used all the oil?" stacy nodded, with eyes averted. the boys were beginning to understand. all were grinning. "so that was one of your tricks, eh?" asked tad. "well, it certainly succeeded." "what were you trying to do?" insisted the guide. he too was now smiling. "i--i wanted to call the bees." "why?" "i--i thought maybe they'd sting the indian." "did they?" asked tad. "they did! they pinked him right in the back of the neck, and you ought to have heard that indian yell." stacy was looking them in the face now, as he warmed to his subject. "john charles jumped about fourteen and a half feet in the air and let out a war whoop. i'm surprised you folks didn't hear him." "where were you all this time?" interjected rector. "i was hiding in the tent, 'cause the bees were pretty thick, and the boss bee was scouting for me. i--i guess he must have smelled the oil on my fingers." the professor's fingers closed over the arm of the fat boy. "stacy!" he said sternly. "what do you think we ought to do with you?" "well," reflected the fat boy, "i reckon you ought to cook me a bear steak and give me a spread. i'm half starved." professor zepplin released his hold on chunky's arm, heaving a deep sigh of resignation. "perhaps that would be the most sensible thing to do," agreed the guide. "we are all pretty hungry, i reckon, after our long tramp." chapter ix bear steak for breakfast without further delay vaughn cut the throat of one of the dead bears, that the animal might bleed freely. "you always should do this as soon as possible, boys," he informed them. "however, do not make the mistake of going to the animal until you have put another bullet in his head after you think you have shot him dead. claws are dangerous weapons. i will now show you how one man may hang the bear and do his own work of dressing the beast. any one of you could do it, and you may have occasion to do so." cale dragged the bear head-foremost to a sapling. he then out three poles of about ten feet in length, with crotches near the ends. next he amazed his pupils by climbing the sapling until it bent down with him. "think i have gone crazy?" smiled the guide. the boys were too interested to answer. the top of the sapling was well trimmed off with a hatchet, leaving the stub of one stout branch near the top. removing his belt, vaughn fastened it around the bear's neck, then slipped the loop over the end of the sapling which he was holding down with one hand and the weight of his body. he let go the sapling, which, acting as a sort of spring pole, raised the carcass slightly. the crotches of the poles were then placed under the fork of the sapling, the butts of the poles outward, thus forming a tripod. cale next pushed first on one pole, then on the other. with each push the dead bear was raised a little higher until its body finally was clear of the ground, and only the hind claws trailing the earth. "easy when you know how, isn't it?" he smiled. the pony rider boys decided that it was. "now, in case i were not ready to butcher, i would build a smudge fire of rotten wood under the carcass, banking the fire well with stones to keep it from spreading. that would serve to keep away the blowflies and birds." beginning at the head the guide skinned the animal in quick time. he then removed the entrails, and in a quarter of an hour announced that his task was completed. after the carcass got cold, he explained, he would split it in halves along the backbone and quarter it, leaving one rib on each hind quarter. "aren't we going to have any of it for supper?" wailed stacy. "no, indeed. you don't want to eat warm meat, do you?" "i don't care whether it is warm or cold so long as i get the meat," the fat boy made reply. "that proves it," declared rector with emphasis. "proves what?" demanded stacy. "that your early ancestors were cannibals." chunky snorted disgustedly. "now, do you think you boys could skin and dress a bear?" asked cale, surveying his work with critical eyes. "i think so," replied tad. "of course we could not do it as skilfully as you have done, but we are learning fast. may we save the hide?" "i am afraid it would be too much of a burden to carry. i'll tell you what i will do. you see i have cut off the head with the pelt. i will salt the hide well and cache it, then if i am able to get in here some day soon, i will take the hide out and have it tanned for you." "thank you. may i try my hand on the other one?" asked tad. "you surely may." butler was rather clumsy in making his preparations. twice did the sapling that he had climbed get away from him and spring up into the air, but tad simply climbed the slender young tree again each time and bent it down. he finally succeeded in slipping his belt over the crotch after having passed it about the bear's neck. the rest was easy, so far as raising the bear was concerned. "there! how is that?" he demanded triumphantly. "just as well as i could have done it myself," said vaughn, nodding approvingly. "i thought you always hung them up by the heels," ventured ned. "yes, it is common practice to hang up by the gambrels, with the head down, but when hung head up the animal is much easier to skin and butcher, and drains better. besides, it doesn't drip blood over the neck and head, which you may want to have mounted at some future date. perhaps we had better bury this waste stuff, or we'll have all the bears in the section down on us first thing we know. by the way, we shall be having more bear here right along on account of that oil of anise, so we shall have to move our camp." "then make chunky strike camp," suggested ned. "he is to blame for all this trouble." "i am inclined to agree with your last statement. however, we will see to that. charlie will do all the necessary work. i am sorry, for i wanted to go over and see my friend," said the guide. "didn't you go there today?" asked stacy. "no, we took another course. you missed it not being along." "no, i didn't. i had all the fun and excitement i wanted right here in the camp. you are the ones who missed something," declared stacy. "we didn't miss all of the fun, anyway," replied tad. "how about the bear meat, mr. vaughn?" "yes, don't we get any of that meat?" urged stacy. "you shall all have all you want for breakfast, but we shan't be able to carry much of it with us. were we going to be here long enough i would smoke some of it. if it were only winter we should have enough meat to last us for weeks," answered the guide. "in many respects winter traveling in the woods is very desirable. ever rough it in the winter?" tad said that they had not, but that they hoped to do so at some time in the near future. supper was a welcome meal that night, for everyone was hungry because they had had a hard fifteen-mile journey on foot over rugged ground. bear steak was served for breakfast. yes, it was tough, but most of the party enjoyed it. stacy ate and ate until they feared he would pop open, and ned declared that chunky would be growling like a bear before the forenoon came to an end. enough meat for two more meals was packed away to carry with them, after which camp was broken, and before eight o'clock the pony rider boys were on their way. their trail led them farther and farther into the dense forests. vaughn had it in mind to make their next camp on the shores of a lake, where he thought that they might find something to interest them. the boys were willing. they were not particular where they went. it was all alike to some of them, ever new to others. stacy cared only for what he found to eat, while tad and ned were for learning all they could about the woods and woodcraft, in all of which cale vaughn was an expert. charlie john was proving himself a most useful man in the camp, though charlie was not to be depended upon when it came to fighting bear. he had proved another thing, too. he was an excellent tree climber and could make the first limbs of a tree quicker than any other member of the party, especially when there was a bear below anxious to get a nip at the indian's calves. they made their new camping place some hours before dark. charlie already had picked out a pleasant camp site, a short distance from the shore of the little lake, screened by trees and foliage, but in plain view of the water. the natural instinct of the indian had taught him to so place his camp that it could not be readily seen from either the lake itself or from the surrounding country. this trait will be found in the white woodsman as well, copying perhaps an instinct inherent in his animal ancestor of a few million years back. "now," said the guide, after the boys had pitched their tents, "we haven't had a real lesson in preparing a cooking fire. i observe that you boys go at it in a sort of hit and miss way. you may have observed something of the woodsman's way of cooking by the manner in which charlie fixed the fire in our camp yesterday." "yes, we did," answered tad. "i will go more into detail this time. the fire is more than half of good cookery in the woods, just as it is in your home kitchens. you need a small fire, free from smoke and flame, with coals or dry twigs in reserve. there must be a way of regulating the heat just as in stoves, and there must be a rampart around the fire on which pots and pans will stand level and at the right elevation. master stacy, will you please fell a small, straight tree and cut from it two logs about six feet long, eight or ten inches thick?" _"what?"_ the guide repeated his request. chunky hemmed and hawed. "the fact is, mr. vaughn, i've got a weak heart. i'm afraid it would excite me too much to do that. you see i have to be very careful." "i will cut down the tree," said ned, stepping forward. "yes, perhaps it would overtax master stacy. there is a good tree for the purpose just beyond where the professor is standing, master ned," nodded cale. ned took up the axe and attacked the tree with vigorous blows. he had taken but a few of these when the axe flew from the helve, narrowly missing the professor's head. "here, here!" cried the professor. "what are you trying to do?" "that was an axe-i-dent," chuckled the fat boy. "stop it!" yelled ned. "i agree with you," grinned the guide. "that was almost more than i could stand myself." "i shall forget myself and hit you with this axe helve if you get off anything like that again, stacy brown," threatened ned rector. "bad, very bad," agreed the professor. "shocking," nodded tad. in the meantime cale was wedging the axe on the helve. having completed his task he handed the axe back to rector, who, a few moments later, sent the tree crashing down. "i guess you have handled an axe before," said vaughn. "yes. he is the champion wood-splitter of our town," stacy informed him. cale flattened the top and one side of each log with the axe after tad had finished ned's job. these, the bed logs, the guide placed side by side, flat sides toward each other, about three inches apart at one end and some eight or ten at the other. by this time charlie had gathered a supply of bark and hard wood which he placed from end to end between the bed pieces and lighted the fire. while charlie john was doing this, cale planted at each end of the fire a forked stake about four feet high. over these he laid a lug-pole or cross-stick of green wood. two or three green crotches from branches were cut, a nail driven in the small end of each, and the contrivance hung on the lug-pole from which to suspend the kettles. these pot-hooks were of different lengths for hard boiling or for simmering. "these are 'lug-sticks,'" explained vaughn. "a hook for lifting the kettles is a 'hook-stick.' i'll make some of those as soon as i finish with what i am doing now. in quick camp-making we sharpen a stick and drive it into the ground at an angle, and from this we suspend our kettle. that kind of arrangement up here in the maine woods is called a 'wambeck' or 'spygelia.'" "sounds like the name of a patent medicine," observed chunky. "i agree with you," smiled the guide. "how did it get such an outlandish name?" questioned the professor. "i am sure i don't know. oh, you will find lots of funny names up here in the wilds. for instance, the frame built over a cooking fire is called by the penobscots, 'kitchi-plak-wagn.' some others call the 'lug-stick' a 'chiplok-waugan.'" "taken from 'chipmunk wagon,'" nodded the fat boy wisely. "no doubt," replied the guide dryly. "some of the guides have changed it to 'waugan-stick.'" "you make me dizzy," declared stacy brown, passing a hand over his eyes. "then here is another for you that will render you wholly unconscious," went on cale. "the gypsies call a pot-hook a 'kekauviscoe saster.' how is that?" "oh, help!" moaned the fat boy. "i should say that was about the end of the limit," declared tad butler. "in windy weather, or where fuel is scarce," continued cale, "it is best to dig a trench eighteen inches wide, twelve inches deep and say four feet long, instead of cutting down a tree for your bed logs. make a chimney of flat stones or sod at the leeward end. this will give you a good draft." "we did something like that in the rockies," tad informed him. "build a fire in this trench with fire-irons or green sticks laid across it for the fryingpan and a frame above for the kettles, and there you are. i'd like to see any kitchen do any better." "i guess we never knew very much about camping," said tad. "we know how to eat," asserted stacy. "at least one of us does," agreed rector. "know how to make a bake-oven?" questioned cale. "hot stones are as near as i have come to making anything of that sort," replied tad. "i won't show you now because we are in a hurry for our supper, but some day, when we have nothing in particular to do, i will make one and we will bake some bread that you will say is the equal of anything you ever had at home. how is that steak coming on, charlie?" "him smell like him done," answered the indian. "serve it up. we are ready for it. master stacy is so hungry that he has shrunk to half his natural size." "i'll be a skeleton if i keep on," agreed the fat boy. a steaming, savory meal was served there in the great forest with the odor of the pines mingling with those of bear steak and boiling coffee. to these hungry boys it seemed that nothing ever had tasted so good to them in all their lives. and they did full justice to the meal, too. chapter x blazing a forest trail "every time you turn around the scenery has shifted," complained tad butler, as the four boys stood on a rise of ground gazing this way and that for familiar signs, while waiting for the guide, with whom they had been out hunting and studying woodcraft. "i thought i knew my way about in the woods, but i find i don't know as much as a yearling," answered rector. "where is that guide?" "maybe he has gone home," suggested stacy. "i guess he has not gone far," said ned. "he said he wanted to get a look at an old burn some little way to the northward." "i'll go look for him," offered walter. tad butler was already too good a woodsman to permit his friend to do anything of the sort. tad said they must keep together. "for the sake of making conversation, which way would you go if you were about to follow mr. vaughn?" he asked. "that way," answered walter, pointing. "and you, ned?" "just the opposite direction." "chunky, which way would you go?" "i? i wouldn't go at all. i would just sit right down here, plump." "you would show your good sense in doing that very thing. boys, you are all wrong, except chunky. mr. vaughn went that way, to the eastward." "how do you know?" asked ned. "because i watched him and saw him blaze a tree with his hatchet." "but we don't see any blazes," objected walter. "that is because we are on the wrong side of it, walt," replied ned. "right you are," approved butler. "but why doesn't he put the blaze on this side of the trees so we can see them?" questioned walter. "for the very good reason that he marked the trees on the side that would be facing him when he returned," tad informed them. "however, had he desired to mark his trees so that one approaching from the way he will return would not see the blazes, he would have blazed the trees on this side. that is what is called back-blazing." "tad is the woodsman," nodded rector. "he thinks he is," chunky chimed in. "no, i don't. i have realized, since coming up here, that i don't know enough about the woods to tell when a tree is going to fall. did you notice another trick of mr. vaughn's when we were coming out here?" the boys shook their heads. "he broke the tops of bushes at intervals. i noticed, too, that he bent them all in the same direction. i don't know the meaning of it, but i guess it had something to do with direction." "there he comes now. ask him," cried rector. "hello! i thought you boys would be lost before this," called cale, with a twinkle in his eyes. "we might have been, at that," declared ned. "at least walt would have been. chunky wouldn't move and tad, though he pointed the way you had gone, wouldn't let us move away. we were talking about your having bent over some bushes on the trail here. tad said it was to indicate the direction we had taken as you bent them all in the same direction." "master tad has keen eyes. he is right. in venturing into strange forests, far from human habitation, one should do this occasionally in addition to blazing or marking trees with the hatchet. the way to do is to bend a green bush over in the way you are going, snapping the stem or clipping it with the hatchet, but letting it adhere by the bark, so that the under or lighter side of the foliage will be looking you in the face when you return." "why, a man couldn't lose his way with that kind of a trail, could he?" asked rector. "well, he might," admitted cale. "but, if he is being pursued by enemies, or for any other reason does not wish to leave a conspicuous trail, he had better not bend bushes. in blazing, remember that a single blaze should always be made on the side away from the camp. if the side toward the camp be marked it should be with two blazes instead of one. remember that. it may come in handy one of these days. master tad, what is the gun signal when one is lost?" "a shot, a pause, then two shots," answered butler promptly. "right. what time of day? wait! let's see if any of the others know," said cale quickly, seeing that tad was about to reply. "i don't understand what you mean," said rector. "what time of the day would you pay attention to that sort of a signal?" "any time i heard it," answered the fat boy. "provided, of course, that there wasn't anybody else to go." "i give it up," said ned. "after four o'clock in the afternoon is the rule, i believe," answered tad in response to a nod from the guide. "yes, that's right. that is the hour the camp-keeper is supposed to blow his horn to call home the wanderers. we are too far away, of course, to hear the horn. we must be all of twenty miles from camp. we are now five miles from our ponies." "it strikes me that it is pretty near time for us to be getting to the animals, then," suggested tad. "why?" "because it is going to rain and the afternoon is getting late." vaughn nodded. he was losing no opportunity to teach the boys the art of woodcraft, and woodcraft, with all its tricks, was what the pony rider boys wanted to learn. they were learning fast, too, though tad butler was the most apt pupil of the four. he never forgot a thing that had been told him. his memory, too, was of great service to him in the woods, as had been demonstrated on other occasions in previous trips. once he had set his eyes on a peculiar tree or a rock or a formation, he never forgot it. a man with a short memory or lack of observation has a hard time in the woods, and usually a searching party has to go out after him in such a country as this where, were a novice to stray ten rods from camp, he might never find his way back without help. great drops of rain began to patter down a few minutes after the subject had been mentioned. the party had left their ponies when the way became impassable for horses, and had gone on on foot. stacy went with them because he did not relish the idea of being left alone in the woods. otherwise nothing would have induced him to foot it over the hills, through the tangled growth of blackberry and raspberry briars in old burns, stumbling over charred snags, fallen trunks and limbs, until there was scarcely a spot on any of their bodies that was not mauled to tenderness. a mile an hour is fair time through this sort of country. cale decided that it was high time to be going. he took a keen look about him, eyed his charges, then turning to tad said: "you lead the way." tad started off confidently--in the wrong direction. cale did not set him right. but the boy had gone but a few yards when he discovered his mistake. with flushed face, he retraced his steps to the starting point, then took a new course. the first course he had followed was the one vaughn had taken earlier in the day. the present one led to the temporary camp where their ponies had been tethered. "you did perfectly right," approved the guide. "i made a mess of it at the start, sir," replied butler. a new problem was confronting tad. he saw that darkness would overtake them within a short half hour, and the boy did not know how he was going to find his way then. he knew it would be impossible to find the blazes or axe-marks on the trees. had he been alone he probably would have made camp while it was still light enough to enable him to see the trail. such a night would have been far from pleasant, but then when daylight came he would have the satisfaction of knowing where he was. the rain was increasing in volume every moment, and not having rubber coats with them the boys were soon soaked. this not being a new experience they uttered no complaints until chunky finally wailed his disappointment that he had forgotten to bring an umbrella. just before dark tad called a halt, and, borrowing the guide's hatchet, peeled off a liberal quantity of birch bark, dividing up the load between his companions. stacy complained loudly at being obliged to carry the stuff. he didn't see any reason why they should lug firewood to camp. they would find plenty when they got there. "master tad knows what he is doing, i reckon," nodded the guide, who understood butler's motive. "ordinarily i don't believe in the sixth sense business, but some persons are more adept than others in woodcraft. to me that means that some persons are more alert and observant than others. master tad has just proved this. he has used his powers of observation in several different directions since we started on the return. he was alert enough to discover that we were going to be caught out after dark." "there is one thing he doesn't know," piped chunky. "what is that?" questioned cale tolerantly. "he doesn't know enough to keep in out of the wet." "do you?" asked tad. "no, i don't, and i'm kicking myself because of it. you had better believe i shall know better next time. you don't catch me again this way, not if i am awake at the time. are we nearly there?" "about five miles from the ponies," answered mr. vaughn. chunky groaned dismally. "you had better light up now," suggested the guide. "be careful not to drop any fire, even if the ground is wet." "no, not the rest of you," objected tad, as the others began reaching for their matches. "one torch will be enough. our torches won't hold out if we all light up at the same time." "right," approved cale. tad lighted his torch while the guide held his hat over the match. then the party moved on again. as darkness fell their progress naturally grew more slow. they had to use extreme care not to miss any of the little blaze marks on the trees, and at the same time to note every bush that had been bent toward them. water was running from hat brims, clothing was soaked as was everything in their pockets, and water spurted from their boots with every step. "how would you like a pound or so of that bear steak, chunky?" asked ned, shouting in the fat boy's ear. "hot off the frying pan," added tad. "with a cup of steaming hot coffee added to it, while you were listening to the rain pattering on the roof of your tent," suggested walter. "all sitting tight and snug as a bug in a rug?" asked the fat boy. "no, i couldn't stand it. my heart is too weak. i should die of heart failure. and, incidentally, if you fellows keep on nagging me, something's going to happen. mind you, i am not making any threats." "you had better not if you know what is best for you," warned rector. "but i am just saying what will take place, that's all. i--" stacy did not complete the sentence. he stumbled over a dead limb and plunged head first into a bed of mold that streaked his face with black, filling his mouth and eyes, to the great delight of the rest of the party and the discomfiture of the fat boy. stacy kept quiet for a long time after that. after four hours of this sort of traveling--it was now near ten o'clock at night--tad halted, and, raising his torch above his head, gazed about him, trying to light up the shadows up in the trees. the pony rider boy was trying to get his bearings. cale was observing him with twinkling eyes. a twig snapped off to the right of them and a horse whinnied. "here we are," cried butler. "that was silver face calling to me." "i was expecting to see you go on past the place," chuckled vaughn. "well done, my lad! had you lived all your life in the woods you could not have made a better campfall." "what, are we home?" cried walter. "we are at our temporary camp. luckily for us, too," said the guide, "for our torches have all burned out. stamp that out, master tad. we will have a fire going in a short time." the boys turned toward their ponies, stumbling over obstructions, guided by the snorts of welcome from the little animals that they could hear but were unable to see. they were to learn some new tricks in woodcraft right then and there, something that they probably never would have learned of themselves. even cale vaughn's resources were to be taxed somewhat in overcoming the difficulties that now confronted them. chapter xi facing new obstacles "the first thing to be done," announced the guide, "is to get either some pitch pine or some birch bark." "ha, ha!" laughed stacy in a hollow voice. "easily said." "i am afraid that is beyond me," declared tad butler. the other boys were of the same mind. cale directed them to stand where they were while he made a search for the desired wood. they could hear him threshing around in the darkness, the sounds growing fainter and fainter until they were finally lost in the steady patter of the heavy raindrops showering down on them through the foliage. now and then the raindrops became a deluge as a breeze, stirring the tops of the trees, sent a chilling shower over their shivering bodies. "whoo-ee!" it was the voice of the guide. "whoo-ee!" answered tad. cale was seeking for the camp. tad's voice guided him quickly to it. "did you find it?" questioned butler as the guide strode in. "i did. i have some choice pine knots here. wait until i whittle some fine shavings, then we will have a nice little fire. i've got some bark, too. that will answer until we get a light to see what we are about." "shall i get out the dog tent?" asked tad. "yes, you might as well, if you can find it." "i know where to lay my hands on it." while tad was occupied with this the other boys stood shivering against the trunks of trees, trying to shelter themselves from the storm, but without marked success. a faint light flared up as vaughn struck a match under his hat, but a sudden gust extinguished it. "boys, i am not fit to be called a woodsman," grumbled the guide. "i failed to fill my match safe before leaving camp this morning." "i have matches," spoke up rector. "in a waterproof case?" asked the guide. "no, in my pocket." "no good! they are soaked to a pulp. master tad, have you a match safe?" "yes, sir." "good." "oh, fudge, i have lost it," groaned tad. "i am a greenhorn to do a thing like that." "no, it was not your fault that you lost it. it was my fault that i forgot to fill mine. so you are in the better position of the two," said vaughn. "what are we going to do now?" asked ned. "i'm going to stand against this tree until i fall over," declared stacy. "there will be a dead pony rider boy at the foot of this tree in the morning." "buck up!" commanded rector. "i can't. all the buck is soaked out of me," wailed the fat boy. "we might as well put up the tent while we are about it," advised cale. "after that we shall see what can be done." "is--is there anything to eat in the packs?" begged chunky. "we shall find something," replied cale cheerfully. "this is nothing, except the provoking part of not having any matches. got the tent, master tad?" "yes, sir." "i will cut a sapling or two for the frame; then we will put the camp to rights." "there are two saplings right here by the ponies that i think will answer the purpose. shall i cut them, mr. vaughn?" asked butler. "no, i will do that." tad and the guide worked in the darkness almost to as good purpose as if the hour had been midday. in a short time they had pitched the little tent in which the five were to sleep that night. next they gathered all the spruce and cedar boughs they could lay their hands on, shaking the water from the browse as best they could, then piling the stuff inside the tent until the little structure was almost full to the peak. "isn't there anything i can do?" asked ned. "not now. too many at this job would hold the work back," answered the guide. "you have a plan for getting a light?" questioned butler. "i am going to try it," answered the guide. "got anything dry about your person?" "my throat is the only dry part of me," answered tad in a hoarse, laughing voice. "i think i have something dry. that part of my shirt that is under the tail of my coat i think is fairly dry. i am going to try to show you a trick worth while," announced the guide. cale took a cartridge from his belt. he extracted the bullet with his teeth, then placed a wad over the powder. next he ripped a piece of cloth from the lower part of his shirt, guarding it from the rain, and placing the cartridge in his rifle, he poked the piece of dry cloth loosely into the barrel of the gun. "don't be scared, boys. i'm going to shoot," warned the guide. "wha--what are you going to shoot at?" cried stacy. "at you, if you don't keep still," answered the voice of one of the boys, though chunky did not know which one. a flash and a report followed. a few seconds later the boys were amazed to see a glowing ball descending apparently from the tops of the tall spruce. "good gracious, what is it?" cried rector. "that is our light," answered the guide. "but i don't understand." "i will explain to you later. i'll warrant master tad understands." "yes, i know how you did that, mr. vaughn. it's a trick worth while, too," answered butler. "but what are you going to fire with it?" "you'll see. will you shield me from the wind with a blanket while i am starting this fire, butler?" tad kept the blanket in place by standing on two corners, the other two corners being gripped in his upraised hands, while the guide, having pared some thin shavings from the pitch pine and made a pile of bark and pine ready for the flame, was blowing on the glowing wad that he had shot from the gun. all at once a little flame leaped up from the pine shavings. "hooray!" shouted the pony rider boys. "we don't need matches to build a fire in this outfit," laughed tad. "no, we need neither matches nor gunpowder. i can start a fire anywhere, and so can you, master tad," returned cale. "i shall believe it after this," nodded tad. "now if you will drive a couple of stakes into the ground on the windward side of the fire, and fasten the blanket up, i think the fire will stay where it is for the rest of the night, unless the wind shifts in the meantime. come, boys, get the packs under the tent. make yourselves useful unless you are in no hurry for your supper." this had the desired effect. the boys hustled. their good humor returned instantly. wet as they were--and they could have been no wetter had they jumped into a pond--they forgot all about discomfort in their eagerness to get ready for their late supper. the campfire had been built close to the front of the tent, whose roof, sloping back away from the fire, caught and deflected the heat down over the browse, drying that out very rapidly, filling the little tent with warmth. "this is what i call fine," declared chunky, throwing himself down on the browse. "come out of that," commanded tad. "we are not ready to loaf yet. bring the saddles in and stow them in the corner. every man must do his part now." stacy grumbled at this, but obeyed tad's command, knowing that if he did not tad would be after him with a sharp stick. mr. vaughn cooked the supper. there was not a great variety--bacon, biscuit and coffee, the water for which had been brought from a nearby spring. "you see," said cale, while doing the cooking, "how necessary water is to a camp. had we not staked down our ponies by the spring here before leaving them this forenoon we would be in a fix now and obliged to go to bed supperless. it would have been a thankless task to look for a spring at this time of the night in the rain. however, i don't need to tell you this. you have been through it before." "we have," answered tad. "we have learned the value of water from sad experience." "so have i," agreed the fat boy. "i use it for washing every day." "come and get it," cried the guide. they arranged themselves as best they could in the tent, while cale handed around the supper. there was little conversation for the next ten minutes. the boys were too busy. "after supper we shall have to rustle for firewood," said the guide after a time. "i will look after that," offered tad. "we will all go out," added rector. "no, it isn't necessary for all of us to get wet," answered tad. "i suppose the ponies will have to stay out in the wet, but they are used to that. do we go back to our other camp in the morning, mr. vaughn?" "yes. one day and night of this, i guess, will be enough for you boys for one time." "i wouldn't mind a month of it," answered tad. "nor i," agreed ned. "not for me," spoke up stacy. "i have had enough to last me a lifetime already. next time i remain in camp, bears or no bears. just think of the professor snoring away in that nice, comfortable tent. oh, dear!" no one gave heed to the fat boy's plaints. they were enjoying themselves too thoroughly after their long wet walk. after supper the boys began to put the camp in shape for the night. tad cut down a tree, getting a shower of water over him and wetting himself to the skin again. this tree he chopped into proper lengths for a campfire while ned and walter toted them to camp. the interior of the tent was thoroughly dried out by this time, so that when they were ready for bed their bedroom was warm and sweet and dry. they had dried out their blankets fairly well, and wrapping up in them the boys settled down for a night's rest just at midnight. they did not remember ever to have had a better night's rest. it seemed as if they had just gone to sleep when they were awakened by cale. "time to get up," he called cheerily. "we will have a quick breakfast, then you will lead us back to camp, master tad." packs were quickly lashed after breakfast, and before the sun had topped the fronds of the great pines the party was wending its way through the trackless forest, tad leading the way with unerring instinct, backed by keenest observation. chapter xii chunky meets a bull moose "that was as fine a piece of trailing as ever a mountaineer did, master tad," announced cale approvingly as they came in sight of the little lake where the permanent camp was pitched. "oh, it is easy to follow a trail so plainly marked as was that," answered butler. "not so easy as you would make it out to be. none but an experienced woodsman could follow even that trail, let me tell you, young man. and even on a clear trail there isn't that man living who doesn't get lost once in a while. when you do get lost, sit down and think it over. don't get the willyjigs and go all to pieces." "i never do," replied tad. "still, that isn't saying that i wouldn't get them up here." "what are the willyjigs?" asked stacy. "going into a panic; in other words, getting rattled when you realize that you are lost." "is it anything like buck fever when you are trying to shoot at an animal?" asked rector. "about the same thing." "that's what ned had when he shot the rope off the bear the other day," piped stacy. "i didn't," expostulated ned. "master stacy is right at that, i guess," laughed vaughn. the guide raised his voice in a signal to the camp. "there is charlie john," he said. the indian came down to the shore of the lake upon hearing the call. he made out the party in a moment, though they had halted in the shadows of the trees to see if he would discover them. charlie did. "indians have sharp eyes," said tad. "yes, even the half-breeds," agreed cale. "hold my gun. i'm going to swim it," announced tad. "the water is too cold," objected cale. "i don't care." tad quickly stripped off his clothes, and ned decided that he, too, needed a swim, so he undressed. the two lads plunged into the little lake, and ned uttered a yell when his body came in contact with the almost ice-cold water. "swim hard and you will not notice it," chattered tad. "i s-s-s-see you don't," answered ned. "race me for the other side. now, go!" cried tad. the boys struck out in swift, powerful strokes. cale vaughn's eyes sparkled as he observed the swimmers. "i would give a great deal if i could swim like that," he mused. "oh, that's nothing. i can beat that swimming with my feet tied," answered stacy. "i'm a natural-born swimmer." "i should say you were a natural everything, according to your idea of yourself," grinned the guide. "don't make fun of me. i am sensitive about that," replied chunky with an injured look on his face. "come, we had better be on the move. those two boys will be wanting their clothes," answered cale. they started around the shore of the lake, finding very good traveling. but the swimmers were ahead of them. tad and ned were running up and down the beach to stir their circulation, their teeth chattering, their bodies blue with the cold. "hurry, hurry!" yelled tad. "i'm a human icicle. i'll freeze fast to the shore if you don't hurry!" chattered ned. "never mind. we can break you loose with an axe," retorted stacy in a jeering tone. by this time the professor had brought towels, whereat the two boys began rubbing down, and in a few moments the blue of their flesh turned to pink. chunky cast their clothes on the ground. "you fellows do love to work, don't you?" he grunted. "all healthy human beings should like to work," answered tad. "i smell dinner." "dinner!" cried chunky, starting on a run for the campfire where the indian was preparing the noonday meal. after dinner stacy went to sleep while his companions were relating the story of their experiences to the professor, and the guide was telling him what a clever woodsman master tad was. stacy was awakened by the voices of his companions. with a growl of disgust at being disturbed, he scrambled to his feet and started sleepily out into the forest, hoping to find a snug place in which to lie down and finish his nap. the boy was almost asleep as he blindly made his way from camp, but without attracting the attention of the others. getting a little way from camp he leaned heavily against a tree. one solitary snore escaped his lips. stacy pulled himself together, opening his eyes slightly, then closing them again. somehow he had a faint idea that he had seen something that was not a part of the forest, something that had made him start with disagreeable expectation. [illustration: before him stood a huge animal] being brave, however, chunky forced himself to open his eyes. "wow!" he gasped. before him, some five rods away, stood a huge animal, of aspect so terrifying that young brown couldn't, for the moment, even guess to which class of lower animals it belonged. it was huge, this solid apparition, with a long, beak-shaped nose. from its head branched upward a pair of enormous antlers with many branches. the ends of these antlers looked as though they might be as sharp as needles. when the animal pawed the ground and snorted stacy shivered again, yet seemed unable to run. it was a giant bull moose, a savage enough fellow even when confronted by an armed, cool and experienced hunter. again it snorted, its beak-like jaw lowering toward the ground. "it's going to nibble at the grass--i must be slipping away," thought the terrified fat boy. next he discovered that the animal's gaze was fastened upon him. then, suddenly, the great bulk, its head still lowered, and the cruel-looking antlers pointed straight at the boy, charged! "the fellows will never know how scared i died!" gasped the shaking boy, who was now incapable of motion. stacy tried to shut his eyes, but was so fascinated that he couldn't. he couldn't remove his gaze from those awful antlers! then kindly nature stepped in. stacy's swift despair reached such a height of frenzy that he swooned. sideways he toppled, away from the tree. _bump!_ went the bull moose's lowered head against the tree, with fearful force and an awesome noise. the impact was so terrific that the moose, stunned, recoiled, then toppled over just as stacy had done. chapter xiii an exciting day in camp the moose struggled for a few seconds, then stiffened out. "what was that?" demanded the sharp-eared tad. "it sounded like a tree falling," answered rector. "no, it was something else," answered the guide, intently listening. "where is stacy?" demanded the professor. "that's so, he isn't here," wondered walter. "where can he have gone?" stacy brown about this time was struggling to his feet. his terrified eyes were looking at the stunned hulk lying there on the ground. then stacy brown found his voice. he uttered a wild yell of terror. cale vaughn was on his feet in a twinkling. but quick as he was, tad was ahead of him, tearing through the brush to the rescue of the fat boy, who, all believed, had got into some new difficulty. bears was the first thought of the quicker-witted ones. stacy heard his friends coming, then a sudden thought occurred to him. whipping out his keen-edged hunting knife the fat boy sprang forward, giving the knife a swift sweep over the neck of the fallen, stunned bull. chunky leaped back, uttering another yell, this time of triumph rather than fear. "i got him! i got him!" he yelled. at this juncture tad came tearing through the brush. "what is it? what is it? here he is. here--" tad butler came to a sudden halt, at the same time slipping his revolver from its holster, but as quickly replacing it when he observed the real condition of affairs. there stood stacy with the crimsoned knife still in hand, the other hand thrust in his trousers pocket, his chest thrown out, his head tilted back at an angle that threatened to topple him over backwards. "what--what?" gasped tad. by that time cale vaughn had reached tad's side. "what has happened here?" demanded the guide sharply. "that," answered tad, pointing to the dying moose that had fallen a victim to the fat boy's hunting knife. "good gracious!" exclaimed cale. he, too, was well-nigh speechless. "who did that?" "i did it with my little knife," answered the fat boy pompously. "it's a bull moose, sir, and the boy has killed it," said the guide in a puzzled voice, as the professor, with ned rector and walter perkins, came running up to them. "this is the most remarkable thing i ever heard of." "oh, that's nothing," replied chunky airily. "it is only pleasant pastime to go out and kill a moose by hand." the party was now standing about the fallen animal, but they took care not to approach too closely, for the bull was still kicking. tad shook his head. "how did this happen?" demanded the guide, turning on chunky sharply. "he sailed into me, sir. yes, sir, he lighted right into me with all four feet and his horns. we had it tooth and nail all over the place. it was a dandy battle. you ought to have seen it. talk about your boxing matches." "but how did you do it?" insisted the guide, not believing stacy's story. "with my little knife, of course. how did you suppose i cut his throat? did you think i bit it in two?" "i'd hardly give you credit for being quite so hungry as that," answered cale with the suspicion of a twinkle. "let us have the story." "i am telling you--" "my, but he is a big one!" exclaimed ned. "the largest one i ever saw. he is a terror. he must weigh more than fifteen hundred pounds," interrupted mr. vaughn. "most remarkable, most remarkable!" muttered the professor, while walter perkins gazed in awe upon the fat boy, who was literally swelling with importance. "i was dancing around like a boxer," continued chunky. "i fought him with my hare hands until i happened to think of my knife. i drew my knife and i made a pass at him, but he jumped away. oh, it was a fine bout, don't you folks forget it for a minute! well, after a time i found an opening, then i let him have it right across the jug--jug--jugular." "but what was that crash we heard?" asked vaughn. "that? oh, that was when he fell down," answered stacy a little lamely. "hm-m-m!" mused the guide. vaughn was not convinced. he knew that there was more to it than appeared on the surface. chancing to catch the eyes of tad butler, he saw that tad was of the same opinion. "he is dead now. we can look him over," announced the guide. "isn't that a dandy pair of antlers?" cried butler. "very fine indeed," agreed cale. "the finest specimens i have ever seen," nodded the professor. "we can take the antlers home with us, can we not?" asked ned. "you mean i can," interposed stacy. "i am afraid it wouldn't do," replied vaughn thoughtfully. "i know it is a pity to leave such a pair here in the woods, but it would not be safe to take them out." "i guess i will take them out," bristled chunky. "why will it not be safe, mr. vaughn?" inquired tad. "because it is against the law to shoot moose at this time of the year." "i didn't shoot him. i knifed him," answered the fat boy. "that makes no difference; you killed him. the open season is from october fifteenth to december first. you see we are a long way from an open season in the middle of june." the boys looked solemn. "oh, that's too bad," said tad. "i'll tell you what we will do," decided the guide, after a few moments' reflection. "i will cut off the head and we will bury the antlers. when the open season comes along i will drop out here and get the antlers. we can't hope to preserve the head that long, but the antlers themselves will be no small trophy when you consider that this is one of the largest bulls ever taken in the maine woods. and, further, we shall have some fine moose steak. it will probably be a little tough from this big fellow, but it isn't every day that you can have moose steak for dinner. where is charlie?" "in camp," answered walter. cale shouted to him. he ordered the indian to cut poles and prepare for butchering the dead bull. tad asked if he might do it, to which request the guide gave a willing assent. this was somewhat different from butchering a bear weighing only a few hundred pounds. a three-quarter-ton moose was not an easy proposition to butcher. tad tugged and perspired, and in the end was forced to ask for assistance in getting the animal off the ground. cale smiled. "i thought you would be calling for help pretty soon," he said. "no one man could handle that carcass alone. here, charlie, get hold of the hind legs and help drag the fellow over between those two trees, then dig a hole so we can bury everything that would show what we have done. we don't want anybody to know about this, now that it is done." it took tad nearly an hour and a half to complete his job, and when he had finished he was ready for another bath in the lake, which he took, at the same time washing his clothes and dancing up and down the beach while they were drying out in the sun. tad said one moose was enough for him. if he ever had to dress another he wouldn't dress it. during all this time chunky brown was strolling up and down with chest thrown out, his hands in his trousers pockets. his achievement was the talk of the camp. the boys were greatly excited, more or less envious of what stacy had accomplished. tad, after he had donned his clothes, returned to the scene of the conflict. he examined the ground, then turned his attention to the tree. the boy devoted some moments to a certain spot on the tree where the bark had been broken by the blow from the moose's head. tad grinned, but he said nothing to his companions upon his return to camp. it was too good to tell. he did not know how much cale knew or suspected, but he realized that the guide did not quite believe all that stacy had told them about the battle. "now tell us about that fight with the moose again?" urged tad. chunky was willing. "well, it was this way," he began, leaning against a tree, the others being seated about the fire. "you mean it was _that_ way," suggested rector. "i mean what i said. if you know more about it than i do, suppose you tell the story. i went out there because i heard something--no, i guess i didn't hear anything at the start. however, i went out there." "yes, we know you went out there," said tad. "if you hadn't gone out there, how could you have gotten there?" "i--i went out there." "to sleep?" asked ned. "well, yes. i guess i did. after a time i woke up. i saw this big bull sniffing around. i didn't know what he was at first. i thought he was an elephant until i saw his horns." "didn't think it was a cow, did you?" inquired tad solemnly. "i did not," answered the fat boy with dignity. "about the time i discovered him he saw me. then--then--then he went for me. you should have seen him come!" "show us how he did it," nodded the guide. the fat boy, forgetful of his new dignity, lowered his head as close to the ground as possible without falling over on his face and began prancing about the camp, bellowing hoarsely. "just like that?" asked ned. "yes, just like that, only awfully fierce!" the professor was regarding the boy narrowly. a dawning suspicion was in his mind that stacy was drawing the longbow. but professor zepplin made no comment. "and then?" inquired cale quietly. "and then we met. i--i must have grabbed the bull by the horns after he had swung around twice and tried to kick me--" "that sounds more like a kangaroo than a bull moose," observed the professor. "it was this same moose, professor. this is what is known as the kicking species of moose," answered tad, trying to keep a straight face. "yes, he is like some folks we know not more than a mile and a half from here. he was a kicker. well, i caught him by the horns just like this. then you should have seen the fun. why we thrashed around"--stacy was acting it all out, bellowing loudly--"he flopped me this way and that. funny thing, but i never thought of my knife." "no?" said the guide, elevating his eyebrows slightly. "no, sir. of course if i had had a gun, i would have shot him. but i didn't have a gun, and having so few chances to use my knife, i never thought a thing about it. well, we had it hot and heavy until i did think of the knife." "why didn't you let go?" asked walter. "fine thing to do, that," answered stacy scornfully. "why, he would have bored me through with his antlers; then he would have come into camp and killed you all. you see, i was determined to save your lives as well as my own." "noble boy!" murmured rector. "very considerate, indeed," observed the professor dryly. "why didn't you call for help?" asked cale. "i had use for my breath," replied stacy quickly. "i couldn't yell without taking my mind off the brute. then he would have finished me. after a while i did think of the knife. at the first opportunity i whipped it out and gave him one out across the neck. but, sir, i didn't let go until he fell over. i almost went down with him. then he fell over and i let out a yell." "that is the most dramatic account i have ever listened to," observed cale soberly. "most remarkable," added the professor, stroking his beard. "what a star chunky would be in the fibbers' club," grumbled ned rector. "and that's how i did it," finished the fat boy, beginning to whistle through his teeth as he strolled back and forth with hands in his pockets. stacy brown was now thoroughly convinced that he was in a class all by himself. he had suspected as much before. now he knew it. but a day of unhappiness was at hand when the fat boy would wish he never had come into the big woods. chapter xiv laid up by an accident "cale fell down!" shouted stacy brown. tad butler sprang up and ran out where they had dressed the moose. "what is the matter?" cried the lad. "ah, you're hurt, mr. vaughn?" the guide was sitting on the ground with both hands clasped about his left ankle. his face was drawn and pained. "did you turn the ankle?" asked tad solicitously. "yes. if it isn't worse than that i shall be in great luck." "how did it happen?" "i slipped from a round stone that somebody had put in front of the stretcher there." "chunky, was that your work?" the fat boy shamefacedly admitted it was. "if you can't cause trouble in one way you are sure to in another," rebuked tad. "he wasn't to blame. don't blame him for everything," reproved cale. "let me assist you to camp. we will see what is the trouble," said tad, placing both hands under the arms of the suffering guide and raising him to his feet. "the left foot? all right, you put an arm about my neck on that side and we will have you in camp in no time." butler helped vaughn along slowly and gently, though cale now and then grunted from the shooting pains in his ankle. "you are very strong," said cale. "no one would imagine you were so muscular to look at your slender figure." "oh, professor," called tad, "mr. vaughn has hurt his ankle. i think it is sprained." professor zepplin was not a little disturbed at the announcement. he hurried forward, offering his arm, but tad waved him aside, saying he could support the injured man alone perhaps better than two persons could do it. the boy guided his patient to the latter's tent where he placed the guide on a cot, then tenderly removed the boot from the injured foot. "thank you, little pard," smiled cale. "you're as gentle as a woman--and i'm as soft. i oughtn't to let a little thing like this bother me." "professor, perhaps you had better examine it," suggested tad. professor zepplin did so gravely. he hurt the guide by pinching the ankle here and there, while the boys stood about looking on. charlie john alone of the party went on with his work about the camp, unmoved, undisturbed. "i am of the opinion that some of the bones are broken," announced the professor. "oh, that's too bad!" groaned the boys. "i suspected as much," nodded tad. "how did it happen?" asked the professor. "he slipped on a stone," answered butler, while stacy gazed up into the tree tops. "a round stone," observed the fat boy solemnly. "yes, a round stone," nodded tad, giving stacy a quick look half of amusement, half of reproof. professor zepplin did the best he could with the injured member, bathing it in liniment, then bandaging it skilfully, while tad looked on with keen attention. he never lost an opportunity to learn, but in this instance, like the others of the party, tad was grave, for this accident might seriously interfere with their journey. mr. vaughn was made as comfortable as possible, but he suffered a great deal of pain during the rest of the day. he was not a good patient, insisting that he ought to be up and doing. tad resolutely commanded the guide to keep on his back and remain quiet. he devoted his attention to cale all the rest of the day and through the night, bathing the injured member frequently. stacy brown, on the other hand, spent much of his waking hours out by the moose. on the following morning just as they were about to sit down to breakfast a loud halloo caused them to start up and rush down to the water's edge. the smoke from their campfire had attracted the attention of some woodsman. they saw him making his way along the shore of the lake. "got a snack for a hungry man?" called a cheerful voice. "all of them you want," answered tad. "you are just in time. we were sitting down to breakfast when you called." "hello, patsey," called cale as the man strode into camp and, with a quick, keen glance at the party, unslung his rifle and stood it against a tree. "hello, cale. what's wrong?" "turned my ankle, that's all," growled the guide. he then introduced the newcomer as patsey o'rell, a timber cruiser for a big lumber company. patsey said he was on his way in. he had been out taking a survey of some timber plots and had been out two weeks. he had been living, to a large extent, on what the woods could supply, carrying his cooking utensils dangling from his belt. patsey was especially solicitous over the condition of the guide. he demanded to see the ankle, and getting down on his knees examined it carefully. "yes, there's something broken in there," he announced. "i reckon you'd better be a leetle bit careful of that ankle." tad suggested that they sit down to breakfast, which suggestion patsey accepted gratefully. there was moose steak for breakfast. when a heaping dish of it was passed to the timber cruiser he sniffed it, then tasted it, after which he gazed up with a twinkle in his eyes. "something familiar about this meat, eh?" he grinned. "pretty good piece of cow meat--" "it isn't cow meat," exclaimed stacy, unable to contain himself longer. "no?" "no, sir. that's moose." "moose?" "yes, sir, and i killed him myself." the cat was out of the bag. all the warning looks from the rest of the party went unheeded by the fat boy. once started there was no stopping him. "you killed him?" "with my own hands, i did, and he was a big fellow. why, you ought to have seen him." "that's curious. you shot him?" "no, i didn't, i stuck him with my knife." "and what was the moose doing all this time?" laughed the visitor. "he was fighting. he fought me all over the place. would you believe it, sir, he charged me. i sidestepped just like this," explained stacy, jumping up from the table and hopping about. "as he passed me i struck him on the jaw just like this." stacy made a swing that turned him half way around. "hm-m-m! did he feel it?" "did he feel it?" scoffed the fat boy pompously. "why, sir, i knocked him down. he dropped right down on his front legs." "i'd hate to have you hit me a punch with that fist of yours, young man," declared patsey with a slow shake of the head. "as i was saying, we had it hammer and tongs all over the place. i hit him on his big nose until it was sore. did you ever see a moose with a nose-bleed?" patsey shook his head. "then you ought to have seen this fellow. i had him groggy after a while. i just played with him; then, when i got him where i wanted him, i let him have it." "with your fist?" "no, with my knife. i just cut him. i nearly cut his head off the first swish of the knife. he's out there now if you want to look at him." a moment of silence followed stacy's pompous announcement, the faces of the party wearing solemn expressions. "i reckon you'd better come along to town with me, cale," said patsey, by way of changing the subject. "that is my idea, too," agreed butler. "he will be much better off." cale shook his head with emphasis. "that will spoil your trip." "what's the matter with the indian?" demanded o'rell. "does he know the woods sufficiently well to be able to guide us?" asked professor zepplin. "yes. trust an indian for knowing the woods. you couldn't lose charlie for long at a time, if at all." "i agree with you then, mr. o'rell. mr. vaughn can join us again when he gets well. we can agree on some point of meeting, leaving vaughn to settle that. an excellent idea. by all means take him in with you." cale protested, but the others added their voices to the proposal of the timber cruiser until cale ceased his protests. "i don't like to be a baby," he objected. "i should think it would be much better to be a baby, as you call it, than to take the chance of having a stiff ankle for the rest of your life. that would be serious in your calling." "i reckon you are right," reflected the guide. "then it is settled. you go in with me. can you let him have a horse? i see you have your nags with you," said o'rell. "mr. vaughn has his own pony here, too," answered tad. "that's good. with luck i'll have him home and in the hands of old saw bones before midnight." after breakfast tad packed the guide's kit, while cale was giving charlie john explicit instructions regarding the care of the party, where they were to be taken and where they were to go into camp and wait for him some ten days to two weeks later. the guide told the professor that, in case they got short of provisions, they could send the indian in to any of the towns for fresh stores. a night and a half day should suffice to them to a town almost anywhere in that time, and charlie could be trusted to carry out his orders faithfully so long as those orders were in black and white. all preparations were made for the journey by tad. he placed his own saddle on mr. vaughn's pony, because it was a more comfortable saddle than that owned by the guide. finally all was ready. the boys picked up the injured man and lifted him bodily into his saddle, patsey o'rell regarding the proceeding with something of wonder in his eyes, for the boys did not look as if they possessed so much strength. with final instructions to charlie, cale rode away, o'rell striding along by his side, leaving the pony rider boys a little blue and unusually silent. "we will cut up some of that meat, then bury the rest of the carcass before some other visitors come to camp," ordered tad. "you shouldn't have said anything about the moose, chunky." "i guess i've got a right to talk about myself if i want to," retorted the fat boy. chapter xv a disastrous journey several days had passed, finding the pony rider boys in the same camp where cale vaughn had left them. they had got along very well, indeed, and though charlie john was not much of a talker, he had done his work well, taking the boys out every day for long jaunts, on which the professor had formed the habit of accompanying them. professor zepplin was finding much to interest him in the great forests, and especially in the methods pursued by woodsmen in making their way through the forests. the trees, the bushes, the foliage and the birds and animals had taken on a new meaning, a new interest to the professor, just as these things had taken on a new and absorbing interest for the boys under his charge. of course cale vaughn was greatly missed by everyone. he was the most interesting guide that had ever accompanied them. for one thing, they had learned more from cale than from any other guide. the only way they could learn from charlie john was by observation, as he never deemed it necessary to explain anything to them, for which reason they pressed him hard for information and drew him out by frequent questionings. the pony rider boys finally decided that they would like to move, so the camp was struck, their equipment packed and loaded on to the ponies. then one morning they started out on a two days' journey, finally locating in a new camp some thirty miles from the old camp. the country had become more rugged, the rocks were higher, the country cut up by deep valleys and narrow passes. but the bracing fragrance of the spruce woods was still in their nostrils. it was a country of evergreens, of mossy silver birches and watery maples. the ground itself was sprinkled with small red berries, strewn with damp and moss-grown rocks, with the songs of the birds filling the air overhead. the pony rider boys voted it the most entrancing environment in which they ever had been. they were glad they had moved on. now they were eager to explore the new country, so a start was made on an exploring trip on the following day, but traveling was slow owing to the rugged nature of that part of the forest. on the second day in the new camp they journeyed so far to the north that they decided to make a temporary camp and spend the night, returning the next morning. the night was passed uneventfully, but upon their return to the permanent camp they were met with a most unpleasant surprise. "someone has been here," cried tad the moment he came in sight of the camp. "thieves!" yelled chunky. "what--what?" demanded the professor. the contents of the tents lay strewn about the camp; everything was in disorder. "plenty bear come here," grunted charlie after a glance at the condition of the camp. "bears!" cried the boys. the indian nodded. "him get plenty eat." "oh, pshaw! our provisions are ruined," groaned tad. "even the canned goods have been ruined," added ned. "are--are my canned peaches gone?" wailed stacy. "you may see for yourself," answered tad. "this is most disconcerting," muttered the professor. "how about the meat?" "all gone," answered tad. "i reckon we shall have to live on spruce bark for the rest of our journey," averred ned. "we can't very well do that," answered butler. "let's go over the outfit and see what we really have left." what they had was not enough to cut much figure in the face of the appetites of the pony rider boys. a few of the canned things were untouched. there was coffee, though they had to scrape it up from the ground after it had been pawed over by the marauders, but the boys were glad enough to have the coffee even in such a condition. tad said he guessed the bears had not made it unfit to drink. of course they had some provisions in their packs, left over from their trip into the mountains, but a careful inventory led them to the conclusion that, with the most rigid economy, they would be able to get along not longer than three days with what provisions they still had. "i reckon i had better go out and kill another moose," decided stacy brown. "you have done quite enough in that direction already," answered tad. "we are fortunate if we don't get into trouble over that killing of yours." "this is serious," spoke up the professor. "what shall we do, charlie?" "me kill deer," said the indian. "deer are out of season. we don't want to do anything of that sort, except as a last resort," replied butler. "we simply must have some more provisions." "send stacy around to the corner grocery for a fresh supply," suggested rector. no one laughed at ned's silly jest. their situation was too serious for joking. "charlie, how far are we from a town?" asked tad. "mebby twenty, mebby thirty miles," answered the indian, counting up on his fingers. "what town is it?" "matungamook." "that's a funny name," chuckled stacy. "your name will be more funny if we don't get something to eat pretty soon," returned tad, at which chunky's face grew solemn. when it came to a question of food, the fat boy was deeply interested. "that's so," nodded rector. "professor, it is my opinion that we should send charlie to--to--the place with the unpronounceable name for fresh supplies," said tad, turning to professor zepplin. "how long will it take?" "can you make it in two days, charlie?" the indian nodded. "mebby more, mebby less." "then i guess we had better send you." "i want to go, too," piped chunky. "it might not be a bad idea," agreed the professor. "do you need any one, charlie?" asked tad. "me take fat boy. fat boy help carry grub." "he will carry the large part of it inside of him if you don't watch out, and that won't do us any good," declared ned rector. "then you had better take two ponies," suggested butler. "me walk," answered the indian. "just as you choose," agreed the professor. "i would suggest, though, that you take a horse. you won't be able to carry enough provisions otherwise." "me walk," insisted charlie john. "let him walk," urged ned. "he will carry as much as a horse, and stacy's mount will take care of the rest." "i am not sure that we ought to let chunky go," mused tad. "he may get into further trouble, and charlie might not be able to get him out of it." "me take care fat boy," answered charlie john confidently. "all right, charlie. we will hold you responsible. get back as soon as you can. shall you see mr. vaughn?" the indian shook his head. mr. vaughn, as they understood it, had gone to another place. they hoped to see him back at the camp again ere many days had passed. "get your packs ready, stacy," advised ned. "i will look out for that, ned," answered tad. "i know what they need for carrying the stuff. you and the professor might make out a list of supplies needed while i am getting the other things ready." this the professor did, with the assistance of rector and walter perkins, stacy brown changing his clothes so that he might be more presentable upon entering a town. frequent consultations with tad were had, however, as to what was needed for the outfit. tad had ideas and he expressed them forcibly. finally all was in readiness, the indian and the boy taking barely enough provisions to last them until they should have reached their destination, probably on the following morning. good-byes were said and stacy, with charlie john striding ahead, leading the way, left the camp. they were quickly swallowed up in the dense forest. tad stood gazing after them, a thoughtful expression on his face. "i don't know whether we have done the wise thing or not," he mused. "i'll go you a new sombrero that chunky gets mixed up in some sort of a mess before he gets back to this camp," offered ned rector. "he is in good hands," answered the professor. "i guess he will be all right," decided tad. "the guide has nothing else to do except to look after stacy until they get to town. he surely will not get into mischief there." "not get into mischief there?" jeered ned. "i should like to see the place in which stacy brown couldn't get into trouble." "i am quite sure that stacy will be careful," observed the professor smilingly. "if you fellows will lend a hand we will try to put this camp to rights," said tad. "it looks as if it had been struck by a kansas cyclone, except that the trees are all standing in this locality." "i agree with you. where shall we begin?" asked walter. "you get the tent belongings back in place and i will gather up what is left of the provisions. this is a fine mess of porridge." "it wouldn't be so bad if we had some porridge," declared rector. "there is another thing to be taken into consideration," reminded tad, pausing in his work. "we must not leave the camp unguarded again. we must also keep watch during the night. those bears may come back. they appear to like our grub." "you think they may come back with some of their friends?" questioned perkins. "i wouldn't be surprised if they did," answered tad with a smile. "but they will get a hot reception if they do. i can promise them that much." "i hope they come back, then," laughed ned. "some nice bear steak would not go so badly just now, in the present state of our pantry and pork barrel." "that's so," agreed tad. "one steak would be enough. we don't need quite as many bears as visited us the first time." that day came to a close quickly. tad remained up, staying on guard until three o'clock in the morning, when he called ned to take his place. ned could be depended upon to keep a vigilant watch. as it turned out, there was no need for a watch of any kind. no bears appeared, nor was the camp molested in any other way. that day was spent by the boys in making short excursions into the woods, blazing their way, making trails, and putting into practice the theories in woodcraft learned from cale vaughn. fortunately none of the party got lost. tad saw to it that they did not get far enough away for that. besides, he had agreed with the professor, who remained to watch the camp, to have him blow a horn once every hour. that would serve to guide the boys back in case they lost their way, which they did not. the second morning arrived with no sign of the indian or of chunky. this did not cause serious alarm, but when three days had elapsed, and still no travelers, tad butler began to get uneasy. this uneasiness on his part was shared by professor zepplin, while ned rector's face wore an "i-told-you-so" expression. it was somewhere about three o'clock on the morning of the fourth day when tad, who was on watch, caught a sound that he thought was caused by a horse crashing through the bushes. the boy did not arouse the camp, but stood waiting with rifle held at ready in the crook of his right arm. a few moments later charlie john burst into the camp astride of a pony, white lather standing out all over the body of the little animal. charlie was alone. "where is stacy brown?" demanded tad sharply. "fat boy matungamook," grunted the indian, slipping from the pony. he thrust a folded sheet of brown wrapping paper toward tad. the boy now knew that something had happened to chunky. quickly opening the paper and holding it down in the light of the campfire, tad read what was written on the sheet. this is the message he read written in a lead pencil scrawl: "come quickly. i'm in jail in 'ugamook." "stacy" "professor!" yelled tad butler excitedly. chapter xvi bad news from the front "p-r-o-ofessor!" professor zepplin came tumbling from his tent clad in his pajamas, wild eyed, his whiskers bristling excitedly. "what is it?" a few seconds behind the professor came ned rector, and behind him walter perkins, each in a similar state of undress. "trouble in plenty," answered tad, thrusting the piece of brown wrapping paper toward the professor. the professor snatched the paper and holding it towards the fire as tad had done, peered, rubbed his eyes, then peered again. "i--i can't read it. i'm not awake yet. what does it say?" he demanded impatiently. "stacy brown is in jail, fellows," answered tad butler solemnly. "in jail?" gasped the two boys. "yes." "what's this? what's this?" cried the professor. "how--how do you know?" stammered walter perkins. "i have his word for it. this note says so, and it is in stacy's handwriting. he was very much excited when he wrote it." a tense silence followed tad's announcement, broken a few seconds later by a loud laugh from ned rector. "what did i tell you?" he jeered. "perhaps charlie can tell us what has happened," suggested walter. tad turned sharply to the indian. charlie was nearer to being excited than the boys ever before had seen him. "will you be good enough to explain this affair?" demanded tad. "man git um." "what man?" "me not know." "but what for?" cried the professor. "charlie not know." "have they got stacy in jail now?" begged walter. "man take um away." "how did you get this letter, then?" "man bring um to me. say take to you. fat boy, him scared." "i should think he had reason to be," muttered tad. "what do you think, professor?" "i can't think. my head is in a whirl." "what had master stacy been doing, charlie?" demanded tad, again turning to the guide. "me not know. me get stuff. me bring um here. while me get stuff, fat boy go hotel. me not see um again. me hurry, ride fast, make pony all soap like wash tub." "when--when did you leave there?" questioned the professor. "last night." "then you rode all night?" "ride fast all night. pony git sick in the legs and fall down once. me not care. why charlie care? fat boy git trouble plenty. no care horse die. he say come quick, eh?" "yes, that is what he says," answered tad, smiling faintly. "then come. mebby charlie kill horse. charlie not care for horse. charlie like um fat boy." "professor, there is only one thing to be done. some of us must go back there at once. perhaps you and i had better start." professor zepplin reflected. "it would be better were we all to go. i don't care to leave one or two of you boys here." "but that will detain us too long," objected butler. "that makes no difference. matters no doubt will be held in abeyance until our arrival. then, again, we may not get back here at once." "if that is going to be done we had better leave our provisions here. we can't afford to be burdened with them on our way back. we shall no doubt return this way, when we can pick the stuff up. we will take enough for our meals on the way, but that must be all. have you decided that we shall all go, professor?" questioned tad. "yes, yes, by all means. make haste!" "charlie, help strike the tents. we've got to take them along and our kits," ordered tad. "boys, sail in and help charlie. i will cache the provisions and mark the trees so we shall know where to find them when we return." "oh, this is too bad," mourned walter. "serves the little rascal right," retorted rector. "maybe this will teach him a lesson. what do you think it is, tad?" "i am sure i don't know. i haven't the least idea what he could have done that would have caused him to be arrested." "well, no use to guess about it. we shall know when we get there--" "go dress yourselves. you can't go that way," declared tad, pausing long enough to observe that the two boys were still in their pajamas. thus admonished, they hurried to their tent, returning very quickly with their clothes on. then the boys got to work with a will. while stacy's pony, that charlie had ridden back, was lying down resting, charlie got the other ponies in readiness, strapping the packs to their backs as fast as he could work. charlie john was in as much of a hurry as the rest. the indian had grown fond of stacy brown, and felt very bad to know that the fat boy had got into such trouble. charlie held the law in deep awe. daylight was upon them long before they were ready to start for the village of matungamook. ned rector declared that, if chunky's offense was as ugly as the name of the town, nothing short of hanging would be bad enough for him. "i think we are ready now," said tad finally, walking slowly about the camp to make sure that nothing had been left. he had laid aside a small supply of food for their use while on the way out, deciding that they could get all they wanted to eat when they got to the town. at last they were in their saddles. charlie had mounted stacy's pony. the little animal appeared to be weak in the knees. tad, good horseman that he was, felt sure the pony never would be able to make the journey without giving out before they had reached their destination. "charlie, you get on my horse. i will take a run. that pony can't carry you." "no, me run," answered the indian, grasping the bridle rein and starting off. "come back here! i was going to foot it," tad called after him. "me run. me said me run," flung back the guide, increasing his swift stride to a long lope. "hold on, hold on," cried the professor. "you will have us lost in five minutes at this rate. you keep in sight of us all the time. remember, we do not know our way to the town." charlie john slowed down with evident reluctance. the party now settled down to a slow but steady trot. the guide was choosing the easiest trail possible, knowing that better time would be made that way than by a shorter cut over rougher ground. had he been alone he could have reached his destination in much better time by taking a course as the crow flies, regardless of the roughness of the trail. the party did not halt until shortly after midday, when they stopped to give the stock rest and water and to take a bite on their own account. "chunky ought to get about twenty years for causing us all this trouble," declared ned during the halt. "you wouldn't think so, perhaps, were you in chunky's place," rebuked tad. "but i wouldn't be." "you can't tell. you may be some time; then you will be mighty glad to have your friends hurry to your assistance." "yes, but what are you going to do when you get there?" insisted ned. "we can tell better when we get there." "if he has done something very bad he will be punished for it, that's all." "stacy hasn't done anything so terrible. take my word for that," answered butler sharply. "you will find that he has unwittingly got himself into difficulties. chunky isn't bad. he is imprudent and he likes to talk and glorify himself and exaggerate things. i shouldn't be surprised if that were where the trouble lies in this instance." "ah! i have an idea," cried ned. "i thought you would get something through your head after a while," chuckled tad. "what time shall we reach our destination, charlie?" called the professor. "mebby soon, mebby not so soon," was the indefinite reply of the indian. tad laughed. "is that perfectly clear?" he asked. "about as clear as a watering hole on the plains after the cattle have drunk their fill," replied rector. professor zepplin smiled grimly, but he did not seek for further information at that time. late in the afternoon stacy's pony went lame, and a halt was made while tad examined the little animal's foot. he found that a sharp sliver had been driven into the frog. blood was streaming from the wound. with a pair of forceps the boy carefully extracted the splinter, then washed the wound out with an ointment that he carried with him. "will he be able to go on?" questioned walter. "yes. he will be lame, but it isn't half so bad as if he had gone lame in the shoulder. we must slow down for half an hour or so, and i think you will find he will go along better after that." it was as tad had said. the pony began to show less lameness in exactly thirty minutes from the time the boy had removed the hardwood splinter. in an hour, though weary, the pony was walking as naturally as ever. just before dark another stop was made. all hands were tired by this time, the ponies more so than their riders. saddles, packs and bridles were removed, giving the stock a chance to lie down and get all the rest that the halt would permit. tad suggested that they would gain time by stopping at least two hours, giving the horses a chance to get a little sleep. the others agreed to this with poor grace. they were in a hurry to be on, still, they realized that tad was the best judge of horseflesh in the party. it was ten o'clock at night when they again took up their journey. there was a bright moon high up in the heavens, but it did little good in guiding them, as only now and then did a bar of light penetrate the denseness of the forest. ned went to sleep in his saddle shortly after midnight and fell forward on his pony's neck when the animal stumbled over an unseen tree trunk. it gave the boy a sudden jolt, but was attended with no more severe consequences, although it aroused the laughter of his companions. "matungamook," grunted charlie john, halting sharply at half past two o'clock in the morning. "where?" questioned tad. the guide pointed. butler could not see anything that looked like a town, but the guide appeared to be sure of himself. "how far?" he asked. "mebby mile, mebby half mile," grunted charlie. "professor, if charlie is right, the town lies over in that valley. i don't suppose it will do any good to go in now. everyone must be asleep. there is not a light to be seen." "no, we would gain nothing by so doing," replied professor zepplin. "then what do you propose--to sit down on the ground here and wait for daylight?" demanded rector. "i would suggest that we pitch a camp right here, if there is water handy," said tad. "plenty water," the guide informed them. "very good, tad; go ahead." ned and walter were too sleepy to be of much use. tad kept stirring them up, but without results. he and the guide and the professor were very much awake, and within the hour had pitched two tents and built a campfire, beside which they were warming themselves while a pot of hot water was steaming over the fire for an early morning cup of tea. tad was waiting impatiently for morning. the others wished it were much further away, for then they would have a longer time to sleep. tad was worried, too, about chunky, who, he had every reason to believe, was in serious difficulties. after a time butler lay down, but he did not sleep at all. instead he lay gazing out and up at the stars, waiting for the day to break. dawn would soon be there. he knew that by the faint twittering of the birds in the trees and that restless stirring of nature--the advance guard of a new-born day. chapter xvii chunky in a predicament tad got breakfast before any of the others awakened. even charlie john was sleeping soundly after his two days and nights on the trail, and it was not until tad dropped the frying-pan that the indian woke up. tad nodded to charlie to call the others. ned and walter got up complaining at being disturbed. at breakfast it was decided that tad and charlie should go into town to find out what trouble stacy was in, and the two started shortly after breakfast. the public house, bearing a sign painted in yellow letters reading, "mountain view house," caught the glances of charlie. "um git fat boy there." "that is where we will go then," answered tad, turning towards the hotel. there were few persons on the streets of the little mountain village, though later in the season many summer visitors would be there, filling the hotel and the boarding houses, for matungamook was popular with many during the hot months of summer. tad entered the hotel. the only man he saw was the porter. "i am looking for a young man named brown--stacy brown--who came to town with this guide after provisions. i understand he has fallen into some trouble," said tad. "he belong to your outfit?" asked the porter, eyeing tad with impassive face. "yes, sir." "i reckon he's the fellow jed whitman took in yesterday, ain't he?" "i don't know who took him in. who is jed whitman?" "game warden for this section." "oh! why did he take brown?" "violation of the game laws. he shot a moose down in moquin valley." tad butler understood now. he had suspected the truth almost from the beginning. chunky had been talking again. "will you tell me where the jail is?" "jail? there ain't no jail here. i reckon jed's got the younker over to his house. he's waitin' for squire halliday to come back. the squire's been down to bangor, else they would have tried the younker yesterday." tad was thankful for the business that had called the squire to bangor, and he hoped the justice would return in a pleasant frame of mind. "will you tell me where mr. whitman lives?" the porter stepped out into the street, and, pointing down to the lower end, said: "that yaller house on the right." "thank you," answered tad, starting off. "charlie, do you understand now? they arrested stacy for killing that moose. the game warden has him at his house down yonder. master stacy is not in jail at all. now you run back to the camp and tell professor zepplin. tell him he had better come in and wait for me at the hotel. i will meet him there in about an hour. do you understand?" "me know. game warden git fat boy. fat boy kill moose." charlie made a motion of drawing a knife across his throat. "yes. and the game warden has him at his home." charlie started off at a lope. tad turned and continued on down the street toward the yellow house, where he rang the bell. the door was opened by a tall, raw-boned, keen-eyed man, who himself looked as though he might be a mountain ranger. "is mr. whitman at home?" asked tad politely. "i'm whitman. what you want?" "i came to see if you had stacy brown here?" "i reckon i have. who be you?" butler introduced himself, at the same time stating that the rest of their party was encamped about a mile from the village. he asked why stacy was being held, and was told what he already knew. "how did you know that he had killed a moose?" asked tad. "well, i reckon every feller in town knew about that before the younker had been here half an hour," grinned the warden. tad understood. no need to ask any more questions along that line. "is there any way in which this matter may be squared?" asked tad. "i reckon the only way is to wait for squire halliday's decision," answered jed with a twinkle in his eyes. "i didn't mean that i wanted to try to bribe you," laughed tad, with slightly heightened color. "i thought perhaps an explanation might be all that was necessary." "what is your explanation?" tad's bump of caution swelled. he declined to discuss the matter so long as stacy was to be brought before the justice. he asked if he might see chunky, and was told that the fat boy was asleep. jed offered, however, to wake the fat boy up, which he did. chunky lost no time when told that a boy named butler was downstairs waiting to see him. "chunky would sleep if the world were coming to an end," muttered tad. the object of his thoughts bolted into the room only about half clad. "oh, tad!" wailed stacy. "i'm in an awful fix! i've got myself arrested, all on account of that bull moose." "no. on account of your talk. it's a pity you aren't tongue-tied sometimes." "have you come to take me away?" "i have come hoping to get you away." "wait till i get my coat and hat and i'll go with you." "perhaps you had better speak to mr. whitman about that first," suggested butler. whitman shook his head. "can't let him go. he's in my charge until the justice disposes of the case." the fat boy's jaw fell perceptibly. "what will the justice be likely to do with him?" "how do i know?" "what can he do if mr. brown is found guilty?" "send him to jail, or--" "oh, wow!" wailed stacy. "fine him or discharge him. i've tried to make young brown as comfortable as possible, and we've had a pretty good visit, haven't we, stacy?" "ye--yes. you have been like a father to me, but--" "but what?" twinkled jed. "but i'm held up." "yes, i reckon you are. i am sorry, mr. butler, but i couldn't help it. when some folks came over and told me there was a fellow at the mountain view who had just killed a moose down moquin way, i just strolled over town to look into the matter. it didn't take me long to find out what i wanted to know. i saw my duty clear and i did it." "what did he say?" asked tad. "oh, he told me the whole story," smiled jed. "you bet i wouldn't if i had known who you were," retorted stacy indignantly. "that was taking a mean advantage of a fellow." "well, you weren't making much of a secret of the killing yourself, it seemed to me." tad nodded at stacy as much as to say, "you see what comes from talking too much." stacy lowered his gaze to the floor. his face was very red. "what time do you look for the justice to return?" "squire halliday? he's home now. he will be at his office about eight o'clock, i reckon. i'll take the young man right over. i don't suppose you want to bail him out?" "no," reflected tad. "i think we will leave him with you for the present." chunky bristled, but restrained himself, though he would have liked to fall on tad butler and pummel him. "there seems to be nothing more for me to do here, so i will go back to my friends. i am sure we are very grateful to you for your kindness to mr. brown, mr. whitman." "not at all. all in the line of my duty." "by the way, where is the justice's office?" "next door beyond the hotel. you can't miss it. there's a sign on the window near two feet high. but i'd advise you not to try to monkey with the squire. he's touchy." "i don't intend to monkey with the squire, thank you," answered tad, bowing himself from the room, followed by the big, staring eyes of stacy brown. butler walked slowly towards the hotel where he was to meet the professor, and tad's face wore a suppressed grin in spite of the seriousness of the situation. "i thought as much. still, it isn't fair. he can't hold chunky on that. why, the boy was defending himself. if he had told the truth about the affair i am sure they never would have taken him. in all probability he told jed whitman a tale of his own bravery and prowess that simply forced that officer to take him in. well, we shall see." professor zepplin, with rector and walter perkins, was already at the hotel when tad returned. the professor was nervously stroking his whiskers. "did you see him?" he demanded. butler nodded. "i had a talk with him." "well, what about it?" "i fear we shall not be able to do anything. the justice, squire halliday, is a queer old fellow, i guess. there is no telling what he may or may not do, but i think, after he hears the true story, he will let chunky go with a warning." "it was on account of the moose?" asked walter. "yes." "outrageous! outrageous!" growled professor zepplin. "i'll wager these mainers don't let a moose get by them, open or closed season." "i should think not," agreed tad. "have you seen the justice?" asked ned. "i have not. nor do i intend to until i see him in the courtroom," answered butler. "i am not looking for more trouble. we have enough on hand as it is." "what time is the case to be called?" asked the professor. "eight o'clock. it is seven o'clock now, so we have an hour to wait." "how is stacy taking it?" asked walter. "about as usual. he is mad. i think he would try to fight the game warden if he dared," smiled butler. "then he is not locked up?" questioned the professor. "oh, no. i should judge that he is being treated as a member of the family. mr. whitman naturally doesn't want stacy to get out of his sight, now that he has detained him. well, i'm going out for a walk. who is going with me?" "i am," answered ned promptly. the two boys returned a few minutes before eight o'clock. calling for walter and the professor they strolled into the office of the justice, where a dozen or more men of the village had already gathered. these eyed the pony rider boys with no little interest, knowing who the boys were by this time, and pretty much everything else about them that anyone in the maine woods did know. the justice, a little, weazened, irritable fellow, came in shortly afterwards. the boys eyed him inquiringly. "i'd hate to have him sit in judgment on me," whispered tad to ned rector. "so should i," agreed ned. stacy brown and jed whitman entered the courtroom at this moment, stacy big-eyed, glancing apprehensively about. his glances caught sight of his friends. then stacy threw out his chest pompously. even though he was virtually a prisoner he felt a certain pride in the thought that all this assemblage was on his account. chunky walked over and shook hands with his friends. "any word you want to send to the friends at home, in case they hang you?" asked ned. "the judge won't do anything," answered the fat boy confidently. "anyway, i am going to send the story to the paper at home," declared ned. "don't you dare do anything of the sort. i'll thrash you, ned rector, if you do that," threatened stacy, his face very red. "where is the prisoner?" snapped the justice. whitman nodded towards stacy. "bring him here! why is he allowed to roam about the room at will?" jed beckoned to the fat boy, who walked over and sat down on a bench. "get up!" commanded the justice. "now, mr. whitman, we will hear from you." in the squire's happy-go-lucky way of conducting the hearing, he did not require brown to testify under oath. it was a hearing typical of the country districts. chapter xviii the verdict of the court "i charge this young man, stacy brown, with having violated the game laws by killing a bull moose down in moquin valley on the sixteenth day of june," announced the warden. "what evidence have you of the fact?" demanded the justice. "his own admissions." "to whom?" "pretty nearly every person in the village. he told them all about it at the hotel. word was brought to me and i went there. he repeated his story to me in great detail." "what was done with the carcass?" demanded the justice. "part of it was eaten, the rest buried, according to the boy's statement." "did he take the antlers?" "no, the antlers were buried. it seems the guide of the party was to return later and get the antlers out, after the season opens in october." "who was the guide?" "cale vaughn. he is at home laid up with a broken ankle, else i should have had him here to give evidence, and perhaps to answer for the killing of the moose." "he had nothing to do with the killing, did he?" "not according to the boy's story." "then this court has nothing to do with cale vaughn in the present issue. the question is, did the accused kill a moose on the date mentioned in the complaint? i will hear from some of our citizens. did any other person present in this court hear the statements attributed to the boy brown?" several voices answered in the affirmative. the justice called three men to the stand, one after the other. each told the same story, the pony rider boys listening with close attention. "stacy didn't leave much to the imagination, did he?" whispered tad in the ear of ned rector. "i should say he didn't. but this must be another moose that he is talking about. this a brand-new story we are hearing." "it's the same old moose, but with new trimmings," answered tad. the evidence of the villagers fully confirmed what jed whitman had said; in fact, it was wholly convincing. during all the talking chunky had stood before the deal table behind which sat the justice, the boy twisting and untwisting his weather-worn sombrero, now and then gazing about him with wide, soulful eyes. "reminds me of a yearling calf about to be turned into veal," muttered ned. squire halliday heard the whisper, though not catching the words, and threatened to eject the party from the room if anyone spoke without being asked. "stacy brown, stand up!" commanded the squire. "i--i am standing up," stammered chunky. "i've been standing up all the time." "silence!" chunky shrank within himself. "the accused will now give his version of the affair," announced the justice. the accused grew red in the face, but did not speak. "give your testimony." "tell the court your side of the story," directed jed. "i--i didn't mean to do it," stammered the fat boy. "then you admit it?" snapped the squire. "i--i had to do it, or he would have killed me," protested the fat boy. "explain." "i was standing against a tree. i looked up and saw that big thing standing in front of me. i was scared stiff--" "moderate your language, young man," commanded the court. "a respectful attitude must be maintained toward this court, or the offender will be severely punished. proceed." "he came for me with his head down. i fell over. he butted his head against the tree where i had been standing. then he fell over, too. i guess the bump must have given him a headache for he didn't get up. i got to my feet and saw him lying there. then i happened to think of my knife. i jumped in and cut his throat. you see, i was excited." "ah!" breathed the court. "yes, sir," exclaimed stacy, warming to his subject. "i cut that moose's throat. i almost cut his head off. i wasn't a bit afraid of that fellow with a back like a giraffe, and ears like a mullen leaf." "you were not afraid," nodded the justice. "no, sir, i wasn't. why, when i first set eyes on him, i just went for him like this." stacy squared off, and swinging his arms he advanced, sidestepped and ducked. "no, sir. i wasn't afraid. i'm not afraid of any animal that runs on four legs. i made up my mind that he was going to be mine. i wanted a piece of steak from that old moose." "you could have got away from him, had you wished, could you not?" questioned the justice. "got away from him? of course i could. but why should i want to get away? i wanted him, and i got him." "just so," answered the justice dryly. "who are the members of your party?" stacy named them, pointing to each one, the justice eyeing them frowningly. tad had groaned when stacy told his story--his second story. he saw that the boy had made his own case as bad as it could be made, through his desire to glorify himself. "thaddeus butler, stand up!" commanded the justice. "what do you know about this case, young man?" he demanded. "no more than you already have heard, sir." "were you a witness to the killing?" "no, sir." "when was your attention first attracted to it?" "when i heard my companion call out." "was the moose dead when you reached the scene?" "practically." "brown had killed it?" "i supposed so." "what did he tell you?" "something like what he has told to you. i guess the main facts were somewhat similar," answered tad with a faint smile. "you ate some of the meat?" "we did." "did your guide, cale vaughn, approve of what had been done?" "he did not. he said it was against the law to kill moose at this time of the year." "did he bury the antlers, proposing to return later and get them?" "we buried the antlers, sir. the moose was dead. no further harm could be done, it seemed to me." "no, you are right. you had already done quite enough. you had violated the law. you could violate it no further except by killing another moose or a deer. that will be all. professor zepplin, stand up. you are in charge of this party, are you not?" "yes, sir." "do you think you are doing your duty as a law-abiding citizen by permitting one under your charge to violate one of our most sacred laws?" the professor's whiskers bristled. "i do not see how i could have prevented this, sir." "a proper supervision of your party surely would have kept them from breaking the laws, no matter how lawless--" "my young men are not lawless, sir," retorted professor zepplin indignantly. "they are most respectable, law-abiding young men. what occurred was accidental. i am thoroughly convinced of that. statements to the contrary are untrue, and--" "silence!" thundered squire halliday. "i demand the right to be heard in this matter. if we cannot get justice in this court we shall seek it elsewhere. my young men have done nothing to warrant this high-handed proceeding. one of my party was attacked by an angry beast. he defended himself to the best of his ability. had he not killed the moose the probability is that the beast would have killed him. even had this not been the case one or the other of us would have been obliged to shoot the moose to protect ourselves." the professor was angry and made no attempt to disguise his feelings. he considered the detention of stacy brown a high-handed proceeding and he resented it. "i have nothing more to say at the present time. i may have occasion to remark further at another time," was the way professor zepplin wound up. "the case appears plain enough. i shall have to give the young man the limit of the law. i am sorry that there is a limit," said the court. "what? you are going to punish him?" demanded the professor, bristling. "certainly. he admits killing the moose, does he not?" "yes," assented the professor. "then i have no alternative. i must pronounce sentence." stacy's face grew suddenly pale. "stacy brown, i fine you one hundred dollars and costs. the costs will probably reach twenty-five dollars. pay your fine or take a jail sentence, whichever you may prefer." "oh, help!" moaned the fat boy, gazing about him helplessly. chapter xix paying the fiddler "one hundred and twenty-five dollars!" groaned tad. "it's outrageous," muttered professor zepplin. "squire, there's a little matter of three dollars and a half for board of the young man at my house that i reckon you've forgotten to figure in," reminded jed whitman. "i will take account of that," answered the justice, making a calculation on the table-top. "the total figure will be one hundred twenty-eight dollars and fifty cents," he announced. chunky turned a smiling face towards the professor. "professor, can you cross my palm for one-twenty-eight fifty?" he asked. "i don't have the amount with me at the moment." the pony rider boys gazed at each other with troubled eyes. "sir, will you permit us to retire to another room to talk this matter over?" asked the professor. "yes, but be brief. i can't afford to waste more time on this case. mr. whitman, will you conduct the prisoner and his friends to the back room? you will be responsible for brown. see to it that he doesn't get away." the party filed solemnly into the back room, which proved to be a store-room. there were empty cases, an old drum stove and a lot of rubbish, but no chairs. the boys sat down on the boxes, and fixed their eyes expectantly on professor zepplin. "thank goodness that business is over," exclaimed stacy brown. "young man, don't be in too great a hurry to congratulate yourself. the 'business' may not be ended. that remains to be seen," said the professor. "wha--what do you mean?" questioned stacy apprehensively. "we have to pay the fiddler first. let us see if we are going to be able to do so." professor zepplin thrust a hand under his outside belt, drawing from his money belt a small package of folded bills. these he counted in the faint light from a dirty window. he counted the bills over a second time, then a third, growing more agitated with each count. "haven't you enough?" asked tad, stepping over to the professor. "i have only seventy-five dollars," answered the professor. "i have some money," offered tad. "how much?" tad emptied his pockets with the result that he was able to hand over fifteen dollars. "that leaves a balance of thirty-eight dollars to be raised," announced the professor. "and fifty cents," added ned. "i think i may be able to scrape up a few dollars." "so can i," added walter perkins. between them they were able to make the sum total one hundred dollars, leaving twenty-eight dollars and fifty cents still to be raised. the boys groaned. "there is one way out of it," spoke up tad. "what is that?" questioned the professor, brightening. "let stacy go to jail," answered butler. "i--i don't want to go to jail. i won't go to jail," wailed the fat boy indignantly. "you will unless we can raise the money," answered the professor sternly. "were it not for the disgrace of it, i should be in favor of letting you do that very thing. it might teach you a useful lesson." "i don't need the lesson. how would you like that kind of a lesson?" demanded chunky belligerently. "like yourself i hardly think i need it," grinned the professor. "wait," said tad. "i will see what i can do." stepping to the door he called jed whitman. "mr. whitman," said tad, "we find ourselves rather hard pressed for money just now. you see, we had not looked for anything of this sort." "how much have you?" asked the warden. "we have a hundred dollars. if you will trust us for the balance we give you our word that it will be sent as soon as we can get our next remittance from home." "can't do it," replied jed, with an emphatic shake of the head. "oh, yes you can. you only think you can't. nothing is impossible." "if that's so, then you git out and raise the money," grinned the game warden. even this did not stop tad butler. the freckles were glowing on tad's flushed face, but the boy was not in the least disconcerted. "please ask the justice if he will trust us for the balance, provided we pay him a hundred dollars?" whitman considered briefly, then stepped out into the other room. he returned very shortly with the information that squire halliday said the entire amount must be paid or the accused would have to go to jail. stacy would be sent down to bangor that very day. "if he is, there will be all uproar in this town that will be heard all the way down the line, ending in the governor's mansion," warned tad butler significantly. "say, young fellow, what are you getting at?" demanded whitman. "a settlement of this business. we have a hundred dollars, the full amount of the outrageous fine imposed upon stacy brown. we have offered to make good the costs as soon as we can get a remittance from home. but i have a proposal to make to you." "what is it?" "we will pay the money, the fine, turning over one of our ponies to you to be held as security until our remittance gets here from home. if you will take my advice you will make this deal with squire what's-his-name and give brown his discharge." once more the warden considered, pondering over all that tad butler had said to him. perhaps these boys might raise an unpleasant rumpus at headquarters. yes, there could be no harm in accepting the proposition provided the squire were willing. it seemed that the squire was open to argument as presented by jed whitman, and the latter returned quickly with the welcome information that tad's proposal had been accepted. "make out a receipt for the hundred," he said. "tad, you are a much better businessman than am i," approved the professor. "am i free?" asked stacy. "for the present," answered tad. "we are going to turn your pony over to mr. whitman to hold until we can pay the rest of the money." "give my pony to him?" cried the fat boy. "no, you don't! i guess i won't let you do that--not if i am able to fight. that pony stays with me, and don't you forget it." "chunky, now don't you get excited. you might get something you wouldn't like." "you threatening me?" demanded stacy belligerently. "you know i am not. it is a question of your doing as you are told, or of accompanying mr. whitman to jail. which shall it be?" "i don't want to go to jail, but i want my pony." "you are the most unreasonable boy i ever knew. but we won't argue it." "why don't you let him have your horse!" demanded stacy. "i would if it were my case. you got into this difficulty. you must do your share towards getting out of it. wait, i will give mr. whitman an order for the pony." this done, jed strode away through the village, and the boys filed out from the office of the justice of the peace. the villagers had departed, leaving squire halliday alone in his office. he did not even look up when the party passed through his room. stacy halted when they reached the street. "i guess i'll go into the hotel and get some breakfast now. i haven't had anything to eat this morning." "have you the price?" questioned tad. "no, i guess you will cross my palm for my breakfast, won't you?" "i guess not," answered butler with emphasis. "i haven't a cent." "but i'm hungry. i want something to eat." "i have ten cents," announced walter. "stacy may have that if he wants it." "let me have it," commanded tad. "i don't dare trust him with all that money for fear he will overload his stomach. you walk on, stacy, while i get something for you." tad returned with two sandwiches, which stacy snatched from his hand, and, sitting right down on the edge of the boardwalk, he began greedily devouring them. "where do we come in on the eat question?" demanded rector. "we don't come in," replied tad. "we shall have to fast until we get a remittance from home." "isn't there anything to eat in the camp?" "coffee and about enough other stuff to take care of charlie john. he mustn't know what a predicament we are in." "how--how long have we got to fast?" stammered walter. "i should say about a week, perhaps a little longer," answered tad butler, with a mirthless smile. a groan went up from the pony rider boys. "that means we shall all starve to death," growled ned rector. "we can't stand it. i'm going to look for a job." "a fine mess you have gotten us into, stacy brown," complained walter. the professor cleared his throat. his opportunity was at hand. "stacy, i wish you to come here--in fact, i wish you boys to listen to what i have to say." the professor's face wore a grave expression as the boys gathered about him. "now, stacy," began professor zepplin not unkindly, "i have been much concerned for some time over your wicked habit of exaggerating--or to put it more bluntly--your habit of lying." "why, professor, i--" began stacy. the professor raised a hand for silence. "none of us believed you told the exact truth about killing the moose. it is doubtful if you have yet told the whole truth concerning it. you can see one evil effect of your falsehoods in the bitter experience we have just gone through. i have no doubt that if you had simply said that you killed the animal in self-defense and explained exactly how you did it, you would have been free of any fine. besides, had we not been here, you would have gone to jail. still, the trouble you have put us to is a trifle when compared to the evil you are doing. you may think these exaggerations are all very funny, and, while i don't believe you intended to do any harm, you must remember that a lie is a lie. give up this abominable habit, stacy. that is all i have to say at present. next time i probably shall act, and with less consideration for your feelings," finished the professor. for the moment stacy brown seemed impressed, and nodded as if he were resolved to break his bad habit, but none of his companions believed the resolution would be very long remembered by the fat boy. stacy's companions were right in their estimate of him. chapter xx look who's here by this time jed whitman had been to the camp and taken away stacy's pony. before leaving the village, professor zepplin, without going into details, had written to banker perkins that they found themselves unexpectedly short of funds, and urging that the next remittance be speeded eastward. "my pony gone!" wailed stacy, upon discovering his loss. "oh, why didn't one of you other fellows save me by giving up your pony instead? i can't walk." "cheer up," laughed tad. "the worst is yet to come for you, chunky. do you realize that we haven't a penny left, and that we've no credit in this town? we can't eat until mr. perkins' remittance arrives--after a few days." "can't eat?" gasped stacy, his face paling a little. "i won't stand that." "hurrah!" cheered ned rector. "chunky is going to save us! he's going to find food for us. we shall eat--right away!" "now, you fellows know i can't do anything," uttered young brown reproachfully. "but some of you ought to have the brains to find a way to get food." tad and ned whispered apart, then announced that they were going to the village. "bring back half a dozen big steaks," stacy called after them. tad and ned trudged on into town. there they found an opportunity to saw and split a large pile of wood for fifty cents. that was a fearfully close bargain, as they knew very well, but the pony rider boys needed food, and so did their companions. they took the job, spent perspiring hours over it, then collected their money, and invested it in a fairly large piece of bacon, to the delight of stacy brown and the keen satisfaction of the professor. "we have a big job tomorrow for which we are going to get a dollar and a half," announced tad. "stacy will have to go along and help." "what doing?" demanded the fat boy. "cutting wood." "no, sir! you forget that i have a weak heart. i might drop dead," objected the fat boy. "then we shouldn't have to pay the costs for you again. professor, don't you think it would be bad for stacy's weak heart if he were to fill up on this bacon?" asked tad. "wha--what? don't i get any supper?" cried the boy. "you most certainly do not. if you are too weak in your heart to help cut up a little wood you are too weak to eat. that's flat. go to bed," urged tad. "i--i'll work. i'll cut the wood, but if i die it will be your fault. i don't care much what becomes of me now. i want my supper." "professor, with your permission, we will give him a small slice of bacon," said tad. "if it has no bad effect on him, we will give him another, a very thin slice, just before he turns in for the night." the professor gave permission gravely. the supper was cooked, and it did smell good to those hungry boys as they sat down to their scanty meal. tad, with great care, chose the thinnest slice on the platter, which he handed to chunky. "now bite off just a nibble at a time and chew it slowly," cautioned tad. "i won't. i'll swallow it whole." ned snatched the bacon from stacy, whereat the fat boy sprang up and squared off for trouble. "sit down, young man!" commanded the professor. "no unseemly conduct." "if you will agree to eat as you should, you may have the bacon," said tad. stacy was now in a frame of mind to agree to anything, if by so doing he could get something to eat. they warned him to take forty chews on every mouthful, under penalty of having the bacon taken away from him if he failed to do as he was ordered. stacy chewed dolefully, rolling his eyes from one to another of them during the chewing. he never had realized how far a thin slice of bacon would go if properly chewed. stacy was ready for more after having made away with this piece, but the boys were firm. he could have no more until bedtime, when he would get a cold slice if he were still alive. in the morning the fat boy got two slices of bacon, but was obliged to chew them in the same way as before. these two slices with a cup of coffee made up his breakfast. when they were ready to start for work, stacy required some urging and a little force to him to go along. walter perkins insisted on accompanying them and doing his share of the work. something like an hour later four boys might have been observed in a vacant lot in the village hard at work. walter perkins and chunky brown were using a crosscut saw, while tad and ned were wielding axes, making the sticks fairly fly from the sharp blades. a few hours later a horseman came riding slowly down the street. as he drew nearer he brushed a hand across his eyes, looked, then shading his eyes looked again. "great smoke! what does this mean?" he exclaimed, gazing at the busy workers with wondering eyes. clucking to his horse he jogged along, but the boys did not see him, so busy were they at their work, until he had ridden over into the lot and was almost upon them. "mr. vaughn!" cried walter. "hurrah!" shouted ned rector. "here's the guide come back. i never was so glad to see anyone in my life." tad, at the first call, looked; then, dropping his axe, he ran to the guide and grasped his hand, while two boys were tugging at the other hand on the opposite side of the horse. "how is your foot?" asked ned. "it is better." "why did you come here? you didn't hope to find us in this place, did you!" questioned tad shrewdly. "to tell the truth, i did," answered cale. "then you heard?" "i heard last night that they had mr. stacy in limbo for killing that moose, so i started out right away. i rode most of the night from my home and i'm here. how did you get off?" "stacy was fined one hundred dollars and costs, mr. vaughn. the costs amounted to twenty-eight dollars and a half. what do you think of that?" "what does this mean?" demanded cale when the two were out of range of the others. "oh, we are filling in a little time," answered tad carelessly. "you are sure that is all?" "all i care to speak about." "where shall i find professor zepplin?" "he is at the camp. you go down this street till you come to the hotel. there you turn to the left and go to the end of the road. the camp is straight ahead from that." "i reckon you had better go with me." "i can't do that. you see i have agreed to do this job here," replied the freckle-faced boy, flushing under the keen gaze of the guide. "so that's the trouble, is it?" "i don't know what you mean, sir?" "yes you do. you know it took all the money you folks had to settle that fine, and that you are trying to earn some money to keep you going till you hear from home." "stacy's pony is in pawn for twenty-eight dollars and fifty cents. jed whitman is holding it for costs and to save chunky from going to the bangor jail." "why didn't you say so before?" cale demanded. "i want you to come with me at once." tad demurred, but the guide insisted. vaughn rode straight down the street until he came to the bank, where tad assisted him to dismount. rather to tad's amazement cale entered the bank, and greeted the cashier cordially. "joe, i want some money." "all right, cale. how much?" "i reckon about two hundred will do me today." "sure thing. how long do you want it for?" "till i come this way again. maybe a week, maybe a month. make out the note for thirty days. i shall probably pay it before that." "that is an easy way to get money," gasped tad. "for some folks. here, take this and get your pony out of pawn, settle your bills and get ready to move. i see i've got to go along with you boys. i should never have left you, broken bones or no broken bones. go on now and fix that matter up. not a word. you may pay me back when you get your remittance." chapter xxi young woodsmen on the trail it was a happy lot of boys that gathered in the camp of the pony rider boys that night. they sat down to a full meal once more, and stacy brown's "weak heart" was forgotten in the general good cheer. after supper the question of their future movements came up for discussion. cale decided that if the others were agreeable, the main party had better move on to the woods, leaving someone there to bring the money when the remittance should have arrived from home. professor zepplin suggested that charlie john might stay in town to wait for the money, but cale did not like the idea. he asked tad how he would like the job. "fine," glowed the freckle-faced boy. "but how could he find us?" protested professor zepplin. "the same as any good woodsman would. follow the trail." "i'll stay with him. if he can't find the trail, i can," spoke up chunky. "i pity tad if you remain with him," answered rector. "i will blaze the trail so they can't miss it, professor. we shall have three or four days for exploration before butler and brown get in, then we will move on. by the way, master tad, when you get your money you might drop into the bank and take up that note if you wish. if it is going to make you short, of course the note may stand until i get back." "take it up, by all means," ordered the professor. "the favor has been a big one to us. we shall never forget it." "then you are going to take a new trail from here?" asked tad. "yes. we will follow the trail you took in coming in here for, say five miles, after which we shall branch off. you will find the turning-off place clearly marked." "oh, i will see that he doesn't get lost," declared chunky. "you leave it all to me." "yes, if you are looking for trouble, leave it to chunky," retorted ned. the plans were laid in detail that night. at daybreak on the following morning tad butler and stacy brown saw their companions riding away. the two boys watched them until the party had disappeared, all waving their hats at the lads who had been left behind. "now, chunky, you are in my charge. if you don't behave yourself, i shall be under the painful necessity of giving you a thrashing." "you bet it will be painful for you if you try it," retorted the fat boy. "i certainly shall try it if you give me cause. see if you can't act like other folks." "i don't want to be like other folks. i'm satisfied to be stacy brown." "i reckon you will be that as long as you live. and there's only one stacy," answered tad laughingly. "but remember, you are not in favor with squire halliday," warned the boy. it was four days after the departure of their companions when the remittance came, banker perkins having wired to a bank in bangor to hasten funds to the boys at matungamook, thus saving at least two days for them. tad cashed the draft at the bank and took up cale vaughn's note as arranged, after which the boys packed their kits and set out for the trail into the wilderness. neither boy was at all apprehensive about his ability to find the way. tad knew that he should find the trail plainly marked, and he did. along about noon they found the point where the two trails diverged and halted there for a bit to eat, and to give their ponies a rest. the journey to the place where the others were to camp was fully thirty miles farther in. it was a long jaunt for two boys, but vaughn had perfect confidence in tad's ability to follow the trail. after resting for an hour the boys continued until night. they made camp before dark, building a fire and constructing a small lean-to, not having their tents with them. they were as handy at taking care of themselves as if they had been in the woods all of their lives. stacy brown appeared to have turned over a new leaf. he worked like a good fellow. there was now no toil about the camp too hard for the fat boy. they lay down to sleep early in the evening after piling plenty of wood on the fire, and slept soundly until daybreak. a quick breakfast and they were off. "there is the trail," said stacy, pointing a blaze on a big spruce. tad glanced about him inquiringly before starting. he saw that the blazed trail took a bend at that point, branching off to the right a little. this did not arouse any suspicion in his mind, for he did not know the route taken by cale vaughn, depending wholly on the blazes and other trail marks. all that day they continued on their journey. tad decided that they should reach the camp early on the following forenoon. instead of reaching the camp in the morning, the following night found them still following the trail. tad was somewhat troubled when they made camp that night. still, the camp might be much farther from town than cale had thought. the boys consulted and decided to go on. that night they found a campfire, or rather the remains of one. the fire was two or three days old and the small greens were trampled down about the place as if quite a party had camped there. this encouraged the boys, and next morning they went on with renewed courage. they kept on going until the morning of the fourth day when the trail brought up abruptly at the side of a small lake. there it ended. "well, we seem to be in something of a quandary, chunky," said tad. "it looks that way. what are you going to do?" "follow the shore of the lake around until i find the trail again," answered butler confidently. "they must have landed somewhere. it looks to me as if they had swum their horses over, though i don't see any hoof-marks on the shore. that is what puzzles me." "giddap," said stacy in answer. the boys started to encircle the lake. in order to do so, they were obliged to work back into the forest some distance at one point, traveling more than a mile in what they supposed was a direction parallel to the lake. at last they came out on the shore again, and tad gazed in amazement. "stacy," he said, "do you see anything peculiar about this body of water?" "well," answered the fat boy wisely, "it appears to have shrunk some since we saw it last." "that is what i think. there is something peculiar about it. it doesn't look to me like the same body of water." "oh, yes it is. it's the same old pond." "then we will complete our circuit of it if we can. wouldn't it be funny if we got lost?" "not to me, it wouldn't. i can get along without that." the boys had got around to the opposite side of the lake when tad cried out joyously. "there's a blaze," pointing to a tree from which the bark had been cut. "i see it," answered stacy. "they think they are playing a mighty smart trick on us, don't they?" "it looks that way." [illustration: "we're lost!"] with light hearts the boys started on the new trail. it proved an easy one to follow, though they had begun to wonder if they ever were going to reach their destination. by the sun butler kept the general direction in which they were traveling pretty well in mind. he did not think for a moment that he was on the wrong trail. as a matter of fact another party had, in the meantime, followed the trail from the village, taking cale's blazes to the point where they eventually turned off. it was this branch made by the strange party that tad and stacy had followed to the first lake. they were many, many miles from the camp of their fellows. what was still worse, they were now on yet another trail, a trail all of a year old. after a time that trail, too, ended abruptly. in trying to pick it up, or its continuation, the boys lost it altogether, nor did they find it again. tad called a halt and getting from his pony sat down on a log. "are we lost?" asked chunky solemnly. "we are," answered tad with equal solemnity. chapter xxii lost in the big woods tad butler had often heard it said that a lost man was an insane man. he had laughed at this as he had laughed at the stories of men who have been lost for no longer than twenty-four hours, and who had come out gibbering idiots. now for the first time the pony rider boy began to realize what it meant to be lost. that feeling of utter isolation, of aloneness, of doubt whether they ever would find their way out, took possession of him and for the moment a panic threatened tad butler. then he recalled the advice given by cale vaughn: "if you get lost sit down and think it over. don't run." tad _was_ thinking it over. at last he said: "stacy, we got on the wrong trail somewhere. i have an idea it was not long after leaving town." chunky nodded his head slowly. a strange feature of the situation impressed itself upon tad at this particular juncture. he was unable to tell his position from the sun. he could not have told whether the sun was in the east, west, north or south, and his compass proved absolutely useless. he was interrupted in his thoughts by the voice of stacy brown. "we haven't enough grub for more than one more meal." "we may have to rustle," added tad, "but i have confidence enough in myself to believe that we shall not starve to death." having recovered his mental balance, tad decided that it was time to do something, so he took careful note of the lay of the land about him, the character of the trees and shrubs, the drainage, and other features that might prove of use to him later on. his next task was to blaze a tree. he made a conspicuous blaze on four sides of a large pine, a blaze that might be seen for some distance in either direction. "why are you doing that?" questioned the fat boy. "we shall know it when we see it again. furthermore, it will be of use to any person who may chance to be looking for us. i am going to stick like a brother to that blazed tree until i find a better place. unpack and help me make camp." chunky got down slowly. he was much less disturbed than tad would have expected. "i will make a lean-to while you are getting the camp in shape. wait!" tad's voice was sharp, causing stacy to halt suddenly. "i hear water. there is a stream near here. yes, there it is. hurrah!" "i don't see anything in a little stream of water to get excited about," declared the fat boy. "i do. it means there is a larger body of water somewhere hereabouts. you take the ponies and follow me. i am going to blaze a way down that stream for a piece anyway and see where it leads. we can't be any worse off farther down than we are here, and perhaps we may be able to better ourselves materially." tad, hatchet in hand, started for the creek. he turned downstream after satisfying himself which was downstream, followed slowly by stacy. butler blazed the way, turning down bushes, marking trees with conspicuous chops clear through the bark to the white of the wood itself, so that there might be no difficulty in finding their way back in case they desired to do so. to tad's satisfaction they soon came out on the shore of a lake, or rather a pond it was in size. this pond gave them an open space, taking away in a measure that shut-in feeling that had so oppressed them under the tall pines. "here is the place for the camp, stacy," announced tad joyously. "what better could a man ask for a summer resort?" "no, this isn't so bad," admitted the fat boy. "where do you want the camp?" "in a little way from the shore. we might as well make it permanent, for we may be here some time." in the meantime tad was industriously chopping away, cutting down small trees for the lean-to. a busy two hours followed. stacy got the browse together for the beds. tad chopped down a larger tree for the bed pieces of their fireplace, and, by the time they had finished, the day was drawing to a close. they had not finished any too soon, but they had constructed as neat and practical a camp as ever grew under the skilled hands of an old woodsman. tad was justly proud of their efforts. supper was not a bounteous meal and neither lad overloaded his stomach, but the boys were cheerful and the ponies content, for there was plenty for the animals to eat. tad had gotten in a great pile of poles for night-wood, so that they were pretty well supplied with everything except food. chunky dropped asleep on his browse bed under the comforting warmth of the fire soon after supper, in fact before tad had finished with the supper work, which was not very arduous, the boys having only a few tin dishes that hung suspended from their saddles. they had their rifles, revolvers and hunting knives, all of which might prove useful in their present predicament. tad sat down by the fire to think. he sat long, going over all the possibilities of their case, figuring on the probabilities of their being found. tad knew that cale vaughn would never rest until he had found them, once the guide knew that the two boys were lost, so butler decided that his wisest course would be to remain where he was, skirmish for food, and try to content himself and his comrade until help arrived. a crashing sound brought him to his feet. the sound was unlike any he had ever heard before. tad's first impulse was to run, then, pulling himself sharply together, he stood listening. "oh, pshaw, it's a big tree falling," he muttered. the ponies, too, had been startled. they were snorting and stamping. tad's voice quieted them. "if this thing keeps on i am sure to have an attack of nerves. i am ashamed of myself--great scott, what is that?" "oh, wow!" howled chunky, leaping from his browse bed, standing wide-eyed at the opening of the lean-to. "what was that?" "i--i don't know," stammered tad. "i--i never heard so many crazy sounds in all my life. i have heard that a night in the jungle was terrifying, but i don't believe it can be any worse than this." "there it goes again," cried chunky. "ugh-ugh-ugh, oo-oo-oo--o-o-o-o!" the forest seemed to be full of the "ugh-oos." the pony rider boys gazed into each other's faces. stacy brown's teeth were chattering. again that terrifying roar. "wha--what is it?" gasped chunky. "i--i don't know," whispered tad. "i--i never heard the like of it. it is getting nearer, too." tad snatched up his rifle. "get ready for trouble, chunky," shouted the freckle-faced boy, the freckles standing out in blotches on his face, the latter now pale but resolute. chapter xxiii an exciting quest a new crashing in the bushes off to the right of them caused tad to swing about in that direction, peering apprehensively, not knowing what to expect. "ugh-ugh-ugh, oo-oo-ooo--o-o-o-o!" stacy brown uttered a yell, for it seemed to him that the ground had shaken under his feet with that terrible roar. stacy bolted. "don't run! you'll get lost!" shouted tad. there was no stopping the fat boy now. fortunately chunky did not get far. the plunging ponies sent him off in another direction, the little animals in their fear settling back on their haunches until they broke their tethers, after which they plunged away into the forest. tad did not have much time to think. a bellowing roar sounded almost under foot, it seemed, then suddenly a great hulk came into view. it was then that tad understood. it was a giant moose that had been calling for its mates. the instant the animal set eyes on the pony rider boy its anger seemed to be aroused. with a bellow the animal started for him. tad fired from the hip. he had no time to take careful aim. as it was, his bullet nearly put an end to the moose, for the leaden missile bored a hole through one of the big ears. the boy fired again, but he was too late. the moose charged into the camp with a terrifying roar. tad leaped aside as the beast cleared the camp-fire and went crashing into the lean-to, and, as he leaped, butler's rifle was knocked from his hands. springing as far up a small tree as he could the pony rider boy climbed as he had never climbed before. he was breathing hard, though holding himself under perfect control. in the meantime the moose was working havoc with the camp below. the lean-to was razed to the ground in a twinkling. the great antlers were driving in here and there; browse beds went up into the air, while the beast stamped and raged, now and again uttering its weird "ugh, ugh, ugh!" tad butler had never experienced anything quite so terrifying. yet he found himself wondering how long he would be able to cling to the tree in case the animal decided to stay in the camp. but the moose soon solved this problem for him. the beast, after threshing and tearing about until it had vented its rage, suddenly bounded away toward the beach. tad heard the huge beast leap into the lake with a mighty splash. the boy slid to the ground and ran to the water's edge, first having picked up his rifle, and sent a volley of shots after the moose, but he did not know whether or not any of them reached the mark. tad's thoughts turned to his companion. "oh, stacy!" he called. "hello," answered a voice that seemed to come from the air overhead. tad looked up. he saw the scared face of his companion peering down at him from a low tree. "come down. the fun is all over." stacy clambered part of the way down, then paused. "has he gone, sure?" "yes, he is on the other side of the lake by this time. look at this camp," said tad, surveying the remains ruefully. "it isn't a camp; it's a hodge-podge." "i agree with you. let's get the fire going the first thing we do. i am afraid we shan't get much sleep tonight. by the way, you had better look to those ponies," advised butler. "i--i don't want to." "why not?" "i guess i'm afraid." "pooh!" "they're gone!" yelled the fat boy a couple of minutes later. "they have broken away." tad was at first startled at this announcement, but he took tight hold of himself, steadied himself, and after a moment or so had his emotions well in hand. "help me set the camp to rights," he said calmly. "you aren't going to stay here, are you?" "of course. where else should we go?" "but the big, big moose may come back," protested stacy, his teeth chattering. "he is just as likely to call at some other place. i hardly think he will pay us another visit." "say, tad." "what?" "it just occurs to me. what a lucky thing for you it is that you didn't kill that--that fellow." "why?" "old halliday would have sent you to jail for life if you had." "i am not worrying about what the squire might do to me," laughed butler. "i have more important matters to occupy my mind just now. come, chunky, get busy." "what are you going to do about those ponies?" "nothing. at least, not now. we can do nothing until daylight, and perhaps not then. do you see what has occurred?" "i see a lot that has occurred," answered stacy. "our dishes are gone, smashed so we shan't be able to use them again." stacy groaned. "i knew something would come along to put the finishing touches on. now what are we going to do?" he demanded. "i don't know. i shall plan out something if we are let alone long enough." the boys got to work at once. they toiled with a will, chopping in the light of the campfire, dragging logs, saplings and browse into the camp, making every move count, stacy doing his part manfully. in another hour they had made a second camp. of course, it was not as complete as the first camp had been, but it proved to be an excellent piece of woodcraft by the time they decided to stop work for the night. tad induced stacy to turn in while he himself sat up to be ready in case of a return of their visitor. the problem over which the pony rider boy was now working was how to replace their ruined cooking outfit. he could get along very well with everything except boiling his water. tad pondered and pondered over this, trying to recall something he had learned from mr. vaughn. after a time it came to him. "i've got it!" exclaimed the boy. grabbing up his hatchet he darted out towards the lake front. finding a birch tree, of which he was in search, butler peeled off a long, thin sheet of bark, free from either knots or "eyes." from this he constructed a trough-shaped bucket after several clumsy attempts, in which he nearly ruined his material. the folds of this bucket were pinned together with green twigs, below what was to be the water line. this simple affair being completed tad raked a bed of coals from the fire, placing the bucket on them after he had taken it down to the lake and filled it with water. the pony rider boy sat squatting in front of the bucket observing it eagerly. his patience was rewarded within five minutes. the water in the bucket began to boil. "i guess we will have our coffee in the morning," he chuckled triumphantly. "but i forgot; we have no coffee pot. i don't see why i can't make one in the same way." tad did. it was not a handsome pot, but it was almost worth its weight in gold to the two boys. stacy, on getting up that morning, saw the water boiling merrily on a bed of hot coals. he eyed the contrivance curiously. "what do you call that thing?" he demanded. "that, sir, is my patent water boiler." "oh!" "what did you think it was?" "i thought it was a steam engine. i didn't know but you were going to start a sawmill out here. good place for one, isn't it?" "there is plenty of material here," nodded tad. "say, what are you doing?" demanded the fat boy, peering, craning his neck at tad who was busily engaged with his back turned towards his companion. "i am getting breakfast." "yes, but your motions are suspicious. that's the way my aunt acts when she is cleaning fish." "i am cleaning fish." "_what?_" "look!" tad held up for the inspection of the fat boy a handsome speckled trout, fully twelve inches long. stacy threw a hand to his eyes. "don't! don't! i can't stand it to be tortured this way!" "what's the matter with you?" demanded tad sharply. "don't torture me by playing such ghastly jokes on my appetite," begged chunky. "you must be crazy. this is a trout that i caught this morning from the lake, with a rig i made. there are two apiece. if two of these fat fellows don't satisfy your appetite i don't know what will." "yeow!" howled chunky. "stop your nonsense. go get two nice hard-wood sticks about two feet long, and a half inch thick. peel them and give them to me." "what are you going to do?" "oh, don't ask so many questions, unless you don't care about breakfast." "don't care about breakfast?" fairly shrieked the fat boy. "i'd sell my shirt for a full meal right now." "i will let you off cheaper than that," laughed butler. "dump some coffee into the coffee pot. you know how much to put in. what about those sticks?" stacy having brought the sticks, tad sharpened them; then, spitting a trout on each, held the fish over the glowing bed of coals that he had massed for the purpose. the red and blue of the trout began slowly turning to a rich brown, and a savory odor, almost maddening to the hungry stacy brown, filled the air. "you will have to get along without salt this morning. i'm going to make some as soon as i can get to it," promised tad. "never mind the salt. hurry! how are you going to make salt?" "mr. vaughn says that the indians use the ashes of hickory bark as a substitute for salt, and that it is fine. to obtain the ash he says the stem and leaves are first rolled up into balls while green, and, after being carefully dried, are placed on a very small fire on a rock and burned." "huh! i am mighty glad you aren't going to stop to make salt before breakfast," answered chunky. "give me that trout." "it isn't done yet." "i can't help that. give it to me." "oh, if you want to be a wild animal, why dip in." chunky did. he devoured the fish, bones and all, though he did decide not to eat the head. he ate the other end, though. while stacy was thus enjoying himself, butler cooked the other fish. by that time the coffee was ready and the two lost boys sat down to their breakfast, while the forest resounded with the shrill "ah, te-te, te-te, te" of the white-throated sparrow, the songs of the chickadee and blue-jay, the thrumming of the pigeon woodpecker, the cries of the whistler-duck and the scream of the fish-hawk and the eagle. chapter xxiv the signal smoke there was silence in the camp until the last of the fish had disappeared down the throats of the hungry boys. after breakfast tad ordered stacy to clear away the things and set the camp to rights while he went out to look for the ponies. he was extremely careful to blaze his trail so that there could be no mistake in following it back. at the same time tad had learned to look about him to make sure that no other blazes cut into his trail. to be side-tracked into a strange trail now would be a tragedy, indeed. he trailed the ponies unerringly, and found them much sooner than he had hoped. the little animals were grazing in a dell about a mile from camp. tad secured them without difficulty and started back to camp with them. stacy was in a worry over his companion's long absence. the fat boy, without the resourceful tad, would have been helpless, and it is probable that in such circumstances chunky would have starved to death, to him the most terrible death a human being could have. "now, chunky," asked butler, "do you see that mountain yonder?" "yes. it's a high one, isn't it?" "yes. i am going up there." "what for?" "to spend the day signaling. the question is, do you want to stay here and watch the camp, or do you--" "what! stay here alone? i guess not. no, sir!" "i was in hopes you would be willing to do that. you don't want to spend the rest of your life up here, do you?" "i should think not." "then you must try to do your share. i am not saying that you have not; you have done the best you knew how." "yes, i got myself arrested," nodded the fat boy. "what do you want me to do?" "i want you, if you will take this matter seriously, to stay here in camp and look after it." "take it seriously? pshaw! you think i think this is a kind of picnic. i guess not. it hasn't been like any other picnic i ever attended. all right; i'll stay here. but why are you making up your mind to go up to the top of that mountain now?" "i'll tell you. we have been away from our party for some time. they will begin to get worried about our long absence about this time. that means that mr. vaughn will get busy. understand?" stacy nodded thoughtfully. "that is why." "go ahead. i will defend this camp with my very life. i'll shoot on sight the first time i see anything moving." "i guess i had better take you along," observed tad dryly. butler had reasoned out the situation rightly. there was a great disturbance in the main camp of the pony rider boys. this was due to the hasty return of charlie john who had been sent back to matungamook as fast as a horse could carry him to learn what had become of the boys. he brought back the word that they had left about a week before that. "break camp instantly!" commanded the guide. "we must look for them. they are lost." "that's what we get for letting stacy brown go with tad. stacy would hoodoo the best organized force in the world," declared ned. "cache all the stuff we do not need. take enough to last for a week. we shall find them by that time," said the guide. "do--do you think--" began the professor hesitatingly. "i think they are lost. i know they are," answered cale. "but i have too much confidence in master tad to think for a moment that he isn't taking care of himself and his companion. of course other things may have happened. john, did you see any place where they might have left the trail?" "me see where fat boy go other way," was the surprising reply. "i thought so. nothing escapes the eyes of an indian, even if he is a half-breed kanuck," snapped the guide. there was no laughter on the faces of the pony rider boys now. they were deeply concerned over the fate of their two companions, the professor more troubled than any of the others, because he had not been in favor of permitting the two lads to make their way alone back to the camp. the party was under way within an hour after the return of charlie john from town. night found them still plodding along, a silent procession, led by the indian, vaughn to the rear of him watching the trail with keen, observant eyes. nor did they stop until morning. then only for breakfast and to rest the stock. they reached the branching of the trail late that day. a brief examination told the guide that what the indian had said was true. the lads had gotten on the wrong trail. no time was lost by cale in getting on it, but this trail was not so easy to follow at night as had been the other. as a result they did not make much headway that night. the next morning they found the place where the boys had made a stop. both the white guide and the indian studied the surroundings, learning some things that they did not tell their companions. the third day found them at the lake first discovered by tad and stacy. in the trail they read the story of the two boys missing the lake and landing on the shore of the second lake. then suddenly the trail was lost. vaughn could not understand it. somehow he had strayed, as had the two boys who had gone before them. "i want you people to make camp right here and to remain here until i come back," said vaughn. "oh, please don't make us sit here idle," begged rector. "don't you see we have got to do something?" "come along then," answered the guide, after a brief reflection. "but when we make wide detours, you will remain as a sort of center or hub to the wheel we shall be making. in that way i think we shall not be detained very much. minutes may be precious, you know." an hour's faithful work on the part of the indian and the guide failed to reveal any trace of the missing lads. later in the day vaughn came to the spot where tad and stacy had halted, intending to make camp. he found tad's four blazes on the big pine. an examination told him that the blazes had been placed there recently. the guide uttered a shout. "we are on their track now. we've found the trail. clever boy, tad! clever boy. trust him to do the right thing at the right time." the indian who had gone on ahead called back that the trail lay in the direction of the lake. the party hastened on after him. they reached the camp of tad and stacy, but the camp was deserted. cale placed a hand on the dead campfire. "they haven't been here in more than twenty-four hours," he announced. walter and ned groaned. the perspiration was standing out in great beads on the forehead of professor zepplin. "heap big smoke," grunted the indian, loping into camp. he had followed the shore of the lake to the westward around a bend. "eh?" demanded cale. "heap big smoke." "where? where?" the indian pointed, then started down the shore again, followed by the entire party. they halted some distance from the camp, and again charlie pointed. the boys and the men gazed at the peak of the high mountain which tad had pointed out to his companion two days before that. as the indian pointed a cloud of grayish smoke rose from the forest crowning the mountain. an interval of a minute, then came another, then still another. "it's a signal!" cried vaughn. "wait!" ten minutes later the three-cloud smoke signal was made again. there could be no mistake about it. someone was making an indian smoke signal. vaughn gave the rifle signal in acknowledgment. there was no reply. he gave it again. for the third time did he give it, then from the distance came a rifle shot. a pause followed, then three more shots. "we've got 'em!" cried cale vaughn triumphantly. "boys make good indians," grunted charlie john. ned and walter set up a yell. "build a smudge, charlie," commanded the guide. "i am going out to meet whoever it is. send your smoke up as high as you can, charlie." "me smoke um." "not one of you must leave the camp," wound up the guide. regardless of his still lame foot, cale vaughn started off at a run, and was lost to view in a moment. then the boys, the professor and the indian took account of their surroundings. the results of tad butler's ingenuity were apparent on all sides. the professor proudly pointed out what tad had accomplished as an object lesson that they would do well to remember. they were shortly interrupted by three signal shots, but did not know whether these had been fired by the guide or by the persons who had made the smudge. they decided to answer the shots, but charlie john shook his head. "no shoot. fool guide, fool boys if do," he said. it was late in the afternoon, in fact near dark, when a yell startled the campers. then came another yell, and a shot, and tad butler, followed by the howling stacy, came tearing into camp on their ponies, leaping logs, roots, stumps and rocks. a moment more and the boys were hugging each other delightedly. such a cheer as the four set up together startled the birds that had sought their roosting perches for the night. then came another startling sound. "ugh, ugh, ugh, oo-oo-oo!" stacy's eyes widened. "there--there's that moose fellow that put our camp out of business the other night. take to the trees, fellows! he'll be here in a minute." "never mind. don't be frightened," answered the guide. "that isn't the fellow who bothered your camp. that one lies dead some five miles to the north of here with several of your bullets in his body," added cale with a twinkle in his eyes. "how did you know about that?" demanded tad, wheeling on him sharply. "never mind how i knew. i usually use my eyes when i am in the woods. and i want to say, right here, that you two boys have fulfilled all my expectations. you went astray as many a better man will go, as i have gone myself, but you have shown more pure woodcraft than ninety-nine men out of any hundred would have shown. i am proud of you. i take off my hat to you." "yes," answered stacy pompously. "i always was an expert at finding my way about in the woods." that evening the party sat long about the campfire, listening to the story of the experiences of the two lost boys. the story of the charge of the moose and the wrecking of the camp caused ned rector and walter perkins to open their eyes very wide. "young man," remarked cale vaughn, addressing chunky, "you will do well if you don't let your tongue get away from you and rush on to tell everyone about tad shooting at the moose that wrecked your camp. if you do, you'll by and by get the story around to where you, instead of tad, shot the animal, and how the animal dropped dead on the spot." "it would make a fine and dandy story," remarked chunky, as he chewed reflectively at a blade of grass. "it would," admitted cale, "and all stories of that kind travel to the ears of squire halliday very quickly. don't forget that the squire is still doing business in his little old office six days a week. more than that, just keep well in mind the fact that the squire would probably send you to jail next time. brown, i've been in quite a bit of the world outside of maine; i was a scout in the world war and did my bit for my country, and i've always kept my eyes open. a fellow had to over there. so i've noticed that nearly all the trouble a fellow gets into is trouble that his tongue gets him into." the boys nodded their heads in agreement. "don't talk too much," continued the guide, "not at any time, and when you do talk always tell the truth. you've seen a great deal of trouble, haven't you?" "yes," admitted stacy brown, assuming the air of a man of the world. "i've had so much trouble that i've grown old in it." then, as the other boys began to laugh, stacy saw the drift of the guide's remarks. "but not trouble that my tongue got me into," he made haste to add. "i'm a silent, thoughtful sort of fellow. if you haven't seen enough of me to know that, then just ask these fellows." "yes, cale," cried ned. "chunky's deaf and dumb when he's asleep or eating." cale nodded and smiled. "young man, the next time you get into difficulties, just hold an honest, searching experience meeting with yourself," suggested cale dryly, "and see if you can't find the mean part your tongue has played in your affairs. that's all." "i'm sorry we missed the bull moose incident," sighed ned rector. "i knew that if stacy stayed behind something surely would happen, but i never dreamed that it would be anything that i'd hate to miss." "it wasn't much fun at the time--take my word for that," tad uttered grimly. "no, but it is going to be a great event one of these days," suggested ned innocently, stealing a glance at the fat boy. "when?" walter wanted to know. "when we see chunky's version of the affair in the home paper. after that paper comes out, though, i am going to teach chunky a lesson." "what kind of a lesson?" demanded stacy suspiciously. "after your story comes out in home print," laughed ned, "i'm going to take all the wind out of your sails by telling everybody in town the real version of the affair." "you just dare," flared chunky. "why?" queried walter mildly. "do you mean, stacy, that you would knowingly give a false version to the home paper, and that you'd resent having ned tell the people the straight account of the matter?" "i mean," sputtered chunky. "i mean--well, i mean that i won't have anybody else mixing up in my business and trying to make me look ridiculous. that's what i mean, and i mean it." "no fellow looks half so ridiculous," put in tad quietly, "as the fellow who tells yarns about his achievements that no one in the home town would think of believing. remember your lion story, chunky, as printed in the chillicothe paper?" "yes. and it was a mighty good story, too," declared young brown. "the editor told me so." "what do you suppose no less than three persons at home asked me?" tad went on. "they wanted to know how it was that you never did anything at home to amount to a hill of beans, yet, as soon as you got a few hundred miles away, you invariably began to prove yourself a wonder. you see people are beginning to size your stories up." "who asked you that?" demanded chunky heatedly. tad shook his head smiling, declining to give names. but chunky was growing wrathful. a look of suspicion in his eyes, he began to glare around at the other boys. even staid old professor zepplin he regarded with considerable disfavor. "the trouble with you fellows," broke in chunky, after two full minutes of actual silence, "is that you can't recognize genius and greatness when you mix up with them. you're always picking on me, you fellows. you--" choking with indignation, stacy rose and began to walk away, his fists clenched. but tad butler, with a laugh, leaped up and darted after the offended boy. "stacy, old fellow, why be so touchy? what on earth would we do on our trips if we didn't have you along? who would supply the fun and the jokes for us?" tad forced open the boy's right fist, then shook hands with him, smiling the while. "i'm never going out with you fellows on another trip," stacy declared stubbornly. "how are your folks going to stop you?" tad wanted to know. "are they going to tie you hand and foot, and lash you down to rings in the floor of the brown mansion. oh, pshaw! forget it!" "they won't have to," growled stacy. "i don't want to go anywhere with you fellows any more." "you come right back and shake hands with walter and ned," tad commanded. "then you may tell them about your new resolve." despite the fat boy's resistance, tad led him back to the circle. there, stacy reluctantly shook hands all around, and inside of five minutes he was chatting away with his usual good humor. for a few days more the pony riders roved through the woods. then, most regretfully--on both sides--the boys and their tutor parted from cale vaughn. at bangor they found a pile of home letters awaiting them. best of all were the letters that tad received from his mother. she had regained her health, she wrote, and was putting on flesh at a rate that would soon be cause for alarm and--fasting. it was some months before cale vaughn settled, to his satisfaction, the score against squire halliday and the game warden. cale had a wide and valuable acquaintance throughout the state, and in time he secured the removal from office of squire halliday, who didn't need the justice's fees anyway. jed, too, "walked the plank" in favor of a new game warden for that section. as for the pony rider boys, they were already planning a trip to the south, from which they would not return until late in the fall. the story of these most interesting of all adventures that they had experienced will be told in a following volume entitled, "the pony rider boys in louisiana; or, following the game trails in the canebrake." the end [illustration: cover art] [frontispiece: faster and faster danced ned rector.] the pony rider boys in the alkali or finding a key to the desert maze by frank gee patchin author of the pony rider boys in the rockies, the pony rider boys in texas, the pony rider boys in montana, the pony rider boys in the ozarks, etc., etc. illustrated the saalfield publishing company akron, ohio -------- new york made in u. s. a. copyright mcmx by the saalfield publishing company contents chapter. i. the desert's mystic spell ii. the first night in camp iii. twisted by a twister iv. the charge of the light brigade v. stalking big game by moonlight vi. bagged by lucky shots vii. chunky comes to grief viii. nearly drowned in an alkali sink ix. the boys discover a river x. a cowboy takes a header xi. a piece of human sandpaper xii. running down the trail xiii. coyotes join in the chorus xiv. fun in the foothills xv. bud promises some excitement xvi. the battle of the stallions xvii. on a wild-horse hunt xviii. roped by rough riders xix. winning their reward xx. visited by a halo xxi. off on a dry trail xxii. in the hermit's cave xxiii. lost in the desert maze xxiv. conclusion the pony rider boys in the alkali chapter i the desert's mystic spell "if this is the desert, then i think i prefer mountains," decided stacy brown. "it is not the desert. we have not reached it yet. this is the diamond range," replied tom parry, who was to guide the pony rider boys across the great nevada desert. "we shall soon be there, however." "you'll know the place when you see it, chunky," said ned rector. "and feel it, too, i guess," added tad butler under his breath. "we have the desert on each side of us now," continued the guide. "were you to fire a rifle to the right or left, your bullet would fall on the baking alkali of the desert." "then, if we're so near, why not get out in the open, instead of floundering through these hills?" questioned stacy. "i'm thinking you'll wish you were back in the hills before many days," laughed the guide. "mr. parry has his own reasons for following this trail, master stacy," interposed professor zepplin. "we are entirely in his hands and it is not for us to question the wisdom of his decision." the guide nodded. parry was a splendid type of the plainsman of the great west. tall, straight, clear-eyed, his bronzed cheeks fairly glistening in the sunlight, he would have attracted attention anywhere. at present, he sat on his pony motionless, the broad sombrero tilted upward above his forehead as he peered into the amber haze that hung over the western horizon. "yes, we shall reach the desert soon enough. we are heading for the newark valley now, and should be there in time to make camp this afternoon, providing the weather is satisfactory," announced parry, more to himself than to the others. "weather--weather?" stammered professor zepplin. "what's the matter with the weather?" "one hundred in the shade. isn't that matter enough?" grunted stacy. "how do you know, chunky? you haven't seen any shade to-day," demanded ned rector. "there isn't a patch of shade as large as a man's hand in this whole country, so far as i have been able to observe." "and still less in the country we are about to enter," added the guide. tad butler, however, had been observing the guide keenly. though the lad had asked no questions, he had caught a note of anxiety in the tone, as well as in the apprehensive glances that parry kept continually casting to the westward. the guide, catching tad's inquiring look, smiled and nodded. "you should always keep your eyes on the weather in this country, especially when on the alkali," he told the boy after the party had started on again. "why more there than elsewhere, mr. parry?" "because storms here are frequently attended with no little peril. you'll see some of them, no doubt, before we reach the end of our journey, and you will wish you hadn't." "but there's no sign of storm now," protested tad. "perhaps not to you, young man. do you see that haze settling down like a fog on the western horizon?" "yes, i've been looking at it--a golden fog." the guide smiled grimly. "i wouldn't call it exactly golden. i should call it fiery," said the guide. "has it any particular meaning?" "may mean most anything. means storm of some kind--perhaps rain, and maybe wind. if it passes, we'll drop out of here and make camp on the desert to-night." "that will be fine," said tad. "we are all crazy for the desert. since we started out on our trips, last spring, we have experienced almost everything that could happen to us on mountain and plain----" "but not including the desert?" "no." "you'll find it different; very different." "i suppose you know every foot of it--in fact its every mood, do you not?" questioned tad. the guide, for the moment lost in thought, finally turned to the lad again. "moods, did you say? well, that describes it. the desert is as moody as an old hen with a brood of chickens. know the nevada desert? sometimes i think i do; then again, i know i don't." "but you could not get lost----" "i have," smiled the guide. "i've been wandering about the alkali for days without being able to find my way back. if you are able to read trails and the droop of the scattering sage brush you will have made a long stride toward knowing your way about the desert." "i don't understand," wondered the lad. "no; of course not. it's a long story, but when we have time i will initiate you into the mysteries of reading the desert signs. the west is clearing up. that's good," the guide exclaimed in a relieved tone. "which means that we go on?" "yes." "are we turning off into the desert, did you say?" asked walter perkins, with sparkling eyes. "well, not just yet, master walter. we shall have to refill our water-bags before leaving the range. i take it, you boys would not care to be without water?" "no, i guess not. but where are you going to get it?" asked ned. "about a mile further on there should be a mountain stream. there will not be much water in it just now, but we shall be able to fill our bags and water the stock, i guess." "hooray!" shouted the boys. "the call of the desert is stronger than ever," averred tad. "you are not the first ones who have felt that way, young man. 'the call of the desert,' as you put it, has lured many a poor victim to his death. water is the all important thing when on a journey of this kind, and we shall have to be vigilant that we do not allow ourselves to be without it." as the guide had said, the stream, when they finally came up with it more than two hours later, was a mere rivulet. "call that a stream?" sniffed stacy. "no, it's a freshet," replied ned rector. "you might take a swim in it were it not for the danger of drowning." "how are we going to get any water unless we dip it up with a spoon?" asked tad. "i'll show you," smiled the guide, dismounting. already the stock had sniffed the presence of water, even though there was so little of it. the ponies chafed at their bits and snorted, while the burros of the pack train tossed their heads in their impatience. "i used to have a plaything that worked just like the heads of those lazy burros," stacy informed his companions wisely. "that's about your gait," growled ned. "you didn't think so when he saved our lives in the ruby mountain," reminded tad. "that's right, ned," confirmed walter. "don't be ungrateful for small favors." "i apologize, master chunky," announced ned, removing his sombrero and unbending in a ceremonious bow to the fat boy. "we will now make a water hole. come along if you wish to know how it is done," called the guide. leading the ponies and pack animals down along the slender water course until they had reached a natural pocket, the guide halted. with a rubber blanket he formed a basin in the depression in the rocks through which the water had been trickling and losing itself far down in the earth. two of the pony rider boys held the blanket in place while it was slowly filling with water. "now, master stacy, if you will be good enough to fetch one of your pails we will water the stock first." stacy did so. to save time, walter brought another pail, so that this could be filled while his companion was giving the water to one of their animals. it was a slow process; and, by the time the six ponies and four burros had drunk their fill, something more than an hour had passed. by this time the rubber blanket had been thoroughly cleaned by constant rubbing. "bring on the canteens and water-bags," directed tom parry. "we'll have water enough to carry us through a few days of desert life, at any rate. load the burros down." the animals now having satisfied their thirst were nibbling gingerly at the scant growth of sage brush. it was not a tender morsel at any time, but from that time on they would be obliged to subsist almost entirely on the bitter stuff. "have you boys filled up?" asked tom, looking about. "better drink enough to last you for the rest of the day. we shall have to use our water sparingly for a time now. take on a supply while you have the chance." "how about you, chunky?" laughed ned rector. "think i'm a camel?" demanded stacy, with an air of indignation. "now, will you be good, ned rector?" laughed tad. even the stolid face of the guide relaxed in a broad smile of amusement. "then, if you are all supplied, we had better be on our way. if we are going to camp on the alkali to-night we shall have to make time between this and sundown. it's about three hours high." with a whoop and a hurrah, the boys swung into their saddles, heading joyously for the newark valley and the silent, mysterious desert that in the dim, misty past had been a great inland sea. readers of the preceding volumes of this series will recall how the pony rider boys came to spend their summer vacation on horseback, under the guardianship of walter perkins' tutor, professor zepplin. with a capable mountain guide, their first journey was through the wildest part of the rocky mountains, where they met with a series of rousing adventures and hair-breadth escapes--experiences calculated to try the stoutest hearts. it was here that the young explorers hunted big game--here that they discovered a valuable mine that had been the goal of prospectors for many years past. all this was outlined in the first volume of the series, "the pony rider boys in the rockies." in the second volume, "the pony rider boys in texas," was narrated how the four lads joined in a cattle drive across the plains of texas, becoming real cowboys. being by this time well hardened physically, they were able to do men's work in rounding up the stampeding cattle, which led them into many thrilling adventures. it will be recalled, too, how, during a visit to the mysterious church of san miguel, the pony rider boys solved the veiled riddle of the plains, which marked the end of the most eventful journey of their lives. in the third volume, "the pony rider boys in montana," we find the plucky lads following the old custer trail over mountain and plain. it will be remembered how tad butler, while chasing a bear that had disturbed their camp, overheard a plot to stampede and slaughter the herd of sheep belonging to a rancher whom they knew; how the lad managed to escape from the men who sought his life; his eventual capture by the blackfeet indians, his escape, and the final solving of the mystery of the old custer trail, during which the boys were in the thick of a battle between cowboys and sheep herders. in the volume preceding the present one the pony rider boys were once more in the saddle in search of further adventure. in "the pony rider boys in the ozarks," they met with a series of disasters and exciting experiences which tested their courage almost to the breaking point. they were beset by a band of robbers, who stole their ponies. nearly all the party, one by one, was lost in the fastnesses of the ozark wilderness. it will be recalled how the boys, during a visit to the red star mine, were caught in a wreck far underground; how a car of dynamite exploded, making them prisoners in a rocky tomb, and how, after being rescued by a mountain girl, they discovered the real secret of the ruby mountain, narrowly escaping with their lives in doing so. no sooner had they brought this eventful trip to a close than they set out to face the perils of the great, silent desert of nevada. they were almost upon it now. its spell was upon them and the lads fell silent as they waited anxiously for the first sight of the land which they had journeyed so far to gaze upon. they had not long to wait after leaving the water hole where they had replenished their supply. the guide at last rode out upon a rocky promontory, where he halted, waiting for the others of the party to come up with him. "where's the desert--is that it?" demanded ned, riding up beside him. the guide raised his hand in a sweeping gesture. "the desert lies before you," he answered, his eyes traveling meditatively over the miles of waste and mottled landscape. a brazen glare lay over the scene, while up from the white alkali flats rose a wave of heat that was suffocating. old, dried-up water sinks lay white and glistening here and there, framed by vast areas of sage brush, while on beyond in the blue distance lay miles and miles of monotonous, billowing hills and mountains. "whew!" gasped chunky, mopping the perspiration from his brow. "this is somewhat hotter than chillicothe, missouri. i wish i had a cake of ice to put under my hat." "beautiful! grand!" murmured professor zepplin. "reminds me of a turkish bath i was in once in st. louis," added ned. tad butler was silent. he was too profoundly impressed even to speak; and even the guide, familiar as he was with the scene, was silent and thoughtful, too. he understood full well the perils, the pitfalls for the unwary, that lay along the pathway of those who sought to traverse that barren waste. at last he turned to professor zepplin. "shall we move?" he asked. the professor nodded. "one of you boys get behind the burros and start them along, please," requested the guide. stacy brown complied gleefully. no more pleasant task could have been assigned to him than that of prodding the lazy pack-bearers. "forward!" commanded tom parry. the boys clucked to their ponies. not an animal moved. surprised, the lads brought their spurs against the flanks that they could feel were trembling a little. a strange, unlooked for thing occurred. with whinnies of terror the little animals reared and plunged. before their puzzled riders could control them every pony in the outfit had whirled suddenly and began plunging along on the back trail. a chorus of "whoa's" rose from the pony rider boys. quirt and spur were used freely, and firm hands on the bridle reins quickly checked the sudden rush. by dint of force and persuasion the boys finally succeeded in forcing their mounts back. that is, all had done so save stacy brown. his pony was spinning like a top, while stacy red-faced and perspiring was uttering loud, angry shouts, driving in spur and raining quick, short blows on the animal's rump. the burros had moved just far enough away to be out of reach of stacy's plunging animal. at last it threw itself violently to the ground. stacy, by a remarkably lively jump, cleared his falling mount, but not a second too soon to save himself from being pinned beneath it. he sat down on the animal's head, puffing from his exertions. after a minute, during which the other boys laughed so heartily that their own ponies nearly got the better of them again, stacy rose and began prodding his mount with the end of the quirt, urging it to get up again. but the pony refused to budge. "he's 'hog-tied,'" nodded the guide, riding up. "let him stay there till he gets ready to move. no use trying to hurry the beast. he's too much scared." "scared at what?" questioned stacy, looking up apprehensively. "yes; that's what i'd like to know?" agreed ned. "i don't see anything that looks like a scare." the guide was looking down at the animal pityingly, tad thought. "what are they so frightened at, mr. parry?" asked the lad. "my boy, they are afraid of the desert," replied the guide solemnly. chapter ii the first night in camp "the desert?" the pony riders gasped in chorus. "yes. it is not an uncommon thing. they seem to realize instinctively that there is danger off there. even in animals that never have been near the desert you will find the same inborn dread of the alkali flats. and i don't know that i blame them any." "but is my broncho going to lie here all day?" queried chunky. "if that's his idea i might as well give him another argument that will make him change his mind." "let him alone. he'll be better off if you do not force him. when he gets up be gentle but firm with him." "that's the strangest thing i ever saw," said tad quietly. "most remarkable," agreed the professor. the faces of the boys were serious. they too began to perceive the feeling that had stirred the ponies to resist when turned toward the silent plains that lay spread for mile upon mile before them. after a few minutes stacy's pony scrambled to its feet. the lad was in the saddle in a twinkling. "now, i guess you'll go where i want you to. whoa! quit that b-b-b-b-bucking." the animal had gone into a series of jolting bucks, with back arched and head well down. the fat boy held his seat well. his face was red and streaked with perspiration which ran down it in tiny rivulets under the violent exercise to which he had just been subjected. the boys forgot the serious side of the incident in their enjoyment of their companion's discomfiture. tom parry gazed upon the scene with more than ordinary curiosity. it was the first opportunity he had had of observing a pony rider boy in action. at that moment stacy brown was most distinctly in action. most of the time there was a broad patch of daylight under him, and when he hit the saddle it was with a jolt that seemed as if it must jar his head from his body. "put some salt on his tail," suggested ned rector. "y-y-y-you do it," gasped chunky, which brought a roar of laughter from the whole party. "yes, why don't you?" teased tad. "it's the only way you can make good." "salting down horse is not my business," laughed ned. all at once the pony whirled, heading down the mountain side with a disconcerting rush that nearly brought disaster upon its rider. with a shout the rest of the boys urged their mounts into a jog-trot and followed on down the trail as fast as they dared, for the descent was steep and dangerous. "he'll break his neck!" cried the professor. "after that bucking i'm sure chunky's neck is too well fastened to come off," laughed tad. stacy was out of sight. they could hear him yelling at his broncho, so they knew he was still in the saddle and right side up. the other ponies, apparently having forgotten their fear, were following the leader willingly now. all at once they saw lad and mount burst into view on the plain below. "he's on the desert!" shouted tad. laughing and shouting words of encouragement to the fat boy, the pony riders hastened to the base of the hill. stacy brown was still busily engaged trying to subdue his pony, though some of the lads shrewdly suspected that their companion was urging the animal on in order to show off his horsemanship. in a moment more they, too, were in difficulties. no sooner had their bronchos set foot on the desert than a sudden panic once more possessed them. professor zepplin's pony whirled on its haunches, then began climbing the rocks, with the agility of a squirrel. the others, however, had troubles of their own, which saved the professor from being laughed at. the animals seemed determined not to be forced to go on, and it required severe measures to induce them to take up the desert trail. tom parry's mount did not exhibit the same fear as did the others. still, it gave him more or less trouble, appearing to be excited, in spite of itself, by the actions of its companions. at last they succeeded in lining the animals up in an orderly formation. their next move was to get the burros moving along ahead of them. the way being open and level there was no necessity for leading the pack animals now. these could take care of themselves without danger to the outfit. "and this is the desert!" marveled the professor. "it is," smiled the guide. "looks to me more like a landscape of german measles," averred stacy, as they moved along through scattering sage brush and open sandy stretches. now that they had reached the plain itself, they discovered that it was not one level stretch of land. instead, the country was rolling; here and there were wide reaches of whitish desert sands and alkali sinks. the atmosphere was like an oven. not a breath of air was stirring. already the lads were mopping their brows and fanning their faces with their sombreros, while spots of dark shining moisture on the ponies' sides bore evidence that they, too, felt the baking heat. "i say, fellows, let's find some shade," called stacy. "all right, go ahead and we'll follow," laughed tad. "i'll ride up to the top of that knoll and make an observation." tom parry smiled appreciatively as the lad galloped up the sharp rise of ground, where chunky sat on his pony, shading his eyes as he gazed off over the cheerless desert. "well, how about that shade?" shouted ned. stacy turned disconsolately and rode back to his companions. "there isn't any," he said. "of course not," laughed ned. "but i know how to make some," added the fat boy. slipping from his pony he cut some sage brush, which he fashioned about his head in the shape of a hood, so that it gave his perspiring face some protection from the intense glare of the sun. "now, all you need is a strip of mosquito netting," suggested walter. "and a little red rocking chair," added ned. "with a dish of ice cream," laughed tad. "i guess you will have to be satisfied with a cup of alkali water," interjected the professor, dryly. "you will find the air much cooler, shortly," the guide advised them. "the sun is going down now and i think we had better make camp, if the professor has no objections." "not in the least. in fact, i am quite ready to call it a day's work." "where do we camp, mr. parry?" asked tad. "right here. it is as good a place as any that we shall find. there is little choice out here." they were now in a broad valley, the rolling hills covered with a sparse growth of sage brush rising gradually on each side. the boys threw themselves from their ponies gladly, stripping the saddles from the animals' backs. "better stake the animals down, for the first two or three nights, so they won't take french leave," advised the guide. "how about the burros?" asked tad. "let them roam. they'll stay as long as the ponies are here. the pack animals will fill up on sage, after which they will come back to camp to sleep." all hands began to unpack. the tents were pitched in record time, cots unfolded and preparations for the night made with a skill that comes from long practice in the open. "what are we to do for a camp-fire?" asked walter. "there is not a single stick of wood about here." "burn the sage," answered the guide. "that stuff won't burn," retorted ned. "try it." they did. in an incredibly short time a hot fire was blazing up, on which they piled armfuls of the stunted desert growth. "now, get your food ready and i will cook it," said parry, as the flames began to die down. when the fire had settled to a bed of hot ashes tom thrust the bacon directly into the ashes, placing the coffee pot near the center, around and on top of which he heaped the ashes. it was a new method of preparing a meal, and the lads watched the process with keen interest. "i shouldn't think that bacon would be fit to eat. however, i presume you know what you are doing," said the professor. "it's the only way, sir," replied parry. "we have to work with the implements that nature has provided." "nature must have been in a stingy mood when she made this country," laughed ned. "i don't agree with you," said tad. "it is the most beautiful and interesting scene that i have ever looked upon." parry nodded approvingly. "and as fickle as it is beautiful," added the guide. "the supper will be ready by the time you have the table set, boys." in spite of the heat the lads realized all at once that their appetites had not suffered. bacon, jelly and biscuits, which had been warmed over the ashes, seemed to them to have reached the proportions of a banquet. stacy helped himself to a large slice of bacon which he proceeded to munch. no sooner had he begun, however, than he made a wry face. "what's the matter. isn't the bacon all right?" asked the guide. "awful! somebody's trying to poison me," chunky shouted, red in the face. "must have a brown taste in your mouth,' laughed ned. "what's the trouble----" began the professor. "good gracious, there is something the matter with the stuff. ugh! never tasted such bitter stuff. did you purchase this meat in a reliable place, mr. parry!" the guide smiled good-naturedly. "the bacon is all right, sir. it's the sage brush taint that you get." "the what?" "sage brush. the same taste will be in everything you eat out in this country--that and the alkali." "then i starve," announced stacy, firmly, laying down his fork and folding his arms. "any time you starve it'll be because there is nothing to eat," retorted ned. "you'll all get used to the taste after you have been out a few days," comforted the guide. "never!" shouted stacy. "i rather like the peculiar taste," smiled tad butler. "good as a tonic," spoke up walter. thus encouraged stacy tried it again, at first nibbling gingerly at the bacon, then attacking it boldly. even the professor, after a time, appeared to forget the bitterness of the food, passing his plate for more. tom parry smiled indulgently. "you'll all like it after a while," he nodded. "i'm sure i'll have to take back some sage brush with me to flavor my food after we leave the desert," scoffed ned. supper finished the dishes were cleared away, after which the party threw themselves down beside the camp-fire in keen enjoyment of the hour. the evening was delightfully cool, with not a trace of the baking heat of the day. "doesn't seem possible that there could be such a change in the temperature in so short a time," marveled the professor. "it is the mood of the desert," answered the guide. "what time do we start in the morning?" interrupted tad, approaching them at that moment. "i was just about to suggest that we break camp at daylight, traveling until the sun gets hot. we can then pitch a tent or two during the middle of the day, and rest for a few hours." "why not keep on all day?" asked the lad. "it would prove too great a strain--both on man and beast. at noon we will eat a cold lunch, as too much food in this heat is not good for us. you will find the temperature rising as you get further south, and the hardships increasing in proportion." "we shall not fall by the wayside," laughed the boy. "no; i am convinced of that. you lads are as tough as pine knots, but you will need all the endurance you have for this trip." "if we are going to turn out so early, i think you boys had better go to bed pretty soon," advised the professor. "that's why i asked you, sir. i rather thought mr. parry would wish to make an early start in the morning. i'll see to the ponies; then i'll go to bed." "never mind the ponies. i'll look after them," answered parry. "that boy is a splendid type," he continued to the professor, after tad had walked away from them to notify his companions of the plans for the morrow. "they all are," answered the professor. "yes, i have been observing them all day. to tell the truth i was rather doubtful about the wisdom of taking a number of boys across the desert. it's bad enough for men well hardened to the work." "i trust your apprehension no longer exists," smiled the professor. "not a trace of it left," replied parry, with a hearty laugh. "young brown handled that bucking pony splendidly this afternoon. he's a good horseman for a boy." "master tad is a better one. you'll agree with me if you get an opportunity to see him in any work that's worth while." "well, good night, boys," called the professor, as he saw the lads moving toward their tents. "good night, professor, sleep tight," they shouted merrily altogether. "good night, mr. parry. we'll be up with the birds." "birds," sniffed stacy. "a tough old hen couldn't live out on this desert." in a short time the camp settled down to sleep. the guide, with a last look about and a long, comprehensive study of the sky, sought his own tent, where in a few moments he, too, was sound asleep. after a time the moon came up, in the light of which the weather-beaten tents of the pony rider boys were mere specks on the vast expanse of desert. not a sound disturbed the quiet scene. however, had any of the occupants of the little tents been awake, they might have observed a thin, fog-like film drifting across the sky from the southwest. on and on it came until finally it had blanketed the moon, casting a veil over the landscape. other sheets of film arose from out the southwest, placing layer after layer over the fast fading moon, until finally it was obliterated altogether. the desert was working out another of its mysterious phases, but none in the camp of the pony riders were awake to observe it. a dense pall of blackness now hovered over the southwest. all at once a squirming streak of lightning wriggled along the horizon, like a golden serpent, losing itself by a downward plunge into the black abyss beyond the desert. the air grew suddenly hot and depressing, while a gentle breeze stirred the sage brush on the higher places. the ponies moved restlessly in their sleep, kicking out a foot now and then, as if in protest at some disturbing presence. tad butler, ever on the alert, roused himself, and stepping out in his pajamas took a survey of the heavens. "i guess we're going to have a storm," he muttered. "i wonder if i ought to wake mr. parry? he thought, this afternoon, that there was a storm brewing. still, there's nothing he can do. the tents are staked down as securely as is possible. no, i guess i'll go back to bed." the lad did so, and after a few moments of wakefulness, dropped off into a sound sleep. a few moments later the breeze increased, picking up little patches of sand, which it hurled into the air, scattering the particles over a wide area. far down to the southwest a low roar might have been heard, and from the blackness there a funnel-shaped cloud detached itself, starting slantingly over the desert. it appeared to be following a northerly course, more or less irregularly, and from its direction, should pass some miles to the westward of the sleeping camp. whirling, diving, swooping here and there, lifting great patches of sand and hurling them far up into the clouds, the funnel swept on. suddenly, when about three miles to the southwest of the camp, it seemed to pause hesitatingly; and then, as if all at once having descried the little group of tents, started swaying, tottering toward them. as it moved the disturbing roar continued to increase in volume. tad butler heard it now. he slipped from his tent and stood listening apprehensively. "i think that means trouble," he said to himself. the hot, oppressive air felt like a blast from an open furnace door. "it's coming this way," he continued. the lad bounded to the tent of the guide. slipping inside he laid a hand on parry's shoulder. the guide was up like a flash. "what is it?" he demanded sharply. "it's i, tad butler. i think there is a bad storm coming----" "i hear it," snapped parry, springing from his blankets. he was out in the open in a twinkling, with tad butler close upon his heels. for a moment the guide stood with head inclined, listening intently. "bad one, isn't it?" questioned the lad. "yes." "do you think it is coming this way?" "i can't be sure. wait; don't wake them yet," he whispered, raising a restraining hand. "yes, here it comes! it's a cyclone. quick, get them out of their tents!" almost before the words were out of his mouth the funnel swooped down into the broad sage-sprinkled draw, setting its deadly coils over the camp of the pony rider boys. chapter iii twisted by a twister "turn out!" bellowed the guide, his voice faintly heard above the roar of the storm. "run for your lives!" piped the shrill voice of tad butler. "flat on the ground, every one of you!" commanded the guide. all the warnings had come a few seconds too late. ere the boys had awakened sufficiently to realize what was wanted of them there sounded above the roar a report like that of a cannon. the tents were lifted from over the startled pony riders and hurled high into the air. a cloud of sand swept over the boys like an avalanche, burying them, suffocating them, while the resistless coils of the funnel picked them out of the drift and cast them far from the spot where but a few minutes before they had been sleeping so peacefully. above the roar they heard the shrill voice of stacy brown. "w-o-o-ow!" he shrieked. his voice appeared to be somewhere in the air over their heads. blankets, trappings, together with all the other belongings of the party, shot up into the black funnel and disappeared, while the ponies strained at their tethers, floundering, kicking where they had been hurled on their backs, screaming with fright. the mad medley continued for only a few seconds, though to the unfortunate lads it seemed to have been tumbling them about for hours. as suddenly as it had appeared the funnel tore itself from the camp and went roaring off into the hills to the northward. staggering to his feet, some distance from where he had been caught, the guide rubbed the sand from his eyes and mouth and stood gasping for breath. an impressive silence had settled over the scene. "hallo, the camp!" he shouted when he had cleared his mouth sufficiently to enable him to do so. "hello!" answered tad butler far to the right. "are the others with you?" "i don't know." one by one the others of the party straggled to their feet, choking and coughing. as if to mock them, the moon suddenly burst forth, shedding a brilliant light over the scene which a few moments before had been the center of a whirling, devastating cyclone. not a speck of anything save the white, glistening sand of the desert remained to mark the spot where the camp of the pony rider boys had stood. they gathered shivering in their pajamas, looking fearsomely into each others' eyes, still dazed from the shock and the fright of their experience. "wha--what was it?" stammered walter perkins. "a genuine twister," laughed the guide. "twister?" questioned the professor. "cyclone, you mean?" "yes." "it was awful," breathed walter. "all our things gone, too," mourned ned ruefully. "you should be thankful that you are alive," chided the professor. "how about the ponies?" questioned walter. "they're over there. more scared than hurt, i guess." "but chunky--where's chunky? he isn't here!" cried tad, suddenly realizing that stacy brown was not with them. "chunky?" wondered the others. "why, i thought he was here a moment ago," said walter in an alarmed tone. "what can have become of him?" "probably went up with the twister," suggested ned. "yes, i heard his voice and it seemed to be right over my head," nodded tad. "we must look for him." the lads set up a shout as they started running about "better look for him that way," directed the guide, motioning in the direction that the funnel had taken after wrecking their camp. the boys spread out, calling and searching excitedly over the sand, peering into the sage brush and cactus shadows. but not a trace of stacy brown did they find, until they had gone some distance from camp. a faint call at last answered their hail. "hooray! we've got him!" shouted walter. "where are you, chunky?" called tad, hurrying forward. "here." "are you all right?" "no, i'm dead." the boys could afford to laugh now, and they did, after calling back to the camp that they had found the missing one. half buried in a sand drift they located him. stacy's head and one foot were protruding above the sand, the only parts of his anatomy that were visible above the heap of white sand beneath which he had been buried. the pony riders could not repress a shout when they came up with young brown and understood his predicament. "get me out of here." "no; you're dead. you stay where you are," retorted ned. tad, however, grasped the foot that was sticking up through the sand, and with a mighty tug hauled chunky right through the heap, choking, coughing and sputtering angrily, to the accompaniment of roars of laughter from his companions. ned grabbed the boy by the collar, shaking him until the sand flew like spray. "wake up! wake up! how did you get here?" demanded ned. "i--i don't know. i--i guess i fell in." "you fell up this time. that's a new trick you've developed. well, it's safer. you won't get hurt falling up, but look out when you strike the back trail." "wha--what happened?" asked the fat boy peevishly. "everything," laughed tad. "we got caught in a cyclone. we don't know whether you were rolled along with it or carried here. which was it?" "i guess i flied," decided stacy humorously. "but i came down so hard that it knocked all the breath out of me. where's the camp?" the boys laughed. "ask the wind," replied ned. "we don't know. come! we'd better be getting back." "yee, i reckon there will be plenty for us to do," agreed tad. "can you walk all right, chunky?" "i guess so." "why not fly? it's easier and quicker. chunky doesn't need a flying machine. he's the original human heavier-than-air-machine," averred ned. the guide had by this time gathered a heap of sage brush, to which he touched a match, that they might the better examine their surroundings. "anything left?" called tad, as with his companions he approached the camp. "i don't see anything but the saddles and the rifles." "what, everything gone?" demanded professor zepplin anxiously. "it certainly looks that way." "where's my pants?" wailed chunky. "all 'pants' have gone up," chuckled ned. "and so have provisions and everything else so far as i am able to observe," added tad. "then--then we've got to cross the desert in our pajamas," mourned walter. they looked at each other questioningly; then the entire party burst out laughing. they were all arrayed in pink night clothes. not a stitch of clothing beyond these pajamas did any of them have. "we must look about and see if we can find any of the stuff," decided parry, his mind turning at once to the practical side of their predicament. "i hope we find the food at least." "yes, i'm hungry," spoke up stacy. "no wonder, after the shaking up you've had," agreed the professor. "guide, where do you think we'll find our belongings?" "you are lucky if you find them at all. more than likely they are scattered over the diamond range for half a dozen miles." "may--maybe it'll come back and bring our pants," suggested chunky, at which there was a loud protest. all hands formed in line, and with the guide to pilot them, started off in their bare feet, hoping to find some of their belongings. stacy made the first find. he picked up a can of tomatoes. ned rector rescued a can of pickled pigs' feet from the shadow of a sage brush, while their guide discovered a sombrero that belonged to stacy brown. but that was all. they traveled nearly to the foot of the mountains, yet not a scrap did they discover beyond what they already had picked up. "no use going any further," announced the guide. "well, this is a fine predicament," decided professor zepplin. "nice mess," agreed ned rector. "i want my pants," wailed stacy. "you'll want more than that. look at the guide, if you think you are in difficulties," grinned tad. all eyes were turned on tom parry. then they uttered a shout that might have been heard far off on the silent desert. the guide was clad only in a blue flannel shirt and a sombrero. he was in an even worse predicament than the party that he was guiding. minutes passed before the boys could control their merriment sufficiently to permit a discussion of their situation. tom parry took their joking good-naturedly. he was too old a campaigner to be greatly disturbed over his own laughable condition. "something must be done," announced the professor, after the laughter had subsided. "what do you propose, mr. parry?" "well, in the first place, like our friend, master stacy brown, i want a pair of pants. i can't very well cross the desert in this rig." once more their laughter drowned the voices of the guide and the professor. "is there no town near here where we can get a fresh outfit? i am thankful that i kept my money belt strapped about me. we should be in a tight fix, had i lost the funds, too," said the professor. "i have been considering what is best to be done," replied parry. "i see no other way than that we shall have to ride to eureka. that is a railroad terminal and quite a town. i am sure we shall be able to get there all we need for our journey. it will prove a little more expensive than in a larger city, however." "no question of expense just now," answered the professor. "will it be necessary for all of us to go?" "i think it will be best. i don't care to leave any of the party behind. one never can tell what is going to happen, you know." "so i have observed," commented the professor dryly. "how far is eureka from here?" questioned tad. "between twenty-five and thirty miles. the town lies to the northwest. if it were not for the pack train we could make it quickly, but we shall have to move rather slowly on the burros' account." "then why not start at once?" suggested tad butler. "the moon is shining brightly and the air is cool. that is, if you can find the way?" "no trouble about that," grinned parry. "your suggestion is a good one. we'll start just as soon as i can get ready." "i don't see anything left here to get ready," laughed ned. "you will excuse me, gentlemen, but there is something that i shall have to get ready," replied the guide with a peculiar smile. "what's that?" demanded the professor. "i've got to take a double reef in my shirt before i can go anywhere, except to bed." the boys shouted again. tom parry hurried off beyond the ponies, where he was engaged for several minutes. when he returned they discovered that he had taken off his shirt. first he had cut off the sleeves, and by thrusting his feet through the arm holes had made for himself a very substantial pair of trunks. this odd outfit he had made fast about his waist with a thong of leather that he had cut from a bridle rein. this, with the broad-brimmed sombrero, completed his outfit. the sight was too much for the pony rider boys. they shouted peal after peal of merriment, in which the professor joined, though in a somewhat more dignified manner. tom parry's mouth was stretched in a grin as he got busy saddling the ponies and urging the sleepy burros to their feet. "i think we are all ready now," the guide called back to the others. with many a shout and jest the strange procession started off across the desert, under the brightly shining moon, the cool evening breezes making their scanty covering none too comfortable. the boys devoted the greater part of their attention to the professor and tom parry, both of whom were riding as dignifiedly as if they were leading a parade at a fourth of july celebration. every little while the boys, unable to contain themselves longer, would burst out into merry peals of laughter. "hope it doesn't snow," said stacy brown wisely. "no," retorted ned. "the colors in your pajamas might run." "that's where the guide has the better of us," retorted tad a little maliciously, which brought still another laugh from the boys. "say, fellows, this saddle is getting harder every minute," called chunky, who was riding back and forth behind the pack train, urging on the burros. "stand up in your stirrups now and then," suggested tad. "what, in my bare feet?" yelled the fat boy. "think i want to get pancake feet?" "chunky's getting aristocratic," jeered ned. "he's so proud of those high insteps of his that he has to take off his shoes every little while to look at his feet. he's afraid they'll cave in some time when he isn't looking." daylight came all too soon, and following it the sun burst forth in a blaze of heat. ahead of them across the desert they were able to make out the town of eureka. "say, mr. parry, aren't you afraid this sunlight will spoil your complexion?" called ned. the guide grinned good-naturedly. "never mind," he retorted. "your turn will come pretty soon, young man." ned rector did not catch the significance of the remark just then, but he understood a few hours later. chapter iv the charge of the light brigade "you are not going to ride into town in daylight, are you?" demanded ned in surprise. though they had sighted the town of eureka early in the morning, it was well along in the afternoon before they finally came up with it. desert distances are deceptive and the further they journeyed the less headway did they seem to be making. this surprised all save the guide. parry explained to them that the clear air brought distant objects much closer than they really were. "we are going into town exactly as we are," replied the guide in answer to ned's question. "why not?" "well, maybe you are, but i'm not," returned ned. "it may improve your complexion, young man," retorted mr. parry. "i'll stay out here and hide on the desert while the rest of you go on in," said ned. "no, you don't," shouted the lads all at once. "you go willingly or we carry you." they gathered around him threateningly. "if you want a mix-up, we're here," warned chunky, pushing his pony up beside that of ned rector. ned, forgetting for the instant that he was in his bare feet, let drive a kick at the side of stacy's pony. "ouch!" roared ned. jerking the injured toe up to the saddle, he grabbed it with both hands, rocking back and forth, for his foot had struck the pony with such violence that it is a wonder every toe on the foot was not broken. "did 'oo hurt 'oo little tootsie-wootsies?" cooed chunky, with a grimace. ned rector, forgetting the pain for the instant, made a quick grab for his tormentor. he just barely reached the sleeve of chunky's pajamas. but his sudden movement caused the fat boy's pony to leap suddenly to one side. ned landed on his head and shoulders in the desert sand, feet kicking the air, to the accompaniment of yells of derision from his companions. with red face and angry eyes, the lad scrambled to his feet and started limping to his pony, which had sprung to one side, where it stood, evidently wondering what next was about to happen. "i'll get even with you, chunky brown," ned growled, as he climbed into his saddle. "now, now, ned!" warned the boys. "take your medicine like a man. chunky never got mad when you nagged him." "i'll get even with him. i'll----" tad rode up beside the angry lad. "ned, you'll do nothing of the sort," said the boy gently. "you're mad, now, because your toes hurt. when they stop aching your temper will improve at the same time." "oh, pshaw! stop your preaching. of course it will. i'm a grouch. i take back all i said just now. chunky, when these toes get straightened out--they're all crooked now--i'll come over and hobnob with you. i deserve all you can give me." "you bet you do," chorused the lads. "stop teasing him," commanded stacy, with well-feigned indignation. "can't you see his toes hurt him?" the incident was lost sight of in the general laugh that followed. the others were beginning to appreciate that stacy brown possessed a tongue as sharp as any of them. ned now offered no further protest to entering the village, but it was observed that he dropped back behind the others as they reached the outskirts of the town. tom parry and professor zepplin were riding ahead, one in pajamas, the other clad in trunks--which resembled a meal sack--a sombrero hat and a sardonic grin of defiance. the others trailed along behind. not one of the party glanced to the right or left of him, except stacy brown, who could scarcely contain his bubbling spirits. "they'll think it's some new kind of a menagerie come to town," he confided to tad, who was riding beside him. "then i hope they don't shoot the animals," laughed tad. by this time they had entered the main street, down which they rode at a pace that the burros could follow. people passing along the street paused and gazed in unfeigned astonishment at the strange procession which they saw approaching. the most conspicuous of them all was tom parry. he was a sight to behold, but not one whit did he care for the amazed stares that greeted his strange outfit. soon the grins of the populace gave place to yells of derision. "look at the purty boy with the pink toes there behind," shouted one, pointing to ned rector. ned's face went crimson. "now, aren't you glad you didn't lose the tootsie-wootsies?" teased chunky. ned made no reply, but it boded ill for any of his tormentors who got within reach of his long arms. already more than a hundred persons had turned to follow the strange outfit. this number was being rapidly added to as they proceeded. "for goodness' sake, how much further have we to go?" begged ned. "the general store is down at the end of the street," the guide informed him. "i presume you want to get some clothes the first thing?" "i should say so." a whoop and a yell sounded far down the street. "here's trouble," muttered tad, instantly recognizing the cowboy yell. a band of them at that instant swung around a corner, straightening out in the main street, letting go a volley of revolver shots into the air. the band had come to town with a shipment of wild horses that had been captured among the desert ranges. they had been in eureka for twenty-four hours and were by this time ready for whatever might turn up. the horsemen clad in pink pajamas attracted their attention at once. here was fair game. "who-o-o-o-p-e-e-e!" the shrill cry sent a shiver to the hearts of the boys. it was not a shiver of fear, either. in a moment more the pony rider boys were the center of a ring of racing ponies, as the horse-hunters dashed round and round, yelling like mad and firing off their revolvers. "oh, see that purty boy with the pink toes!" jeered one. "give him the tenderfoot dance," yelled another. "he ought to be able to dance the fairy lancers on them pinkies." ned did not dare refuse. he slipped from his pony, and, limping to the center of the ring which the racing ponies had formed about them, began to dance as the bullets from the revolvers of the cowboys struck the ground, sending up little clouds of dust under his feet. faster and faster barked the guns, and faster and faster danced ned rector. stacy brown was almost beside himself with joy. "better look out, or you'll be doing it next," warned tad. evidently the cowboys had not recognized tom parry as yet. he might be the next victim. finally tad rode his pony forward, right through the fire of the skylarking cowboys. "i guess you've had enough fun with him, fellows," he warned. "let up now." a jeering laugh greeted the lad's command. their attention was instantly turned to him. "get off that broncho and give us a dance, young fellow," they shouted. "thank you, i'm not dancing to-day," smiled tad butler. "ain't dancing? we'll see about that. come off that nag." tad shook his head. at that instant a rope squirmed through the air from a moving pony. butler threw himself to one side just in time to avoid it. the lad's eyes snapped. "guess i'll take a hand in this, too," he growled. the lad unlimbered his rope in a twinkling and let fly at the cowboy who had just sought to rope him. with unerring aim tad's lariat caught the left hind foot of the cowman's broncho. pony and rider went down like a flash. instantly there was a loud uproar. the horse-hunters yelled with delight; at least all of them save the cowboy who had bit the dust, and he sprang up, bellowing with rage, as he made for the grinning tad. tom parry decided that it was time for him to take a hand. the guide jumped his pony between tad and the angry cowboy. "that'll do, bud! you stop right where you are!" tom commanded. "but the miserable coyote roped me." "you tried to rope him first." "it's tom parry," shouted the cowmen. "hey, tom! them's a fine suit of clothes you've got on there. where'd you get them?" "call off bud and i'll tell you," grinned tom, "he's got no reason to interfere with my boys here." laughing uproariously, the cowboys forced their bronchos between bud and the others, cutting him off and bidding him attend to his own business. then the cowmen halted their ponies, after closing in about the pony rider boys, while tom parry related the experiences they had passed through on the previous night. "come along. we'll take you to a place where you can get all the pants you want," shouted the leader of the party, after tom had finished his story. the cowboys wheeled their ponies and the procession moved on down the street. they had discovered that the pony rider boys were not the band of tenderfeet that they had at first taken them for. arriving at the store, the lads lost no time in leaping from their ponies, which they tethered at the rail in front, and hurried into the store. this was a postoffice as well as general trading post. half the town, it seemed, had gathered outside the building to get a look at the nearly naked strangers who had ridden in a short time before. but once inside the store, the boys did not propose to exhibit themselves further if it were possible to avoid it. an entire new outfit was necessary--tents, provisions and all, and to purchase all these things would occupy the greater part of the rest of the afternoon. no sooner had they entered the store and made their wants known, than the boys became conscious of the presence of ladies. the boys could not see them plainly, because it was a dim, dingy place at best. but, all at once ned felt a cold chill run down his back. one of the ladies was speaking to him. "isn't this mr. rector?" asked a pleasant voice. "i am quite sure i am not mistaken." ordinarily ned would have been glad to meet an old acquaintance, but when a boy is clad only in a pair of pink pajamas, his feet bare of covering, he is not particularly anxious to see anyone he knows. it was so with ned rector. at first he pretended not to hear. a hand was placed lightly on his shoulder. then he turned, his face flushing painfully. "i am mrs. colonel mcclure from texas," she informed him. "we had the pleasure of entertaining you and your companions when you were with the cattle drive in our state." ned bowed and mumbled some unintelligible words. he failed to note the twinkle in the eyes of mrs. mcclure. "and this," she continued, "is my niece miss courtenay, miss barbara parks and miss long," continued mrs. mcclure mercilessly. the young women were blushing furiously as they acknowledged the introduction. ned failed to observe it, however. his eyes were on his feet and the pink toes which seemed abnormally large at that moment. "where are your companions, mr. rector? i thought they were with you a moment ago?" "wh--ye--yes--they are here, they----" ned looked about him blankly. no one was in sight. then he discovered the grinning face of stacy brown peering at him from behind the postoffice wicket. at the first alarm walter perkins had sunk down behind a cracker barrel with tad butler crouching behind him. over behind the counter was the guide, while, behind a pile of horse blankets, professor zepplin lay flat on the floor, shrinking himself into as small a space as possible. ned rector was left to face the enemy alone. chapter v stalking big game by moonlight the tension of the moment was relieved by a merry laugh from mrs. mcclure and her friends, in which ned rector joined spontaneously. the situation was too funny for even his offended dignity to resist. the result was an invitation for the entire party to dine with mrs. mcclure and her friends that evening. ned rector accepted on the spot, much to the disgust of his companions, who felt a diffidence about meeting the ladies after the exhibition in the store. however, after they had properly clothed themselves they felt better, and the evening passed at the home of mrs. mcclure's friends was one of the most enjoyable they experienced. at sunrise next morning the pony rider boys were once more on the desert, bubbling over with spirits and anticipation. "i've got another invitation for you boys," announced tom parry after they had halted for the midday rest. "i hope we'll have some clothes on when it comes off, then," growled ned. "it won't make much difference whether you have or not, so far as this invitation is concerned." "what is the invitation?" asked professor zepplin. "bud thomas and the other cowboys are hunting wild horses for market, you know?" replied the guide. "wild horses?" marveled walter. "yes." "i didn't know there were any about here," said tad. "it is estimated that there are all of a hundred thousand wild horses in the different ranges of this state," replied the guide. "you haven't told us yet what the invitation is," reminded stacy. "you haven't given me a chance," laughed tom. "well, the invitation is to join in a wild horse hunt." "hooray!" shouted the lads. "very interesting," agreed the professor. "and lively, too," added the guide. "the boys took quite a fancy to you young gentlemen after the roping trick, and said if you would join in a hunt, you'd get all the fun that was coming to you." tad grinned at the recollection of their first meeting with the wild horse hunters. "whe--when do we join them?" asked chunky enthusiastically. "it will be a week or more yet before we reach that part of the desert where the hunts take place--that is, if we have good luck. but if we have any more such experiences as we have just passed through we shall not get there this summer," laughed the guide. by sunset, that day, the town of eureka had disappeared behind the copper colored hills, and the pony rider boys were again merely tiny specks on the great nevada desert. they pitched the new white tents for the first time that night, having made camp earlier than usual because they were not accustomed to working with the new outfit. no one knew where to find anything, which furnished the lads with plenty of amusement. ned and tom parry cooked the supper over a sage brush fire. they had brought a few cans of milk with them, but after sampling it all hands declared their preference for the condensed brand of which they had purchased a liberal supply. the fresh milk procured in eureka was strong with the sage brush taste, as was almost everything else in that barren country. the ponies refused the sage brush for their evening meal, having had a supply of real fodder back in town, so they were staked out near a growth of sage that they might browse on during the night should they decide that they were hungry enough. "well, i wonder what will happen to-night," said tad, as they finished the evening meal. "let us hope that it will be nothing more serious than pleasant dreams," smiled professor zepplin. "that means you, chunky," nodded ned. "you are not to have the nightmare to-night, remember." "and you look out for your tootsie-wootsies," retorted chunky. "we shall have to take a long ride to-morrow," announced the guide. "why to-morrow?" asked ned. "it is all of twenty miles to the next water hole, or where the next water hole should be. one cannot depend upon anything in this country." "haven't we enough water with us?" asked the professor. "enough to last us through to-morrow--that's all. we shall have to get water at night; so, if we have no interruptions during the night, we shall make another early start." "stacy, see to it that you do not lose your trousers this time. we don't wish to be disgraced by you again to-morrow," warned ned. stacy merely grimaced, making no reply. he knew that he had not been the one to get the worst of it, and so did his companions. he was quite satisfied with the punishment that had been meted out to ned rector. all hands turned in shortly after dark. they were tired after the long day's ride in the broiling sun. besides, they had not yet made up the sleep they lost two nights before when the "twister" invaded their camp and wrecked it. the boys had been asleep only a short time, however, before the entire camp was startled by a long, thrilling wail. all the pony riders were wide awake in an instant, listening for a repetition of the sound. it came a moment later. "k-i-i-o-o-o-o! k-i-i-o-o-o-o! k-i-i-o-o-o-k-i!" the boys leaped from their tents. the sound plainly come from some wild animal, but what, they did not know. "wha--what is it? a lion?" stammered stacy. "i--i don't know," answered walter. "do you, tad?" "i certainly do not. it's no lion, though. there are none here?" "maybe it's a pack of wolves," suggested ned. "there must be a lot of them to make such a howling as that." "d-d-d-d-do you thi--thi--think they're going to attack us?" stammered stacy. "how do we know?" snorted ned. neither the professor nor the guide having made their appearance, the boys took for granted that the two men were asleep. such was the case so far as the professor was concerned, but tom parry was lying on his bed awake, a quiet smile on his face. "are you sure it's a wild animal, tad?" whispered walter. "of course. what else could it be?" "then i'll tell you what let's do." "what?" demanded ned. "let's get our rifles and crawl up to the top of that knoll yonder, where the sound seems to come from----" "and take a shot at them," finished ned. "good idea. what do you say, tad?" "i guess there will be no harm in it," decided the lad, considering the question for a minute. they had moved away from the tents so that the sound of their voices should not arouse the sleeping men there. "two guns will be enough. we're not so liable to hit each other if only two of us have them." "who is going to shoot?" demanded walter. "what's the matter with ned and chunky?" that suited all concerned. "you'd better hurry. the animals have stopped howling," advised tad. ned and stacy ran lightly to their tents, returning quickly with their rifles. stacy bore the handsome telescope rifle that he had won in a pony race during their exciting trip through the ozark mountains. even in the moonlight one could see a long distance with the aid of the telescope on the gun's barrel. "see the brutes?" asked stacy, with bated breath. "no, nor hear them, either," answered walter. "i'll tell you what we'd better do," suggested tad. "yes," answered ned anxiously. "we'll crawl along in the shadow to the south. i think the prowlers are up there on the ridge to the west. if they are, they'll be watching the camp-fire. maybe they have smelled us and run away by this time, even if they didn't hear us talking." "keep still, everybody," warned ned. the boys stole along as silently as shadows. after moving some ten rods to the south, tad motioned for them to turn west, which they did. no sooner had they changed their course, however, than chunky with a loud "ouch!" plunged headlong, his rifle falling several feet ahead of him. with frightful howls he began hugging one foot, rocking back and forth in great pain. "what's the matter?" snapped ned rector. "my foot! my foot!" "what about it----" "i--i don't know. i----" tad grabbed the boy by the collar, jerking him clear of the place. the first thought that came to him was that stacy had been bitten by a snake, though tad did not even know whether or not there were snakes on the desert. "nice chance we'll have to shoot anything," growled ned in disgust. "stop that wailing." "it hurts, it hurts----" "keep still. i'll find out what the trouble is," warned tad, dropping down and examining his companion's injured foot. "ouch!" exploded chunky, jerking his foot away. "if you want me to help you, you'll have to be quiet." butler pressed gently on the bottom of the injured foot with the fingers of one hand, the other holding chunky's ankle in a firm grip. "humph!" grunted tad. "he's stepped on a cactus bush with his bare foot. it's full of prickers. hold still and i'll pick them out." "guess there's no use to keep still any longer. those animals probably have run away before this," complained ned. "k-i-i-o-o-o-o-! k-i-i-o-o-o-o! k-i-i-o-o-o-k-i!" "s-h-h-h!" warned tad. "they're there yet. shall i take your rifle, chunky? you probably don't feel much like tramping up the hill in your bare feet." "no!" exploded the fat boy. "i guess if there's any shooting to be done, stacy brown can do it, even if he's only got one foot to hop along on." scrambling to his feet, stacy recovered his rifle. he had forgotten all about his injured foot now. cautiously the boys crawled up to the top of the rise of ground. "sit down, everybody," directed tad. "we ought to be able to see them from here." not a thing save clumps of sage brush met peering eyes of the pony rider boys. "lay the barrel of your gun over my shoulder and look through the telescope," directed tad softly. pointing the gun to the southward, stacy rested it on his companion's shoulder, placing an eye to the peep hole. the lads fairly held their breath for a minute. "i see him! i see him!" whispered stacy in an excited tone. "what is it?" demanded ned. "where?" "i don't know. i guess it's a wolf." "how many?" asked walter, crawling up to him. "see only one." "take your time, chunky," cautioned tad in a low voice. "draw a careful bead on the fellow and let him have it." "over your shoulder?" "sure. you never'll hit him without a rest." once more they held their breath. at last stacy exerted a gentle pressure on the trigger. there followed a flash and a roar. "o-u-u-c-h!" yelled the fat boy. the end of the telescope had kicked him violently in the eye as the gun went off. chapter vi bagged by lucky shots "k-i-i-o-o-o-o! k-i-i-i-o-o-o!" "there he goes!" shouted walter. stacy was picking himself up from the ground where the rifle had kicked him. bang! ned rector had risen to his feet the instant stacy fired. throwing his rifle to shoulder, he fired at an object that he saw bounding down the opposite side of the hill. "i got him! i got him!" shouted ned, dancing about in his glee. "chunky brown, you're no good. all you can do with a rifle is to get kicked and fall in. take a lesson from your uncle dudley----" "good shooting, boys," said a laughing voice behind them. they whirled around and found themselves facing tom parry, who had crept up to see that the boys got into no trouble. "you here?" demanded tad butler sharply. "i am that. think i could let you boys go off with a couple of guns to hunt wild animals? not without tom parry--no, indeed!" "i got him, mr. parry," glowed ned. "did you see me tumble him over?" the guide nodded good-naturedly. "and chunky missed him, even though he had a rest over tad butler's shoulder. chunky can't shoot." "yes, i can, too," objected the fat boy. "we'll see," replied the guide. "i am not sure whether he can shoot or not." "what do you mean, mr. parry!" asked walter. "chunky shot at the animal and missed it, didn't he?" "what kind of an animal was it?" interjected ned. "a coyote." "i thought it was a wolf," muttered stacy brown. "how many of them was there?" "only one, you ninny. and i shot him," scoffed ned. "we'll go down the hill and find the one you got, master ned," decided the guide, moving away, followed by the rest of the party. no sooner had they started than they heard professor zepplin, down in the camp, shouting to know what the shooting meant. "it's all right, professor," called the guide. "the boys have been shooting up some wild game. you'll be surprised when you see what they got." down the hillside sprang the enthusiastic lads. "remember, you're all barefooted," warned the guide. "you don't want to pick up any more cactus thorns." "were you here then?" demanded tad, glancing up sharply. "i was with you from the time you left the camp." "here he is," shouted ned, who had run on ahead of the others in his anxiety to learn the result of his shot. "and i caught him on the wing, too, didn't i?" "you certainly did." "just lift him. he's a whopper," went on the lad enthusiastically. "i'd like to see any of the others in this outfit make a shot like that----" "chance shot," mumbled stacy. "hit a bird once myself a mile up in the air, but i didn't flap my wings and crow about it. i couldn't have done it again. neither could you have hit that--that--what do you call it!" "coyote," replied the guide, but he pronounced it "kiute." "oh, i don't know," grumbled stacy. "suppose we go up the hill now and see what master stacy shot," suggested the guide, starting away. "shot?" sniffed ned rector. "don't you know what he shot?" "yes, we know," interrupted walter. "he shot thin air, that's what he did." "we shall see, we shall see," answered the guide enigmatically. though stacy did not grasp the guide's meaning, he did catch a note in the tone that filled him with hope. yet chunky was unable to see how he could have hit anything, in view of the fact that ned had shot the coyote. tom parry strode up to the crest of the hill and began looking about, peering behind sage bush and greasewood. the boys were a little to the north of him, all hunting for they knew not what. ned rector had seated himself by the side of his dead coyote, stroking its rough coat proudly. a sharp whistle from the guide attracted their attention. "what is it?" called tad. "come over here. i've got a surprise for you." the boys obeyed on the run. tom parry stood with a grin on his face, pointing a finger to the ground. "what is it? what is it?" demanded the lads in chorus. "why, it's a dead animal," marveled walter. "then that's what the coyote was doing up here. it was after the meat on the dead one," announced ned. "i knew there must be some good reason for its remaining so near camp all that time." "guess again," sniffed stacy, who had thrown himself down beside his prize. "what's that?" asked tad, who already suspected something of the truth. "it's my coyote, that's what it is." tom parry nodded. "he's right. he killed the animal the first shot----" "then--then----" stammered ned. "there were two of them. master stacy killed one and you the other, and for your gratification i'll say that they are a very difficult animal to kill. one might try a hundred times and never hit one." "if one knows how to shoot, it isn't," spoke up stacy pompously. "which you certainly do," laughed the guide. "may we take them back to camp and skin them?" asked ned. "you may take them in, of course; but i would not advise you to skin the brutes. the skins are not worth anything in the first place, and in the second, we should be unable to keep them all the way across the desert, i am afraid." "you mean they would spoil?" questioned ned. "yes." "then we'll take them down to show to the professor. after that we'll bury them." "not necessary at all," smiled the guide. "the buzzards will attend to that part of the work. they'll be around in the morning. you'll see them." "but how will the buzzards know?" asked walter. "that i cannot say. they do know. instinct, i suppose. all animals and birds have the instinct necessary for their kind, yet it is all a mystery to us." very proudly the lads dragged their trophies to camp, where, after heaping fresh sage brush on the fire, the youngsters stretched the carcasses out full length that professor zepplin might see. "very fine, young men. you say they were howling and woke you up?" "yes; didn't you hear them!" answered stacy loudly. "indeed i did not. the first thing i heard was the report of a rifle, and then, in a few seconds, another. i couldn't imagine what was going on. when i tumbled out and found the camp deserted, i was alarmed. i feared you boys had gotten into other and more serious trouble. you should not take the guns out without either myself or the guide being with you." "he was with us," interrupted chunky. "then that was all right." "but we didn't know he was with us, professor," tad butler hastened to explain. "so we were in the wrong, even if he was along. however, it has turned out all right, and we've bagged two coyotes. wish we could take their pictures. why didn't we think to bring a camera with us?" "i think i can supply that," laughed the guide. "i always carry one with me. in the morning i'll take your pictures. i got a new camera in eureka yesterday, having lost my old one in the blow-out we had the other night." the boys gave three cheers and a tiger for tom parry. chapter vii chunky comes to grief breakfast was cooked in the cool of the early dawn, long before the sun had pushed its burning course up above the desert sands. though the boys had but little sleep, they tumbled out at the guide's first hail, full of joyous enthusiasm for what lay before them that day. stacy brown emerged from his tent rubbing his eyes. the lads uttered a shout when they saw him. "look at him!" yelled ned. "look at chunky's eye!" the right eye was surrounded by a black ring, the eyelid being of the same dark shade, where the end of the telescope on his rifle had kicked him. "young man, you are a sight to behold," smiled the professor. "i don't care. i got the coyote," retorted stacy, with a grin. "and the gun got him," added walter. "judging from your appearance, i should say that the butt of your rifle was almost as dangerous as the other end," laughed tad. "come and get it!" called the guide. the lads never had to be called twice for meals, and they were in their places at the breakfast table with a bound. "do you know, i'm beginning to like the sage brush taste in the food," said walter. stacy made up a face. "i should think you would be ashamed to sit down to a meal with that countenance of yours, chunky," declared ned. "i might with some company." "see here, chunky brown. do you mean----" "i mean that my face will get over what ails it, but yours won't," was the fat boy's keen-edged retort. "all of which goes to prove," announced tad wisely, "that you never can tell, by the looks of a toad, how far it will jump. i guess you'd better let chunky alone after this. he's perfectly able to take care of himself, ned." ned subsided and devoted his further attention to his breakfast. the meal finished, all hands set briskly to work to strike camp. in half an hour the burros were loaded ready for the day's journey. the boys set off singing. "i don't see how you can tell where you are going," said the professor. "there is no sun and you have no compass." "we are traveling almost due southwest. i never use a compass. it is not necessary." "there, i knew i had forgotten to get something," announced tad. "forgotten what?" questioned walter. "to get a compass." "you have a watch, have you not?" asked tom parry. "why, yes; but that's not a compass." "oh, yes, it is," smiled the guide. "you can get your direction just as well with that as you could with a tested compass." "never heard that before," muttered tad. "nor i," added ned, at once keenly interested. "i'm easy. i'll ask how? what's the answer?" questioned stacy, gazing innocently at tom parry. "i am not joking, boys. every watch is a compass. you can get your direction from it unerringly whenever you can see the sun." "indeed?" marveled the professor. "the method is very simple," continued parry. "all you have to do is to point the hour hand directly at the sun. half way between the hour hand and the figure twelve on the watch dial you will find is due south." "i'll try it," answered tad. "there comes the sun now," said ned. the boys drew out their watches, having halted the ponies and turned facing the rising sun. "well, did you ever!" exclaimed the lads in one voice. "it is, indeed, the fact," marveled the professor. "you can depend upon that whenever you have lost your way," said tom parry. "it has helped me out on many occasions." "but what if there isn't any sun--what if the sky is clouded?" questioned stacy. "then you'll have to sit down and wait for it," laughed the guide. after this brief rest the party continued on its way. they had come out on the level plain, and before them for several miles stretched the white alkali of the nevada desert. as the sun rose higher, they found the glare of the glistening plain extremely trying to the eyes. the guide suggested that they put on their goggles. but the boys would have none of them. stacy's right eye was badly swollen, yet he refused to cover it, though the fine dust of the plain got into it, causing it to smart until the tears ran down his cheek. "where do the wild horses congregate?" asked tad, riding up beside the guide. "likely to see them anywhere, though they do not, as a rule, go far out on the desert on account of the scarcity of water. we may see some in the little smoky valley and the hot creek range when we reach there." "is it difficult to catch them?" "very. there is one magnificent white stallion that the horse-hunters have been trying to capture for the past five years." "why can't they get him?" "too smart for them. he knows what they are up to almost as well as if the hunters had confided their plans to him. twice, in the beginning, the hunters succeeded in getting him in a trap, but he managed to get away from his would-be captors." "i'd like to get a chance to take him," mused tad butler. "i'm afraid you wouldn't have much luck, but we'll have a hunt when we get down in the horse country, and i promise you that you will see some exciting sport. better than hunting coyotes by moonlight," laughed the guide. "i'd like to capture and break a real live wild horse," said young butler, his eyes sparkling at the thought. "it would be a fine prize to take away with me, now wouldn't it?" "if you chanced to capture a good one, yes. the poor stock, however, has been pretty well taken up, so that the horses on the ranges now are splendid specimens." "anybody want to run a race?" interrupted stacy, riding up near the head of the procession. "too hot," answered tad. "just the kind of a day for a horse race. i'll run any of you to see who cooks the supper," persisted stacy. "oh, go back with the burros. i wouldn't eat any supper that you cooked, anyway." "i'll remember that, ned. well, if none of you has spunk enough to race with me, i'll run a race with myself." "that a dare?" questioned walter. stacy nodded, blinking his blackened eye nervously. walter shook out the reins. "come on, then. i suppose you won't be satisfied until you've gotten into more trouble. where do you want to race to?" "see that patch of ground whiter than the rest off there?" "yes." "well, we'll race there and back. how far is it from here, mr. parry?" "'bout half a mile, i should say," answered the guide, measuring the distance with his eyes. "whew! i didn't think it was so far," marveled stacy. "but we'll run it, anyway." "i'll be the starter," announced ned. "if you break your neck, chunky, remember that i am not to blame for it." "if i break my neck i won't be likely to remember anything, so you're safe," retorted stacy. the others were too busy discussing wild-horse hunting to give heed to the boys' plan. "all ready!" "yes." "go!" both lads uttered a sharp yell, at the same time giving their spurs a gentle pressure, and away they went across the blazing alkali, their tough little ponies steaming in the intense heat as they straightened out, entering into the spirit of the contest with evident enthusiasm. "see those boys ride," laughed the guide, pausing in his argument on the wild-horse question: "i didn't suppose the fat boy could sit in a saddle like that." "oh, yes; he does well. you saw him master the bucker the other day in the mountains?" "yes, i remember. whoa! look out, there! there goes one of them! he took too short a turn." "walter's down!" cried ned. "hope he isn't hurt." "no; he's cleared all right. that was a mighty quick move the way he slipped out of that saddle. it would have broken his leg sure, if the pony had fallen on it," declared the guide. stacy had pulled up his own mount after making the turn safely. then he rode slowly back. "hurt you any, walt?" he asked. "jarred me a little, that's all. why don't you go on and win the race?" "waiting for you," announced the fat boy laconically. walter swung into his saddle. "come on, then. gid-ap!" he cried, shaking out the reins. the two little animals sprang away like projectiles. but stacy seemed not to be in his best form. he came in bobbing up and down, several lengths behind walter. "you won the race. i fell off," announced walter, with his usual spirit of fairness. "i guess not," drawled stacy. "now i'm going to do some stunts." with that, the fat boy galloped out over the alkali again, riding off fully half a mile ahead of the party, where he jogged back and forth for a time, then began riding in a circle. after a little they saw him toss his hat into the air ahead of him, and putting spurs to his pony dart under it, giving it a swift blow with his quirt, sending it spinning some distance away, at the same time uttering a shrill whoop. "thinks he's having the time of his life," grunted ned. "for a boy with a black eye, he is particularly cheerful, i should say," laughed parry. "what's he going to do now!" "pick up his sombrero while at a gallop, i guess," replied tad, shading his eyes and gazing off across the plain. "yes, there he goes at it." stacy, with a graceful dip from his saddle, swooped down on the sombrero, scooping it up with a yell of triumph, then dashing madly across the desert to the westward. all at once they saw his pony stumble. "there he goes!" warned the guide. "he will break his neck!" down plunged the broncho, his nose scraping the ground, his hind feet beating the air wildly. stacy kept right on. "the pony struck a thin crust on the alkali," explained the guide. almost before the words were out of his mouth stacy brown hit the desert broadside on. then, to the amazed watchers, he seemed to disappear before their very eyes. "he's gone! what does it mean?" cried the boys. where but a few seconds before had been a pony and a boy, there now remained only a kicking, floundering broncho. tom parry put spurs to his mount and set off at top speed for the scene of the accident, followed by the others of the party strung out in single file. chapter viii nearly drowned in an alkali sink tad rapidly drew up on the guide. "what has happened?" butler cried as the two now raced along side by side. "as i said before, the pony went through a thin crust----" "yes, but chunky--what happened to him?" asked tad. "he went through when he struck the ground." "i don't understand it at all." "you will when you get there." tad was mystified. the solution of the mystery was beyond him. "if he isn't drowned, he's in luck," snapped parry. "drowned?" wondered his companion. they cleared the intervening space that lay between them and the fat boy's pony in a series of convulsive leaps that the bronchos took under the urgent pressure of the rowels of their riders' spurs. as they neared the scene tad espied a hole in the desert, and began to understand. stacy also had struck a thin crust and had broken through. yet what had happened to him after that, tad did not know. both would-be rescuers leaped from their ponies and ran to the spot. with his body submerged, his head barely protruding above the water, sat stacy, vigorously rubbing his eyes to get the brown alkali water out of them sufficiently to enable him to look about and determine what had happened to him. the rest of the party dashed up with loud shouts of alarm, hurling a series of rapid-fire questions at the guide. parry and tad grasped stacy by the arms and hauled him, dripping, from the alkali sink into which he had plunged. they shouted with laughter when they saw that he was not hurt seriously. "well, of all the blundering idiots----" began ned. "that will do," warned the professor, hurrying to stacy's side. "hurt you much, lad?" "i--i fell in," stammered chunky. "i should say you did. how in the world did it happen?" the guide explained, that frequently these thin crusts were found on the desert, covering alkali sinks, some being dry, others having water in them. "and of course chunky had to find one. he's the original hoodoo," laughed ned. "oh, i don't know," replied the guide. "he has done us a real service by falling in." "how's that!" questioned tad. "master stacy has found a water hole, just what we need at this particular moment. the stock needs water, and especially the ponies that have been racing for the last half hour." "you don't mean that we are to drink that stuff, do you?" demanded walter. "not now. we still have some fairly good water in the water bags. later on you may be glad to drink alkali water. run up and down if you feel able. you'll dry off in a few minutes," suggested parry, turning to chunky. "i--i don't want to. feels nice and cool after my bath. jump in and take a swim, fellows." "no, thank you--not in that dirty water," objected ned. "i'll tell you what, boys," suggested tad. "after the stock has had a drink we'll take off our shoes and put our feet in. guess we can stand that much." "that's a good idea," agreed walter. "we'll all take a cold foot bath." in the meantime, the guide had been busily engaged in breaking the crust around the sink, so that the stock might more easily get at the water within it. the animals were impatiently pawing and whinnying, anxious to get the water. they were now willing to drink any kind of water after their half day's journey across the burning alkali. "you might unpack and get a cold lunch together, if you will," suggested parry. the boys soon had one of the tents erected, over which they stretched the fly, that the interior might be cooler. ned opened a can of pickled pigs' feet, which, with some hard rolls were spread out on a folding table under the tent. tad, not to be out-done, dug some lemons from his saddle bag, with which he proceeded to make a pail of lemonade. it was the first time they had had any such beverage since they began their summer trips. tad had purchased the lemons back in eureka. the lemonade made, it lacked only sweetening now. "where's the sugar?" he called. "where's the sugar?" echoed chunky. "we don't know," answered ned and walter in the same breath. "get busy and find it, then. if you don't want this lemonade i'll drink it myself. i don't care whether it is sweetened or not." that threat was effective. the other three boys made a dive for the burros. an examination of the first pack failed to reveal the sweetening. the same was the case with the next, and before they had finished, their entire outfit was spread over the ground, tents, canned goods, cooking utensils, thrown helter-skelter over several rods of ground. "here, boys, boys!" chided the professor. "this will never do. we can't afford to use our provisions in that way. soon we'll have nothing." "regular rough house. ought to be ashamed of yourselves," agreed stacy, surveying the scattered outfit, while he secretly slipped two lumps of sugar into his mouth. "here, cook, pick up your kitchen," to ned. "what you got in your mouth?" demanded ned suspiciously. "he's eating the sugar," spoke up walter perkins. "drop 'em!" roared ned. stacy started to run, whereupon the boys fell upon him, and the next second he was at the bottom of the heap. the boys were rubbing his face in the sand in an effort to make him give up the sugar. the professor took a hand--two hands in fact--about this time. he made short work of the "goose pile," tossing the boys from the very much ruffled stacy, whom he also jerked to his feet. "what's all this disturbance about?" demanded professor zepplin. "first you strew the outfit all over the desert, then you get to pummeling each other." "chunky's been stealing sugar," volunteered ned. "give back that sugar, instantly!" commanded the professor. the fat boy shook his head and grinned. "can't," he answered. "and, why not?" "'cause they're inside of me." "now, now, now!" warned ned. "you haven't chewed that hard sugar down this quick. i know better than that." "no, i swallowed the lumps whole when you fellows jumped on me. nearly choked me to death, 'cause one of 'em got stuck in my throat," chunky explained. tad, in the meantime, had been busy gathering up the scattered provisions. "get to work, young gentlemen. straighten up the camp," commanded the professor. "don't we get any lunch?" begged stacy. "you're full of sugar. you don't need anything else," replied walter. "when you have set the outfit to rights, we'll all sit down and eat like civilized beings," asserted the professor, with emphasis. "civilized beings making a meal on pigs' feet! huh!" grumbled chunky, picking up a can of tomatoes, then throwing it down again. after this, he slipped around to the opposite side of the tent. crawling in under the fly he promptly went to sleep, the others being so busy that they had not observed his act. the next stacy knew was when he awakened to find himself being hauled out by one leg. "here, what are you doing? leggo my foot." "lunch is ready. you ought to thank us, instead of finding fault because we woke you up. you might have slept right through the meal; then you wouldn't have had anything to eat," explained walter. stacy shook his head. "no danger. i wasn't afraid of that!" "not afraid of that? why not?" demanded ned. "'cause i knew you'd haul me out. left my feet sticking out so you would." everybody roared. there was no resisting stacy brown's droll humor. "hopeless," averred the professor, shrugging his shoulders. "he's a wise one," differed the guide. "another name for laziness," nodded ned. "what's that disease they have down south?" asked walter. "i heard the professor and the postmaster talking about it back in eureka." "you mean the--the hook-worm disease?" grinned the guide. "that's it. that's what chunky's got. when a fellow is too lazy to do anything but eat, they say he's got the--the----" "the hook----" finished the guide. "that's what he ought to get," agreed ned. "gentlemen, gentlemen!" corrected the professor. "this is not a seemly topic for table discussion." "but we eat pigs' feet," suggested stacy in wide-eyed innocence. the meal finished, amid laughter and jest, the party stowed their belongings, and after a brief rest, pushed on, having decided that they would feel the heat less in the saddle. at sundown the travelers were still some distance from the water hole for which the guide was making. "we'll have to go on," he said. "we may have to ride some time after dark." "will that be advisable?" questioned the professor. "not advisable, but necessary. the stock must have their water you know." so the party pushed on. the moon came up late in the evening, and the guide looking about him, discovered that they had borne too far to the east, which necessitated their covering some four miles more of alkali than would have been the case had they kept more closely to their course. "it can't be helped," he laughed good-naturedly. "i guess the pigs' feet will last you until we make camp." "how long will that be, mr. parry?" questioned chunky anxiously. "all of an hour and a half." stacy humorously took up his belt three holes. "got two more holes left to take in," he decided after examining the belt critically. "that's a new way to measure distance and time, isn't it!" laughed the guide. "how?" wondered stacy. "by the holes in your belt." at eleven o'clock that night tom parry announced that they had arrived at the end of their day's journey. "where's the water? i don't see any water?" said walter. "after supper we'll look for it. i presume want something to eat first, don't you?" questioned the guide. "yes," shouted the lads in chorus. "we're nearly starved." bacon and coffee constituted the bill of fare for their late meal, which they ate out in the bright moonlight with the crackling camp-fire near by. "this is fine," announced tad, with which sentiment all the boys agreed. "wish we could do this every night." "your supper would be breakfast after a few days," replied parry. "how's that!" questioned ned. "if you waited for moonlight, i mean. the moon comes up later every night, you know." "that's so." "we'd get hungry, wouldn't we?" chuckled stacy. "you wouldn't get. you always are," retorted ned. "now, i'll show you how i know there is a water hole near here," said parry after they had finished their late meal. "when i locate it, you boys may help me take the stock to it." they walked back some twenty rods from where they had pitched the camp, parry meanwhile hunting about as if in search of something that he had dropped. "nope. no water here," decided stacy. "you don't know. ah! here is what i am looking for." the guide pointed to a heap of stones that rose some twelve inches above the ground. on the west side of the heap several stones had been placed in a row, thus forming an arm that extended or pointed almost due west. "know what that is?" asked parry. the lads shook their heads. "that's a water marker. when a traveler across the desert finds a sink he indicates it either by a heap of stones, which he sticks in the ground, or by any other means at his command. for instance, this pile of stones tells me there is a water hole somewhere near by, and the arm points the way to it." "where is it, then?" wondered walter. "i don't see any signs of water." "nor do i. we'll follow the direction indicated by the arm and see if we don't come up with a water tank somewhere close by," replied parry. with the guide leading the way, the others following in single file, they trailed away to the westward until, finally, they came to a slight depression in the ground. "it should be near here," the guide informed them. "there it is. see that dark hole?" the boys bounded forward, dropping on their knees by the opening into which they peered inquiringly. suddenly they uttered a yell, and, springing up, ran back as fast as their legs would carry them. as they did so, some dark object bounded from the water tank and leaped away into the sage brush. "goodness me, what was that?" cried walter, after the boys had pulled up and faced about. "come back, come back. that was only a badger," laughed the guide. "in the water?" asked tad, who had stood his ground. "no; so much the worse for us! there is no water there. no need to look. the tank is empty. some wandering prospector has emptied it to save his burros and fill his canteen," announced the guide. "what are we going to do, then!" queried ned. "do without it. we shall have to give the stock a very little of our fresh supply, saving only enough out of it for our own breakfast and a canteen full apiece to take with us on the morrow. i think i shall be able to find a river about ten miles below here, providing it has not changed its course or gone dry. the water here in this country is as fickle as the desert itself." "what if we should fail to find any?" breathed tad. "well, you know, neither man nor beast can travel far on the desert without it. but we'll find some to-morrow. don't worry," soothed the guide, though in his innermost heart he was troubled. that this water hole should prove to be dry did not promise well for those that were to follow. chapter ix the boys discover a river "where's that river you were talking about?" demanded the lads when the outfit pulled up at noon next day. "don't you see it?" smiled parry. "not a river," answered ned, gazing about him, then allowing his glance to rest on the face of the guide to determine if parry were making sport of them. "i am not sure myself. i know where it should be. whether it's there or not is another matter. fetch the shovels and we'll soon find out." "finding a river with shovels!" muttered stacy. "huh! who ever heard of such a thing?" but as soon as the boys had returned with the digging implements, parry swung the tools over his shoulder and strode confidently to the left of where they were encamped for the noonday rest. the boys followed him full of curiosity. finally the guide threw down the tools and began to run his hands over the hot, yellow soil. "guess the sun's gone to his head," muttered ned, as he squatted down to observe more closely what the guide was doing. the other three lads followed his example. in a moment they were on all fours, hopping about like so many quadrupeds. parry was shaking with laughter as he observed them. "bow! bow wow!" barked chunky, jumping on hands and feet, snapping his teeth together suggestively. the boys looked at each other and burst out laughing. they had discovered all at once what a ridiculous figure they were making. "sun gone to your head, too, chunky?" chuckled ned. "oh, no, i forgot; it's dog days," he added maliciously. "your master had better get a collar and chain for you, then, ned," laughed stacy, in high good humor with himself. the guide's voice put a sudden end to their merriment. "here's the river," he cried. "there is plenty of water in it, too." the boys gathered about him quickly. "i don't see any river," averred walter. "there isn't any," answered ned, in a low voice. "i'll show you whether there is or not," snapped parry, who had overheard the remark. "you boys think i have gone crazy, don't you? you'll find there is something to learn about this old nevada desert--some things that you never even dreamed of. hand me a shovel, please." all at once stacy began pushing his companions roughly aside. "here, here, fatty! what are you trying to do?" the others demanded, beginning to struggle with him to prevent being bowled over. "i'm saving your lives," cried the fat boy. "saving our lives?" cried ned. "go shake the alkali out of your eyes." "yes, you'll fall in and drown." "in what?" "in the river. don't you see the river right there in front of you?" queried stacy, his eyes fairly beaming with importance. "no, i don't. if there was a river there you'd be the first one to fall in, and don't you forget that." "what's this? what's this?" inquired the professor, approaching. "it's a river," answered stacy solemnly. "a river?" "yes, sir. don't you hear it roar? wish i had a boat." "is it water you are digging for, mr. parry?" asked professor zepplin. but the guide did not hear the question. he was too busy with his mining operations at the moment. "come on, boys," he urged. "get busy here." "at what?" asked ned. "we're with you, but we don't know what you want us to do." "yes; can we help you?" inquired tad. "of course you can. get those other shovels and dig." "where?" "right here. make the dirt fly as fast as you want to. i'll show you something in a minute." he did. all at once the sand beneath them gave way, and the pony rider boys, all except stacy brown, uttered a yell as they sank waist deep into a sink of soft, wet sand. parry had felt the sand giving way, and with a warning had leaped from the hole. the lads had not been quick enough. "there's no danger. don't be alarmed. you'll get wet feet, that's all." "what is it?" asked the professor in amazement. "water, my dear sir. water in plenty. it's a branch of the pancake river. these streams run underground for great distances on the desert, but they change their course so often that you can't place any dependence on them. we're lucky, boys." "hurrah for the water!" shouted the lads. "keep on digging. we haven't got it yet. master stacy, will you run to the camp and bring the folding buckets? we'll soon have the hole cleaned so we can dip up some water." "sure," answered the fat boy, thrusting his hands in his trousers pockets and strolling off at a leisurely gait as if there were no necessity for haste. "that's chunky's idea of running," laughed ned rector, jerking his head in stacy's direction. the three lads finding there was no danger in their position, had made no attempt to clamber from the hole. instead, they began digging, until the dirt flew so fast that the professor was obliged to withdraw. somehow most of the dirt seemed to be flying through the air right in his direction. now the water began to rise above the caved-in sand. it was a dirty yellow in color and the boys' clothing suffered as a result. but the youngsters did not care. besides, they were cooling off. at last the hole had been cleared sufficiently to enable them to dip up some water, but stacy not having returned with the pails, the professor was sent to fetch him. he found the lad enjoying himself tickling the nose of a drowsy burro. professor zepplin led chunky out to the water sink, by one ear. the lads now quickly dipped up pailful after pailful, which they passed to the guide on the bank. he ran with them to the stock, giving each of the animals a little, so that all might share in the first instalment. ponies and burros were wide awake now, expressing their pleasure in loud whinnies and blatant brays. "it's foggy on the river," laughed ned. "the burros have started up their fog horns." when parry returned he brought with him the drinking cups, which he had taken from the saddles. "is it fit to drink?" asked tad as the cups were passed down to them. "it's wet." "so are we," retorted ned. "but we're dirty. uh! that's horrible stuff." "strongly alkaline," nodded the professor, after sipping gingerly at the brimming cup parry had passed to him. "do you not think we had better wait a little while until it settles?" "not a second, if you're thirsty," answered the guide shortly. "this stream is liable to change its course in the next ten minutes. don't you take any chances with a desert stream. fill the water bags and the canteens as fast as we can that's what we'll do. then, if the water holds out, there will be time enough to empty out our supply and fill with fresh." "hey, chunky! haul those water bags over here," called walter. "can't," called stacy. he was sitting on the ground pulling off a shoe. "what's the trouble now?" snorted ned. "got a cramp?" "no; i've got a sore toe." "supposing we duck him," suggested ned. "we'll save all the water we have," warned the guide sharply. "no nonsense about it, either." the party was in great good humor, now that they had found a water hole, and the animals had drunk until their sides were distended like balloons in process of being inflated. "they've had enough," announced the guide, going to the animals and glancing over the herd sharply. "no more water for the present." "then perhaps we might as well be on our way," suggested the professor. parry did not reply. he was shading his eyes with one hand, gazing intently off over the desert. the professor, following the direction in which the guide was looking, discovered a cloud of dust rising into the air. the cloud was approaching them at a rapid rate. chapter x a cowboy takes a header "what is that?" questioned professor zepplin sharply. "that's what i'm trying to make out," replied the guide. "looks like horsemen." "yes, it is. but i can't understand why they can be riding at that killing pace on a hot afternoon such as this." about this time the boys' attention had been attracted to the yellow cloud by stacy brown, who, notwithstanding his apparent slowness, had sharp eyes when there was anything to be seen. "somebody's coming," he announced between sips. "what's that?" demanded tad, springing from the water hole, followed closely by walter and ned. "somebody coming to pay us an afternoon call. by the way they're whooping it up they must be in a hurry about something." all hands ran to where mr. parry and the professor were standing. the yellow cloud was rolling toward them at a rapid pace, and ahead of it the boys discovered half a dozen horsemen, who had evidently discovered the white tent that the pony rider boys had erected during their midday stop. "know them?" asked tad. "i'm not sure, but i think it's bud stevens and the wild-horse outfit. judging from the way they ride they're pretty wild themselves." with a series of shrill "y-e-o-w-s," the strangers bore down on the little desert camp. from the gray, alkali-flecked backs of the ponies clouds of steam were rising, their sides streaked with dust and sweat. "whoop! hooray!" bellowed the newcomers, dashing up to the camp, letting go a volley of revolver shots right into the ground in front of the pony rider boys. not a boy flinched. "how!" said tom parry. "how!" roared bud stevens, the leader, throwing himself from the back of his trembling mount. "where's the boss?" asked parry. "he's gone down ralston way." "thought so. where you headed?" "san antone range after more hoss flesh. we'll rope the white stallion this time, and don't you forget it. eh, kiddie? you're the little coyote what roped my pony and plunked me into the street back in eureka, ain't you?" half jokingly, he swung a vicious blow at tad with the flat of his hand. had it landed it would have laid the lad flat. tad ducked and came up smiling. "wow! the kiddie's a regular little bantam. we'll have to take a fall out of you. got to give you the desert initiation like they do in the secret societies back in eureka." he sought to close with tad, but the boy eluded him easily. "that'll do, bud," warned the guide, stepping between them. "no rough house here. want some water? we've got a water hole right over there." "water? water? call the stuff we get out of the ground here water?" "he--he's had his head in soak already," piped stacy, noting the perspiration dripping from the cowboy leader's face. parry gave the lad a warning look. "they're good enough fellows, but they are full of pranks when they are not at work. no need to stir them up and make them mad." "got anything to eat?" demanded bud. "how would you like some coffee, sir?" asked tad politely. "coffee?" jeered the cowboy. "now what d'ye think of that, fellows? ain't that right hospitable?" "yes, thank you, young man, i guess that would touch the spot," spoke up another of the band. "'course we'll have some coffee." "all right. ned, will you and walt fix something for the boys to eat? if you will lead your ponies over to the water hole i'll dip up some water for them in the meantime, gentlemen." "kiddie, yer all right," bellowed bud stevens. "but i've got to take a fall out of yer yet." "some other time," grinned tad, who felt no fear of the hulking cowboy. "see that nose?" demanded bud, sticking out his head at tad. "yes; what's the matter?" "that's my nose. and that's where i barked it when you roped my pony tother day. oh, i've got to take it out of yer hide, kiddie." "come along. we'll water the ponies. chunky, help lead those bronchos to the water hole, will you?" the two boys and the noisy plainsmen gathered the tired animals and led them to the hole that had been dug in the desert. stacy sprang in and began dipping out pails of water. bud grabbed the first pailful, but instead of offering it to one of the thirsty animals, he deliberately emptied the contents over the head of the boy down in the hole. "hi, there! stop that, will you?" howled stacy brown. the fat boy was mad all through. he scrambled from the hole, dragging a slopping pail of water after him, while bud stevens roared with delight. but his mirth was short-lived. stacy ran around the hole and straight at the cowboy who had soaked him with the yellow water. up went the pail. splash! the contents of it were hurled full in the face of the wild cowboy, who at that moment, having his mouth wide open, got a mouthful of it. the battle was on instantly. tad knew it was coming, but he did not think it would be directed at him this time, though he realized that he would have to protect his companion at any cost. choking and sputtering, bud made a blind lunge at tad, his eyes being so full of muddy water that he could barely make out the slender form of the pony rider boy. tad ducked and dodged, hoping that stevens would tire of pursuing him in a moment. the lad might have called to the others over by the camp, but he was too proud to do that. he would fight his own battles, no matter what the odds were against him. "i've got to get in," muttered the lad. "he's seeing clearer every minute, and the longer i wait the less chance i'll have of getting out with a whole skin. "i'm coming, kiddie!" roared bud. tad made no reply. stooping as if for a spring, butler launched himself straight at the pillar of brawn and muscle before him. had he hesitated for the briefest part of a second--had he permitted those muscular arms to close about him, tad butler would have gone down to a quick and inglorious defeat. but he did not wait. the lad's right arm was brought sharply against the neck of his adversary, while at the same time his left arm was slipped under the cowboy's right leg. the result was that stevens lurched to the left. a quick jerk and bud was fairly lifted from the ground. tad gave a quick, forceful tug. bud stevens landed on his head in the pool of yellow water, his feet beating the air wildly. [illustration: bud stevens landed on his head in the pool of yellow water] "grab hold of a foot, chunky!" commanded tad. "quick! he'll drown in a minute in there." "oh, let 'im drown," drawled stacy, blinking to get the sand out of his eyes. "get hold, i tell you! i'll thrash you, stacy brown, if you don't!" stacy reluctantly complied, tad in the meantime having grasped the cowboy's foot and began pulling. "not that way, chunky. do you want to pull him apart?" the fat boy was trying to get bud's right leg out from the opposite side of the water hole. the disturbance had by this time attracted the attention of the men over in the camp. they started on the run when they saw bud turned head first into the water hole. by the time they reached the scene tad and stacy had succeeded in hauling the victim from his perilous position. bud was choking between roars of rage. his companions went off into shrieks of laughter when they understood what had happened. they rolled on the ground; they danced about their fallen companion, and then their revolvers began to add their vicious voices to the tumult. tad paid no attention to the uproar. he was too busy shaking the water out of his fallen antagonist, to whom he was giving first aid to the drowning. bud staggered to his feet, gasped for breath, while tad stepped off a few paces, so as not to be within reach of those long, bony arms, should bud decide to stretch them forth and take him in. "guess you got all that was coming to you that time, bud stevens," grinned tom parry. "served you right. you'll let those boys alone after this or you'll have to reckon with me." stevens's face was streaked with wet sand, his hair was disheveled and his clothes stuck to him as if they had been pasted on. the cowboy's sullen face slowly relaxed into a mirthless grin. "say, kiddie, you put it over me like a cactus plant. i owe you two." "i'd cancel the debt if i were in your place," laughed the boy. "come along and have a drink of coffee. it'll warm you up after your swim." chapter xi a piece of human sandpaper an appetizing meal had been spread for the visitors. but every time the men glanced at their companion they broke out into loud guffaws. "you're a sight, bud," jeered one. "next time better take a man of your size," said another. "guess that's right," grinned the vanquished one. "ye can't most always tell what a kid's going to do." "we know what this one did do to you, though," laughed another. "reckon i do myself," admitted stevens. "say, kiddie, you come along with us and try them tricks on the wild hosses we're going to catch. mebby i'll forgit to take it out of you. i'll let the white stallion do that." "thank you; i'll accept that invitation, with professor zepplin's permission." "we intended to drop in on your bunch, anyway," interposed parry. "the boss has invited us to join a horse hunt with you." "better go along with us now, then," suggested stevens. "we won't have no more rough house, leastwise till we get to the san antone range, eh?" "no," replied parry. "we have a pack train to drag along. besides, you fellows travel too fast for us. we'll take our time and join you later." the bath and the hot coffee had served to quiet bud stevens's bubbling spirits. he was by this time a more rational being. after they had finished the meal bud drew tad butler aside confidentially. "say, kiddie, i like you," he said, slapping the lad a violent blow between the shoulders. "glad of it," laughed tad. "but you have a queer way of showing your affection." "say, can you ride?" "some," admitted tad. "as well as you can fight and throw a rope?" "i was not aware that i did either one very well." "go away! go away! you're a champeen. i've got a spavined, ring-boned cayuse over in the range that i'm going to put you up against when you join us. he'll give you all the exercise you want----" "hey, bud, ain't it 'bout time we were moseying?" called one of stevens's companions. "i reckon. can't be any hotter than 'tis now. when you going to join us, parry?" "we'll be there in a few days. but come here; i want to talk with you?" "sure thing." "if we go on a hunt with you, remember there's to be no funny business. these boys, while they're no tenderfeet, are fine fellows and they must be treated well. i'm responsible for them. what i say goes. understand?" "we'll look out for the kids, don't you get in a hot stew 'bout that." with a final whoop and a cheer for the members of tom parry's party, the turbulent cowboys put spurs to their ponies. once more a cloud of dust rose from the desert, across which it slowly rolled. the boys watched it for half an hour, until the cloud had dwindled to a mere speck in the distance. "not such a bad lot, after all," was the professor's conclusion. "rough diamonds," smiled the guide. "are we going on now, mr. parry?" asked tad. "no; i think we may as well unpack and make camp here until to-morrow morning. then the stock will be fresh, and so shall we." "the stock looks to be in pretty good shape already," answered tad. "yes; but they will be much better to-morrow. a day's water and feed will do wonders for them. i guess the bunch of horse-hunters made quite a hole in our fodder, didn't they?" "there was nothing the matter with their appetites that i observed," laughed tad. "but we've got enough to last us for some time. how long before we shall strike the range where we are to join them?" parry glanced off over the desert meditatively. "if we have no bad luck we ought to make it in three days. the cowboys will get there some time to-morrow." "one of them won't," answered tad, confidently. "why not?" "his pony is wind-broken. didn't you hear him breathe when they rode in?" "what, with the bunch howling like a pack of coyotes? no, i didn't hear a horse breathe." "i did," chimed in stacy. "did what?" queried ned, turning on him sharply. rector had not heard the fat boy approach them. "heard the big cowboy breathe. he wheezed like a leaky steam engine." tad and the guide burst out laughing. "why, boy, we weren't talking about the cowboy. we were speaking of one of the bronchos. tad says he is wind-broken." "huh!" grunted stacy, strolling off with hands thrust in his pockets, chin on his breast. "when i'm not right i'm always wrong," he muttered. "mostly wrong." they did not see the lad again for more than an hour. the rest of the party gathered under the tent they had first erected, where they now fell to discussing their late visitors, next turning to their plans for the morrow. "do we follow the same course when we next start?" asked the professor. "not quite. we veer a little more to the west, until we string the san antonio range. when we leave there, if you conclude to go on, we shall head southward toward death valley. i understand you are willing to penetrate it a little way." "yes, if you think it is safe to do so." parry shrugged his shoulders. "death valley is no better than its name. if you wish merely to see it, i think i can gratify your desire." "yes, yes, we want to see death valley," chorused the boys. "don't be afraid for us." "i'll try to get some water bags from the horse-hunters when we join them; for the further south one goes on the desert the more scarce the water becomes." the sun was lying low by this time and the advance guard of the evening coolness began crowding back the heat of the day. "i wonder what has become of chunky?" questioned tad suddenly, rising from the ground where he had thrown himself in the shade of the tent. the others glanced quickly about them. "probably find him asleep behind a bunch of sage somewhere," answered ned lightly. "don't trouble yourself about him." "perhaps over by the water hole," suggested the guide. "i'll stroll over that way." just then a figure topped the ridge beyond them. it was yelling lustily, leaping into the air, rolling and groveling on the ground alternately. "there he is! something's happened to him," shouted walter. all hands started on a run. they could not imagine what had gone wrong with the fat boy. as they drew nearer to him they discovered that he had taken off all his clothes. his body was as red as if it had been painted. the professor's long legs were covering the alkali at a pace that left the others behind, until tad spurted and headed him. "chunky, chunky! what's the matter?" he shouted. stacy yelled more lustily than ever. "what is it? what is it?" shouted the others in chorus. "i'm burned alive? i'm cremated! oh, w-o-w!" "should think you would he. what on earth have you got your clothes off for?" they discovered that something was the matter then, for an expression of real pain had taken the place of the complacent look they were wont to see on the face of stacy brown. "he's been boiling himself!" exclaimed the guide, with quick intuition. grasping the fat boy, parry threw him flat on the ground and began rolling him in the sand. stacy yelled more lustily than before. "run to my saddlebags. fetch the black bottle you will find there!" commanded the guide. "it's oil, yes. hurry, before his skin all peels off." tad was back with the black bottle in no time. tom parry spread the oil over the blistered flesh of the fat boy, whose yells grew less and less explosive as he felt the soothing effects of the grease on his body. "wha--what happened?" stammered walter. "i--i fell in." "in where?" questioned the professor sharply. "i don't know. it was hot." "put your clothes on. you'll be all right in a little while. where did you leave them?" stacy pointed back on the desert some distance, whereat parry laughingly said he would go in search of the clothing. "now if you will be good enough to tell me what all this uproar is about, i shall be obliged to you," requested the professor. "why, the boy found a boiling spring----" "and he fell in," added ned solemnly. "he did," agreed the guide, without the suspicion of a smile. "is that it, master stacy?" stacy nodded. "tell me about it." "i--i was walking along with my hands in my pockets----" "thinking," interjected ned. "what'd you suppose i was doing! ain't i always thinking when i'm not asleep?" "go on, go on," urged ned unsympathetically. "all at once something slipped. i went right through the ground. at first i thought i was a pond of ice water, it felt so cold. next thing i knew i was burning up." "but your clothes? what did you have them off for?" urged the professor. "i took them off when i thought i was burning up. say, fellows, that was the hottest ice water i ever took a bath in my life." the boys could barely resist their inclination to laugh. "why don't you laugh if you want to? never mind me. i don't count," growled chunky. parry explained that these boiling springs were not infrequent on the desert. they were found, generally, further north, he said. this one must have worked its way up through the alkali until only a thin crust covered it, and this crust the boy had had the misfortune to step on and break through. "you wouldn't think there were so many pitfalls under this baked desert, would you?" questioned ned. "i look like a piece of human sandpaper, don't i?" muttered stacy ruefully, as he carefully drew on his clothes. "every time i sit down i'll remember that hot ice water." chapter xii running down the trail "thank goodness, we're in the foothills," sighed tad, when three days later they came to a halt at the base of the san antonio range far down on the nevada desert. "yes, it is a relief to see some real rocks once more," agreed walter. "chunky, look out that you don't step into any more ice water. you'll miss the horse-hunt if you do." "no danger of that up here," laughed the guide. behind them lay the desert maze, to the right and left, mountain ranges, high plateaux, mesas and buttes. giant yucca trees, short, spreading piñon and spindling cedars clothed the higher peaks of the san antonio range. trees, too, were scattered about in the foothills, and though they gave little shade it was a relief to every sense of the pony riders to feel the hills and trees about them. there, with what little shade they could get, the lads made camp. as yet they had found no water, though parry said there would be springs in plenty further up in the mountains. the bags still held enough to last them until the following day, so no effort was made to locate fresh water that afternoon. stacy had thrown himself down under one of the yucca trees, but the late afternoon sun filtered through the branches, making his face look red and heated. "you don't seem to be getting much shade from that tree," laughed the guide. "'bout as much as i would from a barbed wire fence," frowned stacy. "what do you know about barbed-wire fences?" demanded ned. "me? know all 'bout them. one night i had a falling out with one, when i was taking a short cut across the fields to get home." "how about the apples? did you get them?" asked tad. "apples? what do you know 'bout it? were you there, too?" a laugh greeted the fat boy's reply. "come, come, young men. are you going to make camp?" urged the professor. "didn't know we were going to remain here to-night," replied walter. "of course we're going to make camp if that's the case. it'll be a good time to shake the alkali dust out of our belongings and from ourselves." "i haven't got any dust," piped stacy. "i--i had a bath--a hot bath." "are we anywhere near the horse-hunters, mr. parry?" inquired tad, as the boys began unpacking the burros, some devoting their attention to the kitchen outfit, the rest spreading the canvas on the ground preparatory to erecting the tents. "they are supposed to be further up the range. they will be down this way to-morrow, probably, to pick us up. they were not certain where they would make their permanent camp, stevens said. all depends upon where the wild horses are grazing." "i don't see any wild horses, nor any other wild anything," objected ned. the guide dropped the ridge pole that he was about to carry to the place where the cook tent had been laid out ready to be raised. "come with me," he said, taking ned by the arm and leading him to the left of their camping place. "do you see that?" "what?" "use your eyes. if you're going to be a plainsman you'll have to depend on your sense of sight. take the desert for instance. it's a desert maze if you are unable to read its signs; no maze at all if you do." "what is it you were going to show ned?" asked the rest of the boys, who had followed them out. "see if you can tell, master tad." but master tad had already been using his eyes. he nodded as he caught the guide's eye. "there has been a bunch of unshod ponies along here, if that is what you mean," he said. "how do you know?" demanded stacy. "i see their tracks there. saw them the minute i got over here." "maybe that's the crowd that called at our camp the other day," suggested walter. the guide shook his head. "there was no one on these horses," said tad. "right," emphasized the guide. "that's observation, young men. you will notice, by examining these hoofprints carefully, that the weight of the animal is thrown more on the toe----" "how do you know that?" cut in stacy. "because the toe sinks into the soil more than it would if the animals were loaded. in the latter event, the heels would dig deeper. now if you will follow along a little further i may be able to show you the hoofprints of the leader of the band of wild horses, for that is what they are----" "wild horses?" marveled the boys. "wish we could see them," said tad. "i'll wager they have seen us already, for they surely are in this neighborhood," replied parry. "but a wild horse is as sharp as an old fox. the herd have been down in the foothills and, by the hoofprints, you will observe that they have returned to the mountain fastness." "perhaps they saw us coming," suggested tad. "more than likely," agreed the guide. "they were in a hurry and moving rapidly--there! there's the leader's trail. look carefully and you will see where he leaped up to this little butte here. reaching it, he turned about and took a quick, comprehensive look at the desert." "and at us," added stacy. "yes, i think so. come up here. you see this little ridge gave him a very good view of the desert maze. see if you can tell how many wild horses there were in the bunch," suggested tom parry. instantly the boys went down on all fours, crawling along the trail seeking to read the story that it told. "well, how many?" queried the guide, after they had finished their inspection. "fifty!" shouted stacy. "forty-five!" answered ned and walter at the same time. "what do you say, master tad?" "i am afraid i must have missed some, then. i only make out twenty-one old ones and a colt. i take it the old mare was with the colt, for the prints show that the little animal was hugging the other closely," was tad's decision. "very good. very good," nodded parry. "there were twenty-two. you didn't get the trailer, probably an old mare. she traveled along off to the right yonder a little. but i should like to know how you made fifty, master stacy!" twinkled the guide. "counted 'em," answered the fat boy. "show me?" stacy did so, going over the hoofprints carefully, pointing to them with his index finger as he did so, the guide making mental calculations at the same time. "and that makes fifty--fifty--fifty-four this time. there's more of them than i thought." parry laughed softly. "i'm afraid you'd make a poor indian, young man. you not only have counted the hoof-prints, but you have counted the foot marks of yourself and your companions as well. master tad, let me see if you can run the trail up the mountain side a little way. it will be good practice. i want you boys to be able to follow a trail as keenly as the best of them before you have finished this trip. you never know when it's going to be useful--when it's going to get you out of serious difficulties, even to the extent of saving your lives." tad was off on a trot, stooping well over, with eyes fixed on the foot marks. "tad could hunt jack rabbits without a dog, couldn't he?" questioned stacy innocently. his companions laughed. "is that a joke?" asked ned. "if it is, i'll cry. your jokes would make a texas steer weep." tad was picking his way up the rough mountain side, now losing the trail, then picking it up again. the marks left by the wild horses were almost indistinguishable after the animals had reached the rocks, but here and there a broken twig told the lad they had passed that way. once he appeared to leave the trail, moving sharply to the right, where on a shelving ridge, he straightened up and looked down into the valley. tom parry nodded encouragingly. "know what you've found?" "yes, this is where the leader came to make another observation," answered tad. "that's right. he's a plainsman already, boys. go on. run the trail up to the top of this first ridge. it will not be a bad idea for us to know which way they've gone. if the hunters don't show up by to-morrow we can take a little run after the herd on our own hook." tad obeyed gladly. every sense was on the alert. the rest of the boys were all impatience to take part in the hunt. but the guide said no. he feared that, if all were to start up the mountain side, their enthusiasm might lead them too far from camp, resulting in their losing their way. he knew how tricky the trail of a band of wild horses was, the clever animals leaving no ruse untried that would tend to mix up and lose their pursuers. tad's figure was growing smaller as he ascended higher and higher. "you don't mean to say that horses climbed up the way he is going!" questioned walter incredulously. "that's the way they went, my boy. they 're regular goats when it comes to mountain climbing. they'll go where a man could not, oftentimes." tad crept, cautiously on, now finding little to guide him, save his own instinct. he finally disappeared behind the rocks and trees of the low-lying range. the lad was moving almost noiselessly now. a sound a short distance beyond him caused him to prick up his ears sharply. "i believe i am near them," he breathed, as he glanced about him. "why did i not think to bring my rope?" it was just as well for his own well-being, that he had not brought along that part of his saddle equipment. he was following the trail with the skill of a trained mountaineer. an indian himself could have done it no better. perhaps the guide understood, better than did tad himself, why he had started the lad on the trail, for a quiet smile hung about the lips of tom parry. all at once his twinkling eyes lit up with a new expression. "look! look!" gasped walter. "where? where?" demanded ned. walter pointed to a pyramid-shaped rock far above their heads. at first they could scarcely believe their senses. there poised in the air, feet doubled into a bunch, stood a splendid specimen of horse-flesh, resting, it seemed, fairly on the sharp point of the rock, gazing down into and across the valley. "the white stallion," breathed the lads all in the same breath. the magnificent animal was a creamy white. its head was held high, nostrils distended as if to catch the scent of those for whom it was looking. beneath the rays of the low lying sun, its coat glistened and shone with a luster that no brush or comb could bring to it. the lads gazed upon the beautiful statue almost in awe. they were standing quite close up under the shadow of the mountain at that moment. "why doesn't he run?" whispered walter. "do you think he sees us?" asked ned. "no. stand perfectly still." "why doesn't he? all he would have to do would be to look down?" questioned stacy. "he scents us. he knows we are somewhere near. but, if you will observe him closely, you will notice that he is looking at the camp. he sees the professor moving about," explained parry. "do--do you think we could catch him?" asked ned eagerly. "the most skillful men in this part of the country have been trying to do that very thing for the last five years, my boy," answered the guide in a low tone. "no, you couldn't catch him. he's the finest animal to be found in the entire nevada desert district. wouldn't mind owning him myself." in the meantime tad had been creeping nearer and nearer. he soon discovered that the leader of the band had swerved to the left. he concluded to follow, to see where the solitary animal had gone to. but so quietly did the lad move that the stallion neither heard nor scented him. all at once the wonderful sight unfolded before the eyes of tad butler. he flattened himself on the ground, within thirty yards of the splendid animal. suddenly the stallion whirled. tad rose to his feet, the two stood facing each other, tad with head thrust forward, the stallion with nostrils held high in the air. "oh, my rope, my rope!" breathed the boy. "if i had my rope!" chapter xiii coyotes join in the chorus those down in the foothills saw the animal whirl and face the other way. "he sees something," cried walter, forgetting in his excitement that they were trying to keep quiet. "yes, he has probably scented master tad," explained the guide. "think he'll try to catch the horse?" asked stacy. "hope not. those wild horses are bad medicine. no, of course, he has no rope with him. but he'll be wise if he keeps out of the way of the beast." tad had no thought of doing either. he stood perfectly still, gazing in awe and wonder at the handsomest horse he had ever seen. the stallion's eyes blazed. he uttered a loud snort, then rose right up into the air on his hind feet. one bound brought him many feet nearer the boy who was observing him. it was the only direction in which the stallion could go without plunging into a chasm. "whoa!" commanded tad sharply. the white horse never having been trained, failed to understand the word, but he halted just the same, gazing angrily at the bold boy standing there, who, it appeared, was defying him. uttering another snort, this time full of menace, the animal leaped straight toward the lad in long, graceful bounds. tad threw up his hands to frighten the stallion aside. the animal, however, refused to be swerved from its course. "he's going to run over me," cried the boy, as he noted that the horse was rising for another leap. tad ducked just as the beast sprang clear of the ground. he felt the rush of air as the gleaming body was lifted over his head, the boy at the instant uttering a shrill yell to hasten the stallion's movements. the front hoofs caught the rim of the pony rider boy's sombrero, snipping it from his head. the hind feet came closer. they raked tad's head, bowling him completely over, rolling him from the knoll on which he had been standing. he brought up with a jolt some ten feet further down. tad scrambled to his feet a little dizzy from the blow and the fall. "whew! that was a close call," he muttered, feeling his head to learn if it had been injured. "no; the skin isn't broken, but i'm going to have a beautiful goose egg there," he concluded. "it's swelling already. if i'd had my rope i could have roped him easily when he rose at me that last time." scrambling up the bank, tad found his hat. then he picked his way to the pyramid-shaped rock on which he had first discovered the stallion. poising himself, he swung his sombrero to his companions down in the foothills. "hurrah!" he shouted. "i met the enemy. i've seen the white stallion, fellows!" "is the enemy yours?" jeered ned rector. "no; i rather think i was his," laughed tad, turning back and hurrying down the rocks to rejoin his companions. he was met by a volley of questions the moment he reached the foothills. with his companions gathered about him, tad told them how he had followed the trail, finally coming upon the handsome animal while the latter was taking an observation from the pyramid-shaped rock. "it's a wonder he didn't attack you," said the guide after the lad had finished his narration. "those wild stallions are very savage when aroused." "i guess he tried to do so all right," laughed tad. "i knew he was up there somewhere, watching us, but i did not think for a minute that you would get close enough to him to be in any danger," announced tom parry, with a disapproving shake of his head. "i could have roped him easily," said the lad. "lucky for you that you didn't try it. it's getting late now. i presume the professor is beginning to think we are not going to finish pitching our camp. come, we'll go back and get to work." the work went rather slowly, however, for the lads were too full of the subject of the wild stallion to devote their whole attention to putting their camp to rights for the night. then again, they had to go all over the story for the professor's benefit. "do you think we could catch one of these wild ones to take back east with us?" asked tad. "you couldn't catch one yourself, but you might be able to buy one for a small sum from the horse-hunters," the guide informed him. "how much?" "depends on the animal. perhaps twenty or twenty-five dollars." "then, i'll do it. i could get him home for as much more, and he'd be worth at least two hundred dollars. perhaps i might take two of them along, providing i can get what i want." "you ought to be a horseman," laughed the guide. "you've got the horseman's instinct." "he is a horseman," volunteered stacy. "there aren't any better." "thank you," glowed tad. "i'll pull you out next time you fall in, for that." they were very jolly at supper that night. they had nothing to trouble them. water was near by and they were soon to participate in the most exciting event in their lives, a wild-horse hunt. "do you think they will be able to find us!" questioned walter. "who, the horses?" returned ned. "i hope they do," laughed the guide. "no; master walter means bud stevens and the gang. find us? why, those fellows could trail a cat across the desert maze if they happened to take a notion to do so." there being plenty of dry stuff about, the boys built up a blazing camp-fire as soon as night came on. gathering about it they told stories and sang songs. "i move that stacy chunky brown favor us with a selection," suggested ned. "he has a very rare voice--an underdone voice some might call it." "yes, chunky," urged walter. "you haven't sung for us since we started." "me? i can't sing. besides it might scare the wild horses," protested stacy. "i guess there's no doubt about that. but we'll take the chances." "yes, do sing, chunky," added walter. "it may soften ned's hard heart." stacy cocked an impish eye at ned rector. "all right, i'll sing," decided the fat boy, clearing his throat. "stand up," thundered ned. "have some respect for the audience." stacy stood up. "what are you going to favor us with?" questioned tad. "it's a little thing of my own," grinned stacy. "hope you'll like it." "oh, we'll like it all right," chuckled ned. "the audience will please refrain from applauding until the performer finishes." "what's the name of the piece?" demanded walter. "hasn't been named. you can name it if you wish." "go ahead, go ahead. never mind the name," chorused the lads. stacy surveyed the upturned, laughing faces of his companions and then launched out in a shrill soprano: it's all day long on the alka-li, where the coyotes howl and the wells run dry, where the badgers badge in the water holes, and the twisters twist the old tent poles-- right up from the alka-li. "yeow!" shrieked the pony rider boys. "it's a new poet. hurrah for the poet lariat!" shouted ned rector, jumping up and down, slapping his thighs in his amusement. "go on, give us another verse," laughed the guide. "that's real po'try that is." "is there another verse?" cried walter. chunky nodded solemnly. "hush! he is going to sing some more," cautioned tad butler, holding up his hand for silence. "ahem," began stacy. throwing back his head he began again: when the wind blows high o'er the desert maze, and sand in your eyes interferes with your gaze, then the pony rider boys they lose their pants; don't dare sit down for fear of the ants-- that hide in the alka-li. stacy sat down blinking, solemn as an owl. but if he was solemn his companions were quite the opposite. the boys formed a ring about him, and between their yells of appreciation, began dancing around in a circle shouting out in chorus the last two lines of the second verse: don't dare sit down for fear of the ants-- that hide in the alka-li. professor zepplin and tom parry were laughing immoderately, but their voices could not be heard above the uproar made by the joyous pony riders. no such carnival of fun probably ever had disturbed the foothills of the san antonio range, nor extended so far out over the maze of the great nevada desert. "sing it again! sing it again!" commanded the boys. they hauled the protesting chunky to his feet, stood him on a box of pickled pigs' feet, compelling him to begin the song all over again. "it's all day long on the alka-li. where the coyotes howl and----" "ki-i-i-i-o-o-o! ki-i-i-i-o-o-o-ki! k-i-i-i-o-o-ki!" a long wailing sound--a dismal howl, suddenly cut short the joyous ditty. "what's that!" "ki-i-i-i-o-o-o! ki-i-i-i-o-o-ki!" "coyotes," laughed the guide. there seemed to be hundreds of them. from every peak in the range their mournful voices were protesting. all at once out in the black maze of the desert another bunch of them began their weird wailing. "we're surrounded," announced the professor. "shall we get the guns?" asked walter. "no, they're expressing their indignation at chunky's song," jeered ned. "let 'em howl. i don't care. if they don't stop i'll sing some more," threatened the fat boy. chapter xiv fun in the foothills the professor found difficulty even in driving the lads to their beds that night. when they did finally tumble in and pull the blankets over them they were unable to sleep, between the howling of the coyotes and their laughter over stacy brown's new-found talent. "they'll go away when the moon comes up," called the guide when the boys protested that the beasts kept them awake. "why can't we shoot at them?" asked stacy. "it will alarm the wild horses," said the guide. "we don't want to chase them off the range. neither would the horse-hunters like it if we were to begin shooting." "go to sleep!" commanded the professor. then the boys settled down. after a time the moon came up, but instead of quieting the coyotes it seemed to have urged them on to renewed efforts. they grew bolder. they approached the camp until a circle of them surrounded it. out of stacy brown's tent crept a figure in its night clothes. it was none other than stacy himself. in one hand he held a can of condensed milk that he had smuggled from the commissary department that afternoon. he wriggled along in the shadow of a slight rise of ground until he had approached quite near the beasts. he could see them plainly now and stacy's eyes looked like two balls. the animals would elevate their noses in the air, and, as if at a prearranged signal, all would strike the first note of their mournful wail at identically the same instant. suddenly the figure of the pony rider boy rose up before them, right in the middle of one of the unearthly wails. "boo!" said stacy explosively, at the same time hurling the can of condensed milk full in the face of the coyote nearest to him. his aim was true. the can landed right between the eyes of the animal. the coyote uttered a grunt of surprise, hesitated an instant, then, with tail between his legs, bounded away with a howl of fear. "yeow! scat!" shrieked the fat boy. the whole pack turned tail and ran with stacy after them in full flight, headed for the desert. tom parry, aroused by this new note in the midnight medley, tumbled out just in time to see stacy disappearing over the ridge. the guide was followed quickly by the other three boys of the party and professor zepplin. "hey, come back here!" shouted parry. the fat boy paid no attention to him. he was too busy chasing coyotes across the desert at that moment to give heed to anything else. "get after him, boys! if he falls they're liable to pile on him and chew him up before we can get to him!" commanded the guide. over the ridge bounded the pajama brigade. the coyotes, frightened beyond their power of reasoning, if such a faculty was possessed by them, were now no more than so many black streaks lengthening out across the desert. the lads set up a whoop as they started on the chase after their companion. "rope him, somebody!" shouted parry. "haven't any rope," answered tad, with a muttered "ouch!" as his big-toe came in contact with the can of condensed milk. laughing and shouting, they soon came up with stacy, however, because he could not run as fast as the other boys. tad caught up with him first, and the two lads went down together. in another minute the rest of the party had piled on the heap. "get up!" shouted tad. "somebody's standing on my neck." "yes, and--and you've pushed my face into the desert," came the muffled voice of chunky brown. laughing and all talking at once, the knot was slowly untied. two of them grabbed the fat boy under the arms, while a third got between the lad's feet and picked them up, much as one would the handles of a wheelbarrow. in that manner they triumphantly carried stacy back to the camp. reaching his tent, they threw the fat boy into his bed. the tall, gaunt figure of the professor appeared suddenly at the tent entrance. some of the boys darted by him, the others crawling out under the sides of the tent, all making a lively sprint for their own quarters. "young men, the very next one who raises a disturbance in this camp to-night is going to get a real old-fashioned trouncing. not having any slipper, i'll use my shoe. do you hear?" not a voice answered him, but as he strode away the moon-like face of stacy brown might have been seen peering out at him. quiet reigned in the camp of the pony rider boys for several hours after that. yet they were destined not to pass the night without a further disturbance, though the professor did not use his shoe to chastise the noisy ones. it lacked only a few hours to daylight when the second interruption occurred. and when it arrived it was even more startling than had been the fat boy's chase of the cowardly coyotes. there was a sudden sound of hoof-beats. "ki-yi! ki-yi!" shrieked a chorus of voices. a volley of shots was fired as an accompaniment to the startling yells. a moment later and a body of horsemen dashed into camp, which they had easily located by the smouldering camp-fire. the pony rider boys were out of their tents in a twinkling. "wow!" piped stacy. bang! bang! two bullets flicked the dirt up into his face. bud stevens and his companions were in a playful mood again. "hey, you! better look out where you're shooting to!" warned stacy. bud let go another volley. "the professor'll take you over his knee and chastise you with his shoe, if you don't watch sharp," said stacy. "come out of that. where's the kiddie? i want to see my kiddie!" laughed bud stevens. by this time, with his companions, he had dismounted, turning the ponies loose to roam where they would. the whole camp, aroused by the shouting and shooting, had turned out after pulling on their trousers and shoes. tom parry, piling fresh fuel on the embers of the camp-fire, soon had the scene brightly lighted. there was no more sleep in camp that night. professor zepplin accepted the new disturbance with good grace. "we're going to eat breakfast with you," bud stevens informed them. "that's right. what we have is free," answered the professor hospitably. "that's what i was telling the bunch," nodded bud. "our chuck wagon'll be along when it gets here. we've got a schooner with six lazy mules toting it down along the edge of the foothills. if it ever gets here we'll stock you up with enough fodder to last you the rest of your natural lives." "a schooner, did you say?" questioned stacy, edging closer to the cowboy. "yep; schooner." "where's the water?" "say, moon-face, didn't you ever hear tell of a prairie schooner!" chunky shook his head. "well, you've got something coming to you, then," replied bud, turning to the others again. "when do you start your horse-hunt? i presume that's the purpose of your visit here?" asked the professor. "yep. soon as the wagon gets here with the trappings. after breakfast we'll look around a bit. been some of them through here to-day, i see." "yes, how did you know that!" questioned tad. "we crossed the trail just at the edge of the camp here when we came in. didn't you see them?" "we saw one of them and the tracks of the rest----" "yes, we--we--we saw the white horse----" "the angel?" demanded bud, interested at once. "i don't know whether you'd call it an angel or not. it struck me that it was quite the opposite," laughed tad. "it was a white stallion, and when i got in its way it just bowled me over and rolled me down the hill----" "the white stallion, fellows," nodded bud. "i told you so. come along, kiddie, and show me that trail. i'll tell you in a minute if he's the one." tad took the horse-hunter to the trail that he had followed up the mountain side. bud lighted match after match, by the light of which he ran over the confusion of hoofprints. finally he paused over one particular spot, and with a frown peered down upon it. "that's him. that's the angel," he emphasized. "why do you call him that?" "because of two things," answered bud. "first place, he's white. that's the color angels is supposed to be, most of 'em says. then, if you'll look at his hoof-mark, you'll see the frog is shaped like a heart. more angel. then again--that's three times, ain't it?--he's got a temper like angels ain't supposed to have." "so i have observed," agreed tad, with a laugh. "and that's why we call him the angel. we'll get the old gentleman this time or break every cinch strap in the outfit." there was rejoicing among the horse-hunters when they heard that it was indeed the angel himself whose trail they had come upon. "he's got the finest bunch of horse flesh with him that you'll find anywhere on the desert," averred another. "old angel won't travel with any scarecrows in his band. he's proud as a peacock with a new spread of tail feathers." "s'pose you don't know how many there are in the band, eh, kiddie?" questioned bud. "twenty-one and a colt," answered tad promptly. "oho! so--but tom parry told you, of course." "tom parry didn't," objected the guide. "master tad read the trail himself." "shake," glowed bud, extending his hand to tad. "you're the right sort for this outfit. we'll let you help point the bunch into the corral when we get them going. you'll see stars before you get through with that job--stars that ain't down on the sky-pilot's chart." "it won't be the first time, mr. stevens. i've seen enough of them to make a fourth of july celebration, already." just after breakfast, to which the camp had sat down at break of day, the horse-hunters began their preliminary work. bud directed two of his men to work south, two more to ride north, while he would take the center of the range. "what i want," he explained to the boys, "is to find where the wild horses are waterin' these days. they've been around these parts for more than two weeks, so we know they've got a nice cold water hole somewhere." "what were they doing on the desert?" asked walter. "i thought they had just come across." "no; they were out for a play. that shows they had had plenty to eat and drink. professor, i think i'll take the kiddie along with me," announced bud, much to tad's surprise, and, judging from the expression of the lad's face, pleasure, as well. professor zepplin glanced at the guide inquiringly. parry nodded his head. "he'll be all right." "yes, you may go, tad. but be careful. don't let him get into any difficulties, mr. stevens. he's a venturesome lad." "guess he's able to wiggle out of anything he gets into," grinned the horse-hunter. "come along; take a hunch on your cinch straps, a chunk of grub in your pocket; then we're ready to find where the angel washes his face every morning and night." tad lost no time in getting ready for the trip to trail the wild horses to their lair, and in a few moments the horse-hunters rode from the camp, followed by the envious glances of the pony rider boys. "wish i were going along," muttered chunky ruefully, as he turned his back on them and gazed off across the desert. chapter xv bud promises some excitement the horse-hunter and his young companion laid their course at right angles to the reach of the range. the trail rose slowly to pass between low buttes, leading on under the great spreading joshua trees that capped the range itself. off to the east and south of them, plainly exposed to view, lay the yellow stretch of the ralston valley that went on and on until it eventually terminated in death valley. the dry lake beds in the desert, looked, with the sun shining on them, like great pearls set in the desert maze. tad thought they were water, but bud stevens informed him that they were filled with water only after a heavy thunderstorm, or in the early spring. "you ought to have come down here earlier in the season," he told the lad. "it's a pretty bad time to cross the desert now." "yes, we know that. but we are not looking for easy trips," laughed the lad. as they moved slowly along, the cowboy horse-hunter explained many of the secrets of the trail to his young companion, as well as describing horse-hunts in which he had taken part in the past. "but i don't understand why they have come all the way across the desert to get into this range?" said tad. "why did they not remain on the other side where, i understand, there is plenty of forage?" "it's a peculiar thing, kiddie, but hosses, wild or tame are like human beings in some ways. they like to get back home." "what do you mean?" "wild horses always will go back to the range where they were born. sometimes they run away from the range ahead of a storm; sometimes they are captured and taken away. but if they ever get the chance, back they go to the place where they were born. angel was born in this range, and so were most of the mares and others that have come over with him. when a halfbreed cherokee came into camp and told us the band of horses was seen stretched out on the mesa on the other side, i knew they were getting ready to hike across the desert, so we prepared to come here." tad was listening intently. all this was new to him and much of it not entirely understandable. "did you ever notice how animals act before a big storm?" asked bud. "no; i can't say that i have." "next time you see a lot of horses stretched out on the ground on their sides, heads close to the ground, all looking as if they were asleep, you'll know there's a big storm coming." "why do they do that?" "i don't know, unless it is to rest themselves thoroughly before running away from the storm that they know is coming." "how do they know a storm is coming, unless they can see it?" marveled the boy. "kiddie, you'll have to ask the horses. bud stevens don't know--nobody knows. a fellow with whiskers and wearing spectacles one of--of them scientific gents--told me once that it was a kind of wireless telegraph, that newfangled way of sending ghost messages. said they got it in the air. mebby they do; i don't know. they get it. sometimes you'll see the colts running up and down. that's another sign of storm." "that's strange. i never heard it before," mused the lad. "and speaking of colts, did you ever know that sometimes a band of horses will take a great fancy to a frisky young colt?" "no." "yes. they'll follow the colt for days, with their eyes big and full of admiration for the awkward critter. and they'll fight for him too. but 'tisn't often necessary, 'cause very few horses will bother a colt. ever see a hoss fight?" tad admitted that he had not. "ought to see one. it's the liveliest scrimmage that you ever set eyes on. beats that one back there on the desert, when you plunked me on my head in a water hole. jimminy! but you did dump me proper," grinned the cowboy. "hope you don't lay it up against me," laughed tad. "no. got all over that. i got what was coming to me--coming on the run. say, got the trail on your side there? they seem to have shuffled over to the northward a bit." "yes, i'm riding on their footprints now." "that's all right then. don't want to let it get away from us." "where do you think they are heading, mr. stevens?" "for the mesas up the range further. there's plenty of grazing there and there must be water close by. what we want to do, to-day, is to locate them and find out just where they go for their water. then, when the schooner gets down to your camp, we'll haul our outfit up in the range and build a corral to drive them into." "do you always make a capture?" "us? no. sometimes the leaders of the band are too smart for us. they beat us proper. why, they're sharper than a goldfield real estate man, and those fellows would make you believe an alkali desert was a pine forest." "look there!" interrupted tad, pointing. "what is it, kiddie?" demanded the horse-hunter, pulling up sharply. "one of the horses, i think it must be the leader, seems to have left the trail here and started off at right angles." stevens rode over to the other side of tad, and gazed down, his forehead wrinkling in a frown. "yes, that's the angel. don't know what he's side-tracked himself here for. he can't see far, so it was not an observation that he was about to take. he's either seen or scented something. hold my pony while i take a look." the cowboy dismounted, striding rapidly away with gaze fixed on the trail ahead of him. a few moments later he returned. "find anything?" asked tad. "the big one scented something, or thought he did." "but where did he go?" "turned just beyond here and followed along the same way the others were going. you'll find his trail joining ours after we get on a piece. i'd like to know what he thought he smelled," mused bud. "i didn't know horses could scent a person or thing like that." "what, horses? wild horses have got a scent that's keener than a coyote's." "there's the white stallion's trail again," exclaimed the lad. bud nodded. "told you he'd come back." for the next hour they rode along without anything of incident occurring, tad constantly adding to his store of knowledge regarding mountain and plain. the lad was himself a natural plainsman and proved himself an apt pupil. all at once bud pulled up his pony sharply and studied the ground. "what is it?" questioned tad. "we've struck luck for sure. boy, i'll show you something that'll make your eyes stick out so you can hang your hat on them," cried the cowboy exultingly. "you--you mean we have come upon the wild horses?" asked the lad. "yes, and more. come this way and i'll show you. see this trail?" tad nodded. "well, it was made by another band of horses." the announcement did not strike tad as especially significant. "they headed for the mesas, too?" "looks that way," grinned bud. "and they're headed for trouble at the same time. there's going to be music in the air pretty soon, kiddie, and you and i want to be on hand to hear the first tune." tad gazed at him questioningly. "this second bunch of horses is led by a big black stallion known to the hunters as satan. he's up to his name too. he's one of the most vicious cayuses on the open range. don't you see what this trail means?" the lad confessed that he did not. "it means that satan is on the trail of the angel. when satan and the angel meet there'll be the worst scrap you ever heard of, kiddie." "will they fight?" "will they fight?" scoffed bud stevens. "guess you never saw two wild stallions mix it up." "no." "there's bad blood between satan and the angel and there has been for a long time. the black stallion has been on the white one's trail for more than a year. i don't know what it's all about, but i know that, if they come up with each other, there is going to be trouble. if they don't look out we'll bag the whole bunch. i wish our outfit was here. i suppose we ought to hustle back and get ready for the drive, but i'm going to see satan and the angel meet, if it's the last thing i ever do. come on--we'll have to ride fast." putting spurs to their ponies, they set off at a fast pace over the uneven, rugged trail. chapter xvi the battle of the stallions the trail grew hotter as they advanced. "see, satan's running now." the pursuers increased their speed, although they could not hope to travel as rapidly as the black stallion and his followers. the wild horses' trot had by this time become leaps, as the followers could plainly see from the trail that had been left behind. satan and his band were traveling in single file, their whole attention being centered on running down the angel. "do you think satan scented the others?" asked tad, when they struck a level piece of ground so that they could relax their vigilance a little. "no doubt of it at all. but he didn't know it was just then. he only knew it was a horse. he knows now that the other bunch is ahead of him." "how do you know that?" queried tad. "by the trail," replied stevens. "don't you see, the angel is going faster. they are both on a run now." "then the angel must be afraid. is that it?" "not much. he wants to find a better place in which to fight. this place is bad medicine for a horse battle. they're all heading for the mesas, just as i thought first." the cowboy was leaning well forward in his saddle, eyes on the trail, instead of looking ahead. tad, on the contrary, was straining his eyes, hoping to catch sight of the two bands of fleeing horses; but not a sign of them did he see. bud was the first to inform him that they were nearing the object of their chase. "satan's going slower. he is coming up with the others. let up a little, and don't talk in a loud tone. we don't want to disturb them nor let either of the bands get an idea they are followed. they might race off to some other part of the range. we want to catch them all later, if we can." their ponies were slowed down to a trot, with bud stevens leading. all at once he held up his hand for a halt. tad pulled up shortly. "what is it? do you see them?" he whispered. bud shook his head. "not yet. we're close to them, though. jump off and tether your nag. we've got to go on afoot. they'll smell our ponies if we ride any further." moving rapidly, the man and the boy, led their mounts in among the trees, where they made them fast with the stake ropes. then both started on a jog-trot along the trail. "how far do we have to go do you think?" "don't know. hope it's not far or we're liable to miss the show." "i can run as fast as you can if you want to go faster." "hark! hear that?" exclaimed bud. "yes, what was it?" "they're lining up for the battle. that was a stallion's scream of defiance. it is a challenge for battle. there goes the other one. that's the angel telling satan to come on and fight. now satan's answering him." it was all just so much noise to tad butler. the meaning of the harsh sounds conveyed nothing to him, but to bud stevens they were full of meaning. "careful, now. we're getting near." both men sped along as fast as their feet would carry them, but without making a sound that might have been heard a dozen yards away. "hist!" warned bud, crouching low. grasping his companion by the arm, he crept to the right, finally emerging from behind a rise of ground which had shielded their progress. "look there," he whispered. tad looked. below him lay a broad, open mesa, its upper end within a stone's throw of where he stood. but that was not what attracted his attention. a band of horses of many colors and sizes stood arrayed on each side of the little plain. advanced a few yards from the band on the right, was a magnificent black stallion, pawing the earth and uttering shrill challenges. on the other side of the field was the angel. he was not pawing the earth. instead he was standing proudly, his curving neck beautifully arched, his pink nostrils distended and held high. "what a wonderful animal!" said tad under his breath. "and that black! i can understand why he is called satan. what are they going to do?" "fight! don't you understand? they're getting ready to settle their old score, and a merry mix-up it'll be," replied the cowboy in a whisper. "yes, yes," breathed tad, scarcely able to curb his excitement. "there they go!" with a wild scream satan and the angel bounded into the center of the field. as they neared it each swerved to his right and dashed by, avoiding his opponent. "act as if they were afraid of each other," said tad. "they're not. they're trying each other out--sparring for an opening as it were. you'll see in a minute." the fighters returned to the charge. they did not flinch this time. with a rush they came together, rearing in the air, jaws wide apart. their fore-feet struck out. both stallions broke, wheeled and kicked viciously. neither had landed a blow. next time they came at each other walking on their hind feet. they were sparring with their fore feet like fighters in the ring, their hoofs making such rapid thrusts that the eye could scarcely follow them. satan reached for the head of his antagonist with a quick sweep. the white stallion blocked the blow cleverly. [illustration: they were sparring with their fore feet like fighters in the ring.] yet, in doing so, he had left an opening. satan took instant advantage of it. the black stallion's head shot forward. it reminded tad of a serpent striking at its victim. "ah! he landed!" exclaimed the cowboy. a fleck of crimson on the creamy neck of the angel showed where the vicious teeth of the black stallion had reached him. yet, no sooner had the wound been inflicted than the angel whirled. it was like a flash of light. a white hoof shot out catching the black on the side of the head, sending him staggering to his haunches. the white animal was upon him with a scream of triumph. just as it seemed that the angel was about to run him down, the black sprang to his feet, leaping to one side, and as the angel passed, the hind hoofs of satan were driven into his side. the angel uttered a cry of pain; it was returned by one of triumph from his antagonist. "oh, what a pity to see two such magnificent animals seeking to kill each other! do you think one of them will be killed, mr. stevens?" "they may. you can't tell. hope there won't be a knock-out, 'cause we want both of those fellows and we'll get them too. i tell you, we're in luck this trip. we'll make a haul that will be worth a few thousand dollars, you bet. there they go again." changing their method of attack, the fighters began rushing, whirling, kicking and so timing their blows that their hind feet met with a crash that might have been heard a long distance away. the shiny coat of the black did not show that he had been wounded, but the watchers knew he had, for they had seen the teeth of the white animal buried in his side at least once. a vicious charge of satan's, threw the angel from his feet. he struck the hard ground with a mighty snort, but was on his feet in an instant, returning to the charge, mouth open, feet pawing the air. the two men could see the eyes of the desperate antagonists fairly blaze, while their shrill cries thrilled tad through and through. never in his life had he gazed upon such a scene--two giants of the equine world engaged in mortal combat. it was a scene calculated to make the blood course more rapidly through the veins of the boy, who, himself, possessed so much courage. and it did, in this case, though as a lover of horses his heart was filled with pity for the one who was to lose the battle. as yet there was no indication as to which this would be. they seemed equally matched, and thus far honors had been about even. "think the black can whip him?" he asked. "don't know, kiddie. i'll make a bet with you; take your choice." "thank you, i don't bet," answered the lad. "if i did, i couldn't bring myself to lay a wager on those two beautiful creatures that are trying to kill each other. ah! there goes the black flat on his back!" before satan could rise, the hoofs of the white one had been driven against him with unerring aim. yet, the blow while it must have hurt, served to assist satan to roll over. as a matter of fact he was kicked over, and thus helped to spring to his feet. each animal fastened his teeth in the flanks of the other at the same instant, and, when they tore themselves apart, each was limping. on each side of the field the other members of the two bands of horses, stood stolidly observing the conflict. neither side made an effort to participate in the battle. here and there a colt would break away and gambol out into the field, only to be recalled by a sharp whinny from its mother. "it's queer they do not take a hand," marveled tad. "no; they never do. they look to their leader to fight their battles for them. when the battle is ended you will notice something else that will interest you." "what?" "you'll see when the time comes. now watch them go at it." and they did. it appeared as if each of the combatants was determined to put a quick end to the conflict. there was no lost time now. it was give and take. blow after blow resounded from their hoofs. now, one of the contestants would stagger and fall, only to be up and at his adversary, while their lithe, supple bodies flashed in the bright sunlight till the watchers' eyes were dizzy from following their rapid evolutions. "i wish the boys might see this," breathed tad, fascinated by the sight in spite of himself. "so do i," grinned bud. "did you ever see a battle of this kind?" asked the lad. "not like this. i've seen stallions fight, yes, but never such a scrap as this. looks as if they'd be fighting all day. but they won't." "why not? they seem as strong as when they began." "they are, but they're getting careless. they're taking longer chances every round. first thing you know, one of them will get kicked into the middle of next week. whoop! that was a dandy!" the angel had planted both hind hoofs fairly on the side of satan's head. satan had gone down. but when the white stallion made a leap, with the intention of springing upon his prostrate victim, the black rolled to one side, and in a twinkling had fastened his teeth upon his adversary's leg. only for a brief second did he cling there, then throwing himself out of the way sprang to his feet. the two animals met with a terrific crash, head-on. biting, kicking, screaming out their wild challenges of defiance the battle waxed hotter, faster and more furious. the mares in the herds showed signs of uneasiness. they might have been observed tossing their heads and shifting almost nervously on their feet, but making no effort to move away or out into the field. "are the mares getting excited?" asked tad in wonder. "no. they see one of the stallions is going to get his knock-out in a minute." "which one?" "i don't know." "but how can they tell that, if we are unable to see either one of them weakening?" "more ghost telegraphy, i guess," answered bud, not for an instant removing his gaze from the fascinating scene before him. he, too, was becoming excited. he could scarcely restrain himself. all at once, despite his caution, bud stevens uttered a whoop. "the black's got him!" "no, the angel's got him!" shouted tad butler excitedly. "no, he hasn't! it's the black, i tell you. see! there, he's kicked the angel halfway across the mesa." now it was the angel's turn to do some kicking. he did, and with terrific effect. both hind hoofs were planted in the black's abdomen. not once, but again and again. yet the black was not thus easily defeated. with the sledge-hammer blows raining all over him, he struggled to his feet, and, with a desperate lunge, fastened himself upon the neck of his adversary. back and forth struggled the black and the white now, like a pair of wrestlers. "now, who do you think's got him, hey?" laughed bud. "why, the black'll eat his head off." "i said angel was going to win, and i think he is," retorted tad. the white with a mighty toss of his powerful neck, threw satan off, the fore feet of the angel smiting and knocking satan down. then followed a series of gatling-gun-like reports as the angel's hind hoofs beat a tattoo on the head of his prostrate victim. the black was conquered. satan had been knocked out by the angel, in the greatest equine battle that human eyes ever had gazed on. "aren't you glad i don't bet?" laughed tad, his eyes flashing with the excitement of it all. "i'd been willing to lose on that fight," grunted the cowboy. "is he killed, do you think?" asked the lad. "no; he's just dizzy after the wallops he got on the head. you'll see him get up in a minute." the angel had backed off a few paces and there he stood, head erect, waiting as motionless as a statue until the moment when his fallen adversary should rise, if at all. slowly the black pulled himself to his feet. his head came up. he eyed the now calm white stallion half hesitatingly. the watchers fairly held their breath, for it was a dramatic moment. "they're going to fight again," muttered tad. "he's licked! he's got enough!" exclaimed bud. the black turned his back upon the white stallion, and with lowered head, dejection and humiliation apparent in every line, every movement of his body, walked slowly back to his own band. the angel followed at a distance, almost to the lines of the enemy. then he paused, galloped back to the center of the field, and throwing up his head uttered a long, shrill scream of triumph. one by one the mares of satan's band detached themselves from his ranks, and, with their colts, trotted across the field to join the angel's band. chapter xvii on a wild-horse hunt a corral, constructed partially of brush on its wing ends, and of canvas for the corral proper, had been erected in one of the wide sage-covered draws of the san antonio range. across the opening of the corral, which resembled a pair of great tongs, the distance was fully half a mile. bud stevens had decided to place the trap for the wild horses here in this open space in preference to laying it in the mountains. there was more room for operations in the open, he said. then again, the wild horses, as he knew from personal observation, were strong and full of fight. "i guess we'll have to tire them all out before we can hope to get them in the corral," he told his men after they had finished their work of preparation. the wagon with the horse-hunters' outfit had driven in late on the night following the battle of the stallions, and early next morning the horse-hunters, accompanied by the pony rider boys and their own party, started out to make camp in the mountains, where they were to remain while the hunt lasted. the battle which tad and bud had seen furnished a fruitful topic for discussion, and the two were kept busy relating the story of the fight until long after midnight. but, while watching the battle, bud stevens had not lost sight of the object, of his trip into the mountains. he had calculated exactly where the stock had found a mountain spring, and it was from that point that the hunters were to start the animals on their trip to the corral. the plan of operation was laid out with as much care and attention to details as a general would employ in planning a battle. the pony rider boys were to participate in the chase. they could scarcely wait for the moment to arrive when they would be given an opportunity to show their horsemanship. in the camp in the mountains they were told with great detail just what they were expected to do. "i think you had better leave chunky at home," warned ned. "he'll stampede the whole bunch just as you are ready to drive them into the corral." chunky protested loudly. "guess i can stick on a pony as well as you can," he retorted. "i'll vouch for that," smiled tom parry. "he'll do," decided bud. "now, you fellows are all to string out in single file, following me until we have circled the herd. we should have them pretty well surrounded by noon. at that time they'll be at the spring filling up. when i'm ready to close in, i'll fire a shot. each of you will fire in turn so that every one in line may be notified. if the critters refuse to drive, then we'll have to whip them into a circle and tire them out. but first, we must get them out on the open, no matter which way they go, then work them into the draw as fast as we can." the horse-hunters nodded. they understood perfectly what they were expected to do. and the boys were to be scattered among the men at intervals instead of traveling together. it seemed very simple to them, but they were to learn that wild-horse hunting was a man's task. "are we allowed to rope if we get the chance?" questioned tad. "not during the run. of course, if you see an animal escaping after we have rounded them up, and you can do so without losing any of the others, rope if you want to. i reckon you'll have your hands full if you try it," concluded the horse-hunter. "are you going out, professor?" smiled the guide. "no, thank you. i think i shall remain close to camp and collect geological specimens. the boys will get into just as much trouble if i go with them as they would were i to remain at home. i suppose there is more or less peril in these wild hunts?" "yes, it's going some," laughed bud. "but i guess none of them will get very badly knocked out if they obey orders and don't get in the way of a stampede. those wild critters won't stop for nothing." a scout came in late with the news that the herd was less than five miles from where the hunters' camp was located. "that makes it all the easier. we'll start at daylight," said stevens. "the plans will work out just right. now you'd better all turn in and be ready for the hurry call in the morning." next morning all ate breakfast before the first hot wave trembled over the crest of the mountains across the broad desert. there was bustle and excitement in the camp. when ponies had been saddled, ropes coiled and final preparations made, bud stevens looked his outfit over carefully, nodded his head and mounted. "you boys don't want to do any shouting after we get out on the trail, you understand," he said. "we have to work quietly until we get them surrounded; then you may make all the racket you want. the more the better." the pony riders nodded their understanding of the orders, and the company of horsemen set out across the mountains. they made a wide detour so as not to alarm any of the stragglers who might not have followed the main body of horses to the watering place for their noon drink. a careful examination of the trail showed that the angel and his band, as well as satan and his few faithful followers, were well within the circle. "we've got the whole bunch inside," exulted bud, turning to tad. "now, boy, do your prettiest. we want to bag 'em all. if we do, i'll make you a present of any horse in the outfit." "how about the angel?" questioned tad, with a twinkle in his eyes. bud hesitated. "what bud stevens says goes," replied the cowboy. "the one who catches the stallion on these hunts, however, usually has the right to keep him if he wants to. if you want the angel you've got to rope and take him after we get them rounded up." "no, i wouldn't do anything like that," laughed tad. "if i catch the angel i'll make you a present of him." at twelve o'clock, by the watch, they had completed the circle, or rather three-quarters of a circle, about the band of wild horses, leaving an opening toward the broad draw where the hidden corral had been located to trap the unsuspecting wild animals. stevens drew his gun, and, holding it above his head, fired two shots. the signal was answered, almost instantly, by two shots some distance to their rear. like the rattle of a skirmish line, guns popped in quick succession, the sounds growing further and further away as they ran down the long, slender line of horsemen to the eastward. "close in!" commanded the leader quietly. "ride straight ahead; never mind me. i shall move further on before i turn. good luck. don't try to get in the way of a stampede. you can't stop them if they try it altogether." "i'll look out," smiled tad. then they separated. tad could not hear a sound, save the light footfalls of his own pony. the mountain ranges might have been deserted for all the disturbance there was about him. he had ridden on some distance when a loud snort suddenly called his attention to the right and ahead of him. there stood the angel, facing him angrily. tad was so surprised at the suddenness of the meeting that he pulled his pony up shortly. for a moment they stood facing each other, then the wild animal with a loud scream of alarm, turned and went crashing through the brush. from the sound, a few seconds later, the lad knew that the stallion had gathered his band and that they were sweeping away from him at a lively pace. "here's where i must get busy," laughed the lad, the spirit of the chase suddenly taking strong hold upon him. he touched his pony lightly with the spurs, drawing in on the reins. the little animal leaped away, tad uttering a shrill yell, to warn any of the other hunters who might be within reach of his voice, that he had started on the trail of the wild band. he heard a similar cry far off to his right and knew that bud stevens had heard and understood. "i believe they're coming back," said the lad, realizing that the sound of galloping was plainer than it had been a few moments before. "i wonder what i ought to do. i'm going to try to head them off if they come this way," he decided. all at once he saw the wild horses first from behind a huge rocky pile. uttering a series of wild yells and whoops, swinging his quirt and sombrero above his head, the lad rode straight at the herd, his pony seeming to enter into the full spirit of the fun. to tad's surprise the leader of the herd deflected to the northward, running along a line almost parallel to that which the boy was following. tad pressed in the rowels of his spurs a little harder, uttering a chorus of shrill yells. "they mustn't get through," he fairly groaned. "they shan't get through! no, not if i ride my head off!" suddenly a volley of shots sounded some distance ahead of him, followed by a series of yells as if the mountains were alive with savage redskins. it was bud stevens. the wild herd had come upon him just as they were about to turn northward and dive into the fastnesses of the mountains. observing him they turned slightly to the west and continued on their mad course. "good boy!" bud shrieked. "draw up on 'em! draw up on 'em!" tad did. it was a race, but a most perilous one. to the boy it seemed as if the feet of his pony were off the ground most of the time, his run having merged into a series of long, curving leaps as it reached from rock to rock. down a steep slope suddenly plunged the herd. tad saw the flying pony of bud stevens directly abreast of them. the lad, apparently feeling no fear, brought his quirt down sharply on the flanks of his mount. the pony hesitated, rose and took a flying leap fully ten feet down the mountain side before its feet braced sharply and thus saved pony and rider from plunging on over. now tad was yelling at the top of his voice, as that seemed the proper thing to do under the circumstances. the wild band was heading for the open, just as bud stevens had planned. but the fleeing horses were seeking to get out on the open plain where they might soon outdistance their pursuers. tad and his pony went down that rugged mountain side as if the pony were a mountain goat. the boy never had experienced such a thrilling ride, and the jolts he got made his head dizzy. "m-m-my, this is going some!" he gasped. tad was shouting for pure joy now. when his mount landed on all fours among the foothills he was not more than two minutes behind bud stevens himself. "great! great!" floated back the voice of the horse-hunter, who, turning in his saddle, had observed tad's leaping, flying descent of the mountain. tad admitted to himself that this was riding, and he compared it with the day he first rode his own pony up the main street in chillicothe, missouri. that ride, at the time, seemed a very exciting one. since then he had acquired more skill, else he never would have been able to shoot down the rugged mountain at almost express train speed. they were now out on the desert prairie. bud was trying to point the leaders in to send them to the southward. now that tad was on level ground he was able to put on more speed. very slowly, indeed, his pony straightening out to its full length, he drew up on the racing herd. "guess i'd better not yell any more till i get abreast of them," he decided, which was good judgment, as bud stevens said to him afterwards. "lay back a little!" shouted bud when the boy got too close. "they're liable to dodge behind me at any second and break through our line." tad slackened his speed, at which the wild band drew away from him almost as if he were standing still. then, he put spurs to his mount again, and drew up abreast of the trailers. at the head of the line the horse-hunter was fighting with the leaders, trying to turn them toward the place where the great corral was hidden. suddenly that which bud stevens had feared occurred. the white stallion's forefeet plowed the earth. cowboy and pony shot by him, and the wily stallion slipped behind them. followed by his band, the angel headed off across the desert in the very direction that the hunters did not want him to go. "nail him!" bellowed bud. tad needed no further command. already his keen eyes had noted the move. putting spurs to his pony he raced to the white stallion's side, leaving bud far to their rear. the angel sought, in every way in its power, to shake off the boy who so persistently hung at its side. all at once the stallion reached over, fastening its teeth in the neck of tad butler's pony. tad, however had been quick enough to foresee the move and had jerked his little mount to one side. yet, he had not done so quickly enough to save the broncho from a slight flesh wound. slackening its speed, the angel then made a vicious lunge at the lad's left leg, biting right through the heavy chaps with which his legs were protected. the boy swung his quirt, bringing it down again and again on the stallion's pink and white nose, until the beast, unable to stand the punishment longer, uttered a snort, changing its course more to the southward. "i've turned him! i've turned him!" shouted tad. he had accomplished what the leader of the horse-hunters had been unable to do. bud stevens, far to the rear on the desert, tossed his sombrero in the air, uttering a long, far-reaching yell of approval. chapter xviii roped by rough riders tad replied with an exulting yell. the band of wild horses was headed toward the corral. yet they refused to enter, just when they were upon the point of heading in between the hidden wings. some instinct, it seemed, warned them to beware. the line straightened out, and a few minutes later the animals began racing in a circle four miles wide. "i'm afraid my pony never'll be able to stand this grilling. but we'll keep going as long as we've got a leg left to stand on," laughed the plucky lad. "drop out and let me take a round with them. we've got to tire them out," shouted bud, putting spurs to his pony and dashing up beside tad. the lad regretfully pulled his mount down to a walk, then rode out on the desert some distance, so as to be out of the way when the circle once more came his way. "guess it's just as well," he muttered. "the pony couldn't have stood up much longer. my, those wild animals can travel!" a heavy coating of gray dust covered both boy and horse, except where here and there the gray was furrowed with streaks of perspiration. tad gave his mount the reins, and sat idly watching the cloud of dust rolling over the desert, showing where bud stevens was driving the wild-horse band in an effort to tire them, so that they might be easily headed into the great corral. they soon swept by tad, and on out over white alkali desert once more. on the next round bud motioned to tad to take up his end of the relay. "give it to 'em. drive 'em till they can't stand up!" bellowed bud. but the lad scarcely heard the horse-hunter's voice. already he had been swallowed up in the great yellow cloud and was riding hard by the white stallion. discovering that he had another rider beside him, the angel made a desperate effort to run the lad and his pony down that he might break the line and head off to the northwest. tad beat him over the nose with his quirt again, and the stallion promptly changed its mind, for the pink nose was still tender from the drubbing tad had given it a short time before. "the men are lining up for a drive," warned stevens when the herd thundered by him again. "i'll keep behind you. we're going to try to drive them in this time. they're weakening fast." "you want me to hold the leader?" asked the boy. "yes. keep him up. don't give him a second's leeway. the rest will follow him; don't worry about them." "where are the other fellows?" "over to the east. they're hiding until the herd gets close enough; then they'll appear, raising a big noise. that's the time you and i will have our hands full." "strikes me our hands have been pretty full," answered the lad, his face wrinkling into a forced grin. bud stevens slackened the speed of his pony, dropping back and disappearing in the dust cloud. "after all, i guess the other fellows will have the hardest work," mused the lad. "they've got to stop the rush while all i have to do is to keep on going, following that big, white stallion. i wish i could rope him, but i guess he would have the broncho and myself on our backs in no time." tad turned his attention to the work in hand. he did not know just where the other horse-hunters were secreted, but his eyes were fixed on a low-lying butte some distance to the eastward. he saw no other place from which they could carry out the manoeuvre successfully. tad grew a bit anxious as the wild horses curved more and more to the eastward. in a few moments they would be too far to the left to permit of heading them toward the hidden corral. "i guess they must be going to let us drive them around the circle once more," he decided, "no! there they come!" with a yell, followed by a rattling fire of revolver shots, a dozen ponies shot from behind the low-lying butte. the horse-hunters hurled their bronchos right against the wall of fleeing animals. volley after volley was fired into the ground right under the very feet of the wild horses. here and there a rider was unseated in a sudden collision in the dust cloud with a charging wild horse. "they've turned them!" bellowed bud stevens. the pony rider boy now began to realize the truth of this, for the angel came bounding toward him, crowding right up against the side of tad's pony. tad was using foot and quirt, yelling like a wild indian to frighten the big, white stallion into keeping to the left. so successful were his efforts that the animal did give way a little. "i've headed him!" shouted the lad in wild glee. never had he had such an exciting day as this one was proving itself to be. he gave no thought to the danger of the chase. and now that he heard and recognized the shouts of his companions he was spurred to even greater efforts than before. why this post of honor had been given to him he did not know. but bud stevens was not far behind. bud was ready to stop the stampede that he momentarily expected, but which did not come. "give way a little!" came the command. tad recognized that he had, in his enthusiasm, been crowding the white stallion a bit too much. he drew off a little, not, however, decreasing his speed. already the band of wild horses had entered the wide-spreading wings of the corral, but because of the dust that enveloped him, tad was unaware of this. he continued at his same terrific pace, with the tough little broncho rising and falling under him as he fairly flew over the uneven ground. the horse-hunters had fallen into a triangle formation with the apex to the rear. they were driving the wild horses before them, using their guns in what appeared to be a most reckless fashion, shouting as if the whole band had gone suddenly mad. on down between the brush barriers, that were now apparently rising out of the ground, sped the frightened band of wild horses. the white stallion began to understand that they were trapped. angel whirled suddenly and made a desperate effort to take the back trail. tad and his pony dashing down the slight incline like a projectile, hit the stallion broadside. the collision was so sudden that the lad had a narrow escape from being hurled over the head of his own pony. it was only the convulsive grip of legs to the broncho's side that saved him from a bad spill. with quick instinct he brought his quirt down on the broad back of the angel. smarting under the stinging blow and the surprise of the collision the white stallion whirled about again, heading right into the yawning corral. the lad was now in the very midst of the crowding, fighting animals. he was battling every whit as desperately as were they. bud stevens had fallen back. he knew tad was somewhere ahead in the mix-up, but he was powerless to get to him at that moment, nor could his voice reach the lad. it was then that the boy realized where he was. "i'm in the corral!" he cried, discovering that he was hemmed in by the canvas walls of the main enclosure itself. "and i guess i'm in a mix-up that will be hard to get out of." the wild horses were charging about, screaming with anger and fear, rearing, biting, kicking, bowling each other over in their desperate efforts to escape. on every side, they found themselves met by the canvas walls, which none thus far had had the courage to assail. "there's the black stallion--there's satan," cried tad in surprise. "i didn't know he was here." the black's eyes were gleaming with anger. his lost courage was slowly returning to him. satan was now ready to give battle to man or beast. all at once he dashed straight at the canvas wall, rose to it and cleared it in a long, curving leap, his rear feet ripping the cloth down a short distance as the hoofs caught it. the keen eyes of the white stallion were upon him. in another instant his glistening body had flashed over the enclosing walls. "oh, that's too bad!" groaned tad. at that moment half a dozen horsemen appeared in the enclosure; as if by magic they threw themselves across the opening made by the two stallions, and thus made an impassable barrier. tad had seem them coming, and divined their purpose. a daring plan suddenly flashed into his mind. with a shrill yell, he dug in the rowels of his spurs. the broncho, understanding what was wanted of him, rose to the canvas well, clearing it without so much as touching it with his hoofs. but while this was going on another scene was being enacted just outside the barrier. a few horse-hunters had been sent around there to head off just such an attempt at escape as had been made. with them was stacy brown. he was sitting on his pony, rope in hand when satan cleared the wall. he saw the dark body of the stallion plunge over. instinctively the fat boy rose in his stirrups. his lariat whirled twice over his head, then shot out. it sped true to the mark, catching satan by the left hind foot just as he was finishing his leap. "yeow!" yelled chunky. the black stallion ploughed the ground with his nose, as the boy took a quick hitch of the rope about his saddle pommel. that was where chunky came to grief once more. his pony's feet were jerked out from under it by the mighty lurch of satan when he went down. stacy brown and his broncho were thrown flat on the ground in a twinkling. the lad's right leg was pinned under the pony, but the boy, with great presence of mind, held the rope fast to the pommel. ropes flew from all directions, now that the stallion was down. in a moment more they had satan entangled in a maze of them. the horse-hunters were shouting and yelling in triumph at the fat boy's splendid capture. so busily engaged were they in subduing the black that, for the moment, they lost sight of the fact that the angel, followed by tad butler on his broncho, had cleared the barrier too. nor did tad give heed to them. with rope unslung he was stretching through the foothills at a breakneck pace, on the trail of the angel. "there goes the angel, with the kid after him!" bellowed a cowboy. three men leaped into their saddles and were off like a shot. tad butler slowly, but surely, drew up on the racing stallion. the pursuers saw him unsling his rope, holding the coil easily at his side. "he's going to cast," cried the cowboys in amazement that the slender lad would undertake alone to capture the powerful animal. "he'll be dragged to death!" warned one. "don't try it, kiddie!" shouted another at the top of his voice. a chorus of warning yells were hurled after the intrepid tad, to all of which he gave no heed. his eyes were fixed on the flashing body of the white stallion ahead of him, every nerve tense for the shock that would come a moment later. all at once the pursuers saw tad's right arm describe the familiar circle in the air. then his lariat squirmed out. the angel, running ahead of the boy could not see the rope in time to dodge it. the loop of the lariat dropped neatly over his head and suddenly drew taut. the proud stallion which for years had defied the skill of the wild-horse hunters, went down to an inglorious defeat. but he was up like a flash. then began a battle between the slender pony rider boy and wild stallion that is talked of among the wild-horse hunters of the desert to this day. three times had tad thrown the angel before the others caught up with him, the lad's arms being well-nigh pulled from his body in the terrific lunges of the fighting angel. the ropes of the cowboys reached out for the maddened animal the instant they were within reach. such a shout went up as had probably never been heard on the range before when finally they had the white fighter securely roped down. the pony rider boys had distinguished themselves this day. tricing up one of the stallion's forward legs, so that he hobbled along like a lame dog, the hunters started back to the corral, shouting, singing and firing their revolvers, with tad butler proudly sitting his broncho at the head of the procession. not an animal had escaped from the other hunters. it had been a magnificent round-up. chapter xix winning their reward the horse-hunters had bound the black and left him, while they entered the corral to assist in roping the rest of the herd that were dashing wildly about. every time a rope swung above a broad-brimmed sombrero, and shot out, a wild horse came down. "i fell in, but i got him," greeted chunky brown, triumphantly, as tad butler rode up to him. tad laughed heartily when he saw his companion, stacy brown, proudly sitting on the head of the angry, snorting black stallion. "you did, indeed, chunky. how did you ever do it?" "just like any other experienced man would," replied the fat boy, in an important tone. "we got them both, didn't we, tad!" "yes." "and we'll keep 'em, eh!" "oh, no, chunky. we couldn't do that. these horses belong to the hunters. they spend a great deal of money in preparing to capture them. it would not be right for us to expect to keep these two. we've been well paid for our labor in the fun we have had. don't you think so?" "well, yes," decided stacy a little ruefully. "let's see if we can help them," concluded tad, riding up to the edge of the corral. "orders?" he called, as soon as he could attract bud stevens' attention. "yes; you might ride around to the entrance and come in. you can help us rope and hobble the stock if you want to." tad did as directed. there was no sport of the range that he took a keener enjoyment in than he did in roping, and by this time there were few men who could handle a rope more skillfully than he. ned and walter were assisting in guarding the narrow entrance to the canvas corral when tad finally rode through, entering the enclosure, where the excited animals were charging back and forth and round and round. bud was sitting on his pony in the center of the milling animals, directing the operations. first the hunters would rope and throw an animal; then they would bind up one of the front legs at the elbow, after which the horse was released. when the animals had staggered about the enclosure a few times trying to throw off the leg-binders, they were quite willing to stand still and nurse their anger. "sail in, boy!" called bud. tad picked out a little bay that was kicking and squealing, dodging every lariat that was thrown at it. his first shot missed. the lad coiled his rope deliberately. "i'll see that you don't dodge me this time, mr. bay," tad muttered, and began slowly following the animal about the ring. the instant the bay's head was turned away from him tad let go the rope, and the next second the stubborn animal lay on its side, another cowboy having made a successful cast over its kicking hind legs the moment it struck the ground. tad released his rope, then started for another cast. so he went on from one to another, and with as much coolness as if he had been roping wild horses all his life. after half an hour's work young butler saw bud motioning to him. tad rode up. the boy was bare-headed, having lost his sombrero somewhere in the enclosure, and not having thought to look for it, even if he had realized its loss. "take a rest," directed the horseman. "i'm not tired." "yes, you are, but you don't know it. first thing you know, you'll tumble off your pony with a bad case of heat knock-out. your face is as red as a lobster. too bad the stallions got away," added bud, who had been so thoroughly occupied in the corral that he had given no heed to what had been taking place outside. "lost the stallions?" questioned tad, elevating his eyebrows. "yes, satan and the angel." "why, mr. stevens, we didn't lose them." "i know, we got them in the corral all right, but that isn't getting them. they always manage to give us the slip somehow." tad's eyes danced. "then you've got a surprise coming to you, mr. stevens. both stallions are lying outside the corral at this minute, tied up so tightly that they won't get away again." "what! you're joking." "no, i'm not. i mean it," laughed the lad in high glee. bud bent a steady look upon the boy. he saw that tad was speaking the truth. "how did it happen, kiddie?" "chunky roped the black by one of its hind feet just as the animal was taking the jump. chunky got a bad fall, but he held fast to the black till the others could get their ropes on it." "hurray!" shouted bud, carried away by his enthusiasm. "but what about the angel, eh? get him too, did you say?" "yes." "how?" "i jumped the fence after him, and ran a race with him out into the foothills, where i managed to get my lariat over his head and pulled him down. we had quite a scrimmage, but i should have lost him if i hadn't had help. the boys came to my rescue just in time." "huh!" grunted the cowboy, observing his companion with twinkling eyes. "you've got anything roped and hobbled that i ever saw." that was bud's only comment at the moment, but it carried with it a world of praise, causing tad to blush. all the rest of the afternoon was devoted to securing the animals that they had captured. not a horse had escaped. shortly after sunset the task was completed and the horse-hunters gave utterance to their feelings in a series of triumphant yells. in the meantime three of the men had been sent back to bring over the camp outfit, which, owing to the fact that it had to follow a round-about trail, did not get in until some time after dark. ned and walter had accompanied the men back to camp to assist in packing their own outfit, tad and stacy remaining to keep watch over the prizes that they had captured. dinner that night, though a late one, was an occasion of boisterous good-fellowship, the two happy pony rider boys coming in for much good-natured raillery. "don't want to join us, do you, kiddie?" asked bud quizzically. "i'd like to, of course. but it is not possible," answered tad. "we'll be off in the morning with our stock, you know. better come along. you'll dry up and blow away down on the desert. it's had medicine where you're headed for." "we're used to taking our medicine," laughed tom parry. "you probably have noticed as much in the short time you've known our bunch." "you bet i have," laughed bud. "and you take it in big doses, too." "allopathic doses," interjected the professor. "don't know what they might be," answered bud. "sounds as though it might be something hard to swallow, though." this bit of pleasantry caused a general laugh. the fun continued until late in the evening. next morning the camp was astir at an early hour. the captured horses were found to be considerably subdued after being roped all night. bud's first work in the morning, after breakfast, was to take the two stallions in hand. they were freed of their bonds, and after a battle during which nearly every member of the party had been more or less mauled by the spirited beasts, the horse hunters succeeded in saddling and bridling satan and the angel. bud stevens rode them about in turn, to the delight of the pony rider boys who had never seen such bucking. "let me ride now," begged stacy, after stevens had to some extent subdued satan. the horseman permitted the lad to take to the saddle, but no sooner had chunky done so, than satan hurled him clear over the corral. chunky, nothing daunted, came back smiling and tried it again, this time with entire success. satan did not again succeed in unseating him. tad mastered the angel without being thrown, and amid the cheers of the cowboys, who shouted their approval of his horsemanship. all was now in readiness for the start of the cowboy band and their great herd of horses. stevens had directed his men to take the two stallions outside the corral and stake them down securely. then the men began driving the rest of the captured stock from the canvas prison. at first the animals evinced an inclination to run away. but with one leg in a sling this was not an easy task, and the horsemen rounded up the bunch with little difficulty. "here, here!" cried tad. "you're forgetting the stallions, mr. stevens. you've left them staked down out back of the corral." "have i?" grinned bud. "what did you want me to do with them?" "take them with you, of course," answered tad, as yet failing to understand the horse-hunter's plan. "don't you want them, kiddie?" "want them--want them?" stammered tad. "yes. they're yours, yours and the fat boy's." "oh, no, no, mr. stevens! i couldn't think of such a thing." "master tad is right," approved the professor. "we have not the least claim in the world on those animals. we----" "say, professor, who's running this side show?" demanded bud. "why--why, of course it's your hunt, but----" "all right then, seeing as it's my outfit, i've decided that i don't want the stallions. look here! we'd have lost part of that bunch, at least, if it hadn't been for your kids. master tad alone saved the herd from scattering all over the ralston desert. no, sir, i'm getting off cheaply. the stallions belong to the boys, and that's all there is to be said. s'long everybody. come up to eureka on your way out, and if i don't cut the town wide open for you, my name ain't bud stevens." with a wave of his sombrero, bud put spurs to his mount and galloped away to join his companions, who had started the herd on its way to eureka, where the animals were to be shipped east. tad and stacy were too full of surprise to express their feelings. chapter xx visited by a halo the pony rider boys turned again to the desert maze. a week had elapsed since bud stevens and his party had left them. one evening, after a hard day in the saddle, the guide was sitting thoughtfully in his tent, when professor zepplin entered. "sit down?" asked the guide. "for a moment only," answered the professor. "weather's fine to-night." "yes, even though we have no water to speak of. do you consider our situation at all serious, mr. parry?" "same old story, professor. sage brush and alkali. tanks full one day, dry the next. there's no accounting for the desert. every time i get out of the desert maze, as somebody has called it, i chalk down a mark on the wall." "i am beginning to understand that it does hold perils of its own," answered professor zepplin, thoughtfully. "traveling over the desert is no picnic--that's a fact. got to take it as it comes, though. if we go dry one day, most likely we fill up the next, or the day after that. don't pay to get down in the mouth and fret." "yes, i understand all that. but i don't wish to take any great chances on account of the boys." "the boys?" tom parry laughed. "don't you worry about them. those boys would thrive where a coyote would die at sight of his own eternal starvation shadow." the professor shook his head doubtfully. "turn 'em loose on the desert and they'd swim ashore somehow. especially young butler. he's quiet--he doesn't say much, but when he gets busy there's something doing. for sheer pluck he's got it over anything i ever saw--like a circus tent. well, don't lose any sleep worrying about water. we'll catch a drop or two of dew out of a cactus plant some of these nights. see you in the morning. good night," concluded the guide, rising and knocking the ashes from his pipe on his boot heel. they had been working slowly toward the death valley region, and water was becoming more and more scarce as they proceeded. indeed, the problem of where to find sufficient water for their needs had become a serious one. for the last three days all the water holes that the guide had depended upon to replenish their supply had failed them. what lay before them none knew. when the camp awakened, late the next morning, the guide was nowhere to be seen. his pony likewise had disappeared. but they did not trouble themselves over parry's absence, knowing that he had not left them without good reason and with many a sharp joke at each other's expense proceeded to get the breakfast ready. they had just sat down to the table when tom parry came riding in, covered with dust. "morning, boys. fine day," he greeted, with his usual inscrutable smile, which might indicate either good or bad tidings. "prospecting?" questioned tad. "taking my morning constitutional. going to be hot enough to singe the pin feathers off a bald-headed sage hen to-day," he informed them, slipping from his saddle. after beating a cloud of alkali dust from his clothes he joined the party at the breakfast table. "find any?" asked tad, eyeing him inquiringly, for tad had an idea as to the object of the guide's early morning ride. "nary," was the comprehensive reply. "have to take a dry shampoo to-day, i reckon." "i suppose there is no water in sight yet?" asked the professor, he not having caught the meaning of the brief dialogue between tad and tom parry. "no, sir. not yet. we'll be moving as soon as possible after breakfast. better use sparingly what little water you have left in your canteens. you may need it before we strike another water hole," he advised. as usual, however, the spirits of the pony rider boys were in no way affected by the shortage of water. time enough to worry when their canteens were dry. these days, tad and stacy were occupying all their spare time in working with the two stallions they had captured. the angel, under tad's kind but determined training, was advancing rapidly and already had been taught to do a few simple tricks. stacy, on his part, was not doing quite so well with satan. the latter, like his namesake, was inclined to be vicious, biting and kicking whenever the evil spirit moved. ahead, on all sides of them as the sun rose that morning, lay wide stretches of gray, dusty soil, blotches of alkali alternating with huge patches of scattering sage brush, with no living thing in sight. overhead burned the blue of a cloudless sky; about them the suffocating atmosphere of the alkali desert. it was not a cheerful vista that spread out before the lads. the ponies, suffering for want of water, took up the day's journey with evident reluctance. with heads hanging low they dragged themselves along wearily, half in protest, now and then evincing a sudden desire to turn about and head for the mountains. "what ails these bronchos?" grumbled ned rector. "guess they're afraid of heat prostration," replied chunky. "don't blame them. i'm half baked myself." "glad you know what ails you," laughed ned. "you ought not to feel bad about that, seeing it's your natural condition." as they plodded on the guide's eyes were roaming over the plain in search of telltale marks that would reveal the presence of that of which they were in most urgent need--water. the landscape, by this time, had become a white glare, and the blue flannel shirts of the pony riders had changed to a dirty gray as if they had been sprinkled with a cloud of fine powder. their hair, too, was tinged, below the rims of their sombreros, with the same grayish substance, while their faces were streaked where the perspiration had trickled down, giving them a most grotesque appearance. "how do you like it, chunky?" grinned ned. "oh, i've seen worse in chillicothe," answered the fat boy airily. "the dust in main street is worse because it's dirtier." "judging from the appearance of your face at this minute, i'm obliged to differ with you," interjected the professor, his own grim, dust-stained countenance wrinkling into a half smile. "do we take a rest at midday, guide?" parry shook his head. "think we'd better keep going. only be worse off if we stop now. hungry, any of you?" stacy made a wry face and felt of his stomach, which action brought a laugh from the others. just then stacy stiffened, then uttered a loud sneeze that shook him to his very foundations, causing satan to jump so suddenly that he nearly unseated his rider. "whew! thought my head had blown off. guess we're all getting the grippe," he grinned, as the others began sneezing. "alkali," answered parry. "you'll like that and the sage brush taste in your mouth more and more as you get to know them better." "excuse me," objected ned. "i prefer talcum powder for mine, if i've got to sneeze myself to death on something. what time is it?" "dinner time," answered stacy promptly. "i'll take ice cream." "dry toast will be more in your line, i'm thinking," suggested ned. "or a sandwich," added walter humorously. "hurrah, fellows! walt perkins has cracked a joke at last!" shouted ned. "yes, it was cracked all right," muttered chunky maliciously. "put him out! put 'em both out!" cried ned and tad, while tom parry's stolid face relaxed into a broad smile. "it appears to me that you young gentlemen are very humorous to-day," laughed the professor. "it's dry humor, professor," retorted ned. tad unslung his lariat. "i'll rope the next boy who dares say anything like that again," he threatened. "see, even the burros are ashamed. they're hanging their heads, they're so humiliated." "i don't blame them. mine's swimming from the heat," rejoined the guide. "say, what's that?" demanded chunky, pointing ahead of him, with a half-scared expression on his face. "i don't see anything," answered the other lads. "chunky's 'seeing things,'" suggested ned. the fat boy was pointing to a bright circle of light that hung over the desert some five feet from the ground, directly ahead of him. the peculiar thing about it appeared to be that the circle of light kept continually moving ahead of him, and at times he caught the colors of the rainbow in it. stacy looked intently, but the bright light hurt his eyes and he was forced to lower his eyelids a little. this made the circle seem brighter than before. now professor zepplin had discovered the peculiar thing. "what is that--what does it mean, guide?" asked the scientist. "that--that ring of light?" asked parry. "yes." "that is a halo, sir." "a halo?" chorused the boys. "must be chunky's then," suggested walter. "i agree with you," added ned. "but i don't see what right he has to a halo." "that particular halo is a very common thing in the desert maze," tom parry informed them. "it is caused by heat refraction, or something of the sort----" "yes, yes. oh, yes, i understand," nodded the professor. "i recall having heard of something of the kind in hot countries, and----" "is this a hot country?" asked stacy innocently. "no, you ninny; this is a section of greenland that's been dropped down here by an earthquake or something," laughed walter. "you're mistaken. it was washed down by the flood," corrected ned. all this helped to pass away the hours as well as to make the boys forget their troubles for the time being. perhaps the lads did not fully realize the extent of their predicament. not so the guide, however. he knew that they must find water soon. not many hours would pass before the stock, unable to stand the strain longer, would give out, leaving the party in a serious plight. they would then be without water, and without horses to take them to water. the wild stallions, however, were accustomed to going without drink for long periods at a time, so that they were doing much better than the rest of the stock. tom parry reasoned that they would be able to go through that day and part of the next without fresh supply, and that no serious consequences would result from it. beyond that, he did not attempt to forecast what the result would be. late that afternoon, without having informed his charges, parry varied his course, turning more to the west of south, eventually picking up a copper colored butte that rose out of the desert. reaching it at last, parry dismounted, and, bidding the others wait for him, he climbed up the rocky sides of the miniature mountain, quirt in hand. they watched him until he had disappeared around the opposite side of the butte. when they caught sight of him again tom had descended to the desert, and was approaching them along the base of the mountain. "anything encouraging?" called the professor. parry shook his head. "why can't we all go up there and get a breath of fresh air? there must be some breeze on the top of the mountain," suggested ned. "no, i couldn't think of it," replied the guide firmly. "why not, please?" asked walter. "because you might not come back," replied the guide, with a grim compression of the lips. later, upon being pressed by tad for his reasons, he confided to the lad that there were snakes on the butte. he said he did not care to tell that to the boys, adding that "what they don't know won't hurt them." camp was made at dusk, some five miles further on, much to the relief of man and beast, for it had been the most trying day they had experienced. the boys threw off their sombreros, shaking the dust from their heads. they then removed their clothes, giving them a thorough beating. after a brisk rub down with dry bath towels, the lads announced themselves as ready for supper. "our dry spread," ned rector called it, for not a drop of anything did they have to drink. they had drained their canteens of what little remained in them. "it isn't good for one to drink with meals anyway," comforted stacy. "that's what my uncle's doctor says," he explained, munching his bacon, forcing it down his parched throat. chunky was a philosopher, but he was unaware of the fact. "that is right. not until an hour and a half after meals," agreed the professor. "i imagine we shall have to wait longer than that this time." "never mind; we'll pull through somehow. we always have," encouraged tad cheerfully. "we've gotten out of some pretty tight places, and i am sure we'll manage to weather this gale in one way or another." "gale? huh! i wish we had a gale to weather," murmured walter. "providing it was a wet one," added stacy. "that's so. now wouldn't it be fine to have a rainstorm?" agreed ned, with enthusiasm. "we could cuddle in our tents and listen to the raindrops patter on the roof," suggested stacy. "no; we'd lie down on our backs outside, open our mouths wide----" "like a nest of young robins," laughed tad. "yes. only we'd fill our mouths with water instead of----" "boys, boys!" warned the professor. "i fear you are drifting into questionable dinner topics again." "why, we're talking about water, professor," replied ned in a tone of innocent surprise. "surely you do not object to that?" "not so long as you confine your remarks to the subject of water. that seems to be our principal need at the present time." "speaking of water----" began chunky. "hold on; is this a story or a joke?" interrupted ned. "i heard of a case like ours once," continued the fat boy, without heeding the interruption. "a party of travelers on the desert found themselves without water. in the party was a bookkeeper. he was from the east. well, they were thinking about dying from thirst. but they didn't. the bookkeeper saved them." there was silence in the group for a moment. "i'll be the goat. how did he save them?" asked ned. "he had a fountain pen," replied the fat boy sagely. "y-e-o-w!" howled the pony rider boys. "put him out! put him out!" chapter xxi off on a dry trail "we shall have to divide up our forces to-day, professor. we'll make a desperate effort to find a water hole," announced tom parry. "what do you propose doing? you mean you're going to let us help you?" "yes." "i'm glad." "we'll make a big pull to-day. should we fail to find water there is only one thing left for us to do." "and that?" "leave the burros to shift for themselves. we'll head hack toward the san antonio range as fast as the bronchos will carry us. i don't know whether they'll be equal to the strain or not. if they give out we'll have to walk, that's all." "impossible!" exclaimed the professor aghast. "nothing's impossible when you're up against it. we'll go through with this, see if we don't. just keep your nerve, and----" "but the boys," protested the professor. "look at them," said parry. "they're somewhat the worse for wear, it's true, but they're all right, every single one of them. boys, come over here!" the lads hastened to obey his summons. "what is it, mr. parry?" questioned tad. "we've got to do some real work to-day, boys, and i want you to take a hand." "we are ready for anything, sir," spoke up ned. "yes, i know that," replied parry; then went on: "this is the situation. we are without a drop of water. all the water holes that i have been depending upon are dry and there is no certainty that we shall find any that are not in the same condition if we continue on our journey. we can go along for another day, perhaps, so far as we are concerned." "but the stock won't," interposed tad. "no." "i noticed this morning that some of the ponies were pretty gaunt in the flanks." "regular scarecrows. we've got to make an organized search for a tank, and the sooner we begin the better off we'll be--or the worse," added the guide under his breath. "if we fail, we'll ride all night, taking the back trail. we ought to hold out long enough to reach the last water hole we left. though even that may be dried up by the time we get to it." "then you want us to spread out, as it were, and cover all the territory about here?" questioned tad. "that's it. you've caught the idea." professor zepplin shook his head. "i don't like the idea. the boys will be lost." "they mustn't, that's all," replied the guide, with a firm setting of the lips. "i think we can arrange so they will find their way back to camp all right. listen! this is my plan. master tad will ride west, due west. master ned, on the other hand, will proceed east, and i'll go south. each of us will ride as far as he can until noon. if by then none of us has found any trace of water, we'll all turn about and hurry hack to camp." "yes, but how do you expect the boys to find their way hack?" demanded professor zepplin. "i'm coming to that. to begin with, i'm going to splice the ridge poles of the tents together, making a flagpole of them. on this we'll tie a shirt or something, planting the pole on the top of that ridge there. while the boys will be too far away to see it from where they should be by twelve o'clock, they can get near enough, by using their watches as compasses, so they can pick it up. each one will take a rifle with him, and in the event of finding water he is to remain there, firing off the gun at frequent intervals." "what'll we be doing here all the time?" interrupted walter. "starting at twelve o'clock, you will begin firing a rifle to help guide the boys in. fire a shot every five minutes. no chance to get lost at all. do you think so, professor?" "it would seem not. did i not know from past experiences how easy it is for the boys to get into trouble, i should not hesitate an instant." "anyway, we've got to do it. we are at a point where we shall have to take chances. we are taking some as it is. now, hurry your breakfast. i'll fix up the signal pole while you are doing so, then we'll be off as soon as you have finished." both tad and ned were enthusiastic and anxious to show themselves capable of taking a man's part in the proposed operations. "if chunky only had a fountain pen now all this trouble would be unnecessary," teased ned as they were hurrying through their breakfast. the fat boy's soulful eyes held an expression of mild protest, but he made no reply. the meal finished, tad and ned brought out their rifles, which they loaded, taking with them a box of cartridges each. the guide did the same. the flagpole had been planted and from its top fluttered a pair of pink pajamas belonging to the professor. "that ought to scare all the coyotes off the desert," commented ned as the party surveyed the result of the guide's work. "it will serve still another purpose," grinned the guide. "some traveler may see it. in that event he'll head for it, thinking it's some one in distress. if he does, you may be able to get a few drops of water from his canteen, providing it's not as empty as our own." "oh, how dry i am," whistled ned softly. "there doesn't seem to be much probability of our meeting strangers in this desolate place," commented the professor. "what time do you think we shall see you back? have you any idea?" "somewhere about sunset, in all probability." "i'd like to go along with tad," said stacy. "why--no, i think you'd better not," said the professor. "please. i know i shall be able to help him. you do not need two boys in camp with you, professor." "yes; he might as well go along, if he wants to," decided the guide. "very well, then. but walter must remain here." "use your old ponies. do not take the stallions," advised parry. "if the stallions were to get away from you while you are off on the desert alone it would leave you, and perhaps us as well, in pretty bad shape. and, by the way, professor, when you begin firing your signals, go to the top of the hill yonder and shoot straight up into the air. the sound will carry further than were you to shoot from here. you've no idea how perplexing this desert maze is to those not familiar with it and its tricks." "i'm learning fast," smiled the professor. "furthermore, i am convinced that i shall know all about it if i live long----" "never," answered parry promptly. "no man ever lived who knew all about the desert. i----" "if we rough riders don't get started pretty soon we'll be back before we get started," warned stacy humorously. "you're right. we are wasting time. now, masters tad and ned, you understand what you are to do?" "we do," answered the boys. "follow my directions to the letter. if you do you will keep out of trouble. if you do not, there's no telling what may happen." "we are to find water. that's what we are going out for," added tad. "exactly. but the instant you hear a gun fired, turn about and ride home. that will mean either that the time's up, or that one or the other of us has found what you are looking for. keep your eyes clear for signs and for crusts of alkali that may have a water tank under them." "we'll do our duty, mr. parry," answered tad. "i know it. good-bye and good luck!" the three lads swung their hands in parting salute, as they left the camp at an easy gallop, tad and stacy riding side by side, ned rector moving off alone. ascending the rise of ground where the pajamas were drooping listlessly from the top of the signal pole, tad and stacy slipped down the opposite side of the hill and disappeared from view. the two lads were destined to pass through some exciting experiences before they rejoined their companions. "i hope we don't get lost," said stacy, apprehensively, as they glided across the desert. "we mustn't!" "yes; but what if we do?" insisted the fat boy. "it will be because you disobeyed orders, chunky. you and i have a task to perform, and we're going to do it like men. the lives of our companions may depend upon our own efforts--yours and mine." "i can't see the professor's pajamas," insisted chunky. "i believe we are lost already, tad." "then we'll stay lost," answered tad shortly. chapter xxii in the hermit's cave the conviction that they did not know where they were grew upon stacy as they proceeded. not that stacy cared particularly whether they were lost or not, but it gave him something to talk about. "don't talk so much, chunky," begged tad, after they had gone on some distance. "you should keep your eyes out for signs." "what kind of signs?" "water signs. come, be serious for a little while. you can have all the sport you want when we get back. i think, chunky, that we can both work to better advantage if we separate----" "what, you want to get rid of me so soon?" "no, no! listen! you ride off there to the right, say half a mile. keep within sight of me all the time, and watch carefully for what we are in search of. we shall be able to do twice as effective work in that way." "i see. i guess that would be a good idea. got anything to eat in your pocket?" "some dry bread. i'll divide with you. you should have brought something." the fat boy, well satisfied now, rode away to the north, munching the dry food that tad had given him. so long as chunky had plenty to eat, nothing else mattered. tad soon espied what appeared to him to be a cloud on the horizon ahead. after a time he discovered that it was a range of irregular buttes. on some of them he eventually made out what looked like scattering trees. tad increased the speed of his pony as much as he thought the animal would stand. if there were trees, there surely should be water as well, he reasoned. after a time he succeeded in attracting the attention of stacy, whom he motioned to him. the fat boy put spurs to his mount, racing along one side of the triangle, heading for the range, for which he observed that tad was riding. it was now a test of speed to see which one should get there first. tad having the shorter distance to travel, made the mark ahead of his companion, though with little to spare. "you started before i knew what you were up to," laughed stacy. "i can beat you on an even start." "haven't any doubt of it, chunky. but let's see what's to be found here. it looks promising. you hold the horses while i climb up among the rocks." "there's a man up there!" exclaimed stacy. "what's he doing? i wonder if he's a hermit? looks as if he might be." "i'll find out. if some one is living here, there's water," cried tad triumphantly, leaping from his saddle and tossing the bridle reins to his companion. the lad ran lightly up the rocks toward the point where he saw the stranger standing, observing them suspiciously. as he drew nearer to the figure, tad felt some apprehension. the man was thin and gaunt, a heavy growth of beard covering his face so completely as to hide everything except the nose and eyes. "i believe he's crazy," muttered the lad, when he got near enough to note the strange expression in the fellow's eyes. as yet, the man had not spoken a word. "how do you do, sir!" greeted the boy. the hermit, for such he proved to be, grunted an unintelligible reply. "we are looking for water. my friends are camped off yonder, a dozen miles or more, and our water is all gone. please tell me where i can find some?" "got money?" "yes, yes, i've got money. i will pay you for your trouble if that is what you want. let me have a drink first and take some to my companion; then i will do whatever you wish in the way of paying," begged the lad. the hermit eyed him with a steady, disconcerting gaze that gave tad a creepy feeling up and down his spine. "you want water?" "yes, yes." a moment's hesitation, then the hermit grasped tad by the arm and strode rapidly back among the rocks. pushing aside a growth of tangled vines he stooped to enable him to enter the opening that was revealed, dragging tad in after him. [illustration: the hermit grasped tad by the arm.] "see here, where are you taking me?" demanded the lad, pulling back instinctively from the dark opening. the hermit made no reply, but tightening his grip, which was of vise-like firmness, jerked the boy into the center of the chamber. tad observed by the single ray of light that penetrated the place through the mat of vines at the entrance that they were in a cave. "you want water?" snapped the hermit. "yes, i do want water more than anything else in the world at this minute, but there is no necessity for dragging me to it. i can walk." "water in there," answered the hermit, thrusting tad into a dark recess. no sooner had he done so than the lad heard a heavy wooden door slammed shut and a bar thrown across it from the outside. tad, instantly realizing that he was being shut in, threw himself against the barrier with all his strength. but he might as well have tried to break through the rocks which walled him in on the other three sides. he shouted at the top of his voice, hoping that chunky might, perchance, hear him and come to his rescue. chunky could use the rifle that hung in the holster on tad's saddle and intimidate the hermit if he understood tad's predicament. at that instant the lad's ears caught the faint trickle of water. the sound stirred him to sudden action. "where was it?" he asked himself, his hands groping over the rocks about him. "here it is!" he cried exultingly. what he had found was a tiny stream that was creeping down the side of the rocks. tad pressed his lips against the cool stones, enabling him to lick a few drops of the precious fluid into his parched mouth. never had anything tasted so refreshing to him. "a-h-h-h-h!" gasped the boy, taking a fresh breath preparatory to another draught. "it's almost worth being made a prisoner for this. i'll bet chunky would wish to be in here if he knew. and i almost wish he were." as if in answer to his expressed wish, the door was suddenly pushed inward, a heavy body was hurled in, landing in a heap on the rocky floor. the door slammed shut and the bar once more fell into place. for the moment tad could not determine what had happened. "i--i fell in," moaned a voice from the heap. "chunky!" cried tad. "how did you get in here?" "i--just dropped in," wailed the fat boy. "get up! don't be a baby! come here and have a drink of water----" "water? water?" fairly shouted stacy, leaping to his feet, bumping against a rock in his haste. "where? where?" "here. put your lips against the rock right here. there, you have it. does it taste good?" "u-m-m-m." "now, you've had enough for the moment. tell me how you got here? how did you happen to come up?" questioned tad. "the--the wild man--say, tad, he looks like a monkey, doesn't he?" "i hadn't thought of it in that light. i guess you're right, though, chunky." "well, he went out on the rocks and motioned to me. i told him i couldn't leave the ponies. he said you wanted me right away, and he came down to help me stake the ponies. he was awful kind," mused stacy, as if talking to himself. "go on," urged tad. "we've got to think about what's going to become of us." "that's all. he just led me up here. said you were inside getting water. then--then he threw me in. think i hurt the floor when i hit it, tad?" "i guess not quite so bad as that," laughed the lad. "i want you to strike a match while i look around the place." stacy did so, taking his time about it. by the dim light thus made, they discovered a little pool of water in a far corner of the chamber, where the trickling stream had found it's way. with their drinking cups, which, with their canteens, the boys always carried, they dipped the pool almost dry, filling their canteens with the cool, refreshing water, after having first fully satisfied their thirst. "got anything to eat?" questioned stacy, his thoughts turning to food. "yes, and i'm going to keep it," answered tad promptly. "that's mean." "see here, chunky. we are prisoners. we don't know when or how we are going to get out. i have a few crusts of bread left and i propose to keep them, because we may find ourselves starving later on. you'll be glad then that i saved the bread. what do you think the hermit intends to do? did he say anything that gave you any clue?" "nope." "we'll wait a while and if he does not let us out, we'll have to find a way for ourselves." for a time they made the best of their situation, stacy grumbling now and then, tad bright and cheery, though in his heart he felt far from cheerful. "i'm going to try to break the door down," announced tad finally, after listening intently. "i can't hear anything. i believe the hermit has gone away and left us. get up here beside me. take hold of my hand and we'll rush it together." they did so, throwing their combined weight against the door. "ouch!" yelled stacy. "never mind, try it again," encouraged tad, laughing in spite of himself. once more they hurled themselves on the obstruction. it resisted all their efforts. tad lighted a match, examining the door carefully. the light revealed a heap of blankets in a corner of the chamber, where the old hermit slept. "must be his bedroom," decided chunky. "we've got to try something else," announced tad. "got your knife!" "yes." "out with it. we're going to whittle. lucky for us that our knives are big and sharp. hold a match while i mark out the spot we're going to try to cut out." tad had sounded the door with his fist until he found the place where the bar on the other side held it. he also discovered sockets for an inner bar, by which the hermit probably locked himself in at night. then he began cutting. "you start in here and keep to your side so you don't cut my hands," the lad directed. the crunching sound of their knives began immediately, the work going on more slowly in the darkness than would have been the case had they had light. now and then the lads would pause to listen. not a sound penetrated to their prison. tad thought this very strange, unless perhaps the hermit might be lying in wait to fall upon them in case they did succeed in freeing themselves. "say, tad." "well?" "i've got an idea." chunky's knife had been silent for a few moments. "what is it?" "let's burn down the old door." "how!" "i'll show you." stacy scraped industriously for a time, then lighting a match applied it to the spot on which he had been working. the splinters caught fire burned up briskly then went out. stacy repeated the process with a similar result. "i guess that will help a little," decided tad, running his fingers over the spot. "just like singeing the pin feathers off an old hen--the feathers burn, but the hen doesn't," grumbled stacy. "whew! the smoke's getting thick in here. we've got to stop the burning or we'll suffocate," warned tad. "wish i had an ax. i'd make short work of the old door." they then began working with a grim determination, stacy ceasing his joking. at last a tiny ray of light showed through the heavy door. "hurrah!" shouted tad. "i see daylight." "then give me some bread. i'm hungry." "not yet. we're not out of our prison," laughed tad. "keep cutting. it will take all of an hour to make an opening large enough for me to get my hand through----" "i got my finger through," cried stacy triumphantly. "ouch!" he yelled as a club of some sort was brought against the door on the outside with terrific force, bruising the end of the lad's finger. "the hermit is out there waiting for us!" gasped tad, with sinking heart. chapter xxiii lost in the desert maze a rifle shot sounded from the camp of the pony rider boys. at regular intervals shot followed shot. it was the warning signal agreed upon to notify the others that water had been found. ned rector had ridden into camp with the joyful tidings that he had discovered a water tank about three miles to the eastward. immediately walter sprang for his rifle, and running to the top of the little hill began shooting into the air. ned, in the meantime, not waiting for the return of the others, had fetched the water-bags from the burros, and started off at a rapid pace to bring back water for the stock. his canteen he left for professor zepplin and walter. "it's horrible stuff, but it is water," breathed the professor as he swallowed the brown alkali fluid. "if ever i get a drink of real water again, i know i shall be able to appreciate it." in the meantime walter's rifle was booming its warning over the desert maze. two hours later, tom parry, hot, dusty and well-nigh spent, rode into camp with the steam rising from his pony in a thin, vaporous cloud. "have you found it?" he called hoarsely. "yes; ned's found a water hole," the professor informed him. "give me a drink, quick. the alkali's cutting furrows in my throat," he begged. "never got such a hold of me before." the professor pressed his canteen to the guide's lips, and parry drank eagerly. a few moments later he pulled himself together sharply. "i'm going to take the stock out to the water hole," he announced, starting the burros off across the desert. "i'll water the stallions when i return." "you had better let me attend to that," protested the professor. "you're in no shape to go out in the sun again." "that's all right, professor. but tell me how i am going to get out of the sun?" begged parry, with a grim smile. "the tent----" "hotter than the sun. no, i guess i can stand it if those boys are able to. by the way, have you seen anything of the other two?" "i'll ascertain if walter has discovered them yet." walter's straining eyes had failed to make out tad and stacy, however, so the professor bade him continue firing his rifle. this was a pleasant occupation for walter, for, like his companions, next to a pony he loved a gun. ned had returned with the water-bags, and parry had finished watering the stock. it was now near sunset. "no signs yet?" questioned the guide, joining walter on the knoll. "not a thing." "that doesn't seem right. stop your firing and come get some supper. we must eat and put ourselves in shape or we'll be good for nothing. did those boys take any food with them?" "i think i saw tad stowing something in his pockets before he started. i'm sure i did," spoke up ned rector. "there's a lad who knows his business," approved parry, moving toward the camp with walter. "why have you discontinued the shooting?" demanded the professor in surprise. "to eat. half an hour's intermission will make little difference. if the lads are on their way, we'll be able to call them in before it gets dark. if not, then i shall go out to look for them. they're all right. i think you need feel no concern over them." "must have gone a long way," spoke up ned. "yes, they undoubtedly followed orders." "and perhaps exceeded them," added the professor. it was a real supper that they sat down to that evening, with hot coffee, fried bacon and other good things, and the party would have been a jolly one had tad and stacy been on hand to participate in it. walter hurried through his meal, then took his position on the hill once more, where he renewed his signaling with the rifle. all at once he uttered a shout, following it with a quick volley of six shots, thus emptying his magazine. "do you see them!" called parry, hastening over to the knoll, and joining walter. "i think i see a cloud of dust approaching over the desert," he made reply. "where?" walter pointed with his rifle. "yes, that's the boys, i guess. nothing but a broncho could kick up the alkali like that. i'll go back and have their supper ready. you keep on shooting. the light is growing fainter and they won't be able to find their way in otherwise." "is it the boys?" called the professor, as they saw parry hastening toward them. "i think so. put the coffee on, master ned. they'll want to boil the alkali out of their systems as soon as they get here." "that's the time tad butler got left," chuckled ned rector. "he's always been around when there was any glory coming. but when it comes to finding water where there isn't any, i guess they can't beat ned rector." "what's that boy shooting so rapidly for?" asked parry. "he's excited about something," answered ned. "he's dancing around as if he's suddenly gone crazy. what's that? he's calling and motioning to us. guess he wants you, mr. parry." "what is it!" called the guide, making a megaphone of his hands. unable to make out what it was that walter was shouting to him, tom parry deserted the camp-fire, where he was assisting to get the second supper, and hastened to the knoll. "what's the trouble, my lad?" "come and see. i want you to take a look at that pony. he's tearing across the desert as if something were chasing him. but i can't make out anyone on his back." "the light is weak and he's throwing a lot of dust. of course there's some one his back, and there must be two horses." the guide shaded his hands, gazing off across the plain. "what--what----" he stammered. "wasn't i right, mr. parry?" "that's very strange. i don't understand it at all." "that's what i thought." "there's only one pony and he's riderless," exclaimed tom parry. "i'm afraid something has happened. it may not be one of our ponies, however. we'll know in a few minutes." the running animal was drawing steadily nearer the camp. those over by the camp-fire were busy getting the meal ready for the two missing lads. the pony reached the foot of the knoll. observing parry and walter there, the little animal shied, making a wide detour, and finally galloping up to the camp. walter and the guide hurried down. "hello!" cried the professor, as he saw the horse dash in. "what does this mean!" "why, it's tad's pony!" exclaimed ned in amazement. "is that master tad's mount?" called the guide as he approached them on the run. "yes. do you think there's anything wrong?" questioned ned. "looks that way. don't let him get away. i want to look the critter over. perhaps we may learn something." ned caught the pony without difficulty, and led it to the guide. parry went all over the animal, even going through the saddlebags. "the rifle and the rope are missing. everything else seems to be in order," he announced. "then i'll guarantee that tad's all right," spoke up ned. "that's what i think," agreed walter. "he's taken his gun and rope up into some mountain or other and while he was away the pony got away and started for home." "is that your opinion, mr. parry?" questioned the professor. "what's the use in offering any opinions? i don't know. but i'm going to find out. let's see. we have a new moon to-night. i've got about two hours before it goes down. i want you all to remain right here in camp until i return. even if it's until to-morrow. i'm going out to look for the boys." with that parry hastily filled his canteen, slung one of the bags of water over the back of his pony, and springing into the saddle dashed away, following the trail that the returning broncho had left. chapter xxiv conclusion "no use trying to go any further to-night, chunky." "where'll we stay, then?" "right here, i guess," answered tad. "it's as good a place as we'll find." but to understand this, we must take up the fortunes of tad and stacy, whom we left imprisoned in the hermit's cave. after waiting for a full hour in the cave, following the hermit's blow on the door, the lads not having heard anything further of him, had renewed their whittling. after long and arduous effort they had succeeded in making an opening in the wood sufficiently large to enable tad to push his hand through. before doing so, however, he made reasonably sure that the hermit was not standing there with a club ready to bring it down with crushing force. being satisfied on this point, tad thrust a hand through. his upturned hand had grasped the bar that held the door in place. pushing upward with all his strength he felt the bar give. stacy, with ready resourcefulness, began forcing up on tad's elbow. in a moment more they had the satisfaction of hearing the bar clatter to the rocks. yet one end of it had stuck in its socket, still holding the barrier in place. they tried their former tactics. backing off, both lads rushed at the heavy door. it gave way with a suddenness that they had not expected. the boys tumbled out, each landing on his head and shoulders, then toppling over to his back. there was a lively scramble. they were up in a twinkling, fully expecting to find the hermit standing over them. to their surprise, they found themselves entirely alone. to their further surprise, neither of their ponies was in sight when they stepped out on the rocks. upon examining the hoof prints a few minutes later they discovered that one animal had set off on the back trail, while the other had apparently gone in the opposite direction. after a brief consultation they decided that they must start back on foot. without a moment's hesitation, the lads, laying their course by tad's watch, started pluckily toward camp, many miles away. after a few hours night overtook them. they still had the moon, however, and by its light they trudged along for two more weary hours. then the moon's light left them and tad decided that it were worse than useless to continue. absolute darkness had settled over the desert maze as the boys dropped down, footsore and weary after their long tramp in the stifling heat. "got anything to eat?" asked stacy. "that i have, and a canteen of water besides. we have a lot to be thankful for yet, chunky. haven't we?" "i'll tell you after i try the bread," answered the fat boy. tad laughed merrily. "always a humorist, aren't you?" "except when i fall in somewhere," replied stacy. "how does the bread go?" "fine!" "aren't you glad you didn't eat it up back there in the hermit's cave?" "oh, i dunno. if i'd eaten it then, i wouldn't have to eat it now." "oh, chunky, you're hopeless. i shall have to give you up----" "what do you think has become of those ponies?" interrupted the fat boy. "guess they must have gotten away and gone home--at least one of them," answered tad. "wrong." "why?" "one went one way and the other another, didn't he?" "yes. what of that?" "if they'd gotten away they'd both traveled together. one of them was ridden away and i'm thinking the hermit was on his back. i'll bet he carried my broncho off." "you mean you think your broncho carried him off?" laughed tad. "i didn't give you credit for so much sense, chunky. i guess you are right at that. the ponies surely would have left together. seems to be our luck to lose horses. guess my gun has gone, too, but i picked up the rope back by the mountain." "glad i didn't bring my rifle along," chuckled stacy. "i'll bet i'd be throwing good-bye kisses after it now if i had." "i don't understand what that old man meant by making us prisoners unless it was that he wanted a horse to get out of the desert maze. if that was his reason, i don't blame him," laughed tad. "mr. parry did us a real service when he advised us to leave our stallions back in camp. they surely would have been gone by this time, and we never could have caught them again." "yes; i can see satan legging it for the hills," replied stacy. "legging it is his strong point." they had finished their slender meal by this time and drunk their fill of water from the canteens. as a result, they felt better than they had felt at any time during the past three days. "we have a long, hot walk ahead of us to-morrow, unless they come out to look for us, chunky," averred tad. "yes. and i love to walk," replied stacy, with droll humor. "especially when the sun is one hundred and fifty in the shade, or where the shade ought to be. if ever i come down in this baked country again, i'm going to bring that sweet apple tree out of uncle's orchard, even if i have to drag it all over the desert with me." "think we'd better make our beds and turn in?" suggested tad. "i guess. i'll take a drink of water first; then i'm ready." in a few moments the plucky lads had stretched out on the still hot ground, without feeling the least fear. they were too self-reliant to feel any fear, and they had passed so many nights in the open that the mysterious darkness of the outside world held no terrors for them. they knew there was nothing to harm them. tad was beginning to doze off when stacy nudged him in the ribs. "what is it?" asked tad sharply. "i think the girl forgot to put a fresh pillow case on my pillow to-day. the pillow feels awful rough." "oh, go to sleep. dream all the funny things you wish to, but don't bother me till daylight." from that moment until long past midnight the boys slept soundly, neither having moved since he lay down for his night's rest. even when the coyotes began to howl, off on the desert, the lads merely stirred, only half conscious of what the sound meant. but when the howls gradually drew nearer, chunky cautiously opened one eye. the night was so dark that he could not see anything about him. the beasts drew nearer. tad was awake now. "keep still, don't scare them until i give the word," he said in answer to stacy's poke. emboldened by the quietness, the coyotes kept creeping closer and closer, their mournful howls increasing in volume every minute. all at once tad reached down for his rope. he lay still for a few minutes until satisfied that the animals had not observed his movement. suddenly the great loop shot from his hand. a quick, violent tug at the other end, a wild, frightened howl from the cowardly beasts, and all but one, with tails between their legs, fled over the desert. "i've got one, chunky," yelled tad. "quick! help me here, or he'll get away!" it required all the strength of the two boys to hold the animal that tad had roped in the dark. gradually they shortened up on the rope, tad standing in front of his companion until he felt the animal dangerously near. then he let out a swift kick. by good luck, it laid the coyote flat. tad was upon the beast before, in its half-dazed condition, it could rise. together they tied the animal's feet, its jaws snapping at them viciously before their task was completed. there was no more sleep for the lads that night. they feared the coyote would gnaw the rope in two, if left alone. all during the night the boys were obliged continually to jerk on the line about its neck to keep the beast from doing this very thing. morning came at last. making a harness from a piece of the rope, they bound up one of the animal's forefeet, just as bud stevens had done with wild horses. then they released the hind feet. mr. coyote hopped about like a rabbit for a time, snarling and snapping, to their keen delight. they felt no fear of him, though mr. coyote had several times expressed a willingness to fight his captors. after eating their remaining crumbs of bread, the boys decided to move on. tad, believing that he knew the direction to follow, did not wait for the sun to rise. yet, although they were not aware of the fact, they already had strayed far from the trail. "i'm afraid the coyote is going to be a drag on us, much as i should like to take him along," said tad. stacy begged to keep the animal, and tad decided to try it. the next question was, how to move it. it was finally decided that one boy should lead the coyote while the other prodded it from the rear when the animal lagged. at noon they halted to rest, draining the last drop from their canteens. then they started on again, suffering more and more from the heat as they proceeded. about the middle of the afternoon tad halted, gazing helplessly about him. "chunky, we're lost in the desert maze. i don't know where i am any more than if i were in the middle of an ocean. i'm pretty nearly exhausted, too." "so's the coyote," comforted stacy. "but we've got to keep on going. my watch is missing. i must have lost it where we slept last night. i can only guess at the direction we ought to take. have you any idea where we are?" stacy gazed at the sky meditatively. "on a rough guess, i should say we were on the nevada desert." "oh, come on! come on!" still clinging to the angry coyote, the lads took up their weary tramp. the baking alkali burned their feet almost to the blistering point; the burning, withering heat made their heads whirl; the desert began to perform strange antics, while the halo that they had seen a few days before again appeared before them, first whirling like a giant pin wheel, then oscillating in a way that made them giddy. "chunky, i can't stand this any longer," cried tad, suddenly sinking to the ground. "i'm ashamed of myself to give way like this." stacy moved around to the sunny side of his companion, placing his own body where it would shade tad's head from the sun. the fat boy took off his sombrero, unheeding the burning rays that were beating down on his own head, and began to fan tad with the hat. "i don't believe i can go any further, chunky. you are still in fairly good shape and you'll be able to make the camp if you go on. leave me and make a try for it." "you--you want me to go on without you? want me to leave you here to--say, tad, do you think i'm that kind of a coyote? i'd thrash you for that if you weren't already properly done up. you'll feel better when night comes and your head gets cooled off. in the morning we'll make another attempt to get out of the desert maze. you lie still, now." thus admonished, tad closed his eyes. at last the sun went down, and with its passing, came a breath of refreshing air. they inhaled long and deeply of it. after a little, stacy got up. "where you going?" demanded tad, opening his bloodshot eyes. "going to tie up my dog, then go to bed." five minutes later both were sleeping the sleep that comes from utter exhaustion of mind and body. stacy awakened first, his eyes opening on the burning blue above him. after a few moments he rolled over on his stomach to gaze at the coyote. instantly something else attracted his attention. what he saw was a crossed stick on a standard. the whole resembled a cross, standing barely six inches above the ground. the lad eyed the strange object inquiringly, then wriggled over toward it. "maybe there's water here. i'll see," he muttered. stacy began digging industriously with knife and hands. after a time the knife struck some hard substance. this, upon further digging, proved to be a bottle. the boy pulled his find out quickly. "there's a piece of paper in it," he exclaimed in surprise. "guess somebody must have thrown it off a sinking desert schooner." stacy drew the paper from the bottle. "'to the lost on the desert maze,'" he read "that's me and the coyote. 'water ten paces to the east. grass peak fifteen miles to the east. belted range about eighteen miles west. cross piece on stick, points due east and west. a traveler.'" with a sharp glance at his sleeping companion, stacy tramped off ten paces. there being no sign of water, the lad began stamping about with his heels. suddenly the alkali crust gave way beneath him. one leg went through. he felt it plunge into water. "y-e-o-w!" howled stacy. tad butler scrambled to his feet, rubbing his eyes. "water! water! water! i fell in!" shrieked the fat boy, dancing about joyously. "i've found a key to the desert maze, and i've unlocked one blind desert alley with my foot." the lads drank and drank of the villainous, brown fluid. then, after having laved their faces and filled the canteens, they set out on their journey. grass peak was the hill from which the professor's pajamas had been unfurled to the idle desert breeze. twilight was descending when two gaunt-eyed, hollow-cheeked lads, each with an arm thrown about the other's waist for support, were described, staggering across the desert maze. behind then, at the end of a lariat, slouched a disconsolate, cowardly coyote. a great shout went up from the camp of the pony riders. they dashed out to meet their exhausted companions. hoisting the two boys to their shoulders, they carried them triumphantly to camp. tom parry, the guide, had been thrown by his pony stepping through a crust on the alkali, and had lain all night on the desert. next day he had staggered back to camp, where he found his pony, and after a few hours' rest had taken up his fruitless search again. stacy's pony in the meantime had come in. the boys never knew how the animals got away, though from the fact that tad's rifle was missing, it was believed that the hermit had ridden the pony off, turning it adrift later. but the brave lads had found their way through the desert maze to camp, having passed through hardships and perils that would have daunted stronger and more experienced desert travelers. next morning the pony rider boys struck their tents and broke camp. a few days later they crossed the line into california, where, after loading their stock and equipment into a large stock car, they started for the east. yet, though their summer vacation was rapidly drawing to a close, the pony rider boys had not seen the end of their thrilling adventures. another exciting trip lay before them; one which was destined to linger in memory for many years to come. the story of this, the end of the silver trail, will be related in a following volume entitled, "the pony rider boys in new mexico." the end dave darrin series no. by _h. irving hancock_ dave darrin at vera cruz dave darrin on mediterranean service dave darrin's south american cruise dave darrin on the asiatic station dave darrin and the german submarines dave darrin after the mine layers aviator series no. by _captain frank cobb_ battling the clouds an aviator's luck dangerous deeds boy scout series no. by _george durston_ the boy scouts in camp the boy scouts on the trail the boy scouts to the rescue the boy scout aviators the boy scouts afloat the boy scouts' victory idle hour series no. hilda's mascot--_ireland_ betty the scribe--_turner_ peggy-alone--_byrne_ ivy hall series no. by _ruth alberta brown_ tabitha at ivy hall tabitha's glory tabitha's vacation peace greenfield series no. by _ruth alberta brown_ at the little brown house the lilac lady heart of gold pony rider boys series no. by _frank gee patchin_ the pony rider boys in the rockies the pony rider boys in texas the pony rider boys in montana the pony rider boys in the ozarks the pony rider boys in the alkali the pony rider boys in new mexico the pony rider boys in the grand canyon the pony rider boys with the texas rangers the pony rider boys on the blue ridge the pony rider boys in new england the pony rider boys in louisiana the pony rider boys in alaska circus boys series no. by _edgar b. p. darlington_ the circus boys on the flying rings the circus boys across the continent the circus boys in dixie land the circus boys on the mississippi the circus boys on the plains the battleship boys series no. by _frank gee patchin_ the battleship boys at sea the battleship boys' first step upward the battleship boys in foreign service the battleship boys in the tropics the battleship boys under fire the battleship boys in the wardroom the submarine boys series no. by _victor g. durham_ the submarine boys on duty the submarine boys' trial trip the submarine boys and the middies the submarine boys and the spies the submarine boys' lightning cruise the submarine boys for the flag young engineers series no. by _h. irving hancock_ the young engineers in colorado the young engineers in arizona the young engineers in nevada the young engineers in mexico the young engineers on the gulf [illustration: frontispiece: the pole was jerked from the fat boy's hands.] the pony rider boys in louisiana or following the game trails in the canebrake by frank gee patchin author of the pony rider boys in the rockies, the pony rider boys in texas, the pony rider boys in montana, the pony rider boys in the ozarks, the pony rider boys in the alkali, the pony rider boys in new mexico, the pony rider boys with the texas rangers, the pony rider boys on the blue ridge, the pony rider boys in new england, etc., etc. illustrated philadelphia henry altemus company copyright, by howard e. altemus printed in the united states of america contents chapter i--southern hospitality a study in black and white. "i'm the duke of missouri." waxed floors too much for the fat boy. "i sometimes fall off a house to give me an appetite." chapter ii--bound for the cane jungle picking out their new ponies. favors for the brave. girl friends see the pony rider boys in daring horsemanship. tad ropes a pickaninny. the colored population treated to an unusual exhibition. chapter iii--in camp on tensas bayou living with the snakes in the canebrake. barred owls make the night hideous. stacy's slumbers greatly disturbed. little rest for the pony rider boys. stacy lays the foundation for trouble. chapter iv--nature blows out a fuse the camp aroused by an explosion. tents found ablaze. "the campfire has blown up!" ichabod denies responsibility. chunky admits his guilt. "gentlemen, i shot a pig." chapter v--marooned in a swamp the cook finds tad's feet out of doors. strange sights in the jungle. on an island made over night. snake and bird battle on high. pony riders are castaway for three days. a forest of perils. chapter vi--taking desperate chances dogs and birds welcome the sunlight. tad blazes a trail on the cypress knees. "have all you boys got scents like deerhounds?" tad butler amazes bill lilly, the guide. chapter vii--a swim in tensas lake chunky goes in with the alligators. tad's bullet speeds true. a narrow escape. stacy up a tree. ned rector knows a way to get the fat boy down. lively times in camp. the professor takes a hand. chapter viii--woodman, spare this tree "no one can stay mad at me for very long." chunky comes down in a heap. how they wound the hunter's horn. stacy brown is left behind and forgotten. chapter ix--the fat boy hung up "whoa, you fool horse!" "give the baby his horn." a narrow escape from death. down goes the fat boy again. chapter x--in the heart of the canebrake the bush-knife a dangerous weapon. stacy found dangling in the air. keeping company with an owl. tad takes a perilous plunge. chunky mixes it up with 'gators again. chapter xi--on the big game trails roped on the verge of death. it takes the whole outfit to rescue the fat boy. "that 'gator won't have any further appetite for fat boys." bear sign in the west. chapter xii--the quest of the phantom deer on the trail of a she-bear. tad butler's champion shot. a deer instead of a bear. mighty hunters get a shock. "he's gone!" gasp the pony rider boys. chapter xiii--the mystery is solved on the trail of the stolen doe. "i'll break my neck if i ride any faster." tad meets a suspicious character. chunky makes a discovery. "your nag has blood on his flank!" chapter xiv--the fat boy distinguishes himself "i remain right here. stacy, wind the horn!" the stranger grows threatening. "a fellow who will steal a deer will not hesitate to lie!" the woodsman takes a shot at tad. chunky turns the tables on the man. chapter xv--pluck and the dead doe just a preliminary skirmish. "i'll get you yet, you young whelp!" stacy disarms a bad man. "now get out of here as fast as you can ride!" traveling amid perils. chapter xvi--the horn points the way joy and anger in the pony rider camp. ichabod licks his chops at sight of tad's doe. the story of the theft arouses bill lilly. "i reckon i've seen that hound before." another day is coming. chapter xvii--wolves on the trail stacy's hat no longer hits his head. cane bears grow savage. hounds set on the trail. flying, snarling, yelping heaps of fur. dogs and wolves in a battle to the death. tad and stacy jump into the fight. chapter xviii--a stand in grim earnest wolves leap on the fallen fat boy. tad battles with the beasts with revolver and bush-knife. chunky sails in with a club and proves himself a hero. professor zepplin sees red. chapter xix--what tad found on the trail venison steak and boiled bayou water. bill lilly is excited over butler's discovery. "the cold-blooded scoundrel!" the guide hits the trail with blood in his eye. chapter xx--man-signs in the canebrake "he'll get a dose of lead if he doesn't watch out!" tad finds a fresh trail. lilly turns up a snaketrap. a moccasin in a bucket. death traps laid by a bad man. chapter xxi--surprises come fast alligator pete gets the drop on the guide. bill lilly in a tight place. "look out, this gun might go off!" the tables quickly turned. chapter xxii--outwitted by a boy tad butler ropes the enemy. "i'll kill you for that!" pete stands on his head. a sign of surrender. the prisoner of the pony rider boys. butler takes a long chance. chapter xxiii--ichabod gets a big surprise "de 'gator done gwine away, sah." hounds and pony riders take the trail for bear. "they've got her!" a strange sight. a bullet that went home. tad charged by a ferocious she-bear. chapter xxiv--conclusion in a dire predicament. butler fights mrs. bruin. a hand and paw conflict. tad's knife driven home. laid up for repairs. smugglers caught and punished. the triumph of pluck. chapter i southern hospitality "professor zepplin, i believe?" "the same. and you are?" "major clowney, sah, at your service," answered the tall, gray-haired, distinguished-looking southerner who had greeted the professor at the railway station in jackson. four clean-cut, clear-eyed young men, who had left the train with the professor, stepped up at that juncture and were introduced to the southerner as thaddeus butler, ned rector, stacy brown and walter perkins, known as the pony rider boys. the major regarded the young men quizzically, then shook hands with each of them, bowing with true southern courtliness over each hand as it was extended toward him. "isn't he the fine old gentleman?" whispered stacy, otherwise and more familiarly known among his companions as chunky, the fat boy. tad butler nodded. the major was a type that they had heard of, but never had known. he was a relic of the old south. "it gives me great pleasure, gentlemen, to welcome you to jackson. my old friend colonel perkins wrote me asking that i do what i could for you. i am delighted at the opportunity to serve him as well as these fine young gentlemen. you will wish to go to your hotel?" "yes, if you please," bowed the professor. the major apologized for the humble hotel to which he conducted them, explaining that it was the best the little southern town afforded. "i shall look for you to dine with myself and family this evening," he added. the professor expressed his appreciation, the boys murmuring their thanks. tad butler said he feared they were not in condition to accept home hospitality to which the major replied that he and his family would feel honored to receive the party, no matter in what condition they might be forced to come. "did the major fight the germans?" questioned chunky. "no, they are all colonels, majors and captains down here," replied tad laughingly. it was agreed that the professor and his party were to go out to the major's home at five o'clock that afternoon, meet major clowney's family, and have dinner with them, after which a pleasant evening would be spent. "you will no doubt wish to rest after your tiresome journey, professor. at a quarter to five i shall send one of my servants to lead you to my home. my wife and daughters are impatient to meet you, my old friend colonel perkins having told us not a little about your young friends." "you are very kind, sir," declared tad. "in the meantime, if you will give us the benefit of your advice, we shall look about us for a guide and for some horses, as i have been given to understand that we might procure all of these here in jackson," said the professor. "it is all arranged, sah, all arranged," answered the major. "it has been my pleasure to attend to all of the details. how many rooms will you require?" having received this information from professor zepplin, major clowney bustled about, sternly ordering the colored porters around, giving directions for the fetching of the equipment of the boys from the station, then making a personal inspection of the rooms assigned the professor and the boys, ordering this and that thing changed, until it seemed as if all the forces of the hotel were jumping about at the major's command. "there, sah, i think you will be as comfortable as this miserable hostelry can make you. and now i shall leave you to your rest," he said. the major, after once more shaking hands all around, bustled out, leaving the boys to themselves. chunky blinked solemnly. "pinch me, fellows. i don't know whether i am awake or dreaming," said stacy. "you will wake up by and by," answered ned. "a splendid gentleman," nodded tad thoughtfully. "we might all profit by major clowney's courtliness. did you ask him what arrangements he had made for us, professor?" "no. he no doubt will explain when we see him this evening. depend upon it, he has left nothing undone." "except to make the weather cool," answered stacy. "whew, but it's hot. where is our baggage? i want to get into some togs that aren't so hot as these glad clothes." "the baggage should be here very soon," answered walter. "the men went after it before we came upstairs." "i never saw so many colored folks in my life," declared chunky. "everything looks black to me now. i wonder if they are all black in this part of the country?" "this is what is known as the black belt of the south," answered professor zepplin. "i believe there are four blacks to every white in this section. further in we may find the proportion even greater." "a regular study in light and shade," observed rector. "you had better keep tight hold of your valuables," advised tad. "these gentlemen are light-fingered, i have heard." "they better not take any of my stuff," bristled stacy belligerently. "we know what to do to them if they do." "don't cry before you're hurt," advised ned. "who wants to take a look at the town?" "i don't care anything about the town; i want to sleep," declared chunky. "that's right. sleep is good for children," jeered ned. "is that why you sleep so much?" wondered stacy innocently. "ned, i will go with you," interjected tad, by way of changing the conversation. "we have plenty of time, and need not dress before four o'clock. it is now only half past one." walter and the professor decided that they would remain in the hotel, so tad and ned started out. before they were out of the house, stacy had thrown himself on the bed in his room, and was sleeping soundly. it was after three o'clock when butler, returning to the hotel, shook stacy awake, urging him to hustle his bath and dress. the boys were eagerly looking forward to the evening before them, for it was to be their first visit to a southern home. they were looking forward with a different sort of eagerness to the journey on which they were about to set out--a journey to the nearly trackless, vast canebrakes of louisiana. it was a wonderful bit of country into which they were headed, but as yet they knew practically nothing of its wildness and its manifold dangers, nor did they give thought to this phase of their summer's outing, for, the greater the thrills, the keener the enjoyment of the pony rider boys. following the return of tad and ned, all hands withdrew to their rooms to dress. the other boys finished dressing some time before stacy made his appearance, strolling dignifiedly into the parlor where his companions were awaiting him. "well, here i am," announced stacy. the pony riders gazed at him in amazement. "for goodness' sake, where did you get that outfit?" demanded tad, the first to find his voice. "how do you like it, fellows?" grinned chunky. "well, if you aren't the dude," giggled walter. "you mean the duke. i am the duke of missouri. what do you think of me," urged stacy. "i'll say you are unspeakable," growled ned rector. stacy brown's outfit was rather unusual. he was dressed in a white suit with a collar so high and tight that the blood was forced up into his face, a streak of red showing in the part of the hair of his head, while chunky's second chin hung over the front of the collar, extending down to the root of his liver-colored tie. his appearance was so ludicrous that the boys burst into a peal of laughter. professor zepplin eyed the fat boy with disapproving eyes. "where did you get that outfit, young man?" he demanded sternly. "i bought it in chillicothe. think i stole it?" "certainly not." "what do you think of it?" insisted stacy. "most remarkable," answered the professor, regarding chunky with a slow shake of the head. "are you going to dinner in that rig?" demanded ned. "of course i am." "then i guess i shall stay home," decided rector. "i don't care whether you stay home or go. i will make a great hit with the ladies, you see if i don't." "let me give you a piece of timely advice," said tad. "well, what is it?" "don't try to shine your shoes on your trousers. it shows so on white, you know." stacy growled. "haven't you anything else to put on?" questioned the professor. "i might put on my pajamas," answered the fat boy innocently. professor zepplin grunted. "i guess we can stand it if he can, professor. the outfit isn't so bad, after all," said tad. "of course it isn't," agreed chunky. "the trouble with you fellows is that you are jealous." "we could stand the white suit all right. but that liver-colored tie is enough to drive a man to do something desperate, stacy," declared tad laughingly. "where did you get it?" "bought it at the five and ten cent store in chillicothe. isn't it a wonder?" "it is," agreed tad. "one of the wonders of the world," added ned. "it might be a great deal worse," said walter seriously, whereat a wave of laughter rippled over the little party. "i suppose we shall have to put up with it, boys," said the professor reflectively, "though i can't understand why you ever thought of such an outfit. go put on another tie." "all right, if you insist," promised the fat boy, rising and stumbling from the parlor. stacy took plenty of time. they called him twenty minutes later, with the information that major clowney's colored man was waiting for them. "i will be there in a minute," answered stacy. "my collar button is two sizes larger than the button hole." when the fat boy finally made his appearance a groan went up from the entire party. from the liver-colored tie chunky had changed to one of the brightest red they had ever seen. instinctively the boys held their hands over their eyes. "oh, oh!" groaned ned. "this is too much." "i agree with you. take that thing off instantly!" commanded the professor. "can't i please you folks at all?" wailed the fat boy. "you can if you will put on a respectable tie," answered professor zepplin. "i--i haven't any others." "i think i have a tie in my trunk," said tad. "please get it for him, then," directed the professor. "yes, for goodness' sake do," urged rector. "stacy is bound to disgrace us." "that would be impossible in some cases," retorted the fat boy sarcastically. "come on, chunky," called tad. "we will see what we can do for you." tad fixed stacy out with a white tie, and assisted him to arrange it, after which stacy once more placed himself on exhibition, this time meeting the approval of his critical companions, though his face was redder than before, and the collar seemed to draw more tightly about his neck than ever. "we will now proceed," announced the professor gravely. "and be very careful that you don't fall down, chunky," warned tad. "i don't intend to fall down. but why shouldn't i fall down if i want to?" demanded stacy. "that collar might cut your head off," replied tad soberly. "then for goodness' sake fall down," grunted ned rector. "i reckon i shall be the one to cut a dash instead of cutting my head off," retorted the fat boy pompously. "as i said before, you fellows are jealous. you're mad because you didn't think to bring along a white suit." stacy suddenly found himself standing alone in the parlor of the hotel, the others having already started down the stairs. he made haste to follow them, joining the party in the lobby where the major's servant was waiting for them. they at once started out, stacy the center of the admiring gaze of pretty much all of the colored population of jackson. stacy was elated, his companions amused. major clowney and his wife welcomed professor zepplin and the boys to the hospitable southern home on the broad, pillared veranda that was large enough to admit a coach and four. the boys were then conducted into the drawing room, and stacy brown's feet nearly went out from under him the instant he stepped into the room. following his hostess chunky followed a perilous track of rugs on a waxed floor. the fat boy's face was now redder than ever, and the perspiration was streaking down his cheeks and getting into his eyes through his strenuous efforts to keep his feet on the floor. there were millicent, muriel and mary of the daughters, millicent being the eldest, each sweet-voiced, soft-spoken, each possessing a refinement and charm that the pony rider boys never had met with among the young folks at home. mrs. clowney's gentle manners reminded tad butler of his mother, and he told her as much on their way into the house. the professor was first introduced to the young ladies. stacy's turn came next. he did not dare make his best bow, for at the slightest movement his feet would slip on the insecure rug beneath them. as a result his bows were stiff affairs, nor could he bend his head to any great extent on account of the high "choker" collar. the other boys were keenly alive to chunky's distress, and they took a malicious pleasure in it. while the others were being introduced, stacy with great difficulty navigated himself to a chair, to the back of which he anchored with both hands gripping it firmly. "what's the matter, stacy?" whispered tad, as he strolled past his fat companion. "i--i forgot to bring my roller skates," mumbled stacy. "how am i ever going to get anywhere on this skating rink?" "take short steps," advised tad. "long strides will finish you." chunky adopted the suggestion with the result that he managed to move about the room with more or less dignity. but his undoing came when miss millicent took his arm as the family and guests moved toward the dining room. chunky forgot himself in the enthusiasm of the moment, and all at once his feet shot up into the air. "oh, wow!" moaned the fat boy as he sat down on the floor with such force as to set the chandeliers jingling, nearly pulling miss millicent down with him. had stacy not had the presence of mind instantly to disengage his arm from hers, the young woman surely would have sat down on the floor beside him. to their credit be it said that the other boys never smiled. they were too well bred for that. neither did chunky smile, but for an entirely different reason. as he scrambled to his feet, making a further exhibition of himself in the effort, a red ring might have been observed about his neck where the collar had pressed into the boy's full neck. major clowney and mrs. clowney were all consideration for the hapless pony rider boy, the major declaring that every rug in the room should be removed and a carpet put down in its place. he said it was criminal to have such a trap in the house. "i do hope you didn't hurt yourself," said miss millicent sympathetically. "oh, not at all. i frequently sit down that way before dinner," answered the fat boy. "do you, indeed?" smiled the young woman. "oh, yes. you see it gives me an appetite for dinner. it's great. you should try it. of course at first you should go outside and sit down on the ground where it's soft. when you get used to that you may try the floor." miss millicent laughed merrily. there was no resisting stacy's drollery. once more they took up their interrupted journey to the dining room, where the boys found themselves in charming surroundings. in spite of stacy brown's awkwardness, the clowneys soon discovered that the pony rider boys were well worth knowing. the lads were self-possessed, and their experiences in the saddle in many parts of the country enabled them to talk interestingly. as usual, stacy made most of the merriment, and every time the fat boy spoke a little wave of good-natured laughter rippled around the table. "i fear," said miss millicent, in answer to stacy's description of how he got an appetite, "that i should prefer to fast." "oh, you wouldn't after you got used to the other way," the fat boy assured her. "that is stacy's way of apologizing for his appetite, miss clowney," said ned across the table. "no one need apologize for a healthy appetite," replied the major promptly. "the apology, should come for the opposite reason." chunky bowed his approval of the sentiment. "that is what i always tell the boys," he said. "sleep out of doors all the time and you will get an appetite that will be almost annoying," he promised. "ah--ahem," interrupted the professor. "major, did i understand you to say that you had procured a guide for us?" "yes, yes. i have been enjoying our young friends to the extent that i forgot all about the business end. i have obtained the services of bill lilly as your guide." "is he a good one?" asked ned. "the best in this part of the country. he knows the brake as do few other men. another man, pete austen--otherwise known as alligator pete--was eager to get the job, but i consider him an unreliable man. there are stories abroad not at all to the credit of austen. but you may depend upon lilly in any and all circumstances." "how far is the brake from here?" asked tad. "a day's ride will take you to it. you never have been in the brake?" "no, sir." "then you have a new experience before you, mr. butler. lilly will meet you at your hotel at eight o'clock tomorrow morning, and you may start at once, though it would please me to have you remain with us longer." "perhaps we shall see you when we return from the brake," said tad. "i should think you young men would not want to go into that awful place," said miss millicent with a shudder. "and pray, why not?" questioned tad. "it is such a horrible place." "oh, you don't know us fellows," interjected stacy. "we are used to horrible places. i reckon there aren't many such in this country that we haven't been in. what is there so horrible about this--this canebrake?" "snakes, lots of them, foul deadly fellows," answered miss millicent. "ugh!" exclaimed the fat boy, his eyes growing large. "alligators, wild animals, almost anything that you might think of you will find in the canebrake," she added. "don't frighten the boys before they get into the brake," begged the major. a grim smile curled the corners of professor zepplin's lips. he was rather sensitive on the subject of timidity so far as his young friends were concerned. "major, i fear you do not know my boys." "how so, professor?" "they are unafraid. they are afraid of nothing. my life would be much easier were they a little less so." "fine! chivalrous, too, eh?" "indeed, yes," nodded the professor. "yes, i have saved the lives of lots of folks," declared stacy pompously. "do tell us about it," urged miss clowney. "i couldn't think of it. i'm too modest to brag about myself." in the meantime tad butler, the professor and major clowney had become absorbed in the subject of big game, which the three were discussing learnedly. the hosts were amused at stacy brown, but they were irresistibly drawn to tad, both because of his sunny disposition and the lad's keen mind, so unusual for one of his age. the dinner came to an end all too soon to suit the pony rider boys, and the party moved towards the drawing room. stacy, seating miss millicent, strolled to one of the broad, open windows which had been swung back against the wall on their hinges. the fat boy thought this window opened out on the veranda, so he stepped out for a breath of air, but his feet touched nothing more substantial than air. stacy took a tumble into the side yard, landing on his head and shoulders. the young women of the family cried out in alarm when they saw the fat boy disappearing through the window. "are you hurt? are you hurt?" cried the clowneys, rushing to the window, the major leaping out with the agility of youth. "hurt?" piped a voice from the darkness. "certainly not. just settling my dinner, that's all. i usually do this. sometimes when i am out in the woods and there isn't a house to jump from, i just climb a tree after dinner and fall out." "i think we had better get stacy home before he gets into more serious difficulty," said tad in a low tone to the professor. "i agree with you, tad. however, he has done his worst, i guess. look at his coat. it is ripped for six inches at the shoulder," groaned the professor. "that must have been where he hit the side yard," smiled tad, after quiet had been restored. after half an hour of pleasant conversation, during which the fat boy entertained miss millicent with stories of his prowess in mountain and on plain, the pony rider boys took their leave, voting the clowneys the most pleasant people they had ever met. with this pleasant evening their social amusement was at an end. on the morrow they were to begin their rough life in the open again, and during their explorations in the canebrake they were destined to have many thrilling experiences and some adventures, the like of which had never befallen any of the hardy pony rider boys. chapter ii bound for the cane jungle eight o'clock on the following morning found tad butler strolling up and down in front of the hotel for his morning airing. by his side walked bill lilly, whom tad had found waiting for them in the lobby of the hotel. bill, who was to guide the party through the maze of the canebrake, was a type. he was a spare man, with a long, drooping, colorless moustache, gentle blue eyes, and a frame of steel and whipcord. billy, it was said, had been known to follow the trail of a bear on foot for days until he finally ran the animal down and killed it. when night came he would throw himself down on the trail and go to sleep or crouch like a wild turkey high up in the crotch of a giant cypress. unlike the guides of the north, billy loved to talk. he had not, however, looked forward to the task before him with any great enthusiasm, believing that he was to guide a party of soft-muscled boys through the jungle, boys who would need looking after constantly. he had not thought to find a seasoned woodsman like young butler. though tad had said nothing about himself, lilly's experienced blue eyes told him that here was no tenderfoot, but a woodsman after his own heart. shortly afterwards the rest of the party came down. tad introduced them to the guide, then proposed that they look the horses over. stacy demurred. he said he never could pick out a horse before breakfast, so, to save argument and grumbling, everyone went in to breakfast, while lilly sat down and talked with them, making known to the party his plans for the coming trip. tad was especially interested in the horses that billy showed them half an hour afterwards. these were hardy little animals, a cross between a standard-bred saddle horse of the north and a mustang. they were tough, wiry animals, owned by a rancher on the outskirts of the town. the guide had not picked out the horses, preferring to leave that to the boys, provided they knew what they wanted. they did, especially tad butler. he went over the whole herd, finally choosing a white-coated, pink-nosed animal for himself, after having roped the animal, which did not propose to be caught. both the owner and the guide opened their eyes at tad's skill with the rope. "that one has a nasty temper," warned the guide. "i know it," nodded the pony rider boy. "but he is sound and can stand a lot of grilling." "i want that black yonder," cried chunky. "i think not," said butler. "why not?" "he is wind-broken. we don't want any of that sort." "i guess you boys don't need any of my help in picking out your mounts," grinned lilly. "where did you get your knowledge of horses, master butler?" "he just couldn't help it. he was born that way," ned rector informed them. one by one tad chose the animals, and when he had finished the owner agreed that tad had picked out the best stock in the herd. they had brought along their trappings in a wagon, and the boys now proceeded to saddle and bridle the horses they had decided to take. then they mounted and raced up and down the road, trying out the little animals as well as they could. their riding was a revelation to bill lilly and to the rancher. bill said it was as good as a circus. "but," he added, "you don't want to try any of those tricks in the brake," shaking his head as tad swooped down at a fast gallop, scooping up stacy brown's sombrero that had been lost from the fat boy's head, and deftly spinning it towards chunky, both at full gallop. the fat boy caught it fully as deftly, and solemnly replaced it on his head. each of the horses was tried out until the boys finally had settled upon those that they thought best fitted to take with them into the woods. next came the packing of kits, the stowing of supplies, and a hundred and one petty details, all of which tad supervised, knowing pretty well what would be needed by the party. of course, not knowing the country into which they were going, he was forced to consult the guide frequently about this or that detail. when the boys returned to the hotel they did so astride of their new horses and in their cowboy outfits, attracting a great deal of attention in the little southern village. major clowney said the young ladies of his family were eager to see the boys before they left. this gave tad an idea. "boys, what do you say to going over to the major's home and giving the ladies an exhibition of rough-riding?" he cried. "hurrah! just the thing," shouted the others. "would it please them, major?" asked tad, glancing at the chuckling major. "they would be delighted, i know." "what do you say, professor?" "yes, by all means, tad." the professor was proud of the horsemanship of his young charges, and was quite willing, indeed, that they should show off their skill before the clowney family. receiving their tutor's permission the boys removed the packs from their horses, while the professor, leaving his mount secured to the tie rail, accompanied major clowney on foot to his home. the pony rider boys made what they called a grand entry. they swept down in a great cloud of dust on the clowney mansion, whooping like a pack of indians on the war path. all the colored people in the establishment ran out into the street to see the exhibition, but by the time they had gotten outside the fence that enclosed the lawn the cloud of dust had rolled on far down the street. the ladies of the family were leaning over the fence clapping their hands. "there they come back," cried miss millicent. "that is mr. butler in the lead." tad, sitting his saddle as if he were, indeed, a part of it, swept past, lifting his hat. miss millicent flung a long-stemmed rose toward him. the rose fell short, landing at the side of the road. with marvelous quickness of thought the pony rider boy swerved his pony to one side, threw himself over and caught up the rose by the very tips of his fingers. he came within a fraction of an inch of missing it, but the recovery was beautifully done, arousing great enthusiasm among the spectators, few of whom ever had seen any such rough-riding. stacy flung his hat into the air, letting it fall to the ground, then other hats went the same way. taking a short ride up the street, the boys wheeled and came back at a terrific pace, swinging down from their saddles and scooping up their hats. tad, however, suddenly changed his mind about recovering his hat. he had discovered a little colored boy of about ten years running across the street to get out of the way. the youngster made even greater haste when he saw tad heading towards him, and placing one hand on the fence enclosing the clowney grounds, the youngster vaulted. tad's rope was whirling about his own head. he let it go while the feet of the pickaninny were still in the air. the loop caught one of the colored youngster's feet and was suddenly jerked taut, and the pickaninny landed on his head and shoulders on the lawn with tad's rope drawn tight around the little fellow's ankle. the pickaninny was yelling lustily. butler brought his horse down so suddenly that the animal plowed up the dirt all the way to the fence. the slightest mistake or error of calculation might have resulted in serious injury to the little colored boy, but butler was confident of himself, the only uncertainty being his mount, which of course he did not know very well. the white horse played his part like a veteran cow pony. how the spectators did applaud! they went wild with enthusiasm, but the colored people did not cheer; they stood in wholesome awe of tad butler's ready rope. there was something almost uncanny to them in the way the lad had roped the pickaninny, and they took good care to crowd back farther from the street lest the boy might take it into his head to rope another of them. "will these horses jump, mr. lilly?" called tad. "as high as themselves," answered the guide. tad tried his mount over the yard fence and was delighted at its jumping skill. then the others poured over into the yard, a veritable mounted cataract. next they gave an exhibition of rescuing a dismounted companion, jerking the boy up from the ground while the rider's horse was at full gallop. there seemed no end to the stunts that the pony rider boys could do, and they gave the spectators everything they knew along this line. professor zepplin's eyes were glowing. he was proud of the achievements of his boys, and well he might be, for their performance had been a most unusual one. the lads brought their exhibition to a close by approaching the fence in a slow trot, and slipping from their saddles without the least attempt to be spectacular. this was as much of a surprise to the spectators as had been the more startling feats, for they had not looked for so slow a finish. "we don't want to tire out our horses, you know," explained tad. "they have a long journey ahead of them today." "yes, we could do a lot more if it weren't for that," added stacy brown pompously. "it was splendid!" cried the young ladies. "it was marvelous." "the finest exhibition i have ever witnessed," declared the major. "do you shoot also?" "we are the only ones who really do," admitted stacy modestly. "i am afraid our friend stacy is laying it on a little too strong," laughed tad, "though we are not what you might call bad shots, especially in the case of stacy brown. why he once shot professor zepplin's hat off and never touched a hair." the fat boy flushed. further teasing along this line was interrupted by the servants coming out with a pitcher of lemonade, which the boys drank sitting on the lawn in the shade of the trees. after a visit of half an hour, billy lilly said they had better be going if they were to make tensas bayou that night as they had planned to do, so bidding good-bye to their new-found friends, the lads rode away, waving their hats in response to the fluttering handkerchiefs of the clowney family. proceeding to the hotel, packs were lashed to the horses, and shortly after that a cloud of dust just outside the town marked the trail that the pony rider boys were following on their way to the jungle. chapter iii in camp on tensas bayou darkness had fallen when the pony rider boys party finally had picked their way through the outer edge of the jungle, and, despite the darkness, had continued on through the tropical growth, guided unerringly by billy lilly to the site he had chosen for their camp. "billy must belong to the owl family," was tad butler's comment as their guide rode confidently ahead, calling back directions to them. behind lilly rode another and not unimportant member of the party. this was ichabod. ichabod was of the color of the night, black. he had been recommended by major clowney as a man who would be useful to them. ichabod was as solemn and dignified as an african tribal chief. in fact, he was an excellent understudy for stacy brown when the latter was in his most dignified mood. ichabod could cook, could make and break camp and, what was almost as useful, he could handle the hunting dogs, and knew the canebrake fairly well, but ichabod was afraid of snakes; that was his worst failing. one afraid of snakes had better keep out of the canebrake. the dozen hunting dogs that lilly had brought with him were in charge of the colored man, who had handled them before and whom the dogs knew and liked. "file left. look out that you don't get into the water," called the guide. "here we are. make camp." "i will go cut the firewood," said tad. "no, no," objected the guide. "i was speaking to ichabod. you all remain on your horses until we get the fire going and i have beaten up the camp site." "why so?" questioned butler. "on account of the reptiles." "oh, fudge!" grunted tad. the other boys laughed and slipped from their saddles. "i guess you don't know my boys," objected the professor, who, not to be outdone, descended from his saddle. "as you wish. but remember, i am responsible for these young men," answered billy. "we are responsible for ourselves, sir, and we are not exactly tenderfeet, mr. lilly," said tad. "if you will show me some firewood trees i will do as i suggested, get wood for the campfire." "leave that to me. you will have plenty of opportunity to work after we get settled to our trails. you will break your neck if you go to floundering about over the cypress knees." the boys did not know what was meant by "cypress knees," and at that moment there were other matters to occupy their minds, so they did not ask. the boys began working away at their packs, loosening the cinches, piling the packs on the ground in an orderly manner born of long experience in the woods. they did not need a light to do this work. in fact, they could just as easily have pitched camp in the darkness as in the light. in this instance they did not do so, knowing that lilly had definite plans as to where and how the camp should be made. they soon heard the sound of the guide's axe. ichabod was humming to himself, the dogs were barking and the horses neighing, while the pony rider boys were shouting jokes at one another. "where is that fat boy?" called rector, not having heard chunky's voice during the last few minutes. "i don't know. stacy!" called the professor. tad struck a match and holding it above his head glanced keenly about him. the light revealed chunky sitting with his back against a tree, his head tilted back, mouth wide open, sound asleep. tad had the fat boy by the collar instantly. "here, here! whatcher want?" demanded stacy rebelliously as he was roughly jerked to his feet. "don't you know better than to lie down in a place like this?" demanded tad. "why not?" "you don't know what there may be about here. didn't you hear the guide say there were reptiles here?" "re--reptiles?" "yes." "oh-h-h, wow!" "if you must sleep, try it standing up. get on your horse and take a nap. that will be safer," advised butler. "i--i guess i don't want to go to sleep," stammered stacy. "i thought not. here is some punk, if you want it, mr. lilly." "how do you chance to have punk?" "oh, i frequently find it useful, especially in wet weather," answered tad. "i have some of the same in my kit, but it isn't available just now. there, that's better," nodded billy. a little crackling flame had leaped up flinging flickering shadows over the scene. the dogs were sitting about on their haunches regarding the proceedings expectantly, knowing that supper time would soon be at hand. "where shall we pitch your tent, mr. lilly?" asked tad. "i will take care of that. you may pitch your own if you wish. you know how and where better than i can tell you." tad did. he laid out the guide's tent so that the opening would be towards the fire, placing it as close to the fire as possible, almost too close it seemed. "why so close?" questioned lilly, tugging at his long moustache. "to catch some of the smoke from the campfire," replied butler. "for what?" "to drive away mosquitoes. i hear there are a few here." "you'll do," declared lilly with an emphatic nod. "i guess you _have_ been in the woods before." the tents were arranged in a semicircle close about the fire that was now blazing higher and higher. "is there any danger of firing the forest here, mr. lilly?" asked butler. "no, not here. everything is too damp. all this part of the forest is really a swamp. wherever you find the cypress you will find moist ground." "but where is the canebrake?" questioned ned. "on the ridges, the higher ground." "near here?" "within a few paces," answered the guide. "i will fetch some of it in to show you after we have had our supper. i guess you boys must be hungry, eh?" "hungry?" cried stacy. "no, just empty, that's all." ichabod was already at work getting the supper, and tempting odors filled the air, with stacy brown squatting down with the dogs, greedily watching the preparations for the evening meal. while this was being done, lilly was trampling down the brush, slashing the thorn bushes with his long bush knife, clearing away, so far as possible, all hiding places for trouble-hunting reptiles. smoking hot waffles were served to the hungry boys for supper. the voice of the fat boy under the influence of the waffles soon was stilled, his cheeks were puffed out and his eyes were rolling expressively. chunky was very near to perfect happiness. "the bayou is just back of the tents," warned lilly. "be careful that none of you falls into the water in the darkness. i should not advise much roaming about in the night until after you have become accustomed to this forest. you will find it far different from any you have ever visited before." "i have observed as much," nodded the professor. "but what are those peculiar formations that i see all about us?" "yes, i was wondering about them," said tad. "you mean the cypress knees?" "those long, crab-like formations standing up from the ground three or four feet," said the professor. "they are the cypress knees. in reality they are a sort of root of the tree itself. they make great hiding places for all sorts of reptiles and small animals, and they are the finest obstacles in the world to fall over." "i should think the horses would break their legs over them," said tad. "a horse unfamiliar with travel in the swamp would do so. but you will find your animals very wise. they know the game down here, though up in the rockies they undoubtedly would break their own necks and those of their riders as well." "every man and beast to his trade," observed the professor reflectively. billy lilly agreed with a long nod. "ichabod, bring in an armful of cane so the gentlemen may see it," he directed. the sticks that ichabod fetched resembled bamboo more than anything the boys ever had seen. these canes they found to be hollow, having no pith, being divided on the inside every few inches into sections. "as i have already said," continued the guide, "the canebrake stretches along slight rises of ground for miles and miles, forming a very striking feature. the canes stand so thickly that they crowd out other growths and make fine hiding places for wild animals and reptiles. they stand in what might be called ranks, each but a few inches from its companion, extending to a height of fifteen or twenty feet, straight and tall." "they should make fine fishpoles," said tad. "they do. they are used for that purpose. the leaves commence about two-thirds the height of the plant, and the peculiar feature of the leaves is that they seem to grow right out of the stalk." "the cypress trees appear to be very tall here," said professor zepplin. "yes, they are. they are said to be rivaled in size and height only by some of the red gums and white oaks. in towering majesty they are really unsurpassed by any tree in the eastern forests. the redwoods of the sierras, of course, can't be beaten by anything else in this country. there are thousands of acres of cypress and cane down here, and for a place in which to get lost the canebrake has no equal. you don't want to get lost in this forest, young gentlemen." "we don't intend to," answered rector. "if we did it would not be the first time that we have lost our way," laughed tad. "yes, tad and i got lost up in the maine woods. i never had so much fun in my life," piped stacy. "but then there weren't any creeping things up there. i guess i'll go to bed. i'm sleepy." "it is time we all turned in," agreed the professor. but there was not much sleep for the pony rider boys for a long time. the unfamiliar noises of this suffocating swamp, the buzzing of the mosquitoes fighting to get into the tents, but driven back by the smoke, kept sleep away also, except in the case of stacy brown who began snoring almost as soon as he touched his bed. a weird hooting and yelling that seemed to come from every direction at once brought the boys to a sitting posture about an hour after they had turned in. "good gracious, what's that?" demanded ned. "i don't know," answered tad. "it isn't like anything i ever heard. i guess it must be some kind of wild animal." "those are barred owls," called the guide from the adjoining tent. "i thought their racket would wake you boys up. but you will get used to them." "do they howl all night?" asked tad. "yes, usually, and sometimes in the day as well." "i see our finish so far as sleep is concerned. but i am going to sleep just the same," growled chunky. late in the night the campers succeeded in getting to sleep. the fire died down and the mosquitoes at last reached their victims. stacy was the first to be awakened by the pests. he slapped and growled, and growled and slapped; then after a time he got up quietly, piling the bundle of cane on the fire, and placing heavier wood on top of that. then, well satisfied with having done his duty, the fat boy went back to bed. but stacy had laid the foundation for a lot of trouble that would arouse the entire camp ere many more minutes had passed. the trouble came with a bang, with a report that sounded as if the camp had been blown up, accompanied by the yells of the boys as fire and burning sticks were hurled into the little tents. chapter iv nature blows out a fuse "we've blown out a fuse!" yelled tad. "shut off the current!" cried ned rector. "i'm shot, i'm shot!" howled the fat boy, leaping out into the open, as had rector and walter. "help! help!" "get back!" shouted tad. "don't go out there barefooted. don't--" _bang! bang! bang!_ the explosions became so rapid that the boys could not have counted them had they desired to do so. a dull red glow showed in two of the tents. "we are on fire!" yelled butler. "use your blankets. stamp it out!" tad did not take his own advice not to step out in bare feet. he sped swiftly to his pony, and, grabbing a heavy blanket, raced back and into his own tent where, by this time, the flames had started up briskly. throwing the blanket on the flames, tad trod up and down, dancing a jig as he sought to beat out the flames. his quick work smothered them in short order, but at the end the boy's feet were swollen and blistered. the guide had not been idle all this time; he had used the same tactics as had tad, assisted by rector, while stacy brown was dancing up and down yelling "fire!" at the top of his voice. "stop calling for the firemen and go to work," ordered tad. "the firemen can't hear you." "they would be deaf if they couldn't," answered ned from the adjoining tent. "what do you think you are yelling about, anyway?" "fire, fire!" "you are slower than cream on a cold day," laughed tad. "the fire is out." "then if there's nothing else to do will someone please tell me what blew up?" asked ned. "that is what i should like to know," nodded tad. "why, the campfire blew up," stacy informed them. "we know that, but what caused it?" "i--i don't know unless you fellows threw in some cartridges," replied chunky. "cartridges!" exploded ned. "don't you think we have better use for our ammunition?" "guide, what is the meaning of this?" questioned the professor. "we will find out. i am somewhat curious myself. ah!" "what have you found?" asked tad, springing into the tent where lilly was pawing over some sticks that had fallen inside. lilly handed a stick of cane to tad, who observed that the stalk had been blown out as if from an interior explosion. "i don't understand, mr. lilly." "some of that cane got in the fire and blew up." "why, i never heard of such a thing," wondered tad. "yes, it is quite common. this stuff is very combustible when dry. when in that condition, and the hot air is confined in the hollow sections, there is sure to be an explosion and loud one, too. that is what happened here tonight." "did you put cane on the fire, mr. lilly?" "no, i didn't. ichabod, did you?" "no, sah, ah doan' put no cane on dat fiah, sah. ah reckons ah know'd bettah dan to do a thing like dat, sah. ah suah does." "hm-m-m!" mused the guide reflectively. "any of you boys put cane on the fire?" no one answered. tad shot a keen glance at stacy who was standing at the opening of his tent. "well, what have you to say for yourself, young man?" demanded tad. "i? nothing," answered the fat boy. "that was a nice trick to play on us when we were sleeping so soundly, now wasn't it?" demanded tad. "i--i didn't know the stuff would go off like a gun. i--i--" "we might have known who did it," chuckled rector. "i am glad you admit it, stacy," said tad with a grin. "better to make a clean breast right at the beginning. you know we are sure to find you out, no matter how cute you may think you are." "i--i didn't do anything." "no, you didn't do anything. you merely put some cane on the fire so it would explode and give us a scare. you nearly burned up the outfit." "stacy, did you do this?" demanded the professor sternly. "i--i guess i did." "why?" "well, you see, i was awakened by those villainous mosquitoes, so i got up, went outside, and put some wood on the fire--that's all i did." "well, what then?" urged the professor. "then the whole business went off." "he did not know the cane would explode," spoke up the guide, who had been tugging at his moustache while listening and regarding stacy narrowly. "no, no, that's right; i didn't know. how should i know that the stuff was loaded? is this country full of stuff like that that will blow up if you look crosswise at it?" "the cane always will explode when subjected to sufficient heat," replied the guide. "first time i ever knew that trees would blow up. i--i guess this isn't much of a place to go around with matches in your pocket. wha--what's that?" stammered the fat boy in a scared tone. "waugh, waugh, waugh." the other boys now took heed. they too were wondering what the strange new sound might mean, and glanced apprehensively at billy lilly for the answer. the guide was still tugging at his moustache, grinning behind his hand. "waugh, waugh, waugh, waugh!" this time the sound seemed nearer. the dogs were growling, some straining at their leashes, a dark ridge showing along the back of each. "the dogs have their rough up. something is around here. i am going to find out what it is for myself," declared tad butler, slipping on his boots and snatching up a rifle. "where are you going?" asked the guide. "i am going to investigate, that's all. you may know what that noise is, but i don't. it may be a bear for all we know." tad slipped out back of the tent. there followed a sharp flash, and a crash, then a series of wild "waugh, waugh, waugh, waughs," a great scurrying and floundering in the bushes. "ha, ha! missed him, didn't you?" shouted the guide. "i did not," answered the pony rider boy calmly. then the listeners heard tad utter a groan of disgust. billy lilly slapped his thighs and laughed loudly. "that's a good joke on the old scout, eh? that's certainly a good one. well, what did you get?" tad walked in and shoved his gun into his tent. "you knew what it was all the time, didn't you, mr. lilly?" "surely i knew. you didn't think i had been in these brakes all these years without knowing all about them, did you?" "wha--what did you shoot, tad?" stammered stacy. "what did i shoot? gentlemen, i shot a pig," answered butler in a tone of disgust. "pork! i am a rank tenderfoot. stacy, please kick me." "i--i can't. i'm in my stocking feet. oh, i wish i had my boots on. i'll never get another opportunity like this," wailed the fat boy in mock sorrow. this raised another laugh. lilly forgot to tug at his tawny moustache and straightening back against a tree opened his mouth and uttered a loud "haw, haw, haw." "you laugh like a burro i knew down in new mexico," observed stacy, eyeing the guide narrowly, ready to run in case lilly should take exception to his remark. "now, if you boys want any sleep, suppose we turn in again," suggested lilly. "i am going to feed the campfire first," answered tad. "i don't propose to leave that to master stacy. next time he will blow up the outfit." "no, i reckon we had better set a watch over him. he's worse'n the mosquitoes," declared billy. chapter v marooned in a swamp "hey, tad!" "yes, what is it?" asked tad butler, wide awake in an instant in response to stacy's quiet call. "what's that roaring?" "rain, you silly." "oh, is that all?" "yes, what did you think it was?" "i--i thought it was a tornado," answered the fat boy sleepily. "goodness, it is coming down, at that!" "i should say it is. at this rate we'll all get wet feet." "we're lucky if we don't get more than our feet wet," returned chunky. "i'm sleepy." in the next breath stacy was snoring. tad lay quiet, watching the rain drown out the campfire that was now steaming and throwing off great clouds of fog. soon there would be nothing left of their big campfire but the blackened, ill-smelling embers. the others evidently had not been awakened by the rain, or, if they had, they had not aroused themselves to discuss it as had stacy and tad. little by little tad dropped off, but it seemed as if he had no more than closed his eyes when he was awakened by the voice of ichabod. "hey, boss, ah reckon, sah, you'd bettah pull in youah feet, sah. they's in de wet, sah." tad's feet, which had somehow got thrust out under the side of the tent, were in a puddle of water more than ankle deep. but so warm was the water and so soundly had he slept that the boy was wholly unconscious of his condition. tad found, upon drawing in his feet, that they were not any too clean either. the black muck of the forest had smeared them. "have you any clean water, ichabod?" he asked. "yes, sah. ah done kotched a bucket full ob de rain. dat am clean, sah." "thank you," said tad, proceeding to scrub his feet. "i am almost as much of a sleepy-head as stacy. no, i don't know enough to get the whole of me in out of the rain. what if a snake had chanced along and discovered my feet out there?" tad could not repress a shiver at the thought. after scrubbing himself and putting on his stockings and boots the lad, still in his pajamas, stepped to the door of the tent. in his amazement at finding his feet outdoors he had neglected to take note of the state of the weather. the rain was still falling in torrents. tad judged from the faint light that day had only just dawned. from where he sat he could see the fog rising from the swamp. he could smell it, too, that fresh odor of wet vegetation, always so marked on the low lands. tad rubbed his eyes and looked again. their camp was pitched on a very slight rise of ground, and to his amazement the camp now occupied a small island, all about it a lake of muddy water. the boy wondered, for the moment, if the mississippi had overflowed and drowned out the jungle, but upon second thought he understood that the heavy rain was responsible for the flood. the ground was so saturated with moisture that it could hold no more. from the water rose the knees of the cypress trees, like giant crabs rearing their bodies to get free of the water--knees twisted and gnarled, assuming all sorts of fantastic shapes. one could imagine that they were dragons and centipedes, while one formation looked like a camel kneeling. from beneath one of these knees the boy saw a dark spot wriggling through the water. tad saw that it was a snake, but what kind he did not know. stepping back into his tent, he picked up his rifle, then returning to the door, scanned the water keenly. "there he is. i see him." the lad raised his weapon, took careful aim at the black speck swaying from side to side as the reptile swam hastily away. tad pulled the trigger. the report of his rifle sounded to him like the firing of an eight-pounder cannon. when the smoke cleared away there was no sign of the black wriggling head. but on the other hand there was an uproar in the tents. the pony rider boys, awake on the instant, leaped out into the open, in most instances splashing into the water up to their ankles, and as quickly leaping back into their tents, uttering yells. stacy brown was not so fortunate. when he landed outside his tent he stepped on a sharp stub and in trying to recover himself, fell face down in the water with a loud splash. he scrambled up, choking and sputtering. "oh, wow!" howled the fat boy. chunky's face was streaked with black muck and his pajamas looked as if they had been dyed black. "oh, wow! somebody pushed me! you did it on purpose." "oh, keep still," rebuked ned. "don't you see what has happened?" "we've moved. why didn't you wake me up before you moved the camp? what lake is this?" "you evidently haven't got your eyes open yet, chunky," answered tad with a laugh. "don't you see, we are marooned?" "why, so we are," cried ned rector. "surrounded by water?" exclaimed the professor. "yes, that's the definition of an island," nodded ned. "entirely surrounded by water." "but--but, who shot? i heard a gun go off," insisted walter. "i did," answered tad. "what were you shooting at?" questioned the guide, who, having pulled on his boots, had splashed out in front of the camp. "i was trying my skill on something floating in the water over yonder." "funny time of day to be shooting at things," grumbled ned. "did you hit the mark?" asked the guide, surmising that tad had shot at a snake. butler nodded, and went back to put his rifle where it would keep dry. "what are we going to do for firewood?" asked the professor apprehensively. "i have some dry wood in my tent," answered the guide. "oh, you have? so have i," grinned tad, whereat lilly tugged some more at his tawny moustache. "they have got to wake up in the morning to get ahead of you, haven't they?" he nodded. "i don't know. i am not so sure of that. if you had seen me when ichabod awakened me, you wouldn't think so," replied tad with a sheepish grin. "what was it?" asked ned. "my feet were outdoors in the water, while the rest of me was inside." "ho, ho," jeered chunky, poking his streaked face from his tent opening for an instant. "lucky none of those savage pigs was about at that time or you might have lost half a pound or so of toes." chunky dodged back to avoid being hit by a handful of black muck that ned shied at him, and which spattered over the front of the tent. "you will have to clean that off," rebuked tad. "we will make chunky do that. he was to blame for it," declared ned. "you will have a fine time making him clean the mud from the tent. by the way, what has become of my pig?" questioned tad. lilly swung a hand in the direction of the bayou, a narrow channel now unrecognizable because of the water that covered the ground on either shore. tad nodded his understanding of the gesture. some of the reptiles there had made away with the dead pig. "i was going to have that wild pig for my own breakfast," said the boy reflectively. "you must have good teeth," smiled lilly. "those wild ones are tough as boot leather. we will have some bear meat one of these days." "that's nothing," answered ned. "we have had lots of that on our trips." "how about venison?" "that always is a luxury," smiled tad. "are there deer here?" "yes, but you will find shooting them in the brake is not the same as letting go at them in comparatively open woods. here, it is a case of shoot quickly or miss your game." "we can shoot quickly, but the next question is, can we hit?" laughed tad. "that's the mighty question," agreed lilly. "if you boys can shoot as well as you ride and do other things, i reckon there isn't a deer in the brake that could get away from you." "i guess i will practise on those horrible owls," said ned. "by the way, are they all drowned out?" asked tad. "oh, no. they are here. if you want to see one, look up in that cypress yonder," answered the guide, pointing. "you will see what birds of prey they are. they are the worst in the woods, and the noisiest," added lilly. tad and ned looked. high up on a swaying limb was perched one of the long-beaked barred owls. the bird was having a desperate battle with something. at first the youngsters were at a loss to understand what that something was. "it is a snake!" cried tad. "that's what it is. you have guessed right," nodded lilly. the boys watched with fascinated gaze this battle high in the air. "what kind of snake is it?" questioned ned in an awed tone. "i reckon i don't know. ichabod, what is that snake the owl has up there?" "ah doan' know, sah. ah reckon it am jest snake." "that is as near as a nigger can get to a direct answer," snorted lilly. "he doesn't know. that was what he was trying to tell us," said tad. preparations for breakfast were well along by this time, though it was with difficulty that they had kept the fire up sufficiently to do the cooking. the rain was still beating down in torrents and a heavy mist hung over the jungle, a mist that would not be dispelled until the sun had come out and licked up the surplus water in the great swamp. to the left and rear of the camp, though they could hardly make out the shore lines now, lay a small lake. tensas it was called. the waters were always foul and muddy, and alive underneath the surface, though the boys could only surmise this. they had observed no signs of life on the surface, but then they had had little opportunity to observe much of anything except the rain. on beyond the camp they were now able to make out faintly the straight stems of the canebrake that stood row upon row in straight lines, as if they had been arranged by human hands on the lines run out by engineers. afterward the lads sat down to breakfast, which, of course, was eaten inside the tents. the boys now wanted to know what was to be done about their situation. "nothing at present," answered mr. lilly. "the water will not rise much more. you see it is running off in a pretty swift current already. of course the water wouldn't interfere much, but the going would be sloppy. you wouldn't enjoy it." "is there water in the canebrake?" asked tad. "oh, no. the cane is on higher ground, as i have already told you. there is one thing to be thankful for--the rain drives away the mosquitoes," smiled lilly. "yes, but i dread to think what they will do when the rain stops and the sun comes out," answered tad. everyone was wet. the rain had found its way through the little tents, and a constant drip, drip, drip was heard above the roaring of the deluge on the roofs. the interiors of the tents were steaming; the heat was greater than before the rain. the tents smelled stuffy, but the boys were good-natured. no one except stacy uttered complaint. being used to stacy's growls, they gave no heed to him. later in the day the boys wrapped themselves in their rubber blankets and went to sleep. for three full days did this state of affairs exist. then the skies cleared as suddenly as they had become overcast. a burning sun blazed down, and the heavy mists rose in clouds. one felt that nature was pluming herself after her long bath. black squirrels chattered in the tops of the tall cypress, thrushes broke out into an incessant clucking, mockingbirds and finches burst into song, above which was heard the twitterings of thousands of sparrows. one could not believe that he was in a forest so full of perils, with these sweet songs in his ears, the fresh odors of luxuriant vegetation in his nostrils. it did not seem possible that the cane just ahead of them was the haunt of savage beasts, that the little lakes and bayous were alive with alligators, savage garfish and monstrous snapping turtles, heavy as a man; that thick-bodied moccasin snakes, foul and dangerous, lurked near the shores, while further back in the forests lay copperheads and rattlers in great numbers. this was the country into which the pony rider boys had come in search of new experiences and thrills, and they were destined to have their full share of these ere they had finished their journey and reached the outer world again. chapter vi taking desperate chances it was wholly due to the foresight of billy lilly that the camp of the pony rider boys was not washed into the bayou. had they pitched the camp two rods from it's present site, in either direction, their outfit would have been wrecked. as it was they were little the worse for their experiences although everyone was still soaked to the skin. as soon as the sun came out tad rigged up a clothes line and stripping down to his underwear hung his clothing up to dry. the same thing was done with his blankets. the other boys thought this was an excellent idea, so they did the same. the water was going down rapidly and their island was growing gradually larger. all manner of driftwood, brush and heaps of muck lay strewn over the ground, and this ichabod was clearing away as rapidly as possible. the colored man understood the needs of the camp without having to be told. in fact, it was seldom found necessary to give him orders. the dogs, for the first time in days, pricked up their ears and began to take interest in life. they were busy brushing out their bedraggled coats in the sunlight, now and then bounding back and forth, barking and leaping and playing. the pony rider boys sang snatches of song, joked, and enjoyed themselves to the full. they were restless under inactivity; they wanted to be up and doing. of course, the ground in the swamp was soft, so they decided to remain in camp another day. this time would be fully occupied in oiling and cleaning guns, which already had begun to show spots of rust, and in putting their equipment in shape. tad found time during this bright day to make short excursions out into the woods, even into the brake, the better to acquaint himself with the conditions round about them. he eyed the dense brake, the giant trees, the queer formations of the cypress knees, and the thick vegetation, with the keen eyes of the experienced woodsman. "this is an awful hole," was the lad's conclusion. "i don't think i should care to be lost in this swamp. if the dismal swamp is any worse, excuse me, as ichabod would say." palmettos he found growing thickly in places above the black ooze of the swamp, bushes of varieties that he did not know covered the ground thickly in places, while vines and creepers climbed the trunks of the trees, hanging in trailing festoons from the branches. coon and possum were plentiful, but he did not see any of them. most interesting to tad were the swamp rabbits. these lived mostly in the depths of the woods and beside the lonely bayous. these rabbits, he discovered to his amazement, could swim and dive like muskrats, being as much at home in the water as on the land. tad never had heard of them before and he watched the antics of some of the little fellows curiously. while tad moved about with caution, he was unafraid. his love of nature was too great to permit him to be afraid of it; even though he knew that at any second he might tread on a deadly reptile, so he strode on with the light, noiseless step of the experienced hunter and woodsman. here and there tad would strike a blaze on a cypress with his axe. he did not propose to be lost in this forest. the sound of the camp horn calling to him warned the boy that he had strayed a long distance from camp. he answered the call by shooting his revolver three times in the air, to which the horn responded by two toots. these horns were used by nearly everyone in the brake. each person was supposed to carry a horn with him, the horn being useful not alone in calling the dogs, but in signaling positions to each other, and its notes could be heard a long distance in clear weather. the boy discovered from the direction of the sound that he had made a wide detour to reach his present position. however, instead of trying to take a direct course back to the camp, as an inexperienced person might have done, the pony rider boy cautiously followed his trail back, never for a moment losing sight of his blazes on the cypress trees. it was more than an hour later when he strolled into camp, the guide having blown the horn several times, which tad had not answered after the first time. "look here, young man, where have you been?" demanded lilly. "i have been tramping. i went over to a round lake a good distance from here." "a lake?" "yes, sir." "that way?" "yes, sir." "do you know how far that is from here?" questioned the guide. "i can't say that i do," answered tad with a smile. "more than three miles in a straight line." "i thought so." "how is it you didn't get lost?" "why should i? i blazed a trail out and just followed it back, that's all." billy threw up his hands. "i don't know why you boys have me along. any fellow who can dive into this swamp for three miles, then walk back just the same as if he were following the sidewalk at home, doesn't need a guide. see anything?" "oh, yes," answered the boy laughing. "i saw pretty much everything but deer and bear. but i saw a deer trail." "you did?" "yes, sir." "where?" "about half the way out. he crossed my trail and went into the canebrake to the north." "probably an old trail," nodded lilly. "no, sir, it was a fresh trail made since the rain. i could see that plainly. it was a buck, too, and i think i should like to get a shot at him. do they have regular runways down here?" "yes, unless they are chased. have all the rest of you boys got scents like deerhounds, eh?" "i have," answered stacy promptly. "why, i can put my nose to a trail and follow it until the deer drops dead from fatigue. i probably am the best all-around deer-chaser in the country. you set me on a trail and see what happens." "i can tell you what would happen," answered rector. "you'd get lost in less than ten minutes." "if i did i should find myself," retorted stacy indignantly. "yes, you would!" "i should like to follow that deer trail, mr. lilly," said tad. "how about it?" "the ground is too soft. the horses couldn't make much headway in the present condition of the muck." "by the way, are there any other hunters in this vicinity now?" questioned tad. "i hadn't heard of any besides ourselves. why?" "nothing much. i discovered some man tracks this morning." billy regarded the pony rider boy steadily. "young man, is there anything you don't see?" he demanded. "oh, yes, i couldn't hope to see everything. but some things i can't help seeing. i found this man's tracks while i was examining the buck's trail in the muck. you know feet, man or beast, sink down a good way into the ooze in places." "i reckon i do. which way was he going?" "the buck?" "no, the man." "heading west." "that's away from the camp," reflected the guide. "i wonder who it could have been? was there more than one of them?" tad shook his head. "i looked for others. the man was alone and he had a gun." "say, are you gifted with second sight?" "no, sir." "then how do you know he had a gun, unless you guessed it?" "i saw the impression of the butt where he stood the gun against the tree. he was looking at the deer trail, so he must have been along a short time before i passed there." "i reckon i'll be looking into that," decided lilly, rising and thrusting his hands in his pockets, striding slowly back and forth. the subject was not again referred to, but later in the afternoon lilly announced that he was going out to look over the trails, and left the camp. he returned just before supper. "well, did you find it?" asked tad quizzically. billy grinned. "i reckon i did. i reckon you-all knew what you were talking about." "who was it?" demanded ned. "oh, i don't know about that. i guess it was some fellow heading for stillman's plantation on the other side of the brake." "how far is that?" "nigh onto twenty miles." "is there no other way to reach the place?" questioned tad. "oh, yes, but it's a long way further. we will be on the trail ourselves tomorrow, i reckon. the ground is drying out fast. i didn't see any bear signs today, but they will be moving right smart, now that the storm is over." that night the campfire blazed and crackled merrily. the boys got a good night's rest, the tents being dry and comfortable and the air more endurable than had been the case for the last three days. twice during the night billy got up, took a look at the weather, and heaped more wood on the fire. tad heard him, but did not open his eyes, knowing what was doing, as well as if he had observed it with wide-open eyes. it was shortly after daylight that the boy awakened suddenly and lay listening. he caught the sound of water being splashed about. a thought occurring to him, tad slipped on his boots and taking his rifle up crept out under the rear wall of his tent. a sight met his eyes that thrilled him through and through. chapter vii a swim in tensas lake there, splashing about in the muddy water of the little lake, was the fat boy. at the moment when tad first espied him, chunky lay floating lazily on his back, kicking an occasional foot and sending up little spurts of water. stacy was enjoying himself greatly. he had been complaining all the day before that he hadn't had a satisfactory bath since he came into the woods. the guide had told him to dip up water in the buckets, then let it settle until clear, after which he might take his bath. this sort of bath did not suit the fat boy. he determined that he would have a real bath or no bath at all, so at daylight that morning he arose, and after peering about to make sure that no one observed him, slipped on a pair of trunks and, barefooted, picked his way to the edge of the lake. stacy sat down on the bank to gaze at the water. he knew it was deep from its appearance, but just how deep he neither knew nor cared. the deeper the better. "i wish the water weren't so black. i'll be a sight when i come out, but at least i shan't feel so sticky," he muttered. with that chunky had permitted his body to slip down into the lake. he swam about in circles, for a time casting an occasional apprehensive eye in the direction of the camp, a short few rods away, but no sign of life was observable there. after splashing about for a few moments the fat boy flopped over on his back for a delicious float. it is doubtful if stacy gave thought to the fact that these were reptile-infested waters, waters literally alive with death-dealing monsters. perhaps he did not know about it; at any rate, the boy was untroubled by thoughts of peril. he was humming to himself when tad first saw him there. at the same time tad butler's attention was attracted to something else. little circles on various parts of the lake were to be seen. these circles were widening. it looked as if one might have carefully dropped a stone into the water here and there without causing a splash. the silent circles were growing with the seconds. "quick! out of there!" yelled tad. for once in his life, butler was excited. "swim for it!" "what's the matter with you?" drawled stacy. "i'm having the time of my life--" "alligators!" shouted tad. stacy suddenly stopped moving his feet. the fat boy was paralyzed with fear. he seemed to have lost all power of movement. tad might have leaped in to stacy's assistance, but he had formed other plans almost on the instant. "ned! mr. lilly!" he shouted. just then a black spot that might have been a floating knot appeared on the surface of the water some thirty feet from where stacy lay trembling. the black spot was the center of one of those widening circles. tad's rifle leaped to his shoulder. a crash echoed through the forest and seemed to rattle among the canes all down the line. there was a sudden and terrific commotion in the water where the black spot had been seen, a floundering and threshing and a lashing of the waters, for tad's bullet had sped true. but there were still other circles, each now rapidly drawing nearer to where stacy lay wide-eyed and motionless. "get him!" yelled tad as ned rector sprang from his tent. ned comprehended on the instant. he saw stacy out there in the water, tad on shore with rifle held slightly forward from his stooping body, alert and ready to shoot. ned did not wait. he took a running jump, landing in the lake with a mighty splash, and came up shaking the water from his face and lunged toward stacy. "get out of this!" roared ned. "i--i can't," wailed the fat boy. "i--i'm too scared." ned rector smote the fat boy with his doubled fist. it was the best thing rector could have done in the circumstances, for it stirred stacy to sudden activity. with a yell, chunky threw himself over on his stomach and began striking out desperately for the shore, with ned, yelling and threatening, following close behind. tad's rifle spoke again. it was just in time to stop a 'gator whose snout was suddenly thrust above the water a few feet behind ned. all this had occupied only a few seconds, but they had been active seconds in every sense of the word, seconds fraught with peril and quickness on the part of two plucky boys. a third time did tad shoot. though excited, his excitement did not appear to affect his aim, for the pony rider boy had not missed once. with the third and last shot, stacy's fingers clutched a bush on the lake edge. the boy pulled himself from the water and fell over in a heap on the bank. "get up. get out of that!" commanded tad. "don't stop there." "hustle yourself," shouted ned, himself losing no time in getting out of the water. chunky scrambled from the beach, then ran with all haste to his tent, with rector following, making vain efforts to catch hold of the fat boy. he succeeded in overhauling chunky at the entrance of the tent. stacy, perceiving that he was going to be caught, found it convenient to stumble. ned was upon him, but not before chunky had picked up two handfuls of black, oozy muck, and as ned fell upon him, stacy plastered the contents of first one hand, then the other, over the face of his assailant. rector's mouth, nose and eyes were glued shut with the black stuff. unfortunately for ned he had opened his mouth at the instant when stacy began painting his face. "now, maybe you will let me alone," jeered chunky. "i guess i know how to defend myself." "you're a fool," snapped lilly. the guide was actually pale. "why, didn't you know what was in the lake?" "i'm busy. come around after business hours," answered the fat boy, making all haste to discard his trunks and get into his clothes. he knew very well that, as soon as rector was able to see and breathe, there would be trouble in the camp. stacy proposed to be out of reach by that time. the lad was out of the tent with remarkable quickness. he did not wait to draw on his boots, having heard the voice of rector approaching. stacy slipped out under the rear of his tent. he carried a rope with him. making a bee line for a birch, he shinned up it almost with the speed of a squirrel, and a moment or so later was sitting hunched in a crotch, blinking down into the camp below him. "where's that ungrateful wretch?" raged ned. "i'll skin him alive once i set eyes on him. where is he?" "he may have gone back in the lake," answered the guide. "i shouldn't be surprised at anything he did after that foolish play." "i saw him go into his tent a few minutes ago," spoke up walter. "stacy!" the professor called several times, but master stacy merely chuckled to himself. "i guess he is all right. don't worry about him, professor," advised tad. "you will find that he is in hiding somewhere about the camp. hello, ned, what's the matter?" "that fat cayuse plastered a pailful of muck on my face," complained rector. "and to think he would do such a thing after my having saved his life." "yes, who would have thought it?" agreed tad. "what were you trying to do to him at the time?" "i was after him to give him a trouncing." "oh, well, you can't blame him for defending himself, can you? by the way, mr. lilly, there are three dead 'gators out there. what are we going to do with them?" "i reckon we won't do anything." "isn't there any way of getting them out?" "no safe way that i know. you have just got one of your companions out of difficulties. please don't go to getting into any on your own account." "i don't intend to." "say, but you certainly can shoot. you plunked those killers squarely in the eye every shot. i'm pretty good with the gun myself, but for quick, accurate shooting there haven't many of them got you beaten." "i had to shoot straight. somebody would have been killed if i hadn't," answered butler. "you're right they would. but where is that boy. where--" lilly uttered an exclamation and leaped aside as something came twisting down, striking him on the head and bouncing off on the ground. tad found himself several paces to one side of the spot where he had been standing. both men held the same thought. they thought it was a reptile that had dropped from the tree. then tad's quick eye discovered that it was a rope that had fallen from the tree. glancing up, he made out the figure of stacy brown huddled in a crotch high up. "hey! there's a big bird up that tree. watch me shoot him out," cried tad, raising his rifle. "wow, oh, wow! don't shoot! it's i, stacy," yelled the fat boy. "what--what--what's that?" stammered the guide. "that boy up a tree?" "yes, and to think i came near shooting him," answered tad, in a voice loud enough for stacy to hear. "how did you get up there?" demanded lilly in amazed wonder. "i flew up. didn't you ever see me fly? why, i am a bird. and you didn't know that?" "i--i guess you are, at that. i am getting to the point where i'll believe almost anything of you youngsters. did he really fly up there?" "he says he did," answered tad with a grin. tad knew how stacy had climbed, for the rope already lay at the foot of the tree, but this form of climbing trees evidently was new to bill lilly. "come down out of that!" yelled ned, catching sight of the boy up the tree. "where is he?" demanded the professor. "up a tree," laughed the guide. "come down!" commanded professor zepplin. "chase ned rector away and i will." "i'll stay right here till he comes down and then i am going to give him a thrashing," declared ned firmly. "then i don't come down," declared stacy firmly. "i know two ways to make you," answered ned. "how?" "place some food down here under you on the ground--something that has an odor and something you like." stacy did not reply, but a troubled expression appeared on his face. "what is the other way?" asked tad, chuckling over the situation. "i am not going to tell you. that's a dark secret. are you coming down, stacy brown?" "i am not, neddie rector." "very good. stay there all the rest of the day if you want to." "i just love to be up a tree. there's another 'gator out there. pass me up a gun and i will shoot him. look, there's a whole pond full of them." "no you don't. you don't catch me that way. i know what you are up to. you are trying to stampede us down to the lake, then you will clamber down and make a get-away. no, sir, there isn't anything green in my eye that you can notice," retorted ned. "except some of the green stuff that i rubbed in with the black," answered stacy in a jeering voice. "why don't you come up here if you want to get me?" "i believe i will, at that." "if you do, you will get a kick in the face," threatened chunky. "you haven't any boots on. you can't hurt me." "no, but i can dig with my toes. if you don't believe me just come up here and try me. i dare you to come up! i double-dare you to come up here. ya, ya, ya! 'fraid-cat, 'fraid-cat!" taunted stacy. the others were laughing. ned's face was flushed. "i'll show you whether i can get you down. we shall see whether i am a 'fraid-cat or not." rector ran to his tent, reappearing at few seconds later with an axe, stacy in the meantime following the movements of the other boy with anxious eyes. chapter viii woodman, spare this tree "now, what are you going to do?" questioned the guide. "i'll show you. everyone get out of the way." ned rector swung the axe, burying the blade in the tree. "ned, ned!" warned the professor. "he won't have to cut it down. stacy will come down long before there is any danger," answered walter. "pshaw! you don't know how to chop," jeered chunky. "george washington, with his dull little hatchet, could out-chop you with one hand." ned was making the chips fly just the same. his hat had dropped off and perspiration was rolling from his forehead, for his axe was not making as much impression on the tree as he had confidently expected it would. he made lots of chips, but they were thin ones. "woodman, spare this tree," pleaded a mocking voice from above. "i will spare the tree, but i won't spare you," retorted rector. "we shall have this tree on the ground within fifteen minutes." stacy was tugging at a small bushy limb, but ned was too busy to observe what the fat boy was doing. after considerable effort chunky succeeded in breaking off the limb. he poised it carefully for a few seconds, then let go. the limb was not heavy, but in falling that distance it gained considerable momentum. the limb caught ned fairly on top of the head, causing him to stagger back and sit down heavily, while his companions shouted and jeered, billy lilly looking on with a broad grin on his face. "stop this instantly!" commanded the professor. "i'll not have such goings on. stacy, will you come down out of that tree?" "i will not." "i command you to come down." "command _him_. don't command _me_. how can i come down when ned rector is using the axe? he might chop me in two." "stacy!" "professor!" "ned, put away that axe. we can't have anything like this." "but he smeared my face with mud after i had saved him from the 'gators," protested ned. "he--he jumped on me. i had to stop him," answered the boy up the tree. the professor motioned to ned to go away, which rector did rather unwillingly. "now, come down here." stacy hesitated, then wrapping both arms about the tree trunk he started down slowly. as he went he gained momentum, and the last eight or ten feet he shot down barely touching the tree, landing in a heap in the mud at the feet of his laughing companions. stacy was up in a twinkling, fully expecting to find ned rector sprinting towards him. ned, however, had remained by the tents. "you never mind! i'll take it out of you some other time. i'll owe you a thrashing until some more convenient time," warned ned, shaking his fist at stacy. "now, young man, what excuse have you to offer for going into the lake?" demanded the professor, laying a firm grip on chunky's shoulder. "what excuse?" "that is what i asked." "be--be--because i wanted to take a bath," answered the fat boy. "go to your tent and finish dressing." "yes, i guess ichabod has breakfast nearly ready," added the guide. stacy pricked up his ears at the word "breakfast," and started on a trot for the camp. "i'll fix you for that, one of these days," threatened ned as chunky sprang into his own tent, appearing neither to have seen nor heard ned. the same condition existed at breakfast. ned was casting threatening glances at the fat boy, which the latter was pleased to ignore. once during the meal chunky, chancing to catch ned's eye, winked solemnly, whereupon ned forgot his anger and laughed aloud. "that's the way it always ends. no one can stay mad at me for very long," wailed the fat boy. "that's the way my fun is always spoiled." "do you like to have folks mad at you?" questioned lilly. "of course i do. what's the fun of living if somebody isn't making life interesting for you?" replied stacy, gazing earnestly at the perplexed face of the guide. "i--i never heard it put just that way before, but i reckon maybe there's something in what you say," reflected billy. "of course there is. there is always something in what i say. i'll leave it to tad, if there isn't." "i agree," laughed butler. "but let's talk about the canebrake. where do we go from here, mr. lilly?" "i reckon we will lay our course for sunflower." "what is that?" asked ned. "a flower," answered stacy. "the common garden variety, like some persons we know." "you mean sunflower river, do you not?" asked tad. "yes. what do you know about it?" inquired lilly, raising his eyebrows. "not very much. i know there is such a place some twenty miles to the westward of where we are located at present," answered butler. "as i have said before, you boys don't need a guide." "no, i think we need a guardian as much as anything. i move that we appoint you as master stacy's guardian," suggested ned. "carried," shouted walter. "excuse me, as ichabod would say. i may be something of a success as a guide, but as the guardian of our young friend i fear i should be a miserable failure. i am too slow for a job like that. it needs a younger and more active man than myself for that position." "you are right it does," piped up stacy. "it needs a hustler to keep going with stacy brown. when do we strike camp?" "after breakfast," answered tad. "that means you fellows will have some work to do," nodded chunky. "it means you will have to do your share," replied tad sharply. "you needn't think we are going to do your work for you this trip. any man who shirks will be punished." "how?" "we haven't decided that yet. when we get into camp on the sunflower river we are going to hold a meeting and draw up rules and regulations for the guidance of the pony rider boys. every man will have to abide by those rules, including professor zepplin," declared tad. "i agree to them in advance. it is an excellent idea," approved the professor. "better not be too sure about that," laughed tad. "we may make some regulations to which you will find it hard to submit. they will be very stringent." "yes," urged chunky. "the professor needs discipline." "so do some others," muttered tad. immediately after breakfast the boys began their work of packing. they were glad to break camp after their experiences on tensas lake. it was not a comforting feeling to know that the waters almost underfoot were alive with dangerous reptiles. then again these might come on shore in search of prey. such things had been known. beyond this the boys were eager to get into the heart of the canebrake and begin following the game trails of the southern jungle, an unknown section to most american people. only a comparatively few sturdy hunters and rangers have followed these trails. the perils are too great, both from fever and from the denizens of the big swamp. "how are we ever going to drive our horses through?" questioned tad. "that is easy when you know how," smiled lilly. "but it was all i could do to get through on foot when i was out the other day." "you will find these horses are pretty handy in the swamp. the ordinary animal would be of no use at all. i will lead the way and show you something that will perhaps be new to you in forest travel." "it is all new to me," answered tad. "all you folks have your horns with you in case we get separated. if you do, wind the horn until you get a reply." "wind your horn?" wondered stacy brown. "yes." "what do you wind it with?" "oh, a piece of string," retorted ned. "winding the horn is blowing it, stacy," tad informed him. "blow it for keeps in case you get lost or are in trouble." "oh! funny names you have for things down here. won't it scare all the game out of the woods?" "it will if you blow the horn," laughed ned. laughing and joking the boys hurried the work of breaking camp, folding their tents into neat packages, putting every piece of equipment in its proper place. the boys liked to attend to all these details themselves, having been in the habit of doing things in the same way for so long. then again they knew where everything was, right where to put their hands on any part of their equipment no matter how dark the night might be. when they were ready, the guide looked over the outfit and nodded approvingly. "i'll take the lead," he said. "give your horses their heads. they will know how to follow; in fact, they will know better than you boys. after you have ridden the brake for a time you will know it as well as i do. and look out that you don't get sidewiped and dismounted by any of those low-hanging vines." "i should like to see the vine that could unhorse me," answered stacy. the outfit started with the guide leading, ichabod next, then tad and the others. stacy's saddle girth slipped as he grabbed the pommel to mount, causing him to sit down suddenly. the others were too fully occupied to notice his mishap, nor did they hear him call to them to wait for him. the riders swept away at a brisk running trot, which these experienced horses always adopted in working through the swamp or the canebrake. the way lilly bored through the forest was a revelation to the boys. in and out among the great tree trunks he rode, dodging cypress knees, leaping fallen trees where not too high, slashing right and left with his long bush-knife, cutting a vine here or a limb there, leaving a broad, easily followed trail that even a novice would have had little difficulty in following, though of course at a slower pace. the boys were convulsed with laughter at the way lilly bored his way through the jungle, the banged tail of his cob standing straight out, the tough little animal's ears laid back on its head, and nose thrust straight ahead. to tad butler the wild ride was a delight, only he would have preferred to be the one up in front, slashing and hewing the way for the others, for tad was a natural leader and would have enjoyed work of this kind. in the meantime stacy brown had been left far behind, out of sight and out of sound of the rapidly moving outfit. as yet he had not been missed. chapter ix the fat boy hung up stacy fumbled and fussed until he had cinched the girth tightly, the horse chafing at its bit, eager to be after its companions. then the fat boy thrust a foot into the stirrup, one hand grasping the pommel of the saddle, the free hand giving the animal a sharp slap on the flanks. chunky's horse started with a leap and a snort. the boy's toe slipped from the stirrup before he had succeeded in swinging the other leg over the saddle. then something else occurred that was not a part of stacy's programme. the pommel caught under his belt, suspending him from the saddle. the pony now was tearing along the trail in the wake of the others at full speed. "whoa! whoa!" yelled chunky. the horse paid no attention to its master's command, and increased rather than lessened its pace. stacy's toes were dragging on the ground, his body being pinioned to the side of the animal, which was literally cracking the whip with the unfortunate fat boy. as it was, stacy's feet touched only the high places along the trail. whack! the boy's body sidewiped a tree. "ou-u-u-u-c-h!" yelled the pony rider boy. "whoa, i tell you, you fool horse!" but there was no stopping the animal. it plunged on and on, thorn bushes tearing the trousers of the lad, drawing blood as the sharp points raked his flesh, threshing him against trees and stumps until there was scarcely a spot on his body that was not at least black and blue. the animal was plainly frightened, and chunky realized that it was running away. the reins were out of the boy's reach and he was powerless to pull himself up or get a leg over the saddle. the horse did not give him time for anything. suddenly the boy's fingers closed over something cold. it was the bush horn. his heart gave a leap. he tugged at the horn until he had succeeded in pulling it from the saddle bag. but when he tried to put the end in his mouth, stacy came near losing some teeth. a trembling blast from the bush horn rang out. then another and another until the birds ceased their song. the blasts of the horn were alternated with the yells of the fat boy. off ahead the others of the party were riding rapidly, though not so rapidly that brown and his frightened horse were not overhauling them. tad's keen ears finally caught the sound of the horn. he turned in his saddle, and for the first time realized that chunky was not with them. the ride had been so exciting thus far that none had given any heed to what was going on at the rear. the boys supposed stacy was trailing along behind them. placing his horn to his lips, butler gave a long, winding blast. the guide pulled his horse up short, as did the others. "stacy is not with us," shouted tad. "where is he?" called the guide. "i don't know." "why, why, he has been right behind us all the time," returned the professor. "i am not sure of that. i haven't looked back once. ichabod, have you seen master brown?" "ah doan' see him." "there goes stacy's horn again." "yes, he is coming on," said ned. "there's something wrong with him," cried tad. "i can tell by the excited way in which he is blowing the horn." [illustration: "look at him!"] at about that time they heard him coming. the sound of the horse threshing its way through the bushes was borne plainly to their ears, and suddenly boy and horse dashed into view. the pony rider boys opened their eyes in amazement. "look at him!" yelled ned. tad whirled his own horse about and started for stacy, with billy lilly not far behind. at this juncture the fat boy's belt gave way, and he disappeared under the horse. the boys groaned, fully expecting to see chunky trampled to death. but the horse was far too active to tread on its fallen rider, and cleared the boy's body in a swerving leap. "catch the horse!" cried tad, dashing toward the fallen chunky and throwing himself from his saddle, at the same time slipping the bridle rein over his animal's neck so that his own mount would not run away. "are you hurt, chunky?" cried tad, gathering the fat boy up in his arms. "hurt? hurt?" answered stacy somewhat dazedly, blinking rapidly and passing a trembling hand slowly over his face. "no, i reckon i'm not hurt. i scratched that race." "but, but, what happened to you?" demanded professor zepplin excitedly. "ha--ha--happened?" "yes, yes." "why nothing happened to me. i--i was just trying out a new stunt," answered the fat boy, a smile rippling over his countenance. "oh, fudge!" grunted ned. "what's the use bothering with him? he won't tell on himself." "neither would you if you had been dragged half a dozen miles by the back of the neck," snapped the fat boy. "how far?" asked lilly. "half a dozen miles." "is there any water near here, mr. lilly?" asked tad. "master stacy's body is covered with blood and scratches." "yes. you-all lead him over here to the right. i reckon we can find some water." "i don't want any water," wailed stacy. "yes you do," insisted tad. "i don't. i guess i know what i want and what i don't want. water will make it hurt. i want something to eat. all my breakfast has been shaken down until i can't feel it at all." tad nodded to the guide, who tethered his horse and hurried away to fetch water. in the meantime butler was removing chunky's torn clothes. even the underclothing had been torn to shreds. "my, what a mauling you did get," observed walter sympathetically. "serves him right," answered ned. "i don't understand how this thing occurred," said the professor. "i think he got hung up by his belt, sir," answered tad. "wasn't that what happened, stacy?" "i--i guess so." "tell me about it," urged tad. "ouch!" howled chunky as butler dabbed a wet cloth against the torn skin of the fat boy. "ned, you hold him." "with pleasure," grinned rector, taking firm hold of stacy. "you let go of me," raged stacy. "i am going to hold you, even if i have to tie you," retorted ned. "if you don't want rough treatment just stand still and take your medicine. tell us how it occurred. that will take your mind from your aches and pains." "i--i had one foot in the stirrup. the beast started and i slipped. then i got hung up." "he got hung up. hooray!" cried ned. chunky tried to punch him, but rector laughingly thrust the fat boy away from him. "if you will stand still it will be ended in a moment, stacy," soothed tad. "my, what a drubbing you did get! so you got hung up?" "ye--yes. then the fool horse ran away. i--i never walked so fast in my life. it--it was like sailing in the air. my feet were straight out behind me most of the time. you ought to try it, fellows. it's great. i'll bet i should have made a hit in a circus with that." "i hope you didn't destroy any of the cypress trees," observed the guide. stacy gave him a resentful look. "walter, get another pair of trousers from chunky's kit. this pair isn't fit to be worn again," directed butler. walter perkins hastened to obey tad's order, and in a few minutes they had fixed the boy up so that he was reasonably comfortable, though his body was sore and it hurt him even to laugh. "i don't know what we are going to do with you, young man," reflected the professor, chin in hand, eyes fixed coldly upon the face of the fat boy. "you--you don't have to do anything with me. i can do quite enough for myself." "i should say you could," grinned tad. the others laughed. "i shouldn't want as much done to me," added ned. "are you able to ride?" questioned the guide. "no, i guess i'll walk. i'm not hankering to sit down. i don't know that i'll ever be able to sit down again." chunky groaned dismally. "perhaps we had better make camp here," suggested the professor. "i don't think this is a good place to camp," answered tad. "the ground is too low. how far is it from here to the sunflower, mr. lilly?" "about five miles." "oh, we can make that all right. i will lash my blanket to stacy's saddle, and after he has ridden a few moments he will be all right." chunky agreed grumblingly, taking a keen pleasure in having others wait on him. he enjoyed his present situation even though his wounds were painful. in a few minutes they had prepared the saddle for him and assisted him into it. "now see if you can keep out of trouble," directed tad. "give the baby his little horn to blow," jeered rector. "'wind,' you mean," corrected stacy. "they wind down here; they don't blow." "well, 'wind,' then, if you like that better," grumbled ned. "i do because that is the right way to say it. your early education was sadly neglected. did they take you out of school to dig early potatoes before the spring terms closed?" questioned stacy innocently. "are you trying to roil me, stacy brown? if you are you might as well save your breath. i am too tickled at your predicament to get angry with you," averred rector. lilly gave the word to move, whereupon the party fell into line again with the same formation as before, stacy stubbornly insisting on keeping at the rear, the boys flinging back jokes at him. in this manner they went on for some distance, at first slowly, then gradually increasing their speed. now and then the boys would glance back to grin at the fat boy, who was having considerable difficulty in keeping up. they noticed that he was not sitting with his full weight in the saddle. instead, he was half standing in his stirrups because it pained him to sit down and take the jolting of the trotting horse. "look out for the vines. keep in the trail," called the guide. the boys, for the moment, forgot their companion at the rear of the line. they swung around in a curving trail, lilly slashing and shouting directions at them, stacy standing a little higher in his stirrups to see what all the shouting was about. then, all of a sudden, the fat boy was swept from his saddle, kicking, yelling, while the horse lurched forward and started into a long, loping gallop now that it was freed from its burden. "hi, look there!" yelled ned rector, as stacy's riderless horse came trotting up to them. "more trouble!" groaned tad butler, wheeling and starting back over the trail at as fast a gallop as possible over the rough ground. chapter x in the heart of the canebrake "that boy!" muttered the professor, as everyone turned sharply and started back, lilly outdistancing all save tad, who now rode the jungle fully as well as the guide, except that tad had never used the bush-knife. it was a dangerous weapon in the hands of an inexperienced rider. with it one was likely to do his horse as well as himself a serious injury. they heard chunky's yells for help long before they reached him, and even after reaching a spot where they might have seen the fat boy, they did not at once catch sight of him. they were looking for chunky on the ground, believing that he had fallen and been left by his horse, while as a matter of fact stacy was in the air, six or eight feet above the ground. while standing high in his stirrups he had been caught across the breast by a tough vine that grew between two trees across the trail, so high that the guide's bush-knife had not reached it. stacy had thrown out both hands to protect himself. the vine had slipped neatly under the lad's arms. the next second he was dangling in the air, with the horse trotting on ahead. and there they found him, swaying back and forth, howling lustily, afraid to let go for fear he would hurt himself when he struck the ground, but almost ready to let go no matter what the consequences might be. the pony rider boys, when finally they did catch sight of their companion, uttered shouts of merriment. "hanged at last!" howled ned rector. "oh, i never thought i should live to see this happy moment!" tad brought his horse down just before reaching the fat boy. "hello, chunky, what are you doing up there?" demanded tad. "having a swing," answered stacy sheepishly. "come on up, it's fine." "thank you, but i don't see any way of getting up," chuckled tad. "easiest thing in the world. all you have to do is to ride under the vine, reach up and grab hold of it, then let your horse go right on about his business." "is that the way _you_ did it?" questioned butler. "something like it," admitted chunky. "are you going to help me down?" was the urgent question. "what do you think about it, professor? wouldn't it be better to leave him up there where he cannot get into any further difficulties?" asked tad, turning to the professor. "i am inclined to agree with you, tad," reflected the professor gravely. "how long have you been there, stacy?" asked walter. "long enough. come, help me down." "let go and you will come down much more quickly than we could help you," suggested ned. "but i don't want to fall," wailed the boy. "oh, very well, then, stay where you are," retorted ned. "i will help you down, stacy," offered tad, riding under his companion. "now, let go." "i--i'm afraid." tad grabbed the fat boy's legs, giving them a violent tug, whereupon stacy and the vine came tumbling down. in trying to catch chunky, tad butler was himself unhorsed, and the two boys landed on their heads and shoulders on the soft ground with the yells of their companions ringing in their ears. "get up!" commanded the professor sternly. "this sort of thing has gone far enough." "tha--that's what i say," stammered chunky, wiping the muck from his flushed face. "a good old-fashioned country road is good enough for me. i don't like this kind of traveling." "do you want to be sent back?" demanded professor zepplin grimly. "no-o-o-o," drawled stacy. "not if i have to go back over that trail. that's the stickiest mess i ever got into." "your behavior is somewhat sticky, too," observed the professor, with a smile. "now, if there is no objection, i move that we proceed on our journey, but i wish master stacy to ride just ahead of me so that i may watch him." "who--who's going to watch you?" stammered the fat boy. "don't worry. we will look after the professor," laughed tad. "you must remember that he hasn't been getting into quite so much trouble as you have." "he will," answered stacy. "he's just been lucky, that's all." the party, after again assisting stacy in his saddle and placing him between the professor and tad, moved on once more. the distance to their next camping place was now less than a mile, and they soon reached the sunflower without further disturbance, tearing their way through the dense cane, making a crashing that must have been heard a long distance away. the sunflower was a stream some fifteen rods wide by several miles long, with little bayous reaching off into the swamp every now and then, lonely, silent bayous, beneath whose surfaces lurked many perils. "do we swim across?" asked walter. "master stacy may want to. i do not believe the others will care about doing so," answered lilly with a smile and a brief nod. "where do we make camp, mr. lilly?" called butler's cheery voice. "straight ahead on the little rise of ground, master tad." "any choice as to position?" "use your own good judgment." "thank you, sir," was tad's response. "stacy, how is your heart today, after all your experiences?" "it's weak," whispered chunky hoarsely. "then i have a good remedy for it. go out and cut some wood, but no more cane as you value your life. we don't propose to have another campfire blow up in the middle watches of the night and scare us to death." "no more cane fire in this camp, young man," affirmed the guide. chunky very reluctantly shouldered an axe, after they had dismounted and removed the lashings from their packs, and after some delay they heard an occasional whack of the axe, then silence. the camp was pretty well settled when tad sang out for chunky. "where is that boy with the wood? ichabod is waiting for it. chunky!" he called. there was no response. "ned, i guess you will have to go look for him. i hope he hasn't chopped his head off." "oh, he couldn't do that if he wanted to," laughed walter. "you don't know him. stacy brown can do most anything that other folks would think they couldn't. chase him up, ned." "which way did he go?" "north, along the bank. he probably has gone into the swamp a little way to get out of the cane. i'll blow the horn." butler did blow several blasts, but there was no answer. tad was not worried, knowing that stacy could not have gone far and realizing that he would leave a plain trail in case he had strayed into the swamp. a few moments later ned's horn was heard. he had found stacy sound asleep, sitting with his back against a tree, while at his side on a log was a great, hook-beaked, barred owl blinking at him wisely. ned said the owl was enough like stacy to be his own brother. ned was obliged to cut the wood himself, as stacy refused to do a thing because rector had used him roughly in waking him up. "you treat me as if i were a bag of meal," complained chunky. "no, i wouldn't insult the meal to that extent," snorted ned. "get over there and sit down till i have the wood cut. you will then tote it to camp." "i will then _not_," retorted stacy belligerently. "you will _yes_. remember i owe you one. if you don't watch out i will make it two and settle both accounts out here while i've got you alone," warned ned. stacy pondered over this for several moments while watching his companion swing the axe, and evidently decided that ned had the better side of the argument. "all right," said stacy finally. "i'll carry my share of the wood. it isn't that i am afraid of you, you know, but my heart won't stand any undue excitement." "oh, fudge!" grunted rector, pausing to wipe the perspiration from his face and forehead. stacy started back with the wood before ned had finished, but carried only about enough wood to burn ten or fifteen minutes. ned had to fetch the rest, for stacy refused to go back for more, knowing that ned would not assault him here in the camp. along the water's edge the great cypress trees reared themselves into the air, and a few rods back of them the dense cane. the party was now in the heart of the canebrake, in which they had reason to believe lurked much of the game of which they were in search. one of the big cypress trees stood just in front of the camp, its awkward knees twisted and bent, extending some four feet above the ground. below the knees were watery caverns, black and oozy, foul and unhealthful. stacy sat perched on one of these knees gazing thoughtfully down into the black pool. the others were busy about the camp and failed to observe him. after a time the fat boy went out to hunt for a pole. he wanted to try the water to see how deep it was. he returned a few minutes later with a tall cane, the foliage still fresh at its top. it had been broken down, he knew not how and cared less. "going fishing?" questioned ned, fixing a grinning gaze on the fat boy. "i may be, then again i may not be." "i hope you have luck." "i hope i do." "and i hope you fall in." "i hope i don't." stacy perched himself on one of the cypress knees, and, letting the bushy top down, began poking about in the black pool. he felt something move under the pole in his hand, and gave a vicious prod. there followed a sudden commotion down in the water, then the cane pole was jerked down with terrific force. it all occurred so quickly that chunky did not think to let go of the pole until it was too late to do so. but there was time in which to yell. stacy uttered a wild, piercing scream, for he saw what had caused the disturbance below. a huge snout, with a pair of jaws that seemingly worked on a loose hinge--chunky didn't have to be told that the swimming reptile was a huge alligator! chapter xi on the big game trails tad butler was the only one of the party to grasp the note of wild alarm in stacy's voice. nor did even butler comprehend what had caused it. tad, however, saw the fat boy lose his balance after clutching desperately at the cane stalk. at that moment, engaged in straightening out the coils of his lasso, tad had just slipped the coil into his left hand, the honda in his right. as he did so butler had swung the rope over his head, intending to catch stacy, giving him a slight scare. just as stacy's feet shot upward tad let go the rope, dropping the loop neatly over master brown's left foot and drawing taut instantly. chunky, thus caught, sprawled between the cypress knees and the black pool, looking more like a giant spider than anything else. "ow, wow! wow! in the name of goodness!" shrieked stacy. "keep cool, if you can!" tad yelled to the frightened victim. then, to the other boys: "get him out as quickly as you can, fellows! you'll have to be lively now! something is wrong with our comrade." "what is it, where is he?" cried the boys. "there, under the tree at the end of my rope. be quick. there's something down there. be careful that you don't get in, too. i've got him fast, but he may squirm loose." tad had snubbed the rope around a tree and now began hauling in. chunky's legs were spread wide apart, and tad hauled him up little by little until the fat boy's legs were on either side of one of the cypress knees, the knee pressing against his body. chunky could be hauled no further unless he were to be split in two. but butler was satisfied that the fat boy was out of the reach of anything that might be down in the pool. lilly was the first to reach the scene, followed in great strides by professor zepplin and the other two boys. now the problem of getting both the boy's legs on one side of the cypress knee was presented to them. "get--get me out of here! i've got a rush of blood to the head," pleaded chunky. "you are fortunate if you don't get more than that," snapped billy lilly. "did de 'gator done git him?" questioned ichabod apprehensively. "not yet. he may," answered the guide. "let up on the rope a little, master tad." "you had better pass another one about his waist first, in case anything happens to this rope. get your rope, ned. i can hold him here until you have him safely secured." ned ran for his rope. all this time stacy brown was hanging head down, looking into the pool, face to face with the terrible thing that he saw down there. he couldn't keep his eyes closed, try as he might. a strange fascination seemed to force him to look into the big, bulging eyes of the 'gator patiently waiting for him down in the black pool. ned, returning with his rope, climbed over on the knees and leaned over to secure it about stacy's waist. he quickly turned a pale face up to those gathered about the scene. "hold fast to me, please. i don't fancy furnishing a meal for that fellow down there," said rector in a quiet voice. "what--what is it, ned?" gasped walter. "never mind what it is. just take tight hold of me. hold my legs, if you please, mr. lilly." the guide did so, and ned lost no time in taking a double hitch about stacy's waist. lilly nodded to tad to lower away on the rope, which tad did slowly and cautiously. "don't--don't let me down in there!" yelled the fat boy, squirming and fighting and kicking. "stop it!" commanded the professor sternly. "if you will behave yourself we may be able to get you out, but if you don't keep quiet we may let you go." a moan was the only answer to the professor's warning. lilly now grabbed one of the truant feet, jerking it over to the other side of the cypress knee against its mate. "haul away, master tad," the guide sang out in a cheery voice. "i guess we've got the young gentleman this time." while butler was hauling in on his rope, lilly and ned rector were pulling the fat boy up by his feet, each having hold of a foot. stacy came out squirming like an angleworm being pulled from the ground after a spring rain. he surely would have fallen in again if they had not held to him by main force. "there, you wooden-headed--" began ned. "tut, tut!" warned professor zepplin. stacy was tossed to the ground a safe distance from the scene of his late unpleasantness, where he lay rubbing that part of his person where the rope had fairly cut into the skin. stacy was still sore from contact with the thorn bushes, and the rope was an added aggravation to his already tender skin. "you may thank master tad and ned for having saved your life, tad first of all," reminded the professor. "for getting into difficulties, young man, you win the blue ribbon in all classes," declared billy lilly. "how did you ever come to get in that hole?" "he was fishing for something," grinned tad. "and he got a real bite," added ned. "he came near furnishing a bite for that gentleman in the pool. that was the quickest move i ever saw," continued lilly, gazing admiringly at tad. "how you can handle a rope! that's one thing i never could do." "how did you manage it so quickly, tad?" asked walter, his face still pale from fright. "i was casting at him for fun at the time. my getting him was not due to any unusual quickness on my part, for the rope was in the air when he lost his balance. i merely jerked it down over one foot, and i guess it was lucky for him that i was preparing to play a joke on him, at that." "i should say it was," muttered the guide. "you come with me, old boy," said tad, taking stacy by an arm and leading the fat boy to his tent. they did not know what tad said to his companion, but they did know that stacy looked very solemn and greatly subdued, when, after a ten-minute interview, tad permitted stacy to leave the tent. the fat boy sat down without a word, gazing reflectively into the campfire, and did not speak again, except to answer questions in monosyllables, until they had finished supper. that night, as usual, the music of the barred owls, their weird screeches and yells, filled to the exclusion of all other sounds except the busy buzz of the giant mosquitoes. the latter were kept out pretty well by the smudge that lilly built in front of the tents and that he kept going through most of the night. stacy turned in early, having very little to say to any one. but by the next morning he had forgotten all about his narrow escape and was the same old chunky, ready for any opportunity that might present itself for getting into trouble. shortly after daybreak tad slipped on his boots, and, with rifle under his arm, sauntered out to the cypress tree, where he perched himself on the knees at the edge of the black pool. the boy waited patiently for half an hour, keeping a close watch of the pool, but he discovered nothing. after a time butler gathered up some rotten sticks and dropped them in. he had not been at this long before a loud splash below told him that his bait had been seized, and a moment later the bulging eyes of a 'gator slowly protruded from the water, the eyes gazing up at the boy perched above them. "now i reckon i have you, my fine gentleman," muttered tad, slowly bringing his rifle into position. it was perhaps three seconds later when tad butler's rifle, roaring out its deadly message, brought every man in the camp from his tent. they saw tad sitting on a cypress knee, gazing down into the black pool, a satisfied grin on his face. lilly understood at once what was going on. "did you get him?" he cried. "i did," answered tad calmly. "he won't have any more appetite for fat boys. are there any more of them down there, do you think, mr. lilly?" "i reckon there are plenty there." "then i am going to make it my business to thin them out," said tad. the bang of the pony rider boy's rifle was heard three more times that morning. that appeared to have rid the black pool of its dangerous residents. while tad was watching the pool stacy brown was dancing about the camp in search of something to occupy his mind and time, but the others kept a close watch on the fat boy and kept him out of mischief. early in the morning mr. lilly had gone out with rifle and dogs in search of "bear sign." the dogs were barking eagerly as he left camp, but the animals were disconsolate when, along towards noon, hunter and dogs returned to camp. "nary a sign," answered lilly in response to tad's questioning look. "there's game here, just the same. the dogs scented something this morning. of course, i don't know what they scented, and what bothers me is that i couldn't find any sign." "how did the dogs act?" asked tad. "as if they were mad about something." "i guess they must have been mad with you for taking them out on a wild goose chase," suggested stacy wisely. "no doubt, no doubt," nodded the guide. "i'll tell you what, i'll go out and find the trail for you. i don't suppose there is a better trailer in the country than myself," declared stacy. "why, i can run a trail with my nose, even though it's ages old." "are you speaking of your nose or the trail?" asked ned. "the trail, of course. my nose isn't ages old." "nor will it be if you don't watch out and keep away from trouble," warned tad. "what are your plans, mr. lilly?" "we will go out in the morning. between us we ought to pick up something. this afternoon i will take a run about to see what i can pick up; then in the morning we will get an early start, all hands going out." "that will be fine," approved the boys. they were enthusiastic over the guide's report when he came in that night with the good news that he had found some "bear sign" about four miles to the west. "do you think that was what the dogs scented when you were out before?" asked tad. "i reckon it must have been. what you-all been doing this afternoon?" "oh, 'gator hunting." "get any?" "i have cleaned them out." the guide laughed. "i reckon if you were to go swimming in there you'd change your mind. they are moving back and forth all the time. it would take your time for the next several years to clean them out of this river. remember, we start early in the morning for the hunting grounds." early in the morning meant just as the dawn was graying in the east, and before the light really had filtered through the tall cypress. all the boys turned out cheerfully, including chunky, who didn't utter a grumble. ned said chunky must be sick, but chunky declared that he always got up that way, and that it was ned who was so grouchy that he thought everyone else was. the other boys mischievously sided with stacy and against ned rector. after a hasty breakfast a light pack of food was stowed in the pockets of the saddles, and the boys jogged from the camp, leaving ichabod in sole charge. lilly rode ahead, slashing as usual, chunky being sandwiched between tad and the professor. the "bear sign" had been discovered in the canebrake about three miles from camp. it was to this point that the guide was heading. arriving there he called the party about him for their instructions. they were to split up, and at least two of them were to pass through an exciting experience ere they returned to their camp on sunflower river. chapter xii the quest of the phantom deer the dogs were tugging at their leashes, having already scented the trail, when lilly called his hunters about him to give them their directions. it was decided that tad butler and stacy brown were to proceed to the north, posting themselves between two ridges of cane in the swamp, and there to wait until they were called in by the guide's horn later in the day. ned was given a post to the south, while walter perkins and the professor were to remain with lilly. taking all things into consideration the three boys who were to guard the north and south were in much the better positions, as it was believed that the bears would take one of these two directions, breaking from ridge to ridge until they found a hiding place in one or the other of the canebrake ridges. tad and ned were each equipped with a bush-knife, with a horn to each party. lilly considered that the boys needed no further advice from him, the lads having had experience with bear before this and all being good shots and well-tried hunters at big game. "look out that you don't get lost if you get on a chase," he warned. "one is likely in the excitement of a chase to forget to blaze his trail. it isn't any use to get game if you can't get back to camp with it." the boys knew this, too. stacy declared that such a little thing as the canebrake didn't worry him in the least; that he could find his way out with his eyes shut. "don't try it," warned the guide tersely. "i am glad i haven't the responsibility of looking after chunky," chuckled ned rector. "tad, you have your work cut out for you." "all take your positions. we will wait here until you have done so, then we will free the dogs. blow your horns, one long blast when you are ready, then lie low," directed the guide. "come on, chunky; i'm off," cried tad, springing into his saddle, armed with rifle, bush-knife, horn and hunting knife, chunky having the usual equipment without the bush-knife and horn. the two boys fought their way through the jungle and were soon out of sight and sound of their companions. ned, too, was on his way to his post, thus placing the two outside parties about five miles apart, with the guide, professor zepplin and perkins, somewhere midway between the outside parties. after some time had elapsed, ned's horn was heard. he had farther to go than tad. the latter's horn sounded fully half an hour after ned's. lilly unleashed the dogs, and with joyful yelps they scattered, diving into the thick cane, darting here and there, in search of the trail, which they found, and started away in a very few minutes. to the surprise of lilly, the dogs headed west instead of going either north or south, as he had looked for them to do. "he will round back sooner or later and break for the other ridges," was the guide's confident prediction. "the boys will get a chance at the bear unless i am greatly mistaken." lilly and his two companions now started at break-neck speed in pursuit of their dogs. through cane, through soft, swampy land they urged their ponies, slashing to the right and left with the bush-knife. the yelping of the dogs could be heard far ahead of them. "good trail," observed lilly. "the hounds are making excellent time. that's a favorable sign." "but we shan't get a shot at the game if it is going so far away," objected walter. "you can't tell about that. the bears are just as likely to double back here as to go on. you never can tell about those fellows. they are sharp and they can cover ground faster than we can in the woods. this nearest one is a she-bear and a big one." "how do you know?" questioned walter. "i can tell by her tracks and the way she works. it is easy when you know. there, the dogs are out of hearing now. gracious, she's making a long run. we will take a short cut across this way. that ought to bring us across the trail and we may be able to head her off." while all this was taking place tad butler and stacy brown were standing beside their horses close to the canebrake. they too heard the barking of the dogs, and realized that the game was getting farther and farther away. suddenly tad heard what he thought was the sound of a breaking twig off to the north of them. "chunky," he whispered, "you stay here and watch the horses while i make a scout. i believe that bear has given them the slip and has come over into the brake here. don't make a sound. i will be back pretty soon." "how long?" "half an hour at the most." stacy nodded. tad tethered his horse, then taking his rifle from the saddle boot stole silently away. stacy lost sight of him in a few minutes. butler, proceeding as quietly as an indian, had crossed the next cane ridge and had gotten nearly over a narrow stretch of swamp when he heard a sound in the cane just ahead of him. tad crouched down and listened. not a sound save that of the birds of the forest did he now hear. he had waited in that position for some time, when he heard something strike the ground in the canebrake just beyond him. the boy straightened up. a flash of red and a crashing of the cane told him that his ears had not deceived him. with characteristic quickness, tad threw up his rifle and fired. a crash woke the echoes of the forest, stilling the songs of the birds in the trees. then followed another crash. "i got him that time. it's a deer," exulted the pony rider boy. he did not pause to think that his had been a remarkable shot, or that he had fired while the deer was still in the air, making a leap for safety. the animal had caught sight of him as he rose to his feet, then leaped. alarmed by the baying of the dogs, the deer had fled in tad's direction, and perhaps it had halted because of the scent of the boy himself. at any rate tad butler's shot had been sure. his bullet had caught the animal just back of the shoulder, dropping the deer dead in its tracks. butler started on a run, crashing through the bushes and into the dense cane, and there lay the deer, a handsome doe. the young hunter felt regretful as he gazed down at the fallen animal. "well, i reckon i've got enough meat to keep us going for some time. mr. lilly will be glad to get this. now, i must get the horses." tad jacked the deer up in the manner learned from his former guide in the maine woods, then started back for stacy and the horses. butler had a little difficulty in finding his way at first, thus losing fully twenty minutes, but finally he found the trail, and set off for the stock on a brisk run. "hey, what did you shoot at?" cried stacy the instant he caught sight of his companion. "at a deer," answered tad, smiling happily, "and i got him, too." "you did?" wondered stacy. "i surely did. we will go get him and take him back to camp." "what about the bear?" "i don't believe the bear will come this way. you heard them going off in the other direction, but perhaps you had better stay here and watch while i get the deer." "no, no, i'm going with you," protested chunky. "very good, if you want to. i don't think we shall lose much. then again i may need your help in loading the beast on my horse." "is he a big one?" "no, it is a doe," answered tad, climbing into his saddle, stacy doing the same with his mount. "hurrah!" shouted the fat boy. "we are the mighty hunters. give us a fair show and send the rest of the folks about their business and we will show them how to get game. but i'm sorry we didn't meet the bears." "so am i. still, we have some food that is better than bear meat." the boys hurried along tad's trail as fast as possible. they crossed the swamp places, on through the canebrake and into the partially open swale where tad had stood when he shot. "it is right over there," called tad. he pushed on, but as he reached the spot he stopped and rubbed his eyes. there was no deer there. "he's gone," gasped tad butler. "a regular phantom deer," jeered the fat boy. "oh, what a joke on you. won't the boys have the laugh on you?" "this is no joke," answered tad slowly. "i'm going to find out what it is right now." chapter xiii the mystery is solved butler's first act was to dismount, tossing the bridle rein to stacy. tad then hurried to the spot where he had left the deer hanging. "i guess the bear has been here all right," chuckled the fat boy. "did you really kill a deer, tad?" "can't you take my word for it?" demanded tad somewhat testily. "oh, yes, of course. don't get touchy about it." "i think i have reason to be touchy. i not only lose my deer, but my companion doubts that i ever had one." "i was only joking, tad." "all right." "what do you think?" stacy resumed. "i don't think. i am trying to see." tad stood still before destroying the clues by tramping about on the scene. the poles on which the deer had been hung had been flung to one side. he could see where the deer had fallen to the ground when the poles had been removed, and his first impression was that a bear had chanced that way and torn down the dead animal. but tad knew that a bear would not have dragged the prey away, that the bear, if hungry, would have made a meal of it, then crawled away somewhere to sleep or rest. the deer had disappeared. that meant that some person had carried it away. the pony rider boy circled slowly about the scene, using his eyes to good advantage. he saw the prints of a heavy boot in the soft ground; then he discovered that the bushes had been crushed down where the doe had been dragged. it was a plain trail up to a certain point, and there the trail changed. further investigation showed the lad that a horse had been tethered to a tree nearby, and it was at the base of this tree that the dragged-trail came to an end. butler understood the meaning of this when he discovered quite a pool of blood on the leaves of some trampled bushes. some person had stolen his deer and loaded it to the back of the horse. following the trail still farther, tad saw that the man had ridden away with his prize. "it is plain theft, nothing more or less," muttered the boy, as he started back to stacy. "well?" questioned the fat boy. "stolen!" answered butler sharply. "you don't say so? who did it?" "how should i know? i shouldn't be surprised if the man saw me hang the deer there, then as soon as i got away he stole the carcass. wasn't that a measly trick?" "beastly," agreed stacy. tad stood pondering. "what are you going to do about it--tell mr. lilly?" questioned stacy. "well, hardly that. i am going after that deer," answered tad with a firm compression of the lips. "you may go back to camp if you wish." "no, sir! if there is going to be any fun you may count me in every time. but we may get lost." "we can't get lost on that trail. by the time we have passed over it in the wake of the other man it will be plainly marked." "how do you know there wasn't more than one?" asked stacy. "because the tracks of one horse are all there are here. one man and one horse, that's all." "hm-m-m! but he may be a long way from here by this time." "he cannot have gone far in this short time. then remember, he is carrying a heavy load. no horse can travel fast in this swamp, especially when carrying a man and a deer, unless the man walked. in that case his progress would be still slower." "yes, but what are you going to do if you do catch up with him?" urged chunky. "get my deer," answered tad firmly. "let's be going," urged stacy after a moment's reflection. tad needed no further urging. he quickly led his horse around the spot where the deer had been dropped, then blazing a tree on four sides for the guidance of billy lilly in case the latter should find it necessary to follow them, tad started off on the trail of the deer thief, followed a short distance to the rear by stacy brown. the trail was not difficult to follow; even a novice could not well have missed it for the thief had used his bush-knife freely in getting away. tad had little use for his own bush-knife, except here and there where he found it possible to make a short cut where the other man had made a detour to find better going for his heavy load. these short cuts saved quite a little of the distance. tad imagined that they were going a third faster than the man they were pursuing. if that were the fact they should overhaul him very quickly. "say, how much farther have we got to go?" finally called stacy. "keep quiet," warned tad. "don't call. the trail is growing fresher every minute. we cannot be far from him now. i think we had better slow down a little. make as little noise as possible." "i don't see what that has to do with it," grumbled chunky. "it may have a great deal to do with it. you do as i tell you." they were not as near as they thought, and the man was making better time than they had deemed possible. at the rate the boys were going tad felt that they should have overhauled him at about this time, but there was neither sight nor sound of a human being, though the trail itself was still plain and fresh. "more speed," directed the pony rider boy. "i'll break my neck if i ride any faster," objected stacy. "then stay here and wait for me." "i won't." the horses settled to their work as if they understood what was expected of them. they leaped cypress knees, fallen trees, and tore through the forest at a perilous pace, but they were making more noise than either of the boys realized. so much noise did they make that horseman some distance ahead of them heard them plainly. tad suddenly pulled his horse down to a walk. ahead of him, sitting his saddle easily, was a tall, bearded man. the latter's horse was white, with pink nostrils, something like tad butler's mount. the rider was raw-boned and armed with rifle and bush-knife, besides a revolver that protruded from his belt. but there was no deer on the horse, nor any trace of a deer. "howdy, stranger," greeted the man. "good afternoon," answered tad, eyeing the man narrowly. "have you seen anything of a man carrying a deer?" "a deer?" "yes, sir." "i reckon i saw a fellow with a buck some twenty minutes back." "where?" "oh, he went on past here." "which way did he go?" "that way," answered the stranger, pointing on to the westward. "did you know the man?" "never sot eyes on him before, kiddie," answered the man. "but you seem mighty interested?" "i am," was the terse reply. tad was using his eyes to good purpose, but trying not to let the man know that he was doing so. "somebody you know?" tad shook his head. "but we would like to know him," interjected stacy. "for what, kiddie?" tad gave chunky a quick glance of warning. "oh, nothing much. we thought we should like to hold a conversation with him, that's all," answered stacy carelessly. "you are quite sure it was a buck that he was carrying?" questioned butler. "i reckon i ought to know." "i think you are mistaken." "eh?" "it was a doe." "so?" "yes, sir. it was _my_ doe," persisted butler. "yours?" in well-feigned amazement. "it was. i shot him and someone stole him. if you know anything about the man who took him, i would ask you kindly to tell me. he may have carried the carcass away under the impression that the man who killed the doe had abandoned it." "this man wasn't under any seech impression, kiddie." "how do you know?" "wall, in the first place it wasn't a doe and in the second place the fellow killed it himself, i reckon," drawled the stranger. "may i ask who you are?" "that doesn't cut any figure." "it may cut more than you think." "what do you mean?" demanded the stranger, peering angrily at tad. "that i am going to have that deer if i have to hold up every man in the canebrake," was tad's firm reply. "i reckon you've got your work out out for you," chuckled the fellow. tad gave him another look, and swung down from his stirrup. "stacy, you remain where you are." "what are you going to do?" demanded the fat boy. "take a little look around. keep your eyes peeled," he warned in a lower tone, intended for chunky's ears alone. the fat boy nodded. stacy was unafraid. in fact he was pleased and he shrewdly suspected that the man before them knew more about the stolen doe than he had told them. he was positive that the stranger was shielding the real thief, and that tad knew it. "trust tad for seeing things," was the fat boy's reasoning. butler _was_ seeing things. "what do you reckon you are going to do?" called the man. "i want to look about here a bit, that's all. i don't suppose you have any objections?" questioned tad sarcastically. "you are a mighty pert young fellow, it strikes me." tad did not reply. he was following the trail of a horse to the north of where the horseman was sitting, narrowly watching tad. in order to do so more fully, the stranger wheeled his mount about. "hello!" exclaimed chunky. "what's the matter with you?" demanded the man. "your nag must have hurt itself." "what makes you think so?" "he has blood on his flanks." "that's so, kiddie. i reckon i must have pricked him with my bush-knife. i'll have to tend to that at the first opportunity," explained the fellow lamely. "pricked him with a bush-knife, eh?" "yes." "ha, ha, ha; haw, haw, haw!" laughed the fat boy mockingly. chapter xiv the fat boy distinguishes himself "you laughing at me?" shouted the stranger angrily. "no, that was a horse laugh," answered chunky. "what d'ye mean?" "i mean i was laughing at the horse. the joke is on the horse, you see. that's why i called it a horse laugh. ever hear of a horse laugh? that was one of those things. you see, you can learn even from a kid." the horseman, glowering, was gazing so fixedly at the fat boy that for the moment he had forgotten to watch tad, who was now circling slowly about the two in ever-widening circles. tad found that the broad trail made by the man who had stolen his doe ended where they were. the lad came around again to the point where he had discovered horse tracks leading north from that point. he took up this trail again. behind a fallen cypress, partially hidden in the foliage, the pony rider boy discovered a dead deer. at first he did not go near to the carcass, pretending not to have seen it, but continued moving around the place, his object being to see where the deer had been hit. he found the wound very soon, for it was just back of the left shoulder. even then butler gave no sign that he understood. he strolled back to stacy, giving the fat boy a knowing wink, which stacy, for a wonder, interpreted correctly. that is, he understood that his companion had made a discovery, but just what that discovery was, chunky could not say. "well?" questioned the stranger sharply. "well?" answered butler, a faint grin appearing on his face. "are you satisfied?" "of what?" "that your doe isn't here?" "i am satisfied," replied tad evasively, not saying of what he was satisfied. "if you want to catch the man with the buck, you'd better be heading on. he'll get so far away that you'll never catch him if you don't move." "i am in no hurry now," replied butler. "what do you-all reckon on doing?" "remain right here until the rest of my party comes up." the stranger started. "chunky, will you be good enough to wind the horn?" stacy grinned broadly. "i reckon i'll wind the old thing up until she caves in or breaks her mainspring," chuckled the fat boy. stacy placed the horn to his lips and gave a long, winding blast that drowned the songs of the birds and set the barred owls to cackling uneasily. "here, what are you doing?" cried the horseman. "if you aren't deaf, you would know without asking such a question," retorted stacy, taking the horn from his lips for a moment. tad in the meantime had seated himself on a log. his rifle was still in the saddle boot, but tad had his rope and his revolver. the former he did not have much if any use for in the present circumstances, but he half expected to have use for the rope. he had tried to avoid a clash, and he hoped the man would take alarm and go away. the man did nothing of the sort. instead, he forced the situation to a head. "how long you going to stay here?" he asked, controlling his voice with evident effort. "until you go away, or until my party comes up," answered butler. "i reckon you'll stay here a long time, then. i am camping here. your party has gone the other way and they won't get out to this brake before tomorrow some time." "you seem to know all about it." "i reckon i do." "and you know all about that deer over yonder behind the down cypress?" "if i do, that's my business. the doe is mine." "you are wrong," answered tad. "the doe is mine. you know it is." "well, for the sake of the argument, what are you going to do about it?" "take the deer back with me," answered butler evenly. "and what do you think i'll be doing while you-all are taking my doe away?" "i don't care what you do. i propose to do what i please with my own property." "look here, kid. i've just been leadin' you along by the nose. now, i'm going to talk straight." "that's what i want you to do. but i doubt if you can talk straight--i doubt if you can tell the truth. a fellow who will steal a deer will not hesitate to lie," answered butler, gazing defiantly at the horseman. the man flushed under his tan, flushed clear up under his hat. "layin' all that talk aside, how you going to prove that that doe is your property?" "how are you going to prove that it isn't?" retorted the pony rider boy. "because i shot him." tad chuckled. "you will have a mighty hard time proving that. listen! i tracked you here. i followed the trail right to this spot where it ends. your story about seeing a man with a buck was not true. there is no trail beyond this place. you hoped we would go on, when you would have taken the doe from its hiding place and gone away with it. if you want a deer so badly, why don't you go shoot one? if you don't know how to shoot, come to our camp and i will divide this deer with you. but take it back with me i am going to, and i'd like to see you or anyone else stop me." "that's the talk," cried chunky. "that's what i call turkey talk. why, you moccasin-chaser, i could eat you. i would if i weren't afraid of getting a pain in my stomach." "never mind, stacy," rebuked tad. "i will talk with this fellow. you, mister man, may think you are dealing with a couple of boys. we may be boys, but we know how to take care of ourselves. i am not making brags; i am simply warning you that we shall take the carcass back to camp with us, and if you interfere we shall have to defend ourselves." "you touch that carcass and something will happen right smart, i reckon," warned the stranger, jerking his horse about and facing the fallen cypress. "chunky, you cover my retreat," ordered tad in a low tone. "you bet i will," answered the fat boy, chuckling happily. stacy was the original trouble man. trouble was meat and drink to him. "here, where you going?" shouted the now thoroughly enraged hunter as tad turned his back on the man and walked briskly towards the cypress. "i am going for my doe," flung back butler. there had been no answer to stacy's signal on the horn, nor had tad looked for any. he would have been surprised had there been, knowing, as did the stranger, that billy lilly and his party were miles away from that particular spot. "come back here!" ordered the man. "i will when i get the deer," answered butler. the stranger, hot with anger, flung up his revolver and pulled the trigger. there followed a sharp report and tad's hat dropped on the ground in front of him. it was then that tad butler showed his cool nerve. without looking back he stooped, and, picking up his sombrero, placed it on his head and started on. for the moment the shooter was too amazed to do more than stare. his face was working nervously. whether he had intended to shoot the boy or not, tad did not know, but he was inclined to think not. once more the fellow raised his weapon. "oh, by--the--way!" drawled chunky. the man turned sharply toward stacy. he found himself looking into the muzzle of the fat boy's rifle. chapter xv pluck and the dead doe "if you don't mind, just drop that little barker, mister what's-your-name. it might go off and accidentally hit somebody. in that case i should have to shoot you. i'd hate to waste any lead on you, and i don't think you're worth the price of a shell." for one uncertain moment the stranger sat with revolver pointed toward tad, his gaze fixed on chunky. "don't try any tricks. i can shoot just as quickly as you can, and i know i can do it a whole lot straighter. drop it!" the revolver fell to the ground, the man's lower jaw hanging so low that stacy could look into his mouth. the fellow twitched slightly at his bridle rein to turn his horse about, but the move was not lost on the watchful chunky. "want to lose that horse? if so, just keep on with what you are doing! that little black spot in his forehead would make a dandy mark. after the horse is down i may conclude to decorate your features, too. oh, i'm a terror when i get started. i'm not started yet. you may think i am, but i'm not. this is just a preliminary skirmish, as the professor would say. when the real sortie begins the air will be filled with the yells of the dead and the silence of the living." growling under his breath the stranger checked his horse. "i'll git you yet, you young whelp!" he threatened. "tut, tut!" warned stacy. "such language before an innocent boy like me? i am amazed. you must have had an awful bad bringing up." "stacy!" the boy answered without looking around. "watch him. don't forget yourself while you are having such a pleasant conversation. i shall have to have my horse here," called tad. "drop it!" yelled the fat boy, swinging his rifle toward the horseman again. the latter was tugging at the rifle in his saddle boot. the man halted instantly. "upon second thought you may pull it out. first turn your back to me, but be slow about it, and after you get the gun from its holster, just let it fall to the ground with the revolver. i'll talk with you some more after you have done that. i mean business!" the stranger knew that. he was perplexed. that boys should be so cool and so ready to defend themselves against an experienced woodsman passed his comprehension. the horseman drew the rifle all the way out, stacy warning, "slower, slower," as the operation proceeded. the horseman's back being turned to the boy left the man at a disadvantage, and he did not dare to attempt a shot, knowing that the boy could fire at least twice before he could get into position to shoot once. "let go of it!" commanded stacy sharply. the rifle fell near where the revolver lay. stacy chuckled audibly. "shall i give him the run, tad? i have pulled his fangs. he can't do us any harm now," proclaimed chunky. "no," tad rejoined quietly. "what shall we do with him, then?" "i want to have a talk with the fellow when i have finished my job. you hold him right where he is, old boy." "oh, i'll hold him all right. i'm keeping my eyes on a spot right behind his left ear. it's the prettiest mark you ever saw." tad grinned appreciatively. he was proud of stacy brown, for stacy had distinguished himself and shown his pluck beyond any doubt. the boy, tugging at the deer, finally succeeded in getting it to the back of his horse, where he lashed the carcass, the stranger watching the operation out of the corners of his eyes, and admitted to himself that he had made a mistake in his reckonings. tad knew his business. the fellow could see that. the fat boy knew his business, too, as earlier events had demonstrated, and to the undoing of the woodsman. "there, i guess the carcass will stay on until we get home. i hope we make it before dark," exclaimed tad as he completed his task. "what about the man?" inquired stacy. "keep him covered until i tell you to let go." butler gathered up the man's revolver and rifle, from both of which he extracted the shells. handing the latter to the fellow, he directed him to put the shells in his pocket. next tad handed the man his weapons. "put them away and don't you dare to load them until you are at least a mile from here." "look here, what are you doing?" cried chunky. "i am returning his property," answered tad. "here i go and draw the animal's fangs, then you go stick them back again! why, he'll be shooting at us before he gets out of sight," protested the fat boy. "i wouldn't turn a man into this swamp unarmed, stacy. it might be sending him to his death." "serve him right," grunted young brown. "chunky, i am amazed at you," rebuked tad. in the meantime the stranger with a look of puzzled amazement on his face was stowing away his weapons, gazing perplexedly at tad butler. "now, my man, i don't know who you are; i don't care who you are. but i hope you will have learned a lesson and that you will leave us alone after this. do you know bill lilly?" the stranger flushed again. tad saw that the fellow did. "then you know that mr. lilly won't stand for any such doings as yours. i reckon if he had been in my place he wouldn't have let you off quite so easy, and if you bother us further i shan't, either. now, sir, i want you to head your horse straight west. ride until you get tired of riding, but don't make the mistake of thinking that you can come back and catch us napping. we shall be on the watch for you." "yes, you had better not come back," interjected stacy brown. "this gun might get unmanageable. you don't know what a terror it is when it gets on a rampage." "i guess that is about all i have to say to you," continued butler. "except that i shall tell mr. lilly. he may take a notion to follow you and call you to account. however, i think you have been punished enough. now get out of here as fast as you can ride." "i'll be even with you, you young cubs!" shouted the angry voice of the stranger as he rode away. "shall i wing him, tad?" yelled stacy. "certainly not," rebuked butler. "what right or reason have you to do it?" "i--i told you he would strike when you put his fangs back in his jaw. he will be after us again, mind what i tell you," predicted chunky. "we don't care. we have our deer," answered tad with a good-humored smile. "but don't you think it is time we were getting back? we shall be caught out after dark if we don't hurry." chunky agreed, so the boys started back over the trail, casting frequent glances to the rear, for tad really believed that the doe thief would try to creep up on them and take his revenge. for that reason butler carried his rifle across the saddle in front of him, ready for instant action. "here, here, we've forgotten something," cried chunky after they had been going on for twenty minutes. "what have we forgotten?" "to eat." "oh, pooh! we can wait until we get to camp." "we can do nothing of the sort! i can't wait another minute. i'm so hungry that my works are rattling around inside of me like the dishes in a pantry when a mad cat is let loose among them." "you have food in your saddle bags," reminded tad. "but i want something warm." "you may get it if you stop," warned butler suggestively. "take a nibble and let it go at that. when we get home we shall have some venison steak. how would that strike you?" "don't aggravate me," groaned the fat boy, rolling his eyes. "anyone would think you were going to throw a fit the way you roll your eyes and show the whites," laughed tad. "i shall throw one if you say any more about venison steak." "all right. i won't find any further fault with you. i am proud of you, chunky. i take back all the disagreeable things i have said about you. you are a plucky boy." "yes, i reckon i am about the bravest man that ever tackled wild beasts in the canebrake," agreed the fat boy. "what are you thinking about?" "i was wondering," answered tad reflectively. "it seems to me that there is something more to this affair than i first thought. why did that man steal the doe, chunky?" "'cause he wanted it. ask me something harder." "i don't believe that was wholly the case." chunky cocked an inquiring eye. "what do you think?" he demanded. "i don't know as i think at all," laughed butler. "i thought not. you are always looking for something. i wish i had your imagination." "what would you do with it?" "think up trouble that couldn't happen at all. but you see i could imagine it was going to happen, and get just as much excitement out of it as if it really had. it would be a whole lot safer, too." "i agree with you," answered tad, tilting back his head and laughing heartily. tad rode watching the trail with keen eyes. he had no difficulty in following it, but he saw that night would be upon them before they reached the camp, which would then make their progress slower and much more uncertain. stacy was not worrying. he was not given to worrying until face to face with an emergency--and not always then. twilight settled over the swamp and the canebrake, and the barred owls began their wild hoots and weird croakings, sounds that always made the fat boy shiver. he said it gave him "crinkles" up and down his back. he told that to tad, and asked permission to wind the horn. "i hardly think that would be prudent. if our late enemy should chance to be following us it would give him a pretty good line on us, wouldn't it?" "gracious! i hadn't thought of that. do you suppose he is on our track?" "i hardly think so. still, he may be. we are not traveling fast, you know, while he, being light, can overtake us easily if he wants to." "i reckon he has had enough of the pony rider boys," averred stacy. "he knows he'd be hurt if he got too familiar with us. you ought to have let me fan him a little while i had the chance." "no. i am amazed that you should think of such a thing. but i am sure you don't mean it." "i _do_ mean it. you bet i mean it." "you are not a safe person to be at large." "neither is he," retorted stacy. "i give up," laughed tad. "there is no such thing as having the last word in an argument with you." "of course there isn't. that's what my aunt says, so she uses a stick. i can't answer that in the same way." tad halted to search for some torch wood. he found some after poking around in the dark for nearly half an hour. some of the wood he gave to stacy, and lighted a torch for himself. the torch flared up, sending ghostly shadows through the forest, causing the owls to break out in a chorus of angry protest. tad was now able to see the trail, though the light made the trail deceiving, requiring the utmost caution in following it. once off the trail, the boy knew that they would be obliged to spend the night in the swamp or the canebrake, for to move about would be to get farther into the depths of the forest. stacy grumbled at their slow progress, but tad's patience was the patience of the experienced woodsman who moved slowly, observing everything about him, listening to all sounds, thinking of everything that a woodsman in the depth of the forest should think of. it was about nine o'clock in the evening when tad halted and held up one hand. "what is it?" whispered chunky. "i thought i heard a horn." "yes, there it goes," cried stacy. the winding horn was a long way off. none but the keenest of ears could have caught the sound. "answer them," nodded butler. stacy did. he wound the horn until he was red in the face. tad had to stop him in order that he might listen for the other horn. he heard it again. they now knew that their companions were out looking for them. it was about this time that lilly discovered the four-sided blaze. he read its message instantly. then he caught the sound of stacy's answering horn. "they are getting near. they will be here soon," announced the guide in a relieved tone. "i told you, you couldn't lose tad butler," cried ned rector. "no, not even in the canebrake." chapter xvi the horn points the way stacy tried to play a tune on the horn, the result being a series of squawks and discords. "for goodness' sake stop it!" begged tad. "don't you like my music?" "i like music, but not your music. it's awful." "huh! you haven't any ear for music," complained chunky. tad concluded that their horn had been heard, and that the searching party was waiting for them rather than start out over the trail which lilly had seen but had not as yet read. he thought of course that the boys had strayed away on the trail of a bear. some time later, guided by the guide's horn fully as much as by the trail marks, tad and stacy neared their two companions. a twinkling light, now appearing and then as suddenly disappearing, seen far down the trail between the trees, told the guide that the missing boys were almost home. "hurrah! there they are," shouted rector. lilly uttered a long-drawn call, which stacy answered with a shrill whoop. "i guess we have a surprise for them," chuckled the fat boy. "won't their noses be out of joint? i reckon they will." "boys, are you all right?" shouted the guide when they came within hailing distance. "both right-side-up," answered tad cheerily, while stacy was marking time with hoarse toots on the hunting horn. as they drew near, ned and lilly rode forward at a gallop to meet them. about this time they discovered that tad was carrying something on his pony's back. "what's that you have there?" called lilly. "guess," shouted chunky. "a bear," ventured ned. "no. there aren't any bears in these woods--only snakes and owls," replied the fat boy. "we have a deer," tad proudly informed the guide and ned. "well, you are some hunters," remarked lilly approvingly. "did you get lost?" tad shook his head. "oh, no; we held closely to the trail. there is no fun in getting lost, you know. mr lilly, did you find my double blaze?" "i reckon i did. i knew, from that, that you had gone away after something, and i saw you knew what you were about. how far did you go?" "'bout a hundred miles," replied stacy. "not quite so far as that, i guess," laughed tad. "we went a long distance, though, and it was the toughest traveling that i ever experienced." "shall i take the doe?" asked billy. "no, thank you, mr. lilly. my horse is tired, but i think he can stand it until we get home. where are the professor and walter?" "at the camp. no need to fetch the whole outfit along. i thought you boys were lost, and that we might have a long hike of it through the night. i am mighty glad to see you safe and sound. where did you get the doe?" "just a few rods from here." "eh?" "yonder." tad pointed. lilly regarded him with a puzzled expression. "then what in the world were you dragging him off into the swamp for?" "i will tell you about that when we get home," replied tad. "it is a long story." "and an exciting one, too," added chunky, mysteriously. "i'll bet you have been getting into fresh difficulties," jeered rector. "on the contrary, ned, he has been helping me out of difficulties. stacy showed himself to be the real man today. you will agree with me when you hear the story." "let's hear it, then," urged ned. "i couldn't think of telling it to you now. stacy is famished; we are both tired and anxious to get home." "yes, and we are going to have some venison steak when we get back to camp. oh, wow?" howled the fat boy. the professor and walter heard them coming when later the party neared the camp. both were out watching with anxious eyes. tad shouted that they were all right, to the great relief of professor zepplin, and the professor and walter opened their eyes when they saw what tad had shot. "help me get this animal strung up," requested tad. "i have bled the doe, but that was all i could find time to do. the carcass should be strung up and dressed at once." "ichabod will attend to that," answered lilly. "here, ichabod. get these young gentlemen something hot to drink and eat, then look after this carcass." "yes, sah." ichabod was grinning broadly. he had not believed that the boys were such mighty hunters. they had not shot a bear, it is true, but they had brought in what was better--a fine, tender doe, and the colored man was actually licking his chops in anticipation of the treat before him. next to a 'possum stew ichabod went silly over venison steaks. none of the party had eaten supper, so that all the appetites were on keen edge. in a few moments there was a steaming pot of coffee ready for them, with some hastily fried bacon. this, with a heaping plate of waffles which the colored man had baked earlier in the evening, made a most palatable meal. stacy's voice was stilled. he began before the others and ate so voraciously that his companions were forced to eat more rapidly by way of self-protection. "let him eat. he has earned it," begged tad in answer to the professor's protest. "suppose you tell us what happened," suggested lilly. "shortly after we arrived at our station," began tad, leaning back, a slice of bacon in one hand, a waffle in the other, both poised half way to his mouth, "i heard something in the brake, and peering, i caught sight of this doe. she saw me at the same instant, and leaped. i shot her while she was still in the air," murmured tad modestly. "was she in the cane?" interrupted the guide. "yes, sir." "good shot!" "it was a quick one, and lucky. i caught her just back of the left shoulder. she went down in her tracks." "better than shooting bears," declared rector. "having left stacy with the horses some distance back i strung up the carcass, then hurried back to get my horse. when we reached the place where i had left the deer, there was no deer there. it had disappeared." lilly had forgotten to eat. he was leaning forward with eager face. "not there?" "i examined the ground and found the tracks of a man," continued butler. "then i found horse tracks. i found also a trail on the ground where the carcass had been dragged over it to a tree and blood at the foot of a tree where the doe had been thrown down. from that point the dragging was not found. instead, were the hoofprints of a horse. these hoofprints sunk into the soft ground deeper now, showing that the animal was carrying a heavier load." "indeed?" wondered professor zepplin. "well, to make a long story short, we determined to get that doe. the trail was an easy one to follow, for the fellow who had stolen the carcass had to cut his way through over most of the trail. a blind man could have followed him." tad then went on to explain how they had eventually come up with the stranger, engaged him in conversation, repeating what the man had said about having seen a hunter with a buck, then proceeding to relate how the carcass had been discovered behind a fallen cypress. "then what?" asked lilly in a low, tense voice, tugging violently at his long moustache. "i went over to fetch the deer." "a--a--a--and the fellow shot him. he shot tad's hat right off," cried stacy, forgetting to eat for the moment. tad embraced the opportunity to take a bite of the crisp bacon. "no, he didn't shoot again. stacy leveled his rifle at the man and made him drop his revolver. then stacy made the fellow give up his rifle. there isn't much more to tell except that we got our doe, after which i returned the fellow's weapons to him and sent him on his way at a lively clip. that's all. you know the rest. we followed our trail home and here we are. how many bear did you get?" "not a smell," answered rector. "but tell us some more." "did you find out what the fellow's name is?" questioned lilly. "we didn't ask him. but i tripped him into an admission that he knew you. still, i don't know as that is of much consequence. everyone down this way appears to know you." "pretty much all of them do," answered the guide. "what did the fellow look like?" "he looked like some sort of a man to me," spoke up chunky. "i reckon he was some sort of a man, but not much of a one at that. i'm sorry he didn't give me an excuse to plug him." "stacy!" warned the professor reprovingly. "yes, stacy is developing into a blood-thirsty young man," smiled tad. "still, he proved himself the genuine thing today. he was as cool as could be. i wish you might have seen the way in which he handled the fellow." "what did he look like?" repeated lilly. "i beg your pardon. he was about your height, i should say, but somewhat thinner. he wore a long beard and his face was weazened. he had blue eyes and light hair. his horse was white, something like the one i am using now. does that give you any idea, mr. lilly?" the guide's face had contracted into a scowl. "i reckon i've seen that hound before," growled billy. "who do you think he is?" "i wouldn't want to say, not knowing for sure. but if it's the fellow i think, you will most likely hear from him again." "but what was his motive?" insisted tad. "eh? motive? why, i reckon he wanted some steak for his supper," grinned billy. "that's what i told him," piped the fat boy. tad shook his head. "that wasn't his only reason. he had another," declared the boy with emphasis. "what makes you think so?" questioned lilly, peering keenly at the brown-faced pony rider boy. "he saw that deer before i did. he must have. why didn't he shoot if he wanted it?" "you're a sharp one," chuckled lilly. "i reckon pete will have to get up before daylight if he thinks to get ahead of my boys." "pete?" repeated butler. "i was just thinkin' out loud," explained billy. "do i understand you to say that he tried to shoot you, tad?" questioned professor zepplin. "i wouldn't say that exactly. i don't think that at first he intended to hit me. later on he was so mad that he would have done so had not chunky held him in check." "stacy, i am pleased beyond words to know that you have in a measure redeemed yourself," declared the professor with glowing face. "oh, i am always in my element when there is danger about. yes, sir, i am a hummer when it comes to danger." "especially when a 'gator is chasing you," reminded ned rector. "that isn't danger, that's just plain murder," answered the fat boy, rolling his eyes and showing the whites. "well, don't have a fit about it," chuckled ned. "i will admit that you were a hero in this instance, but you will have to play the hero a lot more times before we even up for the cold feet you have shown in the past." "you're jealous--that's what is the matter with you," retorted the fat boy. "you are under the impression that you know the man, mr. lilly?" asked the professor. "i may," was the evasive answer. "what do you propose to do about it?" "nothing just now. i reckon i'll think the matter over. i shall come up with the moccasin one of these days, then we'll have a reckoning that _will_ be a reckoning." "i sincerely hope there will be no bloodshed," said the professor anxiously. "there came pretty near being bloodshed today," replied stacy. "br-r-r-r!" after supper lilly went away by himself and sat down on the bank of the river, where he tugged at first one end of his moustache, then the other, while he pondered over the story told by tad butler and stacy brown. "the copperhead!" grunted lilly. "i reckon i don't want to see him. i'm afraid i couldn't hold myself. but we shall see, we shall see." in saying this lilly was a prophet, for before long they did see. chapter xvii wolves on the trail stacy brown was so overcome with his own importance that evening that he could not unbend sufficiently to talk with his companions, save for an occasional word with tad. "stacy has a swelled head," observed ned rector. "he has a right to have. can't you let him have the full enjoyment of his bravery?" laughed tad. "did he really do anything worth while?" asked ned. "i have told you he did." "he had a gun, didn't he?" "yes." "well, then, i don't see anything so great about what he did." "then i'll tell you. had stacy relaxed his vigilance, or been the least bit slow or uncertain, that fellow would have shot him, and chunky knew that. if you don't think that took some nerve you don't know what nerve is." "oh, yes he does," spoke up walter. "ned has a lot of it." "nerve?" grinned tad. "yes." rector gazed at tad. "shall i feel all puffed up or get mad at that remark?" questioned ned. "that depends upon the way you take it, ned." stacy sauntered past them at this juncture casting an indifferent glance in ned's direction, then continued on his journey up and down the camp. ned said the fat boy reminded him of a pouter pigeon with its tail feathers pulled out. "do you know what the plans are for tomorrow?" inquired tad. "i think mr. lilly intends to go out on the trail again." "what kind of trail?" asked stacy, stopping before them. "oh, you have condescended to speak to me, have you?" demanded ned. "i am not addressing you as ned rector. i am addressing you as a part of the pony rider outfit," replied stacy coldly. a grin spread slowly across the countenance of ned rector. then he laughed. "chunky," he said, "if i thought you were half as big a fool as you appear to be, i would throw you out of camp." "what do you think about it, tad? would he?" questioned stacy. "that depends. do you mean _could_ he?" "yes." "then i will answer 'no.' i don't think any one boy in the camp could put you out if you had made up your mind to stay," replied tad. "there! you have an expert opinion, mr. rector. kindly do not refer to the subject again," begged stacy airily. "i can't afford to discuss such trivial matters. what kind of trail are we going out on, do you know?" "same old paw-prints--bears," complained ned. "find any signs today?" "oh, yes, the dogs ran the scent out. the bears took to the water, and we didn't pick up the scent again, for the day was nearly done by that time. mr. lilly decided to come home, especially as he hadn't heard anything of you and stacy, nor of me. he nearly had a fit when he found that you had not been seen or heard from." "didn't he think we could take care of ourselves?" demanded tad. "i told him you could, especially chunky," with a mischievous glance at the fat boy. "but for some reason he was considerably upset over your absence. when we got to the four-blaze tree, i think he began to understand that you had your head with you." "he didn't find the deer signs?" asked tad. "no. he would have done so, i guess, if we hadn't heard you when we did." the guide joined the boys at this juncture. he was smiling good-naturedly, regarding tad and stacy, in both of whom he felt a new interest. they had shown the veteran guide something that day that he never had seen in lads of their age. "where do we go tomorrow?" questioned butler. "i am going to try to pick up the bear trail again. they gave us the slip beautifully today." "would it not be better to make a new camp farther in?" asked tad. "i had thought of that, but i think we are well enough located right where we are. the bears are likely to round back, for this is their stamping ground. i have seen several tree-hollows where they have made their winter quarters." "do the bears live in trees?" cried walter. "i thought they always lived in caves and dens." "in some parts of the country they do. there aren't any caves down here, so they seek out hollows in the trees far above the ground for their winter quarters, or else go into a hollow log. in the spring they come down and begin to feed on the ash buds and the tender young cane, called 'mutton cane.' at this season they are quite likely to take to killing stock on the plantations. just now they are at their best, in weight, in cunning and killing abilities. one of these bears would as lief tackle a man as a yearling calf." "i hope one tackles me. i need something to limber up my muscles. i haven't had anything exciting on this trip," declared stacy brown. "oh, you will get limbered up all right if you meet one of those fellows," answered lilly, fixing his twinkling eyes on the fat boy. "they will fix your joints so they will bend one way as easily as another." the plans for the morrow's hunting were explained by lilly. the arrangements were to be about the same, the party being split up and stationed at different points in the canebrake. tad, being considered the best woodsman, was to be sent on ahead with stacy at or about the point where the dogs had lost the trail that day. the rest of the party were to draw in, eventually converging on that point. lilly had an idea that the bears would have returned to their own ground in the night. in that event they would be driven from the cane by the dogs again, in which case one or the other of the party might get a shot. tad and stacy were pleased with the arrangement. it sent them off where they would be wholly on their own responsibilities. "but don't go off on any long hikes as you did today," warned the guide. "we shan't unless we have to," answered tad. "if we get a bear and someone steals it, why, we shall have to go after it." "let me know before you do. i reckon i should like to have a part in that chase," said the guide almost savagely. an early start was made on the following morning, stacy solemn as an owl, the other boys full of laughter and joking, turning most of their pleasantry on the fat boy. "i'll fetch back something for you tonight," threatened stacy. "a bear?" quizzed ned. "if one gets in my way, yes. if i can't do any better i'll fetch home one of those sweet-voiced owls that you are so fond of." "ugh! don't you bring one of those horrible things here," protested walter. tad and the fat boy rode away ahead of the others. lilly's face wore a grin. he evidently looked for the pair to distinguish themselves, and perhaps he felt reasonably certain that they would fall to the trail of the bear. at least, he had his own reasons for grinning. it was along towards noon, when the two boys had covered about half the distance to their destination, that tad caught the sound of the dogs. the hounds were in full cry, though the cry was faint, showing that the animals were some distance away. the pony rider boys listened attentively, trying to get the direction. "it seems to me that they are heading towards us," said tad. stacy agreed with a nod. "suppose we get over there in the cane where we shall not be so likely to be seen. which way is the breeze?" "blowing that way," answered chunky, pointing in a direction away from the cane. "then we don't want to go there. the breeze will carry our scent to the bears if any are between us and the dogs. i think we had better haul off to the eastward for half a mile or so. that should put us out of the direct line and yet place us within shooting distance." they rode cautiously away, the horses now pricking up their ears, for the animals heard the yelps of the hounds and perhaps understood its meaning. that they were not baying told tad that the dogs had not yet sighted their quarry. as soon as they got in sight of the bear they would bay deeply and hoarsely. the barking grew louder as the dogs drew nearer, then all at once a new sound was borne to the ears of the pony rider boys. it was a shrill yelping. tad looked at stacy, and stacy looked at tad. the latter shook his head, indicating that he did not understand this new sound. "if it weren't for the fact that we knew they were on the trail, i should think they were fighting," declared butler. "why don't you go and find out?" tad reflected over this. "i'll do it," he decided. "you follow on down parallel with the trail, chunky. you can't miss your way if you will keep just at the edge of this row of cane, which will lead you to the place where we were to meet the others." "no, thank you. not for mine. i go with you if you go. you aren't going to leave me here all alone in the swamp, not if i know it." "what, are you afraid of the bears?" scoffed tad. "no, i am not afraid of any bears that ever walked, but i'm afraid of those hideous owls," declared stacy, glancing apprehensively up into the tall cypress towering above them. "well, you are a silly! all right; come along then. we shall probably scare the game away, but something is wrong over yonder." tad took the lead, driving as fast as he could, cutting a new trail with the confidence of an old hunter in the canebrake. they burst out into an open space, open so far as cane was concerned, and gazed in amazement at flying, snarling, yelping heaps of fur. "look at the dogs! look at the dogs!" cried chunky. "they're fighting each other." tad's face flushed and his eyes flashed. "chunky, don't you--don't you see what it is?" cried tad excitedly. "'course i do. it's those confounded dogs fighting when they ought to be chasing bear." "no! the hounds are fighting a band of wolves!" shouted butler. "wolves?" gasped stacy. "yes. the wolves have attacked our dogs. they have killed some of them. are you game to tackle them?" "i'm game for anything that spells trouble. whoop! i'm the original wolf-killer from the plains of arizona, if that's where they come from. get to them! i'm with you." tad grinned harshly. putting spurs to his mount he dashed straight toward the battling dogs and wolves. he had heard that wolves sometimes attacked the hunting dogs right ahead of the hunters themselves, but he had always considered this to be a hunter's story. now he saw the verification before his own eyes. "use your revolver and be careful that you don't shoot me," yelled tad. _bang!_ stacy had let go almost before the words were out of tad's mouth--and missed his mark. butler rode straight at a snarling, yelping bunch. his bush-knife was in his right hand. leaning over he made a pass at the nearest wolf but missed it because the horse jumped at that second, nearly unseating the boy. tad bounded on to the next fighting heap. this time a vicious swing of the bush-knife brought results. he wounded a wolf, sending the beast slinking away yelping. in the meantime stacy brown's revolver was popping away, now and then fanning the body of a wolf with a bullet, but oftener missing the beast entirely. still, stacy was having the time of his life. he was yelling and whooping louder than the desperate combatants. tad was amazed at the pluck of the attacking force. he never had supposed that wolves possessed the courage to attack dogs, especially in the presence of human beings. these wolves had not only the courage to attack the dogs, but they were snarling and snapping at the legs of the horses, now and then making a leap at tad when he had interfered with their sport. it was an exciting battle, the most exciting that the two boys had ever seen. it seemed to them that there must have been a full hundred of the cowardly beasts in the pack, though in all probability there were not more than half this number, which was an unusually large pack at that. "shoot carefully. don't waste your ammunition," warned tad. "whoope-e-e-e!" howled the fat boy, letting go a shot that this time sent a beast limping away, the shot having broken its leg. "can i shoot? well, i guess i can shoot. y-e-o-w!" tad's horse was getting so frantic at the frequent attacks on its legs that he could do nothing with it. moments were precious because the dogs were getting the worst of the battle. suddenly butler leaped from his horse thinking to be able to do greater execution on the ground. the wolves, perhaps believing that this was a signal of surrender, turned snarling upon him. at this juncture the horse jerked the check rein from his hand and jumped away, leaving the pony rider boy standing there facing a large part of the pack. [illustration: tad butler faced the pack.] with the bush-knife in his left hand now, revolver in the right, the boy slashed and shot alternately. nearly every shot and nearly every pass of the knife reached the body of a wolf, not always killing, but in almost every instance doing the animal no little damage. it was likely to be a sad day for the brave dogs, which, the more they were overwhelmed, the more desperately they fought. some of the dogs were already dead, or crawling away in their death agonies. all of the dogs would be killed unless the wolves were swiftly driven off. "chunky," yelled tad, "can't you use your rifle without hitting the dogs?" "i can try," panted the fat boy. "rustle it, then! don't mind me. i'll try to keep out of the way of your bullets." stacy raised his rifle, taking quick aim at a big gray wolf. _bang!_ went the overcharged cartridge, with a noise so like that of a cannon that stacy's horse leaped to one side, while the fat boy went in the other direction, landing on his head in the ooze. yelping in their mad joy, a dozen wolves charged upon the momentarily helpless chunky. chapter xviii a stand in grim earnest freed from restraint stacy's horse darted into the brake. there were now two horseless boys. it was tad to the rescue, firing, kicking, slashing with the bush-knife. two of the bear hounds leaped into the rescue work with him. "are you hurt?" cried tad. "i--i don't know," replied stacy, breathing hard. "get up and fight, or we're goners!" "oh, i'll fight!" instead of being frightened, the fat boy's face was flushed with anger when he got to his feet. in the fall he had lost his rifle and his revolver. with a yell chunky launched a vicious kick at an open, snarling mouth just before him, kicking a mouthful of teeth down the beast's throat. tad snatched up the lost rifle and began to shoot into the pack until the magazine of the weapon had been emptied. he then clubbed the rifle and began whacking the heads of the wolves. stacy recovered his revolver and resumed shooting, narrowly missing putting a bullet through his companion's body. as it was a bullet tore a rent in butler's shirt at the side. "look out there!" he warned, without even glancing towards chunky, keeping his eyes on the force ahead of him and beside him. the dogs, taking fresh courage from the boys' defense of them, took up their battle with renewed vigor. blood was dripping from the mouth of every one of them; some had rents torn in their sides, others were limping about on two legs, here and there fastening their fangs on a gray side or a gray leg as the case might be. stacy having emptied his revolver snatched up the limb of a tree, so heavy that he could hardly swing it, but when the limb landed it did great execution, leaving its imprint on the head that it hit. every time he landed on a gray head, the fat boy would yell. "save your wind; you will need it," shouted tad. "they'll need theirs more." _whack! whack! whack!_ it was a battle royal. but the boys were gaining, as tad quickly saw. the pack was beginning to be fearful. these doughty fighters were working sad havoc among them. scarcely a beast there that did not bear marks of the conflict. a long winding blast from a hunting horn sounded, but neither boy heard it. each was too busy with his own salvation to give heed to anything outside of the work at hand. again the horn sounded, this time closer than before. a few moments later there were shouts and yells from the bush. bill lilly, followed by ned rector, professor zepplin and walter perkins burst from the bush riding like mad, lilly swinging his bush-knife, whooping and yelling, the boys to the rear of him making fully as much noise. the party halted, gazing upon the scene before them with startled eyes. they were for the moment too astonished to move or do a thing. neither tad nor stacy realized that help was at hand, and the party had an opportunity, in those few seconds, to see what tad butler and the much maligned fat boy could do when they got into action. the period of inactivity was brief. "they've tackled the dogs!" roared the guide. "at them, boys, and be careful that you don't kill the hounds." red lights danced before the eyes of professor zepplin. giving his horse the spur, he galloped into the thick of the fight with his heavy army pistol in hand. its loud report furnished a new note in the sound of conflict. and the professor could shoot. every time he pulled the trigger a gray wolf's body got a bullet from his weapon. lilly was laying about him with his bush-knife, as tad had done before him. ned rector, too, plunged into the thick of the fight, losing his hat in the first charge, while walter perkins hung about the outside of the lines, letting drive at a beast that now and then came his way. bullets and beasts were flying about rather too thickly to suit walter. he felt safer on the outside, though he was doing his part. the battle waged fiercely for a few moments after the arrival of lilly and his party; then one by one the attacking band began sneaking away into the cane, some to be stopped by bullets before they reached the canebrake, others dropping from wounds already received. there was a lively scattering, with those of the hounds that were able to fight trying to follow their late assailants. lilly called them back, riding about and heading them off, shouting, commanding, aided by tad butler who understood what the guide was trying to do. the more seriously injured of the hounds were lying about licking their wounds. some already lay dead where they had made their last stand. "too bad, too bad!" muttered tad butler, pausing from his strenuous work, breathing heavily as he gazed about. lilly, having rounded up the dogs, was counting the loss. four hounds were dead. six others were wounded, one or two so badly that he knew they would die. but if the dogs had suffered, the attacking band had suffered much more heavily. a count showed twenty-five dead wolves, the biggest killing, save one, known in the canebrake. and of these twenty-five, tad butler and stacy brown had killed more than half, as nearly as could be estimated. stacy, his clothes torn and his shins bleeding, had thrust both hands into his pockets, and was strolling unconcernedly about, with chin well elevated, as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. lilly galloped up to tad and leaning over extended his hand. "good boy!" he said. "thank you," answered tad with a grin. "good boy, master stacy!" "oh, that's all right. it was a mere trifle, not worth speaking about," replied the fat boy airily. "if it weren't for the poor dogs, i'd laugh, young man. master tad, tell me about it," said lilly. "the wolves set upon the dogs." "did you see them?" "no, sir, we heard them and hurried over here to see what was going on." lilly nodded to the others who had ridden up to listen. "we tried to help them, but i guess some of the dogs were already past help even then." "and saved the greater part of the pack," added the guide. "but, is it possible that wolves will attack dogs, mr. lilly?" asked tad. "you have had the evidence of your own eyes. they do it frequently down here. it is a wonder they didn't finish you into the bargain. what puzzles me is why so many of them gathered on this trail." "does that mean anything special?" asked rector. "i don't know. it strikes me as queer." stacy stalked up pompously. "ah, mr. lilly, are there any other varieties of wild beasts down here that we haven't met up with? if so i should like an opportunity to meet them face to face. i don't want to miss anything, you know." "it strikes me forcibly that you haven't missed much," answered the guide, grinning. "hadn't we better look after the dogs? we can talk afterwards," suggested butler. "yes, yes," agreed the guide. they hurried to the suffering hounds. some had to be shot, but the most needed rest and their own treatment more than anything else, so it was decided not to try to move them until along towards night. a fire was built, and lilly cut up one of the dead wolves, giving each dog a liberal portion as his reward. he had some coffee which he boiled. the coffee put new life into the two tired boys, who stretched out on the ground for a rest while the others talked over their courage and grit. tad lay with arms under his head, reflecting over the guide's peculiar remark about the pack of wolves. he wondered, too, why so large a pack had met and attacked the hounds. during the time of his rest lilly had gone out on the trail of the escaped horses, and found them a short distance from the camp. while the guide was absent, tad got up and walked out of camp. "where are you going?" called the professor. "for a little walk," answered butler. the boy was absent for nearly an hour. he returned with face wearing a puzzled expression, but he said nothing to his companions about the reason for it. lilly questioned tad further about the attack of the wolves. "they must have been coming towards the hounds, judging from the trail that i found beyond the camp," said tad. "they were probably following the bear tracks," suggested lilly. "perhaps," answered butler reflectively. "have you boys fixed up your wounds?" asked the guide. "yes, the professor dressed them. we were merely scratched a little. it doesn't amount to anything. but goodness! i never thought wolves could be so ugly nor so plucky," wondered tad. "they would not be in smaller numbers. you know the old saying, 'in unity there is strength,'" smiled lilly. "i know it now," answered tad. "i have had an object lesson. and so have you all. you know, too, that stacy brown is not a tenderfoot. i'd like to see anyone show more grit than did he while we were fighting the wolves. it was an experience that would have frightened most anyone." "neither of you acted as if you were very badly scared," chuckled lilly. "we didn't have time to be," laughed tad. "fully as exciting as fighting wild boar in the black forest of germany," agreed the professor. "the wild pigs of the canebrake are as near as i have ever come to hunting boars," said lilly. "are they ugly?" asked walter. "well, i reckon they are kind of fresh now and again," answered the guide. "the pigs are too small fry for me," declared stacy pompously. "i want big game or no game at all." "chunky is afraid only of the barred owls," chuckled tad. "owls and 'gators," stacy corrected. "how about those bears? they seem to have given you fellows the slip?" "foxy bears," agreed the guide. "but never you mind. we will get them yet. that old she-hear we have been after must be a big one, and she is an ugly one, too. there will be a lively time when the hounds bay her out. i hope we are all in at the death." "so do i," nodded stacy. "i shouldn't mind a hand-to-hand conflict with an ugly old she-bear. i'd show her what sort of a bear-killer i am, i would." "i reckon it's time we were going," announced lilly. "we have a long hike." the boys were willing, so the party packed up, and, after herding the dogs, started on their return journey to camp, whence they were to start on the second morning after that for the most exciting bear hunt in their experience. they reached their permanent camp shortly after dark. ichabod had a warm supper ready for them, and after having eaten, all gathered about the campfire to discuss the incidents of the eventful day. chapter xix what tad found on the trail "venison steak and boiled bayou water doesn't go so badly after all," observed stacy brown wisely. "especially when you have had a hand in getting the steak," laughed walter. "that's the idea," agreed chunky. "we know how we got him, too, don't we, tad?" butler nodded absently. his mind was not on that particular subject at the moment. there was that on his mind which he was trying to solve, in order to get a clear understanding, but reason as he might he was not able to work the problem out to his own satisfaction. "mr. lilly, you don't think for a moment that this man who stole the doe could have been responsible in any way for the attack of the pack on our hounds, do you?" questioned the professor. tad looked up with keen interest reflected on his face. "i don't see how that would be possible, professor. man can't make those whelps do his bidding. at any rate, we shan't be troubled again after what the boys did to them this afternoon. that was a killing worth while. i reckon i'll have something to tell the folks when i get home and so will you. the major will be interested, too. he said you were a lively bunch, but i reckon he didn't know just how true that was when he said it." "yes, the major was right," observed stacy airily. "some of us are all of that." "especially stacy brown," spoke up ned. "stacy brown and tad butler," corrected the fat boy. "still, you and the professor did very well after you got on the job. but we had them pretty well thinned out by the time you arrived. about all there was left to do was to gather up the wounded and bury the dead. professor, that pistol of yours would stop an elephant. how it did keel those beasts over!" chuckled stacy at the recollection of professor zepplin's shooting. "it is my old army pistol. i contend that these new-fangled weapons are no more effective, especially in small arms. there has been some improvement in the long-range guns since my time." "since the north 'fit' the south," suggested lilly with a grin. "yes. it is a far cry from the old muzzle-loader to the improved weapon of today. a far cry, indeed." "then you think the fellow with whom we had the trouble could have had nothing to do with the attack of the wolves?" questioned tad. "of course not. that might have been possible, but it wasn't." "ambiguous, but good sense," muttered professor zepplin. "why do you ask?" demanded lilly. "i wanted to know. i am a little bothered about some features of the affair," tad answered. lilly regarded the pony rider boy thoughtfully. "you have something on your mind?" "well, yes, i have," admitted tad. "out with it. it doesn't do to hold in too much at a time like the present." "you know i went out on that trail this afternoon, mr. lilly?" "no, i didn't know it. to which trail do you refer?" "the bear trail we will call it." "from the other way?" "yes, sir. i went in the opposite direction to that supposed to have been taken by bruin, and i discovered some things that puzzled me." "on the trail?" asked the professor. "yes, sir." "what did you discover?" demanded lilly eagerly. "i found the trail of a horse in the first place." "going which way?" "toward this camp. the horse turned--" "you don't mean this camp exactly. you mean the place where we made temporary camp this afternoon, don't you?" "yes, sir, that is what i mean. the horse, as i was saying, turned about just beyond where we had the fight with the wolves, and took the back trail, or nearly so." "hm-m-m!" mused the guide. "that is peculiar. fresh tracks?" "within a few hours of the time i found them, sir." "what did you make of them?" "not much of anything. but that was not all i discovered. i found a dead dog a little way from camp." "i saw several myself," laughed ned rector. "one of our dogs?" questioned lilly. "no, sir, it was not. furthermore, the dog had a leash, a long one, about his neck. he hadn't been dragged. i found the dog's footprints almost up to the point where his carcass lay." bill lilly was beginning to show signs of excitement. "go on. what had happened to the dog?" "he had been shot and left where he was killed. the wolves or some other animals had torn his flesh some, but not so much that i could not tell what killed him. he was killed by a bullet. i wonder why?" "can't you guess?" asked lilly. "i have an idea now. it has just occurred to me." lilly rose to his full height, tugging at his moustache with both hands, gazing fixedly at tad butler. "it's more work of that miserable whelp. he's done it this time. i see how it was. i should have thought of that before. if my eyes had been as sharp as yours, master tad, you wouldn't need to have told me." "tell us what you suspect," urged professor zepplin, who was as much puzzled as the rest. even stacy was regarding the guide with inquiring eyes. the latter was striding up and down, tugging at his moustache as if he owed it a grudge. "what i suspect? i don't suspect at all. i know now, thanks to master tad's keen scent. what has been done is this. some whelp, knowing what we were going to do, has hit the bear trail leading a dog. he knew the wolves were in that vicinity, so he rode along the back trail, leading the dog behind him, knowing full well that the wolves would scent it, and, knowing it was a lone dog, would follow it. you see he figured that the pack would sooner or later come up with our hounds. he knew that there would be a battle and he hoped we would lose all our dogs." "the cold-blooded scoundrel!" exclaimed ned rector. "there! what did i tell you, tad?" cried stacy. "i ought to have shot the beast while i had the chance. he played us about as i thought he would. why, if you had let me have my way, i should have taken his horse away from him and set him adrift. i guess he wouldn't have played any such miserable trick on us. no, sir, he would have all he wanted to do to get out of the woods, let alone dragging a lone dog along the bear trail to call the wolves to our pack. oh, what a beast!" "it is well that your revengeful disposition was not allowed free range," answered the professor rebukingly. "it is done now. we can't help ourselves," said tad. "it isn't done," exclaimed lilly. "i am not done. i am going after the man who caused the death of half of our hounds. he isn't fit to eat out of the same pan with the dogs. better would he eat with the wild pigs of the swamp. master butler, you have keen eyes and you are sharp as a she-bear with cubs." tad smiled at the comparison. "tomorrow morning i hit the trail. do you want to go with me, butler?" "i am ready for anything," answered the pony rider boy. "so am i," piped chunky. "one is enough," replied lilly. "i think the two of us will be able to do the job as it should be done." "what is it you propose to do?" questioned the professor. "well, we-all reckon to catch the fellow who is bothering us. when a mosquito buzzes around your head, threatening to bite you, you swat him, don't you?" "yes, but this is different." "it's the same thing, except that this mosquito has two legs instead of four. he'll be limping on one before i have finished with him if i get hold of him." "surely, you don't intend to shed human blood?" objected professor zepplin. "i am not saying what i'll do. i am taking the kid with me to kind of hold me back in case i get too mad. then, as i said, he has the eyes that see things as they are. tomorrow morning, master tad, with the professor's permission--" "i will consider the matter," answered the professor. "tomorrow morning," said tad, grinning and nodding to his companions. "you folks will make an awful fizzle of it if you don't take me along," declared the fat boy with a slow shake of the head. chapter xx man-signs in the canebrake daylight on the following morning found bill lilly and tad butler methodically making preparations for their jaunt, which no doubt would lead them many miles from the camp on the sunflower river. lilly had not divulged his plans, beyond telling the professor that he need feel no alarm, as he merely desired to administer a lesson to the man in case they found him. "of course, there's more than an even chance that we don't catch the hound. if we do i promise you there won't be any gun-play if it can be avoided. i don't want to get mixed up with anything of that sort and lose my liberty for the rest of the fall until the courts meet in january. no, sir, not for bill lilly. you don't have to worry about the boy, either. he knows how to take care of himself better than most of us, and he will be a whole lot of help to me, too." professor zepplin had given a reluctant consent to lilly's proposal to take butler, along with him. they packed just enough food in their saddle bags to carry them through the day, intending to eat their meals in the saddle. a hasty breakfast was eaten, then after giving his orders that no one should venture away from the camp out of hearing, lilly and tad mounted their horses and rode away. the horses started off at the loping run that was now so familiar to the boys, and sight and sound of the two men was soon lost to those in the camp. lilly had said it was doubtful if they returned before late in the night, and perhaps not until the following morning. the guide had gained quite a lead on his young companion at the start, but this butler quickly overcame ere they had proceeded far. "where do we go first?" asked tad. "we will take up the trail at the point where you fought the wolves yesterday. i wouldn't do this only there is no telling what that fellow will do, seeing he has done so much already. i thought after he had stolen the doe and you found him out, that he would be scared to go any further. i reckon nothing but a dose of lead will scare him. he'll get that if he doesn't watch out." "if we sight him i guess it will not be necessary to do any shooting," replied tad. "you are right about not wanting to. anybody can pull a trigger, but it isn't everybody that can keep from pulling a trigger under great provocation. it's a good thing that i have someone with me who can keep his head. i confess that i am mad all through. i don't dare to trust myself. never in all the years i have been riding the canebrake have i been so tarnation mad." "you will get over that after you have slashed through the brake for ten miles or so," answered tad laughingly. "i shouldn't work myself up were i in your place." lilly took the advice of the freckle-faced boy and held himself down. they reached the scene of the battle with the wolves. there was no indication that any of the beasts had returned, but while lilly was taking a survey of the place tad butler had gone west a little way to try to pick up the trail he had discovered on the previous day. the boy got down from his horse the better to examine the trail. suddenly tad uttered an exclamation. he had made a further discovery. securing his horse to a tree, he trotted on a short distance, then halting, stood thinking. soon, however, he turned in response to a hail from the guide. "find it, tad?" "yes, sir; will you come here?" lilly rode over to where tad was standing. "he has been here again." "he has?" exclaimed the guide. "yes, sir." "how do you know?" "these are the same hoofprints as the others. the horse had lost a shoe from the nigh fore foot. this horse also has lost a shoe from the off fore foot. i don't know which way he came, i haven't looked for that, but it is immaterial anyway. what is important is that he has gone in that direction--north, i think it is." "right you are. so the moccasin has been back here again, eh?" mused the guide. "came back to see how well his little scheme worked? well, i hope he is satisfied." "have you any idea where he has gone? has he any place where he would go to get out of the way?" "say, i'll bet he has. i'll bet he is heading for turtle bayou," cried lilly. "how far is that from here?" "ten miles in a straight line. it is farther the way he would be most likely to ride because the roundabout way is the easier way." "then had we not better follow his trail?" "yes, i reckon we would make better time. then, if he is coming back, we might meet him. that is what we will do." the trail at first they found rather blind, the fellow evidently having sought to leave as slight evidence of his presence there as possible, but to tad the trail was not very difficult to follow, and tad was keen in work of this sort. he now concentrated all his efforts on the trail, bill lilly satisfying himself with taking second place, where he watched the boy with approving glances. "i will watch the trail and you keep a lookout ahead," suggested tad, glancing back for a moment. "right, my boy. mine is the easy job." "neither one is very hard," smiled tad. for some time neither spoke. at one stage of their journey tad dismounted and began examining the ground. after a few moments of this he nodded and swung into his saddle again. "stop here?" asked lilly. "yes, sir. i don't know what he halted for, but he did not stay long." "you should have been an indian, master tad." "i have been told that i am one as it is," was the boy's laughing reply. "in instinct you are. by the way, we ought to be getting near the place we're heading for," announced the guide. "you tell me when you want to change the plan. we are not making much or any noise, so we should be able to go pretty close to the destination. of course, you know best." "i don't," answered the guide with emphasis. "i may know the brake and the game, but as a trailer of man-signs i am not in the same class with you, young man." it was about three-quarters of an hour later when they came in sight of turtle bayou, a lonely channel in the heart of the swamp, rising from the shores of which were ranks of cane that disappeared in the far distance. "i suppose they are as thick in there as hairs on a dog?" said tad, pointing to the stream. "'gators? i should say so. it's alive with them. a man who got in there never would get out alive. you want to look out for moccasins about here, too. they aren't disturbed much hereabouts, so there are a lot of them." "i don't worry about snakes," answered the freckle-faced boy. "just now i am looking for something that looks like a man. but, do you know, you haven't told me for whom we are looking." "i reckon you wouldn't know his name if i did, but if we are lucky enough to meet him, i'll introduce the fellow," answered lilly with a grim smile. "do you see that thatched shack over there?" he asked, pointing to what appeared to be a heavy growth of bushes back from the bank on a rise of ground. "is that a shack?" asked tad. "yes. it is where our friend puts up when he is in this vicinity. i have several shacks in different parts of the canebrake, but we haven't come across any of them yet, though we shall before we leave the brake." "in there? do you think he is at home?" "we'll find out pretty soon. what would you suggest?" "i would suggest that we walk right up to the entrance and learn if anyone is at home. i should advise leaving the horses back here, so there will be no trail close to his hut." "good idea. we'll do it." they quickly secreted their horses in the brush, and after looking to their revolvers, the only weapons they carried with them after dismounting, the man and the boy made their way cautiously towards the hut, bill lilly leading the way, slightly in advance of tad. there was no sign of life about the place, so they kept on until they stood in front of the hut. "nobody at home," announced the guide. "so it seems. shall i take a look about inside?" asked tad, stepping forward. "wait! don't be in a hurry. i reckon i'll have a look myself." tad did not understand lilly's reason for wanting to do this, but he supposed the guide knew best. lilly did. he leaped back suddenly, giving a vicious kick with his heavy boot, then jumping on some object with both feet. "look out! there may be more of them!" "what is it?" cried tad. "a moccasin! the hound. don't you see what he has done? he's made a snake-trap here. this bucket standing in the middle of the shack is sure to be tripped over by anyone who didn't know the trick. that would mean trouble for the kicker." "i saw that bucket. i presume i should have at least pushed it to one side," answered tad in an awed voice. "that's the kind of a critter we have trailed down." "it strikes me we haven't trailed him down. perhaps he discovered us and has gotten away." "i don't know about that. i'll let you take a look outside in a minute. the dishes are cold, but that doesn't mean much--he may not have cooked anything." "the remains of his fire are cold, too," answered tad. "i felt them when we came in." "you are a wise head," nodded the guide. "you go out and see what you can pick up on the outside, but watch out for yourself," warned billy. "there are some things i want to look at in here. take your time. don't get far away, that's all." tad stepped out, pausing to look about the place. his purpose was to learn if the owner of the shack had ridden away or if he were hiding somewhere in that vicinity. if he had ridden away there must be the trail of the horse with the bare off fore foot. the pony rider boy circled about, first looking for the place where the horse had been tethered. he found it without great difficulty, for a hoofprint always attracted tad butler's attention. even at home he found himself studying them in the streets, out on the highways, wherever horses traveled. as a result he could read much more than the average good observer from tracks that lay before him. tad was able even to form some opinion of the man who was riding the horse that had left the tracks. the ground was considerably trampled at the tethering ground, and the bushes stripped clear of foliage where the horse had been browsing. it was this latter that had attracted the boy's attention first of all, telling him that a horse had been tethered there. from that, it was not a difficult matter to look up the trails. there were several of these. more time was necessary to determine which of them had been made last, but after a little study the pony rider boy picked out the fresh trail. "he rode out this way, heading southwest, i should call it," muttered the lad. "i wonder where he was heading for? still, there is no use wondering, for he may have turned due east or due west after going farther into the swamp or the brake. the question is, where is he now, and is he coming back here today?" the question was answered in a manner wholly unlooked for by tad butler. for the moment the lad, caught off his guard, was at a loss what to do. but his quick wit came to his rescue. tad dropped to all fours and on hands and feet began running over the ground like a monkey, his body well screened by the bushes about him. chapter xxi surprises come fast the cause of tad's alarm had been a slight trembling of the soft ground underfoot, followed by a crunching sound as if something or someone had trod on a rotting stick. the lad knew that either man or beast was near at hand, but he did not have time to satisfy himself which of the two it was. he acted quickly, and, regardless of snakes, wriggled away to a place of greater safety. he reasoned, of course, that if it were the owner of the shack returning, he would ride his horse to its stable first of all. crouching down in the bushes the boy waited and listened. by this time he could tell that it was a horse approaching. taking a long chance the boy half rose from his hiding place and peered out. not more than six rods from him he saw the fellow who had stolen his doe riding straight towards him. the pony rider boy quickly drew back and none too soon, for the fellow's eyes caught the faint movement of the bushes at that point. he probably thought this movement had been caused by some lurking animal, for he made no attempt to investigate. he tethered his horse silently, then to tad's alarm either his own horse or lilly's uttered a loud whinny. the boy in the bushes groaned inwardly. "that gives the whole game away," he muttered. "i am lucky if he doesn't send a shot this way just for luck." the stranger did nothing of the sort. instead, he stood stock still. tad could fairly feel the eyes of the man burn into his hiding place, though he could not see the man at all. there was a slight movement where the stranger's horse was tethered, a scarcely perceptible vibration of the earth under tad's feet. he listened and learned that the man was walking away. butler again took a chance and peered over the tops of the bushes. the fellow was walking toward his shack, and what was more, his revolver was in his hand ready for instant use. the boy hoped that lilly had been warned by the whinny of the horse and made his escape from the shack. but lilly had not heard. he was fussing about in the shack, as tad quickly deduced from the actions of the newcomer. the boy began crawling towards the shack, making a detour so as not to expose himself to view, and for a moment he lost sight of his man. when he next caught sight of him, the fellow was standing close to the entrance of his shack with revolver leveled at it, or rather at the opening. in a twinkling tad butler's pistol was in his hand, trained on the back of the newcomer. still, the boy was not excited; he was watching for the move that would indicate the other man's intention to shoot. butler did not believe he was going to do so. in this he was right. for fully three minutes the man stood still gazing into the shack. tad did not know what was going on in there, for he was unable to see into the place from his position, nor did he dare move on until the fellow made his next move. this he did very shortly. "hold up your hands!" the fellow's voice rang out with startling distinctness. it made tad start. he still had the man covered with his own weapon. the boy saw bill lilly appear at the door, but there was neither surprise nor fear on the face of the guide as he faced the revolver in the hands of the newcomer. "so, it's you, is it, alligator pete? i reckoned you'd be along here pretty soon." "what are you doing in my shack?" "i reckoned i'd cage a few more moccasins for your menagerie. put down that gun and i'll talk to you." pete laughed. he observed that lilly's revolver was not in its holster. as a matter of fact, the guide had removed it, keeping it in his hand in case of a surprise, and in looking into pete's belongings he had had occasion to lay the weapon down. the later interruption came so quickly and unexpectedly that billy did not think of his revolver until too late to recover it. he knew the man before him. it was alligator pete in reality, and pete was in a white rage. "i reckon i'll put down the gun when i get ready and not before," answered the "alligator." "what are you doing in my shack?" "i'll answer that question by asking you one. what do you mean by interfering with my party?" "i haven't." "you have. you stole a doe that one of them shot." "oh, i did, eh?" sneered pete. "you know you did, but that wasn't all. you laid a false trail over the bear sign hoping to call the wolves. you knew they would attack my dogs. you planned it all, you miserable whelp! you see i know all about it. it's lucky for you that i haven't got my pistol. i'd shoot you where you stand!" lilly's voice was calm but incisive. "i reckon i'd have something to say about that; i reckon this gun might go off before yours did. i reckon it may go off as it is." "no. you are too big a coward to shoot a man face to face. i could jump you now before you could shoot." "you'd better not try it," warned pete angrily. "you lie when you say i did those things. you want to get me in a box. you've been trying to get me in a box for the last year." "you have got yourself in a box, pete. this time it's a box that you won't get out of so easily as you think. i have the dead wood on you." "this is the only dead wood that talks here," answered pete, tapping his revolver significantly. "and it talks loud, too. now what do you reckon you are doing in my shack?" "just what you did in one of mine once, tried to find out something. the difference is that i have found something and you didn't, because there wasn't anything to find." "and what do you reckon to do now?" "to make you answer for what you have done," replied lilly evenly. "how?" "that is my business so far. remember i have some boys in camp who can identify you. remember you tried to shoot one of them." "i didn't. i didn't intend to hit him. don't you think i could hit a man at twenty paces without--" a broad grin was spreading over the face of bill lilly. "i'm mighty glad you admit it," he said in a sarcastic tone. "it saves a lot of trouble." pete's face flushed. "it don't save you any. now look here, bill lilly, i've got something to say to you. on one condition i'll let you go and say nothing about your going through my shack." "what's the condition?" "that you step aside and give me a show at some of those fellows who think they are mighty hunters, but have more money than brains. another one is that you don't say anything against me when you get back home, and--" "those are two conditions. you said you would make only one," jeered lilly. "i'll make as many as i want to. another one is that you get sick and have to go home, leaving the party to me for the rest of the time." billy laughed outright. "you must be crazy, or else you take me for a fool. you ought to know that i'm not quite so daffy as to agree to a thing like that." "you'll agree or it will be the worse for you. remember i've got the best of you." billy opened his mouth to speak, then discreetly closed it again. he was about to say that pete was reckoning without a knowledge of the situation, when suddenly the thought of tad butler entered the guide's mind. tad was nowhere in sight. the boy, he believed, was out on the trail, and he did not know how far the boy might have wandered. lilly did not know what was best to be done in the circumstances. he was unarmed. it was true he might leap on his assailant, but the chances were that pete would shoot him before he could disarm the man. "i don't agree to any of your conditions. now what are you going to do about it?" demanded lilly, his lips closing into a firm, straight line. "i am going to--" pete did not finish what he was about to say. a sudden and unlooked-for interruption changed the current of his thoughts in a startling manner. with a yell he leaped back, his revolver going off into the air. in a second alligator pete lay rolling and writhing on the ground. chapter xxii outwitted by a boy bill lilly's attention had been called to a slight movement of the bushes behind where alligator pete was standing, but he did not understand the meaning of the disturbance, nor did he look very sharply until something unusual caused him to flash a quick glance in that direction. a writhing, twisting something rose from behind the bushes, wriggled through the air, headed directly for pete. the guide suddenly realized that it was a rope, with a great loop at the end of it. the loop wobbled over pete's head for a brief instant, then flopped down over his body. instantly the loop was drawn taut; then came a mighty tug and pete went down with his arms pinioned to his sides, struggling frantically to free himself from the grip of the rope. even then he did not understand what had occurred. perhaps he thought it was a snake that had twisted about him. in a few seconds, however, he collected his wits. the revolver was still in his hand. pete began pulling the trigger, trying his best to get a bead on bill lilly and put a bullet through him. "keep out of range till he gets through shooting!" called the exultant voice of tad butler from behind the bushes. "i can hold him. he won't get out of that loop in a hurry." lilly took advantage of the opportunity to spring back into the shack, where he snatched up his own weapon, then leaped out. "drop that gun, pete!" commanded the guide sternly, at the same time leveling his own weapon at the man on the ground. "drop it, i say!" pete, after gazing at the determined face of billy lilly for a few seconds, let go his grip on the butt of his revolver. billy stepped over and kicked the weapon out of reach. next he searched the clothes of the roped man, removing a knife. "get up!" he commanded. alligator pete did so, his face red with rage, his eyes menacing. "who did that?" he demanded. "i reckon i did," answered tad butler, stepping forward, still keeping the rope taut so that his prisoner should not run away. "i'll kill you for that!" raged the prisoner. "not just now you won't. later, perhaps. at present you are not in condition to kill anyone. what shall we do with him, mr. lilly?" pete was staring, still working and tugging at the rope. he had recognized tad butler on the instant. "it isn't a doe this time, pete," laughed the pony rider boy. "no, it'll be a dead kid when i get free again." "i wouldn't make any threats were i in your place. you are in no position to make threats. shall i remove the rope, mr. lilly?" "take it off, but look out that he doesn't grab you. if he tries to run away i'll pink him. remember, pete, no monkey-shines." tad slacked up on the rope, nodding to the prisoner to let it drop, which the man did quickly, tad not taking chances by getting within reach of the fellow's wiry arms. with his freedom, alligator pete's oozing courage in a measure returned to him, though he was still covered by the guide's revolver. tad coiled his rope and secured it to his belt, pete watching the operation with interest. he had never seen roping in real life. he had not seen this time, but he had felt, which was less interesting than had he been a mere spectator. lilly was regarding the fellow frowningly. "i ought to do it, but somehow i can't," he muttered. "what shall we do with him now we have him?" asked tad. "i guess we shall have to turn him loose." "i reckon we won't do anything of the sort, or he will be sure to be up to more mischief. i reckon we better take him with us. he has got to pay for what he has done." "i haven't done anything. you can't--you don't dare hold me. you let me go!" "see anything green in my eyes?" demanded lilly. "we have the goods on you. we have trailed your pony, we have identified your dog, we know the whole story from beginning to end, as i have already told you. i'll tell you what we will do, master tad. we will put him on his horse and take him back to camp with us. we can then talk the matter over and decide what we had better do." tad was willing, in fact he was rather glad of the opportunity to take pete back and show him to the boys. chunky would be pleased to set eyes on the fellow again. "get the horse," directed lilly. "i will hold him here until you are ready." tad hurried away. first he brought up their own animals, then went after pete's mount. pete's rifle came in for attention, and tad decided to empty the magazine and put the rifle back in the saddle boot, which he did. next he examined the horse's feet. there was a shoe missing on the off fore foot. the horse was a wiry, active little animal. the boy looked over him with the eyes of an expert. "he is a better nag than mine," decided the pony rider boy. "i'll wager he could lope all day without tiring out. i wonder if i could buy him? this animal has one shoe off the off fore foot, as i told you," announced the lad, leading the animal up to the shack. "always keep your horse well shod and free from hoof or shoe peculiarities if you don't want to be trailed down," advised butler. "how do you propose to keep pete?" he asked the guide. "we shall have to tie him," answered lilly. "suppose i place my rope around him, keeping the free end in my hand and riding behind him? that will leave you free to use a weapon in case he tries to get away." "good idea. get aboard." pete lost no time in obeying the latter command, evidently believing that on his horse he would find a better opportunity to get away. tad winked at the guide as the hunter swung into his saddle. no sooner had pete felt the touch of the stirrups under his feet than he dug the rowels of his spurs into his horse. the animal snorted, rising into the air. then a most unexpected thing occurred. alligator pete was jerked from his saddle. he landed heavily on his head in the soft muck. "catch the horse!" shouted tad. billy lilly aroused himself from his stupor caused by the quick action of the pony rider boy, and, running out, captured the white horse, leading it back to the scene. pete was getting up slowly, rubbing the ooze from his head and face. tad had suspected the hunter would make the very move he did. the boy was ready for him and while pete was getting into his saddle, back half turned to them, tad was swinging the big loop of his lariat over his own head. the instant he saw what the hunter was up to, the boy sent the rope twisting through the air. it fell neatly over the head of alligator pete with the result already known to the reader. lilly was grinning broadly when he returned with the hunter's horse. "that was the slickest thing i ever saw in all my life, boy. didn't know what you had met up with when you stole the doe from this kid, eh, pete? now, do you think you can be good, or do you want some more of the same medicine?" the prisoner did not reply. "leave the rope where it is," directed butler. "i don't take any more chances with you. you ought to thank me for having roped you. if i had not, the chances are that mr. lilly would have shot you." "i reckon i would have done it," grinned the guide. at a nod from tad the guide led up the boy's horse. he then ordered pete to mount again, after which the guide and the boy leaped into their saddles, with tad riding close behind the prisoner, lilly a little to one side. in this order they started for camp. they had not gone far before butler observed the prisoner's hand resting on the butt of his rifle. this brought a grin to the face of the pony rider boy. "to save you trouble, pete, i will say that i drew the shells from the magazine. your gun is empty. lilly doesn't know this, so if you try to draw the gun you may get shot." the prisoner promptly withdrew his hand from the butt of his weapon. for the first time he seemed to realize that he had been outwitted at every turn, and his courage began slipping away from him. pete's head drooped until his chin was almost to his chest. tad butler recognized the sign of surrender. he felt pity for the man, for tad was tender-hearted and he did not like to see others suffer. "hadn't we better let him go, mr. lilly?" he asked in a low voice, nodding toward the prisoner. _"no!"_ tad shrugged his shoulders. they continued on in silence for a long time, tad keeping his eyes on the prisoner, now jogging faster, now slower, to keep the lariat at about the same degree of tautness. pete felt a gentle pressure about his body all the time. he knew that the other end of the rope was secured to the pommel of his captor's saddle and that any attempt to get away would land him on his back on the ground. this not being a cheerful prospect, alligator pete rode on as docile as a whipped cur. it was just supper time when they rode into the camp on sunflower river with their prisoner. stacy brown was the only one of the party except ichabod who recognized alligator pete. "hello!" greeted the fat boy. the prisoner did not answer. "i am glad to see you. i owe you something. after you have had your supper i'm going to beat you," announced the fat boy. "he is pretty well subdued as it is, chunky," answered tad soberly. "don't humiliate him. can't you see that the fellow is suffering? never kick a dog after he is down and helpless." "he isn't a dog. the dogs wouldn't own him as a member of their tribe." in the meantime, lilly had ordered the prisoner to get down, after which the guide tied the man to a tree. the boys pressed about tad to hear the story of the capture. butler told them briefly what had taken place, without making any special point of his own part in the affair. but if tad had been modest about it, lilly was not. he told them plainly that tad butler was the cleverest little roper and trailer who ever had come into the louisiana canebrake, and that if it hadn't been for tad there might have been all entirely different story to tell. "what do you propose to do with the man, now that you have him?" asked the professor after the story had been fully told. "keep him till we go back to jackson. i'll have him locked up, and you had better believe the judge will give him all that's coming to him. pete won't be hitting the canebrake trail right smart again, i reckon." supper was given to the prisoner, then later he was made comfortable for the night. lilly announced that they would take the trail for bear again in the morning. he said he felt it in his bones that they were going to have the sport for which they had come into the canebrake. he felt that there were bear waiting for them out there. they had enough reserve dogs to take the trail and they might be sure that alligator pete would not be on hand to bother the trail. at a late hour they turned in, tad butler not as well satisfied over his achievement as most lads would have been. it was late in the night when tad crawled from his tent and crept cautiously towards the spot where alligator pete lay sleeping. he reached the prisoner without awakening him, so cautious had been his movements. the first pete knew of his presence was when tad shook him lightly by the shoulder. the "alligator" started up, but was too good a woodsman to utter a sound. "it's butler," whispered the boy. "have you a family?" "yes." "how many?" "wife and some kids." "where are they?" "just over the line in mississippi." "do you think, if you were let go, that you could go home to mississippi and behave yourself?" "i reckon it wouldn't take me long to get home." "and you will keep away from bill lilly and not try to take revenge on him?" "i don't want to set eyes on him again." "it isn't a question of your setting eyes on him, but of his setting eyes on you. if he does, he will shoot you on sight, pete. do you promise to get over to your own state and behave yourself?" "i promise." tad without further parley untied the knots that held the prisoner to the tree. "your horse is about ten rods down the bank that way. your rifle is in the boot and you have plenty of shells. i have also put some food in your saddle bag. now--get!" chapter xxiii ichabod gets a big surprise it was about daybreak on the following morning when the sleepy ichabod stumbled from his bed and wobbled out into the open, rubbing his eyes. he gathered the dry stuff for the campfire, which had gone out, and proceeded to make a smudge which got into his eyes, causing him further distress. the colored man had fussed about his duties for a full half hour, when taking a pail he started for the river to fetch water which he would boil for the use of the outfit. reaching the point where the prisoner had been tied to the tree ichabod halted, rubbing his eyes and scratching his head. he was confident that something was wrong, but in his sleepy condition he was not quite sure for the moment what that something was. the sight of the rope lying at the foot of the tree jogged his memory into sudden activity. ichabod uttered a yell. bill lilly was outside his tent in a twinkling, followed quickly by the other members of the party, tad butler being the last to leave his tent. tad appeared to be in no great haste. "what is it, icha?" shouted lilly. "him--him done gwine away." "eh, what?" "de 'gator done gwine away, sah." "not the prisoner? you don't mean he has escaped?" "ya-a-a-a." the guide covered the ground to the tree in long strides. he halted suddenly upon observing the rope lying where it had been thrown. an ugly expression spread slowly over bill lilly's face. "has his horse been taken?" "yes, the horse is gone too," answered ned rector. "get ready! we must run him down," shouted billy. "what is the use? why not let him go? he has had his lesson," answered tad. "i am of the same opinion," agreed professor zepplin. "we did not come down here to chase criminals, but rather to follow the game trails. we have been in the canebrake for some time, and all we have got has been a small doe. my boys want a bear-hunt, mr. lilly, not a manhunt." billy reflected, tugging at his moustache. in a measure his reputation was at stake. his party simply must get a bear, or his reputation would suffer. "you shall have a bear," he answered almost savagely. tad grinned, well pleased with the decision. as yet no suspicion attached to him. in good time butler would tell them about it, but there need be no hurry to stir up trouble. the boy smiled to himself. he was happy in his little secret. he felt that pete had been punished enough, and was sure that they would not be bothered by him again. pete had had too great a scare to warrant him in annoying them further. lilly had grabbed some cold food, and, taking his hound leader with him, started out on horseback, telling the others that he was going out to see if he could locate a trail. he said he would be back before noon. instead of being away most of the morning the guide was back in an hour. "i've located a fresh trail," he announced. "it isn't more than an hour old at best. it's a she-bear and a fine one. we'll get this one or know the reason why. i have done the best i could. you know i can't make 'bear sign' if it isn't there. we frequently have to wait for weeks for a good trail. we are lucky in finding this one, for it might have been a young bear, and no great sport." the boys were all excitement on the instant. they began making hurried preparations for the chase, which all felt was going to result in something worth while. "master tad, i want you to ride back towards turtle bayou. you know the way. i think she is heading that way. about a mile before you reach the bayou you will find a ridge of cane leading off to the northwest. it is what is known as the big cane ridge. this she-bear has come over from the southern ridge, and, unless i am much mistaken, she is heading for the big ridge. she will stop some time this forenoon for food and rest, and if you take the short cut you ought to get to the ridge ahead of her." "do i go alone?" "yes, you will make better time. we don't want to lose this one. once she gets on the big ridge we shan't get her at all. now hustle yourself. lay your course by the compass two points north of northwest and hold it. that will land you at the exact spot i want you to reach. you will have to use your bush-knife all the way. it's a new trail and a hard one, but you will eat it up." tad hastily stowed food in the pockets of his saddle, then looked to his weapons, his rope and his other equipment. "don't take any chances in case you should come up with the old she, but shoot and shoot to kill." "and be sure that you don't get lost," added the professor. "i shall leave a trail that can be followed, even if i do lose my way," answered tad, leaping into his saddle. swinging his hand in parting salute to his companions he rode away, putting his mount to its best loping run. thirty minutes later the rest of the party with the hounds were also riding away to pick up the trail. the dogs were tugging at their leashes before they reached the trail. "they've got the scent already," cried lilly. "now look out for a chase. it is going to be a hard run and a fast ride, but you boys are good for it." "you bet we are!" shouted the pony rider boys. "i hope we, instead of tad butler, get the bear. he has had enough fun," complained ned rector. "we stand the best chance," answered lilly. "she will lie down to rest, and during that hour we shall get up to her." the hounds were released soon after that. they were off with yelps of joy, tearing along the trail with the horses of the pony riders close behind them. "this is a real joy ride," howled the fat boy, his face already flecked with blood, his clothing torn, from contact with brush and low-hanging limbs, for he was riding close up behind the guide. "no, tad is having that," corrected ned. "he hasn't anything to hold him back, either. he can go as fast as he wishes without having to consider anyone else." by this time the voices of the dogs were to be heard faintly in the distance. a short time later they were too far away to be heard at all. in the meantime tad butler was hewing his way through the cypress swamp, through occasional thin ridges of cane, over rough ground, keeping his muscular little mount down to work every second of the time. tad did not have much time to think about anything save the work in hand. he did not know that he was rapidly converging on the trail of the she-bear. about two o'clock in the afternoon the lad first heard the yelping of the hounds. they seemed to be approaching him obliquely, which in fact they were. tad pulled up sharply and listened. after a short time he rode about, getting the lay of the land, trying to decide in his own mind just what course the bear would take and where his best vantage point would be for getting a shot at her. there was no sound of the approach of the pony riders. he knew that they had been distanced perhaps by some miles, and that what was done here tad butler would be obliged to do on his own account. he now saw the wisdom of billy lilly's plan. billy, too, had given tad the better end of the chase, which, as tad believed, had been done with fore-thought. for this butler was thankful. he wanted to get a bear. the lad showed his excitement only in his eyes. otherwise he was cool and deliberate in all his actions. suddenly the yelping of the hounds changed. they were sounding a new note. the yelping had given place to deep baying sounds. "they've got her!" cried the boy, digging the rowels of his spurs into the sides of his mount. the little animal leaped forward and fairly tore through the brush, with the boy urging her on to renewed efforts regardless of the peril to his own person. butler knew that baying well. he had heard it before, the first time in the rocky mountains, and he knew that there was an animal at bay. he was careful to make as little noise as possible. all at once he burst out into an open space where a strange sight met his gaze. a huge she-bear was lying on the ground, flat on her back, her paws in the air, as a bear at bay frequently does. she was surrounded by a circle of baying dogs, each trying for an opening to get in a vicious bite. tad halted in amazement. he at first thought the beast had been wounded. he saw, however, that she was resting, taking her ease, with her paws in the air, regardless of the savage hounds snapping at her haunches. "well, of all the cool nerve i ever heard!" exclaimed the boy. now and then a hound, more venturesome than the rest, would dive in for a bite, whereupon, quick as a flash, a heavy paw would swing on the animal, sending it tumbling away yelping with pain. so interested was the pony rider boy that it did not occur to him to shoot. he did not know whether or not mrs. bruin had seen or scented him. then, again, it was not any too safe to try a shot at her with the hounds leaping in and out, dodging here and there. when she got up he would get a better sight and a safer shot. tad waited several minutes, the bear still taking her ease. she appeared absolutely without fear of the dogs that were nagging her. "i'm going to stir her up," declared tad with sudden resolution. he threw his rifle to his shoulder and sat his horse waiting a favorable opportunity to let drive at the old she-bear. a faint puff of smoke, a detonating crash, woke the forest echoes. tad's pony, startled, leaped into the air and to one side. the pony rider boy, caught wholly off his guard, disappeared from the saddle in a twinkling, landing on the ground. the boy toppled over and lay still. he was too dazed for the moment to pull himself together. in the meantime things were taking place before him. the beast had suddenly lunged to her feet, uttering growls of rage, her little eyes fixed on the cause of her distress, on the prostrate boy, a bullet from whose rifle had shattered the bone of her left shoulder. suddenly she lunged toward him, pausing to snap and bite at the hounds that were trying to throw themselves upon her, but whom she warded off with paw, her jaws wide open and dripping. the big she-bear was ambling toward tad butler at great speed. chapter xxiv conclusion tad felt a sudden sense of impending peril. bringing the full force of his will to bear on the task, he pulled himself to a sitting posture. not twenty paces from him he saw the she-bear bearing down upon him with jaws wide apart, and uttering growls of rage. tad groped for his rifle, but could not find it. as a matter of fact it had fallen into a clump of bushes beyond him when he fell from the horse. his predicament was a dire one and he knew it. the boy staggered to his feet, tugging at his revolver. with the seconds he was getting back his strength and his nerve. "at her! at her!" he shouted to the dogs. encouraged by his words three of the hounds leaped on the haunches of the bear. this retarded her forward progress for the moment. she turned, snarling, on her assailants. this gave the dogs in front an opportunity to snap at her legs, which they did, but were put to rout with the sweep of a ferocious paw. the dogs seemed to realize that the duty of protecting the pony rider boy rested wholly on them, for they went at the big she-bear with ferocious growls, their jaws snapping like steel traps. their efforts seemed to have no effect on the big beast other than to retard her progress a little. again she started for tad with the pack hanging to her heels. young butler, revolver in hand, stood calmly awaiting the nearer approach of the bear. when she had reached a point as close to him as he thought prudent, tad raised his revolver and fired. the bear slackened her pace. she seemed to be surprised. otherwise there was no indication that the boy's bullet had reached her. surely she had not been wounded in a vital spot and tad wondered if there were any vital spots in this animal. he could see that his first shot with the rifle had stirred the rage of the beast. either he would have to kill her or she would kill him. butler understood this fully. it was an inspiring sight to see the freckle-faced boy standing there, bare-headed, revolver aimed at the bear as calmly as if it were an inanimate mark he were shooting at for target practice, with the yelping dogs assailing mrs. bruin, she almost neglectful of their presence. yet at any moment one of the faithful hounds might get in a bite that would turn the tide in their favor. one did get in an effective bite, but it was after tad butler had emptied the contents of his revolver into the bear. she turned with a roar as a chunk of flesh was torn from her flank. thus encouraged, the dogs attacked with renewed fury, and, regardless of their own safety, threw themselves upon her. for the first time the old she-bear really woke up. she seemed to realize that she must fight and dispose of the dogs before she could go on and finish the freckle-faced boy. a dog, breathing its last, was flung at the feet of the pony rider boy. "oh, that's too bad," mourned the boy. "i've got to help them! but how can i do it? ah!" a stick of cane that had been cut off near the base of the stalk he saw standing against a tree not far from him. this gave the lad an idea. he grabbed up the stick, which was about ten feet long, and drawing near to the battling dogs, watched his opportunity. then he gave the beast a poke with it. this served to distract her attention for the moment, giving the dogs a fresh hold all around. [illustration: the bear turned on tad.] delighted with the success of his ruse, tad kept on poking, leaping back, dodging, thrusting, harrying the bear, assisting the dogs to get fresh and effective holds. the boy sought to poke the animal in the eye, but she was too wary for this. she managed to chew up the end of the cane pole, tearing it into shreds, and would have jerked it away from tad entirely had she not been obliged to drop the pole to attend to the dogs that had just bitten her in the side again. but this battle could not go on indefinitely. the dogs, one by one, were being either wounded or killed outright. tad's chances for winning were lessening with the moments. he was doing his best to help and save the dogs and they were doing their desperate best to protect him from the she-bear. "i've got to put a stop to this or she'll kill them all," cried the boy. the bear seemed to have come to a decision at the same time. with the hounds clinging to her, she ambled for tad again. the boy stood firm. he held his hunting knife in hand. as the bear reared before him, towering higher than his head, the pony rider boy made a swift jab with the knife. but he was not quick enough. he had got within reach of those powerful paws. one caught him on the left shoulder. tad was hurled fully a rod from the bear. he thought the blow had broken his shoulder, but he was up instantly and at her again. this time the lad was more cautious. having once felt the strength of that paw, he had no desire to feel it again. a blow like that one the head or the neck would be likely to finish him, after which the she-bear would have an easy time of disposing of the hounds. tad, as soon as he had recovered in a measure from the first blow, began dancing about the beast like a boxer. the dogs were doing much the same. every one of them was bleeding, their jaws were dripping with the blood of the bear, and their efforts were becoming less and less effective. it appeared to be a matter of but a short time before she would have killed them all. suddenly, as mrs. bruin's attention was attracted to the rear, butler leaped forward. he drove the point of his hunting knife fairly into her body. the bear whirled. tad leaped back, carrying his knife with him. this last act of his was the final straw that broke down the prudence of the bear. with terrible growls she made straight for him. tad leaped aside just in time to avoid the sweep of a paw that, had it landed, no doubt would have killed him. then he sprang forward and drove the knife home. for the next few minutes it would have been hard to say which was pony rider boy, which dog and which bear. tad's clothes were nearly stripped from his body, his skin scratched, torn and bleeding. but the boy was still strong and full of fight. on the other hand, mrs. bruin was getting weaker from loss of blood. she had depended too much on her strength and skill, but the boy and the wounded dogs had proved too much for her. she was now fighting both, probably with a full knowledge of this, which made her the more dangerous. tad butler was wholly on the defensive; he was fighting for his life and he knew it. the bear suddenly reared on her haunches and staggered towards him. tad buried the knife in her side, and it stuck. in the brief seconds that he was trying to recover it the great fore-legs closed about him. strangely enough the she-bear as suddenly released the grip that was closing about tad, and staggering backwards, collapsed and rolled over on her back with all four feet in the air. when the bear released him tad butler went down in a heap, and lay where he had fallen, pale and motionless. the dogs, now realizing that their prey had fallen, attacked her ferociously, to which she returned only a feeble defense. bill lilly and his party had heard the uproar, and were riding to the scene with all speed. lilly had heard the report of the rifle when tad took the first shot, and he knew that tad butler was in the thick of the fray. he knew, too, from the continued baying and yelping of the dogs, after the revolver shots, that the boy had not killed the bear. hearing no further shots the guide was genuinely alarmed, for he read the meaning of these things aright. when the leader of the party came galloping on the scene his eyes quickly comprehended, and lilly was off his horse in a twinkling. giving no heed to the bear, which he saw was nearly dead, he ran to the fallen pony rider boy. the others of his party came tearing in a few moments later. they saw him down on his knees beside tad butler. "tad's dead!" wailed stacy brown. lilly shook his head. professor zepplin took butler's pulse and listened to his heart. "i think he is badly hurt. can't we get him somewhere where we can treat him?" "wait till he comes around," advised lilly. it was a full half hour before they succeeded in bringing tad back to consciousness, during which time his young companions stood about with faces almost as pale as his own. stacy kept thrusting his hands in his pockets, then withdrawing them, while the others showed their nervousness by frequent shiftings from one foot to the other. suddenly tad opened his eyes, and smiled weakly. "i--i got her," he whispered, then swooned. it was fully an hour later that the boy was able to talk. he told them, briefly, while the professor was making a careful diagnosis of the patient, what had taken place. the professor found that besides the boy's flesh wounds he had sustained three broken ribs. the ugly she-bear had crushed them in. lilly immediately began constructing a litter. tad insisted that he would ride back to camp, but they would not permit it. they forced him to ride to camp on the litter, which was hung between two horses. never did a boy get better attention than did tad during that never-to-be-forgotten ride, when every movement gave him agonizing pain. he had insisted that the bear be skinned and the pelt taken along. this consumed some little time, but lilly did the job as quickly as possible. late that night they rode into camp. tad was in a fever. for three days they watched over him, then the party started for jackson with their patient, who pluckily protested that he was all right. tad rode all the way in on the litter. reaching jackson, major clowney insisted that he be taken to the clowney home, which was done. in spite of his suffering, the pony rider boy felt that pleasure was close akin to pain, for his hospitable hosts surrounded him quietly with every thoughtful attention. "i'm sorry to see you in this fix," remarked lilly, dropping in on tad one afternoon. "you needn't be," smiled the boy. "really, i believe i'm having the time of my life. what are the other fellows really doing, mr. lilly?" "nothing much," replied the guide. "that is, mr. stacy is doing nothing." "i might have guessed that," smiled tad. "and the others are helping him," finished the guide with a grin. "and i had to be so unfortunate as to spoil our fine hunting trip in the canebrake," cried tad reproachfully. "you didn't spoil anything," lilly retorted. "i reckon that all the young gentlemen had their fill of the canebrake." "i don't believe it," declared tad. "i know i wouldn't have had enough, if it hadn't been for--this." "well," assented the guide slowly, "i suppose i could have shown you youngsters quite a bit more if i had had the chance." "i'll tell you what i wish you would do, mr. lilly." "well, i'm listening," observed the guide. "it will take me a little time yet to get in the best of shape," tad pursued. "i suggest that while i am laid up here you take the fellows back into the brake, and show 'em something they've missed so far." "that might suit me," lilly replied. "i wanted to show you people all i could, and i wish it had been more. but i don't believe your fellows will consent to go away and leave you here on the laid-up shelf." "nonsense!" protested tad. "it would make me feel a lot worse to realize that i was a spoil-sport." lilly tried out his mission, but with no more success than he had expected. tad, his face flushing, sent for his companions. but all his arguments failed to induce the pony rider boys to leave him. tad pleaded, and at last commanded. "i'm afraid we shall have to go back to the brake whether we like it or not," urged walter perkins at last. "if tad feels that he is hindering sport he'll get worse instead of better." ned and stacy still protested, so tad went at the matter through his physician, who advised the boys to go on or tad would surely fret himself into a relapse, and they consented reluctantly. on the day following, mr. lilly and professor zepplin led the other three pony rider boys back into the brake. tad felt no regrets after they had left. in the sportsman's phrase he had "filled his own bag," and now he was eager to see the other lads do something to their own credit. before very long he was able to sit up and write in his own firm hand to his mother. the receipt of his letter settled all of mrs. butler's fears. then, at the end of two weeks, the boys returned. hearing that they were coming along the road tad butler, pallid yet clear-eyed and steady, strolled down the road to meet them. "wow!" yelled stacy, pointing to a furry object tied over his pony's back in front of the saddle. it was bear. "fine!" grinned tad. "do you know who shot it, chunky?" "a young man of considerable importance, who just fits into my garments," replied stacy brown, throwing out his chest once more. "and i came near having a fearful fight with the critter, too." it was a small bear, but brown had really killed it unaided. ned, too, rode with a small bear tied to his saddle. only walter perkins returned bootless, but that was to be expected of walter, who was an indifferent sportsman. professor zepplin had had no intention of bagging any game. two bears, however, did not represent all the fun that had been had on this second trip into the canebrake. all three of the boys were as brown as coffee berries and as "hard as nails." they were in splendid shape. just a few days more and the pony rider boys were obliged to bid their hosts and lilly good-bye. it seemed as though half the inhabitants of the small town turned out to see the departing boys off at the railway station. "come back again! come back again--soon," was the chorus that went up as the train began to move, while the pony rider boys, their heads at the open windows, waved back. before leaving they learned through major clowney that government agents had arrested alligator pete austen, who had tried to be their guide, and several other men from that section. these men had been part of a band of smugglers, smuggling german goods through mexico. a fishing smack had been bringing the goods across the gulf of mexico. the stuff had been hidden on a remote deep bayou, and from there disposed of for considerable sums of money. the government agents recovered a heavy supply of goods of various sorts that, of course, had come in duty free by way of the secret route. austen, who was in charge, attended to the work of getting the supplies into the brake where it was cached in steel cribs in the bayou. for this, he and others of the gang--ten men in all--were convicted and sent to prison. the pony rider boys had smoked them out without realizing that they were doing their country a great service. and now they were on their journey home. not to remain there for long, however, for the boys had other worlds to conquer, other startling adventures before them. they will be heard from again, in the next volume of this series, which will be published under the title, "the pony rider boys in alaska; or, the gold diggers of taku pass." this following volume will be found one of the most fascinating of the entire series, with the pony riders in the saddle in new surroundings, undergoing experiences different from anything that they had ever met with. the end [illustration: _photographed from life by maull & c^{o}. london._] hints on driving. by c. s. ward, the well-known "whip of the west," paxton stables, opposite tattersall's. london: published by the author, , little cadogan place, belgravia. . hints on driving. by c. s. ward, the well-known "whip of the west," _paxton stables (opposite tattersall's)._ it has been said, and not, perhaps, without reason, that a man who is conscious that he possesses some practical knowledge of a science, and yet refrains from giving the public the benefit of his information, is open to the imputation of selfishness. to avoid that charge, as far as lies in my power, i purpose, in the course of the following pages, to give my readers the benefit of my tolerably long experience in the art of driving four horses--an art which i acquired under the following circumstances.-- my father was a coach proprietor as well as a coachman, and, i am proud to say, one of the best whips of his day. he gave me many opportunities of driving a team. i will not, however, enter into all the details of my youthful career, but proceed to state, that at the early age of seventeen i was sent nightly with the norwich and ipswich mail as far as colchester, a distance of fifty-two miles. never having previously travelled beyond whitechapel church, on that line of road, the change was rather trying for a beginner. but fortune favoured me; and i drove his majesty's mail for nearly five years without an accident. i was then promoted to the "quicksilver," devonport mail, the fastest at that time out of london. it must be admitted that i undertook this task under difficult circumstances--involving as it did, sixty miles a night--since many had tried it ineffectually, or at all events were unable to accomplish the duty satisfactorily. it is gratifying to me to reflect, that i drove this coach more than seven years without a single mishap. getting at length rather tired of such incessant and monotonous nightly work, i applied for a change to my employer, the well-known and much-respected mr. chaplin, who at that time had seventeen hundred horses employed in coaching. his reply was characteristic. "i cannot find you all day coaches," said he; "besides, who am i to get to drive your mail?" i must say, i thought this rather severe at the time, but, good and kind-hearted man as he was, he did not forget me. not long after this interview, the brighton day mail being about to start, he made me the offer, to drive the whole distance and horse the coach a stage, with the option of driving it without horsing. like most young men i was rather ambitious, and closed with the former conditions. the speculation, however, did not turn out a very profitable one, and, the railway making great progress, i sold my horses to mr. richard cooper, who was to succeed me on the box. i was then offered the far-famed exeter "telegraph," one of the fastest and best-appointed coaches in england. my fondness for coaching still continuing, and not feeling disposed to settle to any business, i drove this coach from exeter to ilminster and back, a distance of sixty-six miles, early in the morning and late at night. after driving it three years, the railway opened to bridgewater; this closed the career of the once-celebrated "telegraph." but those who had so long shared its success, were not inclined to knock under. my brother coachman and myself, together with the two guards, accordingly started a "telegraph" from devonport to london, a distance of ninety-five miles by road, joining the rail at bridgewater, thus making the whole journey two hundred and fifty miles in one day. at that time there was a coach called the "nonpareil," running from devonport to bristol. the proprietors of this vehicle, thinking that our's would take off some of their trade, made their's a london coach also, and started at the same time as we did. we then commenced a strong opposition. i had a very good man to contend against--william harbridge, a first-class coachman. we had several years of strong opposition, the rail decreasing the distance every year, till it opened to exeter. the "nonpareil" was then taken off, and they started a coach called the "tally ho!" against the poor old "telegraph." both coaches left exeter at the same time, and this caused great excitement. many bets, of bottles of wine, dinners for a dozen, and five-pound notes, were laid, as to which coach would arrive first at plymouth. i had my old friend harbridge again, as my competitor. the hotel that i started from, was a little farther down the street than the one whence the "tally ho!" appeared, so that as soon as i saw my friend harbridge mounting the box, i did the same, and made the running. we had all our horses ordered long before the usual time. harbridge came sailing away after me; the faster he approached, the more i put on the steam. he never caught me, and, having some trifling accident with one of his horses over the last stage, he enabled me to reach plymouth thirty-five minutes before he came in. my guard, who resided in st. albans-street, devonport, hurried home, and as the other coach passed, he called out and asked them to stop and have some supper; they also passed my house, which was a little farther on, in fore-street. i was sitting at the window, smoking, and offered them a cigar as they passed--a joke they did not, of course, much relish. the next night they declared they would be in first; but it was of no use, the old "telegraph" was not to be beaten. thus it went on for several weeks; somehow they were never able to get in first. we did the fifty miles several times in three hours and twenty-eight minutes (that is, at the average rate of a mile in four minutes and nine seconds, including stoppages), and for months together, we never exceeded four hours. still, in every contest, one party must ultimately give in; that one, however, was not the "telegraph." we settled our differences, and went on quietly for the remainder of the time, occasionally having a little "flutter," as we used to call it in those days, but we were always good friends. should this narrative chance to meet the eye of some of those who used to travel with us in bygone times, they will doubtless well remember the pace we used to go. after a few years, the railway opened to plymouth, and many gentlemen asked me to start a fast coach into cornwall, promising to give it their patronage; i accordingly started the "tally ho!" making it a day coach from truro to london, joining the rail at plymouth; this was a very difficult road for a fast coach, but we ran it, till government offered the contract for a mail; we then converted the "tally ho!" into a mail, and ran it till the rail opened to truro. it will have been seen that i kept to coaching nearly as long as there were any coaches left to drive. i had for some years given up driving regularly, having taken the horse bazaar at plymouth, where i used to supply officers of the garrison with teams, and give them instructions in driving; this i still continue to do, and in every variety of driving. it gives me, indeed, much pleasure to see many of my pupils daily handling their teams skilfully; not a few of them giving me good reason to be really proud of them, as i know they do me credit. in my description of my driving career, i stated that i had never had an accident; i ought to have said, no serious casualty, never having upset or injured any one; but i have had many trifling mishaps, such as running foul of a waggon in a fog, having my whole team down in slippery weather; on many occasions i have had a wheel come off, but still nothing that could fairly be termed a bad accident. during the last twenty-five years i have been engaged keeping livery stables and breaking horses to harness, and in that period i have had some very narrow escapes. in one instance, the box of a new double break came off and pitched me astride across the pole between two young horses; i once had the top of the pole come off when driving two high-couraged horses; a horse set to kicking, and ran away with me in single harness. as i was of course pulling at him very hard, my feet went through the bottom of the dog-cart, he kicking furiously all the time. fortunately i escaped with only a few bruises. on another occasion, in single harness, a mare began kicking, and, before i could get her head up, she ran against the area railings of a house in princess square, plymouth, broke both shafts, and split the break into matches; myself and man nearly went through the kitchen window, into the arms of the cook; she did not, however, ask us to stop and dine. i could mention many little events of a similar kind, and consider myself very fortunate in having never had anything more serious than a sprained ankle or wrist during my tolerably long career. i will now commence my instructions. rule i. selection of the team. the first thing the pupil should do, is to select four horses as nearly as possible of the same temper. never keep a puller, for it takes your attention from things that require all your care, makes your arm ache, in fact, does away with all pleasure. i should recommend hiring or purchasing four horses that will give you no trouble, and when you can pull them about, and do nearly as you please with them, you can then get your permanent team, which will require a very judicious selection, particularly if you intend to pride yourself upon colour as well as action. i was told by a gentleman, that he was ten years, getting a perfect team of black browns; he did not confine himself to price, and he certainly now has a very nice team--and they ought indeed to be perfect, after all the time, labour and expense that have been bestowed upon them. rule ii. mounting the box. put the forefinger of your right hand through the leading reins, and the third finger between the wheel reins, feel your wheel horses' mouths lightly, take your near side reins a little shorter than your off, so that in case your horses attempt to start before you are properly seated, you have the reins all of the same length, and, being properly separated, you can put them into your left hand as quickly as possible, and at once have your horses under control; this will, if attended to, always prevent accidents. some gentlemen get on the box and have the reins handed to them by a groom, who does not know how to separate them; this is not only an unbusiness-like, but a dangerous practice. rule iii. the seat. place yourself well on the box, sit upright, but easily, with your knees a little bent. some gentlemen almost stand, with a thick cushion reaching above the rail of the box, and their toes several inches over the foot-board. this is not only unsightly, but attended with risk, for if you came in contact with the curbstone, or any trifling obstruction, you might very readily, and most likely would, be thrown from your seat. the rail of the box, ought always to be a few inches above the cushion. rule iv. turning. in going round a corner, "point" your leader--that is, take hold of your leading rein, and get your leaders well round; then take hold of your wheel rein as well, all four horses will come round as evenly as though they were on a straight road. most persons are careless about the mode of going round a corner; as long as they get round safely, they think it quite sufficient; they take hold of both reins and haul away; the consequence is, they get the fore part of the carriage and the wheel horses round before the leaders are square. this, i think, looks very bad, for it is a really pretty sight, to see four horses coming round straight, and thus showing that they are under perfect control. always steady your carriage before attempting to turn, in case you should chance to meet anything coming in the opposite direction. besides, there is no object in going fast round a corner. even if pressed for time, always use precaution, for in driving, as in other phases of life, you will find it much easier to keep out, than to get out, of grief! rule v. descending a hill. in going down a hill, steady and feel the weight of the carriage you have behind you; go off the top as quietly as you can, for you will discover before you get half way down, if it is at all a steep hill, the impetus will be so much increased, that you will have quite enough to do, to keep your coach steady and your horses under control. the patent drag is a great boon, which we had not in the old coaching days. i have many times gone off the top of a hill, and, before i got half way down, wished that i had put on the shoe; but another coach coming behind, with perhaps a lighter load than i had, they would have passed me while i was putting on the drag; this was the reason we sometimes neglected it, but you can always go faster down hill, with the drag, than without it. rule vi. position of the hands. keep your left hand up, within about ten or twelve inches of your chest, with your arm and wrist a little bent; you will then have your reins in such a position, that your right hand will be able to assist the other, without throwing your body forward to reach them. many, instead of putting their right hand just in front of the left, and drawing the reins back towards them, put the right hand at least a foot before the other, and push the reins, consequently they lose nearly all power over the horses, and draw the reins away from the left hand. besides being unskilful, this has a very ugly appearance. rule vii. uniformity of draught. to drive slowly, is much more gentlemanlike, and, at the same time, more difficult than going fast. keep your horses well together; to do this properly, you must know how to arrange their couplings. i think i cannot better explain this, than to ask my readers to notice the working of the horses. if you see one a little in front of the other, you may judge that he is either stronger or more free, consequently his coupling requires shortening, or that of the other horse lengthening. to shorten it, you must bring the buckle towards you; and to let it out, put the buckle towards the horse's head. most inexperienced persons resort to the whip, not knowing what is the cause of the fault they wish to remedy; this will make the strong or free horse, throw himself more into his collar; the other, meanwhile, cannot get up to him, however much he may try; the result is, he becomes more and more disheartened. if you use the whip at all, it must be very lightly and quietly, so that the freer or stronger horse may not hear it. at the same time, hold them both well together; if he is not a sluggard, he will gradually work up to the other. again, if you notice one horse carrying his head unpleasantly, you may judge there is some cause for it; perhaps he is curbed too tightly, or his coupling is too short, or his rein ought to be over that of the other horse instead of under it, for, as may be supposed, all horses do not carry their heads alike; but all these little matters require watching and studying, and, with practice, they will all become familiar enough; and you will notice whether or not, all your horses go pleasantly together, for, depend on it, the more pleasantly they go, the more pleasure and comfort you will experience in driving them; and, as the old coaching term expressed it, when you can "cover them over with a sheet," you may conclude they are going about right. rule viii. the use of the whip. i will now come to the whip, the use of which, most young beginners want to acquire in the first instance. let me advise them to practice the art of "catching it" in their sitting or bed-room, for if they try to learn it when they are driving, they annoy their horses. a gentleman, whom i was teaching, said it was so simple, he would not go to bed till he could catch it properly. i saw him a fortnight afterwards, but he had not even then succeeded; he told me he had not been to bed; but i will not vouch for the accuracy of this part of the anecdote. the art, like many others, is very easy when you know how to do it. the turn of the wrist, with a slight jerk of the elbow, is the proper way to accomplish it. the less the whip is used while driving, the better, for it will only get you into trouble if used improperly. if a horse shies, never flog him for it; timidity is generally the cause of shying, unless his eyes are defective. of course whipping can do no good in that case; speak kindly to him, that is the best way, if he be young; as he becomes better acquainted with objects and gains confidence, he will most likely give up the trick. i will make a few more observations on the whip. if you can use it well, use it seldom, and before you strike a horse, always take hold of his head; if you do this, you will find the slightest touch will have the desired effect. it is a pretty art, to be able with certainty, to touch a leader under the bar, without making a noise with the lash or letting any of the other horses know anything about it. the near leader is the most difficult one to reach, as you must completely turn your wrist over. very few can do it well; in fact, many of the old professionals could never do it neatly. i trust that some will benefit from these instructions, for there are really few more agreeable sights than that of a good-looking team handled neatly by a gentleman, who sits well, with, perhaps a lady beside him on the box. i am much pleased to find that the taste for four-in-hand driving is increasing of late, and am glad to say, some gentlemen drive very well. it is easy enough, to detect those who are self-taught from those who have received instruction from a professional man. many think that driving can be acquired without teaching. i wonder if any gentleman would like to dance in a ball-room without first taking lessons; and yet some, do not hesitate to drive four horses--a feat attended with much danger, not only to the public generally, but to themselves and those who accompany them, if undertaken without due knowledge. before concluding, i will relate some of the difficulties we had to encounter in foggy weather. we were obliged to be guided out of london with torches, seven or eight mails following one after the other, the guard of the foremost mail lighting the one following, and so on till the last. we travelled at a slow pace, like a funeral procession. many times i have been three hours going from london to hounslow. i remember one very foggy night, instead of my arriving at bagshot (a distance of thirty miles from london, and my destination) at eleven o'clock, i did not get there till one in the morning. i had to leave again at four the same morning. on my way back to town, when the fog was very bad, i was coming over hounslow heath when i reached the spot where the old powder-mills used to stand. i saw several lights in the road, and heard voices, which induced me to stop. the old exeter mail, which left bagshot thirty minutes before i did, had met with a singular accident; it was driven by a man named gambier; his leaders had come in contact with a hay-cart on its way to london, which caused them to turn suddenly round, break the pole, and blunder down a steep embankment, at the bottom of which was a narrow deep ditch filled with water and mud. the mail coach pitched on to the stump of a willow tree that over-hung the ditch; the coachman and outside passengers were thrown over into the meadow beyond, and the horses went into the ditch; the unfortunate wheelers were drowned or smothered in the mud. there were two inside passengers, who were extricated with some difficulty; but fortunately no one was injured. i managed to take the passengers, with the guard and mail-bags, on to london, leaving the coachman to wait for daylight before he could make an attempt to get the mail up the embankment. they endeavoured to accomplish this, with cart-horses and chains. they had nearly reached the top of the bank when something gave way, and the poor old mail went back into the ditch again. i shall never forget the scene; there were about a dozen men from the powder-mills trying to render assistance, and, with their black faces, each bearing a torch in his hand, they presented a curious spectacle. this happened about thirty years ago. posts and rails were erected at the spot after the accident. i passed the place last summer; they are still there, as well as the old pollard willow stump. i recollect another singular circumstance occasioned by a fog. there were eight mails that passed through hounslow. the bristol, bath, gloucester and stroud, took the right-hand road from hounslow; the exeter, yeovil, poole, and "quicksilver," devonport (which was the one i was driving), went the straight road towards staines. we always saluted each other when passing, with "good night, bill," "dick," or "harry," as the case might be. i was once passing a mail, mine being the faster, and gave my wonted salute. a coachman named downs was driving the stroud mail; he instantly recognised my voice, and said, "charlie, what are you doing on my road?" it was he, however, who had made the mistake; he had taken the staines, instead of the slough, road out of hounslow. we both pulled up immediately; he had to turn round and go back, which was a feat attended with much difficulty in such a fog. had it not been for our usual salute, he would not have discovered his mistake before arriving at staines. this mishap was about as bad as getting into a wrong train. i merely mention the circumstance to show that it was no joke driving a night mail in those days. november was the month we dreaded most, the fogs were generally so bad. a singular event happened with the bath mail that ran between bath and devonport. its time for arriving at devonport was eleven o'clock at night. one eventful evening, they had set down all their outside passengers except a mrs. cox, who kept a fish-stall in devonport market. she was an immense woman, weighing about twenty stone. at yealmpton, where the coachman and guard usually had their last drain before arriving at their destination, being a cold night, they kindly sent mrs. cox a drop of something warm. the servant-girl who brought out the glass, not being able to reach the lady, the ostler very imprudently left the horses' heads to do the polite. the animals hearing some one getting on the coach, doubtless concluded that it was the coachman; at the same time finding themselves free, and being, probably, anxious to get home, started off at their usual pace, and performed the seven miles in safety, passing over the laira bridge and through the toll-bar, keeping clear of everything on the road. mrs. cox meanwhile sat on the coach, with her arms extended in the attitude of a spread-eagle, and vainly trying to attract the attention of those she met or passed on the road. she very prudently, however, abstained from screaming, as she thought she might otherwise have alarmed the horses. they, indeed, only trotted at their ordinary speed, and came to a halt of their own accord at the door of the "king's arms" hotel, plymouth, where they were in the habit of stopping to discharge some of the freight of the coach. the boots and ostler came running out to attend to their accustomed duties, but, to their astonishment, beheld no one but the affrighted mrs. cox on the coach and two passengers inside, who were happily, wholly unconscious of the danger to which they had been exposed! the coachman and guard soon arrived in a post-chaise. poor mrs. cox drank many quarterns of gin to steady her nerves before she felt able to continue her journey to devonport, where she carried on a prosperous trade for many years. many people patronised her, on purpose to hear her narrate the great event of her life. i often used to chaff her, and hear her repeat the history of her memorable adventure. * * * * * i will add a little anecdote of bob pointer, who was on the oxford road. giving his ideas on coaching to a young gentleman who was on the box with him, on his way to college, he said:--"soldiers and sailors may soon learn to fight; lawyers and parsons go to college, where they are crammed with all sorts of nonsense that all the nobs have read and wrote since adam--of course, very good if they like it--but to be a _coachman, sir_, you must go into the stable almost before you can run alone, and learn the nature of horses and the difference between corn and chaff. well can i remember, the first morning i went out with four horses; i never slept a wink all night. i got a little flurried coming out of the yard, and looking round on the envious chaps who were watching me--it was as bad as getting married--at least, i should think so, never having been in that predicament myself. i have escaped that dilemma, for," he concluded, "when a man is always going backwards and forwards between two points, what is the use of a wife, a coachman could never be much more than half married. now, if the law--in the case of coachmen--allowed two wives, that would be quite another story, because he could then have the tea-things set out at both ends of his journey. driving, sir, is very like life, it's all so smooth when you start with the best team, so well-behaved and handsome; but get on a bit, and you will find you have some hills to get up and down, with all sorts of horses, as they used to give us over the middle ground. another thing, sir, never let your horses know you are driving them, or, like women, they may get restive. don't pull and haul, and stick your elbows a-kimbo; keep your hands as though you were playing the piano; let every horse be at work, and don't get flurried; handle their mouths lightly; do all this, and you might even drive four young ladies without ever ruffling their feathers or their tempers." my readers will not, perhaps, deem it altogether an inappropriate conclusion to this very humble little treatise, if i annex for their amusement, if not for their edification, "the last dying speech of the coachmen from beambridge," and some two or three other mementoes of a period and of an institution which have both, alas! long since passed away--and for ever. the last dying speech of the coachmen from beam bridge. the _days_, nay, the very _nights_ of those who have so long "_reined_" supreme over the "nonpareils" and the "brilliants," the "telegraphs" and the "stars," the "magnets" and the "emeralds," are nearly at an end, and the final way-bill of the total "eclipse" is made up. it is positively their last appearance on this stage. in a few weeks they will be unceremoniously pushed from their boxes by an inanimate thing of vapour and flywheels--by a meddling fellow in a clean white jacket and a face not ditto to match, who, mounted on the engine platform, has for some weeks been flourishing a red hot poker over their heads, in triumph at their discomfiture and downfall; and the turnpike road, shorn of its glories, is left desolate and lone. no more shall the merry rattle of the wheels, as the frisky four-in-hand careers in the morning mist, summon the village beauty from her toilet to the window-pane to catch a passing nod of gallantry; no more shall they loiter by the way to trifle with the pretty coquette in the bar, or light up another kind of flame for the fragrant havannah fished from amongst the miscellaneous deposits in the depths of the box-coat pockets. true, the race were always a little fond of _raillery_, and therefore they die by what they love--we speak of course of professional demise--but no doubt they "hold it hard," after having so often "pulled up" to be thus pulled down from their "high eminences," and compelled to sink into mere landlords of hotels, farmers, or private gentlemen. yet so it is. they are "regularly booked." their "places are taken" by one who shows no disposition to make room for them; even their coaches are already beginning to crumble into things that have been; and their bodies (we mean their coach bodies) are being seized upon by rural loving folks, for the vulgar purpose of summer-houses. but a few days and they will all vanish-- "and like the baseless fabric of a vision, leave not a _trace_ behind." no, not even a buckle, or an inch of whipcord; and if, some years hence a petrified whipple tree, or the skeleton of a coachman, should be turned up, they will be hung up side by side with rusty armour and the geological gleanings of our antediluvian ancestors. we cannot part with our civil, obliging, gentlemanly friends of the road without a feeling of regret, and an expression of gratitude for the benefits they have done us. it was pleasant, after a warm breakfast, to remove our heels from the hob, and ensconce oneself by the side of our modern whip--to establish a partnership in his cosy leathern apron--to see him handling his four spirited bays as though his reins were velvet--and having, with a few familiar words and a friendly cigar, drawn the cork from the bottle of his varied information, to learn, as we slapped along at ten miles an hour, whose park it was, stretching away to the left, to listen to his little anecdotes of horse and flesh, and his elucidation of the points of the last derby. "peace to the _manes_ and to the names" of our honest coachmen, one and all of them, and of their horses too--we speak of their whippish names, for in the _body_ we hope they may long tarry, and flourish to _boot_, in other departments of the living. an old friend and a new face. _to the editor of the_ "_exeter and plymouth gazette_." sir, you will oblige me by inserting the following in your paper, which may be amusing to some of your readers:-- it is a fact well known that when the subscription coaches started, in the year , william hanning, esq., a magistrate of the county of somerset, residing near ilminster, was a strenuous advocate for their support, and it was in great measure owing to his exertions that they were established. this gentleman, from some motive or other, or perhaps from his known fondness for new speculations, is now the avowed supporter of a new coach, called, above all other names, the "defiance," and it is professedly meant as an opposition to the subscription coaches. it started from exeter for the first time on sunday, april th, . one really would have supposed that under such patronage a name better calculated to keep the peace of his majesty's liege subjects, and to preserve harmony and good-will among men, would have been adopted for this coach, and that some other day might have been selected for its first appearance. however, the "defiance" started on the sunday afternoon, amidst the shouts and imprecations of guards, coachmen, and ostlers, contending one against the other, and having one ill-looking outside passenger, whose name was _revenge_. an interesting occurrence took place at ilminster. the new "defiance" was expected to arrive there, on its way from town, between nine and ten on the sunday morning, and it was determined to honour it with ringing the church bells. the heroes of the belfry were all assembled, every man at his rope's end, "their souls on fire, and eager for the fray;" the squire was stationed about a mile from ilminster, and seeing the coach, as he thought, coming at a distance, he galloped through the street in triumph, gave the signal, and off went the merry peal. every eye was soon directed to this new and delightful object, when, guess the consternation that prevailed upon seeing, instead of the _new_ "defiance," the poor _old_ subscription trotting nimbly up to the george inn door, and tom goodman, the guard, playing on the key-bugle, with his usual excellence, "should auld acquaintance be forgot?" the scene is more easily imagined than described; it would have been a fine subject for hogarth. the bells were now ordered to cease; the squire walked off and was seen no more. honest tom was not accustomed to this kind of reception; he had enlivened the town with his merry notes a thousand times, but now every one looked on him with disdain, as if they did not know him. he could scarcely suppress his feelings; but after a few minutes' reflection he mounted his seat again, and, casting a good-tempered look to all around him, went off, playing a tune which the occurrence and the sublimity of the day seemed to dictate to him--"through all the changing scenes of life." some of the good people of ilminster who were going to church admired tom's behaviour, and said it had a very good effect. tom arrived safe with his coach at exeter about one o'clock, having started from london one hour and a half after the "defiance," and performed the journey in nineteen hours and a half. the "defiance" arrived about an hour after the subscription; but the proprietors of the latter did not approve of this system, and gave tom a reprimand, directing him in future to keep on his regular steady pace,[ -*] and not to notice the other coach, which he promised to attend to, but said he only wished to show them, on their first journey, the way along. this, under all the circumstances, was admitted as an excuse. tom went away much pleased with the adventures of his journey, and said he should never meet the squire again without playing on his bugle "hark to the merry christ church bells." i beg leave to remain, mr. editor, your obliged servant, a friend to the subscription coaches. footnotes: [footnote -*: the regular time is to perform the journey in twenty-two hours--to leave london at six in the evening, and arrive in exeter at four the following afternoon.] "all the world is a stage coach: it has its insides and outsides, and coachmen in their time see much fun."--_old play._ _tune--"the huntsman winds his horn."_ some people delight in the sports of the turf whilst others love only the chace, but to me, the delight above all others is a good coach that can go the pace. there are some, too, for whom the sea has its charms and who'll sing of it night and morn, but give me a coach with its rattling bars and a guard who can blow his horn. but give me a coach, &c. when the coach comes round to the office door, what a crowd to see it start, and the thoughts of the drive, cheer up many who leave their friends with an aching heart. the prads are so anxiously tossing their heads, and a nosegay does each one adorn, when the dragsman jumps up, crying out "sit fast," while the shooter blows his horn. when the dragsman jumps up, &c. now merrily rolls the coach along, like a bird she seems to fly, as the girls all look out from the roadside inns, for a wink from the dragsman's eye, how they long for a ride with the man who's the pride of each village through which he is borne, on that coach which he tools with so skilful a hand, while the guard plays a tune on his horn. on that coach, &c. how the girls all dote on the sight of the coach, and the dragsman's curly locks, as he rattles along with eleven and four, and a petticoat on the box. that box is his home, his teams are his pride, and he ne'er feels downcast or forlorn, when he lists to the musical sound of the bars, and the tune from the shooter's horn. when he lists, &c. i have sung of the joys one feels on a coach, and the beauty there is in a team, so let us all hope they may ne'er be destroyed by the rascally railroads and steam. there are still some good friends who'll stick by the old trade, and who truly their absence would mourn, "so here's a health to the dragsman, success to the bars, and the guard who blows his horn." so here's a health, &c. _tune--"the queen, god bless her."_ . see that splendid fast coach, well-named "tally ho," with prads that can come the long trot; do their twelve miles an hour--like flashes they go, spinning smoothly along as a top. . with _ward_ and _john hex_, or _hardcastle_ and _judd_, how devoted they are to the fair; in their vests there you find the red rose in the bud, perfuming the summer soft air. tally ho, &c., &c. . four within and twelve out, see they usually start, and the horn sounding right merrily; good humour and glee do these gay lads impart, and their management's right to a t. . but, how shall we grieve, when the fam'd "tally ho," shares the fate of those now long gone by? yet--we'll toast its fond mem'ry wherever we go, for the sound of its name shall ne'er die. tally ho, &c., &c. printed by jas. wade, , tavistock-street, covent-garden. on horsemanship by xenophon translation by h. g. dakyns xenophon the athenian was born b.c. he was a pupil of socrates. he marched with the spartans, and was exiled from athens. sparta gave him land and property in scillus, where he lived for many years before having to move once more, to settle in corinth. he died in b.c. on horsemanship advises the reader on how to buy a good horse, and how to raise it to be either a war horse or show horse. xenophon ends with some words on military equipment for a cavalryman. preparer's note this was typed from dakyns' series, "the works of xenophon," a four-volume set. the complete list of xenophon's works (though there is doubt about some of these) is: work number of books the anabasis the hellenica the cyropaedia the memorabilia the symposium the economist on horsemanship the sportsman the cavalry general the apology on revenues the hiero the agesilaus the polity of the athenians and the lacedaemonians text in brackets "{}" is my transliteration of greek text into english using an oxford english dictionary alphabet table. the diacritical marks have been lost. on horsemanship i claiming to have attained some proficiency in horsemanship ( ) ourselves, as the result of long experience in the field, our wish is to explain, for the benefit of our younger friends, what we conceive to be the most correct method of dealing with horses. ( ) lit. "since, through the accident of having for a long time 'ridden' ourselves, we believe we have become proficients in horsemanship, we wish to show to our younger friends how, as we conceive the matter, they will proceed most correctly in dealing with horses." {ippeuein} in the case of xenophon = serve as a {ippeus}, whether technically as an athenian "knight" or more particularly in reference to his organisation of a troop of cavalry during "the retreat" ("anab." iii. iii. - ), and, as is commonly believed, while serving under agesilaus ("hell." iii. iv. ) in asia, , b.c. there is, it is true, a treatise on horsemanship written by simon, the same who dedicated the bronze horse near the eleusinion in athens ( ) with a representation of his exploits engraved in relief on the pedestal. ( ) but we shall not on that account expunge from our treatise any conclusions in which we happen to agree with that author; on the contrary we shall hand them on with still greater pleasure to our friends, in the belief that we shall only gain in authority from the fact that so great an expert in horsemanship held similar views to our own; whilst with regard to matters omitted in his treatise, we shall endeavour to supply them. ( ) l. dind. (in athens). the eleusinion. for the position of this sanctuary of demeter and kore see leake, "top. of athens," i. p. foll. for simon see sauppe, vol. v. praef. to "de r. e." p. ; l. dind. praef. "xen. opusc." p. xx.; dr. morris h. morgan, "the art of horsemanship by xenophon," p. foll. a fragment of the work referred to, {peri eidous kai ekloges ippon}, exists. the ms. is in the library of emmanual coll. cant. it so happens that one of the hipparchs (?) appealed to by demosthenes in arist. "knights," . {andres ippes, paragenesthe nun o kairos, o simon, o panaiti, ouk elate pros to dexion keras}; bears the name. ( ) lit. "and carved on the pedestal a representation of his own performances." as our first topic we shall deal with the question, how a man may best avoid being cheated in the purchase of a horse. take the case of a foal as yet unbroken: it is plain that our scrutiny must begin with the body; an animal that has never yet been mounted can but present the vaguest indications of spirit. confining ourselves therefore to the body, the first point to examine, we maintain, will be the feet. just as a house would be of little use, however beautiful its upper stories, if the underlying foundations were not what they ought to be, so there is little use to be extracted from a horse, and in particular a war-horse, ( ) if unsound in his feet, however excellent his other points; since he could not turn a single one of them to good account. ( ) ( ) or, "and that a charger, we will suppose." for the simile see "mem." iii. i. . ( ) cf. hor. "sat." i. ii. : regibus hic mos est: ubi equos mercantur, opertos inspiciunt, ne, si facies, ut saepe, decora molli fulta pede est, emptorem inducat hiantem, quod pulchrae clunes, breve quod caput, ardua cervix. and see virg. "georg." iii. foll. in testing the feet the first thing to examine will be the horny portion of the hoof. for soundness of foot a thick horn is far better than a thin. again it is important to notice whether the hoofs are high both before and behind, or flat to the ground; for a high hoof keeps the "frog," ( ) as it is called, well off the ground; whereas a low hoof treads equally with the stoutest and softest part of the foot alike, the gait resembling that of a bandy-legged man. ( ) "you may tell a good foot clearly by the ring," says simon happily; ( ) for the hollow hoof rings like a cymbal against the solid earth. ( ) ( ) lit. "the swallow." ( ) al. "a knock-kneed person." see stonehenge, "the horse" (ed. ), pp. , . ( ) or, "and he is right." ( ) cf. virg. "georg." iii. ; hor. "epod." xvi. . and now that we have begun with the feet, let us ascend from this point to the rest of the body. the bones ( ) above the hoof and below the fetlock must not be too straight, like those of a goat; through not being properly elastic, ( ) legs of this type will jar the rider, and are more liable to become inflamed. on the other hand, these bones must not be too low, or else the fetlock will be abraded or lacerated when the horse is galloped over clods and stones. ( ) i.e. "the pasterns ({mesokunia}) and the coffin should be 'sloping.'" ( ) or, "being too inflexible." lit. "giving blow for blow, overuch like anvil to hammer." the bones of the shanks ( ) ought to be thick, being as they are the columns on which the body rests; thick in themselves, that is, not puffed out with veins or flesh; or else in riding over hard ground they will inevitably be surcharged with blood, and varicose conditions be set up, ( ) the legs becoming thick and puffy, whilst the skin recedes; and with this loosening of the skin the back sinew ( ) is very apt to start and render the horse lame. ( ) i.e. "the metacarpals and metatarsals." ( ) or, "and become varicose, with the result that the shanks swell whilst the skin recedes from the bone." ( ) or, "suspensory ligament"? possibly xenophon's anatomy is wrong, and he mistook the back sinew for a bone like the fibula. the part in question might intelligibly enough, if not technically, be termed {perone}, being of the brooch-pin order. if the young horse in walking bends his knees flexibly, you may safely conjecture that when he comes to be ridden he will have flexible legs, since the quality of suppleness invariably increases with age. ( ) supple knees are highly esteemed and with good reason, rendering as they do the horse less liable to stumble or break down from fatigue than those of stiffer build. ( ) lit. "all horses bend their legs more flexibly as time advances." coming to the thighs below the shoulder-blades, ( ) or arms, these if thick and muscular present a stronger and handsomer appearance, just as in the case of a human being. again, a comparatively broad chest is better alike for strength and beauty, and better adapted to carry the legs well asunder, so that they will not overlap and interfere with one another. again, the neck should not be set on dropping forward from the chest, like a boar's, but, like that of a game-cock rather, it should shoot upwards to the crest, and be slack ( ) along the curvature; whilst the head should be bony and the jawbone small. in this way the neck will be well in front of the rider, and the eye will command what lies before the horse's feet. a horse, moreover, of this build, however spirited, will be least capable of overmastering the rider, ( ) since it is not by arching but by stretching out his neck and head that a horse endeavours to assert his power. ( ) ( ) lit. "the thighs below the shoulder-blades" are distinguished from "the thighs below the tail." they correspond respectively to our "arms" (i.e. forearms) and "gaskins," and anatomically speaking = the radius (os brachii) and the tibia. ( ) "slack towards the flexure" (stonehenge). ( ) or, "of forcing the rider's hand and bolting." ( ) or, "to display violence or run away." it is important also to observe whether the jaws are soft or hard on one or other side, since as a rule a horse with unequal jaws ( ) is liable to become hard-mouthed on one side. ( ) or, "whose bars are not equally sensitive." again, a prominent rather than a sunken eye is suggestive of alertness, and a horse of this type will have a wider range of vision. and so of the nostrils: a wide-dilated nostril is at once better than a contracted one for respiration, and gives the animal a fiercer aspect. note how, for instance, when one stallion is enraged against another, or when his spirit chafes in being ridden, ( ) the nostrils at once become dilated. ( ) or, "in the racecourse or on the exercising-ground how readily he distends his nostrils." a comparatively large crest and small ears give a more typical and horse-like appearance to the head, whilst lofty withers again allow the rider a surer seat and a stronger adhesion between the shoulders and the body. ( ) ( ) or if with l. d. ({kai to somati}), transl. "adhesion to the horse's shoulders." a "double spine," ( ) again, is at once softer to sit on than a single, and more pleasing to the eye. so, too, a fairly deep side somewhat rounded towards the belly ( ) will render the animal at once easier to sit and stronger, and as a general rule better able to digest his food. ( ) ( ) reading after courier {rakhis ge men}. see virg. "georg." iii. , "at duplex agitur per lumbos spina." "in a horse that is in good case, the back is broad, and the spine does not stick up like a ridge, but forms a kind of furrow on the back" (john martyn); "a full back," as we say. ( ) or, "in proportion to." see courier ("du commandement de la cavalerie at de l'equitation": deux livres de xenophon, traduits par un officier d'artillerie a cheval), note ad loc. p. . ( ) i.e. "and keep in good condition." the broader and shorter the loins the more easily will the horse raise his forequarters and bring up his hindquarters under him. given these points, moreover, the belly will appear as small as possible, a portion of the body which if large is partly a disfigurement and partly tends to make the horse less strong and capable of carrying weight. ( ) ( ) al. "more feeble at once and ponderous in his gait." the quarters should be broad and fleshy in correspondence with the sides and chest, and if they are also firm and solid throughout they will be all the lighter for the racecourse, and will render the horse in every way more fleet. to come to the thighs (and buttocks): ( ) if the horse have these separated by a broad line of demarcation ( ) he will be able to plant his hind-legs under him with a good gap between; ( ) and in so doing will assume a posture ( ) and a gait in action at once prouder and more firmly balanced, and in every way appear to the best advantage. ( ) lit. "the thighs beneath the tail." ( ) reading {plateia to gramme diorismenous ekhe}, sc. the perineum. al. courier (after apsyrtus), op. cit. p. , {plateis te kai me diestrammenous}, "broad and not turned outwards." ( ) or, "he will be sure to spread well behind," etc. ( ) {ton upobasin}, tech. of the crouching posture assumed by the horse for mounting or "in doing the demi-passade" (so morgan, op. cit. p. ). the human subject would seem to point to this conclusion. when a man wants to lift anything from off the ground he essays to do so by bringing the legs apart and not by bringing them together. a horse ought not to have large testicles, though that is not a point to be determined in the colt. and now, as regards the lower parts, the hocks, ( ) or shanks and fetlocks and hoofs, we have only to repeat what has been said already about those of the fore-legs. ( ) {ton katothen astragelon, e knemon}, lit. "the under (or hinder?) knuckle-bones (hocks?) or shins"; i.e. anatomically speaking, the os calcis, astragalus, tarsals, and metatarsal large and small. i will here note some indications by which one may forecast the probable size of the grown animal. the colt with the longest shanks at the moment of being foaled will grow into the biggest horse; the fact being--and it holds of all the domestic quadrupeds ( )--that with advance of time the legs hardly increase at all, while the rest of the body grows uniformly up to these, until it has attained its proper symmetry. ( ) cf. aristot. "de part. anim." iv. ; "h. a." ii. ; plin. "n. h." xi. . such is the type ( ) of colt and such the tests to be applied, with every prospect of getting a sound-footed, strong, and fleshy animal fine of form and large of stature. if changes in some instances develop during growth, that need not prevent us from applying our tests in confidence. it far more often happens that an ugly-looking colt will turn out serviceable, ( ) than that a foal of the above description will turn out ugly or defective. ( ) lit. "by testing the shape of the colt in this way it seems to us the purchaser will get," etc. ( ) for the vulg. {eukhroastoi}, a doubtful word = "well coloured," i.e. "sleek and healthy," l. & s. would read {eukhrooi} (cf. "pol. lac." v. ). l. dind. conj. {enrostoi}, "robust"; schneid. {eukhrestoi}, "serviceable." ii the right method of breaking a colt needs no description at our hands. ( ) as a matter of state organisation, ( ) cavalry duties usually devolve upon those who are not stinted in means, and who have a considerable share in the government; ( ) and it seems far better for a young man to give heed to his own health of body and to horsemanship, or, if he already knows how to ride with skill, to practising manoeuvres, than that he should set up as a trainer of horses. ( ) the older man has his town property and his friends, and the hundred-and-one concerns of state or of war, on which to employ his time and energies rather than on horsebreaking. it is plain then that any one holding my views ( ) on the subject will put a young horse out to be broken. but in so doing he ought to draw up articles, just as a father does when he apprentices his son to some art or handicraft, stating what sort of knowledge the young creature is to be sent back possessed of. these will serve as indications ( ) to the trainer what points he must pay special heed to if he is to earn his fee. at the same time pains should be taken on the owner's part to see that the colt is gentle, tractable, and affectionate, ( ) when delivered to the professional trainer. that is a condition of things which for the most part may be brought about at home and by the groom--if he knows how to let the animal connect ( ) hunger and thirst and the annoyance of flies with solitude, whilst associating food and drink and escape from sources of irritation with the presence of man. as the result of this treatment, necessarily the young horse will acquire--not fondness merely, but an absolute craving for human beings. a good deal can be done by touching, stroking, patting those parts of the body which the creature likes to have so handled. these are the hairiest parts, or where, if there is anything annoying him, the horse can least of all apply relief himself. ( ) or, "the training of the colt is a topic which, as it seems to us, may fairly be omitted, since those appointed for cavalry service in these states are persons who," etc. for reading see courier, "notes," p. . ( ) "organisation in the several states." ( ) or, "as a matter of fact it is the wealthiest members of the state, and those who have the largest stake in civic life, that are appointed to cavalry duties." see "hippparch," i. . ( ) cf. "econ." iii. . ( ) {ego}. hitherto the author has used the plural {emin} with which he started. ( ) reading {upodeigmata}, "finger-post signs," as it were, or "draft in outline"; al. {upomnemata} = "memoranda." ( ) "gentle, and accustomed to the hand, and fond of man." ( ) lit. "if he knows how to provide that hunger and thirst, etc., should be felt by the colt in solitude, whilst food and drink, etc., come through help of man." the groom should have standing orders to take his charge through crowds, and to make him familiar with all sorts of sights and noises; and if the colt shows sign of apprehension at them, ( ) he must teach him--not by cruel, but by gentle handling--that they are not really formidable. ( ) or, "is disposed to shy." on this topic, then, of training, ( ) the rules here given will, i think, suffice for any private individual. ( ) or, "in reference to horsebreaking, the above remarks will perhaps be found sufficient for the practical guidance of an amateur." iii to meet the case in which the object is to buy a horse already fit for riding, we will set down certain memoranda, ( ) which, if applied intelligently, may save the purchaser from being cheated. ( ) "which the purchaser should lay to heart, if he does not wish to be cheated." first, then, let there be no mistake about the age. if the horse has lost his mark teeth, ( ) not only will the purchaser's hopes be blighted, but he may find himself saddled for ever with a sorry bargain. ( ) ( ) or, "the milk teeth," i.e. is more than five years old. see morgan, p. . ( ) lit. "a horse that has lost his milk teeth cannot be said to gladden his owner's mind with hopes, and is not so easily disposed of." given that the fact of youth is well established, let there be no mistake about another matter: how does he take the bit into his mouth and the headstall ( ) over his ears? there need be little ambiguity on this score, if the purchaser will see the bit inserted and again removed, under his eyes. next, let it be carefully noted how the horse stands being mounted. many horses are extremely loath to admit the approach of anything which, if once accepted, clearly means to them enforced exertion. ( ) {koruphaia}, part of the {khalinos} gear. another point to ascertain is whether the horse, when mounted, can be induced to leave other horses, or when being ridden past a group of horses standing, will not bolt off to join the company. some horses again, as the result of bad training, will run away from the exercising-ground and make for the stable. a hard mouth may be detected by the exercise called the {pede} or volte, ( ) and still more so by varying the direction of the volte to right or left. many horses will not attempt to run away except for the concurrence of a bad mouth along with an avenue of escape home. ( ) ( ) see sturz, s.v.; pollux, i. . al. "the longe," but the passage below (vii. ) is suggestive rather of the volte. ( ) al. "will only attempt to bolt where the passage out towards home combines, as it were, with a bad mouth." {e... ekphora} = "the exit from the manege or riding school." another point which it is necessary to learn is, whether when let go at full speed the horse can be pulled up ( ) sharp and is willing to wheel round in obedience to the rein. ( ) {analambanetai}, "come to the poise" (morgan). for {apostrephesthai} see ix. ; tech. "caracole." it is also well to ascertain by experience if the horse you propose to purchase will show equal docility in response to the whip. every one knows what a useless thing a servant is, or a body of troops, that will not obey. a disobedient horse is not only useless, but may easily play the part of an arrant traitor. and since it is assumed that the horse to be purchased is intended for war, we must widen our test to include everything which war itself can bring to the proof: such as leaping ditches, scrambling over walls, scaling up and springing off high banks. we must test his paces by galloping him up and down steep pitches and sharp inclines and along a slant. for each and all of these will serve as a touchstone to gauge the endurance of his spirit and the soundness of his body. i am far from saying, indeed, that because an animal fails to perform all these parts to perfection, he must straightway be rejected; since many a horse will fall short at first, not from inability, but from want of experience. with teaching, practice, and habit, almost any horse will come to perform all these feats beautifully, provided he be sound and free from vice. only you must beware of a horse that is naturally of a nervous temperament. an over-timorous animal will not only prevent the rider from using the vantage-ground of its back to strike an enemy, but is as likely as not to bring him to earth himself and plunge him into the worst of straits. we must, also, find out of the horse shows any viciousness towards other horses or towards human beings; also, whether he is skittish; ( ) such defects are apt to cause his owner trouble. ( ) or, "very ticklish." as to any reluctance on the horse's part to being bitted or mounted, dancing and twisting about and the rest, ( ) you will get a more exact idea on this score, if, when he has gone through his work, you will try and repeat the precise operations which he went through before you began your ride. any horse that having done his work shows a readiness to undergo it all again, affords sufficient evidence thereby of spirit and endurance. ( ) reading {talla dineumata}, lit. "and the rest of his twistings and twirlings about." to put the matter in a nutshell: given that the horse is sound-footed, gentle, moderately fast, willing and able to undergo toil, and above all things ( ) obedient--such an animal, we venture to predict, will give the least trouble and the greatest security to his rider in the circumstances of war; while, conversely, a beast who either out of sluggishness needs much driving, or from excess of mettle much coaxing and manoeuvering, will give his rider work enough to occupy both his hands and a sinking of the heart when dangers thicken. ( ) al. "thoroughly." iv we will now suppose the purchaser has found a horse which he admires; ( ) the purchase is effected, and he has brought him home--how is he to be housed? it is best that the stable should be placed in a quarter of the establishment where the master will see the horse as often as possible. ( ) it is a good thing also to have his stall so arranged that there will be as little risk of the horse's food being stolen from the manger, as of the master's from his larder or store-closet. to neglect a detail of this kind is surely to neglect oneself; since in the hour of danger, it is certain, the owner has to consign himself, life and limb, to the safe keeping of his horse. ( ) lit. "to proceed: when you have bought a horse which you admire and have brought him home." ( ) i.e. "where he will be brought as frequently as possible under the master's eye." cf. "econ." xii. . nor is it only to avoid the risk of food being stolen that a secure horse-box is desirable, but for the further reason that if the horse takes to scattering his food, the action is at once detected; and any one who observes that happening may take it as a sign and symptom either of too much blood, ( ) which calls for veterinary aid, or of over-fatigue, for which rest is the cure, or else that an attack of indigestion ( ) or some other malady is coming on. and just as with human beings, so with the horse, all diseases are more curable at their commencement ( ) than after they have become chronic, or been wrongly treated. ( ) ( ) "a plethoric condition of the blood." ( ) {krithiasis}. lit. "barley surfeit"; "une fourbure." see aristot. "h. a." viii. . . ( ) i.e. "in the early acute stages." ( ) al. "and the mischief has spread." but if food and exercise with a view to strengthening the horse's body are matters of prime consideration, no less important is it to pay attention to the feet. a stable with a damp and smooth floor will spoil the best hoof which nature can give. ( ) to prevent the floor being damp, it should be sloped with channels; and to avoid smoothness, paved with cobble stones sunk side by side in the ground and similar in size to the horse's hoofs. ( ) a stable floor of this sort is calculated to strengthen the horse's feet by the mere pressure on the part in standing. in the next place it will be the groom's business to lead out the horse somewhere to comb and curry him; and after his morning's feed to unhalter him from the manger, ( ) so that he may come to his evening meal with greater relish. to secure the best type of stable-yard, and with a view to strengthening the horse's feet, i would suggest to take and throw down loosely ( ) four or five waggon loads of pebbles, each as large as can be grasped in the hand, and about a pound in weight; the whole to be fenced round with a skirting of iron to prevent scattering. the mere standing on these will come to precisely the same thing as if for a certain portion of the day the horse were, off and on, stepping along a stony road; whilst being curried or when fidgeted by flies he will be forced to use his hoofs just as much as if he were walking. nor is it the hoofs merely, but a surface so strewn with stones will tend to harden the frog of the foot also. ( ) lit. "a damp and smooth floor may be the ruin of a naturally good hoof." it will be understood that the greeks did not shoe their horses. ( ) see courier, p. , for an interesting experiment tried by himself at bari. ( ) cf. "hipparch," i. . ( ) or, "spread so as to form a surface." but if care is needed to make the hoofs hard, similar pains should be taken to make the mouth and jaws soft; and the same means and appliances which will render a man's flesh and skin soft, will serve to soften and supple a horse's mouth. ( ) ( ) or, "may be used with like effect on a horse's mouth," i.e. bathing, friction, oil. see pollux, i. . v it is the duty of a horseman, as we think, to have his groom trained thoroughly in all that concerns the treatment of the horse. in the first place, then, the groom should know that he is never to knot the halter ( ) at the point where the headstall is attached to the horse's head. by constantly rubbing his head against the manger, if the halter does not sit quite loose about his ears, the horse will be constantly injuring himself; ( ) and with sores so set up, it is inevitable that he should show peevishness, while being bitted or rubbed down. ( ) lit. "by which the horse is tied to the manger"; "licol d'ecurie." ( ) al. "in nine cases out of ten he rubs his head... and ten to one will make a sore." it is desirable that the groom should be ordered to carry out the dung and litter of the horse to some one place each day. by so doing, he will discharge the duty with least trouble to himself, ( ) and at the same time be doing the horse a kindness. ( ) al. "get rid of the refuse in the easiest way." the groom should also be instructed to attach the muzzle to the horse's mouth, both when taking him out to be groomed and to the rolling-ground. ( ) in fact he should always muzzle him whenever he takes him anywhere without the bit. the muzzle, while it is no hindrance to respiration, prevents biting; and when attached it serves to rob the horse of opportunity for vice. ( ) ( ) cf. "econ." xi. ; aristoph. "clouds," . ( ) or, "prevents the horse from carrying out vicious designs." again, care should be taken to tie the horse up with the halter above his head. a horse's natural instinct, in trying to rid himself of anything that irritates the face, is to toss up his head, and by this upward movement, if so tied, he only slackens the chain instead of snapping it. in rubbing the horse down, the groom should begin with the head and mane; as until the upper parts are clean, it is vain to cleanse the lower; then, as regards the rest of the body, first brush up the hair, by help of all the ordinary implements for cleansing, and then beat out the dust, following the lie of the hair. the hair on the spine (and dorsal region) ought not to be touched with any instrument whatever; the hand alone should be used to rub and smooth it, and in the direction of its natural growth, so as to preserve from injury that part of the horse's back on which the rider sits. the head should be drenched with water simply; for, being bony, if you try to cleanse it with iron or wooden instruments injury may be caused. so, too, the forelock should be merely wetted; the long hairs of which it is composed, without hindering the animal's vision, serve to scare away from the eyes anything that might trouble them. providence, we must suppose, ( ) bestowed these hairs upon the horse, instead of the large ears which are given to the ass and the mule as a protection to the eyes. ( ) the tail, again, and mane should be washed, the object being to help the hairs to grow--those in the tail so as to allow the creature the greatest reach possible in brushing away molesting objects, ( ) and those of the neck in order that the rider may have as free a grip as possible. ( ) lit. "the gods, we must suppose, gave..." ( ) lit. "as defences or protective bulwarks." ( ) insects, etc. mane, forelock, and tail are triple gifts bestowed by the gods upon the horse for the sake of pride and ornament, ( ) and here is the proof: a brood mare, so long as her mane is long and flowing, will not readily suffer herself to be covered by an ass; hence breeders of mules take care to clip the mane of the mare with a view to covering. ( ) ( ) {aglaias eneka} (a poetic word). cf. "od." xv. ; xvii. . ( ) for this belief schneid. cf aristot. "h. a." vi. ; plin. viii. ; aelian, "h. a." ii. , xi. , xii. , to which dr. morgan aptly adds soph. "fr." (tyro), a beautiful passage, {komes de penthos lagkhano polou diken, k.t.l.} (cf. plut. "mor." a). washing of the legs we are inclined to dispense with--no good is done but rather harm to the hoofs by this daily washing. so, too, excessive cleanliness of the belly is to be discouraged; the operation itself is most annoying to the horse; and the cleaner these parts are made, the thicker the swarm of troublesome things which collect beneath the belly. besides which, however elaborately you clean these parts, the horse is no sooner led out than presently he will be just as dirty as if he had not been cleaned. omit these ablutions then, we say; and similarly for the legs, rubbing and currying by hand is quite sufficient. vi we will now explain how the operation of grooming may be performed with least danger to oneself and best advantage to the horse. if the groom attempts to clean the horse with his face turned the same way as the horse, he runs the risk of getting a knock in the face from the animal's knee or hoof. when cleaning him he should turn his face in the opposite direction to the horse, and planting himself well out of the way of his leg, at an angle to his shoulder-blade, proceed to rub him down. he will then escape all mischief, and he will be able to clean the frog by folding back the hoof. let him clean the hind-legs in the same way. the man who has to do with the horse should know, with regard to this and all other necessary operations, that he ought to approach as little as possible from the head or the tail to perform them; for if the horse attempt to show vice he is master of the man in front and rear. but by approaching from the side he will get the greatest hold over the horse with the least risk of injury to himself. when the horse has to be led, we do not approve of leading him from in front, for the simple reason that the person so leading him robs himself of his power of self-protection, whilst he leaves the horse freedom to do what he likes. on the other hand, we take a like exception to the plan of training the horse to go forward on a long rein ( ) and lead the way, and for this reason: it gives the horse the opportunity of mischief, in whichever direction he likes, on either flank, and the power also to turn right about and face his driver. how can a troop of horses be kept free of one another, if driven in this fashion from behind?--whereas a horse accustomed to be led from the side will have least power of mischief to horse or man, and at the same time be in the best position to be mounted by the rider at a moment's notice, were it necessary. ( ) see a passage from strattis, "chrys." (pollux, x. ), {prosage ton polon atrema, proslabon ton agogea brakhuteron. oukh oras oti abolos estin}. in order to insert the bit correctly the groom should, in the first place, approach on the near ( ) side of the horse, and then throwing the reins over his head, let them drop loosely on the withers; raise the headstall in his right hand, and with his left present the bit. if the horse will take the bit, it is a simple business to adjust the strap of the headstall; but if he refuses to open his mouth, the groom must hold the bit against the teeth and at the same time insert the thumb ( ) of his left hand inside the horse's jaws. most horses will open their mouths to that operation. but if he still refuses, then the groom must press the lip against the tush ( ); very few horses will refuse the bit, when that is done to them. ( ) ( ) lit. "on the left-hand side." ( ) {ton megan daktulon}, hdt. iii. . ( ) i.e. "canine tooth." ( ) or, "it is a very exceptional horse that will not open his mouth under the circumstances." the groom can hardly be too much alive to the following points * * * if any work is to be done: ( ) in fact, so important is it that the horse should readily take his bit, that, to put it tersely, a horse that will not take it is good for nothing. now, if the horse be bitted not only when he has work to do, but also when he is being taken to his food and when he is being led home from a ride, it would be no great marvel if he learnt to take the bit of his own accord, when first presented to him. ( ) reading with l. dind. {khre de ton ippokomon kai ta oiade... paroxunthai, ei ti dei ponein}, or if as schneid., sauppe, etc., {khre de ton ippon me kata toiade, k.t.l.}, transl. "the horse must not be irritated in such operations as these," etc.; but {toiade} = "as follows," if correct, suggests a lacuna in either case at this point. it would be good for the groom to know how to give a leg up in the persian fashion, ( ) so that in case of illness or infirmity of age the master himself may have a man to help him on to horseback without trouble, or, if he so wish, be able to oblige a friend with a man to mount him. ( ) ( ) cf. "anab." iv. iv. ; "hipparch," i. ; "cyrop." vii. i. . ( ) an {anaboleus}. cf. plut. "c. gracch." . the one best precept--the golden rule--in dealing with a horse is never to approach him angrily. anger is so devoid of forethought that it will often drive a man to do things which in a calmer mood he will regret. ( ) thus, when a horse is shy of any object and refuses to approach it, you must teach him that there is nothing to be alarmed at, particularly if he be a plucky animal; ( ) or, failing that, touch the formidable object yourself, and then gently lead the horse up to it. the opposite plan of forcing the frightened creature by blows only intensifies its fear, the horse mentally associating the pain he suffers at such a moment with the object of suspicion, which he naturally regards as its cause. ( ) cf. "hell." v. iii. for this maxim. ( ) al. "if possibly by help of another and plucky animal." if, when the groom brings up the horse to his master to mount, he knows how to make him lower his back, ( ) to facilitate mounting, we have no fault to find. still, we consider that the horseman should practise and be able to mount, even if the horse does not so lend himself; ( ) since on another occasion another type of horse may fall to the rider's lot, ( ) nor can the same rider be always served by the same equerry. ( ) ( ) {upobibazesthai}. see above, i. ; pollux, i. ; morgan ad loc. "stirrups were unknown till long after the christian era began." ( ) or, "apart from these good graces on the animal's part." ( ) as a member of the cavalry. ( ) reading {allo}. al. reading {allos} with l. d., "and the same horse will at one time humour you in one way and again in another." cf. viii. , x. , for {uperetein} of the horse. vii the master, let us suppose, has received his horse and is ready to mount. ( ) we will now prescribe certain rules to be observed in the interests not only of the horseman but of the animal which he bestrides. first, then, he should take the leading rein, which hangs from the chin-strap or nose-band, ( ) conveniently in his left hand, held slack so as not to jerk the horse's mouth, whether he means to mount by hoisting himself up, catching hold of the mane behind the ears, or to vault on to horseback by help of his spear. with the right hand he should grip the reins along with a tuft of hair beside the shoulder-joint, ( ) so that he may not in any way wrench the horse's mouth with the bit while mounting. in the act of taking the spring off the ground for mounting, ( ) he should hoist his body by help of the left hand, and with the right at full stretch assist the upward movement ( ) (a position in mounting which will present a graceful spectacle also from behind); ( ) at the same time with the leg well bent, and taking care not to place his knee on the horse's back, he must pass his leg clean over to the off side; and so having brought his foot well round, plant himself firmly on his seat. ( ) ( ) reading {otan... paradexetai... os anabesomenos}. or, reading {otan paradexetai ton ippea (sc. o. ippos) ws anabesomenon}, transl. "the horse has been brought round ready for mounting." ( ) so courier, "la muserolle." it might be merely a stitched leather strap or made of a chain in part, which rattled; as {khrusokhalinon patagon psalion} (aristoph. "peace," ) implies. "curb" would be misleading. ( ) "near the withers." ( ) or, "as soon as he has got the springing poise preliminary to mounting." ( ) "give himself simultaneously a lift." reading {ekteinon}, or if {enteinon}, "keeping his right arm stiff." ( ) or, "a style of mounting which will obviate an ungainly attitude behind." ( ) lit. "lower his buttocks on to the horse's back." to meet the case in which the horseman may chance to be leading his horse with the left hand and carrying his spear in the right, it would be good, we think, for every one to practise vaulting on to his seat from the right side also. in fact, he has nothing else to learn except to do with his right limbs what he has previously done with the left, and vice versa. and the reason we approve of this method of mounting is ( ) that it enables the soldier at one and the same instant to get astride of his horse and to find himself prepared at all points, supposing he should have to enter the lists of battle on a sudden. ( ) lit. "one reason for the praise which we bestow on this method of mounting is that at the very instant of gaining his seat the soldier finds himself fully prepared to engage the enemy on a sudden, if occasion need." but now, supposing the rider fairly seated, whether bareback or on a saddle-cloth, a good seat is not that of a man seated on a chair, but rather the pose of a man standing upright with his legs apart. in this way he will be able to hold on to the horse more firmly by his thighs; and this erect attitude will enable him to hurl a javelin or to strike a blow from horseback, if occasion calls, with more vigorous effect. the leg and foot should hang loosely from the knee; by keeping the leg stiff, the rider is apt to have it broken in collision with some obstacle; whereas a flexible leg ( ) will yield to the impact, and at the same time not shift the thigh from its position. the rider should also accustom the whole of his body above the hips to be as supple as possible; for thus he will enlarge his scope of action, and in case of a tug or shove be less liable to be unseated. next, when the rider is seated, he must, in the first place, teach his horse to stand quiet, until he has drawn his skirts from under him, if need be, ( ) and got the reins an equal length and grasped his spear in the handiest fashion; and, in the next place, he should keep his left arm close to his side. this position will give the rider absolute ease and freedom, ( ) and his hand the firmest hold. ( ) i.e. "below the knee"; "shin and calf." ( ) lit. "pulled up" (and arranged the folds of his mantle). ( ) {eustalestatos}, "the most business-like deportment." as to reins, we recommend those which are well balanced, without being weak or slippery or thick, so that when necessary, the hand which holds them can also grasp a spear. as soon as the rider gives the signal to the horse to start, ( ) he should begin at a walking pace, which will tend to allay his excitement. if the horse is inclined to droop his head, the reins should be held pretty high; or somewhat low, if he is disposed to carry his head high. this will set off the horse's bearing to the best advantage. presently, as he falls into a natural trot, ( ) he will gradually relax his limbs without the slightest suffering, and so come more agreeably to the gallop. ( ) since, too, the preference is given to starting on the left foot, it will best conduce to that lead if, while the horse is still trotting, the signal to gallop should be given at the instant of making a step with his right foot. ( ) as he is on the point of lifting his left foot he will start upon it, and while turning left will simultaneously make the first bound of the gallop; ( ) since, as a matter of instinct, a horse, on being turned to the right, leads off with his right limbs, and to the left with his left. ( ) "forwards!" ( ) or, "the true trot." ( ) {epirrabdophorein}, "a fast pace in response to a wave of the whip." ( ) see berenger, i. p. ; also the "cavalry drill book," part i. equitation, s. , "the canter." ( ) {tes episkeliseos}, "he will make the forward stride of the gallop in the act of turning to the left." see morgan ad loc. as an exercise, we recommend what is called the volte, ( ) since it habituates the animal to turn to either hand; while a variation in the order of the turn is good as involving an equalisation of both sides of the mouth, in first one, and then the other half of the exercise. ( ) but of the two we commend the oval form of the volte rather than the circular; for the horse, being already sated with the straight course, will be all the more ready to turn, and will be practised at once in the straight course and in wheeling. at the curve, he should be held up, ( ) because it is neither easy nor indeed safe when the horse is at full speed to turn sharp, especially if the ground is broken ( ) or slippery. ( ) {pede}, figure of eight. ( ) or, "on first one and then the other half of the manege." ( ) {upolambanein}. see "hipparch," iii. ; "hunting," iii. ; vi. , of a dog. ( ) {apokroton}, al. {epikroton}, "beaten, hard-trodden ground." but in collecting him, the rider should as little as possible sway the horse obliquely with the bit, and as little as possible incline his own body; or, he may rest assured, a trifle will suffice to stretch him and his horse full length upon the ground. the moment the horse has his eyes fixed on the straight course after making a turn, is the time to urge him to full speed. in battle, obviously, these turns and wheelings are with a view to charging or retiring; consequently, to practise quickening the pace after wheeling is desirable. when the horse seems to have had enough of the manege, it would be good to give him a slight pause, and then suddenly to put him to his quickest, away from his fellows first, ( ) and now towards them; and then again to quiet him down in mid-career as short as possible; ( ) and from halt once more to turn him right-about and off again full charge. it is easy to predict that the day will come when there will be need of each of these manoeuvres. ( ) {mentoi}, "of course." ( ) or, "within the narrowest compass"; "as finely as possible." when the moment to dismount has come, you should never do so among other horses, nor near a group of people, ( ) nor outside the exercising-ground; but on the precise spot which is the scene of his compulsory exertion there let the horse find also relaxation. ( ) ( ) or, "a knot of bystanders"; cf. thuc. ii. . ( ) or, as we say, "be caressed, and dismissed." viii as there will, doubtless, be times when the horse will need to race downhill and uphill and on sloping ground; times, also, when he will need to leap across an obstacle; or, take a flying leap from off a bank; ( ) or, jump down from a height, the rider must teach and train himself and his horse to meet all emergencies. in this way the two will have a chance of saving each the other, and may be expected to increase their usefulness. ( ) {ekpedan} = exsilire in altum (sturz, and so berenger); "to leap over ditches, and upon high places and down from them." and here, if any reader should accuse us of repeating ourselves, on the ground that we are only stating now what we said before on the same topics, ( ) we say that this is not mere repetition. in the former case, we confined ourselves to advising the purchaser before he concluded his bargain to test whether the horse could do those particular things; ( ) what we are now maintaining is that the owner ought to teach his own horse, and we will explain how this teaching is to be done. ( ) or, "treating of a topic already handled." ( ) i.e. possessed a certain ability at the date of purchase. with a horse entirely ignorant of leaping, the best way is to take him by the leading rein, which hangs loose, and to get across the trench yourself first, and then to pull tight on the leading-rein, to induce him to leap across. if he refuses, some one with a whip or switch should apply it smartly. the result will be that the horse will clear at a bound, not the distance merely, but a far larger space than requisite; and for the future there will be no need for an actual blow, the mere sight of some one coming up behind will suffice to make him leap. as soon as he is accustomed to leap in this way you may mount him and put him first at smaller and then at larger trenches. at the moment of the spring be ready to apply the spur; and so too, when training him to leap up and leap down, you should touch him with the spur at the critical instant. in the effort to perform any of these actions with the whole body, the horse will certainly perform them with more safety to himself and to his rider than he will, if his hind-quarters lag, in taking a ditch or fence, or in making an upward spring or downward jump. ( ) ( ) lit. "in making these jumps, springs, and leaps across or up or down." to face a steep incline, you must first teach him on soft ground, and finally, when he is accustomed to that, he will much prefer the downward to the upward slope for a fast pace. and as to the apprehension, which some people entertain, that a horse may dislocate the shoulder in galloping down an incline, it should encourage them to learn that the persians and odrysians all run races down precipitous slopes; ( ) and their horses are every bit as sound as our own. ( ) ( ) cf. "anab." iv. viii. ; and so the georgians to this day (chardin ap. courier, op. cit. p. , n. ). ( ) lit. "as are those of the hellenes." nor must we omit another topic: how the rider is to accommodate himself to these several movements. ( ) thus, when the horse breaks off into a gallop, the rider ought to bend forward, since the horse will be less likely to slip from under; and so to pitch his rider off. so again in pulling him up short ( ) the rider should lean back; and thus escape a shock. in leaping a ditch or tearing up a steep incline, it is no bad plan to let go the reins and take hold of the mane, so that the animal may not feel the burthen of the bit in addition to that of the ground. in going down a steep incline the rider must throw himself right back and hold in the horse with the bit, to prevent himself being hurled headforemost down the slope himself if not his horse. ( ) or, "to each set of occurrences." ( ) al. "when the horse is being brought to a poise" (morgan); and see hermann ap. schneid., {analambanein} = retinere equum, anhalten, pariren. i.e. "rein in" of the "parade." it is a correct principle to vary these exercises, which should be gone through sometimes in one place and sometimes in another, and should sometimes be shorter and sometimes longer in duration. the horse will take much more kindly to them if you do not confine him to one place and one routine. since it is a matter of prime necessity that the rider should keep his seat, while galloping full speed on every sort of ground, and at the same time be able to use his weapons with effect on horseback, nothing could be better, where the country suits and there are wild animals, than to practise horsemanship in combination with the chase. but when these resources fail, a good exercise may be supplied in the combined efforts of two horsemen. ( ) one of them will play the part of fugitive, retreating helter-skelter over every sort of ground, with lance reversed and plying the butt end. the other pursues, with buttons on his javelins and his lance similarly handled. ( ) whenever he comes within javelin range he lets fly at the retreating foeman with his blunted missiles; or whenever within spear thrust he deals the overtaken combatant a blow. in coming to close quarters, it is a good plan first to drag the foeman towards oneself, and then on a sudden to thrust him off; that is a device to bring him to the ground. ( ) the correct plan for the man so dragged is to press his horse forward: by which action the man who is being dragged is more likely to unhorse his assailant than to be brought to the ground himself. ( ) {ippota}. a poetic word; "cavaliers." ( ) or, "manipulated." ( ) or, "that may be spoken off as the 'purl trick'"; "it will unhorse him if anything." if it ever happens that you have an enemy's camp in front, and cavalry skirmishing is the order of the day (at one time charging the enemy right up to the hostile battle-line, and again beating a retreat), under these circumstances it is well to bear in mind that so long as the skirmisher is close to his own party, ( ) valour and discretion alike dictate to wheel and charge in the vanguard might and main; but when he finds himself in close proximity to the foe, he must keep his horse well in hand. this, in all probability, will enable him to do the greatest mischief to the enemy, and to receive least damage at his hands. ( ) see "hipparch," viii. . the gods have bestowed on man, indeed, the gift of teaching man his duty by means of speech and reasoning, but the horse, it is obvious, is not open to instruction by speech and reasoning. if you would have a horse learn to perform his duty, your best plan will be, whenever he does as you wish, to show him some kindness in return, and when he is disobedient to chastise him. this principle, though capable of being stated in a few words, is one which holds good throughout the whole of horsemanship. as, for instance, a horse will more readily take the bit, if each time he accepts it some good befalls him; or, again, he will leap ditches and spring up embankments and perform all the other feats incumbent on him, if he be led to associate obedience to the word of command with relaxation. ( ) ( ) lit. "if every time he performs the word of command he is led to expect some relaxation." ix the topics hitherto considered have been: firstly, how to reduce the chance of being cheated in the purchase of a colt or full-grown horse; secondly, how to escape as much as possible the risk of injuring your purchase by mishandling; and lastly, how to succeed in turning out a horse possessed of all the qualities demanded by the cavalry soldier for the purposes of war. the time has come perhaps to add a few suggestions, in case the rider should be called upon to deal with an animal either unduly spirited or again unduly sluggish in disposition. the first point to recognise is, that temper of spirit in a horse takes the place of passion or anger in a man; and just as you may best escape exciting a man's ill-temper by avoiding harshness of speech and act, so you will best avoid enraging a spirited horse by not annoying him. thus, from the first instant, in the act of mounting him, you should take pains to minimise the annoyance; and once on his back you should sit quiet for longer than the ordinary time, and so urge him forward by the gentlest signs possible; next, beginning at the slowest pace, gradually work him into a quicker step, but so gradually that he will find himself at full speed without noticing it. ( ) any sudden signal will bewilder a spirited horse, just as a man is bewildered by any sudden sight or sound or other experience. (i say one should be aware that any unexpected shock will produce disturbance in a horse.) ( ) ( ) or, "so that the horse may insensibly fall into a gallop." ( ) l. dindorf and others bracket, as spurious. so if you wish to pull up a spirited horse when breaking off into a quicker pace than requisite, you must not suddenly wrench him, but quietly and gently bring the bit to bear upon him, coaxing him rather than compelling him to calm down. it is the long steady course rather than the frequent turn which tends to calm a horse. ( ) a quiet pace sustained for a long time has a caressing, ( ) soothing effect, the reverse of exciting. if any one proposes by a series of fast and oft-repeated gallops to produce a sense of weariness in the horse, and so to tame him, his expectation will not be justified by the result; for under such circumstances a spirited horse will do his best to carry the day by main force, ( ) and with a show of temper, like a passionate man, may contrive to bring on himself and his rider irreparable mischief. ( ) or, "long stretches rather than a succession of turns and counter turns," {apostrophai}. ( ) reading {katapsosi} with l. dind. ( ) {agein bia}, vi agere, vi uti, sturz; al. "go his own gait by sheer force." a spirited horse should be kept in check, so that he does not dash off at full speed; and on the same principle, you should absolutely abstain from setting him to race against another; as a general rule, your fiery-spirited horse is only too fond of contention. ( ) ( ) reading {skhedon gar kai phil oi thum}, or if {... oi thil kai th.} transl. "the more eager and ambitious a horse is, the more mettlesome he will tend to become." smooth bits are better and more serviceable than rough; if a rough bit be inserted at all, it must be made to resemble a smooth one as much as possible by lightness of hand. it is a good thing also for the rider to accustom himself to keep a quiet seat, especially when mounted on a spirited horse; and also to touch him as little as possible with anything except that part of the body necessary to secure a firm seat. again, it should be known that the conventional "chirrup" ( ) to quiet and "cluck" to rouse a horse are a sort of precept of the training school; and supposing any one from the beginning chose to associate soft soothing actions with the "cluck" sound, and harsh rousing actions with the "chirrup," the horse could be taught to rouse himself at the "chirrup" and to calm himself at the "cluck" sound. on this principle, at the sound of the trumpet or the shout of battle the rider should avoid coming up to his charger in a state of excitement, or, indeed, bringing any disturbing influence to bear on the animal. as far as possible, at such a crisis he should halt and rest him; and, if circumstances permit, give him his morning or his evening meal. but the best advice of all is not to get an over-spirited horse for the purposes of war. ( ) al. "whistling," and see berenger, ii. . {poppusmos}, a sound from the lips; {klogmos}, from the cheek. as to the sluggish type of animal, i need only suggest to do everything the opposite to what we advise as appropriate in dealing with an animal of high spirit. x but possibly you are not content with a horse serviceable for war. you want to find in him a showy, attractive animal, with a certain grandeur of bearing. if so, you must abstain from pulling at his mouth with the bit, or applying the spur and whip--methods commonly adopted by people with a view to a fine effect, though, as a matter of fact, they thereby achieve the very opposite of what they are aiming at. that is to say, by dragging the mouth up they render the horse blind instead of alive to what is in front of him; and what with spurring and whipping they distract the creature to the point of absolute bewilderment and danger. ( ) feats indeed!--the feats of horses with a strong dislike to being ridden--up to all sorts of ugly and ungainly tricks. on the contrary, let the horse be taught to be ridden on a loose bridle, and to hold his head high and arch his neck, and you will practically be making him perform the very acts which he himself delights or rather exults in; and the best proof of the pleasure which he takes is, that when he is let loose with other horses, and more particularly with mares, you will see him rear his head aloft to the full height, and arch his neck with nervous vigour, ( ) pawing the air with pliant legs ( ) and waving his tail on high. by training him to adopt the very airs and graces which he naturally assumes when showing off to best advantage, you have got what you are aiming at--a horse that delights in being ridden, a splendid and showy animal, the joy of all beholders. ( ) al. "the animals are so scared that, the chances are, they are thrown into disorder." ( ) {gorgoumenos}, with pride and spirit, but with a suggestion of "fierceness and rage," as of job's war-horse. ( ) "mollia crura reponit," virg. "georg." iii. ; hom. "hymn. ad merc." how these desirable results are, in our opinion, to be produced, we will now endeavour to explain. in the first place, then, you ought to have at least two bits. one of these should be smooth, with discs of a good size; the other should have heavy and flat discs ( ) studded with sharp spikes, so that when the horse seizes it and dislikes the roughness he will drop it; then when the smooth is given him instead, he is delighted with its smoothness, and whatever he has learnt before upon the rough, he will perform with greater relish on the smooth. he may certainly, out of contempt for its very smoothness, perpetually try to get a purchase on it, and that is why we attach large discs to the smooth bit, the effect of which is to make him open his mouth, and drop the mouthpiece. it is possible to make the rough bit of every degree of roughness by keeping it slack or taut. ( ) see morgan, op. cit. p. foll. but, whatever the type of bit may be, let it in any case be flexible. if it be stiff, at whatever point the horse seizes it he must take it up bodily against his jaws; just as it does not matter at what point a man takes hold of a bar of iron, ( ) he lifts it as a whole. the other flexibly constructed type acts like a chain (only the single point at which you hold it remains stiff, the rest hangs loose); and while perpetually hunting for the portion which escapes him, he lets the mouthpiece go from his bars. ( ) for this reason the rings are hung in the middle from the two axles, ( ) so that while feeling for them with his tongue and teeth he may neglect to take the bit up against his jaws. ( ) or, "poker," as we might say; lit. "spit." ( ) schneid. cf. eur. "hippol." . ( ) see morgan, note ad loc. berenger (i. ) notes: "we have a small chain in the upset or hollow part of our bits, called a 'player,' with which the horse playing with his tongue, and rolling it about, keeps his mouth moist and fresh; and, as xenophon hints, it may serve likewise to fix his attention and prevent him from writhing his mouth about, or as the french call it, 'faire ses forces.'" to explain what is meant by flexible and stiff as applied to a bit, we will describe the matter. a flexible bit is one in which the axles have their points of junction broad and smooth, ( ) so as to bend easily; and where the several parts fitting round the axles, being large of aperture and not too closely packed, have greater flexibility; whereas, if the several parts do not slide to and fro with ease, and play into each other, that is what we call a stiff bit. whatever the kind of bit may be, the rider must carry out precisely the same rules in using it, as follows, if he wishes to turn out a horse with the qualities described. the horse's mouth is not to be pulled back too harshly so as to make him toss his head aside, nor yet so gently that he will not feel the pressure. but the instant he raises his neck in answer to the pull, give him the bit at once; and so throughout, as we never cease repeating, at every response to your wishes, whenever and wherever the animal performs his service well, ( ) reward and humour him. thus, when the rider perceives that the horse takes a pleasure in the high arching and supple play of his neck, let him seize the instant not to impose severe exertion on him, like a taskmaster, but rather to caress and coax him, as if anxious to give him a rest. in this way the horse will be encouraged and fall into a rapid pace. ( ) i.e. "the ends of the axles (at the point of junction) which work into each other are broad and smooth, so as to play freely at the join." ( ) "behaves compliantly." that a horse takes pleasure in swift movement, may be shown conclusively. as soon as he has got his liberty, he sets off at a trot or gallop, never at a walking pace; so natural and instinctive a pleasure does this action afford him, if he is not forced to perform it to excess; since it is true of horse and man alike that nothing is pleasant if carried to excess. ( ) ( ) l. dind. cf. eur. "med." , {ta de' uperballont oudena kairon}. but now suppose he has attained to the grand style when ridden--we have accustomed him of course in his first exercise to wheel and fall into a canter simultaneously; assuming then, he has got that lesson well by heart, if the rider pulls him up with the bit while simultaneously giving him one of the signals to be off, the horse, galled on the one hand by the bit, and on the other collecting himself in obedience to the signal "off," will throw forward his chest and raise his legs aloft with fiery spirit; though not indeed with suppleness, for the supple play of the limbs ceases as soon as the horse feels annoyance. but now, supposing when his fire is thus enkindled ( ) you give him the rein, the effect is instantaneous. under the pleasurable sense of freedom, thanks to the relaxation of the bit, with stately bearing and legs pliantly moving he dashes forward in his pride, in every respect imitating the airs and graces of a horse approaching other horses. listen to the epithets with which spectators will describe the type of horse: the noble animal! and what willingness to work, what paces, ( ) what a spirit and what mettle; how proudly he bears himself ( )--a joy at once, and yet a terror to behold. ( ) cf. "hell." v. iv. , "kindled into new life." ( ) {ipposten}, "a true soldier's horse." ( ) {sobaron}, "what a push and swagger"; {kai ama edun te kai gorgon idein}, "a la fois doux et terrible a voir," see victor cherbuliez, "un cheval de phidias," p. . thus far on this topic; these notes may serve perhaps to meet a special need. xi if, however, the wish is to secure a horse adapted to parade and state processions, a high stepper and a showy ( ) animal, these are qualities not to be found combined in every horse, but to begin with, the animal must have high spirit and a stalwart body. not that, as some think, a horse with flexible legs will necessarily be able to rear his body. what we want is a horse with supple loins, and not supple only but short and strong (i do not mean the loins towards the tail, but by the belly the region between the ribs and thighs). that is the horse who will be able to plant his hind-legs well under the forearm. if while he is so planting his hind-quarters, he is pulled up with the bit, he lowers his hind-legs on his hocks ( ) and raises the forepart of his body, so that any one in front of him will see the whole length of his belly to the sheath. ( ) at the moment the horse does this, the rider should give him the rein, so that he may display the noblest feats which a horse can perform of his own free will, to the satisfaction of the spectators. ( ) {lampros}. cf. isae. xi. ("on the estate of hagnias"), lys. xix. ("de bon. arist."). ( ) see berenger, ii. . ( ) lit. "testicles." there are, indeed, other methods of teaching these arts. ( ) some do so by touching the horse with a switch under the hocks, others employ an attendant to run alongside and strike the horse with a stick under the gaskins. for ourselves, however, far the best method of instruction, ( ) as we keep repeating, is to let the horse feel that whatever he does in obedience to the rider's wishes will be followed by some rest and relaxation. ( ) lit. "people, it must be admitted, claim to teach these arts in various ways--some by... others by bidding..." ( ) reading {didaskalion}, al. {didaskalion}, "systems." schneid. cf. herod. v. . to quote a dictum of simon, what a horse does under compulsion he does blindly, and his performance is no more beautiful than would be that of a ballet-dancer taught by whip and goad. the performances of horse or man so treated would seem to be displays of clumsy gestures rather than of grace and beauty. what we need is that the horse should of his own accord exhibit his finest airs and paces at set signals. ( ) supposing, when he is in the riding-field, ( ) you push him to a gallop until he is bathed in sweat, and when he begins to prance and show his airs to fine effect, you promptly dismount and take off the bit, you may rely upon it he will of his own accord another time break into the same prancing action. such are the horses on which gods and heroes ride, as represented by the artist. the majesty of men themselves is best discovered in the graceful handling of such animals. ( ) a horse so prancing is indeed a thing of beauty, a wonder and a marvel; riveting the gaze of all who see him, young alike and graybeards. they will never turn their backs, i venture to predict, or weary of their gazing so long as he continues to display his splendid action. ( ) or, "by aids and signs," as we say. ( ) or, "exercising-ground." ( ) or, "and the man who knows how to manage such a creature gracefully himself at once appears magnificent." if the possessor of so rare a creature should find himself by chance in the position of a squadron leader or a general of cavalry, he must not confine his zeal to the development of his personal splendour, but should study all the more to make the troop or regiment a splendid spectacle. supposing (in accordance with the high praise bestowed upon the type of animal) ( ) the leader is mounted on a horse which with his high airs and frequent prancing makes but the slightest movement forward--obviously the rest of the troop must follow at a walking pace, and one may fairly ask where is the element of splendour in the spectacle? but now suppose that you, sir, being at the head of the procession, rouse your horse and take the lead at a pace neither too fast nor yet too slow, but in a way to bring out the best qualities in all the animals, their spirit, fire, grace of mien and bearing ripe for action--i say, if you take the lead of them in this style, the collective thud, the general neighing and the snorting of the horses will combine to render not only you at the head, but your whole company ( ) down to the last man a thrilling spectacle. ( ) reading as vulg. {os malista epainousi tous toioutous ippous, os}. l. dind. omits the words as a gloss. ( ) reading {oi} (for {osoi}) {sumparepomenoi}. see hartmann, "an. xen. nov." xiv. p. . one word more. supposing a man has shown some skill in purchasing his horses, and can rear them into strong and serviceable animals, supposing further he can handle them in the right way, not only in the training for war, but in exercises with a view to display, or lastly, in the stress of actual battle, what is there to prevent such a man from making every horse he owns of far more value in the end than when he bought it, with the further outlook that, unless some power higher than human interpose, ( ) he will become the owner of a celebrated stable, and himself as celebrated for his skill in horsemanship. ( ) or, "there is nothing, humanly speaking, to prevent such a man." for the phrase see "mem." i. iii. ; cf. "cyrop." i. vi. ; and for the advice, "econ." iii. , . xii we will now describe the manner in which a trooper destined to run the risks of battle upon horseback should be armed. in the first place, then, we would insist, the corselet must be made to fit the person; since, if it fits well, its weight will be distributed over the whole body; whereas, if too loose, the shoulders will have all the weight to bear, while, if too tight, the corselet is no longer a defensive arm, but a "strait jacket." ( ) again, the neck, as being a vital part, ( ) ought to have, as we maintain, a covering, appended to the corselet and close-fitting. this will serve as an ornament, and if made as it ought to be, will conceal the rider's face--if so he chooses--up to the nose. ( ) cf. "mem." iii. x. ( ) l. dind. cf. hom. "il." viii. : {... othi kleis apoergei aukhena te stethos te, malista de kairion estin.} "where the collar-bone fenceth off neck and breast, and where is the most deadly spot" (w. leaf). as to the helmet, the best kind, in our opinion, is one of the boeotian pattern, ( ) on the principle again, that it covers all the parts exposed above the breastplate without hindering vision. another point: the corselet should be so constructed that it does not prevent its wearer sitting down or stooping. about the abdomen and the genitals and parts surrounding ( ) flaps should be attached in texture and in thickness sufficient to protect ( ) that region. ( ) schneider cf. aelian, "v. h." iii. ; pollux, i. . ( ) schneider cf. "anab." iv. vii. , and for {kai ta kuklo}, conj. {kuklo}, "the abdomen and middle should be encircled by a skirt." ( ) lit. "let there be wings of such sort, size, and number as to protect the limbs." again, as an injury to the left hand may disable the horseman, we would recommend the newly-invented piece of armour called the gauntlet, which protects the shoulder, arm, and elbow, with the hand engaged in holding the reins, being so constructed as to extend and contract; in addition to which it covers the gap left by the corselet under the armpit. the case is different with the right hand, which the horseman must needs raise to discharge a javelin or strike a blow. here, accordingly, any part of the corselet which would hinder action out to be removed; in place of which the corselet ought to have some extra flaps ( ) at the joints, which as the outstretched arm is raised unfold, and as the arm descends close tight again. the arm itself, ( ) it seems to us, will better be protected by a piece like a greave stretched over it than bound up with the corselet. again, the part exposed when the right hand is raised should be covered close to the corselet either with calfskin or with metal; or else there will be a want of protection just at the most vital point. ( ) {prosthetai}, "moveable," "false." for {gigglumois} l. & s. cf. hipp. . ; aristot. "de an." iii. . = "ball-and-socket joints." ( ) i.e. "forearm." moreover, as any damage done to the horse will involve his rider in extreme peril, the horse also should be clad in armour--frontlet, breastplate, and thigh-pieces; ( ) which latter may at the same time serve as cuisses for the mounted man. beyond all else, the horse's belly, being the most vital and defenceless part, should be protected. it is possible to protect it with the saddle-cloth. the saddle itself should be of such sort and so stitched as to give the rider a firm seat, and yet not gall the horse's back. ( ) cf. "cyrop." vi. iv. ; vii. i. . as regards the limbs in general, both horse and rider may be looked upon as fully armed. the only parts remaining are the shins and feet, which of course protrude beyond the cuisses, but these also may be armed by the addition of gaiters made of leather like that used for making sandals. and thus you will have at once defensive armour for the shins and stockings for the feet. the above, with the blessing of heaven, will serve for armour of defence. to come to weapons of offence, we recommend the sabre rather than the straight sword, ( ) since from the vantage-ground of the horse's position the curved blade will descend with greater force than the ordinary weapon. ( ) the {makhaira} (or {kopis}), persian fashion, rather than the {xephos}. "cyrop." i. ii. . again, in place of the long reed spear, which is apt to be weak and awkward to carry, we would substitute two darts of cornel-wood; ( ) the one of which the skilful horseman can let fly, and still ply the one reserved in all directions, forwards, backwards, ( ) and obliquely; add to that, these smaller weapons are not only stronger than the spear but far more manageable. ( ) for these reforms, the result of the author's asiatic experiences perhaps, cf. "hell." iii. iv. ; "anab." i. viii. ; "cyrop." i. ii. . ( ) reading {eis toupisthen} after leoncl. as regards range of discharge in shooting we are in favour of the longest possible, as giving more time to rally ( ) and transfer the second javelin to the right hand. and here we will state shortly the most effective method of hurling the javelin. the horseman should throw forward his left side, while drawing back his right; then rising bodily from the thighs, he should let fly the missile with the point slightly upwards. the dart so discharged will carry with the greatest force and to the farthest distance; we may add, too, with the truest aim, if at the moment of discharge the lance be directed steadily on the object aimed at. ( ) ( ) al. "to turn right-about." ( ) "if the lance is steadily eyeing the mark at the instant of discharge." this treatise, consisting of notes and suggestions, lessons and exercises suited to a private individual, must come to a conclusion; the theory and practice of the matter suited to a cavalry commander will be found developed in the companion treatise. ( ) ( ) in reference to "the cavalry general", or "hipparch." geoffery gambado; or, a simple remedy for hypochondriacism and melancholy splenetic humours. by a humorist physician. _honi soit qui mal y pense._ printed, for the author, by dean & son, ludgate hill, london. [illustration: geoffery gambado] table of contents preface. the frontispiece. chapter i. chapter ii. chapter iii. chapter iv. chapter v. chapter vi. chapter vii. chapter viii. chapter ix. chapter x. chapter xi. chapter xii. chapter xiii. chapter xiv. chapter xv. preface. some years ago, sixteen original sketches by henry bunbury, esq. were given to the author of this book. this celebrated sketcher and caricaturist was a gentleman well known in the county of suffolk for his public and private virtues, as well as for his superior talents. he was a lineal descendant of the rev. sir william bunbury, whose baronetcy was created in . of a cheerful and lively temper, he sought to infuse the same spirit through all ranks of society. if we mistake not, his son became sir henry bunbury, and represented the county of suffolk, as his uncle, sir thomas charles bunbury, had done before him. his descendants still occupy the mansion and estates in suffolk, where they have been, and are still, the great benefactors to the poor, and the parish of great barton near bury st. edmund's. but we have to speak more particularly of henry bunbury, esq. and his talents. to this day, his accurate delineations of the political and social customs of the age he lived in, and of the characters who came under his observation, are remarkable for their truthful force. it is very seldom that men of high life and good education, possess the artistic power of graphic delineation: at least, we have but few amateur delineators who can stand the test of the invidious sneers and jeers of those empty possessors of wealth and station, who consider themselves degraded even by the acquaintance of an artist, a poet, or a literary character. now, if a man is not a degraded man, but lives himself after the law of god, he need never mind the scoffs or ridicule of any man; but may say, as henry bunbury did to those who ridiculed him,--"evil be to him who evil thinks." in the sketches contained in this work, the difficulty was to make out what kind of story they told; for though some persons might see in them nothing more than ridicule upon the _annals of complete horsemanship_, yet those who knew the man, and knew the disposition he always entertained, namely, a desire to do evil to no man, but good to all, thought that his intention was to cure some over-sensitive minds of morbid and melancholy feelings, which ought not, unreasonably and unseasonably, to overwhelm them, and destroy their energies. it was not that he ridiculed real affliction, or ever, in any one of his drawings, sought to give a pang to the real mourner; but he really loved a cheerful disposition; and could not bear that man should be afflicting himself with imaginary diseases, when a little self-exertion, or diversion, would restore his right tone of bodily health, and be the means of doing him good. we have adopted these views of our celebrated talented suffolk gentleman, and have endeavoured to turn his pictures to this profitable account. they represent horses, and costume of fashion or fiction, long since exploded; but they represented real persons, whom he knew, and many were reckoned inimitable likenesses. caricature is itself a species of broad, or excessive resemblance of fact; let it be represented by shakspeare's falstaff,--hogarth's marriage a la mode,--dickens' pickwick papers,--macaulay's stories of historical persons, (introduced into his popular history of england),--or of punch,--or of that greatest of all powerful pencil delineators of character, george cruikshank. we leave out the popular novelists, or poets, who have written funny as well as serious things;--all, more or less, have taken advantage of caricature skill, to prove their acquaintance with the ridiculous. cowper is generally looked upon as a serious poet, yet he wrote "johnny gilpin." but we will make no more excuses for our present work. we will only add that it was originally conceived for a charitable purpose, and is now made use of as such. the author of the illustrations has long since departed this mortal life; and the author of the narrative, not seeking the reputation of his own name, does not give it to the world; but, apologizing for his interpretation of the sketches, desires only to do good. if any should be entertained, and will kindly send any mark of their favour to the publisher, for the author, the word of a gentleman is given, that, whatever it may be, it shall be strictly devoted to public good. the frontispiece. "reader! did you ever see an angel on horseback?" "no!" no more did i, that i know of! we read of one in (ii. maccabeus, c. ); but then he was clad in armour of gold, and rode a most powerful animal, who smote with his forelegs the avaricious heliodorus. but here we see a very different representation, both as to horse and rider, and engaged in trumpeting forth the praises of the celebrated doctor gambado. "gambado! sempre viva! encora! encora!" in fact, it is termed "the apotheosis of geoffery gambado, esq. m.d. f.r.s." now this angel might be a daughter of doctor gambado's, or she might be his scullery-maid. she is represented on a horse, which, instead of being a winged pegasus, stands well upon his pegs, and seems to have lent his wings to the damsel herself, to bear both himself and her "in nubibus." she holds a medallion of the doctor, a striking portrait, in her right hand; and in her left, the celebrated brazen trumpet of fame; and, no doubt, whether his angelic daughter or his faithful domestic, she was one who knew so well the admirable worth of the good physician, that she simply means to say,--"may the cheerful spirit of such good men as doctor gambado live for ever, and drive out of all splenetic patients, the tormenting stings of the blue devils." [illustration: the apotheosis of geoffery gambado, md] if he can do this, his canonization will indeed be immortal, though it be trumpeted forth by so humble an instrument as the angel we here see represented on a wooden horse. reader, the humblest instrument in the world may, in the hand of wisdom, be used as an angel for your own good. the poor fellow who lifts you up from the ground, should you happen to fall, may be the helping hand provided you. the messenger who finds you in suffering, and sends the doctor to your relief, may be the unknown angel for your deliverance. a poor boy, or a poor girl, who snatches you, in your infant days, from the peril of a pond, may be used as an angel for your welfare. do not always expect to see angels in golden armour for your deliverance; though the generous and charitably-good samaritan, the friend in need, may be the friend indeed at the hour you most require him,--only be humble, only be thankful, and even this poor picture may be a message of comfort to your spirit; for "reproof is better than a great man's gold; and he is good who loves a thing well told: then 'evil be to him who thinks the same,' and would destroy gambado's honest fame." [illustration] chapter i. _gambado himself seeing the world in a six miles' tour._ it is time we should speak something of this celebrated person, and account for his present position and appearance. he is very unlike any modern physician. a hundred years ago, however, we have no doubt that such was a fac-simile of this noble specimen of an equestrian medical proficient. it is a hundred years ago since the original sketch of him was made, which we have endeavoured to copy. we have to account for finding him in such a position. first, who was he? what was he? where did he live? what did he do? and how came he into notice at all? most men are born somewhere! and except they become noted for something they have done, it is very seldom that any inquiry is made about them at all. neither the place of their birth, nor the locale of their fame, or name, or habitation, of their death, or marriage, is made of any moment whatsoever. alas! those who are most ambitious of fame, seldom get it whilst they live; and very few, ever, as literary men, are exalted to a title, like lord macaulay; whilst those often feel they are praised for what they own they do not deserve, are more humbled by their reputation, than they are exalted. it was said to gambado, in the day of his greatest reputation, "we will certainly have you in westminster abbey?" "thank you, my dear fellow," was his reply; "i would rather eat a mutton chop with you at the mermaid tavern, in the street i was born in, than lie along with john milton, (who was born in the next street to mine), or with any of those worthies, shakspeare, raleigh, or ben jonson; who can no longer eat a mutton chop with us at their old tavern: "'i seek no fame, i want no name, my bread in bread-street is: gambado has sufficient fame; this is sufficient bliss!'" he was born in bread-street, in cheapside: and in the first year of the reign of george the third, a.d. , he was in full practice and celebrity, and could not be less than forty years of age. as to whom he married, and what became of his wife and one lovely daughter, we know not. they appear conspicuously only in the last pages of this narrative, and were evidently in the enjoyment of all their great master's reputation, as well as in the keeping up with him in partaking of his own favourite panacea for all complaints, viz.--the riding on horseback. but how came he to take up this exercise? to stick to it? and to recommend it as he did upon every occasion? simply, as he told every one, because he found in it a sure and certain remedy for that dreadful nervous disease, commonly known by the name of the "blue devils." few things gave greater offence in that day to the faculty, than dr. gambado's system of practice. he prescribed very little, if any, medicine: he certainly gave none to those whom he considered did not require it. he knew the power of a strong mind over a weak body, and what too great fatigue of either would produce. he knew well, moreover, the danger of entertaining too much imagination upon any complaint. he was acknowledged by all to be well versed in the physical construction of the human frame; and especially of that most complicated portion, the nervous system, to which he had paid such scientific attention that his _vocabulary of nervous constitutions_ was his great work, that won for him much scientific fame, and got him the honour of being elected f.r.s. before he attained such practical success as made his fortune. he did make a great fortune; and he was honest enough to confess that he owed the enjoyment of it, if not the possession of it, entirely to a horse-dealer. he was, himself, at one period of his life, so completely prostrated in his own nervous system, that, from the crown of his head to the sole of his feet, he was completely unstrung. he was constantly in the habit of going to church with his wife and daughter, at st. stephen's, walbrook, one of sir christopher wren's most beautiful specimens of architecture; but in his depression he shunned the company of those he loved best on earth, and almost forsook his god and his duty, imagining himself totally forsaken of him and every friend. he had no pleasure in any thing. his very profession was a burthen to him, and night and day he did nothing but mope. what would have become of him, his wife and daughter, his practice, his home, and his society, had he not, as he used to say, met with an angel, in the shape of a horse-dealer? he was strolling, one evening, in a very melancholy mood, down friday-street, not far from his own home, as he passed by the livery stables of john _tattsall_, as the name was then spelt. john knew the doctor, and capped him with "a beautiful evening, sir." the doctor stopped, and looking very woefully in his face, said, "yes, john, very beautiful to those who are well." "yes sir, and to those who are sick, too; and i wish they could enjoy it." "john, i am very ill myself, and have been so for some time. i shall not write many more prescriptions!" "i hope you won't, sir; i hope you won't." "why so, john? why so?" "because you gentlemen prescribe so much advice, and so seldom follow any good advice yourselves, that you are sure to die sooner than any other men. you all know too much about other people, and very little about yourselves." "you are a blunt fellow, john; but i do not like you the less for that. you once consulted me, did you not?" "yes, sir, and you told me the truth; and i liked you all the better for it. you told me plainly there was nothing the matter with me. 'go home,' you said, 'drink a glass of cold water just before you get into bed; and if that do not do you more good than any medicine i can give you, then come to me again, bring me another guinea, and i will give you the same advice.' i did as you advised, and it was the best cold water cure that ever was effected: i have never been ill since. but, doctor, i have heard that you are out of sorts. one good turn deserves another, and if you will follow my advice, only for one week, you shall be a different man to what you now are. you shall soon earn your hundreds; and only give me one guinea in the hundred, and you will make my fortune and your own too." "what is your advice? i will agree to the terms." "well, doctor, let me tell you the truth. you have done too much,--studied too much,--wrote too much,--thought too much,--and have overdone everything, and now find you can do nothing. you are fast sinking into that lapsed condition in which you will soon become an inmate of bedlam, if you go on as you have done of late. you grow enormously fat, and are getting like the pig in my stye, and will soon be snoring, snoring, snoring, all day long, a plague to yourself and everyone else. if you do not follow my advice, you will be a dead man before you ever eat another christmas turkey." "what is it, john?" "ride out six miles on horseback, every morning at six o'clock,--and six miles back again,--and that for six days; and if, at the end of that time, your lethargic state is not improved, then say, john tattsall is a good-for-nothing humbug, and deserves to be well horsewhipped." "but, john, i never rode on horseback in my life: never was in the habit of it. i do not think i ever could." "_master, you must try, if you would not die._" now the doctor did not like the thought of dying, though he had seen so much of it when it touched others. a strange kind of nervous sensation ran through him,--not through his veins, for he was one who wrote against "vasicular nerves,"--but it ran through his system, as he thought of john's words, "_master, you must try, if you would not die._" "well john,--i will try,--but you must teach me!" "come, master, that's right; nothing like trying to amend our ways before it's too late, as good doctor cassock said. so a good beginning, well followed up, and, barring accident, i see no reason, doctor, why you should not live for forty years longer. you know well, that a man overworked, like any other animal, is soon worn out; and a man who does no work, very soon dies. just come and look at a nice little norway cob i have in my stable; quiet and gentle as a lamb. a very few turns down my ride, will give you a seat in the saddle, and you shall be again a happy man." the doctor got into the saddle that very evening; and nobody saw him, but john; and if the stable boys peeped out and smiled, they got a little back-handed tip with their master's whip, and were glad to hide their diminished heads in the straw. he went home a little more cheerful; played a game of backgammon with his wife, and kissed the cheek of his only child kate, and seemed a little better. to the surprise of his family, he ordered hot water into his dressing-room, at half-past five in the morning; and, of course, it was thought he was going to take a journey. he did so; but when he went out, he said, "i shall breakfast at half-past eight o'clock." so the doctor took a six miles' tour every morning, for six days. he improved daily; and though he rode very awkwardly at first, holding on by the reins, and keeping his brow bent and his eye intent upon the norway cob's ears, his daily exercise did him a world of good; and before the week was out, he began to find himself a different creature. at the end of the week, he gave john tattsall fifty guineas for the cob; and a friendship, founded upon mutual accommodation, subsisted between them, to the day of their deaths. so was a horse-dealer made an angel or messenger of health to the mournful spirit or unstrung nerves of doctor geoffery gambado. he had the honesty to own it. the doctor perfectly recovered his right mind and bodily health; and, like a wise man, who well knows that the same thing which does him good may do others the same, he took more patients to john tattsall's livery stables than he ever sent to the sea side, to madeira, to buxton, or to margate, ramsgate, or any other gate whatsoever. john kept horses to suit all comers and all customers, and found doctor gambado the most grateful of all, because he always owned that, beneath a good providence, he did him great good. the doctor's fame rapidly increased with the increase of his health. he soon became the very first physician in nervous complaints. he knew the cause of nervous degeneracy,--no man better. he recommended tattsall to all such patients as he found likely to be benefitted by him; and they were not a few. his letters, if they could be collected, would be found as direct to the point as the wellington despatches. "john,--i want just such a horse as cured me, to cure an old fool like myself. yours, &c.--gambado." john, like a well-tutored chemist, understood the peculiar character of the doctor's prescriptions, which, unlike a quack's, were generally written in a plain, legible hand, without any _ad captandum_ humbug. john had horses from twenty-five to five-hundred guineas each. but as the doctor's fame increased, so, it might be truly said, the follies of "hypochondriacism" began to be exposed. people, and especially those of the great faculty, were jealous of the doctor's reputation. it is always a sign of a little mind to be envious, or jealous of another man's celebrity. take it for granted, when you hear a man speak slightingly of another, set that man down, whoever he is, for a conceited ass himself, or an ambitious, if not an envious and wretched man. better speak nothing, than speak evil of another; better correct an evil thought, than have to repent of an evil act. some called the doctor a mere visionary practitioner, or a mere veterinary surgeon, or a quack, or anything else. but he kept on his course. we have selected a few of the strange cases that came before him a hundred years ago. what changes in a hundred years! what fashions, and what dress! what troubles, woes, and bloody tears, the world must now confess! avoid them all,--seek peace and love,-- be humble and be wise; may this poor book some comfort prove to friends, and enemies. [illustration] chapter ii. _a brother patient.--how to make the least use of a horse._ it was not long before the doctor received a visit from an old friend; one, who had, in younger days, been a student in the same school, and entered into practice about the same time. the servant introduced doctor bull,--yes, doctor john bull, or, more properly styled, john bull, esq. m.d.--but not f.r.s. no, doctor bull had been more ambitious of practising, than of obtaining an empty name. he was a steady, well-to-do little man, and never lost a patient from any want of good manners or attention. he had certainly given much thought to the subject of _hydrophobia_, and was considered no mean authority in the treatment of cases pronounced very malignant; but he by no means confined his abilities to that one branch of human misfortune. he advised well with the surgeons, and, generally, approved their treatment; but suggested frequently that judicious change which the nature of the case required. this he did in so gentlemanly and considerate a manner, that he was sure to be consulted by the very next patient of the same surgeon. in this way, he made many friends, lost very few, and found himself in the most affluent circumstances from very extensive practice. but, somehow, he overworked himself, and got into a very irritable, and at the same time desponding, tone. prosperity tries men very often more severely than adversity. the doctor, as long as he had his way to make in the world, was more attentive to others, and thought less about his own ails than he did about others. now that he had accumulated money, he began to think of investments, and how he should place to the best account his accumulations. he also thought a little more of style, equipage, choice society, and innumerable things, to which his life had been hitherto a stranger. he began to think and to care more about himself, than he did about any body else. he became of some consequence in his neighbourhood, and expected every one to bow to him, and to treat him as a _monied man_. in short, from a pure philanthropist, he became almost a misanthrope. he began to torment himself about every thing and every body. nothing pleased him,--his wife and children disturbed him,--he was downright cross to them. and the same man, who once never came into his house without a cheerful smile for every one in it, now took no notice of anyone, except it were to find fault, and to let out words which in his sober senses he would be shocked to hear any other person make use of. "my dear, i am sure you are not well," said mrs. bull, to him one day, "i am sure you are not well." "i could have told you that," was the reply. "do take a little change." "pish! change! what change? i am changing, and shall soon make some great change, if things go on as they do in this house." "is anything wrong, my dear?" "yes, everything is wrong,--nothing is right,--all things are out of order,--and everything wants a change." "well, my dear, i think, if we took a house for three months at brighton, it would do us all good." "what good, madam? and who is to pay for it? what will become of my patients? and how am i to support my family? brighton indeed! no, no! if i cannot be better without going to brighton, i had better decline at home! who is to look after my patients?" "why, there is doctor goodfellow, who i am sure you admire. he will attend any of your patients for you. do, my dear, have a little compassion upon yourself." "and, i suppose, upon you too; upon kitty as well; upon mary, patty, and little johnny; servants and all,--heigh!" "if you please, my dear, even so, for you have not had much compassion upon any of us lately; and a change towards us all would be very agreeable." a good wife has nothing to fear, and especially when she knows that she so loves her husband as to desire his health above all things else, whether of body, mind, or spirit. if a wife may not expostulate with her husband, who may? and notwithstanding all his perverseness, she had her own way with him, because she felt it was right. to brighton they all went; but the fancy had taken too strong hold upon doctor bull, to let him rest. he worried himself because he was away from london,--he worried himself about the state of his patients,--the price of stocks,--the state of his own pulse, tongue, eyes, and lungs,--till he could endure himself no longer. "i must go and see my old friend gambado; i know he is a clever man, and has paid great attention to the nervous system, i must go and see him. he ordered his chariot, and drove to bread-street; sent in his card, and was very soon shaking hands with his quondam friend doctor gambado. "bull, i am glad to see you! you are not come to consult me professionally about yourself, i hope?" "i am, though, and about nobody else." "then what's the matter with you?" "dispeptic." "is that all?" "no! choleric?" "is that all?" "no." "what is the matter? out with it." "to tell you the truth, geoffery, i hardly know how to describe myself to you. you never were afflicted in the same way." "how do you know that?" "i am sure of it. you never were tormented morning, noon, and night. you never hated your profession, as i do mine. you never felt that you killed a great many more than you cured! you never loathed the sight of your wife and children, your house, servants, food, bed, board and lodging. in short, i am a regular monster to myself, and shall soon be good for nothing! did you ever feel so, my friend?" "yes, and ten thousand times worse than all you have described." "my dear friend, it is impossible." "you may think it so,--and i certainly thought, once, exactly as you do now,--i can therefore make allowances for you. i tell you, no one ever appears so bad to any man, as the afflicted man does to himself. he would soon be better if he could once see others worse than himself, or as bad as himself, and wish, heartily wish, to see them cured. i tell you, such was my case--even worse than yours,--and i can cure you." "will you, my dear friend? will you?" "yes, will i; and as we never take fees of the faculty, therefore, i will cure you for nothing. i do not say, with nothing.--no. will you follow my advice?" "yes, assuredly. what is it?" "ride on horseback." "i never did so since i was a boy." "nor did i, till i tried." "but did that cure you?" "yes, it did; and will cure you also." "how long did you ride before you felt better?" "not an hour." "how long before you were well again?" "six days; six miles out, every day; six miles home; and in six days all those morbid secretions went away from my brain, and i became as i am, a cheerful and happy man." "but how shall i manage? i must begin _de novo_. i must learn, and i must get a horse that will just move as i want him, slow and sure; either a walk, or a gentle canter; one that does not mind the whip; and i dare not ride one with a spur." "my dear fellow, i have a friend who served me with a horse just as i wanted it; and i have no doubt he can serve you just as well. i will write him a note, and you shall take it to him yourself." accordingly, the doctor wrote him one of his laconic epistles. "dear tatt.--mount my brother doctor; give him a stiff-one, and one that will require a little exercise of the _deltoides_ of the right arm. he can pay. suit him well. yours, faithfully,--geoffery gambado." "mr. john tattsall." now the celebrated doctor bull had as good a pair of carriage horses as any squire bull in england. tatt. certainly mounted him on one "that he could not" _make the least of_. he was quiet enough, stiff enough, slow enough, steady enough; he did not mind the whip, for the doctor might cut him over the head, neck, ears, and under the flank, and anywhere, and everywhere else; but the beast had no animation. the more he punished him, he only went the surest way to show to the world, _how to make the least of a horse_. a few days after his _horse exercise_, he called on his friend doctor gambado, and said, "doctor, i am certainly better; but i believe i should have been quite as well, if i had mounted a saddler's wooden horse, and tried to make him go, as i am in trying to make your friend tattsall's horse go. i could not have believed it possible that any beast could bear without motion such a dose of whip-cord as i have administered to him." "you asked for one that would bear the whip: did you not?" "yes, and one that was steady, did not shy, and would go very gently even a slow pace; but this horse has no pace at all." "well, my good old friend, i am glad you are better; that's a great point. i have no doubt, none in the world, that if you could mount master johnny's rocking-horse, and would do so, and have a good game of romps with your boy, it would do you as much good as showing to the world _how to make the least of a horse_, by kicking, flogging, checking his rein, and trying to persuade him to go on. "but if you will only walk down with me to john tattsall's stables, i have no doubt you will quickly learn a lesson of equestrian management that shall soon set you right with the public, and most especially with yourself. you have learnt nothing but how to make the least of a horse. let my servant take your horse back; and if john tattsall do not soon show you _how to make the most of a horse_, then do not pay him either for his horse or for his pains; but set all down to my account. be seated, my dear fellow, whilst i send your horse back with a note. the doctor wrote-- "dear john,--my brother bull wants to learn how to make the most of a horse. we will be with you in the course of an hour. ever yours,--geoffery gambado." "mr. john tattsall." the brothers m.d. sat down to an hour's chat upon politics, stocks, dividends, and philosophy; and at the end of one hour were seen wending their way arm-in-arm to the celebrated _livery stables_ of john tattsall, whither we will follow them, just to see if we can behold a contrast. far we need not go, to see what makes a contrariety. chapter iii. _how to make the most of a horse._ arrived at the stables, it was not long before doctor gambado introduced his brother and friend doctor bull to the noted personage of his day, john tattsall. is the name of tattsall, as it used to be called, corrupted, from a hundred years ago, now to that of tattersall? we do not know the gentleman's dealer, auctioner, or horse agent of the latter name; but if he be the descendant of the great john tattsall, we only hope he is as good a man as his ancestor. a better in his line could never be. it requires a knowledge of a man's craft, to say whether he is a good or bad workmen at it. we have very little knowledge of horse-dealers' craft, but their profits must be very great,--when the licence is set so high as five and twenty pounds, before they can practise the economy of horse-dealing. a hundred years ago, and the tax was not so high. [illustration] "this, john, is my friend, doctor bull, whom i recommended to your notice to find him a horse in every respect quiet, without vice, and gentle,--one who would bear the whip and not kick." "can the gentleman say i have not suited him?" "i do not say i am not suited, but i had almost as soon be nonsuited in a case of law, as be suited with so inactive a beast to ride." "ah! sir, you speak like a tyro concerning the law. if you were once _nonsuited_, and had all the costs to pay in an action-at-law, believe me, sir, the being _non suited_ in a horse which had no action, would be greatly preferable to all the success of a case-at-law, though you were told at the time that you got off cheap, after paying £ . look, sir, at that cheque: "please to pay to messrs. runner and co. the sum of three hundred pounds, on account of transfer of property, to the account of yours, faithfully, curry and powder." how would you like that?" "i should not like it at all; but there are many things in law and horse-dealing, which the least said about them the soonest ended." "and also in other things as well. but bring out the gentleman's chestnut horse, sam." this was spoken to the groom, who knew his master's voice, and presently brought forth the very self-same horse, sent back to the stables one hour previously, as inactive: now behold him as lively as a lark. what had been done to him, those acquainted with the art of renovation could alone tell; but here was a contrariety without going far to find it. the legs had been trimmed, the tail set up; and when the said john tattsall mounted him, the man and horse seemed to become each other. john was a true specimen of an upright horse-dealer, a hundred years ago. coat was buttoned up, hat almost as conspicuous as the field marshal's on the day of a grand review. stick under his arm, easy seat in his saddle, long spurs, short breeches, brown periwig, and such a contour of character, that when he touched him with the spur, the fiery-eyed charger set off at a hyde park canter, to the delight of his learned spectators. no one could be more pleased than doctor bull. "aye! that is the way to make the most of a horse. could i but make as much of him as that, he would be, of all creatures, the very one to set me up again? that will do, mr. tattsall, that will do. you have given me a good lesson how to make the most of a horse." "then, sir, you must let me make the most of him alone. one hundred guineas, is his price; and this is my advice to you, never take this horse out of his stable without giving him a good brush-up first. and never get on to his back, without a pair of spurs on your feet; and you will find him as pleasant a little park horse as any gentleman could ever wish to ride." the money was paid, and _john tattsall made the most of him_. but doctor bull made all that he expected out of him; namely, a restoration from a fit of hypochondriacism into which he never after relapsed; but owed his cure to the honest advice of geoffery gambado, esq. m.d. f.r.s. "the simplest remedy, is mostly sure; 'twill never kill; but almost always cure." chapter iv. _love and wind._ the doctor sat in his easy chair reading, as was his custom, the morning star. that paper was then, what the times is now. the star had the ascendant, but the times outshone the star. there is a season for every thing under the sun; and two more variable things under the sun can scarcely be mentioned, than the two at the head of this chapter. no two, however, will, with all their variations of calm and storm, be more lasting than these will be found to be, to the end of time. the times, and all connected therewith, will have an end. love knows no end. the times may change as often as the winds, but it will be an ill wind indeed that blows nobody any good. but the doctor was interrupted in his perusal of his paper by the entrance of his factotum of a servant man, samuel footman. sam was steward and porter, and waiting man and butler, and a very worthy fellow too, for in every thing he was trustworthy, the best quality any man on earth, or woman either, can possess. sam presented a card, saying the gentleman's carriage was at the door, and he wanted to know if you were at home. the doctor looked at it. "show sir nicholas skinner up, sam." [illustration] there entered into the doctor's presence the most melancholy half-starved spectacle of humanity that he had ever seen; almost a walking skeleton,--tall, thin, gaunt, and cadaverous,--melancholy in the extreme, eyes sunken, lips drawn down so as almost to form a semi-circular mouth; long, lank, thin light hair; a rough frill of the most delicate white round his neck. his coat was buttoned round a waist as thin as any woman's could be, and his eyes were sharp, black, piercing, and poetical. "pray, sir nicholas, be seated," said the good doctor, "you seem fatigued." "i am so indeed! i have travelled all night, with post horses, all the way from salisbury, on purpose to consult you, doctor; for i have heard that you are famous in the cure of all nervous debility, and i verily believe every nerve in my frame is shattered. how i have sustained the journey and its fatigue i can scarcely tell; but i suppose it was the hope of living for another, that gave me support." here the gentleman gave so long and so deep a drawn sigh, that it convinced the doctor at once, that this was one of those cases of hopeless malady, _disappointed love_; which nothing but one thing could either kill or cure, namely _matrimony_. the doctor very seldom ventured to recommend this universal specific for one thing or the other. it was not exactly in his line. "let me feel your pulse." this he did; he also sounded his lungs, looked into his eyes, and listened to the pulsation of his heart. "ah!" he said, "there is a little irregularity there. all is not exactly right in the region of the heart. it appears to me to be slightly disorganized." "not slightly, i assure you, doctor; not slightly; i am afraid, severely!" and this was spoken so very solemnly, that the doctor, though he felt disposed to smile, could not find it in his heart to treat the case slightingly. "have you had any advice at salisbury? have you been under any medical treatment?" "o yes; yes, sir; doctor crosse has attended me for the last twelve months. he treats my case as one of decline, or consumption. i was once as robust as you are, doctor; but i have wasted away to a shadow within the space of one year." "pray, sir, are you a married man?" "no-o-o! no-o-o! not exactly that, but i am an engaged man. they do tell me, i must be in better health before i marry; and that makes me very, very anxious to get better. they will scarcely allow the slightest breath of wind to blow upon me; no air, no exercise, no window down, no curtain undrawn, one even temperature,--and nothing must disturb me. oh! doctor, i fear i never shall marry. my intended is very careful over me. she has come up, all the way to town with me, as my nurse; and is now in my carriage at your door." "dear me, sir! why did you not tell me this before? it is actually necessary that i should see your good nurse, and have a few minutes' conversation with her. i am so glad you have brought her; it gives me the greatest hope that i may be able to effect a cure." the doctor rang the bell. "samuel, request the lady in the carriage to step into the house. show her into the drawing-room. with your permission, sir nicholas, i will speak to her myself concerning your treatment?" the doctor was expecting to see an elegant, lady-like woman, something slender, and answering to the attenuated gentility of the being in whom "hope deferred, evidently made the heart sick." what was his astonishment when he beheld a blooming, buxom, short, fat, merry-looking lass! with a face that sorrow seemed never to have smitten. she wore a large hat and feathers; such a profusion of rich brown hair, sweeping down her back, as would have made the lord chancellor the finest wig in the land. it is needless to relate the conversation. the doctor soon found that she was desirous of becoming lady nicholas skinner, and very soon settled the matter with great adroitness. "_he must ride on horseback!_ you must make him do so. there is nothing the matter with him, but over anxiety to be better; and it is all in your hands. you, and you only, have the power of making him better." "but about the wind?--state of the weather? what is your advice? east, west, north, or south,--which is best?" "no matter; the more wind the better gallop! show him the way over salisbury plains; and make him follow you. take no notice whatever of his feelings; but tell him, if he feels for you, he must keep pace with you. he will soon be better!" "but, about horses? there are no good riding horses in salisbury." "we will arrange that for you. sir nicholas may leave that to me. only assure him that he must persevere;--and let me know how he is, this day month." at the end of the month, the doctor received the following epistles in one cover; evidently meant to be a mutual acknowledgment. salisbury, august st, . "dear doctor gambado,--love and wind have triumphed. the horses suited admirably; though i fear the one sir nicholas rides is rather short-winded, as he comes to a stand still before we have had half a gallop. still, i thank you, he is greatly improved. it was hard work, and seemed very cruel at first, but he himself will tell you the news. "i remain, dear doctor gambado, your's, gratefully, clarissa doubleday." salisbury, august st, . "dear doctor,--i enclose a cheque for £ upon my banker in town; £ for the horses, which are delightful creatures, and i thank you for obtaining them for us; and £ for the last fee to doctors!--by far the best; for i hope to be married in september. it is an ill wind that blows nobody good. "but in love, and wind, i remain, dear doctor, your's obliged,--nicholas skinner." "doctor gambado, bread street, cheapside, london." love blows a blast, to conquer every man, let him resist it,--long he never can; 'twill conquer all, and in the end bring peace, hurrah for love! true love can never cease! chapter v. _how to ride a horse on three legs._ fame never permits her votaries to rest, and once a man has gained a certain reputation for any thing, he is wise who can be the humblest under it, because he is conscious only of demerit. should fame desert him, he will never sink under it. he will say, "i had a great deal more than i deserved; let me be content." wise man indeed! doctor gambado, however, found that fame did not desert him nor his practice. he was the more sought after, the more personally-retired he would become. bread-street is not now celebrated for the worthies it was an hundred years ago; but there are worthy men in it, and perhaps worthier than those an hundred years ago, though not so celebrated for _eccentricities_. man's nature alters very materially under the impression of time. men inveigh against fashion; but the most convenient fashion is that which is the simplest after all. clerical habits alter; externally they go for a class, a profession, or degree. we hope that external feature will never be mistaken for internal; or the clergy would be black indeed. quakerism used to be a badge of simplicity in dress and manners, till the self-possession of prosperity destroyed the equanimity of judgment; and men set them down for exactly their worth. but gently, my steed, gently; too long soliloquies generally make a man yawn. [illustration] doctor gambado had to go from london to york, and to visit no less a person than one of the greatest ecclesiastical dignitaries of the land, as the following letter will show. "precincts, york, october th, . "sir,--doctor greathead is desirous of consulting you, as speedily as possible; and if you have an eminent veterinary surgeon, who can accompany you, the doctor will pay all expenses, as he has a favourite horse very ill. travel post, if you please. i am sir, your humble servant, george gotobed, hon. sec. &c. &c." characteristic of simplicity was the doctor's letter, that very instant, to john tattsall, written on a scrap and sent by his own servant. "john,--will you be ready to start for york in an hour? "your's,--gambado." john's reply was more laconic. "yes. "your's,--j. t." in one hour see this loving couple off for york. each confiding in the other's integrity, they each took plenty of money with them. at that time, travelling by post or by coach was no joke. in a general way, from london to york was a four days' journey; but now, four hours will do great things. we are not going to bother our readers with a description of all the adventures of these worthies on their way. how many times they were upset. how many times the post boy's horse fell down. how many spokes, fellies, or hobs, were splintered. let it suffice that, with two such resolute men inside, who were never at a loss for contrivances under the very worst circumstances, they were sure to get safely through the journey. had the reader seen the blunderbuss,--yes, the bell-mouthed brass blunderbuss,--with a strange springing bayonet at the muzzle, the moment it was discharged, and this placed in the fore front of the carriage, directly opposite the sword case behind, he would indeed have said the doctor was well provided against any robbers of the yorkshire ridings. john, too, had a brace of pistols under his belt. they had no occasion, however to use them. they were conspicuous enough to every post-boy, waiter, and stable-keeper. whether that kept them from an attack, we know not; but they were not attacked, and arrived safely at the then celebrated precincts, close to the cathedral. they found the great doctor greathead, seated in an invalid chair, about four o'clock in the afternoon. his first words of salutation were those of hospitality. "gentlemen, have you had any refreshment after your journey?" doctor gambado declared they had only just stept out of the carriage. "before i converse with the gentlemen, show them into the refectory. i will be prepared, half an hour hence, for our consultation." glad was doctor gambado, to refresh his stomach after travel, and not less glad john tattsall to partake of the great divine's hospitality. they did ample justice to the good things set before them; and as neither of them had any favour to ask of this great man, but both had something to confer, they were in no fear of taking too much or too little. the butler was very attentive, and asked if they had had any adventures upon the road. of course he received a courteous reply. the doctor inquired if there was any thing new in york. new york was then unknown; but _york new theatre_ was then the go all over the north. it was just finished in most exquisite style, and was in fact the lion of the north. "you will have plenty to see, sir," said the butler, "if you never were at york before. our minster is the wonder of the world." "but your master, he must be a wonder?" very few masters are wonders in their butler's eyes, though many a butler becomes a wonder in the service of his master. "there is nothing very wonderful about my master, except his present indisposition; and i most sincerely hope that your visit may do him good." the butler had great respect for doctors, and for doctors that had before them the title of right reverend, or his grace, or my lord, or the venerable; and these or some of these, he was accustomed to see every day; but an m.d. f.r.s. was not often in his view. he had noted these letters upon doctor gambado's card. the other gentleman had no card, and, therefore, he concluded that he was the greater man. the footman came in to announce that his master was ready to receive doctor gambado and his friend. there was something formidable in entering the presence of so great a divine as doctor greathead; but they were not going in for an examination of themselves, but to examine. "now, my friends, i can talk to you. i did not like talking to starving men, lest they should be ready to eat me up; and you will say, they would have enough to do to do that. but there are no cannibals at york, or i might have been eaten up long ago. still, i regret to say that i have a disease preying upon my vitals; and except you can prescribe a cure, doctor, i am afraid it is all up with me." "we can prescribe no cure, without understanding the nature of the complaint." "but it is that which puzzles the faculty in york. they say i have no bodily complaint; that it is all upon the _nerves_; and therefore it is, that in applying to my friend, doctor turnbull, to know if he knew any physician in london celebrated for his knowledge of the treatment of nervous cases, he mentioned you as the author of a book upon the nervous system; and i desired my secretary to write to you. you have well done to come to us, and we hope to receive benefit from your advice." "i am obliged to doctor turnbull, for the mention of my name; but i must make some inquiries about your bodily health?" "how is your appetite?" "good." "how is your sleep?" "good." "how is your sight?" "good." "how is your pulse?" "try it." "what do you say yourself?" "it is good." "have you any fever?" "none." "have you any particular pain?" "no." "do you walk much?" "no." "do you ride much?" "i can ride no longer; and i fear this is one of the painful causes of my strange distemper." "are you accustomed to horseback exercise?" "constant: i used to ride on the carlisle road every day, till about a month since, and now i never ride." "why not?" "i have lost the fancy or taste for it, and somehow i care no longer about it." "ah! that's bad! that's bad of itself. you met with no accident, to give your nervous system a shock, did you?" "none whatever, except that my favourite old horse could go no longer, and i no longer felt inclined to go." "but there are other horses that might be had equally as good." "none, sir, none! i do not believe there is another horse in england that could carry me, like my old gray." "if yorkshire cannot suit you, i know no other county in the kingdom likely to do so. surely, doctor greathead, you must be deceived in this respect?" "deceived or not, doctor gambado, i am not deceived in saying this, that i will ride no other horse; and, in fact, i would rather ride that horse on three legs, if he could be made to go upon them, then any other horse upon four." great men as well as little men have singular crotchets in their heads sometimes; and if these crotchets cannot be altered, they will go on in such a monotonous tone that they never get out of it. the doctor was a learned scholar, and a very good divine; but his favourite horse was as dear to him as a lady's favourite cat or cap could be to her. he had rode the same horse ten years, and had got so attached to him, that when that horse was seized with a lameness in the off hind leg, and could no longer stand or go upon it, the doctor's sympathies increased with his favourite, though he was no longer any use to him. like his master, the animal fed well, and could sleep well, but he could not go. "have you seen my horse?" "i came to see yourself first, doctor, and i can have no objection to go and see your horse, in company with my friend mr. john tattsall, who i should say knows more of a horse than any man living; and can make a horse go, i verily believe, on three legs." the very idea gave animation to doctor greathead's features. "i will walk with you to the stables." he rang the bell, ordered his hat, gloves, and even his riding whip, so precocious was the idea that the doctor had conceived of being able to mount once more his favourite gray. the horse was led out, and came out upon three legs; the other evidently of no use to him. in fact he could not put it to the ground. john examined the sturdy old fellow, who had a small head and stout legs; he pronounced him to be afflicted with an incurable disease in the coffin-bone, and said he never could go upon that leg. he looked at all the other limbs, and pronounced them _all right_. "a fine old horse, your reverence; a fine old horse, fit to carry your worship's weight; but he never will go again upon all fours." "can he ever be made to go upon three?" "i see no reason to doubt it. the disabled limb is only such from the fetlock to the hoof; if the joint could be supported from the hock to the fetlock, and pressure be produced so as to keep that leg up to his body, without any weight falling upon the tendons of the foot, i see no reason why the horse should not canter upon three legs,--i do not say with the same ease as he would upon four sound ones; but certainly easier far than he could upon the four as they now are." "you are a sensible man, sir, and what you say seems feasible. what would you suggest?" "let one of your grooms go and get a yorkshire weaver's strap that will go once round the animal's body, and at the same time catch up the animal's leg,--and fasten it with a stout birmingham buckle, so that the power shall be exerted in the leg bone without the fetlock or the foot; and i think your reverence will be able to show to all the world _how to ride a horse on three legs_." "good! good! let it be done immediately: i verily believe it can be done." it literally was done, and in one hour doctor greathead showed that he himself was alive again. he mounted his favourite gray; and though the animal laid its ears, and lifted up its hind quarters, rather higher than usual, it went; and did perform what the doctor never expected it to do again--namely, carried him a mile on the carlisle road, and that without a fall. it did the doctor good whenever he did ride it. how often that was, we have no record to tell us. he paid the doctor of medicine and his friend john tattsall more than would have purchased three fine yorkshire horses. in fact he paid for his whim. he was cured of his whim. and doctor gambado and his friend john returned to town satisfied. if men have fancies, bugbears of the mind, and money, too, to pay for what they want; why should they not, like doctor greathead, find their fancies made to profit more than cant? we all have fancies! what more should we say, than if we would indulge them, we must pay? [illustration] chapter vi. _tricks upon travellers._ the descent from the sublime to the ridiculous is a very easy transition in this mortal life. even in the moments of utmost seriousness, we have seen something flit across the vision of the brain, or eye, or the spirit, that for a moment diverts the current of thought from the simplicity of the most devout and earnest christian. every moment we learn a new lesson of life and thought, from nature or from grace. thoughts are continually arising as to the probability of doing anyone any good, in these narratives. they form a diversion of thought, and much must depend upon the disposition of the mind of the reader. a good man will make some good out of every thing, and a bad man will find nothing good in anything. to look simply at the picture, and to laugh at it, is easy; but to say, that they who played tricks upon others deserved to be whipped out of them, might be easier said than done. among the doctor's patients was a singular mean old gentleman, sir abraham crusty, who was recommended by the doctor to ride out hunting, or to give the hounds a look, by way of diversion to his usual nothingness in his country-box. sir abraham had retired from city friends, city business, city thoughts,--to enjoy, as he hoped, the breezes and the green fields, and rural occupation at his country seat in surrey; but being very hypochondriacal and very mean as well, he was desirous of being as economical as possible, and not desirous of being considered a regular fox-hunter. he could look on, enjoy the variety, and not be expected to pay anything towards the support of the hounds. hence he would drop in upon them, look at them, ride a little way with them, and then return quietly to his own mansion. he would not keep a hunting stud, nor any man-servant to ride out with him. he was old enough to take care of himself, wise to do his own will, and mean enough to think about nobody else but himself. when he consulted the doctor, and was told what to do, he asked him if he could tell him the best way to do it. "go to john tattsall's, buy a steady hunter with good strong limbs, and one that will make no mistake." he did so: but john mistook him for an old farmer, and, consequently, gave him a good old hunter for a very little money. any body might take sir abraham crusty for what they pleased, so long as they did not take too much of his money; and that he took care not to throw away upon even saddle, bridle, or riding whip, for he rode on an old saddle covered with a thick cloth, and had a drover's cart whip for his hunting whip; and few would imagine sir abraham was going out to follow the hounds. he used to go himself overnight to the king charles in the oak, sleep there, and, as if he were merely a travelling man of business, who came for lodging for man and beast, he paid packman's fare for supper at night, and breakfasted upon eggs and bacon in the morning; and started off quietly for the covert's side, without any intention of being considered a hunter. he went, however, one day with a very bitter complaint to doctor gambado, saying, he thought his horse would be the death of him, for that he never started from the royal oak without such a violent fit of kicking, that he was afraid of a fall; and that made him so nervous, he thought the doctor ought to return him his fee, and mr. tattsall take the horse back and allow him something handsome for his keep of it. "and so i will," replied the doctor, "if john tattsall do not cure him, or at least account for his kicking." "where do you say he exhibits these tricks?" said john. "at the royal oak, norwood." john was there the next easter hunt day. so was sir abraham. john saw him start, and saw that two urchins, viz. the post boy and the boots, stuck a stick under his tail, which seldom fell off until the old gentleman had had quite enough of the kicking. but once the stick dropped, the old horse went quiet enough. when sir abraham was gone, john came from his dormitory, and soon put this question to the lads: "why do you treat that old gentleman in this shabby way?" "vy, sar, because he is a shabby, crusty old fellow, and treats all the sarvents of the hestablishment in the shabbiest vay. he pays for his bed, and for his 'orse's bed,--for his board, and his 'orse's board,--but he never gives sal anything, vat beds him up at night, nor bill anything, vat beds his 'orse up,--nor me anything, vat cleans his old boots for him; so ve just shows him vun of our tricks upon travellers: that's all, and sarves him right." this was told to the doctor, who, the next time he saw sir abraham, said to him: "sir abraham, you will forgive my honesty; but, if you wish to cure your horse of kicking at the royal oak, you must know how to be penny wise, and pay the chambermaid, the hostler, and the boots. i am sure you will never be pound foolish." sir abraham took the hint, and the horse never kicked again at the king charles in the oak. to all their dues, let no man flinch to pay, if he would prosper in an honest way; customs are good, if carried not too far, and a good custom, oft prevents a jar; sir abraham's horse no more gave out his kicks, nor john nor bill on travellers played tricks. chapter vii. _how to prevent a horse slipping his girth._ "my dear gambado," said lord rosier to the doctor, "i know not how i shall ever repay you for your good advice. i am your debtor, for two things; first for inducing me to take up horseback exercise again, and then for recommending me to your friend john tattsall, who has furnished me with a most excellent trotter, and one that does one good to ride it." "i am glad to hear it, my lord: but to what purpose is your visit to me this morning? you look the picture of health; i hope nothing is the matter." "oh! dear no! nothing is the matter with me; but, i thought i might, without any intentional offence, just call and speak to you about the horse. i hope i do not offend." "by no means, my lord; pray go on. your lordship will not impute to me any thing wrong in the character of the horse?" [illustration] "by no means, doctor; by no means. i only sought your advice, because i thought you so skillful that you could get me into the right method of treating a horse." "humph!" this was the first direct slap at the doctor's _veterinary powers_. he had a request from york to bring with him a _veterinary surgeon_; but he was now consulted by a british nobleman about the treatment of a horse. well, thought the doctor, let us hear the complaint; for after all it may be the fault of the rider more than of the beast. "what is the matter, my lord?" "it is simply this,--the creature, though in every other respect a suitable one, has a strange propensity or habit of slipping his girths; so that when i have rode out a mile or two, i find myself upon his rump; and once, indeed, i happened to let go the reins, and the saddle came over his tail, and i slipped off behind. he then quietly walked out of his saddle and went away, leaving me to carry my own saddle to the nearest hostelry, and to have a walk home, instead of a ride." "my lord, you acknowledge that it was your own fault for letting go the reins. never, under any circumstances, let the reins go out of your own hands; if you do, you are sure to have a fall. the same, my lord, with all who hold the reins of government; a tight rein can always be sufficiently slackened, when an improvement is required in the pace; but once let them entirely go, and you have no longer any power to guide. your horse must run away, and you must have a fall." "but what is a man to do, when he finds that the animal he rides gets the bit into his mouth, and bores so strongly upon his arms that it gives him the cramp in his muscles to hold the reins in his hands?" "there you puzzle me. i confess, i should very soon give up riding such a horse altogether. but," said the doctor, looking at his watch, "if you do not mind walking with me as far as tattsall's, i think john could give you better advice upon this head than i can. come, it is worth the trouble." "with all my heart: i esteem it a favour. my groom shall lead the horse to his stables, and we will walk on after him." the doctor and his noble patient were soon in john tattsall's yard. "john, i have brought lord rosier to you, to learn a lesson. he is in a fix about a horse he bought of you, which he approves in every other respect but that of slipping his girth; can you tell the gentleman how to prevent it?" "to be sure i can, doctor, if the gentleman will only condescend to give me a little attention. i will mount the horse myself, and show him how i prevent the horse from slipping his girths." he did so; and when he gave up the horse, he said, "there, sir, observe what i have done. "stick your feet, my lord, home in the stirrups, press all your weight thereupon, and so push the saddle forward. if the horse bores upon your arms, bore him well with your legs the moment he lifts his head; the saddle, if it has slipped, will immediately regain its position. and when he bores his head down again, you have nothing to do but to repeat the boring him in his sides; and as the horse suits your lordship so well, this will only form a little agreeable variety of exercise for the benefit of your lordship's health; which i am heartily glad to find so greatly improved." "thank you, john; thank you, it will do, it will do!" 'tis a bore, a horse to ride, slipping girths from side to side; 'tis a bore with many pains, for a man to lose the reins. keep your seat, and keep command, and hold your bridle well in hand: fast and firm the steed will go. and slips and slides you'll never know. chapter viii. _how to ride without a bridle._ "doctor, what am i to do?" said mr. broadcloth, the wealthy tailor of bond-street. "here am i, just fifty years of age, now in the prime of life, and cannot enjoy a moment's content. i have forty-nine hands at work for me, in my shop every day, beside piece-work out-doors. i have six runners of errands; four porters, to carry out my goods, and to bring me home work. beside all this, i have such incessant customers to be measured, and coats to make, that from morning to night i hear nothing but snip go, snip go, snip go! and although i work like a journeyman, i half wish i was one of my own porters, and could go from house to house for fresh air and exercise." "oh, my dear sir!" said the doctor, "you must ride on horseback,--you must indeed! you must be a journey-man yourself,--carry out your clothes to clapham, and find yourself all the better in health and spirits." [illustration] "doctor, i have heard that all who can do as you bid them, are sure to recover." "the first of all blessings is health,--for without it men may think there's enjoyment in life,--but i doubt it." "then recover yourself, and you will own my advice to be good." "what shall i do for a horse?" "do as everybody else does,--go to john tattsall's, and get the horse that will suit you. i shall be glad to see you on one." the tailor was soon mounted;--but it is one thing to be mounted,--another to be seated. he soon complained to mr. tattsall, that the horse he had bought of him would not mind the bridle. "then," says john, "ride him without one. in fact, your horse did belong to a lame letter-carrier, and he never rode him with a bridle. you may have one round his neck by way of a check rein; but this horse, you will find, will never deceive you. "you have nothing to do but to mount, and say, 'go on:' he will be off in a gentle canter along the gutter, keeping close to the pavement, avoiding the lamp posts, oyster stalls, orange tables, trucks, and barrows; and whenever you say 'wo-ho,' he will make a dead stop. you may get off, and wait an hour, if you like, he will never stir, but will know how to take care of himself; only give him a bit of carrot or an apple, just to let him know you are his master, as the poor old lame duck did,--and you may mount and say 'go on,' and 'wo-ho,' twenty times in a day,--and he will obey you. you will not need a bridle or a rein." mr. broadcloth did so,--and never complained of his horse after,--and quite recovered of his complaint. go on!--wo-ho! good words will all command, and gentle treatment bring the steed to hand. [illustration] chapter ix. _how to make a mare go._ "money makes the mare to go," is a very old proverb. very few men have read the original poem upon this subject, except they have met with a very old volume of crashaw's poems. "will thou lend me thy mare to go a mile? no, she is lame, leaping over a stile. but if thou wilt her to me spare, i'll give thee money for thy mare. ho! ho! say ye so? money makes the mare to go." but one of the doctor's patients was an old active fishmonger, of the name of sturgeon; one well to do indeed in his line, a hundred years ago. there are a great many who now supply the london market, without any of that hard road work from greenwich to billingsgate. now trains run to and fro, and fish are alive in london from the smacks. but it was smack and go, then, with carts every morning, one after the other in succession, loaded almost top heavy. then there was unpacking, packing and off for the coaches, times, phenomena, telegraph, exeter mail, yorkshire old blue, and a host of others, to supply provincial fishmongers, &c. and great houses in the country. but mr. sturgeon had, by command of his surgeon, to drive no longer. but doctor gambado insisted upon it, that he must ride on horseback. now mr. sturgeon had a very favourite mare, which could trot well in harness; but could not be persuaded into any but a slow pace, if any one rode on her back. "what would i not give," he said to the doctor, "if she could be made to go." "well," said the doctor, "money makes the mare to go; and i have no doubt old john tattsall, who was never yet at a loss what to do with horseflesh, would soon put you into the way of making your mare to go." "what! with me on her back?" "oh, yes! and another besides, if wanted." john was duly consulted. "well, mr. sturgeon, i see no difficulty in the matter. it requires only a little courage on your part, and i am sure you will find it answer you purpose well. you have nothing to do, but exercise a little ingenuity in your own line. when you are next at greenwich, just take a good strong lobster, with a pair of tremendous claws; fasten him by the tail to the inside of your fishmonger's coat, and let his head and clinchers hang out against the mare's flank. sit you firm in the saddle, with your feet well out of the black pincher's way. one gripe, and the mare will go like a shot; nor will she stop to let you pick up your hat and wig; but wherever her stable is in town, you will see she will never stop till she reaches it." the trial was made, and away went sturgeon, like a shot,-- away, away! the mare could trot; and so she did,--nor did she pause.-- john tattsall gained the world's applause; for one sharp bite upon the side, and such a gripe of hair and hide, the monster held within his claw, that sturgeon scarce could hold her jaw. with head uplift, and leg up high, the mare, like swallow, seemed to fly, and soon, from sturgeon's round bald pate, the wig and hat flew o'er the gate; but on rode sturgeon, made to know how well to make a mare to go. chapter x. _the tumbler, or its affinities._ we cannot narrate all the varieties of patients the doctor had to deal with. we leave the ladies' cases out of the question, though he strongly recommended to them his great receipt--a ride on horseback. of all the difficult cases the doctor had to deal with, was that of a little stingy, dyspeptic, middle aged pin-man, retired from business, and resident in pimlico. he was never satisfied. no one could convince him that he was not a good rider, though he had caused more broken-kneed horses in one month, than any other rider had made in twelve months. he literally went by the name of tumble-down-pincushion. it was no use furnishing him with a good horse; down it would come before long, and the little man would roll over like a pincushion; pick himself up, and declare it was the fault of the horse. [illustration] he would exasperate his doctor, and his doctor's friend, by pretending to show them how a man ought to sit on horseback; and truly, if ever there was a contrast visible, it was in the upright figure of john tattsall on horseback, and mr. jeremiah hinchman, the retired pin-man of pimlico. john always knew how to make the most of a horse. mr. hinchman never did make any thing but the least of himself and of his horse also. there was a strange affinity between his horse and himself,--at least, between him and one, a favourite rat-tailed sorrel gray. if it tumbled down, it was never disturbed: it was so accustomed to the affinity with the ground, that its knees became hardened with a species of horney excrescence, that seldom showed any thing but dirt, if it did tumble. nor did the little man either, for having a remarkably light weight in the saddle, and a prominent disposition to bend over his horse's neck, he generally cast a very light summersault in his exit from the seat to the ground. "i wish," he said one day to mr. tattsall, in no very amiable mood, "i wish you would put me in some way of not falling off the tumble-down-horses which you sent me." "sir," said tattsall, "i would not let you ride a horse of mine, till you had paid for it as your own, or paid me the price of it, by way of insurance against the surety of his being a tumbler in your hands. you say you are suited with a very quiet tumbler, and one that takes it easy when he is down. you want yourself to be made to take it as easy as your horse; and, now, sir, to prove my readiness to serve you as a customer, and to serve you well too, i will put you into a way of having such affinity with your horse, that you shall tumble off no more." "if you do," said mr. hinchman, "i will forgive you for having sent me twenty horses, not one of which could keep its legs, or keep me on his back." john was not easily puzzled. "sir," said he, "you must manage the thing your own self. only just hear my proposed plan. let an incision be made in two places upon each flap of the saddle; let a thong pass under the saddle-flap, and tie it yourself over your knee. you will then never fall off; but be enabled to keep your seat until your horse shall rise again with ease, and you thus prove the truth of the motto the tumbler, or its affinities. affinity is defined by johnson, to be relation by marriage, as opposed to consanguinity,--by others, as relation or agreeableness between things. no one could think of mr. hinchman being of the same consanguinity as his horse tumbler, but as a relation of agreeableness between two things, in this latter, the tumbler had his affinity with his master. thus they kept the road together, whether fine or foul the weather; and when they tumbled, both went down; and when they rose, they both went on. so on they went, and all men's eyes saw tumblers with affinities. chapter xi. _how to do things by halves._ there is an old saying, and generally considered a good one: "never do things by halves." but there are exceptions to every rule, and the sending a banknote by halves, is one of them; and a very good exception too. we wish anyone who reads this, would only be induced to send to the publisher half a bank of england note, and get it acknowledged by the author, for the good work he has in hand, even in this publication; and he will be sure to be rejoiced to receive the other half as well, and acknowledge that things done by halves, may answer a better purpose than the being done all at once. meet an old friend half way, and i'll warrant you they will go together the other half ten thousand times more pleasantly than if they had both met only at the journey's end. still, in a general way, things done by halves do not always fit, so as to make the whole agreeable. they may become so conjoint as to be agreeable to each other; but who does not like to see a good house built all at once, rather than patched from time to time? who likes to see a church half restored, and half a ruin? so, who likes to have half the heart of his sweetheart, and never to have the whole. let him learn to have a whole heart himself, first, and he will be sure to possess the whole heart of another, and fulfil the whole law. [illustration] alderman goodbeheard, who had been one of doctor gambado's patients, delighted, when in the country, to see the hounds; but being a very portly person, and not one of the highflyers in the field, he told john tattsall, that he wanted a horse that would get over gates and styles, without taking a flying leap. he must have one that could creep over them, by putting first his forelegs on, and then his hind, so as to give him time to lean forward and to lean backward, without those sudden jerks, which he had seen some gentlemen get in the saddle. he did not mind his horse breaking a bar or so, provided he did no mischief to himself or to his rider; for, as the alderman generally rode along convenient roads and footpaths, he wished to do so with comfort to himself and convenience to his creature. "i see, sir," said john; "you want a creeper, that will do things by halves." "exactly so, sir! exactly so, sir!" "i can suit your worship well, only you must keep a whip, constantly to ride behind you, just to teach the animal to do as he was taught, to do things by halves." "if you can find me a lad to do this, i should be glad to have him in my service." "i have a groom in my service, who would just suit your purpose. he has, in fact, been the trainer of the animal to do just that kind of thing." "capital! capital! i will furnish him with scarlet coat and cap, boots and spurs, whip and saddle, and pay him £ s. per week, until the end of the hunting season, when you may have him again to train other horses how to do things by halves." so paid the alderman his groom, and found in hunting he had lost his gloom; for though, by halves, the hunter's work was done, the master and his man both shared the fun. [illustration] chapter xii. _doctor cassock, f.r.s. i.p.q._ doctor cassock was, in his day, a most extraordinary man: he was a double-first at oxford, a scholar, and a gentleman. he was a most benevolent little man, and doctor gambado's friend and pastor, both well read and well bred. but he was ever cultivating his inventive faculty to do good. in his visits to the poor, he invented new bed-rests, new cradles, new spring beds, new comforts of every kind. he was a great inventor of puzzle locks,--puzzle keys,--puzzle cupboards, doors, window frames, and fire-guards. in short there was, as he used to say, no device in the grave; therefore, he was ever starting something new. many a mechanic was indebted to him, and many a printer,--for in his church of st. mildred's, in the poultry, he was the first to put aside the old english black-letter character of the bible and prayer-book, and to assume the type, which holds fast in all good printing-offices to the present day. his sermons were always new, and were the only things in which he might be said to puzzle nobody; for they were plain, simple sermons of solid truth and practical utility. he loved every soul, and being an acknowledged well-read scholar, he was more popular among his people than anyone who tried to gain popularity. his inventive faculty, had it been in the present age, instead of one hundred years ago, might have procured him the celebrity of a brunel, and a fortune; but his scheming being always for others, he at last puzzled or puddled his own affairs so as to involve himself and his means in difficulties; and becoming very low spirited, the friend of others had to go and consult doctor gambado, and to tell him at once that he came to be a charity patient, for he had not a guinea in the world to give him. "my dear, cassock," said the doctor, "in carrying out your various projects, you have forgotten that learning and wisdom should be joint companions; that they are of little worth when separate, but of inestimable value when united." "you speak truth, my dear gambado; and i find, by experience, that a word of wisdom will often go further than a purse full of guineas. quite right. but you have known me long enough to observe, that i have ever thought the practical part of my profession superior to all the learned part." "that may be true. but, doctor, you have not confined either your teaching or your practice to the duties of your profession. i deny not that you have done good to many. you have done me a great deal of good; for, to a certainty, i never knew you preach one thing and practice another. yet, sometimes, i have known you interest yourself so deeply in imaginary inventions, as to persuade yourself that you were doing good, when you were entirely mistaken." the doctor sighed, and simply said, "gambado, we can never all think alike, any more than we can all be alike. you have done right and made your fortune; while my coat is threadbare, and i begin to want." "all, believe me, doctor, is as it should be. you want my advice gratis. i always have had yours gratis, and profitted by it, and loved it. now, if you will take my advice, i will take yours, and so we shall find mutual accommodation." "what is your advice?" "ride on horseback." "how can i do so? one hundred pounds in debt, and only one hundred pounds per annum. i cannot starve a year, and ride on horseback too. you give advice i cannot follow." "i should be sorry to do so. i will write you a prescription, but you must take it yourself to be made up in lombard-street; and i will write you a note, which you must take to mr. john tattsall. "just read that paper, while i write the prescription, doctor cassock." "messrs gold, silver, and company, bankers, lombard-street. pay the bearer £ on account of, "your's, faithfully, £ . geoffery gambado" "dear john,--give my old friend, doctor cassock, just such a nag as the first i had of you for £ , and i will pay you for it,--for its keep, and for its stable room,--groom and all,--so that the doctor may always find it saddled and bridled, and have nothing to pay; but set all down to the account of, "your's at command, geoffery gambado." "mr. john tattsall." a tear rose to the eye of doctor cassock, as his friend handed to him both the notes; and he felt that species of choaking sensation, which a good man feels at the unexpected generosity of a real friend. "oh, gambado! what advice can i ever have given to you, worthy such generosity as this?" "my dear old friend, i will tell you at once that i only follow out the text upon which you preached yesterday: "'whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, even so do unto them: for this is the law, and the prophets.' i have only done as i would be done by." the doctor could only say, "god bless you." he was soon after enabled to repay the doctor; for a distant relation left him an independence, a few weeks after; and he became the merriest, if not the wisest, old gentleman of his day. he could not, even then, leave off the faculty of invention; for he became the noted inventor of a noble puzzle, for tumble-down horses. he was actually induced to take out a patent for it. he never found any body but himself to use it. he did use it, though in his case it never was wanted, for his horse never tumbled down with him; and he put everyone who saw him riding with it, in such a merry mood, that it was difficult to say which laughed the heartiest, the doctor himself, or those who beheld him. a friend in need is a friend indeed; if you find him, own his worth; he has never a word, but 'tis always god speed, from the east to west, from south to north; do good to all, and do evil to none, and do to others,--what should be done. [illustration] chapter xiii. _a daisy cutter, with his varieties._ in the month of july, , doctor geoffery gambado was visited, from birmingham, by the celebrated cutler, mr. john green, a gentleman who had become uncommonly dyspeptic from a great excrescence, wart, or wen, that grew out of his right temple, almost covering his ear. it gave him no particular pain, except when he chanced to recline upon that part of his head; yet, as every body looked at it, who came into his shop, and when he appeared at church, or in any public place, he grew uncommonly irritable and nervous. the faculty pronounced it too large to be cut out; and, if the truth be told, mr. green himself had such a horror of cutting, that, though a dealer in cutlery and in the very first steel articles, he had an unconquerable distaste to the knife being used upon his own person. like many other good kind of men, he dealt in articles that others might use; but he himself had no wish to use them. those who use the sinews of men, that is, of other men, for their own speculative purposes, and actually abhor the use of the very things they sell, should be careful of the exciting, inciting, or foolish words they utter, lest their language should superinduce others to use those articles in which their traffic is, to their own destruction. mr. burton, the great quaker, was a dealer in burton ale to a great extent, though he was himself a rigidly abstemious man; yet, as his trade was a good one, and paid well both in the north and south, he could afford to give considerable sums to temperance, or even total abstinence societies, without feeling any loss in his trade. the fact is, until the bright men of traffic shall find out that the ruling principle of their souls is coveteousness, they will never reform the world by a spurious profusion of words and calculations, which have only that one principle to appeal to as their own support. mr. green dealt in swords, and knives and forks, in guns and pistols, in lancets and razors; but he would not suffer the lancet or the knife to touch his own flesh. he was a dealer in weapons, not in blows. a man of peace, yet, like many a man styling himself a friend to humanity, and assuming apostolic liberty, he could find fault with every thing and every body; yet, for trade's sake, he had no objection to the demand for swords, guns, or pistols. he could supply the government with any quantity from his stores in birmingham. it must be confessed, that his nervous affection, and melancholy disposition arose more from the wart upon his brow, and all its external irritations, than from any qualms of conscience, arising from any kind of self examination, self accusation, or self condemnation. few men's consciences so trouble them in the day of their prosperity. he was recommended to consult the great nervous doctor of the age, doctor gambado. so he went to town, had an interview with the doctor, described all his agitating ails, and received this advice: "ride on horseback." "but do you think that will do me any good?" "i am quite sure it will do you some good,--to what extent it is impossible to say,--that must depend upon your patience and perseverance. one thing you can always do, namely, wear a hat that will cover the appearance of the excrescence, and i should not be surprised at its being the means of reducing its size considerably." little did the doctor himself imagine how a cure, by his advice, was completely effected. "oh, doctor!" exclaimed mr. green, "what would i not give could it be entirely eradicated by such gentle means as horseback exercise. i am no great rider, but i would ride any distance, and almost any horse, to get rid of this awkward protuberance." "well, my dear sir, we will try. nothing like trying." "i have heard, doctor, that you have large stables, and keep horses of all kinds." the doctor could not help smiling when he thought of his own fame, as a horse keeper, horse doctor, and horse furnisher. "i have large stables at the back of my house, and i have three horses of my own; but i never kept one for sale, or sold one myself. i let off my stables to a livery-keeper, who has ten or a dozen horses here, namely to mr. john tattsall, who has the credit of being able to suit everyone, only each must pay well to be suited." "i should not mind what i had to pay, if i could be suited to my mind." "let us go and give him a look. if you can at all describe to him the sort of horse you want, i think he will soon be able to accommodate you. you may be sure, if the horse can be had, he will get it for you, if it is not at this time in his stable." the doctor's fee was cheerfully paid, £ s. neatly wrapt up in tissue paper. he had been told nothing less could be expected from a master cutler. mr. green put on his large slouchy broad-brimmed hat that covered half his face; and the doctor and his patient were soon in the presence of the great mr. tattsall. "john, this gentleman wants a horse." "glad of it, sir. pray what sort of horse do you want, sir?" "a good one." "every body wants that, and i have a great many good 'uns;' but i like to know the sort of good 'un that a gentleman requires. one man likes a bay, another a gray, another a roan, another a chestnut; but the colour is not always the description. one likes a high action, another a gentle goer, another a thunderer, another a prime bang up; one likes a thorough-bred, another a hunter; some require cobs, others carriage horses, others ladies' horses, others park horses; but if you can describe the sort of animal you want, i can soon tell you if i can suit you." "i did once see a horse," said mr. green, evidently calling up to his recollection days long gone by; "i did once see a horse that made me say to myself, 'there! if ever i ride on horseback, i should like to get just such a horse as that.' it was gentleness and elegance personified. it was a beautiful creature. it turned out its toes, just lifted one foot above the other, with a kind of quick cross action, and then set it down with such elegance and ease, that it seemed to trip along over the ground, exactly like a dancing master. proud was its bearing, head up, and tail high," and mr. green most poetically described it in these words: "it brushed the morning dew, and o'er the carpet flew, with all becoming grace. so gentle, and so nobly bred, give it alone its upshot head, 'twould go at any pace." "sir, i perceive you are a poet." "not a bit of it. i only cut them out of the poet's corner, in the star, and i think the author's name was 'anon;' but it mattered not as to who was the author, it described the very horse; and i thought then, and i think so still, that by a very short transposition it would suit my wife, and perhaps many others. what think you, sir?" "she brushed the evening dew, and o'er the carpet flew, with all becoming grace. so gentle, and so nobly bred, give her alone her upshot head, she'd go at any pace." the doctor and the dealer could not help laughing. "i perceive, sir, you are a wag; if you are not a poet. i congratulate you upon having so charming a creature for your wife; and i only wish i may be able to suit you with as good a horse." "have you a horse of this description?" "i have a mare exactly of that kind, and we call her the daisy cutter." "pray, let me see her." "shall i ride her, to show you her qualities?" "if you please." "bring out the daisy cutter." she was brought forth, and john soon set her off to advantage. "just the very thing! just the very thing! will you send her down to birmingham? i am not exactly in riding trim, or i would ride her down myself." the animal was paid for, sent home, and proved to be the very creature suited to mr. green's case. he rode his celebrated rosenante every evening, and greatly improved in bodily health. he actually became cheerful, and his wife blessed the good doctor gambado for having restored her husband to himself again. alas! for human infirmities, or for human vagaries! one of the most wonderful complaints of nervous hypochondriacism, was actually cured, together with its cause, by a momentary spree. one beautiful evening, the little man was riding in the gaiety of his heart toward aston hall, visions of future greatness passing before his eyes, when, just upon the greensward in front of the park gates, there lay in his way a great black hog, on the very edge of the road. he thought within himself, that he should like to take a leap smack over the animal's back; and just looking round to see that no eye should behold his spree, he gave his "rosenante" an unwonted kick with his heels. she was certainly surprised at her master's unwonted action, and in the spurt of the moment, cocked her tail, lifted her head, and quickened her pace;--but whether she did not see the hog, or could not leap over it if she did, she ran directly over the animal, and fell over it, awaking it in a horrible fright to scamper grunting away;--but, alas! she pitched her own head, and her master's head also, without his hat, upon the hard road. they both went the whole hog. mr. green lay senseless on the road, in a pool of blood, arising from the severity of the blow, which tore away the whole scalp of the forehead, together with the entire wart or excrescence which grew thereupon. his rosenante affrighted, returned to birmingham,--was soon recognized,--and mr. green was soon carried insensible to the hospital. he remained there some days, recovering himself and his senses. thus the daisy cutter and his vagaries became a proverb in birmingham. and that which skill could not, or rather through nervous apprehension was not, permitted to try, a black hog, one of the most unlikely things in the world, was instrumental in effecting. when spirits mount in cheerful glee, beware of leaping for a spree; for sprees create a fall: and when you leap alone in-cog, beware of going the whole hog; better not go at all. yet sometimes good from ill may spring,-- one spree may prove satiety: if daisy cutters wisdom bring, rejoice in the variety. chapter xiv. _a horse with a nose._ did any one ever see a horse without a nose? it cannot, therefore, be meant, at the heading of this chapter, to draw any distinction between a horse with a nose, and a horse without one. we say of a dog, he has got a good nose; that is, if, as hound, pointer, or retriever, he can scent or find his game _well_. a man we have seen without a nose, and a very painful sight it is to see any feature of the human face in any way distorted; but that such a man can "smell a rat," denotes not that he has a peculiar quality of scent, but that he is a cunning fellow, and can look a little deeper into the artifices of men and their motives than others are aware of. some men have indeed the smoothest faces, and the simplest manners, and yet retain the utmost cunning, or, if men like it better, wisdom in the world. they can smell a rat,--they can discover a flaw in the indictment,--they can see how an adversary may be overthrown, and can quietly stir up strife and pick the pocket of friend or foe, without of course doing any thing wrong; defrauding any one, or in any way letting the sufferer himself suppose that he is the victim or tool, or goose to be plucked by the cunning craft and subtlety of the deceiver. [illustration] if men will ruin themselves, whose fault is it? but, if they do so, there are plenty to rise upon their ruin, and to laugh at their folly. conscience, they say, makes cowards of all men; but that conscience must be founded, not upon any man's judgement, but their own. there never was any man who did no wrong that could be afflicted by his own conscience; but there never was a man, who by his own unaided judgment, ever did right so perfectly, that his conscience could entirely acquit him of every base and sordid motive. many may be very highly honourable and upright men, and yet have a great many rogues to deal with, and scarcely know how to deal with them. the best way is to say nothing, but avoid them. doctor gambado had a patient come to him of this kind, and he was a lawyer who stood _very, very_ high in his station one hundred years ago. he was provokingly ill,--ill in his body,--ill in his mind,--ill at ease with himself,--and dreadfully afflicted with such disturbed thoughts at night, that his sleep went from him, and his conscience had no rest. it is very provoking to have a troublesome conscience; but it is more provoking still, not to be able to quiet that conscience by any common or uncommon means. simon deuce, esq. who actually attained the eminence of high authority, not in the court of conscience, or in the court of equity, but in chancery, had retired from business and left his son-in-law, sir charles dubious, his house in billiter-square. he himself took a mansion on blackheath, and there he sought in vain for that enjoyment of rest and contentment, which good men only inherit in their latter end. physic was in vain,--advice, such as most men give, produced no cessation of anxiety. he became moody, sullen, morose, irritable, dogmatic, and all but absolutely irrational. his faculties were piercingly sound, his memory most acute, his legal knowledge clear, and his discovery of transgressions of law were every day displayed before his eyes, from those who rode in a coronetted barouche, to those who rode in a donkey cart. he loved, actually loved to make complaints, and to see the law carried out; and in petty acts of tyranny he was so absolute a persecutor, that he was a terror to all who lived around him. generosity was never in his nature, neither did he ever pretend to teach it, or observe its laws. in fact, every one was considered by him as a weak fool, who did either a kind or generous act, beyond the positive obligation of the law. what happiness could such a man have in his retirement? his great happiness was the accumulation of money in the funds, and these occasioned him a momentary excitement. his friend, samuel ryecross, of ryecross-house, blackheath, advised him to consult doctor gambado. "do you mean gambado, the horse dealer?" "he is not a horse dealer." "i say he is a horse dealer, and ought to take out a licence for horse dealing. he does not do so, and i have half a mind to have him up, and bring him into court for cheating, defrauding, and robbing the government." "i think you must have been misinformed. i believe he is really a very clever, honest man, and gives good sound practical advice to all his patients." "yes, so i have heard; and all of it is 'ride on horseback.' if i went to consult him, i should only get that advice. i know it before hand, and have no inclination to throw away a guinea for it." "but is it bad advice in your case? would it not do you good to try it? why, if you know his remedy, do you not pursue it?" "because i do not think it would do me any good." "well, you have tried a great many doctors. let me drive you in my phaeton to bread-street, and let us hear what the doctor says." "will you pay the doctor?" "yes, if you will follow his advice." "done, we will go." they did go. the doctor knew the man he had to deal with, and yet he had confidence in the horseback exercise as the best cure for him, and he told him so. "have you got a horse that would suit me?" "there is a fine strong horse in my stables, that i think would suit you." "may we go and look at him?" "i will go with you." samuel ryecross was rather surprised; but simon deuce gave him a look, as much as to say, '_i told you he was a horse dealer_.' when they went to the stables, john tattsall was there himself, and not being known to either of the gentlemen, they both supposed him to be the groom in the employ of doctor gambado. "john, i have brought a customer to look at the great brown horse. is he at home?" "he is, sir; i will lead him out." he led him out,--rode him,--and mr. deuce asked the doctor what his price was. the doctor said, "john, what did you say the horse was worth?" "ninety guineas, sir, and not a farthing less. i would not let the gentleman have him for one guinea less." "will you order him to be sent to my house on blackheath?" "shall i ride him there now, and bring back your cheque?" said john tattsall. "you may, if you please, my man." john bowed, and after ascertaining the name of the abode, billiter house, blackheath, he rode off. "in what name, doctor, shall i write the cheque?" for, presuming that the doctor was not professionally a horse dealer, though he considered that he had bought the horse of him, he had a mind to see if he shrunk at all from the responsibility. the doctor replied, "in the name of the very man who delivers him, john tattsall; and i hope the horse will suit you, sir, and do you good." "there," said mr. deuce to his friend ryecross, "what say you now to the doctor dealer? hey! is not my deal with him this day sufficient to convict him before any bench of magistrates in all the counties of england. if i do not take the shine out of this doctor gambado, then say that simon deuce knows nothing of the law." when they got home, the horse had arrived. the cheque was written: "pay john tattsall," &c. &c. john touched his hat, walked off with his money, took a cab to lombard-street, got the cheque cashed; and called and thanked the doctor for his recommendation. the very next day, the doctor received a summons to answer the charge of being a horse dealer without a licence for that purpose. the suit was preferred in the name of deuce _v._ gambado. of course, all these things are put into regular process of law, with which we shall not entertain the public. in due time, the case came on in the proper court, and mr. deuce swore that he bought such a horse of doctor gambado, and that the doctor's servant, john tattsall, delivered the horse at billiter-house, blackheath. samuel ryecross was witness to the transaction. the cheque was produced in court, and mr. deuce was lauded very highly for his sense of justice in not allowing the government to be defrauded, and more in not allowing that highly respectable profession of m.d. f.r.s. to be a covering to the tricks and degradation of a horse dealer without a licence. never, however, was deuce more confounded in all his life, than by the cross examination of serjeant sharp. "pray, sir, may i ask--did you go to consult doctor gambado for any complaint?" "i went purposely, by the advice of my friend, samuel ryecross." "for what purpose, mr. deuce?" "to consult him." "were you ill at that time?" "decidedly not well." "may i ask the nature of the complaint for which you consulted so eminent a physician as doctor gambado?" mr. deuce hesitated. "i have no desire to know more of the complaint than you may think right to tell us; but all who have heard of doctor gambado's patients, know well that they are mostly afflicted with nervous depression. may i ask if such was your case?" "yes, it was." "you were deranged, sir; were you not?" mr. deuce, with great vehemence, "no more deranged, sir, than you are." "do not be angry, sir, when i used the term _deranged_. i meant that your system was a little deranged, disorganized, or so out of sorts, as to produce a kind of physical disarrangement of the organs leading to the brain, so as to create unpleasant sensations, dyspeptic habits, sleepless nights, and a little of that irritability which we have just seen, so as to render you a little impulsive, and not unlikely to be mistaken." deuce did not like this at all, but he could not help saying "it might be so." "oh! it might be so! now, mr. deuce, i must put rather a strong question to you: "did you ever accuse doctor gambado of being a horse dealer?" "not that i am aware of." "not that you are aware of! now, sir, i must get you to tax your memory, and i ask you plainly, did you not go on purpose to trap doctor gambado into the selling you a horse, that you might bring him into a court of justice?" mr. deuce paused. he did not reply. he seemed nervous. "pray, sir, take your time. you are a member of the law, you know the law, and the usages of a court of justice; and i am sure you will give us a plain, straightforward answer." "i did not go exactly with that intention. my friend, mr. ryecross, persuaded me to consult him about myself." "now, sir, i shall cross-examine your friend, mr. ryecross. did you or did you not, at the very time that you went to consult this eminent physician, say to your friend, that he, meaning doctor gambado, was a horse dealer, and not a physician?" "i might have so said." "pray, sir, do you understand the law of libel? i shall strongly recommend my client, let the result of this action be what it may, to bring an action against you, sir, for one of the grossest acts of libellous intention this court has ever heard of; and, if i mistake not the judgement this day will decide, whether a gentleman like yourself is to utter a libel of a ruinous tendency to so high a professional man, with impunity. "then you did say he was a horse dealer?" "yes, i did." "pray, sir, had you any previous acquaintance with doctor gambado?" "none whatever." "then, i presume you acted in this manner entirely upon hearsay evidence?" "i certainly did." "you had no quarrel with doctor gambado?" "none whatever." "was it a sense of justice to your country, that entirely induced you to try and _smell a rat_ in this gentleman's character?" "it was." "and on that account you laid this information against him?" "i did." "it was not from any morbid indulgence of any splenetic humour with which you were at that time afflicted, that induced you to bring this action?" "oh, dear, no!" "i may say then, sir, you considered it entirely pro bono publico?" "quite so." "you have told the court, sir, that you purchased the horse of doctor gambado?" "i did so certainly." "you are sure he sold it to you?" "i am quite sure." "pray, sir, did you ask him, if the horse was his that you bought?" "i asked him if he had any horse that would suit me." "what was his reply?" "to the best of my knowledge, it was that he had one in his stables that would suit me." "now, sir, did he say, that _he had a horse_ in his stables that would suit you?" "i understood him so." "pray, mr. deuce, be sure; because i should be sorry to convict you of a wilful and direct falsehood. i pray you to be sure. did he say _he had a horse that would suit you_? or did he say, _there was a horse in his stables that would suit you_?" "it never struck me before,--he might certainly say, _there was a horse_; but i took him to mean, that _he had one_ that he could sell me." "come, sir, i am very glad to find that you have a disposition to correct the evidence you have given for the prosecution. you have sufficient legal acumen to distinguish between a man saying, _there is such a horse_, and _i have such a horse_; the latter sentence would go to identify the ownership of the horse, or a declaration to that effect." "he might then say, _there was a horse in his stable_?" "well, i think he did say so." "and you did not ask whether the horse was his or not?" "i did not." let mr. samuel ryecross be called. "you are the friend of the last witness,--are you not?" "i am." "you have known him for some years?" "i have." "did you persuade him to consult doctor gambado?" "i did." "upon what grounds?" "because of his dyspeptic habits." "did they not almost amount to monomania?" "i considered that at times they did." "was he not very splenetic?" "very." "i ask you, if he has not, in the neighbourhood of blackheath, the character of being very litigious?" "he is very unpopular." "he quarrels with everybody?" "he makes himself conspicuous for finding fault with all transgressors of the law." "is he not very angry?" "he is very easily provoked." "now, sir, i think, when you proposed to consult doctor gambado, that he objected?" "he did so." "upon what grounds?" "upon grounds that would, if true, disqualify any medical man, for professional consistency." "what were these grounds?" "he said he was a mere horse dealer,--that he would give him advice to ride on horseback, and would sell him a horse to do so." "did you believe his assertion?" "no. i not only doubted it; but stoutly contradicted it." "you had a better opinion of doctor gambado?" "i had." "now, sir, did not your friend actually say to you, that he would have the fellow up, meaning doctor gambado, for being a horse dealer without a licence?" "he did." "did he not go to the doctor with that intent?" "i verily believe he did; but i certainly did not accompany him with any such intent." "you recommended him purely for his health?" "i did; and, moreover, i paid the doctor's fee, upon the promise that he would follow the doctor's advice." "are mr. deuce's habits penurious?" "extremely so." "then how comes he to be so litigious?" "he finds that costs him very little, if any thing in the end." "he considers, then, in this case, that my client will be mulcted in costs?" "i have no doubt he does." "were you present when he consulted doctor gambado?" "i was." "what was his advice?" "ride on horseback." "did you consider that good advice?" "i did." "what question did your friend put to the doctor about the horse?" "he asked him, '_have you got a horse that will suit me?_'" "what was his reply?" "there is a fine strong horse in my stables, that i think would suit you." "are you sure that was his reply?" "quite sure." "did you consider that reply as affixing the ownership of the horse to himself?" "i confess that i did so." "did you see any triumphant glance, or recognition of mr. deuce's sagacity, at having fulfilled the declaration of the accuser, that he was a horse dealer?" "yes, i did." "did you think the horse was the doctor's own?" "i own, i did." "did you ask him if the horse was his?" "no, i did not. i concluded it was so." "did you see the horse sold?" "i did." "who do you consider sold the horse? "i considered, to my great surprise, that doctor gambado sold the horse." "then you altered your opinion of the doctor." "i did so, considerably." "was your friend very warm upon the subject of the doctor's horse dealing?" "very." "did you know of his resolution to bring this action?" "i fully considered he would do so." mr. john tattsall was then called. "you are a horse dealer?" "i am." "you know both the plantiff and defendant?" "i know the former, from having sold him a horse, have known the latter many years." "pray, sir, do you hire doctor gambado's stables?" "i hire stables of doctor gambado." "how far from your own stables?" "the back premises of each join." "how long have you hired the doctor's stables?" "fifteen years." "how many horses do you generally keep there?" "ten, twelve, fourteen, and sometimes sixteen horses." "pray, are you in partnership with doctor gambado?" "no, i am not." "has he any share in your business?" "none whatsoever." "has he any horses?" "three of his own." "in a separate stable?" "in a stable adjoining to those i hire of him." "to your knowledge, did the doctor ever sell a horse?" "never." "has he any horses to sell?" "none." "you positively affirm upon oath that the doctor is not a horse dealer?" "i swear it." "did he ever sell a horse for you?" "never." "did you ever authorize him to sell a horse for you?" "never." "pray was the horse that the plantiff, mr. deuce, bought, your property or the doctor's?" "mine." "did the doctor give the price of the horse to the gentleman, or did you?" "i did,--the doctor asked me what i had said was the price of the horse, and i told him,--and i told the gentleman i would not take one guinea less for him than ninety guineas." "then, really and truly, you took the money for your own horse, kept it, and did not give the doctor a farthing?" "i gave him nothing but 'thank you, doctor, for introducing to me a customer.'" "had the doctor seen the horse before?" "frequently, and admired him for the strength of his limbs, and for his proportions." "do you remember what he said, when he brought the gentleman into your or his yard?" "yes. 'john, i've brought a customer.'" "you knew what that meant?" "of course i did, and i led out the brown horse myself, and paced him, sold him, took the money; the cheque is, i suppose, in court: it was written for me, and i had no idea the horse was sold by anybody but me, to whom it belonged." at this stage of the proceedings the solicitor for the prosecution intimated that his client wished to withdraw his case. serjeant sharpe said, "he hoped his honour would direct a verdict for the defendant, his client; and that the world would see what a shameful action it had been. he told the solicitor for the prosecution that he was glad that his client felt ashamed of himself. he could never make him amends for what he had done; that it was disgraceful in the extreme to seek the advice of so good a man, and to treat him in the way he had done. he was quite sure that he would shortly have an increase of his malady, and that even his friend, mr. ryecross, would no longer pity him." the judge dismissed the case, with a high compliment to doctor gambado, and with full costs to be paid into court by mr. deuce. this action had some good effect upon this unhappy man, though it did not cure him of hypochondriacism. he rode out on horseback--on his new horse;--but whenever that horse came to the sign of the red cross, on blackheath, directly opposite the four cross ways, he would lift up his nose, stand stockstill, and as if he would have his rider see the cross, and think upon it, he would not be persuaded to move. in vain did the lawyer tug at him, chuck his bridle, kick his sides, and use the most violent gesticulations to get him on. whether he had a _nose_ for the stables, or had been accustomed to blackheath red cross on former days, he certainly had a nose, and until some one gently led him from the spot he would never be compelled to leave it. so he went by the name of _old deuce's horse_, or, _the horse with a nose_. hast thou a nose to smell a rat? beware thou get not tit for tat. 'tis better far to keep thy nose, than have it split by angry foes. avoiding strife, go, follow good, no harm will reach thee in such mood. chapter xv. _me, my wife, and daughter._ who can look upon the comfortable enjoyment of good and happy people, in their latter days, and not delight to see them? such a picture as this, drawn originally by henry bunbury, esq. and meant to convey a picture of domestic felicity in his day, would probably produce excessive ridicule if seen in these fast days. if, now, such a sight were seen in rotten-row, however pleasing to the philanthropist, it would be called an affectation of absurdity. yet doctor gambado, to the last year of his life, rode in such felicity that he was the only man in his profession that exactly practised the advice he gave. a contrast to everything in the present day,--we say to everything like modern enjoyment. one hundred years ago, there were no puffing steam engines, drawing thousands, with the rapidity of lightning, to brighton, ramsgate, margate, and folkestone. men all tell us, that domestic felicity is the same. we do not doubt it; but we find very few, very few, indeed, so blest with content, and so happy in their mutual society, as our respected friend, when, with his wife and daughter by his side, he rode a jog trot at the seaside, or the hillside, or along the fashionable road of life. [illustration] the doctor had toiled through good report and evil report, and, like a prudent wise man, provided the best he could for his own. he kept up his house in bread-street, though he declined practice altogether, that is, for _pecuniary profit_. i question whether the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals would not have considered this an overloaded beast; but there was no such society in existence then. the weary camel, toiling over the waste, might be overloaded; but he would let his driver know how much he would carry. john tattsall furnished his good friend, the doctor, with elephantine horses, stout, stiff, strong, bony and sinewy; he was, without the aid of doctor cassock, the inventor of a wicker pannier of such ample dimensions, as to afford the most easy and convenient chair for each of the ladies, without exposing feet or ancles, or incommoding boots or dress. now, indeed, ladies who travel in first-class carriages by rail, find the seats too narrow and almost destructive to their crinoline. hurrah for good people! hurrah for happy people, wherever we can find them! hurrah for the man who never allows his domestic felicity to be disturbed by any outward circumstances,--let his condition of life be among the highest or the lowest in the land! hurrah for him who has the least ambition to gratify, except that of doing good to his neighbour! hurrah for a grateful heart wherever it can be found! but whilst we thus laud the domestic comfort of real good people, let us not forget that they must have passed through many troubles and trials to gain that peace and serenity of mind, which our happy trio, geoffery gambado, his wife, and daughter, enjoyed. they had no affected display of superior accomplishments to delight society, and had no flattering encomiums passed upon them for their gentility. they were gentle, well informed, quiet, loveable people. they spoke that which they considered right, and always did the right thing as it ought to be done. the law which their good and excellent pastor taught them, they never departed from, viz. "that of doing to others, as they would others should do to them." they kept the holiest law of true goodness, _love one another_, in its perfect sense. doctor gambado well knew who gave him a wife; and when he married, he resolved to perform the solemn vow he then made, and he kept his vow,--so did his wife hers,--and they were as happy a couple as could well be seen or known upon the face of the earth. in his time, god's blessing was sought to enable him to keep his vow. there was no law then permitting men to go and be married without any asking of god's blessing upon such a step. marriage was not then degraded into the unholy thing it is now, and conscience merely made to answer to a legal contract, which difference of opinion, or quarrels, or contrariety of disposition, may get dissolved in a divorce court. "for better for worse, for richer for poorer, till death us do part," is no longer the sole and solemn bond of matrimony. but the doctor was a christian in the noblest sense, and in domestic life his religion was his conscience, his wisdom, and his happiness. as little parade as man could make of outward profession was his study, but his heart was in the right place. where that is the case, ignorance and presumption, imposition and folly, are unknown. men may ridicule simplicity of life and manners; but there is an honesty of heart superior to all affectation, which need never be afraid. the troubles of life are always borne well by those who observe the law of god; and those who do not, never get any real release from them. they may get riches; they may hide the blush of coveteousness; but they have very little real comfort within themselves, because of the very changes which they themselves and all things around them undergo. doctor gambado enjoyed every change of life, and lost no good condition either. he could look upon the calm sea with delight, and with the serenity of one who had not lived in vain. he always entertained the kindliest feelings of a brother for his sincere friend, doctor cassock, who used to drop in with any new number of the spectator, and enjoy it. the domestic evenings spent in classical friendship are among the purest scholastic as well as domestic enjoyments. envy he had none, and therefore was most to be envied of those who, like mr. deuce, or anyone else, never enjoyed the happiness of another. promote the welfare of another, and you will find your own comfort increased. detract from another, and nothing but envy will be your increase. the object with which this book was begun, and is finished, is to let you see, reader, how to make something out of that which might to many appear worse than nothing. suppose that sixteen drawings of this character were given you, with nothing but the heading of each chapter written under them,--would you have made out a more comprehensive description of the probability of their truth? there is some profit in the labour, if your heart is in any way cheered by beholding the ingenuity of man. works of art, or works of great expense, or great works of any kind, the author makes no kind of pretence to perform; yet, if you are pleased with his ingenuity, grudge not a helping hand at any time to reward industry. ah! little thought gambado, in his day, as on he passed through life's uneven way, how many toils and troubles he would scan, before he reached the common age of man! yet on he went; and as his years declined, and quietude and peace becalmed his mind, he felt and owned, no greater bliss could be than resignation for eternity. "ah!" he would say, "behold, dear wife, yon sea, each wave seems striving for celebrity! it rolls along until it reach the shore, then bursts in froth,--and then is seen no more! still, on and on succeeding waves advance, and thus perpetual motion would enhance. 'tis so with mortals striving on and on, they reach the shore,--and all their toil is gone. how oft yon waves, by angry tempests tost, like human passions, are in fury lost; dash'd on the rocks, their crested pride, in foam sprays into atoms ere it finds a home." so mighty strugglers after this world's fame, find all their fury perish with their name. 'tis seldom known that speculators thrive, or long their great inventions may outlive. others come on,--no end of new things known, one age will praise,--the next, the praise disown. feathers you wear,--but feathers blown away, will be succeeded by some new display. we ride on horseback, and survey the tide,-- the age will come, that horses none will ride; the age will be that coaches will no more be seen with horses, two, or three, or four; but on will pass, and leave no other trace, than iron's friction from a rapid pace. what would gambado think, if he could see his own predictions made a verity? who can predict one single year's advance? truth is so strange it seems a day's romance. things that last year were mighty,--are all gone; works of great hope,--are perished and undone. iron is moulded by the human hand; and wooden walls no more the seas command. all would be great, be rich, and all invent, but few there are, who are at all content. with lightning speed intelligence conveyed from land to land, the iron rails are laid,-- and 'neath the ocean's deep united cords, convey the merchant's or the prince's words. but mostly all, by sea, or land, or train, is that the traffickers may get their gain. the greatest gain, that ever man could get, is sweet contentment after every fret. when projects are completed, all is vain, for other projects follow in their train; old age comes on,--all projects quickly cease,-- happy are they who live and die in peace. gambado did so: reader, may thy fame rest with content on one blest, holy name! the end. [illustration] transcriber's notes: the original publication did not contain a table of contents. this has been provided for the reader's convenience. there were a few printer's errors which have been corrected. for example, chapter xiii was entitled "a daisey cutter, with his varieties" whereas the name was spelt daisy in the text. the barb and the bridle; a handbook of equitation for ladies, and manual of instruction in the science of riding, from the preparatory suppling exercises on foot, to the form in which a lady should ride to hounds. _reprinted from_ "the queen" _newspaper._ by "vieille moustache." london: the "queen" office, , strand. . london: printed by horace cox, , strand, w.c. [illustration: the lady's horse.] introduction. having received numerous applications from ladies desirous of information, as to the true principles and practice of equitation, i venture to put before the public, in book form, a series of articles which appeared originally in the columns of the _queen_ newspaper on ladies' riding. commencing with the calisthenic practices so necessary to a young lady before beginning her mounted lessons, these papers enter into every detail (less those of the _haut École de manége_) connected with the science of riding as it should be acquired by all who wish to become efficient horsewomen. as the rules laid down are precisely those upon which i have successfully instructed a great number of ladies, as my experience is of many years' standing, and acquired in the best schools in europe, i trust the following pages may prove useful; for, while it is quite true that neither man nor woman can learn to ride by simply reading a book on the subject, still a carefully-compiled manual of equitation is always a ready means of refreshing the memory upon points of importance in the art, which, however clearly explained by the oral instruction of a first-class master, may yet in time escape the recollection of the pupil. "vieille moustache." the barb and the bridle. chapter i. riding, considered as a means of recreation, as a promoter of health, or as the best mode in which to display to the greatest advantage beauty and symmetry of face and form, is perhaps unequalled among the many accomplishments necessary to a lady. out of doors croquet may be interesting as a game, and fascinating enough when a lady has an agreeable partner, but as an exercise physically its healthfulness is doubtful. there is too much standing about, often on damp grass, too little real exertion to keep the circulation up properly, and too many intervals of quiescence, wherein a lady stands perfectly still (in a very graceful attitude no doubt) long enough in the chill evening air to create catarrh or influenza. archery, although a far more graceful exercise than croquet, is open to the same objection as regards danger of taking cold. skating, though both healthful and elegant, is so seldom available as scarcely to be reckoned among the exercises beneficial to ladies. moreover, it is attended with considerable danger in many cases. _to be well_ is to look well. healthy physical exertion is indispensable to the former state, and in no way can it be so well secured as by riding. mounted on a well-broken, well-bred horse, and cantering over a breezy down, or trotting on the soft sward, on the way to covert, a lady feels a glow of health and flow of spirits unattainable by any other kind of out or in door recreation. that the foregoing truths are fully appreciated by the ladies of the upper ten thousand is abundantly proved by the goodly gathering of fair and aristocratic equestrians to be seen in rotten row during the london season, and at every fashionable meet of hounds in the kingdom in the winter time. nor is riding confined to those only whose names figure in the pages of "burke" or "debrett." within the last twenty years the wives and daughters of professional men and wealthy tradesmen, who were content formerly to take an airing in a carriage, have taken to riding on horseback. and they are quite right. it is not (with management) a bit more expensive, while it is beyond comparison the most agreeable and salubrious mode of inhaling the breeze. the daughter of the peer, or other great grandee of the country, may be almost said to be a horsewoman to the manner born. riding comes as naturally to her as it does to her brothers. both clamber up on their ponies, or are lifted on, almost as soon as they can walk, and consequently "grow" into their riding, and become at fifteen or sixteen years of age as much at home in the saddle as they are on a sofa. in the hunting field they see the best types of riding extant, male and female, and learn to copy their style and mode of handling their horses, while oral instruction of the highest order is always at hand to supplement daily practice. to the great ladies of england, then, all hints on the subject would be superfluous. most of them justly take great pride in their riding, spare no pains to excel in it, and are thoroughly successful. in fact, it is the one accomplishment in which they as far surpass the women of all other countries in the world as they outvie them in personal beauty. a german or french woman possibly may hold her own with an englishwoman in a ball room or a box at the opera; but put her on horseback, and take her to the covert side, she is "not in it" with her english rivals. although the advantages and opportunities i speak of, however, render words of advice upon female equitation unnecessary to ladies of the _sangre azul_, i trust they may be found useful to others who may not have had such opportunities. in the upper middle classes nothing is more probable than the marriage of one of the daughters of the house with a man whose future lot may be cast in the colonies, where if a woman cannot ride she will be sorely at a loss. unlike the ladies of high degree above alluded to, the daughter of a man in good position in the middle class will often not have opportunities of learning to ride until she is fifteen or sixteen, and by this time the youthful frame, supple as it may appear, has acquired (so to speak) "a set," which at first renders riding far from agreeable; because it calls into action whole sets of muscles and ligaments heretofore rarely brought into play, or rather only partially so. hence the unpleasant stiffness that always follows the first essays of the tyro in riding of the age i speak of, and which painful feeling too often so discourages beginners that they give up the thing in disgust. now this unpleasant consequence of the first lessons may be easily obviated by the following means. bearing in mind that pain or stiffness is the result of want of _supplesse_, the first desideratum is to acquire this most desirable elasticity. to accomplish this, three months before the pupil is put on horseback she should begin a course of training in suppling and extension motions on foot, precisely similar to those drilled into a cavalry recruit in the army. no amount of dancing will do what is required. even the professional _danseuse_, with her constant exercise of the _ronde de jambe_, never possesses that mobile action of the waist and play of the joints of the upper part of the figure so thoroughly to be acquired by the exercises i speak of, which also have the further greater advantage of giving development and expansion to the chest. i therefore respectfully advise every careful mother, who is desirous of seeing her daughters become accomplished horsewomen, before taking them to the riding master (of whom more hereafter), in the first place to employ a good drill master. possibly, the young ladies may have had drill instruction at school; but experience tells me that such instruction is too often slurred over, or only practised at such long intervals that its effect is confined to causing the pupil to walk upright and carry herself well--a very desirable matter, but not all that is requisite as a preparation for riding. drill, to be effective for the above purposes, _should be practised daily_. the course of instruction should begin with very short lessons, lasting not more than twenty minutes at first; but these, _given in the presence of mamma_, should be _most rigidly and minutely carried out, otherwise they are useless_. they should gradually be increased in length, according to the strength of the pupil, until she can stand an hour's drilling without fatigue. the course should include instruction in the use of dumb-bells, very carefully given. the weight of these should in no case exceed seven pounds for a young lady of fifteen or sixteen, and may judiciously be confined to three and four pounds for those of a more tender age. the great use of dumb-bells is to give flexibility to the shoulder joints and expansion to the chest. the first lessons should not last more than five minutes, and in no case be continued an instant after the pupil exhibits the slightest symptom (easily discernable) of fatigue. of the course of drill instruction, the lessons called the "extension motions" are the most effectual in promoting flexibility of the whole figure; but they must be gone into by very gradual and careful induction, and their effect will then be not only beneficial, but pleasant to the pupil. as it is possible that this may meet the eye of some lady who resides where no eligible drill master is available, i propose in my next chapter to give a programme of the exercises i speak of, which may then be practised under the superintendence of the lady herself or her governess. but in all cases where the services of a competent and thoroughly practised drill master are to be had it is always best to employ them. simple as the instruction may appear, the art of imparting it has to be acquired in a school where the most minute attention is paid to every detail, where nothing is allowed to be done in a careless or slovenly manner, and where (so to speak) the pupil is never asked to read before he can spell. it is this jumping _in medias_ with beginners in riding that so often causes mischief and disgusts the pupil, who begins by thinking that it is the easiest thing in the world to ride well, but when she is put on horseback finds to her dismay that it is anything but easy until acquired by practice and thoroughly good instructions. chapter ii. i proceed now to describe the suppling and extension exercises i have before alluded to. [illustration: fig. .] [illustration: fig. .] these are simple enough in themselves, certain not to be forgotten when once learnt, and easy to impart in the way of instruction. their great efficacy depends, however, upon the judgment with which the instructor varies them, so as to call into action alternately opposite sets of muscles and ligaments, as it is by such a process only that complete _supplesse_ can be attained. the first suppling practice is performed as follows: place the pupil in a position perfectly upright, the heels close together, the toes at an angle of (military regulation), the figure well drawn up from the waist, the shoulders thrown back, chest advanced, the neck and head erect, arms hanging perpendicularly from the shoulder, elbows slightly bent, the weight of the body thrown upon the front part of the foot. then the instruction should be given thus: on the word "one," bring both hands smartly up to the full extent of the arms, in front and above the forehead, the tips of the fingers joining (fig. ); on the word "two," throw the hands sharply backwards and downwards until they meet behind the back (fig. ). this exercise should be commenced slowly, and gradually increased in rapidity until the pupil can execute it with great quickness for several minutes consecutively. the object is to throw the shoulders well back and give expansion to the chest. [illustration: fig. .] [illustration: fig. .] second practice.--on the word "one," bring the hands together (from their position perpendicular from the shoulder) in front of the figure, the tips of the fingers joining (fig. ). on the word "two," raise the hands, still joined, slowly above and slightly in front of the head, to the full extent of the arms (fig. ). "three," separate the hands, and, turning the palms upwards, lower them to the level of the shoulders, the arms fully extended (fig. ). simultaneously with the lowering of the hands the heels should be raised slowly from the ground, so as to bring the weight of the body upon the toes. on the word "four," lower the hands gradually to the sides, carrying them at the same time well to the rear (fig. ). the heels are also to be lowered to the ground as the hands are carried backwards. this exercise should always be done slowly, as its object is the gradual flexing and suppling of the shoulder and elbow joints, and giving mobile action to those of the feet. in using dumb-bells the first practice with them may be identical with the above, the dumb-bells being grasped firmly in the centre. [illustration: fig. .] [illustration: fig. .] third practice.--on the word "one," close the hands firmly by the sides; "two," raise them up quietly, bending the elbows until the hands are touching the points of the shoulders (fig. ); "three," carry the hands, still firmly closed, forwards and upwards, to the full extent of the arms, well above and a little in front of the head (fig. ); "four," bring the hands with a quick, sharp motion down to the level of the shoulders, carrying the elbows well to the rear (fig. ). the first two motions of this exercise should be performed very slowly, the last very rapidly. it can also be practised with advantage with the dumb-bells, and is then of great service in strengthening and developing the muscles of the chest and arms. [illustration: fig. .] [illustration: fig. .] there are a great many other suppling practices, but the above, varied occasionally by the use of the dumb-bells, will be found sufficient for all practical purposes. coming now to the extension exercises, i select the third as being most effective. st motion. bring the hands together in front of the figure, as in the second suppling practice, the points of the fingers joining, the whole frame erect and well drawn up from the waist. . raise the hands slowly above the head to the full extent of the arms, turn the palms of the hands outwards, and lock the thumbs together, the right thumb within the left (fig. ). . keeping the body, head, and neck perfectly erect, place the head between the arms, the thumbs still firmly locked together. . _keeping the knees perfectly straight_, lower the hands, and bend the back gradually and very slowly forward and downwards, until the points of the fingers touch the instep (fig. ). . raise the body and head (the latter still between the arms), quietly up in the same slow time, bringing the hands again well above the head (fig. ). . lower the hands gradually (turning the palms upwards), first to the level of the shoulders, making a momentary pause there, and then quietly to the sides, carrying the hands in their descent from the shoulder as much as possible to the rear, while the weight of the body is thrown entirely upon the front of the foot. [illustration: fig. .] [illustration: fig. .] in this exercise all depends upon keeping the knee joints perfectly straight, and the head, in the bending-down movement, as much as possible between the arms. the object of the practice is to give suppleness to the waist, freedom to the knee joint by well suppling the ligaments at the back of the knee, and at the same time to expand the chest. for these purposes, if carefully and judiciously carried out, it is most effective, calling alternately upon every portion of the frame wherein suppleness is indispensable to easy and graceful riding. [illustration: fig. .] [illustration: fig. .] great care should be taken not to hurry this lesson, and if the pupil is of a figure that renders it difficult for her to reach her instep in bending down, it should not be insisted on; but it is necessary that she should bend the back as much as possible _without bending the knees_, as any yielding of the knee joint destroys the whole value of the exercise. to perform the above named practices comfortably, the pupil should wear a loose dress which throws no constraint upon any part of the figure. slippers, too, are better than boots, as the latter confine the foot and ankle too much for complete liberty of movement. the duration of any of these lessons should at first be carefully proportioned to the strength of the learner, and gradually increased as to time day by day, until she can stand an hour's work without fatigue; but be the lesson long or short, it should be practised every day. it will be found that, with plenty of fresh air and walking exercise, the pupil, by the aid of these suppling and extension practices, will develope rapidly in elasticity of movement and in general health, and that a couple or three months of such preparation will help her very much as an introduction to her course of equitation. any good drill master who might be employed to "set up" a young lady would most likely teach her all the above, and much more; but i have ventured to detail these practices, assuming that a family may be located in a neighbourhood in which no such man is available, in which case the exercise can be imparted and superintended by the governess of the family. these ladies are always clever and intelligent enough to master in a few minutes such very simple details as those above described. before quitting this subject a word about gymnastics may not be out of place. many heads of families consider them highly beneficial when practised with bars and similar apparatus. my experience induces me to differ from this notion, and i believe my view of the matter would be borne out by the highest medical authority. for boys even, gymnastic exercises should be most carefully watched, in order that no undue strain should be thrown upon the yet unset muscle and cartilage of the frame. for young ladies i believe gymnastics to be not only unnecessary, but injurious, and that every practical result desirable can be arrived at by the use of such exercises as i have endeavoured to describe, varied occasionally by the moderate use of the dumb-bells, a few minutes of which at one time is always sufficient. where there is a number of young people together, there is sure to be a tendency to outdo each other whenever physical exercises of any kind are introduced; and, while it is easy enough to control the pupils in the simple suppling practices i speak of, it is very difficult for any but the most experienced persons to determine how far a young lady may go without injury to herself in the exercises of the horizontal bars or trapeze ropes. if any kind of gymnastic exercises are allowed for a young lady, the best, in my opinion, are those practised with the "ranelagh," because no hurtful strain can possibly be thrown upon the pupil; and for boys i believe the ranelagh to be a first-rate invention, as is also the "parlour gymnasium," and several others on similar principles, which ignore the practice of the bars. the full practice of the gymnasium, however, for young men whose frames have attained a certain amount of maturity, is no doubt good if not carried to excess. i speak, however, only of young ladies of tender age. assuming then, that our pupil has been prepared for riding as above described, let us proceed to consider the style of dress most suitable for her early attempts in the saddle. for very young ladies, say under twelve years of age, i believe in hair cut short in preference to flowing locks, because the latter are very apt to blow into the eyes and seriously interfere with riding. for the very juvenile equestrian tyro, the hat should be one that fastens under the chin with ribbon or something _that is not elastic_. nothing is more important in beginning with young people on horseback than to give them confidence, and nothing so completely puts them out as anything loose about the head. for young ladies over fifteen or sixteen, hats which are fastened to the hair may be worn. but, having regard to the progress of the pupil rather than to appearance, i recommend every beginner, no matter what her age, to leave no doubt about the security of her headdress. as regards riding habits, to begin with, while they should fit sufficiently to indicate the outline of the lady's figure, all tightness should be avoided. tight habits are very sightly to the eye; but, in common with tight corsets, steel or whalebone anywhere about the dress is fatal to that perfect liberty of movement so essential to success in a beginner. loose jackets of course should not be worn, because the instructor would be unable to see in what form his pupil was sitting. nothing is better, in the first place, than a jacket, of any coarse material the rider chooses, made in the ordinary form, with plenty of room, especially about the waist and shoulders. the skirt should not be too redundant or too long, as in the latter case it is apt to get trodden on by the horse, and in windy weather blows about, to the great annoyance of the rider. a skirt that reaches about in. below the foot is amply long. as to breadth, it should be just large enough to give space to move easily in. a more voluminous garment is unsightly. the skirt, made independent of the jacket, should fasten under it with a broad band. no clothing should be worn under the skirt except riding trousers. under-skirts of any kind will utterly spoil the appearance of the fair equestrian, and render her ride one of discomfort. riding trousers, the making of which should only be entrusted to people who are well accustomed to it, may be made of cloth or chamois leather, booted with cloth. the boots, whether wellingtons (if they are not out of date), side springs, or lace boots, should be made purposely for riding. fashion is imperious, and that of the present day dictates a boot with a very high, narrow heel, and a waist which is almost triangular; both are quite unsuited for riding. the heel of a riding boot should be quite as broad as the foot of the wearer, and should come well forward into the waist, after the manner of a man's hunting boot, and the waist itself should be perfectly flat, so as to give a firm level bearing on the stirrup-iron. a sharp, narrow-waisted boot will be found not only impossible to keep in place in the iron, but will hurt the sole of the foot very much. of spurs (very necessary in an advanced state of proficiency, and inadmissible, of course, to a beginner) i shall say something hereafter. of gloves, the best kind for riding is a dogskin glove or gauntlet _two sizes too large_. six and a-half kid gloves do not admit of sufficient freedom in the hand properly to manipulate the reins. the pupil should be provided with a straight riding whip which is not too flexible, because with a very supple whip she may inadvertently touch the horse at the wrong time and upset him. having said thus much as to the equipment of our fair tyro, i leave all observations as to dress fit for the hunting-field, or such promenade riding as that of rotten row, for a future paper, and proceed to say something about that very important consideration, the matter of the riding master. in the first place, then, it is necessary that the professor of equitation should be one who has been regularly brought up to his business. if such a man is not within reach, then i submit that it is better to entrust the riding education of the young lady to any staid middle-aged gentleman who is a thoroughly good horseman, and who will undertake the task _con amore_. if the gentleman has daughters of his own, all the better. i do not recommend young men for the office, because, naturally enough, they are more likely to be engrossed with the charms of their pupils than the progress they are making with their riding. youthful preceptors, too, have a tendency to "make the pace a trifle too good," and there are not even wanting instances where they have "bolted" with their pupils altogether. this by the way. to return to the professional riding master. i may add that, in addition to thoroughly understanding his craft, he should be a man of education and a gentleman. of such men there are several in the metropolis; in the provinces they are few and far between. in most of our fashionable watering-places one sees very neatly got-up horsey-looking men, duly booted, spurred, and moustached, tittuping along with a small troop of young ladies, who, with their skirts ballooned out with the fresh breeze from the "briny," and "sitting all over the saddle," are making themselves very uncomfortable, when they could have enjoyed the bracing air just as well, for less money, in an open fly. the riding master, in all probability, has promoted himself from the office of pad groom. he knows how to saddle and turn out a lady's horse, and how to put the lady into the saddle; he knows, also, the cheapest market in which to go for fashionable-looking screws upon which to mount his customers. there his qualifications as a riding master end. the inductive steps by which a lady should be taught, the reason for everything she is asked to do, the "aids" by which she should control her horse and establish a good understanding with him, are all sealed mysteries to the stamp of man i speak of. from such men and their ten-pound screws there is nothing to be learnt in the way of riding. assuming, then, that some of my fair readers may be so placed as to render access to a professional riding master impossible, i have ventured upon this brief manual of "equitation for ladies," because i believe that there are many gentlemen, good horsemen, who would willingly undertake the teaching of their young friends, but that the former are unacquainted with the readiest way of going to work. let me hope that the following may be of use in such case, both to preceptor and pupil. addressing myself first to the former, let me advise him to be guided from first to last by the following maxims: st. never do anything to shake the confidence or nerve of your pupil, and never give away a chance of doing it to the horse she rides. nd. never talk to her about lesson no. until she thoroughly understands lesson no. . while tittuping hacks are useless, and it is necessary to have an animal, even for a beginner, that has still plenty of life, vigour, and action in him, such a horse requires to be thoroughly well-broken to carry a woman, and should have plenty of work, so as to do away with the possibility of his flirting when she is mounted. it should be borne in mind that, although a woman who has had years of practice will be equally at home on almost every horse upon which you can put her, yet only a particular stamp of animal is adapted to carry her in her earlier essays. let me endeavour to give my idea of him. in height he should be from . to . . a very tall woman may look better on a taller horse, but it is rarely that one finds an animal over . with the requisite proportions to ensure good action. colour is of little account, except that grey horses in the summer time part with their coats so freely as to spoil a lady's habit. quality is indispensable. a three-part-bred horse, however, is the best, because he is likely to have more substance in the right place than a thoroughbred. a good blood-like head and neck are warranty for fashion. good shoulders, in the ordinary acceptation of the term, are not always good shoulders for a lady's horse, because while they should be clean and sloping as to the scapula, the withers should not be too fine. a little thickness there causes a side saddle to fit better for the comfort of the rider. there should be plenty of depth in the girth and rare good back ribs, for a woman's riding calls very much on a horse's power. a short back is not conducive to ease for the rider, whatever it may be as to the staying powers of the horse. on the contrary, what is generally called a long-backed horse carries a lady most pleasantly; but there must be plenty of power in the quarters, muscular upper thighs, and strong hocks. the quarters, too, should be good, and the setting on of the tail such as finishes the topping of the horse well, and gives him a fashionable appearance. if conjoined to the above-named points he stands on moderately short legs, with plenty of bone, and has good round and sound feet, he will be found as nearly as possible what is required. chapter iii. if a horse has been broken, so as to be obedient to the hand and leg of a man, and steady to sights and sounds, it is considered by many that the animal has only to be ridden with a skirt, and accustomed to strike off without hesitation with its off legs in the canter, and it is fit to carry a lady. this is a great mistake. it is true that teaching it to canter collectedly with its off legs is necessary, as well as habituating it to the skirt, but there are other and important matters to be considered which are too often overlooked. in the first place, a man, to break a horse properly for a lady, must be sufficiently well up at his craft to train the animal to obey the lightest possible application of the aids of the leg; because a lady, having but one leg to the horse, cannot give him the same amount of support that can be given by a man, who applies both. to supply the absence of the leg on the off side, in the case of the lady, the only substitute is the whip. but all men accustomed to breaking know that the effect of the whip is altogether different from that of the leg, and that while the whip is occasionally necessary to rouse a slightly lazy horse, and put him into his bridle, in the case of one very free, or at all hot, the whip must be used with great caution by a lady. as i have remarked elsewhere, most young horses are inclined to strike off in the canter with the near leg, which is most unpleasant to the fair equestrian. to correct this, the breaker applies certain well-known aids, which it is unnecessary here to repeat. but in order to confirm the horse in his lesson of cantering with his off leg, the man must give the animal a considerable amount of support with both his own and both hands. if this is continued after the horse is advanced to the stage of breaking where the trainer begins to fit him for a lady, and carried on until she rides him, he will be far from a pleasant mount to her, because, missing the support of the man's legs, the horse will not understand the light and delicate ones which the lady will use. it is necessary, therefore, that the breaker should accustom his charge readily to obey the slightest indication of the rider's will, and then ride him in a side-saddle, in precisely the same way as he will afterwards be ridden by the lady. i remember once seeing a man, really a capital rider in his own way, giving a lady a lesson on a horse of her own which he had broken for her. both master and pupil were sorely puzzled--the former because the horse would not obey the hand and leg of the rider, as directed by the master, and the pupil, by finding that all she was doing produced an effect diametrically opposite to that which was intended. perhaps the horse, too, was as much puzzled to know what to be at as either rider or master. the animal was a very shapely chesnut, nearly thoroughbred, very good-tempered, but full of courage. evidently he was unaccustomed to carry a lady, and was beginning to give indications that his temper was getting up. the object was to canter him to the right round the school, "going large," as it is technically called. he had trotted to the other hand well enough, and the young lady had ridden him fairly; but when turned to the reverse hand, and the word "canter" was given, he evidently missed the support afforded by the legs of a male rider. when pressed gently forward to a shortened rein, he stepped very high in his trot. "touch him on the right shoulder with the whip sharply, miss," said the riding master. in answer to the sharp cut of the whip, the horse jumped off passionately in a canter, with his near legs first--a dangerous thing when going round the school to the right. "stop him, miss," said the preceptor; "take him into the corner, bend his head to the right. now the leg and whip again." the same result followed--the lady flurried as well as her horse. the riding master at last took the lady off, and mounted the horse himself; but he rode with a man's seat, not a woman's. the horse cantered collectedly and well into his bridle when the master asked him. "you see, miss, it is easy enough," said the master; "a little patience, and you will do it presently." but the second essay of the lady was as unsuccessful as the first; nay more so, as the horse was getting very angry. "what can be the reason?" at last said the lady, halting her horse; "i must be very stupid." "it is some peculiarity in your hand," said the master, soothingly; "it will be all right by-and-by." "do you think," said the lady, deferentially, "that the difference of seat--your leg on the right side--has anything to do with it?" "not a bit," replied the preceptor. but it had all to do with it, and eventually the lady had to be put upon an old school hack for her ride in the park, leaving her own horse at the riding school. when the lady was gone the master observed, "most extraordinary thing! i can't get this horse to do wrong, and miss a. cannot get him to go a yard." "did you ever ride him in a side-saddle?" i inquired. "i? certainly not," was the answer; "no man can break a horse in a side-saddle" (this was true enough as regards the early stages), "and," continued the professor, "i can't ride a bit in a side-saddle." the latter observation settled the matter in my mind; for it has been always clear to me that, if a man cannot acquire a true and firm seat himself on a side-saddle, it is impossible he can teach a woman to ride. he may teach her to sit square and upright on an old horse that has been carrying women for years, but "going about" on such an animal is not riding--my idea of which, as regards a lady, is, that on a horse still full of courage and action (though not too fresh or short of work) the rider should be able, by the application of aids sound in theory and practice, to render the horse thoroughly obedient to her will. this is riding. cantering along upon an old tittuping hack is merely taking horse exercise in a mild form. as regards a man riding in a side-saddle, i may say that some years ago a young friend of mine, now deceased--than whom there never was a better man with hounds--hunted in a side-saddle for three or four seasons before his death. he had injured his right foot so badly in a fall as to necessitate amputation at the instep, and he preferred the side-saddle seat to the awkward and disagreeable feeling occasioned by trusting to a cork foot in the off-side stirrup. some of your readers may probably remember the dashing youngster i allude to, who was always to be seen going true and straight in the front rank, when he hunted eighteen years ago with the royal buckhounds. i can safely say that the horses he rode in his side-saddle were the perfection of ladies' hunters, and that he was one of the best instructors of female equitation i ever met. i repeat, then, that before a horse can be pronounced fit to carry a lady he should have been ridden in a side-saddle for some time by a man. riding in this way, the breaker's first object should be to make the horse walk truly and fairly up to his bridle, without hurrying or shuffling in his pace, than which nothing is more unpleasant to a lady, especially if she is engaged in conversation with a companion. of course it is indispensable that a horse should be a good natural walker, but at the same time the animal should be carefully taught to work right up to his bit in this most important pace; action in the others can then be easily developed. in the trot the breaker should gradually accustom the animal to go with the least possible amount of support from the leg. this he will easily do by using a very long whip, and, when he feels the horse hanging back from his work, touching him lightly on the hind quarters instead of closing the leg. in the foregoing i am assuming that the horse has been previously well broken, mouthed, and balanced to carry a man. to teach a horse readily to obey such delicate aids of hand or leg, as a lady can apply, i have found the following method most effectual: use a side-saddle which has no head crutch on the off side; this gives more freedom of action to the right hand. ride without a stirrup; your balance is sure then to be true. use a long whip, and wear a spur on the left heel, furnished with short and not very sharp rowels. make your horse walk well, and trot well up to his bridle, with as little leg as possible, touching him sharply with the spur if he tries to shirk his work. the long whip on the off side will prevent him from throwing his haunches in. before cantering, collect him well. keep his forehand well up, and his haunches under him. keep his head well bent to the right; take him into the corner of the school or _manége_; then, keeping him up to his work rather by the aid of the spur and whip than by the leg, strike him lightly off to the right. a sharp touch of the spur behind the girth, and a light firm feeling of both reins, the inward the strongest, will cause him to strike off true. where no riding house or walled _manége_ is available, the above may be successfully carried out in a small paddock, having tolerably high fences and corners nearly square. _manner_ in riding the horse at this stage of his breaking is of vital importance. the hands, while kept well back, should be light and lively; the whip and spur (never to be unnecessarily applied) should be used so as to let the horse know that they are always ready if he hangs back from his work; and the rider, sitting easily and flexibly in the saddle, should ride with spirit and vivacity, making much of the horse from time to time as he answers with alacrity to the light and lively aids applied. a dull rider makes a dull horse, and _vice versâ_. gradually, a well bred, good tempered animal will learn to answer smartly to the slightest indication of the rider's will, and while giving a good _appui_ to the hand, will convey a most enjoyable feeling from his well-balanced elastic movement, without the necessity of strong or rough aids. in a very brief time the long whip can be dispensed with, and all inclination to throw the haunches in will cease. the animal has then acquired the _aplomb_ necessary to fit him for the lady equestrian. he should then be taught by gradually inductive lessons to walk quietly up to his fences and jump freely, his haunches well under him; and subsequently to execute his leap from a steady, collected canter, without rush or hurry. during the latter part of each lesson he should be ridden with a skirt or rug on. he should then be accustomed to all kinds of sights and sounds, from the rattle of a wheelbarrow to the pattering file firing at a review, and the loud report of a great gun; and especially he should be habituated _to having all sorts of colours_ about him. i well remember seeing a fine horse, that had been some time in the breaker's hand, and was perfect in his mouth and paces, put a general officer and his lady into a complete fix. the lady went to a review, having been assisted into her saddle by her husband in his mufti costume before he dressed for parade. after the review, the lady dismounted to partake of luncheon in a marquee, and, after the repast, the general proceeded to put his wife on her horse; but the gallant steed by no means understood the dancing plume of red and white feathers in the officer's cocked hat, and he would none of him. he snorted, pawed the ground in terror, ran back, and did everything but stand still, although he had stood the marching past and firing well enough. unluckily the groom had been sent home, and there was nobody in mufti on the ground who could put the lady on her saddle. even when the general took off his cocked hat, the horse, having taken a dislike to him, would not let his master come near him. finally, as there was no carriages on the ground, the lady had to walk a considerable distance, her horse led by an orderly. the above goes to show that to make a horse perfect for a lady, nothing likely to occur in the way of sights or sounds should be overlooked. if the horse possesses the requisite power and form to fit him for a hunter, and the lady for whom he is intended graces the hunting field with her presence, the animal should be ridden quietly in cubhunting time as often as possible, in long trots, _beside_ the hounds going to covert, and accustomed gradually to the music of the "sylvan choir," to stand quietly at the covert side, and take no heed of scarlet coats. if the horse has been otherwise well broken, the above is simply a question of time and patience. let me now say something with regard to saddlery and appointments. the most important of these, of course, is the side-saddle, as to the form of which considerable diversity of opinion exists. my own experiences induce me to believe in a saddle which is as nearly as possible _flat_ from between the pommels to the cantle; any dip in the stretcher of the tree, while it renders the lady's seat less secure, has also the effect of throwing her weight too much upon the horse's forehand, and thus cramping his action. when a lady has acquired skill and confidence in her riding, a saddle with a very low-cut pommel on the off side is best, because it not only admits of the rider getting her hands lower (for which occasion may frequently occur), but on the off side it gives the lady and the horse a far better appearance, the high off side pommel spoiling the graceful contour of figure in both. worked or plain off-side flaps are matters of taste, and have nothing to do with utility. the stirrup should be a victoria, well padded. the leather should be fitted on the near side, in a similar manner to a man's stirrup leather, and be quite independent of the quarter strap. the reason for this is obvious. if you fit a lady's stirrup leather ever so carefully after she is up, you cannot tell how much the horse "will give up" in his girth after an hour's riding, or even less; and the leather which takes up on the off side may give to the extent of three or four holes, thereby greatly incommoding the rider, especially if she is in the hunting field and has to jump her horse, as it is ten to one, although she has the power of pulling up the leather herself, if, in the excitement of the chase, either she or anybody else will notice the rendering of the leather, and a drop leap may bring the rider to grief, whereas the near side arrangement is a fixture, and always reliable. for really comfortable riding, i believe also that it is quite as necessary that a saddle should be made in such proportion as to _fit the lady_, as that it should fit the horse. even a thoroughly accomplished horsewoman cannot ride easily in a saddle that is too short from pommel to cantle, or too narrow in the seat. in either case, both discomfort and ungainly appearance are the result; while to a lady of slight _petite_ figure, a saddle too long from front to rear is equally unsightly, though possibly not quite so uncomfortable to the rider. broad girths of the best materials are indispensable. there should be three of them. the quarter strap or girth should lead from the near side fork of the tree to a buckle piece attached to a ring on the off-side quarter, the ring giving the quarter strap a better bearing. a crupper should never be used; a horse that requires one is not fit for a lady. saddle cloths are unnecessary to a carefully-pannelled saddle, and hide the symmetry of the horse. breastplates or neck straps may be used for hunting, or the fitting of martingales (necessary sometimes). but the less leather about the horse, where it can be dispensed with, the better he will look. as to bridles, as a rule, i maintain that a lady's horse properly broken should ride right into an ordinary double bridle, bit, and bridoon, the port of the bit proportioned to the contour and setting on of the horse's head and neck, as should also be the length of the cheek piece and jaw of the bit; while the question of a plain or twisted bridoon or snaffle must be regulated by the hand of the rider and the mouth of the horse. for park or promenade riding, fashion of late years inclines to a single rein bridle or "hanoverian," or hard and sharp. no doubt they are very sightly and neat in appearance; but with a high-couraged horse they require very nice and finished hands, and in the majority of cases, in my humble opinion, are safe only for the most accomplished female riders. i leave the question of bridle-fronts, bound with ribbon of pink, blue, or yellow, to the taste of my readers; when neatly put on and fresh, they look gay in the park. but either there or in the hunting field, i believe more in the plain leather front, as having, if i may so express it, a more workmanlike appearance. having now endeavoured to describe the best preparations on foot for the pupil, the style of dress most suitable for her first lessons in equitation, the stamp of horse a lady should ride, the training he should undergo for the special service required of him, and the kind of saddlery and equipment he will travel best in, in my next chapter i will attempt briefly, but minutely, to detail the first step in the riding lesson proper, namely, the form in which the pupil should approach her horse in order to be assisted into the saddle, and the mounting motions, all of which are of great importance, as each motion should be executed gracefully, without hurry, and in a well defined and finished manner. nothing connected with riding stamps the style and _tournure_ of a lady more than the fashion in which she mounts her horse and arranges her habit; it ought, in fact, to be a matter as carefully looked to by the instructor as her mode of entering a room would be to a master of deportment. chapter iv. the manner in which a lady should approach her horse in order to be assisted to mount should be carefully looked to by the instructor. anything like hurry, while it is calculated to render the horse unsteady, is at the same time ungraceful, and the beginning of a bad habit always to be avoided. everything in the way of mounting or dismounting a horse, either by a lady or gentleman, should be done with well-defined and deliberate, although smart motions. this precision once acquired is the good habit which becomes second nature to the rider, and is so highly indicative of good manners in equitation. to some persons the formula i am about to describe may appear too punctilious, and possibly carried to too nice a point of precision. but my idea is that in all these matters it is well to begin by _overdoing them_ a little. we are all more or less prone to become careless in our carriage and bearing, both on foot and horseback, as we grow older; therefore overdoing them a trifle with young people may safely be pronounced an error on the right side. i have frequently heard the remark that it is of no consequence how a man or woman gets upon a horse, provided they can ride when once up. i maintain that graceful riding is true riding, and that if it is worth while to ride gracefully, it is equally worth while to mount gracefully. let us then suppose the lady to be dressed and ready for her ride in school or _manége_. she should take the skirt of her habit in the full of both hands, holding her whip in the right; the skirt should be raised sufficiently to admit of the wearer walking freely. then she should walk from a point in the school at right angles with her horse quietly to his shoulder, and face square to her left, standing just behind the animal's near elbow and parallel to his side. thus facing to the front, and still holding her skirt with both hands, she should pass her whip from her right hand into the left, and "make much of her horse" by patting him on the near shoulder--the best method anybody (man or woman) can adopt as a first step to acquaintance with a strange horse; at the same time she should speak soothingly to her new equine friend. the horse should be held by a groom standing in front of him, and holding him by both reins. on the assistant approaching to lift the pupil to the saddle, the lady should return the whip to the right hand and drop her habit. she should then take the snaffle or bridoon rein in the centre with the left hand, at the end close to the buckle piece with the right, and draw them through the left until she has a light and equal feeling upon both sides of the horse's mouth. the right hand should then be placed firmly on the near side upper crutch of the saddle, the snaffle rein held between the pommel and the hand, the whip in the full of it. the left hand should then grip the reins, and the lady should resume her position square to the front, without moving her right hand or relaxing her grasp of the pommel of the saddle. the assistant (who should be _a gentleman_, not a groom) should then stoop low enough to place both his hands locked together in such a position that the pupil can place her left foot firmly on them, the left knee slightly bent. at the same time she should also place the flat of her left hand firmly on the right shoulder of the assistant, keeping her arm perfectly straight. the instructor should then give her the following directions: "on the word 'one,' bend the right knee; on the word 'two,' spring smartly up from the right foot and straighten the left knee." if the pupil executes these movements simultaneously, keeping her left elbow perfectly firm and the arm straight, the assistant can lift her with the greatest ease to the level of the saddle, where, firmly grasping the pommel, she has only to make a half turn to her left, and she is seated sideways on her horse. the assistant should then straighten the skirt down, and taking the slack of it in his left hand, lift it over the near side upper crutch while the lady turns in her saddle, and facing square to her point, lifts her right knee over the pommel, bringing her right leg close to the forepoint of the saddle, with the leg well drawn back, and the toe raised from the instep. the assistant should then place the lady's foot well home in the stirrup. before raising the right knee over the pommel, the lady should lift the snaffle reins with her right hand high enough to admit of her moving the leg without interfering with them. the right knee being firmly placed between the pommels, and the left foot in the stirrup, the pupil should then place her right hand with the snaffle reins between the finger and thumb and the whip in the full of the hand, firmly on the off-side pommel of the saddle. she should then draw her left foot well back, and getting a firm bearing on the stirrup, raise herself well up from the saddle, leaning forward sufficiently to preserve her balance. she should then pass her left hand back, and pull her skirt well out, so that there remains no ruck or wrinkle in it, and then quietly lower herself down to the saddle again. this act of clearing the slack of the skirt is one which it is so frequently necessary for the lady to execute when riding that she should practise it frequently in her early lessons. it is true that when the assistant first places her on the horse he can arrange her habit as she rises from the saddle; but, for some time, until she has acquired firmness and perfect balance, her habit will inevitably ride up, particularly in trotting, and it is necessary that she should learn to be independent in this respect of the gentleman who attends her. moreover, as to arrange the habit gracefully requires considerable practice, it should form a distinct part of the lesson at first when the horse is standing perfectly still, afterwards at a walk, and finally at a trot. in cantering it cannot be done. having arranged the hind part of her skirt, the lady should then take the front in her left hand, and pull it well forward, raising her right knee at the same time, to insure that she has perfect freedom of action for it. the left knee should then be placed firmly against the leaping crutch (or, as it is generally called, the third crutch) of the saddle; although with saddles devoid of an off-side pommel, it is, in fact, the second crutch. this important adjunct to a lady's firmness and security in riding should always be most carefully looked to by paterfamilias when purchasing the saddle, and by the master after it is bought. i can well remember when the third crutch was unknown; and in these days, when its efficiency has been so abundantly proved, it really seems marvellous how ladies years ago could not only ride well without it, but even acquit themselves creditably in the hunting field. the secret of the matter, however, lies in this: first, although there was no third support for the rider, the off-side and near-side pommels were much closer together than those now made; the off-side one was well padded, and in most cases where ladies rode hunting it was usual to have an extra pad, which fitted on to the off-side crutch, and again narrowed the interval, according to the size of the lady, until her leg fitted tightly between the two crutches, thus giving her a very firm hold with the right knee. nevertheless, it is evident that only the truest balance would enable the fair equestrians of those days to maintain their seats. when a young lady is first put on horseback, i believe in anything that can give her confidence, and for this purpose the third crutch is admirable, because she finds a firm purchase between the crutch and the stirrup. as this hold, however, is apt to degenerate into a complete reliance on the third pommel, it is necessary in a more advanced stage of the lessons in equitation to use a saddle without any such support for the pupil. the third crutch, when forming part of a side-saddle, _should never be removed_, as is too frequently done by grooms for the purpose of cleaning the saddle. the crutch itself is so constructed as to screw into a socket in the tree. by constantly screwing and unscrewing it, the thread of the screw wears out; in fact, this will occur much sooner than would be supposed. the consequence is that, let the lady or her assistant turn the third crutch to what angle they may in order to suit the length and formation of the lady's leg, the crutch will not remain in its proper position, but is continually shifting, turning, and wobbling, to the great discomfort of the rider; nay, i have seen more than one case where the crutch has turned edgeways to the rider's leg, and caused severe pain and bruising of the delicate limb. let it be a strict injunction then, to your groom, "never unscrew the third crutch;" and if you find the support shifting in its socket, shift the groom as soon as possible, and send the saddle to the saddler to be firmly fixed in. why saddlers should fit these supports to turn at all, i can see no good reason. some men, it is true, say that in putting a lady on horseback it is necessary to turn the third crutch round, so as to prevent it from catching the skirt; but for my own part i could never find any necessity for this, or any difficulty in clearing a lady's skirt when lifting her to the saddle. in purchasing a side-saddle, i repeat, the greatest judgment is necessary as regards the third crutch; while it should be long enough to give a good purchase and be well padded, it should be but _slightly curved_. a crutch that forms a considerable segment of a circle is both inconvenient and dangerous--inconvenient because it is a support of this description (if any) that is in a lady's way in mounting, and dangerous because, if in the hunting field a horse should chance to fall with his fair rider, she would be unable to extricate herself from her fallen steed, inasmuch as the nearly half-circular crutch would completely pin her leg to the horse. it is, in fact, almost as dangerous as if a man were to strap himself to his saddle (which, by the way, i once saw a very determined hunting man do when suffering from weakness in one leg). he had no opportunity, however, of testing his experiment, as the master of the hounds very judiciously told him that, if he persevered, he (the master) would take the hounds home. nor is there any possible use in the enveloping of the leg by the thick crutch of the side-saddle. with the slightest possible bend, the support is sufficient if the rider sits fair and true in her saddle, while plenty of stuffing is necessary to avoid bruising the leg, especially in leaping. these "stumpy-looking" third crutches are certainly less sightly in the saddle-room than the more circular ones; but i submit that, inasmuch as it is not seen when the lady is up, it is of more consequence to consult her comfort and safety than the eye of the groom. when the lady has arranged her dress to her satisfaction, as above described, the next section of the lesson should consist in teaching how she should take up her reins; and here again the greatest care should be taken by the instructor that this is done coolly and _gracefully_, without hurry or "fumbling." a great deal of trouble in this way may be saved by the instructor teaching the lady how to take up her reins on foot. thus, take an ordinary double bridle, let a lad hold the upper part of the head-stall in one hand, and the bits in the other, and stand opposite the pupil. hang both reins over your left arm just as they would rest on the neck of the horse, the curb rein underneath, the bridoon rein above. let the pupil then take hold of _both reins_ at the end with the right hand; place the second finger of the left hand between the bridoon reins with the nearside rein uppermost, and the little finger of the same hand between the curb reins, the near-side curb rein uppermost. let her then place both bridoon and bit reins perfectly flat over the middle joint of the forefinger of the left hand, and drop the end of the reins over the knuckles, then close the thumb firmly down on them. she will find then both bit and bridoon reins equally divided, and an equal facility of causing them to act on the horse's mouth, according to the direction in which she turns the wrist of her left or bridle hand proper, or assists it with her right hand, according to the aids hereafter to be described. the mode of holding the reins above laid down is called in the french school "mode de paysanne," or civilian method. the military fashion, which is far more elegant, but not so well adapted at first for a beginner, is as follows. the pupil takes the end of the bridoon reins between the finger and thumb of the right hand, and passes them over the full of the left, or, to render the explanation still more simple, passes all the fingers of the left hand between them, the off side rein above, and the near side one below; the buckle piece on the knuckle of the forefinger, the rest of the rein hanging loosely down. let the lady then take the bit or curb reins between the finger and thumb of the right hand, and pass the little finger of the left between them, the near side rein uppermost. with the right hand then let her draw the reins through the left, until--keeping the left hand perfectly quiet--she has a light, almost imperceptible, feeling on the horse's mouth. let her then turn the bit reins over the middle joint of the forefinger of the left hand, and close the thumb down closely and firmly on them. the reins will then be precisely in the form in which a dragoon's reins are arranged when he is riding a finished horse at a field day or elsewhere. this method is therefore called the "mode militaire." but inasmuch as only a highly-finished horse can be ridden on the bit rein alone by an equally finished rider, in order to assist the latter, and to prevent the horse unduly feeling the action of the curb on his mouth, it is necessary that the rider should draw up the bridoon reins so as to obtain an equal feeling upon both bit and bridoon. nothing can be more simple than to do this, as the rider has only with the right hand to take hold of the bridoon rein on the left or near side of the buckle or centre, and draw it up until the part passing under the lower edge of the hand is of equal length with the bit reins. she then closes her left thumb on both reins, and shortens the right bridoon rein until it is of equal length with the others. the rider has then an equal feeling of all four reins. she should then hold the ends with her right hand, and let the reins slip through the left until both hands are drawn back close to her waist, the wrists slightly rounded outwards, the back towards the horse's head, and the elbows drawn slightly back behind the waist. the instructor having placed the pupil's hands, should then proceed to correct her general position. the figure should be well drawn up from the waist, shoulders perfectly square and well thrown back, head and neck erect, the upper part of the arm hanging almost perpendicular from the shoulder, the elbows well back, so that a thin rod would pass between them and the waist; the obvious reason for this position of the hands and elbows being that, if they are allowed to go forward, the whole flexibility of the waist--upon which depends the comfort, grace, and security of the pupil's riding--is destroyed, and the lithe figure of the fair rider becomes rigid and wooden in appearance, and stiff in action. the upper part of the figure being thus placed, the master's attention should be directed to the position of the feet and legs. that of the right leg i have already described. the left leg, with the knee well bent, should be placed firmly against the third crutch, the heel well sunk, the toe raised from the instep, the foot at first well home in the stirrup. by well stretching down the heel the rider braces all the muscles at the back of the leg, and this, joined to drawing the figure well up from the waist, secures that true balance so indispensable to good riding. the right leg should be well bent and drawn back as near as possible to the left leg. this should be the position at a walk, the aids for which, and the turns i leave for another chapter. chapter v. let me now offer a few remarks on a subject upon which considerable diversity of opinion exists, namely, whether the teaching of a young lady in riding may or may not be entrusted to a female professor of equitation in preference to a man. at the first glance, there seems to be good reason for preferring the tuition of the lady but, on careful consideration, i believe most of those interested in the matter will agree with me that, under many circumstances likely to occur, one lady, however good a horsewoman herself, is likely to be quite unable to render the desired assistance to a pupil, conceding, at the same time that, as regards the details of dress, the opinion of a lady who has had long practice in the saddle may be very useful. in the first place, the placing of the pupil on the horse and taking her off cannot possibly be as well done, to say the least, by a lady instructor as it can by a gentleman; neither would the performance of such an office be graceful or convenient to either. secondly, all that portion of the instruction which should be given by the instructor on foot while the pupil is on horseback can be better given by a man who understands his business than by a lady, because, although the tone of voice in which the instruction is conveyed should be kindly, and the manner cheerful and encouraging, a degree of _firmness_ and _conciseness_ is necessary, which few ladies possess, for the reason that the art of teaching riding, like riding itself, requires a considerable practice and long drilling into the instructor in a school where smartness of diction and expression form part of the education of an intended professor of equitation. thirdly, assuming both instructor and pupil to be in the saddle, a lady, although thoroughly mistress of her own horse, is unable to aid her pupil as easily as a man can. in the early lessons given (the instructor being on horseback), it is necessary that the latter should be close enough to the pupil's horse on the off side to be able at any moment to place the hands of the learner, to check any exuberant action of the horse by laying the left hand firmly upon the reins; and in the first essays made by the pupil in the trotting lesson, to assist her by the left hand of the instructor placed under the right elbow of the beginner. and finally, should any necessity arise during a ride for dismounting the pupil, a lady instructor labours under this difficulty, that having dismounted herself, and both pupil and teacher being on the ground, the act of mounting again by two ladies, unattended by a man, is one of considerable difficulty and possible danger. from the very necessity of her position in the saddle, a lady teaching another cannot, without inconvenience to both legs (the left especially), approach near enough to her pupil's horse to assist the latter with her left hand, because her left leg is always in danger of coming in contact with the other horse; while on a windy day the skirt of her habit is likely enough to be blown into his flank, and thereby make him unsteady. not long since i saw two ladies who were riding, unattended by a man, in a very awkward predicament. both are practised riders, possessing capital seats and hands, and are equal to any contingency likely to occur as long as they are in the saddle; nay, one of the ladies is, i believe, the most accomplished horsewoman i ever saw. her seat is both fine and graceful to a degree; her hands perfection, her nerve first-rate, and her experience in riding even difficult horses with hounds considerable. this lady was the elder of the two; her companion was considerably younger, but although a very accomplished rider, she lacked the experience of her friend. something had gone amiss with the younger lady's saddle, and both ladies dismounted to arrange it. the elder was quite equal to this, for i have seen her many times saddle and bridle her own horse, and with one that would stand quietly (being herself exceedingly supple and active), she can put her hands on the upper pommel and vault into the saddle without any assistance. but in the case i allude to she was completely fixed. her horse was a chesnut thoroughbred, only four years old; and, although, despite all difficulty i believe, had she been alone, she would have succeeded in mounting, her friend and her horse placed her in an awkward dilemma. she was compelled from time to time to use one hand to disengage the folds of her habit, and she had to hold both horses, even if her friend could have gained her saddle unassisted. neither horse would stand still; the one, as is invariably the case in such little difficulties, setting a bad example, which the other was not slow to follow. to hold two horses, keep clear of her own habit, while the horses were shifting their positions continually, and give her friend even the least help in mounting, proved too much even for the highly-finished lady equestrian, and as the _contretemps_ occurred on a lone country road, i believe they would have been compelled to lead their horses a considerable distance, had i not chanced opportunely to arrive. in such places as rotten-row a lady instructor may get on tolerably well with her pupil, because, in case of any mishap, there are plenty of men always at hand who know what a horse is; but in out-of-the-way country places it is very different. the british rustic, whatever other good qualities he may possess, is not celebrated, as a rule, for over politeness to ladies--strangers particularly. in proof of the above, there is a story current in this neighbourhood which is likely enough to be true, although i cannot vouch for it myself. the tale runs thus:--a lady (one of the daughters of a noble house) having married, had gone abroad with her husband, and been absent from the home of her early days so long that the uprising generation of young people about the estate knew her not. she was taking a ride one day unattended, and mounted on a steady cob, had been visiting the long-cherished scenes of her childhood, when she came to a very awkward bridle gate, seated on which was a juvenile "wopstraw" in duck frock, leather leggings, and wideawake. the boy jumped down and opened the gate for the lady, at the same time taking off his hat. now the fair recipient of this delicate attention was well aware of the fact that the village people on the paternal estate were celebrated in the county for their rough manners to strangers, ladies forming no exception, so she was agreeably surprised at the exceptional good behaviour of the youngster, the more so as she was quite sure he did not know her. taking a shilling out of her purse she gave it to him, observing: "you are a very good boy," and added, laughing, "i am sure you were not born at d." (the name of the principal village on the estate). but to the donor's horror the youngster, grasping his hat firmly in one fist and the shilling in the other, with a fiery glare of indignation in his fat face and flashing eye, replied, "thou be'st a loyar (liar), i wor." _verbum sap._ all rustics are not so ill behaved as the one above mentioned. but as very few of them will go far out of their road to assist a stranger, it is as well that ladies riding in remote country parts should be attended by a gentleman; and i repeat, for all purposes of instruction, the attendance of a man will be found far more efficient than that of a lady. chapter vi. the frontispiece represents the stamp of horse best calculated to carry a lady, and is a very truthful likeness of a five-year-old horse, named prince arthur, a son of the celebrated racehorse stockwell, his dam a half-bred arab mare. the subject of the plate, therefore, has some of the very best english blood in his veins, in conjunction with that eastern strain from which in all probability our magnificent british thoroughbreds derive a considerable proportion of their power of endurance, or, in turf phraseology, their staying quality. the horse is a first-class hack, as good a performer over the great leicestershire pastures and formidable oxers which so often bar the way in that sporting county, as he has already proved himself in the _manége_; and, as he possesses, in addition to true and most elastic action, fine temper and indomitable courage, i venture to present his likeness as my type of the sort of animal adapted either for rotten-row or to hold his own in the "first flight" over a country. a common error is that any weedy thoroughbred, too slow for racing, and without the "timber" and substance to enable him to carry a -stone man to hounds, is good enough for a lady's riding. there can be no greater mistake. while quality and fashion are indispensable in a woman's horse, strength and substance are equally necessary. as i have before observed, the very conditions upon which the comfort and safety of a lady's riding depend, leave her horse without that support in his action which he would derive from the riding of a good man; while, however true the balance of the lady may be, still the horse's powers are called upon in a long ride, either on the flat or over the country, in a way which tests him severely. there must therefore be plenty of wear and tear in the right place--great strength in the loins, a back _not too short_, aided by strong and well-arched back ribs, which are at the same time not too closely locked up. the arab horse proper, despite his great capability of endurance, his symmetrical contour and extraordinary sagacity, is still a trying mount for a lady unaccustomed to him. with great power in his hind quarters (as a rule), he is short in the back, low and short in front of the saddle. the consequence is that from his powerful back action, he pitches too much in his collected paces to ride pleasantly to a woman, although when striding away at top speed he is easy enough. on the other hand, the english horse that possesses length enough to enable him to travel easily under the fair equestrian too often has the length in the wrong place, and cannot stay--a defect fatal to enjoyable riding for a lady, at all events in the hunting field. it is to the admixture of eastern and western blood, therefore, that one has to look for symmetry of topping conjoined to length in the right place, power, and substance. i now proceed to say a few words as to the "aids" to be employed to put the horse in motion. in order to impress these thoroughly upon the memory of the fair tyro, the preceptor should adopt a form of question and answer to the following effect: q. what are the aids to make a horse walk?--a. a pressure of the leg to his side, at the same time easing the hand. q. how is the hand to be eased?--a. from the wrist; the arm being kept perfectly steady, and the little finger yielding towards the horse's neck. q. how many lines of action should the little finger of the bridle hand move on?--a. four. first, towards the waist; second, towards the horse's neck; third, towards the right shoulder; fourth, towards the left. q. what are the objects of these motions?--a. first, to collect, halt, or rein back the horse. second, to give him facility of moving forward. third, to turn him to the left. fourth, to turn him to the right. the upper part of the rider's figure to be slightly turned from the waist, by bringing forward the right shoulder when turning to the left and _vice versâ_, in order to enable her to move exactly on the same line as the horse, and so to preserve completely her due _aplomb_ or balance in the saddle. the above, in a slightly modified form, is the instruction laid down in the "military aid book," as is the following. q. what is meant by a light hand?--a. an almost imperceptible easing and feeling of the bridle hand, so as to preserve the natural delicacy of the horse's mouth. the foregoing, however, while it indicates correctly and concisely what a light hand is, is scarcely explicit enough for a beginner. i believe the best definition to be this: when a horse is "light in hand," according to the technical meaning, it should by no means be understood that he has so delicate a mouth that he fears the action of the bit in it. on the contrary, having in his breaking been fairly balanced, the greater part of the weight on his haunches, and ridden well up to his bridle, he should admit of a steady _appui_ between his mouth and the rider's hand, while he bends in the poll of the neck. thoroughly balanced, and bending as above described, his mouth yields to the action of the rider's hand, and is "light" in the true sense of the principles of equitation. a great deal of nonsense is talked about ladies' hands being so much more light and delicate than those of a man. the truth is, that, assuming both male and female rider to be equally practised in the saddle, there is no difference whatever in the feeling or _appui_ given by the horse. thoroughly habituated to obey certain indications conveyed to him through the medium of the bridle reins and leg or other aid of the rider, he will answer to them precisely in the same manner to a lady as he would to a man; while, on the other hand, if these indications are not given with well-defined clearness and precision, he will not answer to anybody's riding. there is a point, however, as regards the action of the hands, to which i beg to call the particular attention both of young ladies commencing their lessons in equitation and of gentlemen (non-professional) who may undertake the task of teaching riding. a great difference of opinion exists as to whether the action of the bridle hand should be from the wrist only, or whether (spring like, if i may use the expression) the "give and take" action should be conveyed by the upper part of the arm being quite mobile at the shoulder joint and in conjunction with the forearm, the latter kept, however, close to the side, and moving easily and freely to the horse's action. the latter theory is warmly advocated by many thoroughly experienced horsemen and professors of female equitation, who maintain that to teach a young lady to keep the arm firm to the side, in the manner adopted in the military riding school, is not only to give her a rigid wooden appearance on her horse, but also to destroy the proper flexibility of her figure. on the other hand, some instructors--those especially who are veterans of the cavalry _manége_--insist that firmness of the arm should in all cases be rigidly demanded. my experience induces me to come to a conclusion which is midway between these opposing theories. in the first lessons given to a lady on horseback it is well to insist upon her keeping the arm steady, because otherwise she is ready not only to yield her hand to every movement of the horse, be that yielding right or wrong, but gradually and imperceptibly to herself her hands will steal forward until they are eight or ten inches in front of her, the consequence being that the muscles of the waist become rigid, and the flexibility of her figure at its most important point, as regards riding, is lost, while the hands remain in the awkward and ungainly position i allude to. for the above reason, therefore, it is desirable to inculcate firmness of the lower part of the arm to the side in the early lessons; the hands drawn back close to the waist. and, in order to make this form of riding more easily comprehensible to the pupil at her first essay, the following will be found highly effective: let the instructor stand in front of the horse, and taking the bridle reins one in each hand, let him caution the pupil _not_ to yield to him if he pulls against her. let him then take a quick, sharp pull at the reins in the same way as a horse would when trying to get his head free from the rider's control. the master will find that, despite the caution, both the pupil's hands will come forward at once; and if this action on the bridle had been executed by the horse instead of his master, the former would have gained his first step in having his own way, and, for instance, from a collected canter could increase his pace at his own will. now, there is nothing more important in the action of the hand in controlling the horse than firmness and instantaneous decision in yielding or maintaining the _appui_. "if" (say some theorists) "a horse pulls against you, drop your hand to him." this is rather a vague expression, which, in fact, conveys no real meaning to an inexperienced person; among horsemen it is intended to convey that you should yield to the horse whenever he pulls or takes a liberty with the hand. now, the direct reverse of this is the course to be adopted by all riders who wish to acquire good hands. when a horse endeavours to forereach upon the rider, the latter, instead of yielding, should close his hands firmly on the reins, and keep the arms perfectly steady, _without pulling an ounce_ against the horse; at the same time closing his leg with equal firmness. in the next stride or two the horse will yield to the hand, which should instantly yield to him; and thus he learns that you are master of him, and goes well together, or, as it is technically called, collectedly and within himself; whereas if the hand is freely yielded whenever he takes a liberty or romps for his head, in a very brief time he will be all abroad, and going in any form but that best for himself or his rider. to ensure firmness and steadiness of the hands, however, equal firmness and steadiness are requisite in the arms, and, for that reason, the pupil should be taught to keep them close to the side; an additional reason being that, if this is neglected, a beginner, as it were, disconnects the figure from the waist upwards, and loses her true balance. when the pupil has had sufficient practice to ensure steadiness in the saddle, the injunction as to arms perfectly steady may be relaxed; and gradually, while there is no lateral motion of the arm from the side or sticking out of the elbows, the lady will learn to give easy play to the shoulder joint without destroying the neatness of her riding or her power to fix her arms for a moment if the horse tries to get his head away. in short, my theory is that it is impossible for the pupil to learn the true _appui_, or acquire what is usually called a light hand, until she has acquired a steady one. it is easy enough to tell her to "give and take" to the cadence of the horse's action; but the precise moment at which to do this must be made clear to the learner by some well defined and easily comprehensible rule. i submit that the readiest way of defining it is that i have attempted in the foregoing. having carefully given the above instruction, see that the pupil is sitting fair and true in the saddle, and be careful to correct any tendency to throwing forward the right shoulder, which is both inelegant and destructive of balance. see that the right knee is in a firm, but still flexible form on the upper pannels. caution the pupil while she draws her figure well up from the waist to stretch the left heel well down; and let her then, keeping her hands perfectly quiet, press the horse forward into a walk with the leg, while she yields the little finger from the wrist only. let her make the horse walk freely out, but up to his bridle, the whip being applied, if necessary, on the off shoulder if he hangs back behind his work. nearly all young people, when first put on horseback, are anxious to be off in a canter at once, and it is a sore trial to their patience to be kept at a walk. but there can be no greater mistake than to allow them to canter a horse until they have learnt the "alpha" of their business--that important lesson, how to make a horse walk true and fair. this accomplished, "going large" round school or paddock, the pupil should be carefully instructed how to turn her horse square to the right or left, and to rein him back. and in order to make the instruction as clear and concise as possible, again, in a modified form, the "book of aids" may be called upon. the formula there laid down, in the shape of question and answer, is as follows:-- q. how do you turn a horse to the right or left?--a. by a double feeling of the inward rein, retaining a steady feeling of the outward. the horse kept up to the hand by pressure of both legs. the outward by the strongest. now, as in the case of a lady, there is no right leg to support the horse, in turning, he is liable to lean upon the hand; the rider should close the left leg firmly, and touch him lightly on the off-side with her whip, which will at once cause him to keep his forehand up and his haunches under him. after being once or twice so corrected he will turn carefully, without hurry or coming on his shoulder. the pupil should then be taught to turn her horse right and left about in the centre of the _manége_, the aids being simply continued until the animal faces the reverse way, the pupil turning her horse upon his centre in the middle of the _manége_, instead of his haunches, as at the side. plenty of practice should be given in making these turns, because by them the pupil learns to bring up the right or left shoulder according to the hand turned to, the right shoulder in turning to the left, and _vice versâ_; and this should be most carefully attended to by the master, otherwise the body of the pupil is moving on one line and the horse on another, and in case of his flirting the pupil is already half-way out of her saddle. too much attention therefore cannot be given to this vital point in the _aplomb_ for this obvious reason--if a lady once acquires the habit (which unfortunately too many do) of allowing the horse to turn without "going with him," it is quite on the cards that some day a horse, a trifle too fresh, may jump round with her. if the above principle of "going" with the horse has been thoroughly well taught her in her early lessons she will have no difficulty in accompanying the action of the horse, if she even fail in checking it; but if she is permitted so to sit as to be looking over her horse's left ear when she turns him to the right, she is leaving the question of her seat entirely to the generosity of the steed. and it may be as well to say at once that, with the best intentioned, broken, or mannered horse, it may be laid down as a golden rule in riding to leave nothing to his generosity. horses are very keen in their perceptions, and can detect in a manner little suspected by the inexperienced when they have one at a disadvantage. reining back may be practised from time to time. to do this well, again clearly defined instructions should be given. first the horse should be halted. thus: a light _firm_ feeling of both reins, to check his forward movement; the leg closed tightly at the same time, to keep him up to the hand; the reins to be eased as soon as the horse is halted. the aids for reining back should then be explained as follows: closing the hands firmly on the reins, the rider should feel the horse's mouth as though the reins were made of silken thread instead of leather, and close her leg quietly to keep him up to the hand. there should be no dead pull at the horse's mouth, but the reins should be eased at every step he takes backwards, which, if the aids are smoothly and truly applied, he will do without throwing his haunches either in or out. in the early lessons the pupil should not be allowed to rein her horse back more than two or three steps at a time. the use of reining back is to bring the greater weight from the horse's forehand to his haunches, to collect him and make him light in hand. (see "aid book.") it is also of great use in assisting the pupil to correct her own _aplomb_ in the saddle, and acquire a true _appui_ on the horse's mouth. every movement of the hand of the rider, however, and every step of the horse, should be carefully watched by the instructor. the horse should never be allowed to _hurry_ back, as that will at once enable him to get behind his bridle. these lessons at a walk, the turns to the right and left, turns about and reining back, should be continued until the pupil executes them with precision. her position should be rigidly attended to, all stiffness avoided, and nothing in the shape of careless sitting allowed to pass unnoticed. i repeat, the early lessons should, if anything, be a little overdone in the way of exactness, because any careless habit acquired at such a stage is most difficult to get rid of afterwards. when the pupil is thoroughly _au fait_ at her walking lesson, she should commence the next important section, that, namely, of learning to trot, the formula of which i will endeavour to explain in my next chapter, concluding this with a description of the form in which a lady should dismount, and the assistance that should be afforded by the master. having halted the horse in the centre of the school, his head should be held by a steady groom. the lady should then pass the reins from the right hand to the left, and quietly lift her skirt with the right hand until she can easily disengage her right knee from the upper pommels. at the same moment her left foot should be disengaged by the assistant from the stirrup, and her skirt from the near-side pommel or third crutch. the lady should then drop the reins on the horse's neck, and having disengaged her right knee, turn quietly to the left in her saddle, and face the assistant. she should then with both hands take up the slack of her habit until her feet are quite clear of it, otherwise, on alighting she is liable to trip and fall, possibly right into the arms of the assistant, which is not, by any means, according to rule. having gathered up the skirt, the lady should then carry her hands forward about eight or ten inches from her knees, and rest both her hands firmly on those of the assistant, who should raise them up well for the purpose. it remains only then for the lady to glide smoothly down from the saddle, and, slightly supported by the assistant, she will alight easily and gracefully on _terra firma_. some riding masters have a fashion of taking a lady off her horse by placing both hands on her waist and allowing her to throw her weight forward upon them. such a practice is _outré_, inelegant, and unsafe, because the lady is likely enough to throw more weight forward than the master anticipated, in which case both may come to the ground, to the great discomfiture of the fair equestrian. chapter vii. the trotting lesson. this, once thoroughly mastered, gives the pupil confidence and security on her horse, and is the great inductive step by which she learns the value of balance. some years ago it was considered that if a lady could sit her horse gracefully at a walk, and securely at a canter, she had accomplished all that was correct or necessary in female equitation. trotting was altogether ignored, for the simple reason that ladies found it extremely difficult to do, and impossible to find anybody who could help them out of their difficulty by teaching them the right way. in those days most of the riding masters were men who had been instructors in the cavalry. in that arm of the service, trotting according to regulation is quite a different thing to the easy rise and fall seat practised by civilians on horseback. it is a necessity in cavalry, in order to preserve the dressing in line, that a man should sit down in his saddle at a trot, and allow the horse to shake him fair up and down in it. if the rising seat were allowed, it would be impossible to preserve anything like dressing. this shake-up, or "bumping" seat, however, as men out of the army call it, is by no means so distressing as some people imagine, unless the horse is unusually rough in his action. the reason is that the military trot is taught upon the principle of balance. the man sits fair down on his seat, and, keeping his knee forward and his heel well down, does not cling to the horse by muscular grasp; consequently the bumping, so terrific to the eye of the civilian, is scarcely felt by the soldier, and in continental armies, where rough trotting horses are exceptional, the motion or jolt is scarcely perceptible. there are a great many popular fallacies about military riding--as, for instance, that a dragoon rides with a very long stirrup; that his seat is insecure; that the bumping gives a horse a sore back; and that, except a sailor and a tailor, a dragoon officer is about the worst horseman to be found. this is not exactly the place to enter into any controversy on the subject; but i may as well observe at once, and i do so because i am sure the old soldiers are not altogether despised by the ladies, even in this non-military country, that all the foregoing are so many mistakes. a dragoon, any time within my memory, rode just the same length as a man does over a country--that is to say that, measuring the cavalry man's leather and iron by the length of his arm and hand, which is the right length for a civilian, you have exactly the cavalry regulation length. the stirrup of a lancer indeed is somewhat shorter than that used by most hunting men. finally, an acquaintance with the _habitués_ of such places as melton would prove to unbelievers in the riding of cavalry officers that the names of most of the men who go to the front in the hunting-field, and keep there, are to be found in the "army list." i have been tempted thus to digress by having referred to the military riding school, from which in former days, most, if not all, the riding masters who taught ladies came. now, although i stand up (as in duty bound) for the military system of riding _per se_, it does not produce the right man to teach a woman to ride, if the experience of the preceptor has been acquired in the riding school only. excellent as is our system (or, rather, the german system, for it is imported from the prussian service), for making a man a first-class dragoon, as regards anything connected with a lady's seat or the principle of her balance, it is useless. as regards her hands, or the application of the "aids" of the _manége_, it is highly beneficial, because nothing can be more clear or concise than the simple rules laid down in military equitation for the application of the "helps," by which a horse's easy movement is controlled and regulated. it was principally to the want of men who could teach a lady to ride, however, that the absence of a trotting in the side saddle was to be attributed "lang syne." it is altogether different now. riding masters took to riding across country, and their daughters took to it also, naturally. awkward spills occurred; and long journeys home after hunting, all done at a canter, terribly shook the horse's legs and the temper of the head of the family. "why the deuce can't you let your horse trot?" i once heard the worthy sire of a blooming girl of sixteen say to his daughter, who was pounding away on the hard road on the _retour de chasse_. "for god's sake let him trot, carry. you'll hammer his legs all to pieces. why don't you let him trot?" "because, pa, he won't let me trot," was the unanswerable reply. true enough; carry knew nothing about it, and there was nobody to tell her. she was riding on a saddle that fitted neither her nor her horse. she had no third crutch, and she had a slipper stirrup (that worst of abominations in ladies' saddlery). looking back at those days, the only wonder to me is, how ladies managed to ride at all. that they did ride is certainly proof (if any were wanting) of their courage and perseverance under difficulties. the necessity for trotting having become apparent as ladies took more to riding, it at length called the attention of one or two thoroughly practical men to the subject. the first of these, i believe, was the celebrated steeple race jockey, dan seffert, who had been a riding master in his early days, and who was equally at home in the _manége_ or between the flags over a country. the running made by mr. seffert was soon taken up by other first-class horsemen, among whom were mr. oldacre, and mr. allen, of seymour-place. the third crutch was added to the side saddle, and numerous improvements effected in it, which rendered trotting not only practicable, but pleasant and easy to a lady, provided she was taught the right way. i believe we owe the third crutch and padded stirrup to mr. oldacre, a first-class judge of female equitation; but i am not quite certain upon this point. the saddle having been rendered practicable for the purpose, the next thing requisite was a comprehensible and simple set of rules, by which the lady could be taught to trot, without distressing either her horse or herself. to whom these rules owe their origin is immaterial; as to their efficiency, such as they are, i have found them highly so, and therefore beg leave to submit them to your readers. after the usual walking lesson (abridged, however, to allow more time for what is to follow), the pupil should ride her horse to the centre of the school, and halt him there, so that the instructor has perfect facility of getting at the horse on any side, and seeing the exact form in which his pupil moves. the lady should then be instructed to take a firm hold with the right knee on the upper pommel of the saddle, grasping it well between the thigh and the lower part of the leg, and carrying the latter well back, with the heel sunk as close as possible to the left leg. by sinking the heel well, she will give great firmness to her hold with the right leg upon the upper pommels. to accomplish this, however, she should get well forward in her saddle, and care should be taken that her stirrup is not too short, otherwise she will be thrown too far back to enable her to take the necessary grip with the upper leg. the left leg should then be well drawn back, the front of the thigh pressed firmly against the third crutch, the left heel well sunk, and the toe raised from the instep, because a firmness is thus given to the leg and thigh which would otherwise be wanting. the body, from the waist upwards, should be inclined slightly forward, and the angle at which the left foot is drawn back from the perpendicular line from the knee to the foot should be regulated by the inclination of the body forward, so as exactly to balance it. having placed his pupil in this position, and seen that her hands are well drawn back and arms firm, the instructor should then _take her foot out of the stirrup_, and give the following concise instructions: "on the word 'one,' raise the body slowly from the saddle as high as possible." now, to do this without the aid of the stirrup can only be accomplished by keeping the heel well down and the leg back (in the first place, in order to balance the body), and then raising the figure by the action of the right knee and its grasp upon the upper pommel. at first the pupil will find this difficult, even when the horse is perfectly motionless, and when the riding master assists her by putting his left hand under her left elbow; but after a few efforts she will succeed. this is the first step in learning the rise with precision. having accomplished it, the pupil should not lower herself again to the saddle until the instructor gives her the word "two," when she should lower herself as slowly as she rose. if she has been well tutored in the extension and suppling practices alluded to in my second chapter, she will understand what "one, two" time means in this way as well as in dancing, and her knowledge of balance on foot will assist her on horseback. these rising and falling motions should be continued until the pupil executes them with precision, fair intervals of rest being allowed. the master should then place the lady's foot again in the stirrup. the absence of this support in the previous lesson will have prevented the pupil from leaning to the near side, and throwing her weight out of the perpendicular--a most pernicious habit, which ladies who try to learn their trotting in one lesson are very apt to fall into, and it is a fault very difficult to correct. in fact, the main object in beginning without a stirrup is to avoid this error. with the support of the stirrup the pupil will find the act of rising and maintaining an upright or slightly bent forward position (the figure raised well up from the saddle) a comparatively easy matter, and the lesson should be continued thus for a quarter of an hour longer. however trying to the patience this riding without gaining ground--"marking time" in the saddle--may be, the lady maybe assured, that it is by rigid attention to such minutiæ only that she can become a first-class horsewoman, and that she is in reality losing no time. when we hear the singing of mme. titiens, or recollect the unrivalled dancing of taglioni, we are apt to forget that with all the natural talent of these great artistes, it was close attention to rudimentary elements that laid the foundations of their excellence. it is so in riding, to excel in which is far more difficult than in dancing. it is those only who are content with mediocrity who ignore detail. we come now to the second section of this lesson, in which the pupil will begin to find the first fruit of her previous exertion. the master having led her horse to the side of the school, should give her instruction to walk him freely out, riding him, however, well up against the snaffle, if necessary for this purpose using her whip sharply. the horse will then take fairly hold of her hand, and give her a good _appui_. the rising and falling should then be continued at a walk, and assisted by the impetus given by the horse's forward motion, and the stirrup, the pupil will find her work still easier than when the horse was at a standstill. the instructor should now count his "one," "two," in different times, allowing a longer or shorter interval between each word, according to whether he means to convey to the pupil the notion of quick sharp action in the horse, or long dwelling action. thus, when the horse trots, he will be able to count his time in exact accordance with the animal's movements. be the time quick or slow that he counts, he should exact rigid conformity of action in the pupil; because this harmony of motion to the counting is as important to success in the riding master as it is to the music master. time and cadence in action are vital points in equitation. as soon as the instructor is satisfied that his pupil can easily accommodate her action to his word, he should prepare to test both in the trot. but if he takes a week to get the pupil to do the two previous lessons (one of them even) properly, they should be continued until she does it; nobody can spell until he knows the alphabet. to carry on the lesson in the trot, the instructor should mount a cob or pony of such height as will admit of his easily placing his left hand under the right elbow of the pupil. he should ride with his reins in his right hand, and be sure that the horse he gets on is a perfectly steady one. he should now put plenty of vivacity into his own manner; he will then easily impart it to his pupil and her horse. the latter should be smartly "woke up" if at all behind his work--pressed up to the bridle with whip and leg, and "made ready" to increase his pace at any moment. the master should then caution his pupil that on the words "prepare to trot," she should strengthen her grasp on the upper pommel, her pressure against the third crutch, and well stretch down the left heel, while she carries back the left leg, and inclines the body slightly forward from the waist, arms very firm, fingers shut tight on the reins; and while the body inclines forward there should be no outward or lateral curvature of the spine, nor should the head be dropped. the shoulders pressed well back, and the hands close to the waist, will give firmness and suppleness to the whole figure. directly the master is satisfied with the pupil's position, he should place his left hand under her right elbow, urge his own horse smartly on, and give the word "trot," on which the pupil should, without altering her position or yielding her hand, touch her horse smartly on the shoulder with the whip; he will then trot forward. at the first step he takes the master should help the pupil up with his left hand, and commence counting his "one," "two" in exact accordance with the horse's action. in nine cases out of ten the lady will succeed, with a fair stepping horse, in catching at the first attempt the rise at the right moment, and the increased impetus given by the horse will assist her, while her preparatory lessons in rising and falling will now prove their value. should any failure, however, attend the first effort, both horses should again be brought to the walk; the lady should be allowed to re-arrange her habit, and recover from the inevitable flurry which attends any failure of this sort. patience, concise explanation, and cheerful manner on the part of the master will presently find their reward. all ladies do not possess great nerve, but most of them have great courage and perseverance, and after a false start or two they get on their mettle, and are sure to catch the true action. when once they have it, the master should make the pace sharp and active three or four times round the school, which is long enough for a first attempt. a couple more turns of equal duration should terminate the first trotting lesson. the lady should walk her horse round the school until both are cool, make much of him by patting him on the neck, and then be taken off. day by day the instructor can slightly increase the length of the lesson, always beginning it, however, as above described, until the rise and fall of the pupil at a trot is perfectly true and fair. there should be no twist from the waist, the shoulders perfectly square, every movement in exact harmony with the horse's action. after the lady can rise and fall in the saddle unaided by the master, he is better on foot, because he can stand behind his pupil, and at once correct any fault in her position or riding; and no fault, be it remembered, however trivial, should be allowed to pass uncorrected. for some time the lady should continue trotting out round the school, riding altogether upon the snaffle and sending her horse well up against it. there should be no "give-and-take" action in the hand in this case; but while she does not pull the weight of a feather against her horse, she should make him maintain the _appui_ by taking well hold of her hand; his trot will then be regular and fair. after about ten days or a fortnight of such practice, the master may commence the third section of his trotting lesson, namely, that in which the pupil begins to collect her horse, raise his forehand, and bring his haunches under him. the first step in this should be to ascertain that the lady is not dependent upon the horse's mouth for any part of her firmness in the saddle, or, more correctly speaking, to see that her balance is right unaided by the bridle, because, although perhaps imperceptible to the rider (man or woman), the _appui_ of the mouth has more to do with the seat than most people imagine. in good schools of equitation men tell you "there are no hands without legs." true, and if we were to ask many a good man that we see crossing a country to ride over a big fence without a bridle we should perceive that there are few seats without hands. it is to correct the tendency to trust for support to the horse's mouth that the efforts of the instructor should now be directed. to carry this out, he should be mounted upon a horse of about equal height to that of his pupil, on the off side, and close to whom he should place himself. he should direct her to drop her reins entirely, and then take them in his left hand, riding his own horse with his right. he should then instruct the lady to place her hands behind her waist, the right hand grasping the left elbow, as described in the suppling practices. cautioning her again as to firmness of grasp and good balance, he should then urge both horses into a smart trot, and keep them going round the school two or three times, carefully watching the action of the pupil, and if he perceives the least indication of distress pull up immediately. the exertion necessary to execute this lesson is severe if the pupil has not been well suppled before being put on horseback. if she has, there will be considerably less effort in it; but, in any case, on first practising it, the fair tyro requires every encouragement to persevere, because in doing one thing well, she is very apt to forget another. constantly reminded as to her position as the trot goes on, she will succeed in doing all well. after two or three such turns (the arms of course disengaged during the interval), the lady should take up her reins again; this time the curb and snaffle reins of equal length, and in the form (no. ) described in a previous chapter. she should then trot her horse freely out round the school, and she will find the full benefit of her recent drilling without reins, inasmuch as her seat will be many degrees firmer, and her balance more true, leaving her more liberty of action in hand and leg to apply the necessary aids to her horse in the coming lesson, in which at a well-regulated and collected pace, she will learn to turn him in any direction at her will, to rein him back, to make the inclines and circles, and prepare him for the cantering lesson by finally riding him in his trot entirely on the curb rein, and throwing him well upon his haunches. chapter viii. the trotting lesson (_continued_). i come now to the final section of the trotting lesson--that which, thoroughly acquired, i may term the thorough base of the matter. having satisfied himself that his pupil has command of her horse, steady seat and hands, and true balance when riding equally on the snaffle and curb, the master should proceed to instruct her as to the mode of arranging the reins so as to ride on the curb alone. as this has been already described, it is needless to repeat the formula. i may observe, however, that, in order to give increased facility of action to the bridle hand, and avoid anything like sudden jerk or rough pull upon the horse's mouth, it is best for the lady to retain the end of the curb reins between the fore finger and thumb of her right hand, by doing which she is enabled, keeping her left hand perfectly steady, and opening and closing the fingers, to give easy play to the reins. without this she would find riding on the curb alone difficult at first with the left hand only, because all the motion must come from the wrist, and considerable practice is necessary to accommodate this motion exactly to the action of the horse. care should be taken that the elbows are kept well back, so as to preserve the suppleness of the waist, and by this time also the pupil ought to have acquired sufficient steadiness in the saddle to admit of her giving easy play to the upper part of the arm at the shoulder joint. but until complete firmness of seat is gained this should not be attempted, because in the case of a novice it disconnects the figure, and interferes with the horse's mouth materially. the most rigid attention also should be given to the pupil's general position, and the firmness and correct placing of both legs--the heels well down, the upper part of the body well drawn up from the waist, "the whole figure pliant and accompanying every movement of the horse" (see "military aid book"). the lady should commence the lesson by walking her horse two or three times round the school; and it is here, by close attention, that she will learn that light hands are neither "heaven-born" nor impossible to acquire. on pressing the horse forward with her leg or whip, so as to make him walk up against the curb, it is possible her hand may be a little heavy, and that the horse may resist it. in this case, if not cautions and carefully watched, she will let her hands go forward. it is for the instructor to take special care of this, and point out to his pupil how she can ease the reins through her left hand by the aid of the right, so as to catch the true _appui_, without yielding altogether to the horse. in other words, she should allow sufficient rein to go through her hand to enable the horse to walk freely forward; and then, closing her fingers again firmly, make him go up to every hair's breadth of rein she has given him, and fairly against the curb. there should not be a particle of slack rein. in fact, it may be received as a sound principle in riding that there should never be slack reins, no matter what the pace. if you give your horse the full length of the reins even, make him go up to them. when once the lady has gained the above-named _appui_ (the right hand assisting the left), she should be instructed to halt her horse lightly on his haunches preparatory to reining back. and again she should do this by drawing the reins through the fingers of her left hand with the right, keeping the former perfectly steady, and drawing her own figure well up, in order to avoid any tendency to lean forward. on the word "rein back," which should be given in a very quiet tone of voice, and in the exact cadence in which the master desires his pupil to move her horse to the rear, the lady should feel both reins lightly but firmly for a moment, closing at the same instant her leg so as to keep her horse's haunches under him, in the manner before described when using the snaffle only, but in the present case with greater care and precision. _lightly_ and _firmly_ feeling the curb reins while pressed by the leg, the horse will take a step back. the reins should be yielded the instant he does so. two or three steps back are sufficient, when the word "forward" should be given, preceded by the caution to close the fingers firmly on the reins, and, with whip and leg, keep the horse well up to his work. feeling this amount of constraint laid upon him, the horse will be inclined at any moment to canter. but here the tact of the master should be exhibited in instructing his pupil to release the horse from his fore-shortened position, by allowing about six inches of rein (or more, if necessary), to pass through her left hand as she presses the horse forward into a free trot (about eight miles an hour). all her firmness of seat will be necessary now, because any irregular action on her part will cause her hand to become heavy, and make the horse canter. the great thing is, not to continue trotting on the curb-rein alone too long. short lessons often repeated, and intervals in which to correct everything are best for pupil and instructor. when the lady can accomplish trotting out for twenty minutes without allowing her horse to break, she should then be instructed to collect him to a slower pace, bringing him more upon his haunches, and with his forehand more up. this requires the nicest tact and discrimination on the part of the rider, perfect steadiness in the saddle, and firm pressure of the left leg; while the reins should be drawn through the left hand with as much care as though the lady feared to break them. the shortened pace should be smart and active, and the horse so collected as to be ready to turn to the right, or left, or about, or make the inclines at any moment. all these exercises should then be practised in the same order as when the pupil rode, assisted by or on the snaffle only. after the lady has performed these to the satisfaction of the master, she should bring her horse to the walk and be instructed to carry the end of the curb reins, which she has held hitherto in her right hand, through the full of the left hand, and place both reins (the off-side one uppermost) over the middle joint of the fore finger, and close the thumb firmly on them. the end of the reins should be dropped to the off-side of the horse, and hang down outside the off-side crutch; the whip (with the point _downwards_) kept quiet. raising the point of the whip, when a lady is trotting a horse on the curb alone, and unassisted by her right hand, is very apt to make him break, because the point of the whip is always in motion, and causes the horse to turn his eye back at it. the instructor should now carefully place the lady's bridle hand, with the wrist rounded outwards and the thumb pointing square across the body, the back of the hand towards the horse's head, and the little finger turned upwards and inwards towards the waist, the arm perfectly firm, and the wrist quite supple--as in this case it is from the wrist only that every indication to turn, to halt, or rein back is given, aided by the whip on the off side and the leg on the near side. the pupil can then be taught to turn her horse to either hand, or about, at a walk, without any motion of the bridle hand perceptible to a looker-on, although perceptible enough to the horse. in turning to the right, the little finger should be turned down towards the left shoulder, and the back of the hand turned up. this movement will shorten the right rein, and cause it to act on the right jaw of the bit. the whip should be closed firmly (not with a blow) just behind the flap of the saddle on the off side. the left leg supporting this will cause the horse to turn square to his right. exactly the reverse movement will turn him to the left. right or left about, aids continued, until the horse has reversed his front. the trotting lesson may then be gone through again, the pupil riding entirely with the left hand. but in beginning these lessons care should be taken to let them be very short, because, in spite of all previous supplying, considerable constraint is thrown upon the wrist at first. any yielding to the horse is accomplished by turning the little finger towards his neck, while to collect him simply the little finger is turned up again towards the waist. but the fingers and thumb of the bridle hand must be kept firmly shut upon the reins, otherwise the hand becomes heavy and uneven in its action. by lessons, gradually increased in length, the pupil should be accustomed thus to ride her horse throughout the trotting lesson, and trot him out, riding with one hand. it is not usual for ladies to continue for any length of time riding in this form; but it is highly necessary that they should be thoroughly well practised at it, otherwise an important part of their course of equitation will be neglected. the same may be said of the bending lesson, previous to cantering. it is rarely put in practice by any but professional female equestrians. but a lady ought to be thoroughly acquainted with its formula, because it teaches the principle upon which a horse acquires his _souplesse_, which is just as necessary to his freedom of action and pleasant riding as the early suppling lessons of the pupil herself were conducive to her own progress. chapter ix. the bending and cantering lesson. according to the ordinary acceptation of the term, a horse is supposed "to bend well" when he arches his neck, yields to the bit, and uses his knees and hocks freely. this alone by no means conveys an adequate idea, however, of what is meant by bending a horse in the scientific sense. the "military aid book" supplies the following question and answer, which gives in a very concise form a better notion of the matter. question: what is the use of the "bending lesson"?--answer: to make the horse supple in the _neck_ and _ribs_, to give free action to his shoulder, and teach him to obey the pressure of the leg. it will be seen, then, that "bending a horse" really means rendering him supple in every portion of his frame, and especially in his ribs and intercostal muscles, as it is suppleness in that part that gives him the lithe, easy motions so pleasant to the rider. i have before observed that i do not consider an intimate knowledge of the "haut école de manége" indispensable for ordinary riding purposes, either for a lady or gentleman. but, although the "bending lesson" thoroughly carried out may be said to be the very gist of "_haut école_ riding," even in its _simple form_, unaccompanied by the higher aids, it is of great service in rendering a horse docile and obedient to hand and leg, and for that purpose is always resorted to in our schools of military equitation. now, although i do not expect every lady to acquire the art of suppling her own horses, still a knowledge of the "bending lesson" will make her thoroughly acquainted with the reasons why a horse renders ready obedience to her aids of hand and leg; and, on the contrary, why he resists them. stiffness (as it is technically termed) has more to do with what is commonly called restiveness than most people imagine. a horse is asked to do something that calls upon him to bend or supple a joint in which, even in early youth, he is still far from supple. he cannot do it. the rider perseveres, and the horse resists. whereas, when he is thoroughly suppled, he does not know how to disobey his rider (supposing the latter to know what he is about). if a lady, therefore, will pay close attention to the instruction of her master, she will discover that her horse will obey her more readily, and move with more ease to himself and her, when she applies her aids "smoothly" (without which the bending lesson cannot be done), than by the application of sudden or violent indications of her will. for it must be borne in mind that a double bridle is an instrument of great power in a horse's mouth, and that what may seem light handling to the uninitiated rider may be rough to the horse. a fair amount of practice, therefore, in the above-named exercise will have the effect of rendering a lady's hands remarkably true and steady; and, although the lesson may be a little trying to the patience, the pupil will find her reward in increased confidence and proficiency. for all practical purposes the "bending lesson" proper may be divided into two sections, namely, the "passage" and the "shoulder in," all other movements of the lesson being simply variations from the above named. the "half passage" may be looked upon as an introduction to the "full passage," but admits of being practised with facility at an increased pace at the trot or canter, and at the latter is a very elegant exercise. to begin with the "shoulder in." let us suppose a horse standing parallel to the boards at the side of the school. to place him in the desired position it is necessary to bring his forehand in, so that his fore and hind legs are placed upon two lines, parallel to each other and to the boards, and then to bend his head inwards at the poll of the neck. no more correct idea, i believe, can be conveyed of the position than that given in the "aid book," which furnishes the following answer to the question, how should a horse be placed in "shoulder in"? "ans.: when a horse is properly bent in 'shoulder in,' the whole body from head to croup is curved; the shoulders leading, fore and hind feet moving on two lines parallel to each other, hind feet one yard from the boards." again. "q. what are the aids for working this lesson?--a. on the word 'right or left shoulder in,' the horse's forehand is brought in by a double feeling of the inward rein, the outward leg closed, so as to bring the horse's hind feet one yard from the boards." the outward rein leads, the inward preserves the bend; a pressure of the inward leg (of the rider) compels the horse to cross his legs; the outward leg keeps him up to the hand and prevents him from swerving. the horse should be well bent in the pole of the neck, and well kept up to the hand with the outward leg, the shoulders always leading. it will be seen from the above that the rider compels, or rather _coaxes_, the horse, by very firm and steady aids, to move with his forehand well up, and his whole figure bent (neck and ribs), with his feet moving on two distinct parallel lines--the effect being to call upon every important joint, and thoroughly to supple the ligaments and tendons, as well as to create muscular development, in a way similar to that of gymnastic or extension exercises in the human being. with young horses in training it is necessary to watch this lesson very carefully, and never to "ask too much" at one time, because any forcing of it would certainly result in restiveness; the strain, even with naturally supple horses, is considerable, and must not be persevered with one moment after it is evidently painful. of course, in the case of a lady practising the lesson, it must be done upon a horse that has gone through a long course of teaching, and to whom, therefore, the movements cause no inconvenience. but even here the pupil will find that she must use her hand and leg with firmness, steadiness, and decision, without hurry or impatience, or the horse will not answer to her. the movement must be executed very slowly, and at first only by a few steps at a time, because, however _au fait_ at his work the horse may be, the pupil will find considerable difficulty in continuing to apply the aids. in working the "shoulder in" to the right, it is necessary for the master, after putting the horse and rider in true position, to place himself on the horse's off side, when he should give the word, "right shoulder in--march!" the lady then, firmly closing her left leg to keep the horse up to the hand, should keep her right hand well back and low down close to the saddle, lead the horse off with the left rein, and close her whip to his ribs on the off side, just behind the flap of the saddle. if the horse has been accustomed to work the lesson, with a lady he will obey these aids. but in some cases it is necessary for the master (to supply the absence of the right leg of a man to the horse), to push firmly with his left hand against the horse's ribs to move him off. the rider, while leading the horse off with the left rein, should keep up a continual, light easy play of the right rein, so as to preserve the bend inwards. the instructor should count "one, two," in very slow time, as the horse moves first his fore and then his hind leg. after a few steps onward the horse should be halted, by the rider feeling both reins, and closing the whip firmly on the off side. he should then be made much of and moved on again. a quarter of an hour is ample for the first lesson. after the pupil understands and can apply the aids for the "shoulder in" (riding on the snaffle), she maybe taught to do it on snaffle and curb together, and then on the curb alone, when she will find the nicest balance in her seat and the most careful and delicate manipulations of the reins necessary--joined, however, to distinct and perceptible feeling upon the horse's mouth. and on moving her horse forward she will find that her hand is true and steady. the "shoulder in" having been neatly done, the lady should rein her horse lightly back and ride him forward, _making the corner_ of the school quite square, and then halt at the centre marker. on the word "right half passage," she should turn the horse's head square down the centre of the school, and exactly reverse the aids by which she worked the "shoulder in"; that is, she should lead the horse off with the right or inward rein, well balancing and assisting its power by the outward one; with her leg she should press the horse until he places one foot before the other, gaining ground to his front, and obliquely to his right at the same time, until he arrives at the boards, when he will completely have changed the hand he was working to, and at a canter would, if necessary, be called upon to strike off with the left leg instead of the right. after executing the "half passage" correctly, the pupil may practice the "full passage," the difference between which and the "shoulder in" is again concisely explained in the "aid book." "q. what is the difference between the 'passage' and 'shoulder in'?--a. in the passage the horse bends and looks the way he is going. the outward are crossing over the inward legs, and the inward rein leads. in the 'shoulder in' the horse does not look the way he is going. the inward are crossing over the outward legs, and the outward rein leads." "q. what is the difference between the full and half passage?--a. in the 'full passage' the horse crosses his legs. in the 'half passage' he only half crosses them, placing one foot before the other." the pupil will find the passage much more easy to execute than the "shoulder in," though, i repeat, no horse would do the former up to the hand as he ought to do unless he has been well drilled in the latter. the greatest care on the part of both master and pupil is indispensable to carry out this lesson. the slightest inadvertence or false movement is at once answered on the part of the horse by his taking advantage of it and putting himself in a wrong position, whereas if he is carefully ridden, and kept well up to the hand, the subsequent cantering lesson will be much more easy to perform. it must be clearly understood, however, that for a lady to attempt to execute the "bending lesson" by written directions alone, and unaided by the vigilant superintendence and oral instruction of a first-rate master would be a mistake. clear and concise as the language of the "aid book" is, it is impossible for any man writing such directions to indicate the precise moment at which each movement of hand and leg is to be made, any more than the man who writes the score in music can regulate the hand of the instrumental executant of it. there must be energy, patience, and close attention on the part of the pupil; vigilance, patience, temper, and thorough knowledge of his craft on the part of the instructor. master and pupil thus in accord, the latter will derive great advantage and insight into the elegant accomplishment she is endeavouring to acquire, while anything like carelessness on either side will be fatal to the utility of the lesson. it should be thoroughly well done or not at all. after the careful execution of the above lesson, the pupil should prepare her horse for cantering by reigning him back lightly on his haunches; touching him if necessary smartly with her whip, in order to put him well up to his work. a step or two back (_well up to the bridle_) is sufficient, when she should move forward, and the instructor should give her the aids for cantering; which (once more to quote the simple language of the "aid book") are as follows: "a light firm feeling of _both_ reins to raise the horse's forehand, a pressure of both legs to keep his haunches under him, a double feeling of the inward rein, and a stronger pressure of the outward leg, will compel the horse to strike off true and united." the above of course is intended as instruction to a man; but substituting a light tap of the whip on the off shoulder for the pressure of the inward leg of the man, and very light for strong aids, the instruction holds good in the case of the lady. now, i have observed before that a horse to be thoroughly broken to carry a woman should be taught to answer to very light aids, and require, in fact, very little leg in order to understand and answer to the indications of his rider's will. if this has been properly carried out the lady will have no difficulty in striking her horse off to the right, _true and united_, which means in cantering to the right (as nearly every hack and lady's horse does) with the off fore, followed by the off hind leg. a charger or "high _manége_" horse--which must use either leg with equal facility, and go to the left as well as the right--in cantering to the former hand will go with the near fore, followed by the near hind, and be still "true and united" in his pace. when he goes with the near fore, followed by the off hind, or _vice versâ_, he is "disunited." a point of vital importance to be looked to by the master is that his pupil at her first attempt at cantering her horse is perfectly cool and self-possessed, and that she applies her aids _smoothly_, without hurry or excitement, for so great is the sympathy of the horse in this respect, that flurry on the part of the rider is sure to cause passionate, excited action in the horse. the manner of the master has much to do with this; while it should be such as to keep his pupil and her horse _vif_ and on their metal, he should be careful not to crowd the former with too much instruction at once. her position should be corrected before she is allowed to strike her horse off. care should be taken that her arms are firm, and hands well back. the waist should be bent slightly forward, which will give it more suppleness. she should have a firm grip of the upper crutches, both heels well down, and at her first effort she should ride equally upon the snaffle and curb reins. to do this (assuming that she is riding with her bridle in military form), it is only necessary that she should draw up the slack of the near-side snaffle rein with her right hand until it is level with and under the near-side curb rein; then carry the snaffle rein thus shortened over the middle joint of the forefinger of the left hand, and shut the thumb firmly on them. she can then place the slack of the off-side snaffle rein for a moment under the left thumb, while she places the rein between the third and little finger of the right hand, brings the rein through the full of the hand over the middle joint of the forefinger, and closes the thumb firmly on it. the whip should be held in the full of the hand, the point downwards. with her hands and figure in the above-named form, the lightest application of the aids ought to strike her horse off "true and united;" but if by any chance he takes off with the wrong leg or "disunited," as may sometimes happen with the best broken horse, from a little over-eagerness or anxiety on the part of the pupil, or a little unsteadiness of hand, the master should cause her to bring her horse again to the walk, and reassure her--taking care, however, on these occasions that she never "makes much of" or caresses her horse, which would tend to confirm him in a bad habit, but reins him back, and again puts him up to his bridle. it is a rare occurrence when a horse (thoroughly well-broken) strikes off incorrectly; but i am endeavouring to write for every contingency. assuming the horse to have struck off smoothly to the instructor's word _ca-a-n-te-r_--which should be given in a quiet, soothing tone of voice, and drawn out as if every letter were a syllable--the horse should be allowed to canter freely forward, although without rush or hurry. the pace should not be too collected at first; the military pace of manoeuvre is about the correct thing; eight miles an hour or thereabouts; the cadence true; the horse well ridden into his bridle, and in this case _yielding to the bit_--because, in cantering, it is necessary to have an _appui_ upon the mouth, quite different from that to be maintained in trotting, in which it is best for the lady that the horse should feel her hand fairly and firmly, and that there should be little "give-and-take" action of the latter. in cantering, on the other hand, an easy give-and-take play of the hands is indispensable, to cause the horse to bend in the poll of his neck, yield to the hand, and go in true form. by this time the pupil should have acquired sufficient firmness and _aplomb_ in the saddle to justify the instructor in commencing to impart to her that mobile action and flexibility of the upper arm at the shoulder joint, which may be regarded as the artistic finishing of her course of equitation. but it will not do to commence this (so goes my experience) at the outset of the cantering lesson, wherein at first it is best to insist upon firmness of the arms, otherwise the pupil is most likely (imperceptibly to herself) to allow her hands to glide forward, and thus destroy the flexibility of her waist, which is a point always to be most carefully watched. it is possible that at first the figure of the pupil, from over-anxiety to maintain her position and ride her horse correctly at the same time, may be somewhat rigid; but complete flexibility cannot be expected at once. it must be remembered that, although the action of cantering in a horse is much easier than trotting, still it is novel to the rider, who moreover has to keep her horse up to his work. it is not the case of putting a young lady upon an old tittuping hack that can do little else than canter along behind the bridle and "drag his toe" at a walk. a horse that has any action or quality in him, and has been taught to trot up to his bridle, requires "asking" to canter, and in the early efforts of the pupil requires keeping to his work a little after he has struck off in his canter, otherwise he will drop into a trot again. such a horse, however, is the only one upon which to teach a lady to ride. the easy-going old hack above alluded to is fit only for an invalid to take the air on. at the same time it is asking a good deal from the pupil in her early cantering lessons to keep her horse up to his work, and to maintain her own position correctly; and if she exhibits a little stiffness or formality (if i may use the expression) at first, it may fairly be passed over until increased confidence permits the master to give his attention to what i may perhaps call the "unbending" of his pupil. after a few days' cantering as above described, the lady may begin to collect her horse; and by this time also she should be fitted with a spur, of which the best i know is latchford's patent. an opening in the skirt on the inside is necessary. the shank of the spur should not be too short, otherwise it is very apt to cut holes in the habit. the pupil, when the spur is first fitted on, should be cautioned to keep her left toe as near the horse's side as the heel, in order to avoid hitting him when he does not require it; and, indeed, the wearing of the steel aid is in itself a good exercise as to the true position of the left leg, while the blunt head of a latchford (when not pressed hard to the horse's side) does away with any danger. the use of the spur in a lady's riding is objected to by some; but i cannot consider any rider (man or woman) worthy of the name who cannot use one and be safe enough in the saddle at the same time. one objection to spurs for ladies is, that they are apt to do all sorts of mischief in the event of the lady being thrown from her horse. now, the latter is a contingency which (except in the hunting field) i do not admit as possible, if the lady has men about her who know their business in the horse way. if she has not such people about her, she is better without spurs decidedly; and there is another thing she is better without, namely, a horse of any sort. if a horse is properly broken, and has a man about him who will give him plenty of work, and keep him from getting above himself, and his fair owner has been as well taught as her horse, she ought to be as safe on his back as in her brougham, in any kind of riding, except in exceptional cases in the hunting field. by exceptional cases i mean where a lady, unaccompanied by a good pilot, takes a line of her own when hounds are going fast in a big grass country, and rides (jealous of the field) at impracticable places. in such case she is likely enough to get down, horse and all. but even so--and i have witnessed more than one such accident--i have never found that the lady got hurt by the spur when she wore the sort i allude to; and again, i think it is only just to that clever loriner, mr. latchford, to say that he has invented a lady's stirrup which renders danger from it in the event of a fall next to impossible--certainly she cannot be dragged by it. in this stirrup there is no opening at the side by means of springs or complicated machinery of any sort. it requires neither diagram or drawing to describe it, because it is the perfection of mechanism--extreme simplicity. one has only to imagine an ordinary stirrup, rather elongated than usual from the opening for the leather, the bottom bar broad and flat; the latter perforated with two holes. within the above-named stirrup another, a size smaller, but fitting nicely into it. on the lower side of the bottom bar of the inner stirrup two projections, or obtuse points of steel, which fit into the holes of the lower bar of the outer stirrup. now, as long as the lady is in her saddle the inner stirrup must, from its mechanism, remain in its place; but in the event of her being thrown her weight acts upon the lower part of the outer stirrup, which turns over and releases the inner stirrup entirely. to return, however, to the question proper of spurs for a lady, i must say that they are of the greatest assistance to her when, having acquired the necessary degree of steadiness on her horse, she desires to "wake him up." too much whip is a bad thing. in riding in the country a lady must perforce have to open a bridle gate sometimes for herself, and if she is always using a whip to liven her horse up, she will find it difficult to get him to stand still, even while she opens the lightest of gates. as regards the pupil in the school, i repeat she should be habituated to wear a spur as soon as her progress justifies it. chapter x. the cantering lesson (_continued_). having satisfied himself as to the proficiency of his pupil in cantering "going large"--that is, round the school or _manége_,--the attention of the instructor should next be directed to teaching her to make the turns and circles, and execute the "half passage" with precision. the use of these exercises is to confirm (while riding upon both snaffle and curb reins) the steadiness of hand and seat and true balance of the rider, because, although these may appear good enough while a lady is riding her horse on a straight line, or only with the turns at the corners of the school, many shortcomings will be detected when she attempts to turn him square from the boards, or asks him to make a true circle, in which the hind legs follow exactly over the same track as the fore legs. to commence this lesson in proper form, the pupil should collect her horse, by reining him quietly back, then move him forward well up to the hand, at a walk and at a smart active pace. when she arrives at the centre marker at the end of the school, the master should give the word "down the centre," when the rider should turn her horse square to the right (assuming, as is usually the case, that she commences her lesson to that hand). the aids for turning at a walk having been already given, it is only necessary to say that the turn down the centre requires only a trifle stronger application of the left leg, to counteract any tendency of the horse to throw his haunches outwards, and that, looking steadily to the centre marker at the other end of the school, the pupil should sight that marker well between her horse's ears, and ride true and straight to it, taking care, by closing the leg in time, that the horse does not cut off any of the ground, but plants his near fore foot close to the boards and makes the corner equally square, because whenever a horse is allowed to "cut the corners off" he endeavours to get behind the bridle, and generally succeeds. the pupil, therefore, should be cautioned in time by the instructor, and if she fails to make good every inch of ground, the word "halt" should be given and the horse reined back. arrived about midway down the school, the turns to the right should be made square from the boards, the horse's haunches kept under him so that he does not hit the side of the school with his hind feet. his doing which is at once a proof that he is out of hand. arrived at the centre of the school, the words "right turn" should be given again, instead of allowing the pupil to ride right across the school to the boards on the opposite side. she should then ride a couple of lengths down the centre, and again turn her horse, by word from the master, square to the right, and once more to the left, when arrived at the boards. this, repeated two or three times, is a good preparation for executing the circle; in order to facilitate the correct riding of which, the master should cause his pupil to halt her horse at the side, and himself walk over the ground he desires her to ride over. if he does this correctly, the pupil will find little difficulty in riding the circle with precision. starting from a point close to the boards, a couple of horses' lengths in front of the pupil, the master should make an incline to the right, at an angle of about forty-five, until he is half-way between the boards and the centre of the school; he should then bring up his left shoulder, and make another incline at the same angle to the centre of the school. down the centre he should walk straight, the distance of a horse's length; again bring up his left shoulder, and make two inclines to the side. the figure he will thus describe does not quite represent a circle as he walks; but when the horse is called upon to move his fore and hind legs on the same track, it will be a circle in his case as nearly as possible. having caused the pupil to move her horse forward, the instructor should give her the aids for circling, which are a double feeling of the inward rein, the horse well supported with the outward, and well kept up to the hand by the leg. in circling to the right, the horse to be well bent to the right, so that the rider can see his inward eye; fore and hind legs moving exactly on the same track, the horse not throwing his haunches out. the great use of this circling is, that as the horse changes his direction no less than six times in a small space, to keep him up to his work the lady must bring up her left shoulder as many times as the horse alters his direction. to do this, she must be quite supple in the waist, and circling is therefore a capital practice to insure this freedom of action at that portion of the figure. to render the lesson still more easy to the pupil, i have found it answer well, after walking over the ground, to mark it out on the tan with a stick. in military schools the circle to the right or left is followed by the "circle and change," in which, when arrived at the boards, the pupil, instead of turning the horse's head to the hand he is working to, changes the bend, and turns to the reverse hand. this, however, cannot be executed at a canter with due precision without the use of the right leg, and is therefore (in my opinion) better omitted in a lady's course of equitation, an additional reason being that, when she is taught to make the change at a canter, she can do it much more effectually and elegantly by the "half passage." the circles having been neatly done, the pupil should rein her horse back, put him well upon his haunches, and strike him off at a collected canter, about five miles an hour, the cadence true, the position of the rider correct. it is at this point that the instructor should begin carefully to get his pupil to supple herself in the saddle, while she still rides her horse well up to his work. it should be borne in mind that a horse cannot make turns or circles at the "pace of manoeuvre" without considerable danger to himself and his rider, because at such a pace it is next to impossible to keep him fairly balanced, and he is liable, even on well-kept tan, to slip up, whereas at a very collected pace, with his haunches well under him, there is no danger whatever, although at first it will call very much upon the energy and close attention of the rider. having her horse well into his bridle, the give-and-take action of the hand should now come gradually from the shoulder joint, and the pupil should be frequently reminded to avoid resisting the action of the horse in his canter, but to endeavour, on the other hand, to accompany him in his short stride. this is to be done by simply keeping both heels well down, the hands back, the waist bent slightly forward and perfectly supple, and avoiding too strong a grasp with the right leg upon the upper crutches of the saddle. the figure from the waist upwards, however, should be perfectly erect, leaning neither backwards nor forwards, either position being both unsafe and ungainly. nothing is more common than to see a lady sitting with the upper part of her figure bent forward in a canter, and, if not overdone, the effect is by no means ungraceful to the eye of a looker-on. but it is a habit likely to increase in degree, and unsafe in any case, because it is opposed to the principle of true balance. with the shoulders well back, the body, neck, and head upright, the waist slightly bent forward, the hands well back, and acting by an easy play of the upper arm at the shoulder joint--sitting, in fact, with freedom in the saddle--the action of the horse at a collected pace will give the rider a slightly _gliding_ motion from the cantle towards the pummels, and gradually she will thus acquire the habit of suppling herself on her horse; ready, however, at any moment "to seize her seat" (to use the expression of old sam chifney) by muscular grip if the horse flirts or plunges, which, however, it is difficult for him to do when going well within himself and up to his bridle. the left leg at a canter should not be drawn back, as in trotting, but kept close to the horse's side, with the heel down, and the foot as nearly as possible under the knee. of course, the above-described easy deportment in the saddle is not to be acquired in a single lesson; it requires considerable practice and close watching by both master and pupil. once learnt, however, the lady has gained another important step in her equitation. the length of time requisite to insure complete _souplesse_ at this point is dependent upon several circumstances, over which the master has only a moderate amount of control. the figure of the pupil is an important point in the matter. if she is naturally lithe and has been well suppled on foot, the task will be considerably easier. if, on the contrary, she is of a square figure--short in the neck and waist, and stiff in the shoulders--considerably more time is requisite. but with care, attention, and perseverance it can be acquired by all in early youth. i know a lady who rides with both dash and judgment with hounds who is anything but a good figure; but she began under proper tuition when she was very young, and, although no longer so, she has preserved the _souplesse_ and true balance acquired in her early days. natural aptitude, too, is of great assistance to both master and pupil, and should be energetically developed by the former; at the same time, care should be taken that the pupil does not overrun her lessons. as an instance of what can be accomplished even at a first essay by a lady gifted with natural talent for riding, i cannot refrain from relating the following:--some years ago i chanced to be at the school of a fashionable riding master in london, when a class of young ladies was going through a ride. in the gallery from which i was observing them was also the mother of one of the young ladies who was riding, and of another much younger, who was standing by her side watching with the most intense interest the riding below. the younger lady was not more than ten or eleven years old, but of a form and figure exactly fitted for performing well in the saddle, being tall of her age, and lithe and supple in her movements. she did not speak, but i could see from the excitement of her manner, the glitter of her large dark eyes, and her changing colour, that she was heart and soul with the fair equestrians. the ride finished with a leaping lesson, and there was some capital jumping over a gorsed bar, hurdles double and single, and an artificial brook. the last performance completely overcame the little spectator in the gallery. bursting into a violent fit of sobbing and weeping, she clutched her mother's dress, and cried convulsively, "dear mamma, let me ride, let me ride." the lady, quite surprised and very much affected by the emotion and excited state of the child, nevertheless, refused, declaring she was too young. but the young supplicant for equestrian honours was not to be denied; she continued to implore and weep, and, the riding master coming to her aid, the mother gave way. her little daughter was put on a quiet horse, and the master himself led him round the school at a walk, but this by no means satisfied our ambitious little tyro. "let me trot," she said; "i am sure i can trot." the professor was quite sure she could not, and told her so; and, to convince her, he started the horse trotting, and ran by his side. he was never more mistaken. the lessons the pupil had been witnessing from the gallery must have made a strong impression on her mind; for, to the surprise of all of us, she caught the action of the horse at the first step, and made the best attempt at trotting i ever saw for a beginner. feeling that trotting fatigued her, she asked to be allowed to canter, and this she did in very good form. but the crowning part of the thing was, that when we were about to take her off her horse, she begged to be allowed to have a jump. i confess, i thought the riding master wrong in consenting to this. but again our little friend electrified us all. a hurdle was put up, well sloped, so as to make the jump a very moderate one, the little pupil's hands placed, and her position rectified. no sooner had the horse turned the corner of the school, and before the riding master had time to check her, than the girl's eye lit up just as i had seen it in the gallery. she caught the horse fast by the head, hit him with her heel, put down her hands, and sat as though she had been hunting for years. it was too late to stop her, and any interference at the moment would have done more harm than good. with my heart in my mouth, i saw the horse go at the hurdle. he was one that had "an eye in every toe," and did not know how to make a mistake. but his daring little rider had roused him thoroughly, and he jumped high enough to clear a big fence, and far enough to take him over a small brook. just as the horse took off, i shouted involuntarily, "sit back;" and the little enthusiast answered as though my voice had been inspiration. her lithe little figure was bent from the waist, precisely at the right moment; and she landed safe, except that the concussion threw her slightly up in the saddle. her marvellous aptitude (talent the professionals would have called it) induced the riding master to let her make another attempt, and this time, putting her horse at the hurdle at the same dashing pace (which, by the way, with her wonderful nerve and confidence, made it easier for her), she sat in the saddle, as the old groom who tended the hurdles said, "as if she had grown there," and landed fair and true without jolt or concussion. this young lady is now one of the most brilliant horsewomen in england. her genius (if i may be permitted the expression), joined to close application and the best of opportunities of riding good horses, enabled her in a brief space to far outstrip all her youthful competitors, and in less than twelve months after the time i speak of she could execute most of the "bending lesson," at a canter as well as a professional rider, while over the country with hounds she was always close to her pilot, than whom there was no better man. this when she was barely thirteen years old. such instances of extraordinary aptitude, nerve and courage, combined with the necessary elasticity and physical power to ride, are very rare indeed; in fact, in a long experience of such matters, i do not know of a parallel case. nevertheless, if the natural dash and fitness for riding possessed by this young lady had not been carefully watched, moulded into proper form, and restrained within due bounds, they would inevitably have run riot with her, and brought her to grief. it is in such cases as the above, or rather such as tend in that direction, that the tact and judgment of a riding master is required. if the young lady i speak of had been allowed, and the opportunity had offered, she would have mounted without hesitation any brute that would carry a saddle, and mischief, of course, would have resulted. to return to the cantering lesson proper. when the instructor has succeeded in completely regulating the cadence of the horse in his pace and the position of his pupil, he should give her due caution to wait for the _last sound_ of his word, to keep her body back and her leg close, supporting the horse well with the outward rein, and he should then give the word, well drawn out, gently and without hurry, "right turn," when the pupil should turn her horse from the boards with the same aids as at a walk, but more firmly applied, and if the horse leans upon her hand she should keep him up with her spur. "many a horse" (says the "aid book") "keeps a tolerable canter on a straight line, but when turned he feels too much constraint laid upon him, and leans upon the rider's hand. if at such a moment the rider yields the reins instead of closing the hand firmly on them, turning the little fingers up towards the waist, and closing the leg firmly, the horse comes upon his forehand." concise as the above passage is, it describes exactly what occurs on first making a turn at a canter, and it calls upon all the energy and attention of the pupil to keep the horse up to his work. but as in other exercises in the course of equitation, her reward will be in her thorough command over her horse under all circumstances, because by learning to ride him with such minute precision she is always able to anticipate his every movement. the first three or four turns at a canter should be made square across the school, from side to side, and no second word should be given on arriving at the boards; the pupil turning her horse again to the right without any caution, and continuing to "go large" round the school until she again gets the word to turn. this practice will teach her to be constantly on the alert, and to maintain such a balance as will enable her in turning to move exactly on the same line as her horse, bringing her left shoulder up precisely at the right moment. three or four turns are quite sufficient for the first lesson, because the horse before completing these must go several times round the school, and the pupil should ride him well up to his bit. after a few turns, smoothly and correctly made, the pupil should bring her horse to the walk, halt, make much of him, and sit at ease. making much of a horse when he has performed well is always a judicious mode of letting him know that he has been doing right; at the same it affords him an interval of rest, which is quite necessary. this may appear absurd to those who are accustomed to see horses continue galloping for hours. but it must be remembered that the sort of work i have been endeavouring to describe is altogether artificial; that the animal thrown upon his haunches only goes through the lesson with considerable exertion, and that if he is kept too long at it, this can only be done by an amount of fatigue on the part of the rider which would be far from beneficial to a lady. the object of the lesson is to induct the pupil into a mode in which she can obtain complete mastery over her horse. it is, as it were, a gymnastic exercise for both steed and rider, and must not be persevered with too long at one time. after about ten minutes' rest the pupil should again collect her horse, rein him back, and prepare him again for cantering. she should then strike him quietly off, and ride him very collectedly, so as to be ready to make the circles. these should be made from about midway down the boards; and on the last sound of the words "circle right," the pupil should turn her horse's head from the boards, and, supporting him well with the left leg and rein, ride in a figure exactly similar to that she described at a walk. she will find, however, that the horse requires considerably more support in making the circles than he did in the simple turns. being on the bend from the time he leaves the boards until he arrives at them again, the nicest riding is necessary to keep his fore and hind feet on the same track, and prevent him from throwing his haunches out. the pace, too, should be more collected than when the turns were made. four miles to four miles and a half an hour is quite fast enough, and, if necessary, the horse must be halted and reined back several times in order to get him thoroughly collected. two circles well done are quite sufficient. the pupil should then again halt, "sit at ease," and make much of her horse. by this time both he and the pupil will have gone through a tolerably severe lesson, because the collected pace necessary to execute it, and especially the circles, necessitates a great deal of cantering before a beginner can ascertain the true cadence--without which, and a considerable amount of support from her hand and leg, it is unsafe and useless for her to attempt her turns and circles; frequently, too, a horse will have to go several times round the school before the instructor can see the opportunity to give the word. reining back again, and collecting him, call very much upon the horse's powers, while, on the other hand, over-fatigue is specially to be avoided as regards the pupil. after resting ten minutes or so, the lady should conclude this lesson by walking him quietly about till he is quite cool. chapter xi. the cantering lesson (_continued_)--the half passage and change. although the last-named exercises belong, strictly speaking, more to the curriculum of the military riding school than to female equitation, still, to be able to execute them with precision is of great advantage to a lady, because they teach her that by getting a good bend on her horse, and placing him in a certain position by the application of the proper aids, she can compel him at her pleasure to canter with either near or off foot leading; and, although it may not be agreeable to her to keep her horse going with the near leg, unless she is riding on the off side, nevertheless, the practice of the half passage and change is an admirable, and indeed very elegant, mode of acquiring ready facility in the effective use of hand and leg. i have said before that the horse in the "half passage" places one foot before the other, instead of crossing his legs completely, as in the full passage. the former mode of progression enables the horse therefore to gain ground diagonally to his front, instead of moving upon a line at right angles with the boards as in the latter. the aids by which the half passage is executed are the same as those of the "full passage," with the following exceptions. first, there is a lighter pressure of the leg on the outward side; and in the case of a lady it is necessary that she should use her whip on the off side behind the saddle alternately with her leg on the near side, in order to cause the horse to gain ground to the front, as well as to place one foot before the other. after starting her horse at a walk, "going large," the rider should rein him back, collect and balance him--riding equally upon snaffle and curb reins--she should make the corner perfectly square; and when midway between it and the centre marker, the instructor should give the word "right half passage," upon which the pupil should still further collect her horse into the slow pace she used in the bending lesson, and, having arrived at the centre marker, she should bring the horse's forehand in, by a double feeling of the right rein; the outward leg closed, to prevent the haunches from flying out. the inward rein leads; the outward balances and assists the power of the inward. a pressure of the left leg causes the horse to place one foot before the other (see aid book). the whip used in alternate action with the leg will cause him to move to his right front, towards the boards. a very light and delicate application of the leg, in unison with a similar application of the whip, is sufficient with a well-broken horse to enable the rider to do the "half passage" correctly at a walk. the point at which, strictly speaking, she should arrive at the boards is just midway between the ends of the school; and in a properly-regulated one there should always be a white marker on the wall, just above the place where the sockets for the leaping bar are inserted in it. keeping her eye upon this marker, the rider should lead her horse's forehand lightly with the right rein, maintaining an easy, playful, feeling of the snaffle in his mouth, and carefully balancing his every step with the left rein, while she presses him up to his work with the leg and whip. the horse's head should be bent to the right, so that his right eye is visible to the rider as she sits perfectly square in the saddle. the pace can scarcely be too slow, but every step must be taken up to the bridle, the horse's forehand up, and his haunches well under him. in no part of a lady's course of equitation is it necessary for the instructor to pay more close attention to his pupil than in this: the temptation to the latter to relax her position, and sit, as it were, "all over the saddle" is great, from the difficulty she at first experiences in applying the aids effectually, and her anxiety to do well, causing her to twist her figure in pressing the horse with the left leg. the horse, too, is moving with his fore and hind feet in two distinctly different lines, which renders it far from easy, without considerable practice, to sit fair and square in the saddle. close attention and quiet correction, however, will obviate all this. many people, i am aware, assert that riding with such precision is unnecessary to a lady. from this opinion i beg leave to dissent _in toto_, my idea being that a course of equitation for a lady means teaching her everything (less the lessons of the "haute École") connected with the subject, and that whether she chooses hereafter to practise the "bending lesson," "half passage," and change at a canter or not, a thorough knowledge of them will give her a facility of riding unattainable by any other means, and make her also thoroughly _au fait_ to the reason for everything she does in order to control the animal under her. again, i can see no possible reason why the nicest precision should be considered unnecessary in a lady's riding any more than it is in music; and, to try back on my old simile, i submit that as the same scale is written for a thalberg as for the fair daughter of the house who performs on the pianoforte for the _post prandial_ amusement of paterfamilias, and inasmuch as the mode in which the music is performed is dependent in a great measure upon precision and practice, so in riding it is necessary to make a young lady acquainted with the principles of equitation in their minutest details, and carefully to watch that she executes them with the most rigid exactness. to return to the half passage. on arriving at the boards the lady should halt her horse for a moment and make much of him, then rein him back, and again walk him round the school to the left. the half passage should then be done to that hand, reversing the aids, and using the whip instead of the left leg. this will bring the horse again upon the right rein. he should now be well put up to his work, and pressed smartly off at a very collected canter. the instructor should be most careful that the proper cadence in pace is arrived at before he gives the word, and should caution the pupil also that when she arrives at the boards she should bring her horse to the walk. to facilitate this exercise also, it may be advisable in some cases to take the whole school instead of half of it; but in that case the horse should go over the same ground in the "half passage" at a walk, as he afterwards does at a canter. when the exercise is done at the latter pace, no attempt should be made at the first effort to change the horse at the boards. the master should give the word very quietly directly the pupil turns the corner of the school, and she should then press her horse well up, and turn his head smoothly from the centre marker, applying her aids with firmness and decision, endeavouring at the same time to prevent him from hurrying his pace. this, however, at the first attempt, it is scarcely to be expected that she will accomplish. if the whole school is taken, the point of arrival at the boards should be about a horse's length from the end, where he should be brought quietly to a walk, the rider for this purpose keeping the body back, turning the little fingers of both hands up towards the waist, and drawing the hands themselves well towards her waist. the bend of the horse's head should then be changed to the left, by allowing the off side reins to slip through the right hand about two inches, and drawing the near-side reins through the left hand, with the right, to an equal extent. the near-side reins should then be passed into the right hand, while with the left the rider "makes much" of her horse on the near side. this, of course, should only be done if he has executed the movement with reasonable precision, for (to repeat) perfection cannot be expected in the pupil's first effort. plenty of time should be taken between these "half-passage" lessons, because they are severe, calling very much upon the physical powers of both horse and rider. in order to give both a fair chance, the lesson should be again done at a walk, then at a canter, the pupil carefully instructed on arriving at the boards to strike the horse off collectedly _to the left_. to do this she should quietly change the bend to that hand, carry her left foot well forward towards the horse's shoulder, so as to use an action of her leg reverse to that she had recourse to in striking him off to the right. she should keep him well bent, but well supported with the outward rein. when she has him in the corner of the school, and bent both in his neck and ribs (which in turning and putting his off fore foot into the angle must be the case, if she applies her whip smartly behind the flap of the saddle, and presses her left foot to his near elbow, keeping his forehand well up at the same time), he can scarcely refuse to strike off with his near leg; but it must be borne in mind that a lady cannot be expected to execute this movement with any certainty unless the horse has been previously taught by a man to obey the aids the lady applies as above directed. this, however, every breaker who knows his business can easily do. when a fair amount of proficiency is acquired in this lesson, the change may be made from what is technically called a "half halt," which means simply that, the horse being thrown more upon his haunches, the aids are applied with great firmness, and the horse compelled to change his leg without being brought completely to the walk. the degree of proficiency, however, should be when the pupil can change her horse with certainty after halting him. the pace at which the half passage is done should be very collected, and, i repeat, if the rider and horse do it only reasonably well (that is, the latter continuing true and united in his pace, and changing freely after being halted), that for some little time it should be considered sufficient, and every allowance made for the fact that the lady, unlike the male rider, cannot give support to her horse with both legs. most likely at first the horse will throw his haunches out a little, and the rider slightly lose her position. practice and the close application most ladies give to riding will suffice to correct all this, and in due time the pupil will be able to execute the lesson with smoothness and ease to herself and her horse. she will then be sufficiently advanced to commence cantering on the curb rein alone. this, as regards finish in the rider's hand, is in equitation what tone is in music. every motion of the little finger, or the slightest turn of the wrist, acts upon the curb when it is unrelieved by the snaffle with so much more power, that the greatest care is necessary to keep the bridle hand steady at first, and to avoid anything approaching to suddenness or roughness of action. this steadiness is best accomplished by causing the pupil to ride with the reins arranged military fashion, with the snaffle reins hanging over the full of the left hand, the off side rein uppermost, and the right hand holding the end of the curb reins, as before described, which affords greater facility for easing and feeling them than can at first be expected, when the action is given altogether from the left wrist. in the latter case, the hand without considerable practice would be far too heavy, even when the arm was kept quite firm, and unbearably heavy to the horse if there was any motion from the shoulder of the rider. i must repeat that the lines of action of the little finger of the bridle hand are four--namely, towards the right and left shoulder respectively, according as the rider desires to turn the horse right or left; and towards his neck and her own waist, as she wishes to collect, rein back, or move him forward. now, while in trotting on the curb rein only the hand and arm should be kept as steady as possible, in order that the horse may make a free _appui_ between mouth and hand, "taking hold a little of the latter;" in cantering the direct reverse of this is the case, and the hand of the rider should give and take to every stride of the horse. it is in the mode of timing these give-and-take motions in exact harmony with the action of the horse that fine and finished hands consist; and i will endeavour to give an idea of the readiest way in which this delicate manipulation may be acquired, with as much precision as the fair rider can exercise when pressing the keys of a pianoforte. let us suppose, then, that in preparing for the cantering lesson on the curb, in order nicely to collect the horse, the reins are drawn quietly through the left hand by the right, as above described, the object being to rein the horse back a step or two, and balance him well with forehand up and haunches under him. by the above-named drawing up of the reins a firmer _appui_ is created against the horse's mouth. by closing both leg and whip, however, while still maintaining this _appui_, the horse will step back. the instant he does the reins should be yielded to him, and he will bend in the poll of the neck and yield to his rider's hand. so that the _appui_ is then scarcely perceptible. this alternate action of hand and leg, aided by the whip, should be repeated just as many times as it is desired to rein the horse so many steps backward, the latter moving very slowly; a couple or three steps for the purpose above named are always sufficient. to move the horse to the front again at a walk, the leg should be closed, and the reins eased until he moves forward, when he should be again collected. but if the rider desires to strike him off at once at a canter, at the moment she eases her hand she should apply her spur smartly just behind the girth, and touch the horse lightly on the off shoulder with her whip. being properly bent and prepared, he will then strike off with his right leg first, and well within himself; but having eased the reins as the horse takes his first short stride forward, the rider should feel them again the next instant, keeping her left hand well back, her arm steady, and manipulating the reins with the right hand and the fingers of the left, so that she feels them just as the horse's fore foot is on the ground, and eases them as he raises it. this may appear to the uninitiated a very difficult matter, but in reality it is not at all so, any more than it is difficult in dancing to keep time to music, or for the musician to count the time to himself; and by careful watching it can be mastered as well as either of the above, or the stroke in swimming. anybody who has witnessed a cavalry field day will have noticed that the regimental band and the action of the horses both in trotting and cantering past the commanding officer are in exact harmony; and many people believe that the horses are taught to canter to the music. the reverse of this, however, is the case. the leader of the band, having himself passed through a course of equitation, knows the exact cadence of the pace of manoeuvre, and regulates the time of the music accordingly; but it is because he is able to count the time of the horses' footfall so well that he is also able to set the time of the music. in like manner the fair equestrian, with a little practice, can learn to count the time of her horse's canter to herself, and regulate the action of her hand accordingly. the pupil must throw plenty of _life_ into her riding, and, while she sits easily and flexibly as regards her whole figure on the saddle, should keep the horse equally upon his mettle. in a riding school he requires more calling upon than when out of doors, and more "pressing up," as it is technically called; but when once the rider has him going, well balanced, and bending nicely, the great thing is to "let well alone," and not ask too much, by which she would only fret and upset him. in bringing the horse to the walk, the pupil should be cautioned to feel him up very gradually, avoiding any sudden jerk on his mouth. the gradual stronger feeling for two or three strides, of the taking action of the hand, followed by a much slighter giving of the reins, will bring the horse smoothly to the walk. the body of the rider should be inclined slightly back from the perpendicular. when the lady has acquired ease and freedom in riding on the curb, the turn, circles, "half passage" and change may be practised, close attention being given that the aids are applied smoothly and quietly. after a few such lessons, the pupil may commence riding with the left hand entirely unassisted by the right. for this purpose it is necessary first to carry that portion of the reins held in the right hand over the middle joint of the fore finger of the left; close the thumb firmly down on them, and drop the slack of the rein to the off side of the saddle near the horse's shoulder. the give-and-take action must at first be from the wrist only, the arm being kept firm, and the hand opposite the centre of the body. for a time this will be a little difficult, especially in turning, when the rider has only the motion of the little finger to depend upon for the action of the bit in the horse's mouth; but by supporting the horse well with the leg and whip, she will find that he will presently answer readily to her aids. in turning to the right, the hand must be turned with the knuckles up, and the little finger down towards the left shoulder, the whip pressed to the horse's side, and the leg kept close, in order to make the turn square. in turning to the left, the little finger should be directed inwards and upwards towards the right shoulder, and the left leg pressed to assist the turn, while the whip on the off side insures its squareness. the wrist must be quite easy and supple. in collecting, reining back, halting, or bringing the horse to the walk, the action by which he is restrained should again at first be altogether from the wrist, because motion from the shoulder would be too heavy. in yielding to the horse, nothing more is necessary than to turn the knuckles up and the little finger towards the horse's neck. by degrees, as the pupil learns to command her horse riding in this form she must be instructed once more to give free and mobile action to the arm at the shoulder joint, as when riding on both snaffle and curb reins. but at first firmness of the arm is essential to give steadiness to the hand. a good deal has been said about turning horses by pressure of the rein against the neck without acting upon the metal in his mouth; and opinions very diverse have been expressed on this point. with all deference to the disputants, i submit that both are right and both wrong in some respects. for instance, when the rider has the reins divided and the hands well apart (a section of the lady equitation i propose to say something about hereafter), if the rider turns the horse square to the right or left he must use his legs as well as his hands, and imperceptibly perhaps to himself (even if he has not been taught by rule) he closes both the outward leg and feels the outward rein firmly, in order to support the horse and prevent him from falling, which otherwise he would be in danger of doing. now, this support with the outward rein causes it to press against the horse's neck, and to some extent gives him the indication of the rider's will. but still it is simply impossible to do this without acting on the snaffle or bit rein, as the case may be, on one side or the other, as long as the reins are attached to a bit of any sort. and after all, it is the leg which gives the surest indication of the rider's will. one sees a lad in an irish fair riding with a flat-headed halter turned through the horse's mouth, and, with the rope only on one side, he will put the horse through his paces, jump him, and turn him to either hand. there is no metal at all in the mouth, although the hemp is not a bad substitute; but the rope being only on one side, it is evident that it is not pressure upon the neck that turns the horse, but the action of the boy's leg against the intercostal muscles of the horse, and the inflection of the lad's body to the hand he desires to turn to. moreover, in the case, let us say of a dragoon, we will suppose at riding school drill, it would be utterly out of the question to turn horses by pressure on the neck and preserve order at the same time. let us suppose a double ride--seven mounted men on either side of a school or _manége_. they are going large round the place, and the instructor gives the word "right and left turn." if each man of the fourteen were to turn his horse by pressure of the reins against the neck, instead of by the aid of leg and hand, the result would be that in place of making a square turn at right angles with the boards, each horse would describe a segment of a circle, more or less large, according to the susceptibility of his neck, and the stiffness or otherwise of his ribs. the consequence would be that the two sides, instead of passing left hand to left hand through the intervals (and it must be remembered that there is little room to spare), would be on the top of each other, and in confusion at once. and if this would be bad at a walk, it would be still worse at a canter. in either case it would be impossible, by the application of such aids, to preserve the dressing. the above, i submit, is a sufficient reason, where the utmost precision in riding is required, why turning a horse by the action of the rein against his neck (if, indeed, it can be done at all without the leg) is objectionable; and another objection in the case both of the dragoon and the lady rider is that the motions by which such aids could be applied are _too wide_ for neat and elegant riding. horses in their breaking may be taught to answer all sorts of "cross aids;" but for simplicity and ease of comprehension there is nothing in equitation so good as the system practised in the german and our own cavalry riding schools, the proof of which lies in the fact that, although years ago one did not get even an average amount of intelligence as a rule in our rank and file, yet every cavalry soldier could readily understand the simple system upon which he was taught. it is because that system forms, after all, the basis of much that applies to female equitation that i have so frequently quoted from and alluded to it. when the instructor finds that his pupil is quite at her ease, riding her horse with one hand only, that she can do this, giving due freedom of action to the arm at the shoulder joint, has perfect command of him, and plenty of liberty and confidence in her own deportment on his back, he should take her out and ride with her in the park or road, and subsequently prepare her to extend her horse at a gallop, and commence her leaping lessons. at this stage a more finished style of equestrian toilette will of course be adopted, in lien of the loose habiliments hitherto used. i do not pretend to lay down any arbitrary rule on this subject. much of course depends upon the taste of the lady herself, and in this respect english ladies are pre-eminent; a good deal also upon the judgment and experience of those about her. but as i have good opportunities of seeing the best types of fashionable attire for ladies' riding, i venture to suggest some of them. chapter xii. dress for park riding, and the extended paces. in no department of the charming art of dressing well is a lady so much shackled by conventional usages as in her "get up" for riding. in all other kinds of dress, from the full court costume to simple morning wrapper, such is the almost endless variety of style that there is something to suit every woman, from the lady of high degree to "dolly varden," and the "molly duster;" and the selection made is conclusive as to the good or bad taste of the wearer. in riding dress it is altogether different. "chimney pot" hats, tight-fitting jackets, and flowing skirts of orthodox dark rifle-green seem to be _de rigueur_, whatever may be the figure, style, or complexion of the wearer. i submit (and in this opinion i am borne out by several accomplished lady riders, to one of whom i am indebted for the following suggestions) that this is wrong, and that some modifications as regards shape and colour would be advantageous both as regards the comfort of the ladies themselves, and as a matter of taste. to begin with head-dress. it is manifest that whereas a lady of tall, lithe figure, with an oval grecian style of face, and classical contour of head, will appear to the greatest advantage on horseback in a plain or gentleman's hat, and with her hair so arranged as to show the outline of the head and neck, one of the hebe style of beauty, particularly if slightly inclined to the "_embon._," if so accoutred, would not look by any means well. yet one constantly sees the same sort of head-dress worn by ladies whose general style is in direct contrast, the reason presumably being that fashion admits of such little latitude for choice. again, as regards the jacket. a lady of slight figure (for effect) can scarcely wear anything that fits too close, consistently with her freedom of motion; but the fair equestrian whose proportions are not "sylph like" is badly equipped in such a garment. to revert to the hat for the latter type of lady, the most becoming style seems to be one with a low crown, and brim more or less wide, according to the features of the wearer, as such hats admit of great variety, both in material, and, what is more important, in colour; and consequently it is not difficult for a lady to obtain that which is exactly suitable to her both as regards feature and complexion. some of these hats for park or road riding, ornamented with ostrich or other feathers, are exceedingly elegant and becoming, and protect the skin from the rays of the sun, without any necessity for a veil, which cannot be said of the plain black or gentleman's hat. for the hunting field, of course, feathers or ornaments are out of place; but nevertheless most elegant low-crowned, wide-rimmed hats, made of fine felt and without ornament, of shapes suitable to every class of feature, are obtainable in melton, and i presume are equally accessible in london. the form of jacket most suitable for a lady whose proportions incline to fulness is a tunic, made hussar fashion, that is, it should have two seams in the back and be well sprung inwards towards the waist without fitting tight; the short skirt made full, and reaching well down to the saddle; the sleeves wide. broad braiding judiciously arranged on such tunics, too, will have the effect of considerably diminishing the appearance of redundant fulness of figure in the wearer. two rows of braiding, commencing at the lower edge of the tunic behind, should bend inwards towards the waist; but instead of diverging thence to the shoulder points, as in a military coat, should pass over the shoulders, about midway between them and the neck, and thence be continued with a turn (ornamental or plain) to the front of the tunic on both sides, and reaching down to its lower extremity. there should be no braiding round the bottom edges of the jacket. these tunics can be made either single or double breasted, but in either case should have broad lappets in front; and neckties of any colour suitable to the wearer's complexion, arranged as a gentleman ties his neckcloth, and fastened with gold horseshoe pins, jewelled or plain, are very effective. the single-breasted tunic should be fastened with hooks and eyes, covered by the braid; the double-breasted jacket should fasten with plain silk buttons. the advantage of these tunics is that, while they afford plenty of room to the rider, and while they in no way cramp her flexibility in the saddle, they tend to diminish to a degree scarcely conceivable the appearance of redundant fulness or squareness of form, and give a very elegant _tournure_ to a figure that would look by no means well in a tight-fitting jacket. again, neckties of moderately large pattern, and ornaments in the way of feathers and pins, or other fastenings for the cravat, all tend to diminish to the eye the appearance of weight and size, and as a rule, are as becoming on horseback to ladies of full figure as rigid plainness in habits, collars, &c., are to those of spare and delicate form. it should be borne in mind that it is on the off side that the figure of a lady equestrian is most critically noticed by the observer. on the near side the skirt has a great effect in increasing or diminishing the apparent size and form of the rider. on the off side every defect in form or dress is patent, and it is on the off side that the gentleman attendant rides. close-fitting jackets, then, i repeat; plain gentleman's hats, with or without lace lappets, and extreme simplicity of get up, will be most effective on the off side in the case of a lady of slight figure. the style of hat and tunic i have attempted to describe is most suitable to those whose _physique_ is more developed. as regards skirts, a fair amount of fullness, according to the size of the rider, for road or park, gives a very graceful appearance on the near side, care of course being taken that the habit is not so long as to admit of the horse treading on it. for hunting skirts can scarcely be too circumscribed, as long as they afford the wearer freedom of action. a word now about colours. i repeat that except in the arbitrary dictum of fashion there is no warranty for the all but universal prevalence of dark rifle-green for riding habits. it must be evident that a lady who is a "brunette" will look far better in a riding dress the colour of which is dark chocolate or purple than she will in green of any sort; and on the other hand a "blonde" would be more suitably attired in a habit of a shade of light blue suitable to her complexion than in anything of more sombre hue. again, in the hunting field why should our patrician ladies who grace these sporting _réunions_, with their presence, and go as straight and well as any men, shewing always in the front rank, be debarred by fashion or conventional usage from wearing scarlet jackets. scarlet is worn on foot--for opera cloaks, in shawls, in whole dresses. why not scarlet on horseback? i saw a lady this season riding with one of our crack midland packs who wore a scarlet jacket of very fine cloth; a light blue silk cravat, fastened with a diamond horseshoe pin; a skirt of very dark blue, and a plain man's hat of melton style. she was a blonde with golden hair, mounted on a bright chestnut blood-like hunter; and, as she was of slight, lathy figure, and rode exceedingly well, the _ensemble_ was quite charming. this lady was the cynosure of all eyes, not only on account of her capital riding but her dress, which i heard deprecated by some as "_too loud_." my humble opinion was that it was exactly in harmony with the place and the sport, most becoming to the wearer, and calculated to give _dash_ and _brilliancy_ to the _coup d'oeil_ afforded by the field as they streamed away after the hounds; moreover, the lady herself had that thoroughbred stamp and aristocratic bearing that would have rendered any innovation in equestrian costume admissable in her case. but when the complexion and style of any lady admits of it, i can see no reason why she should not wear scarlet with foxhounds as well as her brother or her husband. in summer time, too, is not dark rifle-green or any dark colour and thick cloth which attracts the rays of the sun to the certain discomfort of the wearer an absurdity, when the fair equestrian would look far better, because more seasonably attired, in light grey, light blue, or even in a habit of perfectly white linen, or similar fabric? as i have ventured to point out a pleasing alteration of conventional dress in the hunting field, i trust i may be pardoned for describing what appeared to me an equally consistent innovation in summer costume for the saddle. last summer i saw four young ladies taking an early morning canter over a breezy down in this neighbourhood. the weather was sultry. three of the ladies wore habits of different shades of grey, according to their respective complexions, the fabric evidently very thin. their equipment was completed by felt hats of different shapes, exceedingly becoming. the fourth lady, who was very fair, wore a perfectly white habit, made, i presume, of linen; the jacket edged with a narrow light blue cord; her headdress was a yachting hat of tuscan straw, encircled by and also fastened under her chin with light blue ribbon. in the front of her jacket she wore a moss rosebud. she was riding an arab-like blood horse, and being, like her companions, not only well mounted, but a first-rate horsewoman, the effect was not only pleasing to the eye and full of "dash," but, i am sure, most conducive to the comfort of the fair riders themselves. fashion apart, i may fairly ask, would not these four ladies have looked equally well, and felt as much at their ease, in rotten row as on the springy leicestershire turf? i devoutly hope yet to see some of the leaders of fashion in the gay london season inaugurate some such change as i venture to suggest; and certain i am if they did so, rotten row in the month of may would present a brilliant watteau-like appearance, very different from that produced by the prevalence of sombre colours now worn by the equestrian _habitués_ of that fashionable ride. to return to our fair pupil (having made such selection of riding dress as is most suitable to her style). her first outdoor rides should be taken on some quiet and little frequented road until she becomes accustomed to control her horse; for there is a great difference in the form of going of the same animal in the riding school and on the road, as many horses that require considerable rousing in the school are all action and lightheartedness out of doors. on the road, especially when they are hard, walking and trotting should be the pace, the pupil riding equally on snaffle and curb reins; the pace free and active; the trot about eight to eight and a half the hour. cantering should never be practised on hard ground, as it is certain, sooner or later, to cause mischief to the horse's legs. where there is a good broad sward by the roadside, as in the midland counties, a good stretching canter for miles may always be had where the ground is good going. but such places are not to be found in the neighbourhood of the metropolis; and it is necessary therefore to select some open common, such as wimbledon or wormwood scrubs, for cantering at first. by degrees the pupil should be accustomed to ride through thoroughfares where there is considerable traffic, and may then make her _début_ in rotten row; and here i may remark that nobody, lady or gentleman, should ever attempt riding in this fashionable equestrian resort until they have thorough command of their horses, and, indeed, know scientifically what riding is. the place, strictly speaking, is a ride intended for royalty alone; and i believe i am correct in saying that the admission of the general public to it is by no means a matter of right. great pains are bestowed to keep it in good order throughout the year; especially, it is always soft and good for a horse's legs. but as a great concourse of equestrians, male and female, is always in the row in the london season, and as the horses are nearly all well bred and high couraged, there is considerable danger, both to themselves and others, in persons with indifferent seats and hands venturing to ride in the fashionable crowd, the danger being considerably enhanced by the fact that such people are altogether ignorant of the risk they are running. for my own part, after seeing some corpulent citizen rehearsing "john gilpin" in hyde park, with his trousers half-way up to his knees, and his feet the wrong way in the stirrups, the wonder has always been to me not that accidents occur in rotten row, but that there are not a great many more. there are adventurous ladies, too, who occasionally create a sensation among the crowd, not at all flattering to themselves if they only knew the sentiments of those about them; and i really think it would be a capital plan to appoint some competent gentlemen to take charge by turns of the row in the london season, and order the mounted police on duty quietly to see everybody out of it who was unable to command their horses. matters, since the mounted constables have been put on, are not quite so bad as formerly; but there is plenty of room for improvement still, both as regards dogs, pretty horsebreakers, and tailors. at all events, i recommend any man taking a young lady into the park in the height of the london season "to have his eyes about him" in every direction, lest some "dashing equestrian," male or female, should come bucketing a horse in rear of his charge, and to keep a close watch also upon the latter--to see that she _rides her horse_ all the time she is in the place, keeping him well into his bridle, which reduces to a minimum the chances of his suddenly flirting. elsewhere i have gone at considerable length into the subject of possible accidents in the park. it is perhaps necessary that i repeat the gist of it here, which is simply that no young lady, however accomplished a horsewoman she may be, should be allowed by her friends to ride in the row unattended by a male companion, who is not only a thoroughly good horseman, but accustomed to ride beside a lady and _anticipate_ anything in the shape of bad manners on the part of her horse; that the attendance of a groom, who rides at a considerable distance in rear of the lady (whatever appearance of conventional style it may give to the fair equestrian), is utterly useless to her in case of accident, nay, in more than one instance that i have known has been productive of it from the groom galloping up at a critical moment, and still further exciting the lady's horse. finally, that no lady should ever ride a horse of high breed and courage that has been allowed to "get above himself," by remaining day after day in the stable, or having insufficient work, when exercised, to keep down exuberant freshness. there is no danger to a thoroughly good horsewoman in riding a horse that is "light-hearted." but there is risk to everybody, man or woman, in riding one "mad fresh," ready to jump out of his skin, as the grooms say, in a crowd of other horses. for my own part, of two evils, i would rather see a lady jammed into a lane with twenty or thirty horses, after hounds had just got away, and everybody was struggling to get out, than i would see her in the park unattended by a gentleman, and mounted upon a well-bred horse that was very fresh. i do not by any means deprecate riding in the row. it is a splendid piece of riding ground, and relieved to some extent, as it now is, of overcrowding by the ride on the upper side of the park; it is a glorious place for a canter. but i repeat, let everybody who takes a horse there be able to ride him, and have eyes for his neighbours as well as himself; and especially let gentlemen who attend ladies there be always on the _qui vive_ for the adventurous gilpins and "pretty horsebreakers." the canter for the row, conventionally and wisely, should be almost as collected as that of the riding school. it is an understood thing, in fact, that no lady or gentleman (properly so called) "sets a horse going" there; and trotting when practised should also be done very collectedly, both paces admitting of the display of talent and proficiency in equitation of the rider. for the more extended paces, it is necessary again to have recourse to open heath or common; and, before the pupil attempts to "set her horse going," the difference between cantering, in the "andante" pace, and galloping, should be clearly explained to her. the main difference in this cantering is to some extent an artificial pace, because, when practised collectedly, the greater weight of the horse is brought from his forehand on to his haunches; and the shorter the pace, the more his weight is on his hind legs. it is for this reason that very collected cantering should not be continued for any great length of time, from its tendency to strain the hocks, nevertheless cantering, like trotting, cannot fairly be pronounced altogether artificial, because anybody who has had the handling of a great number of young horses must have seen many of them running loose who would canter the length of a paddock at quite a short pace, both legs on the same side (generally the near side); and i have seen a foal at a mare's foot trot, true and fair, for a considerable distance. galloping, however, like walking, is a perfectly natural pace, although it is a mistake to say that in the gallop the horse moves both fore and hind legs together, in what is frequently termed "a succession of jumps." that he does this in his top speed, and especially in making a supreme effort, as in a desperate finish of a race, is perfectly true: but it is equally certain that at half or three quarter speed he is leading with either near or off fore leg, and that anything but a _full speed_ gallop is simply a very extended canter. any man who has ridden a race must know that where the distance is great, say four miles or more, and men do not force the pace, for perhaps two-thirds of the way every horse (say of a score of them) will be leading with either near or off leg, generally the former, and that a very hot excitable horse, eager to get to the front, will _change his leg_ when he finds his rider keeps his hands down, and his horse back. it may be said that this is not galloping but cantering; but i beg to assure all those who maintain this opinion that such a canter is faster than any gallop resorted to, apart from racing, that, in short, such a gallop is a very extended canter. whatever the term, however, may be most applicable to it, half racing speed is quite as fast as a lady will have occasion to ride, unless in cases of desperate emergency. at such speed the horse has altogether a different balance to that maintained in the short canter; and, although he does not go altogether on his shoulders, still, to afford him freedom of action, he must be allowed to extend his head and neck, because, if too much bent, his action will be clambering, instead of sending him freely to his front. to gallop a horse in good form the lady should adopt a different arrangement of the reins to any heretofore used. it is simply to divide them, so that the little fingers of both hands pass between the snaffle and curb reins, the latter under the little finger, and a little longer than the former, the _appui_ being principally upon the snaffle, although there should be no slack rein on the curbs. her hands should be kept well apart, and as low down as she can get them. the reason for separating the hands is, that it is far more difficult for a lady to set her hands down than for a man to do the same thing, because the front forks of the saddle are very much in her way. if, however, she rides with a saddle, the off side crutch of which is "cut down," and she places her right hand outside her right knee, and her left hand outside the near side upper crutch, she will have the reins at nearly the same angle, and about the same feeling on the horse's mouth, as would be obtained by a man in setting his horse going. in order to counteract any tendency of this position of the hands to interfere with the rider's proper balance, the left foot should be carried well forward, while the leg is pressed firmly against the third crutch, and an equally firm grasp of the upper crutch is taken with the right knee. a slight bend forward of the figure from the waist upwards is admissible, but great care should be taken by the instructor that this is not overdone, but regulated by the angle at which the left foot is placed. with the slight bend forward, however, there should be no rounding of the back or shoulders, or dropping of the head. neither should the hands be allowed to get too forward; they will be somewhat in advance of their position at a canter, but not be more than six or eight inches from the body--the hands with the knuckles upwards, the elbows only slightly bent. the ground selected for this exercise should be well known to the instructor--sound, good-going turf, perfectly free from rabbit holes or rotten places. the pace should be gradually increased from a free canter to about half-racing speed, the master making the pace himself, and carefully watching his pupil in every stride her horse takes. the lady should be instructed to let her horse "take fairly hold" of her, and press him with the leg until he strides freely along in his gallop. she should keep her hands shut firmly on the reins, and rest the former against the saddle. the horse then, while taking well hold of her, will not _pull_, nor will she pull an ounce against him, the consequence being that when she desires to decrease her speed, she has only to lean back gradually from her galloping position, bringing the body first perfectly upright, and then inclining back at about the same angle she previously carried it forward, raise her hands up from the saddle, and carry them back to her waist, while she turns the little fingers inwards and upwards towards it, which will cause her to feel the curb reins with a double feeling to the snaffle, and in about a dozen strides she can thus collect her horse into a steady canter and bring him subsequently to a walk. the length and speed of these rides must be carefully regulated by the master according to the nerve and strength of his pupil. without a fair amount of both nerve and physical power such gallops should not be attempted at all. where there is plenty of both, a half-mile spin is admissible to begin with, and, with good going ground, this may be increased gradually to a couple of miles. the instructor should be very careful in cautioning his pupil to diminish the speed of her horse by degrees and in the manner above described, especially avoiding any sudden pull at him, or any unsteadiness of the hands. carefully practised, these gallops will give the pupil great freedom and confidence in the saddle; and they are, moreover, wonderful promoters of health. chapter xiii. the leaping lesson. i come now to a section of our courses of instruction, which, if not as some suppose the most difficult to impart or acquire, is nevertheless of great importance. the principles, however, upon which a horse "does a fence" neatly and safely, and those upon which depend the secure riding of the lady, once properly understood, the rest is a question of practice, the thorough training of the horse and his complete fitness for his task being assumed. the two latter points are, however, of such vital consequence that i will endeavour to direct attention to several matters connected with them, which i trust may be useful. in the first place, then, it should be borne in mind that whereas every horse of every breed in the world can be taught to jump, jumping comes so aptly to some as to be perfectly natural, and no more trouble to them with a fair weight than walking or galloping. such horses are easily taught to be _clever_; that is to say, to do "doubles," "in and out," and crooked places, with almost the surefootedness of a goat, as well as to jump clean timber or fly sixteen or eighteen feet of water. the sort of animal i speak of is fond of jumping, and consequently when carefully broken learns to _balance himself_ with the greatest nicety; and, provided the ground is sound, you cannot get him down, while he does not know what refusing means, except in the case of utterly impracticable places. it is upon such horses, or those which approach the nearest to them in their qualifications, that a lady should be mounted, not only for the hunting field itself, but in her initiation in the riding school into the art of riding her horse over a fence. horses that rush at their jump, are hot-headed, or intemperate in any way, are utterly unfit for a lady to attempt leaping with, either indoors or out. there should be blood and quality undoubtedly, as well as substance and power, but these must be joined to the best of temper. possibly the very perfection of a horse exists in that wonderful little animal the lamb, who has just exhibited at liverpool the most extraordinary feats of _cleverness_ and endurance, coupled with splendid action, speed, and temper, ever yet shown by any horse. the form in which, galloping at top speed, he jumped over two horses lying _hors de combat_ right in his way, and cleared both and their riders without further injury to any, will live always in the memory of those who witnessed it; while his unflinching and determined effort to win under a weight that scarcely admitted of hope stamp the lamb as a horse without equal in our day. in my opinion no price in reason could be too much to ask or give for such animal. a short time ago i had the great honour and privilege accorded me by his noble owner of a close inspection at his private training quarters of this unrivalled little equine gem; and i am bound to say that, although i never quite believed in perfection of a horse until i saw the action, manner, and general form of the lamb, as far as my judgment or experience goes, i freely accord to him the palm over every horse i have seen in a lifetime spent among horseflesh in one quarter or another of the world; but, although it is not possible in my humble opinion to find his equal as a cross-country horse, our endeavours should be directed to obtain for a lady hunter that which approximates most closely to the lamb. let me briefly point out what are the qualities that render such horses the fittest for carrying a lady to hounds. in the first place, the connecting points of such an animal are so true in their relative adjustment, that while in galloping he does not _clamber_ or fight the air, he goes with action so safe as always to clear any of those apparently insignificant obstacles, which too often bring to grief a gallant-looking steed and his fair rider. when "ridge and furrow" (as must sometimes occur) run the wrong way, he can go safe from land to land; and this is of greater consequence to a lady's riding than many suppose. the stamp of horse i speak of, too, will gallop with his hind legs well under him, while he maintains a proper balance of his fore hand without getting his head too low. he will do his fences without rush or passion, and measure his distance to perfection. secondly, his breeding gives him the power to endure through long runs, while his temper prevents that feverish excitement so detrimental in its reaction on a hot horse after a long day's hunting. to return to the detail of the leaping lesson. this should always be commenced either in a riding school or in a space so inclosed as to do away as nearly as possible with any chance of the horse refusing. it is not possible always to procure one that is quite a "lamb;" and, however well trained the animal on which the fair pupil is put, no possible temptation to do wrong should ever be allowed to remain in his way. a gorse-bound bar, a wattled hurdle or common sheep hurdle are all equally good for the first attempt, care being taken not to make the leap too high. but i do not, from experience, believe in putting the bar or other obstacle on the ground, because the effort a well-broken horse makes to clear it is so slight, that it puts the rider off her guard; and when afterwards he rises higher in his jump, he is very apt to shift her in the saddle. there is a very natural inclination on the part of a tyro in riding, lady or gentleman (having seen a horse jump under another person), to suppose that some effort of the hand is necessary _to lift_ the horse over the obstacle. it should be the duty of the instructor carefully to warn his pupil against any such effort, and in the first attempt to attend only to her true equilibrium, while she presses the horse well up to his bridle, keeping her hands perfectly steady, well back, and well down. she should take a firm hold of the upper crutch of the saddle with her right knee; sit well _into_ the saddle, and not on the back of it, because the further back she sits, the greater the concussion when the horse alights. she should put her left foot well home in the stirrup, and press her leg firmly against the third crutch, while she keeps the left knee quite flexible, and the left foot well forward. she should draw her figure well up from the waist, which should be bent slightly forward; and she should avoid _stiffening_ the waist, because it is from that point that she is able to throw the upper part of the figure backwards at the proper moment, and at the true angle, to preserve her balance. she should direct her glance straight between the horse's ears, and well in front of him to the end of the school, because if she looks down at her hands or the bar, she relaxes her upright position. the horse should be led up to the bar by the instructor, who should be able to jump lightly over the obstacle with the horse; and another assistant should follow with a whip, the presence of which the horse will recognise in an instant, without any noise being made with it, and he will go at once into his bridle, and "take hold" of the rider's hand. a groom should hold the end of the bar or hurdle so lightly, that if the horse touches it, it will fall; while another groom should stand in such a position, about a horse's length to half a one outside the instructor, as to do away with all chance of the horse swerving from any nervous action of the rider's hand. in jumping, at first the pupil should ride entirely upon the snaffle rein. in fact, for early leaping lessons, it is best to put a good broad reined snaffle in the horse's mouth, instead of a double bridle, because it prevents any confusion about the reins, and consequent derangement of nerve in the pupil. on approaching the bar, the latter should incline the body back from the waist upwards, at such an angle, that a line from the back point of the shoulder would fall about a couple of inches behind the cantle of the saddle. this is not according to the strict formula laid down by high-class professors of equitation; on the contrary. "the aid book" tells us that "the body should be inclined forward as the horse rises, and backwards as he alights." but i have found in teaching _ladies_ to jump their horses that, particularly with a quick jumping one, any such attempt would result in the horse hitting the lady in the face with his head, and thereby thoroughly disgusting her with leaping lessons, to say nothing of possible disfigurement or injury. the instructor cannot be too quiet, simply keeping well hold of his horse, making him walk close to the boards, and cautioning his pupil to sit back--_not away from the crutches_ of the saddle, but to throw the upper part of her figure back _the instant the horse drops his head_. any more instruction will only confuse her. the master should jump with the horse, _but not hold the habit_, as is customary with some preceptors of riding, because no man is so clever on his legs but that some inequality in the tan or turf might cause him to stumble, in which case assuredly he would pull the lady off her horse. after the first jump the master is better away from both horse and pupil. in nine cases out of ten i have found that the above simple directions to the latter result in her landing all right, except a little derangement of equilibrium to the front; but the easy spring of a well-bred and well-broken horse, and the hold he takes of her hands, reassure her. she has made her _première pas_ in jumping, and finds that it is by no means so difficult a matter as she anticipated. in her second attempt, if she exhibits good nerve, as most young ladies of the present day do, the instructor need only walk up the side of the school with her, close to the horse's shoulder, quietly correcting her if she allows her reins to become slack, because in that case she loses the _appui_ on the horse's mouth, which in her early attempts at leaping is of vital importance to her. in fact, it is necessary, in order to give the pupil confidence, that the horse should jump with a firm hold upon her hand. many authorities on riding tell us that a horse's jump is simply a higher stride of his gallop; from this notion i beg entirely to dissent. in leaping, a horse first raises his forehand upwards with a half rear, both feet quitting the ground at the same instant, the height he rises corresponding to the angle at which he takes off. secondly, from his hind legs he propels himself forwards, both hind legs moving together, and, if he is a good jumper, well under him. if leaping, therefore, is to be compared to any other action of a horse, it must resemble a plunge gaining ground to the front. there is no possible gain in teaching, however, by comparing a horse's leap to his any other movement. instinct tells him what to do in order to clear his legs of the obstacle, and, like walking or galloping, the action is by no means artificial, inasmuch as a thoroughly unbroken young horse loose in a paddock will jump through a gap on an ill-kept farm (if his dam makes the running) with precisely the same action as a finished hunter; and, therefore, in one sense i endorse the dictum once expressed to me by an irish farmer when i asked his opinion as to the natural paces of a horse. his reply was, "sure some of 'em goes no way natural, but just the way you don't want thim to go; and there's some of thim that nothing's so natural to as to ate a lot of good oats a man never sees the price of again. thim's bad ones. but if you're spaking of a good maning, rale irish horse, the most natural pace he has is to jump well." i quite agree, bar the word pace, that jumping to a horse is as natural as any other instinctive action. the weight, however, to be carried, and the mode in which that weight is distributed at the critical moment, makes a material difference to both horse and rider. therefore, the early leaping lessons should be confined to causing the pupil to do as little as possible to impede the action of the horse, while she preserves her due balance. like the breaking of a young colt in the case of a pupil learning to ride over a fence, if you ask too much at once or confuse the learner, you obtain nothing but discomfiture. as regards this portion of the course of equitation, it is specially necessary to bear in mind the old french maxim, _c'est ne pas le première pas qui coûte_. at the same time it is quite possible, if the first step is injudiciously taken, to spoil the whole of your previous work. special care should be taken that the horse does not take off too soon; and if, from any unevenness of the rider's hands or legs, he attempts this, the instructor should be quickly at his head again, and compel him to do his work coolly and collectedly. "the standing leap," as this is technically called, is considerably more difficult as regards catching the precise moment at which to throw the weight of the body back than the "flying leap," because in the standing leap the horse, being nearer to the obstacle, pitches himself forward with a much rougher action, and does not land so far on the other side of the fence; whereas when he canters freely at it, the difference in the shock to the rider is as great as that experienced in the pitch of a boat in a short chopping sea, and the boat's rise and fall in a long swell, the pace also causing the horse to take more freely hold of the rider's hand. complete confidence, however, must be established before a lady should be asked to ride her horse at a fence out of a walk; and nearly as much time should be expended over this new step in the series of lessons as were occupied in trotting. i have not, however, to define the principle upon which, in either standing or flying leap, security of seat must be sought. some say that in leaping it is by muscular grasp only that a lady can retain her true equilibrium in the saddle; others adhere to the notion that it is all done by balance. now the truth lies midway between these two theories. it is quite possible for a man to ride over a fence by balance only. witness what one sees frequently in a circus, where some talented equestrian maintains his footing on a bare-backed steed, while the latter jumps a succession of bars. here there is nothing to keep the rider on the horse but sheer balance; and, of course, if this can be done by one man standing up, it can be much more easily done by another sitting down in the saddle, although very few men ride across country in such form, nor indeed is it either safe or desirable to do so. the thing, nevertheless, is quite easy. it is not so easy with a lady, because her position on the saddle is altogether an artificial one; and, moreover, the weight of the skirt is sufficient to render riding by balance alone most difficult. it is by a combination of firm grasp on the crutches, _seized_ just before the horse arrives at his fence, and a true balancing of the body from the waist upwards, that security of seat in jumping is obtained. a most necessary adjunct to the above, however, is firmness of the arms, because, if the latter are allowed to fly out from the sides, the whole figure becomes, as it were, disconnected, and the proper _aplomb_ is lost. by taking a firm hold of the upper crutch of the saddle with the right leg, the rider is enabled to balance her body as the horse rises, while the pressure of the left leg against the third crutch prevents the concussion of his landing from throwing her forward, provided always she throws back her weight at precisely the right moment. this requires practice, and well-timed assistance from the instructor, thus: as soon as the pupil acquires sufficient confidence to ride her horse fairly up to the fence, and keep his head straight to it, the master should stand far enough from her to obtain a good view of the whole contour of figure of horse and rider. he should place the hands of the latter _well_ apart, cause her to shut her fingers firmly on the reins, which give firmness to the body; keep her hands well down and her figure well drawn up, ready on the instant to throw the weight back. he should then caution her to execute the last-named movement on his giving the _single sharp word_ "now." the pupil should then press her horse well up against her hand, and keep his head steady and straight to the bar. the instant he rises the instructor should give his word sharply, and the rider will then catch the true time at which to act upon it. this requires only close attention and watching by instructor and pupil, both being "vif" and thoroughly on the alert. after a few efforts the lady is then sure to find out the time without any word. i have taught a great many very young ladies as well as gentlemen to ride over a fence by the aid of the word given in the above form, and have found it always of the greatest assistance both to myself and pupils. special attention is necessary to keeping the hands well down and well apart, and the shoulders quite square, because there is a natural tendency on the part of most ladies in the first leaping lessons to throw the right shoulder forward, which not only destroys her balance but causes her to pull the horse's head to the near side. the hands cannot be kept too quiet at first, for any effort to give and take to the action of the horse is nearly certain to result in the pupil checking him at the very moment he springs forward, and pulling him upon his fence. a well-broken horse, when put up to his bridle, will take a good hold of the rider's hand, and if sufficient length of rein is given him will clear the bar without the necessity of the rider moving her hands a hair's breadth. subsequently, when she has had sufficient practice to feel quite at home, she can be taught how to assist him when he does a long striding leap over water or a strong double fence with ditches on both sides. after the standing leap is executed neatly, and in good form by rider and horse, the flying leap should at once be practised. the pupil should put her horse into a steady canter, going to the left round the school; and for this purpose the hurdle or bar should for the time be removed, so as to enable the lady to get her horse into a good free stride. when the instructor sees that she has her horse in proper form, the hurdle should be put up again and well sloped, because, even so, the horse will jump considerably higher in all probability than the rider expects. this is the moment at which the master requires to be thoroughly on the alert. he should caution the lady not to let her horse _hurry_ when he turns the corner and sees the hurdle, which many horses are very apt to do. "hands down," "sit back," "press him against your hand," and the "now!" at the right moment should be the concise words, given in a tone at once lively and encouraging. the result will be a clean, clever jump, well done by horse and rider, when the former should be "made much of." a couple or three leaps so executed are quite enough in a school, because nothing so worries most horses as to keep them continually jumping at the same place, and if the leap is too often repeated, they are apt to sulk or blunder at it. within the walls of a good riding house almost every kind of obstacle can be represented which can be met with out of doors. the double, the artificial brook or painted wall, all give the pupil sufficient insight into the form in which a well-taught horse will negotiate any of the fences to be met with in the hunting field; and the lady should be carefully taught how to _stop_ and _steady_ her horse at a crooked or cramped place. when once the leaping lessons are commenced, one should be given every day, either before or after the riding out. if the ride is intended to be a long one, the jumping should be done while the horse is fresh, and has all his powers in hand. when the pupil can do the standing and flying leap, the in and out or double in good form, riding on the snaffle, she should again return to her double bridle, which should be fitted with a curb chain with broad links; and the whole of it should be well padded and covered with soft leather, to prevent any jar upon the horse's mouth in jumping. the reins should be separated and placed as for galloping, the greatest care being taken by the instructor that the curb is no tighter than just to keep it in place, for which a good lip strap should be used, and the curb chain fitted so as to admit the play of quite two fingers between it and the horse's jaw. in placing the reins, the master should see that the greater _appui_ is on the snaffle, and that after the pupil closes her hands upon the reins she does not shift her hold of them in the slightest degree. having now four reins instead of two as formerly, there will be a tendency to "fidget" with them, or obtain a better hold. this must instantly be corrected if it occurs, otherwise ten to one but the lady gets the curb rein too short, and pulls her horse on his fence. at the same time there should be no slack curb rein hanging down, but it should be of such length that, on landing, the horse can just feel the action of the curb, and the reason for this is obvious. in school all leaping may be accomplished on the snaffle; but in the hunting field it is far otherwise. in deep ground a horse requires holding together, and no lady could do this with a snaffle bridle. and, again, in a long run, when a horse has been severely called on, he may make a blunder on landing from a drop in a bit of boggy ground, in which case the curb rein is necessary in aid of the snaffle. as, therefore, it is in the school that the pupil should be prepared for every outdoor eventuality, riding over her fences with both curb and snaffle must be practised; and, finally, over a small jump she must be taught to ride with the curb alone. chapter xiv. the leaping lesson (_continued_). it may fairly be accepted as a general rule, that a horse should not be ridden over a fence upon the curb alone. the rule, however, has its exceptions. one of these is the possible case of a lady being placed in such a predicament that she has no alternative in the presence of imminent danger but that of leaping her horse to avoid it, and in such case it may be (and, indeed, in my own experience has occurred) when the lady was riding her horse with a single curb bridle. if the fair equestrian so placed lacks the necessary nerve, dexterity of hand, and firmness of seat, she must come to certain grief. it is therefore highly desirable that, although on ordinary occasions she should use both snaffle and curb in leaping, she should also be thoroughly _au fait_ at doing it, if the necessity arises, upon a "hard and sharp," or single "hanoverian." again, leaping on the curb rein only teaches the pupil the full value of every particle of her balance and muscular grasp on the saddle, while it also shows her that, although as a rule a horse requires to be kept well together, there are exceptional instances in which it is necessary to yield the hands freely to him. the above-named is one of these cases. the leaping lessons, however, which lead up to the point of proficiency at which the pupil should be permitted to attempt so critical and difficult a piece of riding must be carefully and inductively given. assuming that the fair tyro rides her horse boldly and confidently over the ordinary fences used in a school, and can execute an "in and out" jump without derangement of seat or hand, the effort of the master should next be directed towards teaching his pupil how to cause her horse to extend himself over a jump where there is considerable width as well as height. i must repeat that, for this purpose, a horse should be used that is thoroughly up to his business--one that will stride freely away and _gallop_ at his fence. the best practice to begin with, in what i may perhaps call "fast jumping" for a lady, is at an artificial brook. this is easy enough to arrange in a riding school. it requires only a sheet of canvas, painted the colour of water, of such dimensions that the people in the school can increase or diminish its width at pleasure. this canvas should be long enough to extend from one side of the school to the other, which can be managed by fastening the canvas to a couple of light rollers. on the taking-off side of this artificial brook there should be some low wattles, gorse bound, or otherwise; and these also should extend quite across the school. there is then no chance of a well-broken horse refusing. before the canvas arrangement is stretched across the riding-house, the pupil should be instructed to set her horse going at a free striding canter--as fast as is compatible with safety in turning the corners, which should be well cut off in this case, the pupil riding a half-circle at both ends of the school. after two or three turns round the house at this pace, in order to get the horse well into his stride, the assistants should arrange the jump while the instructor prepares his pupil for it. and now let me endeavour to explain the difference in the position and action of the hands of the rider necessary for a long jump as compared with that requisite in a short one. in the latter, safety consists in a horse jumping well together or collectedly, because in a cramped or crooked place speed is almost certain trouble. where, on the contrary, there is a broad sheet of water to be got over, "plenty of way" on the horse--sufficient speed to give great momentum to his effort, is indispensable. in the short leap or crooked place, then, the horse should be made to jump throughout right into his bridle; and for this purpose the position and steadiness of hand described in the last article, accompanied by such pressure of the leg as will keep him up to it, is the true mode of "doing such places." but to clear a wide jump, it should be remembered that the horse must not only go a good pace on it, but he must be allowed to extend his head and neck the instant he takes off. if this is neglected, the fair equestrian, in attempting a water jump, will inevitably find herself in the brook. now, a man in riding at water has this great advantage over a lady in the same case, that, having equal power with both legs, he can force his horse up to any length of rein, no matter how long, in reason, and compel him to face it, thus enabling the rider to hold him through every inch of his jump, while he gives him plenty of scope to extend himself. for a lady to do this is impossible. too much pressure of the left leg or repeated use of the spur, even if counteracted on the off side with the whip, would cause the horse to throw his haunches to one side, and he would not jump straight. steadiness of seat, hand, and leg are therefore indispensable to the lady. the horse ought to be well practised at the particular jump before she is allowed to attempt it, and therefore should require no rousing or urging, to get plenty of way on, for his effort. but before the pupil faces her horse towards the brook, she should be emphatically but quietly enjoined by the instructor to respond to his word "now" as follows: let it be understood that her elbows should be drawn back until they are three inches or thereabouts behind her waist, the hands about the same distance below the elbows, the former about six inches apart, with the fingers closed firmly on the reins and turned _inwards_ and _upwards_ until they touch the _waist_, the reins divided, as for galloping, but with the slightest possible feeling upon the curb. with her hands in the above-named form she should ride her horse to his jump, never moving them until she hears the sharp sound of the word "now!" from the instructor, when at the same instant the body, from the waist upwards, should be thrown back and the hands shot forward, the elbows following, until they are just level with the front of the waist. as the hands go forward, the little fingers should be turned downwards and the knuckles upwards; this will bring the middle joints of both hands with the nails downwards against the right thigh, about four to six inches above (or, as the rider sits, behind) the knee; and this turning down of the nails and forward motion of hands and elbows will give the horse free scope of his head and neck, while the hands coming in contact with the right thigh will still maintain the proper _appui_, and support the horse when he lands in his jump. although the foregoing appears prolix in description, it occupies little time to explain _vivâ voce_; and with the instructor by her side the lady may practise the action two or three times while her horse is standing still before he faces his jump. the instructor should then quit the lady's side and place himself near the brook in such a position that he has a fair view of the horse as he takes off. the pupil should turn her horse quietly about, and ride to the _left_ into the corner of the school, and as soon as the horse's head is square to the jump, and himself square to the boards, the master should give the word smartly, "canter." with plenty of vivacity, the pupil should immediately strike her horse into a striding pace, keeping her hands well back and hitting him smartly once with the spur. an assistant with a whip should also crack it slightly behind the horse. let the master then closely watch the moment at which the horse's fore feet quit the ground, and give his word quickly and sharply, and in nine cases out of ten the jump will be a success. the artificial brook should be arranged about two-thirds of the distance down the school, so as to give the horse plenty of space to get into his stride before he comes to it, while there will be sufficient room to collect him after he lands. if he does it well the first time (and with the above described handling he will scarcely fail to do so), and the rider performs her part moderately well, the jump should not be repeated. if, however, it is necessary again to go through the instruction, the horse should not be put at the place back again, but the end of the canvas be rolled up and the wattle removed, so as to admit of his passing to the longer reach of the school. these lessons should be given daily until the pupil executes them with the requisite energy and correctness of riding, the instructor taking special care never to ask his pupil, however, to do such jumps unless he sees that she is quite equal in health and good spirits to the occasion. for riding which requires any extra "dash" about it must never be attempted by anybody if they are at all out of nerve. after the pupil does the brook well, it may be replaced by a double set of gorsed hurdles, placed just so far apart as to necessitate their being done at a single jump. in this case, however, the pupil, while giving her horse by the action of her hands sufficient scope to allow him to jump a considerable distance, should not be allowed to ride so fast at the obstacle, about half the speed necessary to do water being quite sufficient; and the off-side hurdles should be so placed that if the horse strikes them they will give way. as a rule ladies do not perform, even in leicestershire, over big double fences, or very strong oxers, and the _indication_ of what is required to do them should be sufficient for riding school practice. as i have elsewhere observed, a horse will jump higher and further when going with hounds than you can with safety ask him to do when in cool blood, or when only roused to extraordinary effort by the use of the spur or whip. and no man in his senses in the hunting field would ever think of piloting a lady to a place which he would only ride at himself at a pinch. such jumps, therefore, as i have endeavoured to describe within doors should represent the biggest which most ladies are likely to encounter with in a fair hunting country. as regards riding over a fence, with the curb rein unrelieved by the snaffle, the practice should be as follows: a hurdle should be well sloped, so as to render the leap a very moderate one. the rider should quit her hold of the reins, which should be knotted and fastened by a thong to the mane. a leading rein should then be attached to the ring of the snaffle, and the horse led quietly up to the fence, and halted. the pupil should then draw her hands back until they are in the same position as she would place them in putting her horse at his jump, with the hands closed firmly, which will give steadiness to the body. she must take a determined hold of the upper pommel with her right knee, and be ready with the figure perfectly poised to throw her weight back at the proper moment; placing her left thigh also firmly against the third crutch, her foot well home in the stirrup and well forward, the shoulders perfectly square, and the waist quite pliant. an assistant should then crack a whip smartly in rear of the horse, without hitting him; this will cause him to spring lightly over the hurdle. if the position of the pupil before the horse takes off is carefully looked to, there will be little derangement of seat. this lesson should be repeated until it is executed with precision. at the same time, two or three jumps of this sort are quite sufficient in one day, because, if repeated too often, the horse, missing the support of the hand, is apt to blunder. when the lady can ride over her fence in the above-named form, she should take up and arrange her reins, so that, while that of the snaffle is not in the horse's way, she feels him on the curb only. she should give him fair length of rein, draw her left hand back to her waist, and place the right hand lightly on the left, just in front of the knuckles; but the reins should be held military fashion--the little finger between them, the leather over the middle joint of the forefinger, the thumb closed firmly on it, the little finger well turned up towards the waist. the horse must be ridden at a smart walk, well up against the curb, until he is close enough to the hurdle to jump. the whip must again be used, and the instructor's word again sharply given, when the pupil should yield both hands freely, turning the little fingers downwards, and slipping the elbows forward. great firmness and steadiness of seat are necessary to do this lesson well, and considerable practice is necessary to insure complete unity of action in the body and hands, the former being yielded quickly as the latter is actively thrown back. to assist the pupil in her first attempts at this portion of the leaping lesson, the curb chain should be slackened as much as possible, and it should be one that is broad and well padded. as the lady acquires the requisite lightness of manipulation and additional firmness in the saddle, the curb (link by link) may be tightened until it is in its proper place, namely, so that it admits of the play of one finger only between it and the jaw of the horse. but the greatest care on the part of the instructor is necessary in watching how both horse and rider behave before this can be accomplished. the lesson is called technically "jumping from the hand," and once thoroughly acquired, the pupil has little to learn, as regards indoor work, in the way of riding over her fences. she may in that respect be considered fit to take her place any time at the covert side, and hold her own, under proper pilotage, with hounds, where of course she will use snaffle and curb reins equally, or according to the temper and breaking of her mount. during the leaping lessons, and in fact throughout the whole course of equitation up to this point, the pupil should be put upon as many different horses as possible consistent with her progress, care always being taken that she is thoroughly master of one before she is put upon another. the action of horses varies so much in degree, no matter how much from similarity of breed and form it may assimilate in kind, that to attain anything like proficiency the rider's mount requires frequent changing; otherwise, when put upon a strange horse, she would find herself sorely at a loss. with the exception of one practice, which in some degree resembles the leaping lesson, we may now safely dismiss our fair pupil from technical indoor instruction, except in the way of an occasional refresher, whenever those about her discover any inclination to lapse into a careless form of riding. this both men and women are so apt to do (imperceptibly to themselves), that an occasional sharp drilling does no harm to the most practised rider of either sex. the final instruction to be given in the school is called the "plunging lesson," and maybe briefly described as follows, premising that although it is the bounden duty of every man who has anything to do with a lady's riding to avoid by every means allowing her to be put on a restive horse, yet it is always possible that, from some unavoidable cause, a lady (especially in the colonies) may some day find herself on a bad-mannered animal that will "set to" with her. in order, therefore, that in such an undesirable case she may not be at a loss, it is well that when thoroughly practised in leaping, she should be put upon a horse that will kick smartly whenever he is called upon by the master. such a horse is useful for the above purpose, and is generally to be found in most riding establishments. the trick is easily enough taught, and requires no description. neither is it at all incompatible with general good manners. the first thing, then, as regards the pupil, is to impress upon her that whenever a horse "sets to" kicking with her, that her tactics should consist first in keeping his head up, and, secondly, in finding him something else to do than kick. a horse cannot have his head and his tail up at the same time, therefore, when he kicks, his first effort is to get his head down. this should be immediately counteracted by the rider sitting well back, keeping her hands up as high as her elbows, feeling the horse firmly on the curb reins as well as the snaffle held in one hand, while she applies the whip vigorously across his neck. this will have the effect of causing him to keep his head up and go to the front. the same firm treatment will be successful in most cases where a horse attempts to plunge. but in the latter case the hand must be yielded if there is any attempt to rear, and if the last-named dangerous vice is carried to any length, the rider should not hesitate to take fast hold of the mane, or put her hand in front of the horse's neck. both rearing or plunging, however, may be effectually prevented by the use of the circular bit and martingale, described under the heading "rearing horses and runaway dogs" in the _field_ of nov. , . in my humble opinion, every lady going to india and the colonies should have one or two such bits among her outfit of saddlery, and if properly fitted in the horse's mouth, all risk of rearing or even violent flirting is done away with. such tackle, however, does not prevent a horse from _kicking_, and although no lady should ever attempt to ride one that is possessed habitually of this vice, a sudden accession of kicking may arise in an otherwise good-meaning horse from some ill-fitting of the saddle, or similar casualty, causing tender back or otherwise upsetting him. of course, no punishment should be resorted to in these cases; but it is as well for a lady to be able to keep her seat in such an emergency, and this she will easily do if she keeps the horse's head up, and her leg well pressed against the third crutch. on brighton downs, some years ago, i saw a young lady thoroughly master a kicking horse in the manner above described, accompanied, however, with a considerable amount of punishment, most resolutely applied with a formidable whalebone whip. no second glance was necessary to perceive that in this case the lady was well aware of the horse's propensity, and had come out for the purpose of thoroughly taking it out of him, which certainly she did effectually, and as he was a vicious-looking weedy thoroughbred, "it served him right." but i must again enter my protest against ladies running such risks, however accomplished they may be as horsewomen. let them accept the respectful advice of a veteran, and avoid vicious horses. brutes that run back, plunge, rear, or kick from sheer vice (and there are many that do) are fit only for the riding of the rougher sex, and only of such of them as have the ill fortune to be compelled to get their living by riding. the so-called plunging lessons above alluded to, however, will give a lady a thorough insight into the form in which to ride in case of emergency. chapter xv. the hunting field. we enter now upon a new and important phase of our pupil's education in the saddle. before doing so, however, i feel bound to observe that from time to time a vast amount of "twaddle" is ventilated on the question of the propriety of ladies riding with hounds. all sorts of absurd objections have been brought forward against the practice; as, for instance, that hunting as regards ladies is a mere excuse for display and flirtation, and that it is both unfeminine and dangerous. i believe that these objections, made by people who never knew the glorious exhilaration of hunting, may be very briefly disposed of. i reside where the very cream of the midland hunting is carried on, and i perceive that year after year the number of ladies of high rank and social position who grace the field with their presence is on the increase; while to the best of my belief no female equestrians _who are not ladies_ have been seen with hounds in leicestershire or its vicinity for some years. so much for the stamp of woman that hunts nowadays. as regards flirtation and display, i am at a loss to understand why anti-foxhunting cynics should have selected the covert side, or the road to it, for their diatribes; for there _can_ be no time for flirting when hounds are once away. it must be manifest to every man who has the most remote notion of what manner of people our aristocracy and gentry are, that they will only know at the covert side precisely the same stamp of person they meet elsewhere in society. in that society there are dinner parties, flower shows, balls, the opera, all affording equal or better opportunities for flirtation than the hunting field. as to hunting being unfeminine, it is difficult, i submit, to pronounce it any more so than riding in rotten-row. and finally, as regards danger, i propose to show how it can be rendered all but impossible if due care and forethought are exercised by the male friends or relatives of the hunting lady. let us now, therefore, having traced out the course of instruction in the riding school, on the road, and in the park, consider how safety is best ensured to the beginner. as regards the stamp of horse the fair _débutante_ of the chase should ride, i have already endeavoured to give my idea. i have only to add that he should be very fit for his work, the pink of condition, without being above himself; and, finally, that no temptation as to fine action or clever fencing should ever induce a lady to ride a hunter that has a particle of vice about him. with the best of piloting it is impossible always to keep her out of a crowd, where she is in a woeful dilemma if mounted on a horse that kicks at others. i have seen this more than once, and have heard expressions from the suffering riders that must have been far from pleasing to refined feminine ears. i must, however, record a special instance of politeness under difficulties which i witnessed during the past season. hounds were running with a breast-high scent, the pace very fast, when the leading division had their extended front diminished to single file by a big bullfincher, practicable only in one place. among those waiting their turn to jump was a lady who always rides very forward. she was mounted on a rare-shaped, blood-like animal, that looked all over like seeing the end of a long day, but exhibited considerable impatience at the check. in some cases, as all hunting people know, the difficulty is always increased to those who are compelled to wait by a ruck of riders crowding up from the rear. the case i allude to was no exception to this rule, and among others came a welter middle-aged gentleman, riding a horse quite up to his weight--a grand hunting looking animal, that appeared intent upon clearing every obstacle in his path, not excepting the impatient ones who were doing the gap in indian file. the veteran, however, who was a capital horseman, managed to pull up his too-eager steed just in rear of the lady's horse, and was forthwith accommodated with a most vicious kick with his near hind leg. fortunately, the distance was too great to admit of the stout gentleman receiving the full benefit of the intended favour, which nevertheless made his boot-top rattle, and materially altered the genial expression of his rubicund visage. turning gracefully in her saddle, the fair votary of the chase expressed her deep regret at the bad behaviour of her horse. "i am very sorry--awfully sorry; i hope you are not hurt," she said, in a tone which ought to have consoled any middle-aged sportsman for a broken shin. "i never knew him to do it before," continued the lady. "pray don't say a word, miss," replied the old gentleman, taking off his hat with a genuine thoroughbred air; "don't say a word; they are only dangerous when they do it behind." whether they do it "behind" or "before," kick in a crowd at other horses, or hit at hounds with their fore feet (as some thoroughbreds will do when excited), they are equally disqualified for ladies' hunters, however gaily they may sail over the turf or clear the obstacles in their way. to proceed with our lessons. before venturing to take our aspirant for the honours of the chase to a regular meet of foxhounds--where she is apt to become excited, and possibly unnerved by the imposing array of "pink," gallant horsemen, and aristocratic ladies riding steeds of fabulous price, dashing equipages, and thrusting foot people, always ready to embarrass a beginner--it is best to seek out a quiet line nearly all arable land, where the fences will be small, where there are few ditches to be met with, and where the going on the stubble or fallow will be good enough when the crops are off the ground. the pupil should wear a "hunting skirt" properly so called--that is, one not too redundant, made of strong cloth, and booted with leather about eight or ten inches wide round the bottom. this is a very necessary precaution, because it prevents the skirt from hanging up in the fences and getting torn. hunting boots also should be worn, back-strapped, tongued in at the foot, and reaching nearly to the knee, the upper part made of thick but very flexible leather--buckskin is the best. it is soft, and at the same time thick enough to save the leg from a blow from a strong binder, which occasionally hits very hard in its rebound, having been previously bent forward by somebody who has just jumped the fence. a "latchford" spur of the sort before described is also requisite, and the question of the arrangement of skirt necessary to enable the rider to use the spur effectively has caused considerable diversity of opinion among _cognoscenti_ on hunting matters. some ladies have an opening made in the skirt, through which the shank of the spur passes; and in order to keep the latter in its place, it is usual to have a couple of strings strongly stitched on to the inside of the skirt. these are tied round the ankle, and prevent the skirt to a great extent from getting foul of the spur. but this method decidedly involves a certain amount of risk, because, in case of the horse making a blunder and falling, the lady has not the free use of her leg. again, there is a method of letting the spur shank through a small opening similar to a large eyelet hole, made of strong elastic, and let into the skirt, the point of insertion having been previously measured when the rider is in the saddle and her left leg and foot are properly placed as regards the third crutch and stirrup. but a still better way is that which i have seen adopted lately by several ladies who go very straight with hounds. it is as follows. after the skirt has been carefully measured and _marked_ (the lady up), an opening is made perpendicularly, large enough to admit of the lady's foot passing through it. this opening should be made about six or eight inches above the place where the ankle will touch the skirt, when the left leg is fairly stretched down, the knee bent, and the heel sunk. when the instructor has assisted his pupil into the saddle, he should put her foot in the stirrup, and wait until she has carefully arranged her habit; he should then take her foot out again, and the lady should lift it high enough to enable her attendant to pass it _through the opening_. the foot can then be replaced in the stirrup, and the spur buckled on. the upper leather (by the way) should be broad and slightly padded. by these means the left foot and the leg from six to eight inches above the ankle will be entirely clear of the skirt, which will give the rider perfect freedom of action, while the opening is not sufficiently wide to admit of the skirt being blown clear of the leg. this, moreover, is prevented by the leather booting; in fact, in a well-made hunting skirt there should be no slack cloth for the winds to play with at all. the kind of whip to be used is the crop (without the thong) of a hunting whip; a malacca crop is the best for a lady, because the lightest. it should have a good crook to it, well roughened on the outside, and be furnished, moreover, with a roughened nail head, in order to prevent the crop slipping when the rider attempts to open a gate. gauntlet gloves with strong leather tops are best, because they prevent the possibility of the rider's hands being scratched or injured in jumping a ragged fence; but if the lady dislikes gauntlets, the sleeve of the jacket should be made to fasten with three buttons close to the wrist, because the sleeves now so much in fashion, being very wide at the wrist, are apt in taking a fence to catch and get torn, in addition to the risk of the rider being pulled off her horse. these casualties, which of course cannot occur with the clean-made jump taken in the riding school, are likely enough to happen in the field, and should be carefully guarded against. as regards the shape and make of the jacket i have already said so much, that i must leave it to the taste and figure of the rider, always assuming that while she allows herself plenty of freedom of movement, she does not wear anything too loose, or any _steel_ supports about her, as for hunting these are highly dangerous. as regards headgear, the same style of thing that sufficed for the riding school may not be considered sufficiently effective for the hunting field; and, without venturing upon ground so delicate as an opinion or even knowledge of ladies' "coiffure," i may say that at melton and other fashionable hunting centres there has for some time existed an artful combination between the ladies' hat makers and the hairdressers, by means of which that very elegant affair the "melton hat" is deftly fitted with an arrangement of hair behind which is immovable, no matter where the wearer jumps in hunting. the hairdresser's services are first called into requisition; possibly he imparts the "arcana" of his craft to the lady's maid; but one or other succeeds in making such an arrangement of the hair as renders it at once secure in riding and becoming to the style of the lady herself. the hat with the hair attached behind is then placed on the head, and secured by an invisible elastic band. should any of my readers desire information on these matters, so important to a lady's comfort in the hunting field, i can furnish them with the names of the people in melton and elsewhere who can give them every detail. having our pupil accoutred as before described, and taken her to a quiet farm, the instructor should pick out a line, start at a walk in front of his charge, pop his horse quietly over the fences, and see that his pupil does them with equal coolness and without rush or hurry. when she can do this well, the pace should be increased to a steady canter; and the master riding beside her should be careful that she _steadies_ her horse three or four lengths before he takes off, always riding him well into the bridle. this kind of practice should be continued for some days, until the pupil is quite at home at her work, and the master should then proceed to instruct her as to the mode in which to make her horse "crawl" through gaps and crooked, cramped places, and do "on and off" jumps and doubles. the animal best adapted for this sort of practice is one that is _clever_ rather than _fast_. an irish horse, out of a ditch and bank country, is preferable. but the instructor should take special care, by first doing these "on and off" jumps himself, to ascertain that the banks are sound; otherwise there is danger of just the worst kind of fall a woman can have. we have lately had a lamentable instance of this in the case of a noble lady, one of the most brilliant horsewomen in england. for my own part, i am entirely against a lady jumping her horse in the field at any place where there can be the slightest doubt as to good foothold, unless she is preceded by a man to pilot her. if the latter gets down, he can always (assuming him to be a good workman) get clear of his steed, whereas at these rotten places a lady and her horse are likely to fall "all of a heap," and injury greater or less is a certainty to the rider. not long since i saw a little girl, about ten years old, riding with hounds on a mite of a pony which was as clever as a monkey. the little heroine took a line of her own (no doubt she knew the country well), and kept her place among the foremost for some time; presently she disappeared, and we found her impounded, pony and all, up to the back of the latter in a piece of rotten ground which had let them in like a "jack in the box." neither the pony nor his plucky little rider were hurt, but (as they say in ireland) that was more by good luck than good guiding. i maintain that children at that age should never be left in the hunting field to their own devices, however well they may ride, and that, either in their case or that of young ladies of riper age, they should never be allowed to go with hounds, unless accompanied by a man who is not only a thorough horseman and judge of hunting, but is also well acquainted with the country he is riding over, and accustomed to pilot ladies. after the pupil has learned to make her horse "creep" in the manner above described--to insure success in which, however, the closest watching is necessary on the part of the instructor, and directions requisite in each individual case, utterly impossible in written general instructions--she should be carefully taught to open gates for herself, because it is nearly sure hereafter to occur that she may have to ride at a pinch in a country place where her route lies through a line of bridle gates, and the attendance of a man to open them for her may not be available. nothing is easier than for a lady to open a well-hung and well-latched gate, the hinges of which are on the off side. bridle gates occur most frequently in great grazing countries, such as leicestershire, warwickshire, or northamptonshire, by reason of the necessity of confining cattle within certain limits. the gates are generally heavy, well poised on their hinges, and opening either with wooden latching or iron spring ones, easily reached at the top. if the gate is hung on the off side, all the lady has to do is to ride her horse with his head in an oblique direction between the gatepost and the gate, so that when she has the latter open she can continue moving on in the same slanting direction. she should first press the end of her crop down upon the latch, if it is a wooden one, keeping herself perfectly upright in the saddle, and steadily seated in it. directly the latch lifts she should press firmly against it with the rough crook, push the gate open, and press her horse onwards in the same oblique direction, by which the animal's croup clears the gate sooner, and all risk of its closing on him is avoided. if there is a long iron spring latch to the gate, it must first be pulled open with the crop, so that the latch rests against the hasp, and a steady purchase must then be taken against the upper bar with the crop, and the gate thus quietly pushed forward: this if it opens _from_ the rider. if the reverse, the horse's head should be kept perfectly square close to the gate post, until the latch is lifted and rested on the hasp. the gate should then be _pulled_ open, and the horse's head inclined just the reverse way to that adopted when the gate opens _from_ the rider. but in no case should she _lean_ forward, or put herself out of her balance, in order to get hold of the latch or the gate itself, and she should be particularly careful that the reins do not catch against the long iron hasps so common to the gates i speak of. only last year, i met a lady who rides a good deal unattended, and, seeing her about to open a gate i knew to be rather an awkward one, i trotted on to assist her; but (possibly desiring to show me that she could do it unassisted) she leant forward to give the gate _a lift_, and in doing so she dropped the reins upon her horse's neck, when the animal immediately hooked the headstall of a single curb bridle upon a long iron hasp, and, finding himself fast to it, drew back suddenly and broke the headstall, the bit fell out of his mouth, and the lady (utterly helpless) had no alternative but to slip off as quickly as possible. fortunately, the animal was a very quiet one, or the consequences might have been serious; as it was, we managed to change bridles, and, having spliced the broken one, went on our separate ways. but, i repeat, one cannot be too careful or methodical in opening gates. when one opens from the _near_ side, the reins must be passed into the right hand, the crop into the left, and the greatest care taken, if the gate opens _to_ the rider, to _push it_ well back behind the horse's quarters before she moves on, riding with her horse's head _towards the hinges_. when a near-side hung gate opens _from_ the rider, there is less difficulty, it being only necessary after lifting the latch to push against the gate with the crop, sitting quite upright, and giving swing enough to the gate to enable the rider to get clear of it. but in either case, to or from, with a gate hung on the near side the latch should first be lifted, by using the crop in the _right hand_, resting the latch if possible against the hasp, and then changing hands with the crop and reins as before mentioned. if this is not done, and the rider attempts to lift the latch with her left hand, she must change the direction of her horse's head when the gate is open, at the great risk of bringing it on his quarters. these directions, like others i have ventured upon, may appear too minute; but it should be remembered that, whereas, carefully followed out, a lady on a steady horse accustomed to gates can open them with safety, any carelessness may result in a bad accident, because the steadiest horse, if "hung up" in a gate, will become furious if he cannot instantly get clear of it. when, therefore, the pupil is well practiced at this sort of work, and has learned to feel her way in cramped places as well as to do her fences at a steady canter, a fair half-speed gallop may be ventured on, the pupil setting her horse going, and pressing him if necessary with the spur, to take his fences in his stride, the spur being used, however, some distance from the fence. the master should ride beside his pupil in this lesson, carefully watching the pace of the horse and the action of the rider. a nice easy line of about a couple of miles should be taken, and the pace maintained throughout. a month of this kind of practice will form a capital introductory step to hunting: and when, in the mild misty mornings of russet-brown october, foxhounds begin to beat up the quarters of the vulpine juveniles, abjuring her "beauty sleep," the lady may with advantage, before the "early village cock proclaims the dawn," don her hunting habiliments, and, under the careful tutelage of her "pilot," trot off to covert and see the "beauties" knock the cubs about. this is by far the best way to begin hunting in reality. there are very few people about at that early hour, and those only who are thorough enthusiasts about the sport; consequently there is more time for the new votary of diana to get accustomed to the alteration in her horse's form of demeaning himself. for be it known to the uninitiated that even an old horse, that requires kicking and hammering along a road when ridden alone, is quite a different animal and mover the instant he sees the hounds, and will show an amount of vivacity perhaps very little expected by his rider; while a well-bred young one requires a great deal of riding on such occasions. the short bursts sometimes obtained in "cub hunting" are capital practice for a lady; while occasionally a veteran fox, some wily old purloiner of poultry, affords a good twenty or five-and-twenty minutes, even when the fences are blind. i recommend our pilot, however, to keep his charge out of these latter matters, for blind jumping is always bad for a lady. as regards taking a beginner out with harriers, i am against it. it is very well for invalids or corpulent gentlemen who are "doing a constitutional;" but it teaches a young lady nothing of what is really meant by hunting--which, however, she is in a first-rate position to learn with the cubs. staghunting with a deer turned out from a cart and caught with a whipthong, is equally inefficacious, because the hunting as a rule only commences when the run is over. moreover, there is always a crowd of people who come out for riding only, and care nothing about hunting, and these are the most likely to get into a lady's way, and bring her to grief. the same may be said of drag hunting, which i hold to be no place for a lady, any more than steeplechasing. let us then, legitimately to inaugurate our pupil into the usages and forms of hunting proper, stick to cub hunting until november opens the fences and gives her a chance to prove the value of her previous instruction. before closing this article, i cannot refrain from citing an instance of the great value of a lady learning to cross the country well, irrespective of the sport of foxhunting and its health-giving and exhilarating effects. within ten miles of where i write this resides a lady, young, wealthy, and beautiful, who, although not a religious _recluse_, is as thorough and sincere a devotee of religion as any cloistered nun. her whole time is spent in acts of charity, and ministering to the spiritual and bodily welfare of the poor for miles round her residence. no weather is too inclement, no night too dark, to stop her on her errands of mercy and charity. if summoned even at the dead of night to attend the bedside of a sick or dying person, as frequently happens, she will dress herself quickly in rough habiliments suitable to it--maybe in tempestuous weather--saddle and bridle a horse herself if her people are not quick enough for her, and, provided with cordials, a prayer book, and a long hunting crop, she will gallop off the nearest way to her destination, taking the fences, if they lie in the road, as they come; and one bright moonlight night i saw her do two or three places that would stop half the men that ride to hounds hereabouts. this lady, who may fairly and without exaggeration be called the "ministering angel" of the district, does not, it is true, hunt now; but it was in riding to hounds that she acquired her wonderful facility of getting over the country. the above is no sensational story. the lady, her brilliant riding, her true religion, and her charities, are well known, and can be vouched for by hundreds of people in this part of the world. who shall say after this that hunting is unfeminine? i have a word more to add, according to promise, as regards the fitting of the circular bit. this bit, which can always be procured at messrs. davis's, saddler, , strand, is fitted in the horse's mouth above the mouthpiece of a snaffle or pelham bridle. it has a separate headstall, and is put on before the ordinary bridle. it requires no reins, is secured by a standing martingale to a breastplate, and is a certain remedy for horses flirting or rearing when too _fresh_ (which, however, i repeat, for a lady's riding should never be allowed). the strap between the breastplate and the ring bit should be just long enough to enable the horse to move freely forward, without liberty enough to admit of his rearing. in the next chapter i will endeavour to describe what regular hunting for a lady means; point out the readiest way of getting to our most fashionable packs of hounds; and how ladies residing even in the metropolis may enjoy a day or two of good sport on this fine grass country at the least necessary expense, may witness and enjoy hunting in its perfection, and, if requisite, may breakfast in mayfair or belgravia, have a glorious gallop over the midland pastures, and return to a late dinner. of course i am aware that neither of the above-named localities is likely to hold many hunting ladies in november. but the fashionable quarters of london are not deserted in february, and spring hunting is perhaps after all the most enjoyable. chapter xvi. the hunting field (_continued_). among the many advantages afforded by the "iron road" to lovers of hunting there is none more appreciable than the facility it affords to those who reside in a non-foxhunting country of getting to hounds with ease and rapidity. without any greater inconvenience than the necessity of early rising, a lady who lives in tyburnia or belgravia may easily enjoy a day's hunting in warwickshire or leicestershire, and be in her own home again in reasonable time in the evening. during the early spring hunting of the present year, several ladies came to market harborough and melton on these sporting expeditions, and returned the same day thoroughly satisfied. one party, consisting of three ladies and as many gentlemen, seemed to me to have been admirably organised, and to be quite a success throughout. they left saint pancras at eight o'clock in the morning, in a saloon carriage, arrived at melton at half-past ten, and were at the meet at eleven, with military punctuality. they enjoyed a capital day with the quorn hounds, left melton at half-past six, after riding a considerable distance back, and arrived in town at nine o'clock. a novel and agreeable feature in the arrangement was that the party dined in their luxurious carriage while being whirled back to the metropolis, a first-class dinner and the best of wines having been furnished from the hotel, and served in admirable form. after the journey and the sport one of the ladies (i was told) held a numerously attended and fashionable reception at her own house the same evening; and with a brougham in waiting at st. pancras, and a pair of fast horses, joined to the wonderful "smartness" (if i may be permitted the expression) displayed by the fair and aristocratic votary of diana in the field, i should think the thing quite possible as regarded time. the above-named party was mounted at melton by some friends; but, by giving fair notice, thoroughly good and well-made hunters can always be secured by any of the midland hunting centres by those who do not care to rail their own horses from london. market harborough is still more accessible than melton, being but two hours from london, and situated in the centre of a splendid grass country, hunted by mr. tailby; while a smart trot of eight miles would bring the sporting _voyageur_ to kilworth sticks and the pytchley, provided the right day was selected. rugby, too, is equally accessible, and boasts a fair hotel, where the charges are not more extortionate than they are at harborough, which is saying a good deal. the hunting in the vicinity of rugby, however, amply compensates for a little overdoing in the matter of charges. it is scarcely possible to go to rugby the wrong day to get at hounds within a reasonable distance, and some of the meets of that admirable pack, the north warwickshire, are frequently at such picturesque and convenient trysting places as bilton grange--now celebrated by the tichborne trial, and sworn to as the place where the "claimant" was not. however this may be, a straight-necked and wily gentleman is generally to be found at home, either in the plantations of the grand old demesne or close by at bunker's hill or cawston spinney, who is tolerably certain to lead the claimants for his brush a merry dance across the glorious grass country to barby, shuckborough, or ashby st. leger. the fences, too, in this part of the midlands are just the thing for a lady's hunting, and, while quite big enough in most cases to require a little doing, they are by no means so formidable as those in high leicestershire and the quorn country. the old-fashioned bullfincher is rare, and double ox fences equally so, while there is a pretty variety of nice stake-and-binders, pleached hedges, and fair-water jumping, with an occasional flight of rails, big enough to prove that the fair equestrian's hunter can do a bit of timber clean and clever. in fact, i know no country i would as soon select for a young lady to commence regular hunting in as that in the vicinity of rugby. combe abbey, misterton, and coton house are all sweetly english, as well as thoroughly sporting places of meeting, and the truly enjoyable trot or canter over the springy turf, which everywhere abounds by the roadside in these localities, and makes the way to covert so pleasant, has more than once been pronounced by hunting critics to be more desirable than hunting itself in parts of england where the road is all "macadam," and the land plough, copiously furnished with big flint stones, such as one sees in hampshire. _apropos_ of which charming country there is a sporting tale prevalent in this real home of the hunter. a rich, middle-aged, single gentleman, a thorough enthusiast about foxhunting, had a nephew, a very straight-going youngster, who the "prophetic soul" of his uncle had decided should one day be _the_ man of the country in the hunting field, and second to none over our biggest country; and, to enable "hopeful" to lead the van, the veteran mounted him on horses purchased regardless of expense. furthermore, determined that no casualty in the way of breaking his own neck should suddenly deprive his favourite nephew of the golden sinews of the chase, the old nimrod made a very proper will, leaving all his large property to his fortunate young relative. things, indeed, looked rosy enough for our young sportsman. youth, health, wealth, a capital seat, and fine hands upon his horse, any quantity of pluck, a thorough knowledge of hunting, and plenty of the best horses to carry him--who could desire more? alas that it should be so! even the brightest sunshine may become overcast--the fairest prospect be marred--by causes never dreamt of by the keenest and most far seeing among us. at the termination of a capital season in the midland, our youngster, not content to let well alone, and, like that greedy boy oliver still "asking for more," unknown to his worthy uncle, betook himself to the new forest in hampshire. "hopeful" was a sharp fellow enough, and he did not believe that all was gold that glittered; but he was under a very decided impression that wherever there was a good open stretch of green level turf it was safe to set a horse going. alas! the luckless young sportsman was not aware that in the new forest this is by no means a certainty, and one day, when riding to some staghounds, determined to "wipe the eye" of the field, he jumped a big place which nobody else seemed to care for, and, taking his horse by the head, set him sailing along the nearest way to the hounds. a lovely piece of emerald-green turf was before him; he clapped his hat firmly on, put down his hands, and, regardless of wild cries in his rear, made the pace strong. suddenly and awfully as the master of ravenswood vanished from the sight of the distracted caleb balderstone and was swallowed up in the kelpie's flow, so disappeared "hopeful" and his proud steed; both were engulfed in a treacherous bog, and, before either horse or man could be extricated, "the pride of the shires" was smothered in mud beneath his horse. next season, at a "coffee-housing" by a spinney side, where hounds were at work, an old friend of the bereft uncle ventured to condole with him on his loss. "sad business," he said, shaking his old hunting chum warmly by the hand; "sad business that about poor charlie down in hampshire!" "sad, indeed," replied the veteran uncle, returning the friendly squeeze. "who would have thought my sister's son would have ever done such a thing? staghunting was bad enough," he continued, as the irrepressible tear coursed down his furrowed cheek; "staghunting was bad enough, but to go at it in hampshire--i shall never get over it. as to his being smothered, of course that served him perfectly right." turning, however, from the above melancholy instance of degeneracy in sport to the pleasanter theme of the right locale in which a lady should commence foxhunting, i must not forget leamington, the neighbourhood of which beautiful and fashionable watering place affords some capital sport to those who delight in "woodland hunting." the woods at princethorpe, frankton, and the vicinity, hold some stout foxes that afford many a nice gallop, while the country is rideable enough for a lady if she keeps out of the woods. leamington, too, has first-rate accommodation for hunting people. there are, indeed, no better hotels to be met with anywhere than the "regent" or the "clarendon," or more moderate charges for first-class houses; while the "crown" and the "bath" afford capital quarters for gentlemen, and ample provision for doing their horses well. the charming spa, moreover, is at an easy distance from rugby, and by railing a horse to the latter place, ready access can be had to hunting in the open country, six days in the week. my advice, then, to young ladies, who desire to witness foxhunting in perfection, is to select one of the above-named localities, and to put herself at once under the guardianship in the field of a thoroughly good pilot who knows the country. words of advice to the latter are superfluous. all the men who undertake the responsible office of guiding a lady after hounds hereabouts are quite at home at their business, and it may be satisfactory to my fair readers to know, that, although there are a great number of ladies riding regularly with hounds in the north warwickshire, pytchley, and atherstone country, no accident attended with injury to a lady rider has occurred within my recollection, which extends over a long series of years. the initiation at cub hunting will have given our pupil confidence, and accustomed her to the excitement shown more or less by every horse at the sight of hounds; and careful attention to the rules of jumping before laid down will insure safety if she adheres carefully to her pilot's line. it is as well, however, that she should understand wherein consists the reason for what her hunting guide does, and what should be done and left undone, from the time of arrival at the meet until the _retour de chasse_. in the first place, then, while her mentor will of course see to her girths and horse appointments before a start is made to draw a covert, the lady should carefully look to her own dress, head gear, &c., and be certain that everything is in its place, and shows no signs of giving way. but if anything chances to be out of order--if she has ridden to the meet any considerable distance--it is best to dismount and repair damages at once. as a rule, there are always houses available for this, and nimble-fingered dames zealous in the service of any lady who desires their assistance. when the fair votary of the chase travels to the meet on wheels, i recommend her by all means the use of a warm overcoat, of which the ulster is very convenient, and was very much worn for the above purpose last season. in proceeding from the meeting place to the covert a great thing is to keep out of the crowd--no matter how well-behaved a horse the rider may be on--because in a ruck there is always more or less danger of her being kicked herself. the most likely position for a good start will of course be selected by the pilot; but it should be remembered that to be quiet while hounds are at work in covert is a fixed law of the hunting code; to avoid heading a fox when he breaks away, another vital point; and no exclamation of surprise or wonder should be allowed to escape the lips, even if a fox (as i have seen happen more than once) should run between the horses' legs. foxes, though it may be assumed that they all possess a large amount of craft and cunning, differ as much in nerve and courage as other animals; and while one will sometimes dash through a little brigade of mounted people, the shout of a small boy on foot may turn him back; and while reynard, again, will frequently rush off close to a lady's horse and take no notice of either him or his rider if both remain quiet, the waving of a handkerchief, or even the slightest movement of the lady on her steed, may cause sir pug to alter his mind, and thus a good thing may be spoilt. for the foregoing reasons, therefore, to be perfectly quiet and remain steady, if near a possible point at which a fox can break away, is indispensable. when hounds are settling on his track great care should be taken to avoid getting in their road, or in any way interfering with them. after they have settled, the object should be to _go well to the front and keep there_--first, because the greatest enjoyment in hunting, viz., seeing the hounds work, is by that means attained; and, secondly, whenever there is a check, a lady riding well forward gets all the benefit of it for her horse, whereas those who lose ground at the start, and have to follow on the line, keep pounding away without giving their horses a chance of catching their wind--a very material thing in a quick run. a check of a few minutes, affording a good horse time, has enabled many a one to stay to the end of the longest run, when an equally good animal has been "pumped" in the same thing for want of such a respite from his exertions. again, a great point to be observed is to maintain such a position as will enable the rider to turn with the hounds at the right moment; resolutely resisting any temptation in order to cut off ground, to turn too soon, and risk spoiling sport by crossing their line. it should be remembered that it is quite as easy to jump the fences when one is in the front rank, as it is when sculling along with the rear guard, and much safer, because the ground always affords better foothold and landing, when it has not been poached up by a number of people jumping. this is especially the case after a frost, when the going is at all greasy. even in cases when hounds slip an entire field, and get the fun all to themselves, still those who get away well at first will have all the best of the "stern chase." if, fortunately, our fair tyro is well up when a fox is run into and killed, she should carefully avoid getting too close to the hounds when they are at their broken-up prey. there are always keen eyes about that can discern on these occasions whether a lady has been riding straight and well, and there will not be wanting some gallant cavalier to offer her the tribute due to her "dash" and good workmanship, in the shape of that coveted trophy of the chase, the brush. there may, however, be more than one lady up on these occasions (i have seen several after very good things), and, as a rule, the brush is most likely to be offered to the lady of the highest rank. these trophies, therefore, are scarcely to be counted upon as a reward for even the best and straightest riding--the less so as of late years it has been observed that in most cases a very stout and straight-necked fox succeeds in eluding his pursuers, and "lives to fight another day." in beginning regular hunting, one good run in a day for a lady should suffice for some little time. in november the days are very short, and often enough a fox started after three o'clock will be running strong when darkness comes on. for a lady, and a beginner especially, it is best to leave off and trot quietly home while there is yet daylight. as regards "get up" or equipment, i must add to my former suggestions that a lady for the hunting field should be provided always with a waterproof overcoat, which should be rolled up in as small a compass as possible, and is better carried by her pilot or her second horseman (if she has one out) than attached by straps to the off-side flap of her own saddle; as, in addition to spoiling the symmetry of the saddle on that side, i have seen instances of things so attached hanging up in ragged fences, no matter how carefully they may have been put on. a sandwich case and flask are highly necessary also. hunting is a wonderful promoter of appetite, and it is not beneficial to a young lady's health to go from early breakfast to late dinner time without refreshment; while it is quite possible--nay, very probable in a grass country--that she may be a long way from head-quarters when she leaves the hounds, and in a part where refreshment for a lady cannot be had for love or money. the melton people have met this requirement very efficiently. thus, into a very flat, flexible flask, with a screw-cup top, they put a most succulent liquid, composed of calves' foot jelly and sherry. this flask is accompanied by a very neat little leather case, which contains half a dozen nice biscuits, or, in some instances, a small pasty, composed of meat. these cases, with the flask, are made to fit into the pocket of the saddle on the off-side under the handkerchief, and the flap of the pocket is secured by a strap and buckle. to roll a waterproof neatly, the following plan is the best: lay the garment down flat, opened out, on a table, the inside upwards; turn the collar in first, then turn the sleeves over to the inside, laying them flat; next turn in both sides of the coat from the collar downwards, about eight or ten inches; then turn in the bottom of the garment about the same distance, when it will form a pocket. one person should hold this steady while another rolls the collar end very tightly up towards the pocket; it will then fit into it so closely as to make a very small and compact roll of the whole coat. i must not omit to say that, in addition to the first-rate hunting to be had in the midlands, there is some good sport with hounds obtainable nearer the metropolis, namely, in the vale of aylesbury, with that noble patron of sport, baron rothschild. but still i must award the palm to leicestershire, warwickshire, and northamptonshire as far away superior to anything in the hunting way to be seen in any other part of england. in whatever part, however, the fair lover of hunting seeks her sport, she should bear in mind that when she is once away with hounds she cannot be too particular as to riding her horse with the utmost care and precision, and to avoid taking liberties with him by jumping big places for the sake of display. it cannot be too strenuously impressed upon her mentor that, as long as the true line to the hounds can be maintained, the less jumping that is done, the longer the horse will last; that one big jump takes as much out of him as galloping over three big fields; and that he should be _ridden every inch of the way_, because when hounds get off with a good scent it is impossible to say that they may not keep on running for a couple of hours, in which case, if too much is done with him at first, he will inevitably, to use a racing phrase, "shut up." the light weight of most hunting ladies is a point in favour of the horse; but it is more than counterbalanced by the absence of support which a man who rides well can give with the right leg. it is the absence of this support in the case of a lady's horse, however well ridden, that causes him to tire sooner than he would if ridden by a gentleman; and hence the necessity in selecting a horse to carry a woman with hounds for having not only staying power, but two or three stone in hand. nevertheless, although unable to give to the animal as much help as can be afforded by a gentleman, ladies can do much by the exercise of that tact and judgment which is their peculiar gift. every lady who hunts is sure to be more or less an enthusiast about horses, and is always, according to my experience, ready to adopt any suggestion which tends to their well doing. i therefore venture to point one or two matters which i trust will be found useful. in the first place, when the hounds have settled to their fox and people have shaken themselves into their places, the fair rider in her early essays in the field should bestow her principal attention upon the animal, upon which depends much of her sport. with a good man by her side, she will run no risk from thrusting neighbours, and although she cannot too soon begin to have "one eye for the hounds and another for the horse," it is the latter which demands all her energies. the whole business is exciting. the genuine dash, the vigour, the reality, that is so striking to a novice when hounds come crashing out of covert, through an old wattle, or bounding over a strong fence; the up-ending and plunging of impatient young horses, the brilliant throng of fashionable equestrians, the rattle of the turf under the horses' feet as they stride away--all these, or any of them, are quite sufficient to warm up even old blood, and are certain to send that of the young going at such a pace that all rule and method in riding is very apt to be forgotten, or thrust aside in the eager desire "to be first." it is just at this critical moment that i would advise my fair readers to lay to heart the necessity of controlling their excitement, because it is at such a time that a horse, especially at the beginning of the season (if allowed), will "take out of himself" just what he will want hereafter, assuming a stout fox that means business to be to the front. a soothing word or two, and "making much" of the excited steed, will generally cause him to settle in his stride and cease romping; whereas, if the rider is excited as well as the horse, we have oil upon fire at once. again, it cannot be too forcibly impressed upon ladies riding with hounds that the latter require _plenty of room to work_. "place aux dames" is a rule rigidly observed by gentlemen in the hunting field. room for the hounds should form an equally inviolable law with ladies in the same place. and it is the more necessary to impress this upon beginners, because many a first-rate man who pilots ladies, although bold as a lion over a country, and cautious to a degree as to the line he takes for his fair _compagnon de chasse_, is oftentimes far too modest to check her exuberant riding, and the consequence is, many an anathema--not loud, but deep--is bestowed upon both by exasperated masters and huntsmen. unlike the professional riding master, a first-rate pilot--such, i mean, as is paid for his services--though well behaved and respectful, is likely enough to lack much education, except such as he has received in the saddle or on practical farming matters; and his awe of a lady, properly so called, is so considerable as to preclude his exercise of the _fortiter in re_ altogether, no matter how much his charge is unwittingly infringing the rules of sport. i saw an amusing instance of this not long ago. a lady, the widow of a wealthy civil servant in india, having returned to her native land laden with the riches of the east, being still young and excessively fond of riding, purchased a stud of first-class hunters, took a nice little hunting box in leicestershire for the season, and engaged the services of a very good man to pilot her. as a rule every lady rides in india--some of them ride very well; but a rattling gallop at gun fire, in the morning, over the racecourse at ghindee or bangalore, is quite a different matter to a gallop with the pytchley hounds. the "bebe sahib" (great lady) had no idea, mounted as she was, of anybody or anything (bar the fox) being in front of her. and be it known to those who have never been in india that "great ladies" there are "bad to talk to," being in the habit pretty much of paying very little attention to anything in the way of counsel coming from their subordinates. our indian widow was no exception. so she did all sorts of outrageous things in the field in riding in among the hounds--and, indeed, before them--to the disgust of the master and everybody else, including her pilot, who in her case was certainly no mentor--but the latter was too well paid to risk offending the peccant lady; he ventured a gentle hint or two, and, being snubbed, gave it up for a bad job. he was so severely rated, however, by the masters of hounds in the district--one of whom declared he would take them home directly he saw the lady and her pilot with them--that the latter was fairly at his wits' end to know how to keep the too dashing widow within bounds. sorely puzzled, he sat in his spacious chimney nook one night smoking his pipe in moody silence, his wife knitting opposite him. "what's the matter, john?" began his spouse. "matter!" he replied; "it's enough to drive a man mad; mrs. chutnee's going again to-morrow, and, as sure as fate, she'll ride over the hounds or do something, and get one into trouble." "what makes her go on so, john?" again inquired the _cara sposa_.--"go on! it is go on: i think that the name for it. go on over everything! no fence is too big for her. i like her for that, but she never knows when to stop. last week she knocked an old gentleman over, and he lost a spick span new set of teeth as cost, i dare say, a matter of twenty guineas; and the day before yesterday she lamed a hound as was worth a lot of money, to say nothing of hurting the poor brute. i don't know what to be at with her, and that's a fact, because, barring her going so fast, she is the best-hearted lady ever i see." and john relapsed into silence, blowing mighty clouds of smoke, while his wife plied her knitting-needles. but a woman's wit, in difficult cases, is proverbial; and in the watches of the night a bright notion, based upon knowledge of her own sex, flashed upon the anxious mind of the snoring john's wife. the result was as follows. next morning, true to time, john was in attendance to accompany the fair widow to the field. they had some distance to ride to covert, and after a smart spurt of a mile or two on the sward, the lady pulled her horse up to walk up a hill. "john," said the lady (who was in high spirits), "what do people here think of my riding?"--"well, some thinks one thing, and some thinks another," was the reply. "that's no answer," observed the fair interlocutor; "what do they say? that is the thing. i know one thing they can't say; none of them can say they can stop me over any part of the country, no matter how big it is." opportunity, says some wise man, is for him who waits. now was john's opportunity to avail himself of his clever little wife's bright idea. "stop you, my lady! no, that's just what they do all say; and what's more, they say you can't stop yourself--that you ain't got no hands, and your horse takes you just where he pleases, if it's even right over the hounds." the "bebe sahib" was bitterly chagrined, for she prided herself justly upon her capital hands upon a horse. she was silent for a few minutes, and then she said, "i want you to tell me what to do, just to let these people know, as you do, that i have hands."--"then i will tell you, my lady," said john, brightening up. "just you do this: when the hounds get away, you let me go first, and keep your horse about a hundred yards behind me. i'll pick out a line big enough, i'll warrant, and that will show them all about your seat and your jumping. then about the hands; if you please, whenever i pull up, you do the same. they say as you can't stop your horse, you know." "can't i?" said the little lady, "can't stop my horse when i like! i'll let them see that. can't stop! i should like to know what a woman can't do if she makes up her mind to do it." john's wife was a capital judge; there was no more riding over hounds or disarranging of elderly gentlemen's teeth. but the "bebe sahib" has taken me to the extremity of my space, and i must pull up, reserving further observations and suggestions on the hunting field for my next chapter. chapter xvii. the hunting field (_continued_). on reading my previous observations on fox-hunting, it may occur to many ladies that in order to enjoy the sport, great nerve and physical power, as well as a thorough knowledge of the principles of equitation and long practice, are indispensable, and that in default of either of the above qualifications they ought not to venture into the field. this, however, would be an extreme view of the case. it is quite true that to go straight to hounds and take the country and the fences as they come it is necessary that a lady should be in vigorous health, as well as a thoroughly accomplished horsewoman. but, grant the latter condition, those of even more delicate constitutions, and consequently lacking the nerve and strength to take a front-rank place and keep it, may still participate to a great extent in all the enjoyable and healthy excitement of the chase, if they follow it out in a grass country, and put themselves under the guidance of a man who knows that country well. it cannot be too generally known to those who are not strong enough to sail away with the hounds over big fence or yawning brook that one great advantage as regards hunting afforded by a grass country is that a lady who is attended by a man well up at the topography of the district can generally find her way through easily opened bridle gates from point to point, from whence, throughout the best part of even a long day, she can witness and enjoy the sport, although she is not with the hounds; and this without pounding on the macadam and shaking her horse's legs; for all our leicestershire roads are set, as it were, between borders of green velvet in the hunting season. all that is necessary to a most enjoyable day (if it is fine) is a horse that can get over the ground in tiptop form--a good bred one that can gallop and stay. on such a one, lots of grand hunting may be seen if it cannot be done by even a timid lady who dare not essay jumping. turning, however, from the delicate and timid to those whose health and physique enable them to hold their own in the front rank, i venture to point out a possible casualty that may happen in hunting, which, although not of frequent occurrence, may easily be attended with dangerous results if the fair rider with hounds is unacquainted with the means of counteracting it. i allude to the possibility of a horse in crossing a ford, where the stream is rapid and the bottom uneven, losing his footing. i have seen this occur more than once, both to good men and to ladies, and the result was not only an immersion over head and ears, but considerable danger as well. this is easily to be prevented, as follows: the fact of a horse losing his footing in deep water is at once apparent by his making a half plunge, and commencing to swim, which instinct teaches him to do directly he feels that he is out of his depth. at such a moment, if the rider confines the horse, he will inevitably roll over in his struggle. the great thing, therefore, on such an occasion is at once to give him his head, quitting the curb rein entirely, and scarcely feeling the snaffle, "while any attempt to guide the horse should be done by the slightest touch possible" (see "aid book"). the reins should be passed into the right hand, with which, holding the crop also, the rider should take a firm hold of the upper crutch of the saddle. she should, at the same time, with her left hand raise her skirt well up, disengage her left leg (with the foot, however, still in the stirrup), and place it _over the third crutch_. by these means she will avoid any risk of the horse striking her on the left heel with his near hind hoof, which otherwise in his struggle he would be almost certain to do. if a horse is left to himself he will swim almost any distance with the greatest ease, even with a rider on his back; and there is no more difficulty in sitting on him in the form above named than in cantering on _terra firma_. it is absolutely necessary, however, to get the foot--and especially the stirrup--out of the way, otherwise there is always danger of his entangling himself with them or with the skirt. when the horse recovers his footing on the bottom he will make another struggle, but the hold of the right hand upon the pommel will always preserve the seat of the rider. to be quite safe in such a predicament is simply a question of knowing what to do, and having the presence of mind to do it _quickly_. to show that the necessity for swimming a horse may occur to a lady as well as to a gentleman the following case, i trust, will suffice. many years ago i was riding with a lady from the village of renteria _en route_ to san sebastian, in the north of spain. the way was round a couple of headlands, between which was a deep bay, running up to the hamlet of lezo. this bay was all fine sand up to some low but rather precipitous cliffs at the head of the inlet, but at the extremity of either headland careful riding was requisite by reason of rough rocky places. on the occasion i allude to the tide was flowing when we rounded the first point. having been long accustomed to the place, however, we both considered that we had ample time safely to turn the other extremity of the bay; but a lively spring tide, aided by a brisk north-easterly wind, caused the sea, running in through the narrow gut of "passages," to increase in velocity to such an extent that we were completely out in our reckoning. seeing the tide gaining rapidly on us, we set our horses going at top speed over the level sand, racing (as it were) with the "hungry waters" for the distant point. when we neared it, however, i saw at once that it was hopeless to attempt rounding it, for our horses were already above the girths in water, keeping their feet with difficulty on the level sand, and i knew that to try to keep them on their legs on the shelving and rocky bottom at the extremity of the point would result in their rolling over us. there was nothing, therefore, for it but to try back, endeavour to regain the head of the inlet, and make the attempt, however difficult, to clamber up the steep but still sloping face of the cliff. long before we reached our point, however, both horses were swimming; but they made scarcely a perceptible struggle in doing so, as the rising water lifted them from the level sand bodily off their feet. the lady (who was at first a little flurried) lost no time in getting her habit and her leg out of the way of mischief, and quickly regaining her nerve laid fast hold of the saddle, and laughing, declared it was "capital fun." i confess, on her account, and that of the horses, i did not think so; but encouraged her in her fearlessness. we gave the horses their heads, and they struck out bravely towards the cliff. as soon as they recovered their footing, the lady, having been previously cautioned to extricate her foot from the stirrup, slipped off her horse, the water taking her up to her waist. i lost no time in following her example, and turning the horses loose, we drove them at the sharp and slippery incline up the hill. both horses scrambled up, with no further damage than the breaking of a bridle; but to get the lady (encumbered as she was with her wet garments) up the steep hillside was a task i have not forgotten to this day. the face of the cliff was studded with patches of gorse here and there, which assisted us certainly at the expense, of my companion, of severely scratched hands and torn gloves. but the ground was so slippery that our wet boots caused us continually to slip back, both of us in this respect being at a great disadvantage with the horses, whose iron shoes and corkings enabled them to obtain better foothold. partly, however, by dragging, partly by cheering the lady to persevere, i succeeded in gaining the level ground with her, while the sea broke in heavy, noisy surges below, and sent the spray flying over us. the lady, who had borne up bravely so far, fainted from reaction when we gained the level sward, where the horses were grazing quietly, none the worse for their bath. but there were three stalwart basque peasants at work hard by, turning up the soil with their four-pronged iron forks. their cottage was close at hand, and having partially revived the fair sufferer, we carried her to the house, where she received every attention from the padrona, and no further evil resulted, except scratches and torn garments. but while i was sensibly impressed with the courage displayed by my companion, who was a slight, delicate woman, i am quite certain that ignorance of the right thing to do at the right time would have been fatal to both of us. as the tide gained so rapidly upon us, had the lady allowed her horse to flounder or plunge in it, she would inevitably have become entangled with him and drowned, despite any effort of mine to save her. i have witnessed many other instances of the facility with which horses will extricate their riders from difficulties in deep water. among these i know none more worthy of record than the following. some years ago a large government transport, conveying troops and horses, was wrecked at buffalo, cape of good hope. among the troops was a detachment of light cavalry. the ship parted on the rocks, and despite the efforts of the people on shore, the greater part of the troops (officers and men) were drowned. an officer of the cavalry party, however, determined to make an effort to reach the shore, upon which a heavy sea and tremendous surf were breaking. he launched his horse overboard, and, plunging quickly after him into the tumbling sea, seized the horse by the mane, and succeeded in retaining his grasp, while the plucky and sagacious animal gallantly dragged his master in safety through the surf. i repeat, then, be always on your guard in crossing deep water with a horse, or in fording a stream where the current is rapid. in india and other tropical countries the necessity for being able to swim a horse occurs more frequently than at home; and, in the monsoon time especially, it behoves everybody who is going a journey on horseback to be extremely careful how they attempt to cross a swollen stream, as the freshets come down with such rapidity that i have frequently seen a horse carried off his legs by the force of the current when the water has not been more than knee-deep, and, when once the foothold is gone in such places, it is extremely difficult frequently to find a place at which to get out again, on account of the precipitous formation of most of the banks. in any case, however, the above-named directions will be found effectual, and the horse, if left to himself, will find a landing place, even if he swims a considerable distance to gain it. a point of considerable importance as regards hunting also is for ladies to avoid riding home in open carriages, no matter how fine the weather may be, or how well they may be wrapped up. riding _to_ the meet on wheels is all very well, particularly if the distance is great and by a cross-country road, and the time short. but, after galloping about during the greater part of the day, no conveyance home other than her horse is fit for a lady, except the inside of a close carriage on rail or road, and a good foot warmer at the bottom of the carriage; and if there has been much rain, riding home on horseback is by far the safest plan. i have frequently ridden home sixteen and eighteen miles after dark with a lady whom i had the honour of escorting on her hunting excursions, sometimes in very bad weather, and i can safely say that, rain, snow, or sleet, she never took cold. after leaving the hounds my first care was always to make for some hospitable farmhouse near the road, or in default thereof, some decent roadside inn, where we could have the horse's legs well washed, and the lady's waterproof carefully put on if there was rain about. i always carried for her a second pair of dry knee boots, carefully folded up in a waterproof havresack. these boots were made with cork soles within and without, and, as such boots are easily carried by any man who pilots a lady (of course i don't mean the pilot who rides in scarlet), i specially recommend them to consideration. the most difficult thing after riding a long day's hunting, in which, now and again, a good deal of it will be in wet weather, is to keep the feet warm. throughout all the rest of the system the circulation may be kept going by the exercise even of slow steady trotting; but the wet, clammy boot, thoroughly saturated, it may be, by more than one dash through a swollen rivulet, strikes cold and uncomfortable in the stirrup iron even to a man, who has a better opportunity of counteracting it by the use of alcoholic or vinous stimulants. it is therefore highly conducive to a lady's comfort after her gallop with hounds, if she has far to go home, to change her boots; and this, with a little care and foresight on the part of her attendant, can always be accomplished. with a dry pair of boots, a good waterproof overcoat, and a cambric handkerchief tied round her neck, a lady may defy the worst weather in returning from hunting. a word now about second horsemen, in a country like this, where the _habitués_ of it know tolerably well, if hunting is to be done in a certain district, that a fox, given certain conditions of wind, is most likely to make for certain points, and that if a covert is drawn blank, the next draw will be in a certain locality, it is not difficult for a good second horseman to be ready at hand when the lady requires a fresh charger. but (assuming always that she can afford to have a second horse out) nothing connected with her hunting requires more discrimination than the selection of a second horseman. any quantity of smart, good-looking, light-weight lads, who can turn themselves out in undeniable form, and ride very fairly, are always to be had, with good manners and equally good characters; but one thing requisite is that they should know every inch of the country they are in. thus a lad, however willing, from scotland or ireland, would be of very little use as a second horseman in the midland district of england; and therefore weight, up to ten stone at all events, is of less consequence than an intimate knowledge of the topography of the surrounding country. to have a second horse at the right spot at the right time, and with little or nothing taken out of him, requires in most cases considerable foresight and judgment on the part of the lad who is on him, and therefore a fair amount of intelligence, in addition to careful riding, is indispensable, as well as natural good eye for country. the different form in which second horses are brought to the point where they are required is conclusive as to the foregoing, for one constantly sees two animals, up to equal weight and in equal condition, arrive at the same spot, one not fit to go much further, and the other with scarcely the stable bloom off his coat. chapter xviii. the condition of hunters. as the value of most of the foregoing suggestions as regards a lady riding to hounds is more or less dependent upon the form and condition in which the horse destined to carry her in the chase is put, i trust a few words upon this important subject may be acceptable. in the first place, then, experience proves that the getting of a horse into really good condition is a work of considerable time, and that when once the animal has arrived at the desired point of physical health which will enable him to make the most of his powers, as a rule, it is considered to the last degree undesirable that anything should be done to throw him out of his form. many years ago it was considered that a horse that had been hunted regularly through a season should be turned out to grass throughout the summer, and that if he was taken up when the crops were off the ground, there was time enough to get him fit by november; while it was considered altogether unnecessary to give him more than one feed of corn a day while turned out. in numerous cases i have known he had none from april to september. the present form of treating hunting horses is diametrically the reverse of the foregoing. a horse once "wound up" (as it is technically called) for hunting is generally kept up all the year round; his spring and summer training consisting of long, slow, steady work, principally walking exercise. now, my own opinion, based upon many years of experience and close observation, does not agree with either of the foregoing practices. the first evidently was wrong, because a horse, even running in and out throughout the entire summer, though well kept on corn, will put up an amount of adipose substance, which cannot be got off in two months, with due regard to the preservation of proper quality and muscular fibre. while, on the other hand, i believe that, although by keeping your horse up all the year round you will bring him out in rare form in november, yet still he will not last you so long as one that has had fair play given to his lungs by a few weeks' run when the spring grass is about; for, however good the sanitary arrangements of our modern stables and the ventilation of boxes may be, the air breathed in them cannot be so pure as that of a fresh green meadow. men and women require a change of air once a year at least, and everybody who can afford it looks forward with pleasurable anticipation to their autumn holiday. why should the noble animal who has carried us so well and so staunchly through many a hard run be denied his relaxation and his change of air in the spring? as a substitute for turning horses out for a brief run in the spring, it is customary in some stables to cut grass and give it, varied by vetches and clover, to the horse in his box. these salutary alteratives are good in themselves, but there is still wanting the glorious fresh air of the open paddock, which, when all nature is awakening from the long slumber of winter, is so renovating to the equine system. it is best to fetch your horse up at night, because it is in the night when turned out that he eats the most; but the object of giving the animal his liberty is not that he may blow himself out with grass, but that, in addition to the purifying effect to the blood of spring herbage, he shall also breathe the spring air unadulterated. if this is carried out, i believe those who practise it will find that their hunters will last them many years longer than those that are kept at what may be called "high stable pressure" all the year round. prejudice, however, is strong as regards the foregoing matter, as in others connected with the stable treatment and general handling of horses. people are far too apt to go into extremes and adopt a line of treatment because it is in vogue with some neighbour or friend who is supposed to be well up on the subject, and must therefore be right in everything he does. the best way, i submit, is to call common sense into play, and be satisfied that the oracular friend has some good reason "which will hold water" for what he does. i respectfully recommend the spring run then, by all means; and, if i may venture so far to infringe the imperious laws of fashion, i would venture to suggest that hunters might be allowed just a little bit more tail, for the purpose for which nature intended it--namely, to keep off the flies, which in summer will find them out, in or out of the stable. extremes in fashion as to the trimming of horses are nearly as absurd as one sees from time to time in the dress of ladies and gentlemen, and quite as devoid of sense or reason. who has not seen the old racing pictures in which diamond or hambletonian figure with a bob tail, and who has not laughed at the grotesque figure (according to modern notions of a racehorse) of these "high-mettled ones," all but denuded of their caudal appendages? as a matter of taste and good feeling, therefore, i venture to plead for a trifle more tail for hunters than is at present allowed. to a good stableman it gives no trouble, and in spring and summer time it is of great use to the horse. when the latter is brought up from the spring run, the question of restoring his hunting form (if, indeed, he can be said to have lost any of it) is simple enough; in fact, there are few subjects on which more twaddle is talked than about the "conditioning of hunters," stablemen being particularly oracular and mysterious about it. roomy, clean, and well-ventilated boxes, good drainage, four and five hours' walking exercise every day, the best oats procurable given _whole, not crushed_, with a moderate allowance to old horses of good beans, and a fair allowance of good old hay or clover, perfect regularity in exercise and stable times, the attendance of a thoroughly good-tempered cheery lad who knows his business, and the total prohibition of drugging or physicking of any sort, unless by order of a veterinary surgeon--these are the arcana of the much talked-of "conditioning." some tell you that a hunter should have scarcely any hay. i have yet to learn why not, because i am quite sure that really good hay assists a horse to put up muscle. of course he is not supposed to gorge himself with it, as some ravenous animals would do if allowed. but the same thing may be said of a carriage horse or a charger. waste of forage is one thing, the use of it another; and as there has been considerable discussion of late as to the cost of feeding a horse, i beg to say that on a fair average those even in training, requiring the best food, can be kept, when oats are s. or s. a quarter, for s. a week. i speak of course of the absolute cost of forage of the best kind. where horses are delicate feeders, and this is the case with some who are rare performers in the field, the appetite should be coaxed, by giving small quantities of food at short intervals, making the horse, in fact, an exception to the ordinary stable rule of feeding four times a day. a really good groom will carefully watch the peculiarities of such a horse as regards feeding, and come in due course to know what suits the animal, the result being plenty of good muscle, equal to that of more hearty "doers." but stimulating drugs, i repeat, should never be permitted. carrots as an alterative are good, but they should be given only when ordered by a veterinary surgeon, in such quantities as he orders. they should be put in the manger whole, never cut up, as there is nothing more dangerous than the latter practice in feeding, because numerous instances are on record of horses choking themselves with pieces of carrot. when hunting time approaches, a little more steam as regards pace at exercise may be put on. trotting up hills of easy ascent serves materially to "open the pipes," and, despite a very general prejudice to the contrary, i maintain that, for some weeks before hunting commences, a horse is all the better for a steady canter of moderate length every morning. a very good reason why stud grooms as a rule object to this is, simply because it involves a great deal more work in the stable. if horses are only walked or trotted at exercise, one man generally can manage very well to exercise two horses, riding one, and leading the other with a dumb jockey or bearing reins on him; but, if the horse is to be cantered, there must be a man or boy to every horse, and, consequently, exercise would occupy considerably more time. it is quite clear that the horse will have to gallop when hunting begins, and, as all training should be inductive, it is absurd to say that he should do nothing up to the st of october but walking and trotting, while on the first day of november his owner may come down from town and give him a rattling gallop with hounds. surely such extremes are not reconcilable with common sense! let me now say a word about washing horses, about which also considerable diversity of opinion exists, some maintaining that the brush and wisp alone ought to keep the horse's skin in proper form, and others advocating washing partially. in my time i have tried all sorts of stable management, and i believe the truth is as follows: nothing is more conducive to a horse's health than washing, with either cold or tepid water. but if you adopt the cold water system, you must be sure that it is done in a place where there is no draught. it should be commenced in summer time. there should be two thoroughly good stablemen in the washing box, and a boy to carry water from the pump. the horse's head and neck should be thoroughly washed, brushed, scraped, sponged, and leathered, and a good woollen hood put on. his body washed thoroughly in the same way, and a good rug put on. then his legs equally well done, and bandaged. let him then be put into his box for a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, stripped and dressed by a man who will let his shoulder go at him, not one who will play with him. when thoroughly dressed his coat will shine like new satin, and his whole manner will tell you how refreshed he is by his bath. the washing cannot be done too quickly consistent with thorough good work. two good men and a smart boy ought to wash, clothe, and bandage a horse in five minutes, or they are not worth their salt. if the cold water system is begun in summer, and regularly followed up, it can be carried on throughout the winter, no matter how severe the weather may be, and an incalculable advantage of the system is that a horse so treated is almost impervious to cold or catarrh. but to carry the treatment out, a lot of first-class stablemen are indispensable, men who--no "eye servants"--do their work _con amore_, and take a genuine pride in their horses. if the thing is negligently done, or dawdled over, it is likely enough to be productive of mischief. where the stable staff is limited in number and not first-rate in quality, if washing is resorted to, tepid water must be used, because one smart man can wash a horse in tepid water in a proper washing house unassisted. but a special veto should be put upon washing a hunter's legs, as is too often done, outside in the yard, the horse tied to a ring in the wall, with the cold night air blowing on him. no matter if warm or cold water is used, whether or not mischief follows is mere matter of chance if the foregoing bad treatment is permitted. briefly, then, it may be said, if you have good men about you and enough of them use cold water, beginning in the summer and continuing it regularly. if you are short of really good stablemen, use tepid water; but use it in a washing box built for the purpose, and never let it be done out of doors. chapter xix. having endeavoured to mark out the course of equitation from the preparatory suppling practices to the orthodox conventionalities of the hunting field, i conclude this series of papers with a few hints which i trust will be useful to ladies about to proceed to india or the colonies. in the first place, as regards riding habiliments, i recommend ladies going to india to procure everything in the shape of habits, trousers, and hats in this country. in india they cost a hundred per cent. more than at home, and the natives can only make them by pattern. riding boots can be procured in the east quite as well made and as durable as those made in england, and at a fifth of the price. saddlery should be taken out from england. it is also just a hundred per cent. dearer in india. one good side-saddle, such as i have previously described, will with care last a lady many years. of bridles she should take at least half a dozen double ones (bit and bridoon). horse clothing of any sort as used in england is not required in india. as regards the horse itself on which the fair emigrant to the east will take her health-preserving morning gallop at gun-fire, i must say little. i have endeavoured elsewhere to give some idea of what arab horses are; and, as every lady going to india is certain to know some male friend who is well up at buying a lady's horse, i need only say that, if the animal purchased is a young unbroken one, the best plan is to send him to the nearest cavalry or horse artillery station, and have him broken precisely in the same form as an officer's charger. the arab dealers from whom the horse, if unbroken, is most likely to be purchased, know nothing, and care less, about breaking, and the people about them have the very worst hands upon a horse i have ever seen. all riding in india, except in cases of absolute necessity, should be done very early in the morning. the lady should be in the saddle soon after gun-fire (five o'clock). by the time she arrives at the galloping ground (in a large station or cantonment generally the racecourse) the sun will be up, so quickly does it rise, with scarcely any twilight, in india; but its rays are not then vertical, nor is the heat either oppressive or injurious until much later in the day. a couple or three hours' riding is sufficient for health, and the great thing is to go home quite cool; the bath and breakfast are then most enjoyable. evening promenades are as a matter of fashion, and indeed, of reason, usually attended by ladies in carriages. there are many, however, who prefer riding on horseback again in the latter part of the day; but experience proves that evening riding on horseback is not good, as a rule, for ladies. exposure to the sun on horseback, or indeed in any way, should be specially avoided, as should also violent exercise of any kind, that on horseback not excepted. the rattling gallop, which is not only exhilarating but healthful in leicestershire, is inadmissible in most parts of india, where extremes of any kind are injurious. finally, i would respectfully impress upon every lady who is likely to go to india, those especially who, having been born there, have been sent home for their education, that they should avail themselves of every opportunity in this country of becoming efficient horsewomen. to be able to ride well is very desirable for a lady who is to pass her life in europe, in india it is absolutely indispensable; and if the lady's equitation is neglected in early days at home, she will find herself sadly at a loss when she arrives in india; for although there are plenty of thoroughly competent men there who could instruct her, their time is taken up with teaching recruits at the early time of the day at which a lady could avail herself of their services. as regards riding in australia, the cape, new zealand, canada, or the west indies, briefly it may be said that again it is best to take out saddlery from this country, because, although it can be procured in any of the above-named colonies far cheaper than in india, it is still considerably dearer, and generally not so good as at home. at the cape, in australia, and in new zealand--the two former colonies especially--long journeys have frequently to be done by ladies on horseback; and if a thoroughly practical education in the saddle is necessary to health, as regards a sojourn in india; it is equally so as a matter of convenience in other of the british dependencies abroad. let me, then, close my humble efforts at carefully tracing out the readiest way for a lady to become a thorough horsewoman by again recommending them all to begin early, and to pay implicit attention to the tuition of a first-class instructor; always to throw their whole heart into their riding, fixing their minds rigidly on it while learning, and never, however proficient or confident they may be, venture, unless upon a life-and-death emergency, upon half-broken horses. during the indian mutiny instances occurred in which ladies owed their lives to their nerve and courage in mounting horses ill-adapted to carry them, and by dint of sheer determination urging them into top speed and safety to the fair fugitives. in such desperate emergencies there is no alternative but to accept the lesser risk; but in ordinary cases my advice (the result of long experience) is to all lady riders, never mount an untrained horse, and never allow your horse to become too fresh for want of work. a casualty which may be attended with trifling consequences to a man may have the most serious results in the case of a lady; while i am firmly of opinion that no such thing as an accident ought ever to occur to her on horseback if due care and foresight are exercised by those about her, and if the lady herself will be careful whenever or under whatever circumstances she approaches or mounts a horse to be always on her guard, to _ride_ all the time she is on him, to remember that in all matters that relate to riding the homely old adage, "afterwit is not worth a penny an ounce" is strictly applicable, and that the golden rule is, "never give away a chance to your horse." * * * * * transcriber's note: hyphen variations left as printed. illustration: [frontispiece: tad's pony leaped into the air] the pony rider boys on the blue ridge or a lucky find in the carolina mountains by frank gee patchin author of the pony rider boys in the rockies, the pony rider boys in texas, the pony rider boys in montana, the pony rider boys in the ozarks, the pony rider boys in the alkali, the pony rider boys in new mexico, the pony rider boys in the grand canyon, the pony rider boys with the texas rangers, etc., etc. illustrated philadelphia henry altemus company copyrighted, , by howard e. altemus printed in the united states of america contents chapter i--the camp in smoky pass all ready for the doodle bugs. stacy envies the guide's appetite. "we'll be having trouble before morning." chunky's howl terrifies billy veal. the pony rider boys in a critical position. chapter ii--battling with a great flood "chops" has a narrow escape. "you'll drown if i let go." "do you hear that noise?" the crest of the flood bearing down threatens to engulf the pony rider boys. chapter iii--lost in a mountain torrent swept away on the roaring waters. all hands shoot the rapids. "just like alligator bait." a hail that was promptly answered. chunky tells another story. chapter iv--what happens to chops canned goods are widely distributed. billy veal sleeps amid perils. the fat boy emulates the crow. the guide proves to be a regular song bird. "bye-o, bye-o, baby; 'possum mighty sly." chapter v--excitement at hunt's corners the "bad man from smoky creek" arrives in a cloud of dust. "turn the coyotes loose! whoope-e-e-e!" the bully of the blue ridge gives chunky's foot a twist. trouble in the making. chapter vi--tad butler in action an exhibition of cool audacity. the freckle-faced boy resents an insult. smoky griffin gets a punch on the jaw. ned holds off a crowd. "i'll shoot the first man who tries to pass you a gun!" a fight to a finish. spectators break into cheers. chapter vii--on the way to smoky bald "the crowd always goes with the upper dog." tad rids a community of a pest. "that's what i call a mean trick." the fat boy in a rage. stacy pounds across the plain in pursuit of his outfit. chapter viii--stalking the fat boy "i don't ask any odds of a horse." tad trails the fat boy and makes an exciting discovery. stacy brown near death. tad's lasso wriggles through the air. a frantic bad man in the toils. "that gentle heart was about to smash my head with a stone." chapter ix--revenge almost at hand the prisoner aims a rifle at tad butler and pulls the trigger. tad apparently has made a grave mistake. a bad man subdued by his adam's apple. "he is an ungrateful wretch." the trouble-maker freed and told to get out. chapter x--biscuit and mystery the bully plots revenge. in the land of the sky. chunky has a nerve-racking dream. putting a hoodoo on billy veal. chops, frantic with fear, bolts the camp. "there he goes!" chapter xi--an interrupted journey "where is that guide?" billy admits that he saw a gnome. the only indian on the reservation. a visitor who brought unpleasant news. the pony rider boys are ordered to get off the ridge. chapter xii--facing new obstacles stacy arouses the anger of a supposed officer. young butler runs a human trail and makes a discovery. "a precious pair of rascals." threats that do not cower. the boys agree to go on. chapter xiii--an exhibition of sheer pluck the professor ready for a fight. held up by armed men. "in my opinion you're a scoundrel!" tad shows his nerve. "it's the black cat and we'll all be lame ducks in a minute and a half." the situation of the boys grows serious. chapter xiv--the professor takes a hand "make 'em dance!" bullets fly thick and fast. a mountain ruffian unhorsed. "get out and don't you dare show your crooked faces here again!" "gold? gold? lead me to it!" chapter xv--the ghost of the tulip glade "do i look as if i had twenty biscuit inside of me?" demands chunky. tad rigs up an ingenious burglar alarm. the freckle-faced boy turns practical joker. "i'm shot! i'm shot!" chunky and chops see a real ghost. chapter xvi--a mysterious night prowler a prank that was timely. "i'm hobbled for keeps!" "there was a strange man in this camp tonight." tad finds a prowler's trail. a discovery that amazes the pony rider boys. chapter xvii--prospectors in the hills a man is identified by a horse's footprint. friendly faces once more. getting acquainted with new-found friends. pony rider boys amaze the gold prospectors. the enemy is fully identified. chapter xviii--the camp suffers a loss when the collie dog did not come back. tad reads the ground signs. "your dog chased a man away from this camp last night." a new sort of tenderfoot. something must be done. chapter xix--butler makes a discovery stacy thinks a pomeranian is a cheese. tad butler takes the trail again. "i must say those fellows are bold." chunky could not have done worse. "it's the collie!" breathed ned rector in awe. chapter xx--a mysterious proceeding "the fiends! they threw him over!" startled by the sound of a gun. the strange actions of jay stillman. a narrow escape. "he's gone. now for his cabin!" cries tad butler. chapter xxi--trapped in a mountain cabin a shrewd game is suspected. "what can it be?" pony rider boys get a startling surprise. "too late! to the chimney!" tad and ned up a sooty flue. the man who killed the dog. ned rector utters mighty sneeze. chapter xxii--pony rider boys in a stew miners are startled by a yell up the chimney. boys come down with a crash and all ablaze. the supper table makes a flight. a fight for life in the mountain cabin. chapter xxiii--the mystery of smoky bald a discovery worth while. the squeal of the hidden wireless. "stillman killed your dog." stacy catches the biscuit thief. plotters in the mountains. off for the forest ranger. chapter xxiv--conclusion trailing down the conspirators. herded in a mountain cabin. "give them a volley, men!" the battle on smoky bald. pluck wins for the pony rider boys. a happy reward. chapter i the camp in smoky pass "now let the flies, the hornets, the fleas and the doodle bugs come and do their worst," declared tad butler, standing off to take a look at the tent he had just finished pitching. "no doodle bugs in mine, if you please," answered stacy brown. "nor mine," added ned rector and walter perkins in chorus. "how about you, chops? do you like bugs?" questioned tad, giving the guide a mischievous glance. "yassir." "you do?" "yassir. nassir." "well, which is it?" "nassir." "i thought not," nodded tad. "chops doesn't always know what he does want." "yassir." "i reckon we'll have to give him a few lessons," suggested chunky brown with a grin. "yassir," replied chops, regarding chunky with large eyes. "so long as you are willing, there seems to be nothing more to be said at the present sitting," observed ned rector. "you're a cheerful idiot, aren't you, chops?" persisted stacy. "yassir." "isn't it fine to have a guide who agrees with everything you say?" scoffed ned. "i'm afraid we're going to have a quiet time of it down here in the blue ridge with a guide who won't oppose you, not a person to fight you, not even an animal to do battle with," mourned ned. "i guess you will find animals enough when we get in farther," answered tad with a laugh. "what kind?" demanded ned, instantly on the alert. "deer, bear and mountain lion." "i--i caught a mountain lion up in the grand canyon," interposed chunky. "yes, we know all about that." "we certainly do, don't we, chunky?" laughed tad. "i reckon if we don't, no one does," finished chunky, directing a look of inquiry at the guide. "yassir," agreed chops, grinning broadly. "chops," it may be well to explain, was not only colored, but he was black as a piece of ebony, which, however, did not account for his peculiar nickname. chops's right name was billy veal. the boys seized upon this to call him veal chops, which after a few hours was changed to the short form, or "chops." and chops, billy would remain as long as he traveled the blue ridge in the company of these fun-loving young fellows. chops's lips were red and his mouth looked like an angry gash, while the eyes at times appeared to be all whites. professor zepplin had attached chops to his party at asheville. the colored man had been recommended as an excellent guide, one who knew every foot of the blue ridge mountains and their various branches. besides this, the professor's informant said that billy veal was a splendid cook, a useful man about the stock, and possessing numerous other qualifications. what the informant did not say was that, while billy may have known how to do all these things, he was loath to do anything that might be construed as work. besides this, his appetite was greater than stacy brown's, which was saying a great deal for billy. veal's appetite was, in fact, assuming alarming proportions. the party feared that they should not be able to keep themselves supplied with food unless something were done to check the growing appetite of the guide and all-around man. the professor was looking on admiringly as tad finished pitching the tents, veal watching the work with wide, white eyes. stacy took a piece of hardtack which he tossed to the waiting colored man, and the hardtack instantly went into chops's mouth. for a second it puffed out his cheek, then disappeared down his throat whole, as the guide gave a convulsive gulp. stacy brown regarded the fellow admiringly. "goodness gracious! i wish i could stow away food like that. did you ever eat on a wager, chops?" "yassir." "what did you do?" "i done et six pies while de clock was strikin' twelve, sah." "six pies?" marveled the fat boy. "yassir." "ho, ho, ho! ha, ha, ha! you must have been a regular turn-over." "yassir." "were you full?" asked tad. "nassir. i could hab done et some more." "chunky, you ought to take lessons from chops. he might give you some valuable pointers," suggested tad laughingly. "i reckon he could at that," agreed the fat boy. "if i could eat six pies all at once, without having to send for the doctor, i'd think i was some pumpkins." "especially if you had been eating pumpkin pies, eh?" chuckled tad butler. "tad, i like your tent arrangement first rate," complimented professor zepplin surveying the little white canvas tents that were ranged in a semicircle about the campfire, all opening to the fire. "i am inclined to think, too, that you have an invention worth while in what we have named the 'butler lean-to.' i am sure others will recognize the value of it and that it will come into quite general use." "thank you. i shall be glad if others find it useful. however, we have not tried it out. we'll see how it works with us during this journey through the blue ridge," answered tad. tad butler's tent was an ingenious little affair. it weighed just five pounds, and when packed, it folded into a neat little package five inches thick by ten by fourteen inches. one might carry it on his back without discomfort. to put up such a tent you cut three slender saplings of about ten feet long, slip one down the ridge of the tent and out through a hole in the back. shove the end of this pole into the ground, cross and spread the other two poles, and tie the three together at the upper ends. next raise the ridge-pole by sticking the other two into the ground to make a triangle. peg down the sides, tie out the front poles at the grommets, and your tent is ready for occupancy, having taken not more than seven or eight minutes in the putting up. after finishing, the tent makes a peculiar appearance, being about two feet wide at the rear, by a full eight feet at the front. the rear of the tent is used for the storing of equipment or "duffle" as the camper calls it. tad arranged two beds in his tent, leaving the others to fix their own as suited their individual tastes. the beds were made by first clearing away the ground, then piling in hemlock boughs fully three feet deep. over this was placed the sleeping bag, and no softer bed ever held a tired camper. the bed had also the merit of raising one from the ground, out of the water, provided there should be rain in the night. the others of this party of young explorers were satisfied to dump their sleeping bags on the ground, though the professor did make a bed for himself, which, while not so practical as tad's, served his purpose almost equally well. "you fellows had better get yourselves off the ground, for we are going to have a storm tonight," advised butler. "walter is sleeping in my tent, but the rest of you look out. don't you think it's going to storm, chops?" "yassir." "i don't think it's going to storm, do you, chops?" asked stacy. "nassir." "there you are," declared the fat boy. "you pay your money and you take your choice. it is going to storm, and it isn't going to storm. you'd make a fine thermometer, chops. why, you'd have everybody crazy with the heat and the cold all at the same time." the camp had been pitched in the narrow smoky pass of the blue ridge through which flowed a tributary of the french broad river. the stream was very shallow at this time of the year, there having been but few rains, and its course was marked mostly by white sand and smoothly worn rocks, with here and there along the borders of the water course little colonies of the white, pink-petaled trillium gently nodding their heads at the ends of their long, slender stems. the pass was silent save for the soft murmur of the stream and the songs of birds farther up the rocky sides in the dense foliage. it was an ideal camping place in a dry spell, but not any too desirable in times of high water. billy veal had declared that it offered a perfectly easy route through to the black mountain spur for which the party was heading. billy knew the mountains very well. the boys were obliged to admit that, but the difficulty was to find out what he did know, for he was as likely to say one thing as another. they had decided that the best plan would be to tell him where they wanted to go, leaving him to do the rest. the more questions they asked the less they knew. "did you ever see a ghost, chops?" asked stacy after they had settled down for an evening's enjoyment. "nassir. yassir," answered the colored man, his eyes growing large. "i'll show you a ghost some time. would you like to be introduced to a ghost?" persisted stacy. "yassir. nassir. doan' want see no ghosts." "then why don't you say so?" "yassir." "say what you mean," ordered the fat boy sternly. "don't beat around the bush. you'll be getting yourself into a pickle first thing you know, for--" "billy! we are waiting for you to get the supper," warned the professor severely. "you should have had it well started before this." "yassir," answered chops, grinning broadly. "you forgot something, chops," reminded stacy. "yassir?" "no, nassir," jeered the fat boy. "stacy, be good enough to go away from the guide. you are interfering with his duties," rebuked the professor. "nassir. yassir," mocked the fat boy with a grin almost as broad as billy veal's. they sat down to supper soon after that and all hands agreed that it was an excellent meal. what appealed to their appetites most were the waffles, real old southern waffles, the kind that mother didn't make. a jug of molasses was produced as a surprise. such a feast the boys had not had within memory. cool, sparkling water was at hand. one had but to step to the stream and dip it up, but it was the waffles that put pretty much everything else out of mind. "why, billy, i didn't know that you brought syrup," glowed the professor, now in high good humor. "yassir." "well, well! this is indeed a surprise, my man." "i am thankful that he is at last making an effort to earn his wages," muttered tad butler. "thus far he hasn't done much in that direction." "you must admit that he has guided us pretty well," defended walter perkins. "you mean we have guided ourselves," differed ned rector. "anybody could follow this hollow; in fact, one couldn't get out of it until he got to the end--that is, unless he had wings--unless he was a bird." "that's chops," declared stacy. "what do you mean?" demanded ned, turning to the fat boy. "i mean he is a bird. must i explain everything to you? if you insist i will draw a picture of a bird and--" "that will do, stacy," rebuked ned. "yassir," mimicked stacy, whereat the boys burst out laughing. there was no resisting stacy brown's droll way of saying things. stacy was a natural comedian, but whether or not he was aware of this, none but himself knew. there were no waffles left when the boys finished their supper. the clouds had been gathering all the afternoon, and just as they sat back for a comfortable chat on full stomachs, little spatters of rain gave promise of a wet night. "you see," reminded tad, nodding to his companions and glancing up to the sky. "we don't see much, but we feel. i guess you were right at that, tad," agreed ned rector. "tad's always right when he isn't wrong," observed stacy solemnly. "and you are usually wrong when you are not right," retorted butler quickly. "laying all levity aside, i wish to ask if you young men know where you are," interrupted the professor. "yassir," answered stacy promptly. "i suppose we are in the smoky pass of the blue ridge mountains in north carolina, sir," replied tad. "exactly. but there are some features about the blue ridge which you young gentlemen possibly are not familiar with. for your benefit i will give you a brief talk on this somewhat unfamiliar range of mountains. ahem! the blue ridge is the most easterly range of the appalachian mountain system. i presume you are unaware that it actually has its beginning at west point on the hudson river, whence so many fine young officers went out to fight for their country in the great world war. am i right in thus supposing?" the professor glared about him fiercely. "you win," muttered stacy. "it is the fact. the blue ridge forms an almost continuous chain from that point down to the north of alabama. the range makes its way through new jersey, pennsylvania, virginia and the carolinas. the blue ridge proper is that part of the range below pennsylvania which separates the great valley from the piedmont region. in south virginia the range widens into a broad plateau which reaches its widest extent in the state where we now are." "yassir," murmured stacy brown. the boys pretended not to have heard the interruption, but the professor fixed a stern eye on stacy, and then resumed his lecture. "in this state, north carolina," he said, "the range is intersected by numerous groups, such as the black, the south and the like, some reaching several thousand feet in height. we shall soon be in a spur of the black mountains." "i fear we shall have to find a new guide if we ever get anywhere, professor," spoke up tad. "i am of the opinion that he has done very well. did he not surprise us with waffles and syrup?" demanded professor zepplin. "he did," agreed the boys. "on the other hand," added tad, "our grub is disappearing most mysteriously. i am sure chunky couldn't eat so much more than the rest of us. our flour is nearly all gone, though we haven't been out a week. it is almost unbelievable. all the biscuit we brought along have disappeared." "and those cookies we got in asheville," mourned stacy. "i was figuring on having cookies all the way across the mountains. now i'll have to eat hard-tack and biscuit." "so long as you don't have to eat salt horse, you ought to consider yourself lucky," retorted rector. "as i was about to say when interrupted," continued professor zepplin, "the black mountains lie in buncombe and yancy counties--" "does chops come from buncombe?" interrupted stacy. "again i say, they form a spur of the blue ridge," resumed the professor unheeding the interruption, "and are a part of the appalachian system. they lie between the french broad river and its main tributary, the nolichucky." "is this the trolleychucky here at our feet, professor?" questioned chunky innocently. tad gave the fat boy a prod with the toe of his boot, whereat stacy turned an indignant face to him. "mount mitchell, black dome, guyot's peak, sandoz knob and gibbe's peak, including smoky bald and others, form the divide between the tennessee and catawba river basins. that, for the present, will be quite sufficient for the topography of the country. as you are no doubt aware, most of the rocks through this region are highly crystalline, but whether of paleozoic or azoic age, is not certain," concluded the professor. "yassir," murmured the fat boy. chops had been listening with wide open mouth and eyes, not understanding a word of what had been said, but being sure it was something of tremendous importance because he could not understand. "here comes the storm," cried tad as a vivid sheet of lightning flashed up the pass, followed by a deafening peal of thunder. almost instantly the rain began to fall, and the boys scrambled for their tents, while chops, wrapping himself in a blanket, crouched in front of the fire. from their tents the lads could talk to each other, the openings of the tents being close to the fire itself. they continued their conversation from the tents. by this time the rain was roaring on the canvas in a perfect torrent. "it's going to be a good night to sleep," called ned. "i am not so sure of that," answered tad butler. "i reckon it'll be a fine night for ducks," observed chunky. "young man, that is not seemly language," rebuked the professor. "it's the truth. isn't truth seemly?" demanded stacy. "you are evading the question." "i beg your pardon, i'm not. i am bumping right up against it," retorted the fat boy, amid smothered laughter. the roar of the storm soon made the boys sleepy, and a few minutes later the last of the party, except tad, had turned in. butler watched the storm for an hour, listening thoughtfully to the river and the rain. "it is my opinion that we'll be having trouble before morning," he muttered as he threw himself down on his bed of boughs. he did not remove his clothes, as had the others, in which perhaps tad butler was wise. once more the pony rider boys were well started on their summer's ride, led by professor zepplin, the tutor who had accompanied them on so many happy adventures in the saddle on their summer outings. the professor, who, in spite of his sternness, was as much a boy as his charges, took a secret delight in their pranks and their noisy chatter. following their lively adventures in other fields, they had elected to explore the apparently more peaceful territory of the blue ridge mountains. in fact, the pony rider boys did not look forward to adventures here, but in this they were destined to be considerably surprised. the pony rider party had made camp in a narrow spot in what was known as smoky pass, and were now facing a storm which tad butler believed promised to be a severe one. nor in this belief was tad one whit outside of the truth, for, as he listened, the storm steadily increased in fury. the present center of the rising storm appeared to be to the eastward of their camp, and already the ordinarily small stream at their feet was muttering ominously. its waters, sparkling clear an hour before, were now muddy and swollen. tad's observant "weather eye" also noted that the stream was full of drift and torn-off foliage. billy veal, the guide, he observed, stood wide-eyed and shivering just beyond the fire, for billy was wet, and he was afraid. "come in here," ordered tad, and billy obeyed with evident reluctance. "do you know of any place hereabouts where we might climb up the side of the pass?" tad demanded. "yassir, nassir," chattered veal. "well, which is it?" insisted butler sharply. "nassir." "humph! then, if we wanted to get out of this pass, and could neither go up nor downstream, what would you do, billy?" "ah reckons ah'd stay heah, sah." "pshaw!" grunted tad disgustedly. trying to wring information from billy was far from satisfying. "sit down in here where you can keep dry, and if the storm gets much worse let me know. i am going to turn in and get some sleep." tad, who had risen to have a look at the weather, threw himself down again, for he was tired and sleepy. the campground was very low, and, were the creek to rise much above its present channel, butler knew that his party would come in for a fine wetting. however, this was not greatly disturbing to him, though he did not exactly like the idea of being shut up in that walled-in pass with no way of getting out save by following the stream either up or down. tad quickly went to sleep and slumbered on unmindful of the roar of the storm. he was disturbed some three hours later by howls from the tent occupied by stacy brown. "oh, wow!" yelled the fat boy. tad butler, like every other member of the party, was awakened by stacy's yell. chops sat shivering and regarding him apprehensively. he had never before heard chunky howl, and the howl was terrifying to him. "go and see what is the matter with mr. brown," directed tad. stacy's howls broke forth afresh. "hey! stop that. what's the matter?" shouted tad. "i'm all afloat. i'm soused from head to foot," came the reply. "save you the trouble of taking a bath," answered butler. "i'll drown," wailed stacy. "oh, stop it and get a boat," urged ned rector's voice. "why didn't you pile in hemlock boughs, as i told you to do, then you wouldn't have got wet," rebuked tad. "are you lying in the water?" "yes. what'll i do?" "you'll get wetter, so far as i am able to see." about this time professor zepplin in his pajamas was charging out of his tent. he was drenched in a second. "guide, isn't there a higher and drier place that we can get to?" demanded the professor. "yassir. nassir." "we are in a pocket, professor. we'll have to take our medicine," called tad. "i don't like my medicine so cold," wailed the fat boy. "all hands had better dress," advised butler. "i think we are about to experience some trouble." "what do you think?" questioned the professor. "i think we are in for a ducking." tad put on a rubber coat, and pulling his hat well down, stepped out. by this time there was no fire. it had been drowned out, and the night was black. he could not see a thing, but the ominous roar of the creek was close at hand. the boy went back to his tent and got a lantern. emerging with this, a grim smile settled on the pony rider boy's face as he surveyed the scene. the waters from the stream were swirling and eddying about the bases of the tents; the stream had left its former channel and pretty much all the former dry ground was covered with a thin coating of water. professor zepplin glanced about apprehensively. "this looks serious," he observed. "it does," agreed tad. "but what are we going to do?" "i think we had better break camp and try to make our way out of this while we may," replied tad. "the horses already are standing in water above their fetlocks. they'll be in it up to their bodies soon, at the present rate of rise." "what does the guide say?" demanded professor zepplin. "the guide isn't saying anything. chops is too frightened to talk. shall i give the orders, sir?" asked butler. "yes, if you think best, tad. your judgment in these matters i have usually found to be sound." "turn out, fellows! turn out in a hurry, too, unless you prefer to take a long swim. saddle the ponies, chops. move!" urged tad sharply. the pony rider camp was instantly turned into a scene of activity. the boys knew from tad's tone that the situation was alarming, and they lost no time in getting into their wet clothes, chunky chattering like a magpie, chops rolling his eyes as if he were about to go into a fit, and the faces of the other boys showing more than ordinary concern. the situation was critical, even more so than tad butler thought, but which he, with the others, was soon to realize. chapter ii battling with a great flood fortunately for the pony rider outfit, tad butler's forethought had saved much of their provisions, for the "chuck" had been suspended from the crotch of a sapling where it now swung high and dry above the water that was swirling below it. not trusting the guide to pack the provisions tad took that task upon himself, while his companions, with the exception of stacy brown, were getting the other equipment together for a hurried move. billy veal, in the present emergency, was about as useful as a wooden man. too frightened to keep his mind on his work, whatever he did he did badly. "who was the man who recommended chops to you, professor?" called tad. "the banker at asheville, sir. why?" "oh, nothing much except that i'd like to be a judge and have that banker come up before me just once--just once, mind you." "i am inclined to agree with you, young man," replied the professor. "were there a reasonable chance for him to get home alive i should be for sending veal there at once." "what are we going to do now?" cried ned running up to them, now fully clothed, with oilskins covering his body down to the knees. "we are going to try to get out of here. hurry with the tents. strike the camp in a rush, boys!" commanded tad. "if we wait long enough the lightning will do that for us," jeered stacy. "no levity, gentlemen," was the professor's stern command. "this is a time for action, not so-called humor." "yassir," piped the fat boy. the tents came down quickly, but they were not packed with the usual care. instead they were folded up hastily and stowed in the packs of the various boys. the lads worked like tentmen striking circus tents when looking forward to a long run to the next town. the result was that the equipment was ready for moving in almost record time. the water was plainly rising as tad could see by the light of the flickering lanterns. "now, professor, we are all ready," announced butler finally. "what would you suggest?" "i am depending upon you, tad. i thought you had some plan in mind. however, so long as you have asked me, i would suggest that we continue on upstream." "i think it would be wiser to go the other way," advised tad. "guide, is there any place below here where we can make a dry landing?" "yassir." "that's good. how far below?" "right smart piece, sah." "how far?" demanded tad insistently. "right smart, sah." "you can't get anything out of him," grumbled butler disgustedly. "how far is 'right smart,' chops?" interjected rector. "a right smart, sah." "a mile?" "yassir." "two miles?" "yassir." "you see, professor," spoke up tad with a shrug of the shoulders. "we can expect no help from chops. we've got to trust to our own judgment." the professor nodded reflectively. "why do you prefer to go down rather than upstream?" he asked. "for the reason that we shall meet higher water up there, and besides this we shall be beating against the flood instead of going with it. you will find the going easier downstream than the other way." "i am inclined to think you are right. but the difficulty is that we don't know what we are going to meet that way now." "we shall have to take our chances, that's all. and the sooner we get started the better. we'll be swept off from this camp ground pretty soon. you see how rapidly the water is rising?" reminded butler. "then we will go downstream. get ready, boys." "we're ready," cried ned. "i'm not ready," answered stacy. "i--i've got to tie my shoe. i--" "let him tie his shoe. he can follow along when he gets ready. we don't propose to stay here and drown," declared ned. "i'll lead the way with a lantern," announced tad. "chops, you ride up next to me. ned, you follow along at the rear with a second lantern. in that way we shall be pretty well able to see what we are doing and what is going on along the line." "an excellent idea," approved professor zepplin. "you have a wise head on your shoulders, tad." "but a wet one," laughed the pony rider boy, mounting his pony and wading it cautiously into the rapidly moving water. "come on there, chops. why are you hanging back?" "yassir," answered billy veal riding in after tad with evident reluctance. the water was up to the bellies of the ponies. the little animals put back their ears. they did not like the task before them. chunky had trouble with his mount and for a moment it looked as though the fat boy would be dumped into the flood. after a brief battle, however, he managed to get his horse headed in the right direction. for the first half hour the boys made their way along without great difficulty, though they could tell that the water was rising all the time. at first they had held their feet up, to keep them out of the water. but now they were riding with feet in stirrups, well down in the water. their feet were already benumbed with the cold, the ponies were snorting, and the night seemed to be growing blacker with the moments. all at once ned's voice was raised above the roar of the water in a warning shout. "pull to the right!" he called. the word was passed along quickly, whereat every one forced his pony against the steep wall on the right-hand side. they were none too soon. a great tumbling shape went tearing by, raking the legs and sides of the horses. billy veal, not having got out of the way quickly enough, was caught, and his pony was swept from its feet. the colored man fell, uttering a yell of fear. tad, with quick presence of mind, threw his own body forward and taking a stiff brace on the right stirrup reached down grasping billy by the coat collar. chops was yelling lustily. "stop it! howling won't help you!" bellowed tad. a big tree, having been uprooted by the storm, had done the work. but the tree had come and gone almost before the pony rider boys realized what had occurred. billy was floundering in the water. tad was holding to him with difficulty. "if you don't stop it, i'll let go," threatened tad. "you'll drown if i do. buck up!" "let him go! we don't want him," shouted chunky mockingly. "ride up beside me and help me, or i shall let go," gritted tad, holding to the fellow with all his strength. chunky obeyed reluctantly. he was afraid to get mixed up with this fresh difficulty, fearing that he might be unhorsed. chunky had sense enough to know what that would mean to him, but he lent his aid as best he could, and between them they managed to get chops up on tad's horse. in the meantime walter had ridden ahead and caught the guide's pony after a struggle with the wiry little animal that nearly terminated in walter's getting a bath in the cold water, though they all were about as wet as it was possible to be. it was not the wetness that they feared, however, but the swift current that nearly took the ponies off their feet, sure-footed as the tough little animals were. some further trouble was experienced in getting chops back on his own horse, and it was only by lifting him over bodily while two of them forced the guide's pony over against tad's mount that they succeeded at all. "if you get into difficulties again i guess you'll have to shift for yourself," declared butler. "we have about all we can do to look out for ourselves without attending to you, chops." "ya--yassir." "oh, shoot the 'yassir,'" jeered rector. "are we all right side up with care once more?" "fit as dry fiddles," cried tad. "forward, all! are you ready, professor?" "as ready as i shall be tonight. all hands keep watching the bank on either side for a landing place." "i am looking after that. you may all help, of course," replied tad. they started on again. in places the current was so swift, where it swirled into a bend of the stream, that tad was obliged to follow the current, rather than take the more direct course. he felt that his pony could not stand the added strain were he to go straight ahead. it was a weird scene, the shadowy figures outlined in the dim light of the lanterns, the film of spray kicked up by man and horse, the great dark walls towering on either side, and the roar of the flood making necessary loud talking if one hoped to have his voice reach his companions. chops was the only one who really acted as if he were afraid. tad butler rode ahead with all the steadiness of a seasoned trooper going into battle. the others were not far behind him in composure, though stacy brown's eyes were large and staring. once more their thoughts were interrupted by a call from ned, who, as the reader knows, was bringing up the rear of the procession. ned's voice again had in it a note of warning. "ask him what it is," called tad. "he says he doesn't know," answered the professor. tad halted his pony and turned in the saddle waiting until ned came up with him. "what is it, ned?" he demanded. "don't you hear that noise?" "that roaring?" asked butler. "yes." "i've been listening to that for the last sixty seconds," answered tad, his face drawing down into sharp lines of concentration. "what do you think it is?" "water." "it's something more than mere water. it's a torrent, ned. this is where we get it. everyone crowd close to the bank," shouted tad. "what for? is--is it another tree?" demanded chunky. "it's water and a lot of it. the crest of the flood i think is coming down. perhaps it won't last long and perhaps it may endure for half an hour or so. hug the wall over here on the left side. it's less exposed there. chops! get over here! be lively!" they had not long to wait. already pieces of bark, limbs, torn branches, roots and sod were tearing their way down the pass, slapping the legs of the ponies, causing the little animals to rear and plunge and snort, and to make frantic efforts to get out of the way. this made it the more difficult for the boys to manage them, to keep them close to the bank where they would be safer than farther out in the stream. "there goes my lantern!" yelled ned. "i'm in the dark." "you're lucky if you don't find yourself in a darker place in a few minutes," muttered tad butler apprehensively. just then a piece of wood hurled against his own lantern shattered the globe, at the same time tearing the lantern from his hand, leaving only the wire handle in his possession. impenetrable darkness instantly settled over the roaring scene, and above the roar was heard the voice of stacy brown. "yassir. nassir!" mocked chunky. "stick tight to the left. quit your fooling!" shouted tad. chapter iii lost in a mountain torrent "hang together if you can. crowd close in behind me!" had all obeyed the orders of young butler they might have escaped with no serious consequences, but in the excitement of the moment and swallowed up in the darkness of the night in smoky pass, the boys were quickly separated. one had pulled this way in fighting with his pony, another that. even professor zepplin had been carried into a cove far on the other side, for at this point the stream had broadened out considerably. all at once tad felt his pony lifted from its feet. the animal began to swim. to lighten the burden the boy slipped off, taking a hitch of his rope about his waist, securing the rope to the pommel of the saddle. it was now a case of every man for himself and trust to luck. "are you there?" he called to his companions. "ya--yassir," answered billy veal. "are you there?" again demanded tad at the top of his voice. he heard a shout in reply, the shout seeming to come from far down the stream. then tad was caught in a wave and swept along with the current, clinging desperately to the saddle. there was no need to try to swim. he was traveling fast enough without attempting to go any faster. every little while the boy would shout for his companions. only twice was he able to catch a reply from any of the party. "i am afraid they're lost," groaned the boy. even the familiar "yassir" of chops was no longer to be heard. billy veal had disappeared, and for all tad knew the guide had been drowned. now and then a tree or a heavy trunk would graze the body of the lad. lightning was still flashing at intervals, but the storm was passing, and already a faint streak of light might have been observed roofing the narrow opening over smoky pass. all at once tad found himself enveloped in a new darkness. something seemed to have caught his head in a vise-like grip, and he lost consciousness. though butler did not know it, a heavy piece of timber had been hurled against him, striking the lad on the head. the rope that had been secured about the boy's waist slipped up under his arms under the added weight put upon it. tad's head drooped, but not far enough to permit the water to cover it. then on swept boy and pony through the swirling flood, the pony fighting, the boy passive. another pony bumped into butler's horse, but tad did not know of the collision. how long he had been unconscious, tad did not know, but it could not have been for very long, and when he returned to consciousness he found himself literally hanging at the side of the pony. the animal was standing dripping and trembling, but, as the pony rider boy quickly discovered, the horse was on solid ground. the roar of the swollen stream was still in butler's ears, but he was no longer battling with the flood. the night was still so dark that he could not see the water, though overhead he saw the stars twinkling brightly. tad spoke to his horse. the animal whinnied its appreciation, and tad patted it with a feeble hand. the boy was still too weak to do more than lie back, breathing hard, and exerting every bit of will power that he possessed to pull himself together. "this won't do. i'll surely shake to pieces if i remain here," he muttered. with a great effort he pulled himself up and released himself from the rope. "hello!" called tad with all his strength. there was no response. "they've gone! i hope they aren't drowned, but i am sure something terrible has happened to them. how i wish it were light so that i could see what i am about." taking the bridle rein in one hand, tad began feeling about in the darkness. he learned that the pony had dragged him up to a narrow, sandy strip of land at the base of the wall. the ground was wet, indicating that the water had but recently receded from it. this proved to the boy that the crest of the flood had passed and that the water was rapidly going down. "there's little doubt that it was the crest that struck us. but the question is, what hit me? i don't suppose it would help if that question were answered. the real question is, what has become of my companions?" he muttered. there was nothing to be done just yet, though tad decided to try the creek very soon. this he did after half an hour's waiting. by that time his pony had recovered itself sufficiently to warrant butler in climbing to the wet, slippery saddle. how cold it did feel underneath him, but the heat of his body soon took away this unpleasant sensation. tad boldly forced the pony into the creek. to the boy's relief the water barely touched the stirrups. "now if i don't fall into any pockets in the creek, i'm all right. i don't know whether the others are below or above me, but i'm going down a piece and if i find no one, i'll turn about and come back." every few moments tad would shout. at last there came an answering call. "who are you?" cried the lad joyously. "chunky!" "chunky?" "yassir, nassir," answered the fat boy. "where are you?" "i'm where the little boy was when he was chased by a bulldog--up a tree." riding over toward the voice, butler found this to be literally true. stacy had grabbed at a limb that had struck him in the face, and then swung himself up to the limb, permitting his pony to go on where it would. "take me down," begged stacy. "where are the others?" "i saw jonah go by me just after i landed from my ark." "who?" wondered butler. "chops." "but the rest of them?" urged tad. "i don't know anything about them. i've had all i could do to look after myself, and don't you forget it. where have you been?" "up the creek a way. what became of your pony?" "i don't know. i tell you i've been busy. it wasn't any fun to hang to this limb, not knowing at what second it was going to break and let me down into the water. i reckon that would have been the end of stacy brown. then the papers at home would have had something to talk about. 'our distinguished fellow townsman, stacy brown, carried away and lost in a flood in smoky pass in the blue ridge.' sounds kind of romantic, doesn't it?" "you have about as much feeling as a turnip," remarked tad disgustedly. "the others may be drowned. i wish you had your pony. i don't know what i am to do, but i'm afraid i'll have to leave you up there while i go and search for the others." "what? leave me up here in this tree?" wailed chunky, changing his tone instantly. "yes." "no you don't! my death will be on your head if you do. don't you ever accuse me of not having any feeling, if you go away and leave me treed like a coon at bay." "i suppose i'll have to take you, but the pony's pretty well played out and so am i. here, give me your hand." in trying to make the pass from the limb to the pony, stacy fell into the water with a splash and uttering a yell. he thought he was going to be drowned, but was surprised when he found that the water did not reach far above his waist. the pony, frightened by the splash, leaped to one side, nearly unseating its rider. "you're a lumbering lummox," rebuked tad. "so are you. if you hadn't been, you wouldn't have let me fall. are you going to help me get up?" "yes. i will get down and walk. you may ride if you want to. i'm not going to ask the pony to carry us both." chunky reflected over this for a moment. tad slipped down into the cold water. "get up there, and mind you don't let my pony get away," ordered butler. "i won't!" "you won't what?" "i won't get up." "i got down so that you might." "i'm not that kind of a tenderfoot and you ought to know it by this time. no, sir; i don't do anything of the sort. get back there and ride your own bundle of bones." "i prefer to walk," answered butler briefly. "so do i, and i'm going to." neither would get into the saddle, so they very stubbornly started splashing along beside the pony, each with a hand on the bridle to save himself in case he stepped into a hole in the stream. tad continued calling until his voice gave out, but got no reply from anyone. "come now, you yell for a while," he urged. "what shall i say?" asked chunky innocently. "say? i don't care what you say. make a noise. that's all. i want to find the rest of our party." "i'll bet chops is alive. but isn't he the jonah?" "i hadn't thought about it," answered tad briefly. "you will when you get calmed down a little. you're excited now," declared stacy brown. "i'm nothing of the sort," protested tad indignantly. "oh, yes you are. you don't know it, that's all," insisted the fat boy. a sharp retort rose to tad's lips, but he suppressed it. there was no use in arguing with chunky, who was bound to have the last word and that last word always did have a sting in it. at present there were more important matters on hand. soon after that tad's hello was answered by one a short distance down the pass. contrary to his usual powers of voice, chunky had not proved much of a success in yelling. the new voice turned out to belong to ned rector. ned and his pony had found a strip of land on which they had taken refuge. it was a glad ned, too, when he discovered his companions. "have you seen anything of walter and the professor?" asked butler anxiously. "i think they are below here somewhere. i am sure it was they who swept past me just after we got caught in the eddy back there." "how about jonah?" asked stacy. "who is jonah?" "the jonah who claims to be a guide, but who ought to be in a strait-jacket." "he means chops," laughed tad. "i don't know that i care particularly what has become of him," growled ned. "oh, yes you do, ned. he is a human being just the same as you or i," rebuked stacy. "i suppose that's so, but the question is open to argument and a wide difference of opinion. i think the veal chop stayed upstream somewhere, though he may have gone on downstream. if he did, i didn't see him go, nor hear him. come to think of it, it seems to me that i did hear him yelling behind me after i started on my swim for life. talk of going through the rapids of niagara! i don't believe your swim in the grand canyon was any more exciting than this one tonight. it was daylight then," said ned. "yes," agreed tad. "oh, wait till i get hold of that guide! what i won't do to him--" "it will be my turn first, ned," interrupted stacy. "what happened to you, by the way?" questioned ned. "oh, i got left up a tree, just like the alligator bait down in florida. do you know how the colored people catch alligators down there?" "in a woodchuck trap?" questioned rector quizzically. "na-a-a-a! i'll tell you for your information, if you don't know. they take a little colored baby and tie him either to the limb of a tree that hangs over the water, or else fasten him to a long pole--one that will bend--then lower him over the water. he yells--could you blame him? the 'gators, hearing the yell, and maybe getting a whiff of the kid, come up with open jaws with appetites that would break a hotel. no, they don't get the little cullud person. they get a chunk of lead right through one eye and usually that's the end of mr. 'gator. the tiny cullud person is removed from the pole and the deed's done and everybody's happy ever afterwards." "a very likely story!" observed ned scornfully. "very," agreed tad. "we had better be getting downstream to look for the others." ned refused to get off and walk, so he rode ahead of them to sound the bottom of the stream. day was just breaking when they came across the professor and walter perkins, both sprinting up and down on a sandy beach to start their blood into circulation. so ludicrous did the two look that the boys shouted. they could well afford to shout now that all of their party were accounted for, with the exception of the guide, whom they had little doubt they should find later safe and sound. chapter iv what happened to chops "boys, boys!" cried the professor. "you don't know how relieved i am to see you safe and sound--" "and wet and miserable," added stacy. "that doesn't make any difference so long as you are safe. i feared something serious might have happened to you." "there did. tad was knocked out and i was lost up a tree," added the fat boy eagerly. "oh, what a fine time we're having!" "where is the guide?" "we are going back to look for him, professor," answered butler. "i don't know what has become of him." "and we don't care what's become of the jonah," scoffed chunky. "got anything that looks like food in this outfit?" "yes. by the way, professor, how about the stores? have you saved any from your packs?" questioned tad. "i am afraid the provisions are in a sad state," answered professor zepplin ruefully. "but surely the canned stuff must be all right," urged tad. "yes, but where is the canned stuff? the pack holding the canned goods came open and everything spilled out," walter perkins informed them. chunky groaned. "i see my end! not satisfied with trying to drown me in a raging flood, you now propose to starve me to death! but i won't be starved. i'll go out and shoot a deer. i understand they are plentiful in this range of rocks." "i reckon you will have to get out of smoky pass before you carry out any of your well-laid plans," answered ned. at tad's suggestion, such stores and equipment as they had saved were taken from the packs and spread out on the ground to dry. most of the biscuit were so soaked that they were falling apart. not a single can of food was left, although a ham had been preserved from the wreck. their extra clothing, too, had been saved from the flood, and merely needed drying to be fit for use. "we can live on ham for a long, long time," said tad encouragingly. "then there is the coffee which will be usable after we have dried it out. i propose that we leave all the stuff here with someone to watch it, while the rest of us go upstream to see what we can pick up, and at the same time look for chops. i am mighty glad that we haven't lost our tents. professor, will you stay here while we take the trail?" "yes. but you will be careful, won't you?" "of what?" "that you don't get into other difficulties." "no danger of that," answered tad laughingly. "everything that could occur already has happened, unless stacy were to climb the side of the pass and fall off." "no, thank you," objected the fat boy. "you may stir up all the excitement you like, but no more for stacy brown until he is at least dried out from the last mixup." tad now suggested that he and ned go back to look for their lost property and their guide. "the rest of the party will remain here," he directed. "no need for you to go with us, but suppose we have something to eat first--ham and coffee, for instance." "we have no matches to start a fire with," reminded walter perkins. the boys looked very solemn. chunky groaned dismally. "i knew you fellows would find some way to my distress--to the awful gnawing on the inside of me," he complained. "never mind, young men," spoke up the professor. "find some reasonably dry wood or bark, and i will attend to the lighting end. fortunately my match safe is intended for just such an emergency as this, and i do not believe we shall find any difficulty in making a fire, provided you rustle the fuel." the pony rider boys gave a cheer for professor zepplin. the problem of finding wood, however, was almost as perplexing as had been that of the matches. tad immediately jumped on his pony and trotted up the pass. he returned half an hour later, with a bundle of bark, dry sticks and a few pieces of pitchpine. a roaring fire was going soon after his arrival. the warmth from it felt good, indeed, to the wet and shivering pony riders. breakfast that morning was limited, so far as variety was concerned, though there was plenty to eat, and the ham had grown perceptibly smaller when they finished, and not the least of this had found a resting place in the person of stacy brown. stacy was quite willing to remain with walter and the professor. tad and ned started up the pass immediately after breakfast, and on the way up they recovered the missing ponies, except the pack animal, which must have been carried away with most of their stores. later in the day they discovered billy veal fast asleep in the sunlight on a ledge of rock, some eight feet above the channel of the creek. how he had succeeded in getting up there neither tad nor ned could imagine, nor did billy seem to know what had happened to him. he sat up, regarding them with wide eyes, after they had called to him several times. great was their relief when they found him, but the next problem was how to get billy down. this was solved by tad's ever-ready rope. one end of this was tossed up to the guide with instructions to pass it about a nearby sapling, tossing the free end down to them. in this way tad would only have to pull on one rope after the colored man had come down, then the rope would slip back to its owner. shortly after that billy was standing in the creek channel beside them. "did you get wet, chops?" asked rector. "yassir, nassir." "did you get drowned?" asked tad with a grin. "nassir, yassir, i done--" "he doesn't know what happened to him," scoffed ned. "you come along with us. there's work to be done today and if you don't do your share, i shall have something besides words for you," threatened butler. they made the guide walk until they came up with his pony. chops grinned broadly, delightedly, when he discovered his horse browsing contentedly beside the stream. "wah-hoo-wah!" he shouted, flinging his arms above his head. "who would have thought him to be so near human?" cried ned. "yes, there's hope for chops yet. but we shall see," answered butler. it was considerably past noon when they reached their companions on the return journey. a few of their belongings had been picked up in the pass, but not enough to relieve their critical situation. "boys, i have been thinking, since you left. we shall have to find a place where we may replenish our stores, else we shall have to go back. guide, do you know of a store anywhere near here?" asked the professor. "yassir." "you forgot something," laughed tad. "nassir," jeered stacy. "chops, you're a jonah. i've said it before, and i say it again. why, you couldn't go to the aquarium without some of the whales biting you." "that will do, stacy. now, guide, where is this store that you know about?" urged the professor. "jim abs', sah. ah reckon him done keep a store at hunt's corners, sah." "good for you, chops," cheered the boys. "how far is that from here?" "right smart piece, ah reckon, sah." "how far, how far?" insisted professor zepplin. the professor was near to losing his temper. "right smart, sah, right smart." "it's hopeless," declared butler. "the best we can do will be to follow him. see here, chops, shall we be able to reach there before dark if we start out right away?" "yassir, nassir." "he means no," interpreted tad. "i wish you'd give me the key so i could understand what he does mean," said ned disgustedly. "you'd have to get the key to the whale, if you expect to understand jonah," scoffed the fat boy. "i would suggest that we start at once," said tad. "the outfit is pretty well dried out now. it doesn't matter so much about the tents. they will dry quickly after they have been pitched. when we come to a good camping place we will go into camp along towards night. in the morning we can go on and find the store. are you sure you know where it is, billy?" "guyot's peak." "very good, very good. you are improving, my man." "yassir. t'ank you, sah." "nassir, ah don't t'ank you, sah," mocked stacy. "let him alone, can't you?" demanded ned savagely. "yes, while he is trying to be good, help instead of discouraging him. you are enough to upset anyone," returned tad, trying to be stern. the camp was pitched near a spring and there in the warm late afternoon sun a thorough drying out was given to both tents and equipment, with everyone in excellent humor. the boys even sang as they went about their work of dressing up the camp. supper consisted of more ham and some excellent coffee, the latter having been thoroughly dried out before grinding. chops, of course, ate his supper after the others had finished, one or another of the boys now and then tossing him a piece of food while they were eating, which billy ordinarily swallowed whole. the evening was spent sitting about the campfire telling stories and joking with one another. at such times the professor came in for a share of jibes, all of which he took with smiling face, frequently giving the boys back better than they had sent. morning was ushered in with a brilliant sun, the birds singing all about them and the fresh odors of foliage and flowers in the air. even chunky began to sing before he had finished his dressing. "anybody'd think you were a bird," called rector. "thank you for the compliment," retorted stacy. "i didn't say what kind of a bird, did i?" jeered ned. "what kind am i?" "you remind me of a crow. you sing like a crow. i'll wager that chops can sing better than you." "how about it, chops?" called tad. "yassir?" "can you sing?" "yassir." "nassir," added chunky. "let's hear you," urged walter. "yes, i guess we can stand it after all we have been through," decided the fat boy. "wha' you want me sing?" grinned chops. "sing something soft and low," begged stacy. "no, none of those sob songs for mine," objected ned. "give us something to cheer us up. we need cheering." "yassir." chops cleared his throat and with frying pan in hand began to sing in a melodious voice: quit dat playin' 'possum, ah sees dem eyelids peep! spec's to fool yo' mammy p'tendin' you'se ersleep. smah'tes li'l baby dat uver drord a bref, try ter fool he mammy, he gwine git sho'-nuff lef'. 'possum, 'possum, 'possum mighty sly, 'possum, 'possum, 'possum, ah sees you blink dat eye. bye-o, bye-o, baby, 'possum mighty sly, bye-o, bye-o, baby, bye-o, bye-o-bye. m-hm-m-m-m. m-hm-hm-hm! "hooray!" howled the pony rider boys. "''possum mighty sly, bye-o, bye-o, baby bye.'" "go on. sing some more," urged tad. "yes, for goodness' sake do something that you really know how to do," cried ned rector. chops began swaying his body, swinging the frying pan from side to side. then he launched into another song that set the boys joining in the chorus, swinging their own bodies, keeping time with the singer. chapter v excitement at hunt's corners "is this another of those cry-baby songs?" questioned ned. "yassir." "go on, go on," urged the boys. w'en de sun roll in an' de moon roll out, an' de li'l stars git sprinkl't all erbout, den ah listens fer my honey an' ah calls her an' ah shout, o lindy, lindy, lindy, o my lindy! o lindy, come erlong an' listen at my song; de mockin' bu 'd is singin' ter his honey, come, lemme sing ter you an' tell you, tell you true, dat ah loves you mo' dan heaps er silver money, twice did the pony rider boys roar out the chorus until they had drowned the voice of the singer entirely. in their merriment they forgot all about the breakfast, all about the thick slices of ham that had long since dropped from the frying pan of the singing billy veal. "come, come, young men," interrupted the voice of professor zepplin. "singing is all right, but i want my breakfast." stacy thrust his chin up close to the professor's face and in a low, crooning voice, sang, come, lemme sing ter you, an' tell you, tell you true, dat ah loves you mo' dan heaps er silver money. the boys chuckled at the ludicrous sight of stacy brown in his pajamas singing a lullaby to the dignified professor. it was too much for the professor's gravity, too. the latter let out his own voice in a roar of laughter that, according to ned rector in describing the scene later, fairly shook old smoky, miles off to the northward of them. "now, gentlemen," said professor zepplin, after having recovered his composure, "if you will be good enough to rescue the ham from beneath the feet of our guide, we will proceed with our preparations for the morning meal. you have a very fine voice, guide." "yassir." "we shall be glad to have you sing for us again." "some day when you have such cold that you can't speak above a whisper," added stacy brown, trotting back to his tent to put on his clothes. shortly after eight o'clock the camp was struck, tents packed and everything put in shape for the journey to hunt's corners, the location of which chops confidently assured them was a right smart distance straight ahead. this proved to be true. it was four hours later when the outfit drew up at a log building, one-storied, the low porch being piled with small agricultural implements. in the rear were three other buildings constructed of the same material, but not nearly so large as the store itself. several mountaineers were lounging about, and the arrival of the pony rider boys created considerable excitement. jim abs, proprietor of the store, came out to see what the commotion was about. he recognized billy at once, but glanced suspiciously from one to the other of the boys, whose warlike appearance evidently stirred apprehension in the mind of the keeper of the store at hunt's corners. the boys slid from their saddles and tethered their horses at the tie rail to one side of the store building. professor zepplin stepped up, followed by the crowd of loungers, and introduced himself to the proprietor, stating that they were desirous of laying in a stock of supplies. "i reckon i kin accommodate ye," nodded abs. "where ye hail from?" "the north," the professor informed him. "say, mister, where's the corners?" piped stacy. "this is them," grinned the storekeeper. "i don't see any corners except the corners of the building." "you wouldn't know a corner if you were to meet it in smoky pass," declared tad. "i know a good thing when i see it, and those bananas hanging there look pretty real to me," answered stacy, helping himself to half a dozen of the well-seasoned bunch. "that'll be thirty cents," said the storekeeper, extending a hand. stacy regarded him solemnly. the fat boy's mouth was so full of banana that he was speechless for the moment. chunky nodded his head at tad, indicating that butler was to pay for the fruit. stacy was too busy to waste time in paying. tad good-naturedly handed out thirty cents. "that's sixty-five cents you owe me now, chunky. if you keep on at this rate i'll have to levy on your pony." "i wouldn't give sixty-five cents for his whole outfit," declared ned. "perhaps that is because you haven't sixty-five cents," retorted tad. "yes, i have. i've got several times sixty-five cents." "it's counterfeit, then," mumbled stacy. "boys," called the professor coming to the door of the store, "did you know this is a post office?" "a post office?" cried the lads. "yes. i thought perhaps you might wish to send off some letters." "yes, we do. indeed, we do," cried ned and tad and walter in chorus. "but we shall have to write them. we haven't any letters ready. can we get paper here? ours is all down in the pass," said tad. "i suppose you can get all you want in here, provided you have the money to pay for it," smiled professor zepplin. "oh, we have the price, though i suppose i shall have to pay for chunky. he is broke as usual," laughed butler. "he'll be broke worse before he finishes this nice peaceful trip. don't you say so, chops?" jeered ned. "yassir," grinned the guide. "do you want to write letters, too, billy?" teased stacy. "yassir, nassir." "he does and he doesn't," laughed tad. "in other words, chops is on the fence," nodded rector. "if we are going to do business i guess we had better get at it." "agreed," answered tad, striding into the store. there the boys got pads and pencils, for they had lost their own supply. they also bought stamps, peanuts and various other things that were either useful or that appealed to their boyish appetites. having equipped themselves for writing, the pony rider boys repaired to the porch where they sat down, and with pads on knees began to write, while the loungers gathered about, eyeing the lads curiously. others were out at the side of the store, looking over the ponies and discussing the party, the like of which perhaps never before had been seen at hunt's corners. "how do you spell torrent, with one or two r's?" questioned chunky after a few moments of silence, during which the lads had been writing industriously. "depends upon the size of the torrent," retorted rector. "was that one last night a single or a double r'd one?" inquired stacy solemnly. "i reckon it was a double r," laughed butler. "you are safe in using two of them in this instance." "chunky's writing an article for the paper," suggested walter mischievously. "that's right. that's just what i am doing and that's where i get even with you fellows. i can have the last say--" "don't you use my name," snapped ned. "i'm not looking for the kind of newspaper notoriety you would be likely to give a fellow. you tell them all you want to about stacy brown, but leave ned rector out of it." "i have," answered the fat boy significantly. "that's one for you, ned," cried tad. "but i wish you boys would keep quiet. i'm writing to mother and she'll think something is the matter with me, for i've already written 'torrent' twice where it didn't belong and next thing i know i'll be putting in some of chunky's stuff about last night. do be quiet. if you don't want to write, go to sleep." stacy yawned broadly at the suggestion of sleep. he was ready for sleep at that moment, but his desire to tell the folks at home, through the medium of the weekly paper, through what an exciting experience the pony rider boys had gone, outweighed all other emotions. the boys had written for a half hour or more when suddenly a shot rang out somewhere off to the northwest. the lads glanced up inquiringly. at first they saw nothing of interest. then a horseman swung into view, riding at a lively pace. as he drew near he began firing into the air from his revolver. "whoop!" he roared. there was a scattering of the loungers. it was plain that they knew the man. the boys resumed their writing. "whoopee! i'm the bad man from smoky creek! higher up the creek you go, the bigger they grow, and i'm right off the headwaters!" "bang, bang, bang!" "turn the coyotes loose! fer i'm out fer blood and a genwine killing! whoope-e-e-e!" "bang, bang, bang!" the crack of the six-shooter was almost wholly drowned by the yells of the fellow, but through all this the pony rider boys wrote on as calmly as if nothing out of the ordinary were occurring, though stacy gave the bad man a glance out of the corners of his eyes now and then. stacy was ready to run if, perchance, the fellow should turn a gun in his direction. the lads had met with such characters before, and knew that it was not usually the man who indulged in such loud boasts who was to be feared. still, it was a nerve-racking situation. professor zepplin and jim abs had appeared at the door at the first sound of the uproar, but they beat a quick retreat when they saw who and what was the cause of the disturbance. "is--is there any danger to the boys?" stammered the professor. "not unless they stir him up. that's smoky griffin, one of the meanest bullies in the whole blue ridge. everybody's afraid of him and i reckon they've got good reason fer being afraid. the kids don't seem to mind him, do they?" wondered abs. "the kids, as you call them, are quite able to take care of themselves, even against such a ruffian as that," answered the professor, proudly. "i hope he will let them alone. they might make up their minds not to endure too much imposition." smoky now sat in his saddle, reloading his weapon and leering at the cool youngsters on the porch. to find men, to say nothing of boys, who did not fear him, was such a new experience to smoky that it fairly hurt him. the ruffian had been a neighborhood bully for years, and was wholly accustomed to seeing men flee when he rode into town discharging his weapons, without any particular concern as to where the bullets went. lack of awe in anyone injured his abundant self-esteem. now that his weapons were reloaded, he again emptied them, driving all of the bullets into the porch posts at a level over the boys' heads. still the pony rider boys sat tight, though it must be confessed that they were making scant progress with their letter-writing. observing this, the bully, with undue deliberation, slid from his saddle and made his animal fast to the hitching-bar. then griffin strolled up to the porch, and grabbing one of stacy's feet gave the ankle a sharp twist. "do that again," drawled chunky, "and you'll get a kick from the northwest. you make a noise like one of those germans we licked in france. say, why don't you go get a job washing dishes in a lumber camp or something instead of trying to make folks think you're a man. go put on an apron, bo!" in another instant such things had started as had never before been seen at hunt's corners. chapter vi tad butler in action it may have been the tenderness of chunky's youth, or the look that flashed from his eyes, but smoky griffin, after a moment, strode over to tad butler who sat calmly writing a letter to his mother. "writin' letters?" jeered the bully. "your impudence and your grammar are quite in keeping with each other," answered tad laughingly. "if you consider it any of your business--i don't--then i'll say that i am writing to my mother." the loungers, overcome by their curiosity, now began slowly creeping out into the open where they might witness what they were sure would follow. the face of smoky griffin flushed a deeper red than its natural color at the cool audacity of the boy. tad had again turned to his writing. "none of my business, eh?" "i do not consider that it is. if you will be good enough to keep quiet until i finish writing, i shall be glad to talk to you." this was too much. the loungers fully expected to see tad topple over backwards with a bullet in his body. nothing of the sort occurred, however. but something else, still less expected, did happen. with a growl, smoky stretched forth a big paw, snatching the pad and letter from tad's knee. the bad man grinned broadly as he looked at the written page. "'dear maw,'" he read. tad rose slowly, stepping down from the porch. a dull red flush had grown into his cheeks. "'dear maw,'" continued griffin, after darting a quick glance at the approaching pony rider boy. "'i am writing you today to--'" "kindly hand over that letter," ordered butler in the quiet tone that to his companions meant trouble. "mighty perk today, ain't ye?" "hand over that letter!" tad's tone was pitched a shade higher. [illustration: "hand over that letter!"] for an instant griffin glared into the face of the resolute young fellow who stood confronting him. then smoky threw the letter on the ground and trod on it. "i reckon dear maw won't--" whack! tad had brought the flat of his hand across the fellow's red face in a resounding slap that was heard by every person there. even chops, now hiding behind the store, heard it, and his eyes grew large, for he expected to hear the report of a revolver following close upon the slap. in that case it would be high time for billy veal to flee. with a roar of rage the bully reached for his revolver. but his hand did not quite touch the butt of the gun. ere it had reached the weapon his head was jerked backward in a violent jolt. tad smote the ruffian a blow on the jaw that turned smoky half way around. a quick left-hand swing caught the man on the back of the head, sending him flat on his face. "walt, look out for the ponies!" commanded tad sharply, at the same time stooping over and deftly removing the bully's pistols, which he "broke," scattering the shells on the ground, then tossing the revolvers to the store porch. walter, a little paler than usual, walked steadily to where the stock was tied and leaning against the tie rail, one hand on his revolver, awaited further developments. they came quickly. the loungers, now augmented by a half dozen men who had appeared so suddenly as to puzzle the boys as to where they came from, began to murmur angrily. it was all right so long as smoky was having fun with another, but now that one of their kind should have been knocked down by a stranger stirred their blood within them. smoky was getting to his feet. the blood had gone from his face, leaving it pale under its coat of tan. reaching for his revolvers he found the holsters empty and tad butler standing before him with a sarcastic smile on his face. "stand fast, fellows!" directed tad in a low voice, nodding to chunky and ned. the mountaineers began crowding closer. "stand back, men," warned ned rector. "this is going to be fair play. the first man who reaches for his gun is going to get his right there and then. we didn't start this row, but we're going to see it to a finish now. the one who gets thrashed gets thrashed, and that's all there is about it." ned's resolute voice, backed by a six-shooter in his own hand and another in stacy brown's, had its effect. the mountaineers backed off a few paces, muttering. some were plainly tickled at the insult to the bully, but they, of course, did not express their satisfaction in words. it was not safe to do so just yet. perhaps smoky might take his revenge on them after having finished with the slender lad so calmly facing him. they did not believe there was a possibility of tad's coming out of the fray with a whole skin. at this juncture professor zepplin came tearing out. "here, here! stop that!" he commanded sternly. "keep back, professor," warned rector. "the fellow assaulted tad. i am keeping the others back. you must stay back with the rest." "but--but--but--" "the only 'but' that has any influence here is the butt of my revolver just now," answered ned, never for an instant taking his eyes from the mountaineers. "gimme a gun!" roared griffin. "the man who tries to give you a gun gets a bullet in his anatomy," answered rector. "i'll shoot the first man who tries to pass you a gun; then i'll drill you, too," added ned. smoky glared, first at the boys who were twirling their revolvers about their forefingers, then at his friends still further back. it was plain that he could look for no help from his associates. once more smoky roared. at least, he could punish the fellow who was responsible for this situation. smoky made a leap and a wild lunge for tad, but there was no tad there. the pony rider boy had leaped aside, laughing lightly. "come on. smoke up! i'm waiting for you!" urged butler in a tantalizing voice. griffin tried it again, but with no better result than before. the bully was thoroughly at home with a gun in his hands, but without a weapon he was as awkward as a sucking calf with its first pail of milk. already the bully was breathing hard. "short-winded, eh?" grinned tad. "you'll be more so after i have finished with you. it's my opinion that you need a lesson. it will be doing the community a service to give you one and i'm going to do it." smoky launched a vicious kick at the pony rider boy. tad dodged it, and ere smoky could recover his balance butler had planted a blow on the man's nose that literally turned that member upward. a second swift blow landed on the same tender spot. with a wild howl of pain, griffin began beating the air with his fists, striking; blindly and wildly. this was exactly what tad wanted. his antagonist had wholly lost control of himself. his was a blind, murderous rage. butler was playing with him like a cat with a mouse. now and then the pony rider boy would send in a punch, ever aiming for the damaged nose of smoky griffin, and smoky was spinning about so frequently that he had grown dizzy. he was bellowing like an angry bull, but every time he opened his mouth to bellow, tad's hard fist smote him on the nose. now the pony rider boy got in closer and began beating a tattoo on the bully's face. it was eyes, nose and mouth, now, that got the blows. tad was showing no preference. it was plain to the other boys that butler was determined to teach a lesson that smoky would not soon forget. tad's face now wore a set grin. he did not appear to be in the least ruffled, but the grin looked as if it had grown on his face and had been there for years. "put him out, why don't you?" jeered chunky. "smoky, have you had enough?" asked tad, stepping back a few paces. for a brief instant the bully glared through his bloodshot eyes, as if scarcely able to believe his senses. that a slender lad, such as the one before him, should possess so much skill and such a punch--it seemed to smoky like the kick of a mule--passed all comprehension. but the longer he gazed the more sure was griffin that he had but to stretch out his hand and crush tad butler. smoky tried it then and there. as a reward he got three blows, on as many different parts of his face, that sent him staggering backwards. tad now saw that he must fight to a finish. smoky never would give up as long as he were able to lift a hand. for that the pony rider boy admired him. from that moment on it was a one-sided battle. griffin's resistance was without effect, though had he been able to get a grip on his slender antagonist it would have ended the fight. tad swung the blows in so fast that his companions were unable to count them, and at last the bully, smoky griffin, sank groveling in the dirt, blubbering and crying like a child who has been thoroughly spanked. for the moment tad butler felt sorry for the fellow, sorry that he himself had been responsible for such a spectacle. "get up!" commanded the lad. "perhaps this may teach you a lesson to mind your own business in the future, and--" but tad was interrupted by a howl from the spectators. they broke out into cheers for the plucky lad who had downed the bully of two counties. as quickly as his maimed condition would permit smoky mounted and galloped away, trusting to his pony to find the way, for smoky's eyes were swollen nearly shut. tad butler had destroyed forever the power of the bully to terrorize hunt's corners. chapter vii on the way to smoky bald "the crowd always goes with the upper dog," nodded rector, as the mountaineers crowded about tad to congratulate him on his plucky fight. but tad was too much interested in rescuing the letter to his mother to give heed to the men who clamored to tell him what a brave boy he was. there were a few among the mountaineers, however, whose faces were dark and threatening. these did not offer their congratulations. they were men who, for reasons best known to themselves, sympathized with smoky griffin, but who had not dared to go to his assistance with the ready revolvers of ned rector and chunky brown so plainly in evidence. "come in here and help yourself to anything in my store," shouted jim abs from the doorway. "any galoot that can fit like that without turnin' a hair is welcome to anything that jim abs's got. come right along in, all the rest of you strangers. hi, men, if them ponies want to drink don't let 'em suffer." "thank you," smiled butler. "there is nothing that i can think of that would make me any happier than a glass of water, if i might trouble you." "shore, little pardner. want a bit of lemon in it?" "if you will let me pay for the lemon." "nary! i reckon you've done me more'n five cents' worth of benefit in getting rid of smoky griffin. he won't be around these parts right smart, i don't reckon." "then i will take the water without the lemon," decided tad. "you'll do nothing of the sort." jim hustled around, setting out five glasses which he filled from a pump at the rear of the store. into each glass he squeezed some juice from a lemon, adding a spoonful of sugar that he dipped from a barrel. he shoved the concoction across the counter grinning good-naturedly. "drink hearty, lads." "my goodness, i'm glad he gave me a glass of that lemonade," gasped chunky between gulps. "i nearly got lockjaw watching him fix it." "say, but you-all can fit," declared abs, addressing tad, at whom he gazed in admiring wonder. "thank you, sir. that's the very best glass of lemonade i've ever drunk," answered butler, smiling sweetly. the battle grin had given place to a smile that was almost girlish in its sweetness. it was a winning smile, too, but the person who thought an effeminate nature was hidden back of the smile was likely to be keenly disappointed. the boys went back to the porch where they sat down to finish writing their letters. tad's letter to his mother was so trodden with dirt that he was obliged to rewrite it. "if any more of those bad men come along here looking for a fight, please tell them to wait till i finish my letter, then i'll attend to them," said stacy pompously as he sat down. "say, that fellow didn't take his revolver, did he?" a mountaineer shook his head. chunky went out and picked up the weapon, examining it critically. he carried the weapon in and handed it to mr. abs. "i reckon you'd better keep this," he said. "smoke may come along looking for it when he gets his eyes open so he can find the way." "no, sir, not griffin. he won't show his face around these parts in a right smart time." "then you may have it. i wouldn't tote such a cheap gun as that. why, he couldn't hit the side of a house with it and do any damage," declared stacy. as chunky emerged from the store he discovered the big eyes of billy veal peering around the corner of the building. "you may come out now," grinned the fat boy. "circus all over and the concert let out. perfectly safe for you now. here, have a banana," offered stacy, helping himself to one from the bunch on the porch and tossing it to the colored man. "everything belongs to me around here." "chunky, go in and pay for that banana," commanded tad, glancing up with a disapproving frown. "but didn't the man say we could have whatever we wanted?" "you do as i tell you." "lend me a nickel, then," begged the fat boy. "regular cheap man, you are, stacy brown." growled rector. "here's your nickel," said tad, handing out a five-cent piece. "that makes seventy cents you owe me." "why do you want to remind me of it every time? don't you think i have trouble enough without having to worry over my debts all the while?" muttering to himself, chunky entered the store, laid the five cents on the counter, uttering a deep sigh as he did so, then returning to the porch threw himself down and began scribbling. after a few minutes of this stacy's head began to nod. he recovered himself with a start, grinned sheepishly, and started writing again. five minutes later he lay on his back on the porch, both legs hanging over, snoring loudly. he was still asleep when the boys, having finished their writing, went in to post their letters. this done they started for their ponies, chops having, in the meantime, packed the supplies. the professor was about to awaken the sleeping boy when tad whispered to him. the professor grinned. "mr. abs, when we are off yonder by that rise of ground you wake him up, will you?" "sure," chuckled the storekeeper. "you'll see some fun then." "how far is it to the rise?" asked tad. "nigh onto three miles." "good. that will give him a run for his money. thank you for all your kindness. we may be back here for further supplies later on. we've got two good, healthy food-consumers in our outfit." the storekeeper said he would be glad to see them at any time. they had spent nearly twenty dollars with him, so of course he would be glad to see them again. he didn't care if they came back for more supplies next day. in the meantime the party quietly rode away, settling down to a gallop after they had ridden far enough from the store so that the hoofbeats should not awaken the sleeper. while all this was going on the loungers sat about watching the sleeping chunky and grinning broadly. they were appreciating the joke, and they knew they were going to have some fun. smoky griffin's friends had taken their departure some time since, so there was no apprehension felt as to their interfering with stacy. the fat boy, in all probability, would not have awakened in hours had not someone carelessly stumbled over him when the party were drawing near the rise referred to by butler. chunky sat up grumbling. "say, fellows, what do you want to wake me up for--" stacy rubbed his eyes and gazed around him somewhat bewildered. thinking the boys must have gone into the store, he got up and hurried in. mr. abs was unusually busy and it was fully two minutes before he found time to lend an ear to stacy's urgings. "where's my party?" "what, you here yet?" demanded the storekeeper in well-feigned surprise. "i reckon i am. where's the rest of the crowd?" "don't you know?" "if i knew i wouldn't be asking you, would i?" this line of reasoning seemed to strike jim abs forcibly, for he nodded his head until chunky feared the storekeeper would dislocate his neck. "where are they?" "i reckon they're on their way to smoky bald." "smoky bald? on their way to smoky bald?" shouted the fat boy. "sure. didn't you know that?" chunky regarded the storekeeper keenly for a few seconds, then bolted out through the door. shading his eyes he gazed off across the plateau. there in the far distance he could just make out a body of horsemen jogging along. "is--is that my crowd?" he demanded, turning to the grinning faces of the mountaineers. "i reckon it is, boss," answered one. "that's what i call a mean trick!" shouted the fat boy, making a dash for his pony. in the meantime the pony had been moved around to the other side of the store. chunky howled when he failed to find the animal where he had left it, and it was some five minutes later when he discovered the horse. it did not take the boy many seconds to leap into the saddle, and urging his horse he went dashing off across the plain in pursuit of his party, shouting and occasionally shooting up into the air to attract their attention. a chorus of yells from the mountaineers followed him, but stacy brown was too angry to listen. already the pony's neck was flecked with foam, stacy urging the animal on to renewed efforts by frequent applications of the pointless rowels which he rubbed vigorously against the little animal's sides. "there he comes," shouted tad as a report from stacy's revolver reached their ears. glancing back the boys saw a cloud of dust rising between them and jim abs' store. "ride for it! we can get out of sight before he tops the ridge," shouted tad. professor zepplin, sharing in the youthful enthusiasm of the moment, touched spurs to his own horse and the party swept away. in the meantime stacy brown, the sweat rolling from his face, was pounding across the plateau. chapter viii stalking the fat boy the country on the other side of the rise was rugged, dotted with huge rocks and well wooded with second growth. it made an ideal hiding ground for one who wished to conceal himself. "cut off to the right," shouted tad. "watch out that he doesn't go by us and get lost," warned the professor. "you all keep quiet," directed butler. "i'm going to have some fun with stacy. maybe it will teach him to be more watchful. chunky would go to sleep even if he knew a band of indians were creeping up on his camp." the outfit swerved to the right as suggested by butler, and soon was well screened by rocks and foliage. it was some little time after that before chunky topped the rise. "hoo-oo-oo-oo!" he called in a long-drawn shout. "hoo-oo-oo-oo!" not a sound greeted his call. chunky fired his revolver into the air. instead of stopping to look about more carefully, and evidently not suspecting another trick, stacy dashed down the incline at a perilous pace, leaping small obstructions in order to take a shorter course to the point where he thought his party had entered the thicket. stacy had not penetrated into this very far before he pulled up and sat pondering deeply. even yet he did not think far enough to realize that the boys would not desert him in this way. riding slowly into a thinly wooded space the boy fired the remaining chambers of his revolver, listening intently, then, with a grunt, recharged the weapon and got down from his pony. "i'll stay here all the rest of the day. if they want me they can come back after me, that's all. if they don't, why i'll just go back to hunt's corners. i can get something to eat there. yes, and the fellows will think something's happened to me and they'll be in an awful stew. i'll pay 'em back for this trick, i will. i guess they can't get so funny with me without getting the worst of it in the end." tad butler, in the meantime, had left his pony and run towards the place where chunky had entered the rugged, wooded stretch. tad finally got near enough to be able to overhear the fat boy's angry mutterings. in fact, butler was near enough to have roped stacy. he thought of doing so, at one time, but decided that it would give chunky too much of a fright. then again, the fat boy might send a bullet tad's way in case he were to make a miss with the rope. tad, having stalked his prey as silently as a panther, had not even disturbed stacy's pony. but now butler observed that the animal was pricking up its ears, tossing its head as if it had scented something. "hang that pony. has he discovered me?" thought tad. "whoa there!" shouted chunky. "do you want to run away and leave me, too? well, if you do, you just go on. i don't ask any odds of a horse, i don't. i can walk and i can get along without the rest of that crowd." a faint noise to the left of tad called his attention sharply in that direction. the sound was so faint that it might have been caused by a bird alighting on a treacherous small stone. at least something alive had caused it. the listening boy was sure of that. crouching lower, tad listened, every faculty bent to the task of determining what had caused the slight sound. chunky's continued talking made the task somewhat more difficult. "i actually believe some other person is stalking him," muttered tad. "i wonder if ned has followed after me? no, he wouldn't come from that direction. he would not be likely to do so." "ho--ho--hum," yawned chunky. "i suppose i might as well take a nap while i'm waiting for something to turn up. guess i'll tie the critter, then stretch out on this rock. it feels nice and warm, but it's pretty hard." the fat boy actually did what he had suggested. after securing the horse, he lay down on the rock, pillowing his head on his arms. it was at about this time that butler came to the conclusion that some person other than one of his own party really was creeping up on stacy. from tad's position he was unable to see what was happening on the other side of the rock behind which he was crouching, so, taking a long chance, he crept around it on all fours like an ape. a stick snapped under a foot less than ten yards away. tad put on a little more speed. perhaps some harm was intended the fat boy. if so, tad proposed to know about it and take a hand in the affair himself. suddenly the lad discovered what had caused the disturbance, and he nearly betrayed himself by an exclamation as he made the discovery. there, cautiously creeping up on the drowsy fat boy, was a man. the man's face was swollen and bloody, but the swollen eyes were fixed on the form of chunky brown in a malignant stare. "smoky griffin!" gasped tad under his breath. the bully had discovered stacy. perhaps the fellow had been lying in wait for the party and had been a witness to their running away from brown. if so he had shown more cleverness than tad had given him credit for. the situation was certainly a critical one--for stacy. in his hand smoky held a stone that must have weighed at least ten pounds. it was plainly his intention to smash the stone down on the sleeping fat boy. tad butler was thankful that he had thought to play a further trick on his companion. perhaps that very prank had saved stacy's life, or would save it, for tad had already made up his mind what he was going to do. "i'll give smoky a surprise for the second time today," thought butler, cautiously slipping his rope from his belt, straightening out the coils wholly by the sense of touch, never for a second removing his gaze from the face of smoky griffin. finally, having got the rope in shape for a throw, he took a light grip on the honda, or slip knot, then stood crouched as if for a spring. smoky straightened up. tad was taking a great chance, but chunky was taking even greater. the bully drew back his hand. he was not more than six feet from where stacy brown lay asleep. suddenly the big loop of the pony rider boy's lasso wriggled through the air. smoky's keen ears caught a sound. he started to turn, then he uttered a yell and began clawing frantically at the nameless terror that had pinioned his arms to his side. with a yell of fright smoky toppled over on his side, then rolled to his back as tad leaped away and began dragging and tugging at the rope. then another yell was heard. this time it was the fat boy's. "oh, wow! wha--what is it?" he howled. just then his glances caught the livid face of smoky writhing on the ground. stacy did not see the rope, but he realized at once that griffin was there to do him harm. with another yell stacy let go three shots into the air. "yeow!" howled the fat boy. professor zepplin and the other two boys heard both the shots and the yells. tad's little joke was working out better than they had thought. laughing and shouting they put spurs to their mounts and rode at a fast gallop towards the spot where they decided chunky had met his surprise. ned was the first to reach the scene, with the professor following close after him, walter perkins and the grinning billy veal following hard behind. young perkins brought his pony up sliding. "what--what--" he gasped. "professor!" ned was out of his saddle in a flash. "put up your gun!" he shouted, as chunky began making threatening motions with the weapon. "that's right, ned. hold him!" cried tad, as ned threw himself upon the fallen bully. "what's this? what's this?" demanded the professor, gazing perplexedly at the sight. "nothing, only there were two of us planning to give stacy a surprise. this is our old friend, smoky griffin, otherwise the fallen bully. get up!" smoky got sullenly to his feet. "what is the meaning of this?" demanded the incisive voice of professor zepplin. smoky made no reply. "stacy, what was this man trying to do to you?" "i--i don't know. i--i was asleep." "he was asleep," mocked rector in a deep voice. "of course he was. he always is. i'm going to organize a first aid to the sleepy corps." "there won't be any corps, 'cause we'll all be patients," retorted stacy quickly. tad answered the look of inquiry in the eyes of the professor by explaining what had occurred. "i believe the fellow intended to crush stacy's head with the stone. it is fortunate that i got here ahead of him. what do you think we had better do with him?" "we will talk that over, tad. all being agreeable we will first seek a more favorable location for camping. is there water down in the gully yonder, guide?" "nassir, yassir. ah reckon." "go look for it. when you find water return here and lead us to it." "i would a heap sight rather be led to a lemonade stream," declared stacy. "you will be wanting hot and cold water on tap next," laughed ned. "i have them already," answered stacy. "you have?" "of course i have. i'm in hot water all the time, and there's plenty of cold water in the stream. say, i've got a bone to pick with you fellows, but--i've forgotten what it's about." billy veal had ridden away in search of water while the two boys were talking. at the same time the professor and tad were observing the prisoner, who had been tied to a tree, and were conversing in low tones. "i think we had better let him go in the morning, professor. we shall have to take our chances of more trouble from him. if he were wanted by the authorities, i shouldn't be in favor of this move. as it is, we can't bother with him." "yes, i agree with you. but why wait until morning?" urged the professor. "because he might hang around after dark and get into mischief. if we send him away in the morning we shall have an opportunity to get a good distance away from the fellow before night." "that is good judgment," agreed professor zepplin. "it shall be as you suggest. hasn't that lazy guide returned yet, boys?" "he is coming now, professor," answered walter. "it strikes me it is about time." "did you find water?" called ned. "nassir, yassir." "tad, how do you translate it?" "he has found water," answered butler. "i've got it," cried chunky. "if he'd said 'yassir, nassir,' that would mean that he had not, wouldn't it?" "you have solved the problem, chunky," nodded tad. "guide, lead the ponies to the place, and if the camping ground is suitable, prepare to pitch the camp. we will join you soon." "yassir." "hey, chops, you forgot something," called stacy. "yassir?" "no, sir, 'nassir.'" "i think we might as well be getting over to the camping ground, professor," suggested tad. "it is understood, then, that smoky is to remain with us until morning?" "yes, if you think best." the boy walked over and untied the bully. griffin started to walk away. butler laid a hand on his arm. "not so fast. we are not going to lose you yet awhile." "what are you goin' t' do?" "going to keep you with us for a time," smiled the pony rider boy. "you ain't got no right t' hold me." "i think you are right about that. neither did you have any right to interfere with us at hunt's corners, nor to try to shoot me, which you surely would have done had i not taken your pistol away. if you think we ought to let you go, why i'll do so after i have turned you over to a sheriff. which shall it be?" questioned butler sweetly. the prisoner grunted. his rage threatened to get the better of him, though he was making strenuous efforts to control himself. tad motioned to the man to come along, which smoky did, walking sullenly by the side of the pony rider boy, though he was not bound. he was as free as ever save that he knew any attempt to run away would meet with a quick, stern check. he had had evidence of the pony rider boy's prowess with his fists. smoky looked enviously at the pistol in its holster at tad's side. the boy observed the glance in the direction of the weapon, but made no comment. "keep your pistols where they won't be a temptation to smoky," whispered tad to the boys after they had reached the camping ground, which was on a gentle slope leading down to a mountain stream. they understood, and were on their guard from that time on. griffin sat sullenly watching the pitching of the camp. no one appeared to be giving the slightest attention to him, yet he knew he was being watched just the same. twenty minutes sufficed to pitch the tents, after which duffle-bags were stowed in the peak of the triangle formed by the rear of the tents, beds made, and all preparations completed for the night. "how's that for record time, smoky?" chuckled tad, turning to the prisoner. "all right," grumbled griffin. "come, cheer up," urged tad. "don't be a grouch. we don't like to have grouches around this camp. the fat boy is our official grouch. we can't stand more than one at a time." "i guess i'm no more a grouch than some other folks i know of," protested stacy. "say, i know now what that bone is i want to pick with you. why did you fellows run away from me this afternoon?" "run away from you?" exclaimed ned. "yes, run away from me. you needn't look so innocent. you know you did and you did it on purpose, and you nearly got me killed. that--that gentle soul over there was about to smash my head with a stone. he would have done so, too, if i hadn't woke up and scared him off with a shot or two." "you have another guess coming." "do you mean to say you didn't run away from me?" demanded stacy indignantly. "i haven't said. we were ready to go and we went, that's all there is to it." "no, that isn't all there is to it, ned. there's some more to it, but the other part hasn't come to pass yet," declared chunky significantly. "that means you, too," he added, turning to griffin. "i'll have something to say to you also for wanting to smash me with a rock. i ought to take it out of you right here and now. i would if you weren't so bunged up already. i don't like to pitch into a helpless man." smoky growled long and deep. tad signaled stacy to keep away from the prisoner. about half an hour later an early supper was spread. "come, griffin, join us," urged the professor. "don't want no supper," grunted the prisoner. "you must eat," insisted tad, stepping up to him. "because we are not good friends is no reason why you shouldn't eat. it will not impose any obligation on you. if you want to fight right after you have broken biscuit with us there's not the least objection in the world to your doing so." with an unintelligible grunt the fellow got up and dragged himself over to the blanket on which the supper had been spread. perhaps it was the savory odor of the bacon and the steaming coffee that so tantalized the prisoner as to cause him to be willing to sit down with his enemies and eat. at least smoky's appetite had not suffered by his unfortunate experiences. even chops opened his eyes on seeing the mountaineer stow away food. chunky watched the fellow almost admiringly. after supper the prisoner was permitted to smoke by the campfire. tad butler was shrewd. he hoped by this friendliness to disarm the bully so that the fellow, when released, would go on about his own business and give them no further trouble. butler did not know griffin. his hope was vain. revenge deep and deadly was smouldering in the heart of the mountaineer. at that very moment he was planning how he might get even with the boys who had so humiliated and punished him. they would hear from smoky griffin again and in no uncertain tone. chapter ix revenge almost at hand "i'm sorry, mr. smoke, that we shall have to tie you tonight, but we will make you as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. you shall be untied in the morning, though i warn you not to play tricks on us. we may appear easy, but you ought to know we aren't so easy when our good nature has been abused," warned tad as he tied the hands and feet of the prisoner, placing the man under a blanket laid across four stakes driven into the ground. "there, i think you will be reasonably comfortable." griffin had offered no resistance to the tying. perhaps he knew it would be useless to do so. there were too many hard-muscled young men about to make resistance profitable, so smoky submitted and was tucked in his little bed for the night. "is the prisoner well secured?" asked the professor. "i think so," answered butler. "i will keep an occasional eye on him during the night." the camp was soon in slumber. stacy brown's breathing could be heard clear and distinct above all other sounds. tad from his bunk commanded a view of the prisoner, and now and then the lad would awaken and glance out at the man lying there, apparently asleep. but griffin was not asleep. he lay alternately staring at the fire and at tad's rifle which stood against a tree some twenty feet from where smoky lay bound. leaving his rifle out there looked like carelessness on the part of the pony rider boy. after a time smoky began to wriggle and grunt. he was trying to free himself of his bonds, believing that the camp was sound asleep. and so it was, with the exception of butler, who now lay wide awake observing the efforts of the prisoner. tad did not believe the fellow would be able to free himself and was therefore amazed when all at once smoke threw up his hands clear of the rope that had bound them together. next the prisoner began tugging at the rope around his ankles. all this time tad lay back with hands under his head, curiously watching the man. then smoky's feet came free, but the mountaineer did not get up at once. instead, he lay panting and peering about him to see if his efforts had been observed. apparently they had not. smoky began creeping toward the rifle standing there against the tree, though butler did not appear to understand what the man was trying to do. about this time, however, tad got up and yawned audibly. griffin instantly flattened himself on the ground. the pony rider boy stepped out without even casting a look in the mountaineer's direction and sleepily made his way to the campfire, which he prodded listlessly, then piled on more wood until the fire began to crackle and snap, sending a shower of sparks up into the night air. smoky eyed tad suspiciously for a moment, then began wriggling towards the rifle against the tree. tad, apparently unconscious of his danger, still stood gazing dreamily into the crackling flames of the campfire. griffin half raised himself and stretching forth his hands he grasped the weapon and drew it towards him, almost hugging the gun in his delight. at last smoky griffin was himself again, and his swollen eyes narrowed as he gazed at the boy standing there before him. a moment of hesitation followed. suddenly the bully threw the weapon to his shoulder and pulled the trigger. no report came. smoky pulled the trigger again, but with no better result. he uttered a growl of rage. tad turned slowly towards the mountaineer, grinning broadly. "after you have finished trying to shoot me, put my gun back where you found it, if you don't mind," suggested the pony rider boy easily. "you may thank me for preventing your being a murderer. i've been watching you all the evening. i saw you when you first began trying to get clear of the ropes. i saw you when you started for the rifle. that didn't worry me, for i drew the cartridges before putting the gun there about supper time. smoky, you've made a monkey of yourself and you've shown what an easy mark you are. put down that gun!" the last words were uttered in a stern voice. for a brief second the bad man hesitated, then with a growl he clubbed the rifle and sprang for tad butler. a few feet only separated them. tad was now in greater peril than he had been when the desperate man was drawing a deliberate bead on him. still the lad did not appear to be disturbed in the least. "don't come any nearer, mister man!" warned butler in a calm voice. smoky griffin found himself gazing into the muzzle of tad butler's revolver. this brought the mountaineer to a quick halt, his eyes blazing with passion. slowly the rifle was lowered from its clubbed position, smoky still grasping it by the barrel. "put the gun back where you found it," directed tad. the conversation had been carried on in a low tone, so as not to disturb the camp. tad was still grinning. he had enjoyed the little scene immensely, besides which he had taught the former bully of hunt's corners another wholesome lesson. "now stand where you are, that's a good little boy. don't try to run. you might be stopped so suddenly that you would take a tumble. ned!" one call was sufficient. ned rector came stumbling out, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "wha--what is it?" "if you don't mind, i wish you would tie our friend here--" "but, how did he get loose?" "he managed it all by himself, then he tried to shoot me. i knew he would attempt to get away. we will tie him up this time so he won't get loose. secure him to that tree, ned, and tie him good and tight, but not so tightly that it will hurt. smoky, you sit down with your back against that tree. you will be quite comfortable there and it is only a few hours till daybreak now," suggested butler. smoky did not obey at once. thereupon ned pushed him backwards against a tree. in that instant the mountaineer's arms gripped rector around the waist, pinioning ned's arms to his sides, and though ned struggled to free himself he might as well have tried to wriggle from the grip of an iron vise. the boy thought his ribs were being crushed in. ned did not utter a sound, but his face was red and he was struggling desperately, while tad stood grinning. butler had expected this very result. it was as excellent a lesson for ned as had been the previous lesson for the desperado. tad strolled over to them. "now, smoky, you have done about enough for one night. let go and sit down there. you know what will be done if you don't obey orders." griffin was too full of ferocious rage to obey. he was determined to inflict all the damage that he could, on the boy in his grip. tad stepped quickly behind the bully. placing a hand around over smoky's forehead, the other hand pressing on the mountaineer's adam's apple, butler gave the head a quick backward jerk. the fellow's grip on ned relaxed almost instantly. he staggered back choking and gasping, whereupon tad thrust the ruffian from him and leaped back out of the way of those powerful arms. "sit down before i put you down!" commanded the pony rider boy sternly. "let me at him, let me at him!" yelled rector. his cry aroused the others. all hands tumbled out shouting. "what's going on here?" thundered professor zepplin, charging into the scene clad only in his pajamas. "just a little bout with our friend," answered tad, laughing. "ned, you keep your head. get down there as i told you, griffin!" the fellow sank down, with a hopeless expression on his face, but his eyes were full of menace. tad stood guard over him while rector with set, angry face gave the rope several twists about smoky's body, finally securing the rope to the other side of the tree. "there, i'd like to see you get away from that hitch, my slippery friend," announced ned. "there's nothing to tell, professor, except that griffin managed to release himself. i don't think he will try it again. he has learned that we are not easily caught napping," said tad. "he is an ungrateful wretch," growled the professor. "griffin, i am amazed that you should act like that after we have treated you so kindly. we ought to turn you over to an officer. i am not sure that we shall not do so on the morrow." "turn in, you people. i will hang around until morning," directed tad, who went to his tent and lay down. he did not wholly trust to the prisoner's bonds, so the lad kept up his vigil until morning when the others began to stir, after which he dozed off for a catnap. the prisoner this time was not wholly released for his meal. his hands were freed, but that was all. still he ate a hearty breakfast, after which he was brought over to the campfire while chops was clearing away the stuff preparatory to packing and getting under way. "we have very little to say to you this morning, griffin," began the professor, after clearing his throat, as he always did before making an important announcement. "where do you live?" "none of your business." "it is immaterial. i was merely about to suggest that you return to that home, wherever it may be, and stay there. be warned and keep away from this outfit. you will get into serious difficulties if you harass us further. we don't want to see you about our camp again while we are on the ridge. tad, will you liberate the prisoner?" butler did so. "you may go," he said with a wave of the hand toward the fellow's pony, saddled and bridled ready for him close at hand, smoky did not even glance at them. with lowered head he climbed into his saddle, put spurs to his mount and quickly disappeared from the scene. chapter x biscuit and mystery "there, i hope we have seen the last of that ruffian," exclaimed the professor as smoky rode away. "i am afraid we haven't, professor," answered tad, with a shake of the head. "why--why, what makes you think that?" "he is a vengeful man. he is already plotting to get even with us. however, there's no use to worry about him. we will take care of him if he comes around our outfit." "yes, we'll take care of smoke," jeered chunky. "i wonder if there are any more like him in these parts?" "i shouldn't be surprised," returned tad. "you did very well in helping to hold the other mountaineers off yesterday, chunky. but you spoiled it all twice." "how?" "by going to sleep on the job. never go to sleep unless there is good reason for doing so." "there was good reason. i should say there was," protested the fat boy. "what was the reason?" "i was sleepy." "surely, you could not ask a better reason, tad," said the professor with a grim smile. "i've nothing more to say?" laughed tad. "that argument is unanswerable." ned suggested that they get under way, so they mounted and rode away towards smoky bald, that huge towering mountain, rising up into the sky nearly seven thousand feet. the pony rider boys were now approaching what was known as "the land of the sky," and their spirits were fully as high as the name. about them the country was becoming more rugged, making progress slower and slower, but they did not mind. by this time it was unusual to see a human being, though at rare intervals they came upon a mountaineer's cabin. the occupants of such always were suspicious of the strangers, and the boys cut short their calls with merely passing words of greeting. for two days following the departure of the bully they had pressed on and on. but now another disturbing factor had come up to irritate them. their food was most mysteriously disappearing. no matter how many biscuit they baked, these were sure to disappear within a few hours. a similar state of affairs, though not to the same extent, had existed on their way through smoky pass. now it had sprung up again. at first tad suspected stacy brown and his appetite; then the guide came in for a share of suspicion, but not a clue was the lad able to find. he thought he had checked the losses when he ordered all the reserve stores piled in the corner of his tent with his duffle-bag, but the mystery still remained unsolved. "it's my opinion that there's something going on around these diggings," declared chunky as they were sitting about the campfire one evening. "there is no doubt about that," replied tad. "if you can find out just what is going on you will be doing the pony rider boys, as an association, a real service." "i had a dream last night," began chunky. "did you dream that you were living in marble halls?" chuckled rector. "no, i couldn't dream anything so pleasant when you were snoring in the next tent. i've had the same dream for three nights running. and, fellows, it was an awful dream. i know it means trouble for someone." "well, what was your dream?" asked tad. "i don't want to hear it if it is another of your old chestnuts," declared ned. "go on, tell it, chunky," urged walter. "it was a terrible dream," replied the fat boy in a deep, thrilling voice. "well, well, surely it couldn't have been any more terrible than this suspense," interrupted butler. "i dreamed--i dreamed--" stacy paused to gaze feelingly at his companions. "you dreamed? yes?" reminded rector. "i dreamed--i dreamed i saw three blind men leading a one-eyed horse to water." "oh, pooh!" scoffed ned rector. "three nights," continued stacy, "did i dream of this nerve-racking scene. don't look at me like that, william veal! that's just the way the blind men stared at me." "go on," laughed tad. "what did the three blind men and the one-eyed horse do?" "they went down to the creek and took a drink," crooned stacy, gazing steadily at the wide-eyed chops. chops was actually pale about the lips. "then--then i dreamed another--the most awful of all." "yes, yes?" pleaded walter, now really worked up to a high pitch of excitement. "for three nights running i dreamed that i saw a black cat chasing a three-legged rat through a field of red clover. br-r-r-r!" the last word came out with explosive force. billy veal leaped to his feet with a yell. the pony rider boys burst into a roar of laughter, with the exception of stacy, who sat as solemn as an owl. chops was trembling, for, like most of his race, he was superstitious. "if i might make so bold as to inquire," said tad after quiet had once more been restored, "why was the black cat chasing the three-legged rat through the field of red clover?" "the cat thought the rat had the biscuit that have been stolen from this camp, i reckon." this was the signal for another outburst, in which billy veal took no part. the guide was too thoroughly frightened to be amused. his superstitious nature had been strongly appealed to. "it means that there's trouble brewing in this outfit. i shouldn't be surprised if some one were going to die. i'm sure it will be the villain who has been stealing our biscuit." "no, that isn't what it means," interrupted rector. "what does it mean, then?" demanded stacy. "it means that you have been overloading your stomach for the last three nights before turning in. i am beginning to think it was you who stole and ate the stuff." "you must be a--an oracle. that's it. you're one of those dream books," retorted chunky. "now seeing you are an oracle, what would it have meant had the rat been running through the clover without any legs at all? answer me that if you can, mr. dream book!" "very simple. almost childish. that would mean that instead of eating biscuit before going to bed, you had been eating mince pie." "you are almost human, ned," grinned chunky. "but you don't know a gnome when you see one." "a gnome?" "sure thing. those were gnomes--the real spooky, spinky kind that give you the shivers up and down your back when they're out gnoming. chops knows what a gnome is, don't you, chops?" "n-n-n-nassir, yassir," chattered the guide. "don't, for goodness' sake, chunky. he'll run in a minute," begged butler. "and--and that wasn't all," continued stacy. "i heard the cat utter a name, and the rat had a face just like--" "what did the cat say, and--" "the cat said, 'meow!'" jeered ned. "no it didn't. the cat said 'veal, veal,' just as plainly as you could imagine," nodded the speaker. chops fairly gasped. "yes, but what did the rat look like?" urged tad. "well, it looked to me like a rat," answered the fat boy solemnly. "you will all have the nightmare tonight if you don't choose a more cheerful topic for discussion just before turning in," warned professor zepplin. "yes, change the subject," urged rector. "i don't want to dream of four-legged rats and blind mice, and besides, chops is on the verge of nervous prostration." chunky got up and stretched himself. he strolled over to where billy stood leaning against a rock. "the rat had your face," he whispered sharply in the ear of the guide. chops uttered a blood-curdling yell and with a leap cleared the campfire and started racing for the tall timber. [illustration: "there he goes!"] "there he goes," wailed ned. "after him!" shouted tad. "guide! guide! come back here, guide!" roared the professor. but chops was on fleet feet, with four shouting, yelling boys in hot pursuit. "that's the last we shall see of our guide," moaned the professor, sitting down heavily. chapter xi an interrupted journey the yells of the pony rider boys, instead of inducing chops to stop only caused him to run the faster. stacy brown was soon at the tail-end of the procession. tad was in the lead, ned rector close upon his heels, with walter perkins a good thirty yards behind ned. "stop, you ninny!" shouted tad. "come back here." "n-n-nassir," floated back the voice of the guide. chops had enough. he was more frightened than ever before in his life. he believed that the fat boy had really had the dream, and that trouble was brewing for billy veal. "we'll never get him," gasped rector. "yes, we shall. get your rope. we'll have him. we'll chase him all night but we'll land him. chops! oh, chops!" "save your breath," jeered ned. "i'm going to. oh, what i won't do to that guide when i do catch him!" gritted tad. "yes, when you do." butler put on a fresh burst of speed, touching the ground only with his toes, as he ran, leaving ned still farther behind. "gracious, i didn't think tad could sprint like that," gasped rector. "wait for me," howled chunky, now far to the rear. the boys got to laughing so heartily at this that chops gained several rods on them, but tad quickly closed up the gap and was soon drawing down on billy veal at a killing pace. the guide was a good runner, but he did not have the staying powers possessed by tad butler. tad, no doubt, could have run all night had such a thing been necessary, for he was a strong, healthy boy with not an ounce of extra flesh on his body, and his muscles were of the quality of pliant steel. tad now drew out to one side and a few minutes later he passed the man they were chasing, though veal did not know of this. the colored man came tearing along at almost express train speed, when tad's rope wriggled through the air. the throw was a true one. the loop landed fairly over the head and shoulders of chops, was drawn taut by the runner himself, and in the next instant billy veal stood pivoting on his head on the ground. "gracious, i hope he hasn't broken his neck," cried tad. "i--i didn't think he would go down so heavily as that." "where is he? where is, the guide?" shouted ned rector, coming up with a splendid burst of speed, and not breathing hard at all. "look out, or you'll step on him," warned tad. "where is he?" repeated ned. "chops is standing on his head just ahead of you behind those bushes. get hold of him so i can let up on the rope." with a yell of triumph, ned threw himself on the colored man, who was too dazed from the shock of his fall to offer much resistance. at this juncture walter perkins came in on a trot, followed after an interval of a minute or so by the shouting, puffing fat boy. "you are to blame for this, chunky," growled ned, trying to be stern. "it strikes me that you are sitting on chops yourself. you surely can't blame me for that," retorted stacy. "here, you, get up and come back to camp with us," commanded tad. "yes, chops, the gnomes will get you out here," reminded stacy. "stop it! you'll have him on the run again," rebuked tad. chops looked up, wide-eyed. "hit jes' lak dat, fer fae'," muttered billy. "ah done seen dem myself." "there! what did i tell you?" demanded chunky triumphantly. "he 'seen dem himself.' did they have biscuit in their mouths, chops?" "yassir, nassir. he ain't say nuffin' 'tall. he jess look lak dat." the guide made big staring eyes, as if peering at something in a world unseen by the rest. "say, quit that! you'll give me the creeps soon," declared ned. "are we going to take him back to camp or must i sit on him all the rest of the night?" "let him up, ned," nodded tad, recoiling his rope. "if you try to run, billy, i'll rope you again. do you want me to rope you some more?" "yassir, nassir." chops was shivering as he got up and started slowly back towards camp, casting apprehensive glances at every bush he passed. a wild yell from the bushes bordering the trail they were following nearly sent the guide off on another sprint. he surely would have run had not tad grabbed him by the arm and given him a shaking. "stacy brown, if you do that again you will have to answer to the professor. fun is fun, but the fun's all played out of this affair. come along here, billy." billy was marched into camp, set down by the fire, and ordered to remain there till told to get up. the professor tried to assume a stern expression, but the attempt was a failure, finally ending in a chuckle, in which chunky, who had just arrived, joined with his familiar "haw, haw, haw." "oh, stop it!" commanded ned. "you make me think i'm back among the missouri mules. what are we going to do with this fellow, professor?" "i'll tell you what to do with him," spoke up chunky. "give him a tostie wostie--in other words, a petrified biscuit, and tuck him in his li'l crib where the little gnomes can't tickle his feet, and he'll be all right after he gets to sleep," suggested the fat boy without so much as the suggestion of a smile on his face. "guide, you must not take the jokes of these young men seriously. they were just fooling," began the professor. "they? you mean stacy brown," interrupted ned. "i wasn't fooling anyone. he saw them himself. didn't you see the gnomes sitting on a rock, chops, and didn't they make faces at you because you were running away?" persisted the fat boy. billy nodded weakly, moistening his lips with his tongue and swallowing a lump in his throat. such a hopeless expression of fright appeared on his face that the boys, unable to contain their mirth longer, uttered shouts of laughter, in which the dignified professor joined. "you see! i told you so," nodded stacy. "young man, i shall have to ask you to cease playing pranks on the guide. we can ill afford to be without a guide in this wilderness of trees and rocks." "a guide?" laughed tad. "yes, a guide." "too bad we haven't one," muttered stacy. "it is to you i am speaking, master stacy. you must not tantalize billy. let him alone. have i your promise that you will do so?" "if i promise i have to, don't i?" questioned the fat boy. "certainly you do." "then i guess i won't promise," he replied after a brief reflection. the professor gave it up with a shrug of his shoulders. he asked the guide if they should tie him up for the night or if he would lie down and behave himself. billy decided that he would prefer the latter, so they left it that way. chops was then permitted to return to his duties, getting the camp to rights for the night, but it was observed that he gave a nervous little jump every time he heard an unusual sound. "i'll bet he sees more than a black cat in his sleep tonight," tad confided to rector. "i don't care what he sees so long as he doesn't snore. and i give you due notice that if chunky persists in snoring as he has been doing lately either he or i will have to sleep out in the bushes out of sound of the camp. why, tad, i am on the verge of nervous prostration from loss of sleep," declared ned. "you surely look it, too," replied tad with a grin. "if stacy chases chops out of camp again i am quite positive that it will be stacy brown who will sleep in the bushes," resumed ned in a tone of voice loud enough for stacy to hear. "not so that anyone will notice it, he won't," called back the fat boy. the night passed uneventfully. on the morrow, bright and early, the party continued their journey into the heart of the mountains. that day being saturday, according to their usual practice, the pony riders went into camp to remain until monday morning. this also gave the ponies a much-needed rest. for this weekend stay, the tents were pitched in a deep, sombre canyon, that reminded the boys of bright angel gulch in the grand canyon where they had encountered so many exciting experiences. it was near the middle of the forenoon on sunday when a stranger walked into camp, moving in long, determined strides. in the crook of his right arm he carried a rifle. the boys greeted the newcomer pleasantly, at the same time offering him the hospitality of a cup of coffee. "i don't want no coffee," grunted the stranger, with a reckless disregard for the english language. "i want a heap sight more of you, though." "first, may i ask who you are?" questioned tad butler. "i'm not here to answer questions. i reckon you'll have to answer some instead." "let's have the questions, then," smiled tad. "but if you won't answer questions why should you expect it of us?" "because i'm an officer, and i'm here on business." "business! what business?" blurted stacy, jumping up. "are you after chops?" "humph! more likely i'm after all of you," rejoined the stranger. "but that depends." "if you are an officer i wish you had happened along a couple of days ago," said tad. "we had a lot of trouble with an imitation bad man, smoky griffin. know him?" "no. i'm not that kind of an officer." "he's a corporal in the home guards," guessed chunky. "my man," broke in professor zepplin, with extreme dignity, "will you be good enough to explain just what your business is?" "yes. i'm a government officer, and i've come to give you notice to quit, and right smart at that. it's your move, and you'll have to get up and dust out of these parts. if you don't, i'll lock you up in jail, to start with. then, after you've waited a few months for the court to sit, you'll find that you have worse medicine to take. is that plain enough?" "i--i don't understand your attitude," stammered professor zepplin. "mebby this will mean something to you," said the newcomer, holding up a furry object. "what is it?" "looks like the paw of the black cat that i dreamed i saw chasing the three-legged rat through the field of red clover," declared stacy. tad motioned to the fat boy to be silent. "it is a deer's foot, isn't it?" he asked. "you've guessed it, young man." the thought came to some of them that perhaps they had a crazy man to deal with. the professor decided to humor their caller. "very interesting, very interesting," he nodded. "you shot him, eh?" "i did not." "no? then i do not understand what particular interest attaches to the foot." "i reckon you would if you wanted to. you've seen it before," grunted the man. "i beg to differ with you. i have not seen a deer foot, let alone the animal belonging to it, in some months. why do you insist upon this?" "because one of your party shot the deer. you've got deer inside of you at this particular minute and--" stacy rubbed his stomach and rolled his eyes. "i wish i had," murmured the fat boy. "now just what do you want to say to us?" demanded the professor, considerably irritated. "that you'll have to get off this ridge right quick or it'll be the worse for you," announced the stranger in a commanding voice. chapter xii facing new obstacles "leave the ridge?" cried the boys in chorus. "leave these mountains? is that what you mean?" demanded the professor indignantly. "i reckon that's it." "why so? why should we leave here until we have finished our journey?" interjected tad, eyeing the man keenly. "because i say so. i'm not talking to you." "but i am talking to you, sir. i am one of the interested parties, you see, and i want to know." "i'm from missouri, also," spoke up ned, stepping forward. "i'm one of the leading citizens of that state, too. i'm not a voter, but i can make just as much noise as any voter in the state when it comes to the cheering," declared the fat boy, pushing his way into the semicircle about the visitor, who was seated on a rock with his rifle over his knees. "maybe you fellows think this is a joke. anybody'd think so from the way you act," snapped the officer. "far from it," replied the professor sharply. "well, you've got to git, that's all, and right smart at that." "how do we know you are an officer?" demanded butler. "because i say so." "that's no proof," declared ned boldly. "your authority--what is your authority?" urged the professor. "i reckon this is authority enough," declared the man, tapping his rifle significantly. "we've got some of the same kind, several of them in fact," answered tad, with a good-natured laugh. "when it comes to that i think you will find our authority fully as convincing as yours." for the moment matters looked serious. the man's face turned red. he shifted his weapon a little and glared at the young man who had really uttered a challenge. "whether or not you are an officer i do not know," went on the professor. "however, i have a right to know why you make this singular request." "no request about it. i told you to mosey." "but why?" "you're on government property." "well, what of it?" "you've been shooting on government property?" "i deny it," thundered professor zepplin, slapping his thigh with the flat of his hand. "we may have been shooting, but not at game," explained tad. "professor, are we on a government reservation?" "i was not aware of the fact," was the reply, made in a half sarcastic tone. "i'll look at the map. go and bring it, tad." "stay where you are!" commanded the officer. "my, but he's touchy, isn't he?" wondered the fat boy. "guess we'll have to serve him the same way we did chops last night, rope and sit on him." "what is your name?" asked professor zepplin, regarding the man shrewdly. "never you mind about my name. uncle sam is a good enough name." "depending upon who wears it," scoffed ned rector. "see here, i don't want to hear any more of your talk, not from any of you. you're an impudent lot of youngsters, though you're old enough to know better." "you will kindly direct your conversation to me, my man," broke in the professor. "i am in charge of this party and wholly responsible for anything they may do. in the first place, i deny that any of us has shot any game on the ridge. in the second place, i know of no law that will prevent our passing over a government preserve, though there are preserves where firearms are not permitted." "this is one of them," interrupted the man. "where do the preserves end and where do they begin?" demanded tad shrewdly. the mountaineer hesitated. for the moment he appeared confused. then he made answer. "i reckon a few miles this side of hunt's corners and on to the other side of old smoky bald." "nonsense!" exploded butler. "i don't believe it." "quiet, tad," rebuked the professor. "say, you mister man, we don't talk business on sunday," spoke up stacy. "come around tomorrow morning and we'll talk to you during business hours and give you all the talk you want, with a little something else it you are looking for trouble. i guess you're another of those bad men from smoky creek, and the further up you get the worse they are." the face of the officer turned white with anger. "i agree with the young man," nodded the professor. "you may call here tomorrow morning, stranger. we shall be here until nine o'clock, after which we shall no doubt be on our way toward smoky bald, provided we do not change our minds. by that time we shall be in a position to talk more intelligently with you and perhaps you on your part will be able to converse more courteously. good-day." the professor uttered the words with more than his usual firmness. always firm and decisive in his manner of speaking, the present utterance was calculated to impress him to whom it was directed. the supposed officer started, shifted his gun, then rose angrily. "i haven't got time to argue here all day--" "nor have we," replied professor zepplin evenly. "i reckon my boss will have something to say when i report how you used a government officer." "if you could show us any good reason why we should be ejected we should be glad to comply with your command. as it is i do not believe you have the least right in the world to order us from the ridge. if such a right existed, you wouldn't have to order us off. we should go without being told," said professor zepplin. "if ye don't keep shet i'll arrest the whole pack and parcel of ye." "i should esteem it a favor if you would," retorted the professor belligerently. the boys wanted to cheer professor zepplin, but they did not think that would tend to soothe the spirits of their visitor. "i'll give ye till tomorrow morning to get off the range," declared the man. "if you're here it will be the worse for you. i reckon i haven't got anything more to say." "i am glad of it. you have said quite enough already," snorted professor zepplin. without another word the stranger got up and strode away. tad stood irresolute for a moment, then he skulked away on the trail of their late visitor. "tad, tad!" called the professor. "where are you going?" "i'll be back in a minute. i'm just going over here a piece. don't worry. i may learn something," answered the boy, trotting back so that the stranger might not hear what he was saying. "i reckon i'll go with you," announced ned. but tad merely shook his head, and disappeared around the corner of a rock. the lad came upon their visitor much sooner than he had expected. in fact, the pony rider boy had a narrow escape from being discovered. had he not thrown himself flat on the ground, the mountaineer surely would have seen him, for at the moment of discovering the man the fellow was turning to look back. tad was screened by a clump of bushes, through which he was peering. the late visitor started on; then, when he considered it safe to do so, tad followed. a short distance from the camp the visitor paused, giving a low whistle. another man rose and came forward to meet him, much to the lad's amazement. "good gracious, the woods appear to be full of these fellows. i wonder what it means?" tad's question was not to be answered at that moment. after holding a brief conversation the two men walked away together. butler saw them mount their ponies that had been secreted in among the trees and ride away. "a precious pair of rascals," decided the pony rider boy, hurrying back to camp. "well, you came back with a whole skin, did you?" grinned ned. "did you discover anything, tad?" questioned the professor. "yes, sir, i did, though i don't see that the knowledge i gained is going to be of any great use to us." "what is it?" "there are two men. the man who was here met another fellow in the clearing over yonder. they talked together a little and then rode away. it's my opinion that something is going on in these mountains and that it might be a good idea for us to keep a weather eye open." "what did i tell you?" demanded stacy. "about what?" questioned tad, turning to his companion. "about the blind men and the one-eyed horse, and the black cat and the three-legged rat," answered the fat boy triumphantly. "i knew something was going to happen. chops knew it, too. those gnomes weren't roosting on the rocks for nothing. i guess i know something about gnomes. look out for the black cat. he's a trouble-maker." "we have important matters to discuss," interrupted professor zepplin. "be good enough to cease your nonsense, stacy." "nonsense? nonsense? well, i like that. here i give you warning of trouble and you call it nonsense. i'd like to see any weather bureau hit off the weather as closely as i hit off trouble." "you cause more than you hit off," answered tad. "professor, what do you make of this?" "nothing. i don't know what to think of it." "nor do i, but as i said before, it seems to me that, if that fellow really is an officer, he must be crazy. oh, i forgot, we were going to look at the map." "to be sure. you will find it in my dufflebag." walter ran to the bag, returning with the map, which they straightened out on a rock, placing four small stones on the corners to keep the map open. "there is the southern line of the government preserves," said tad, pointing. "about where are we now?" asked rector. "i should say about here," answered butler, laying a finger on a dark spot on the map. "here is smoky bald, here is the pass in which we are encamped, and yonder is the rise of ground over which we came on our way from hunt's corners. according to my reckoning, we must be a good twenty-five or thirty miles to the south of the government line. i guess we've got our friend now." "he's a scoundrel!" cried the professor. "he is. he must be," declared tad. "but, what have the men in mind?" "that remains to be seen," replied the professor. "perhaps their only object is to get rid of us, and perhaps--" "perhaps they are planning some crooked business," finished butler. "what have you decided to do, professor?" "what do you boys wish to do?" "we don't want to be turned back if we can help it. so long as we are convinced that the fellow is a fraud, i say let's go right along regardless of him and his crooked business," urged tad. "are you all agreed on this, boys?" demanded the professor. "we are," cried the pony rider boys. "then the matter is definitely settled. we move tomorrow morning, the same as usual, and if our friend sees fit to interfere with us we will show him that we are well able to take care of ourselves, that we are not tenderfeet," declared the professor belligerently. chapter xiii an exhibition of sheer pluck "no, we will not break camp until nine o'clock," said the professor when, on the following morning, ned proposed that they get under way immediately after breakfast. "we promised our friend that we should be here until that hour, you know." "then i think i will scout around to see if anything is doing," suggested tad, who immediately hurried from camp. he returned half an hour later with the information that there wasn't a human being within a mile of them so far as he had been able to learn. it then lacked an hour of nine, so the boys passed the time with packing, joking and talking. they were not greatly troubled, nor would they have been had they known what was before them that day. professor zepplin, too, was filled with the spirit of the occasion. the old soldier never shrank when it came to a battle, though naturally he felt the responsibility of having four boys to look after, even though those boys were pretty well able to take care of themselves, as they had demonstrated on numerous occasions. an inventory of the supplies showed that everything was accounted for. this, stacy declared, was because he had frightened the three-legged rat away from camp. he said he had a worse fright in store for it if it showed itself around that outfit again. chops looked very solemn at this. the fright the guide had had served to chasten and subdue him. this was not lost on the pony rider boys, nor was the significance of it, either. "nine o'clock. time to move," announced the professor finally, closing his watch with a snap. "we will start now. are you ready, boys?" "all ready," answered the lads in chorus. "all ready to start--something!" added chunky. "no, we will not start anything, my boy," rebuked the professor. "stacy is quite given to slang of late," laughed tad. "i have observed as much," answered the professor dryly. "i trust you will cut out slang, young man." the professor eyed the fat boy sternly. "i trust you will, too, professor," retorted stacy. "i--i use slang?" demanded the professor indignantly. "yes. you said i must 'cut out' slang. if that isn't slang, my dictionary is ahead of the times," returned stacy triumphantly. "he has you there, professor," chuckled tad. "he surely has," agreed the other boys smiling broadly. "young men, i admit it. i am properly rebuked, and i assure you the offense will not be repeated. i promise to refrain from anything of the sort in the future, and i shall expect you to do the same." "well, i won't promise, but i'll try," drawled stacy. "if i promised, honest injun, i'd have to keep my promise. you know i don't like to be roped with a promise. it's like being tied to a tree. a fellow can't let himself out when he wants to." "you'll have plenty of opportunity to let yourself out, i am thinking. something do--" began tad. "ah--ah!" warned chunky. "i guess i nearly forgot myself, didn't i?" grinned butler. "yes, you'll have to cut it--" "whoa, chunky!" shouted ned. "there you go again." "hopeless! hopeless!" groaned professor zepplin. "but that's right. correct one another and you will soon overcome the habit. we are forced to live a semi-barbarous life, but that is no reason why we should forget either our manners or our english." "we shouldn't were it not for stacy brown," declared rector. "that's right. lay everything to me. i'm tough. i can stand it. but i'm the prophet of this outfit; i'm a necessary encumbrance." "mount!" commanded tad. "billy, did you bring that bundle of dry sticks for kindling the fire?" "nassir, yassir." "then, forward march!" "giddap, you old bundle of bones," jeered chunky, giving his pony a smart unexpected slap. the pony kicked and squealed, giving stacy a lively tussle for a few moments. "why do you stir him up so?" rebuked tad. "that isn't horsemanship. you act like a beginner." "he always is that way in the morning. it's his way of showing his pleasure at having me on his back. whoa, there, you cayuse!" shouted the fat boy. stacy lost part of his pack, necessitating a halt while he got down to repack and take a fresh hitch. finally having arranged it to his satisfaction the fat boy mounted. his companions had waited with long-suffering patience, and there were sighs of relief when stacy was once more ready. the party moved off at a leisurely walk, for the ground was rough and the trail not easy to follow. a close watch was kept ahead as far as they could see, and on all sides as well. but nothing of a disturbing nature occurred until near noon, when stacy, having ridden off to one side, scared a doe, which fled through the brush making a great crashing, nearly frightening the fat boy out of his wits. tad and the professor rushed to stacy's assistance. their disgust was great when they discovered the cause of the uproar. it was then decided that chunky must keep close to the party and try to behave himself. after a brief rest following the noon meal they once more mounted their ponies and set out. they had been on their way less than an hour when, riding out into an open space, they halted rather suddenly. as they entered the open space two horsemen rode in on the opposite side. the men carried rifles across their saddles, and came directly toward the pony rider boys' outfit. "there he is!" exclaimed tad. "who--who--who?" demanded stacy. "the black cat," answered rector under his breath. professor zepplin recognized one of the men instantly. the professor's lips closed firmly. one of the horsemen was the man who had claimed to be an officer when visiting their camp and ordering them to leave the ridge. "well, i see you fellows are still here," he said mockingly as he rode up to the outfit. "your eyes do not deceive you, sir," answered the professor coldly. "where do you fellows reckon you are going?" "in the first place, we are not fellows," resented tad, his face flushing. "in the second, we do not consider it any of your affair where we are going." "the young gentleman is right," added the professor. "you have no right to interfere with us. what do you want?" "i want you to turn your nags about right smart and head in the other direction. this is a preserve, and--" "i deny it!" snapped professor zepplin. "it is not a preserve and what is more i don't believe you are an officer. will you stand aside and permit us to go our way?" "i will not." "what do you propose to do?" "i reckon i'll wait here till i see you headed t'other way." "then you will wait a long time," exclaimed butler. "we are not going to turn about. we are going straight ahead, and we are going to keep on going until we are ready to head the other way, and--" "i reckon you won't do nothing of the sort." the mountaineer nodded to his companion, who started to ride around to one side of the outfit. tad saw the purpose of the movement at once. they proposed to make a flanking movement where they would have more advantage so far as position was concerned. "if you please, stay where you are!" commanded tad sharply. "what--what! you reckon to give me orders?" demanded the man furiously. "i'm telling you two to stay where you are if you know what's good for you. we have had about enough of your nonsense. professor, are we going to stand for any more of this foolishness?" demanded tad heatedly. "no, not much, tad. but be patient for a moment. i want to talk with this man further. do i still understand you to persist that we are on a government preserve?" he asked, turning to the mountaineer. "i reckon i've told you that before and i'll tell it to you again." "say it as many times as you choose, sir, if it pleases you," answered professor zepplin sarcastically. "we heard you the first time. it's getting to be an old story now." "well?" "i deny that this is a preserve. i further state that in my opinion you are a scoundrel. if you are not you will resent the accusation, and i am ready to meet any such resentment," added the plucky professor, permitting one hand to drop lightly to his pistol holster. the movement was not lost on the mountaineer. nor was the fellow to be deterred from carrying out his purpose. he shifted his rifle into a more convenient position. "it's the black cat," muttered the fat boy. "and we'll all be lame ducks in a minute." "keep steady, lads," warned the professor in a low tone. tad nodded, taking in his fellows in the same nod as indicating that they were to take no action until ordered to do so. "professor, i'm going on," announced butler. "we may stand here all day arguing at the present rate." with that tad clucked to his pony and started, picking his way through the growth in the open space. "you stop where you are!" commanded the mountaineer. "you stop me if you dare," retorted the pony rider boy. "come along, professor." instead the professor sat grimly in his saddle, eyeing the mountaineer sternly. the latter half raised his rifle, bringing the muzzle to bear on the advancing tad. "oh, fudge! put that gun back in your boot!" scoffed butler. "you know you don't dare to use it. you know very well that you would get the worst of it if you dared to pull the trigger." "are you going back?" roared the mountaineer. "no, i'm going forward," answered tad, putting spur to his pony and starting at a jog trot. he was headed directly towards the mountaineer, and the latter's pony took a step aside in order to prevent a collision. the muzzle of the mountaineer's rifle almost grazed butler's sleeve as he trotted past the man who had threatened to shoot him. "come on, fellows. are you going to camp there in your saddles?" for answer the professor and the three lads started to follow their companion. it was at this juncture that the mountaineer's companion took a hand in the affair and changed the situation instantly into a much more serious one. up to this time tad's sheer grit had overcome the desperate purpose of the alleged officer. the intervention of the other man had put a new complexion on the affair. chapter xiv the professor takes a hand "make 'em dance!" shouted the second man. two revolvers banged. tad's pony leaped up into the air, for the two shots had been fired right under the pony's hind feet. ere the lad could subdue the little animal two more shots had landed under the fetlocks of the spirited animal. "stop that!" thundered the professor. "don't be alarmed, professor. they are only bluffing," called tad. "i'll take care of these gentlemen when i get my pony subdued." bang, bang! two bullets fanned the feet of professor zepplin's mount. this was more than the old fighter could endure. he whipped out his own revolver and began peppering the ground under the feet of the mountaineers' horses. it was the turn of the assailants' animals to cut up now. and they did, threatening to unhorse their riders. at the moment when the professor let go his bullets the supposed officer was about to fire another shot under professor zepplin's mount. but the pony leaping, spoiled the mountaineer's aim. one of his shots bored a hole through the crown of the professor's hat. a bullet from the professor's revolver fanned the cheek of the mountaineer. "hold your fire!" shouted tad to his companions. the mountaineer, not waiting to reload, began tugging at his other weapon. tad drove his pony straight at the man who, by this time, was leveling the pistol at professor zepplin. the pony rider boy hit the weapon with his quirt. the bullet went high above the head of its intended victim. the second swing of the quirt was even more of a surprise to the mountaineer than had been the first. the quirt landed on the fellow's cheek with such force as to lay it open and draw blood. before the man could recover, tad butler had fastened upon his collar, and the fellow was jerked from his saddle and landed heavily on the hard ground. "cover the other man!" shouted tad. four guns were pointed at the other mountaineer, who was so dazed over the sudden and unexpected turn of affairs that he seemed to have lost power of action of any sort. in the meantime butler had quickly disarmed the man whom he had so cleverly unhorsed, taking possession of his weapons and throwing them away. the lad stepped quickly to the still mounted rider and walking right up beside him stretched up a hand. "give me that pistol!" commanded the lad. the horseman hesitated. the boys held their breath. they expected to see tad butler shot where he stood. nothing of the sort occurred. the man glanced quickly at the menacing weapons of the pony rider boys, down into the resolute, fearless face of tad butler, then shoved the weapon, muzzle first, into butler's face. tad didn't even wink. "the other end to, if you please," he warned. with a grunt the horseman turned the gun about and threw it rather than handed it to the victor. "now jerk that rifle out of your boot and drop it on the other side of your horse. be quick. there will be some real shooting here if you dilly-dally any longer. we've stood all we're going to take from you ruffians." the pony rider boys gave a yell as the mountaineer's weapon dropped to the ground. by this time the supposed officer had scrambled to his feet. he was white with rage. he started for the weapons that tad had taken from him. "steady, my friend!" warned the professor. "this weapon in my hand might--might, you understand--go off unexpectedly. right about face and get into your saddle. mount!" "i'll have the law on you!" roared the defeated mountaineer. "then why don't you? you say you are the law. take us!" "get out of here, both of you, and don't you dare show your faces again," commanded butler. "and before you leave," added the professor, "let me say that at the first opportunity i'll have the sheriff on your trail. now go!" with the howls of the delighted pony rider boys ringing in their ears the two mountaineers rode away as fast as they could drive their ponies. "now where's your black cat?" demanded tad with a grin. "oh, he's chasing a two-legged rat through the chaparral," answered the fat boy carelessly. professor zepplin wiped the perspiration from his forehead with a savage swish of the handkerchief. "the scoundrels!" he exclaimed, making a strong effort to control himself. "the scoundrels!" "i agree with you, professor," nodded tad. "it's my opinion that we had better get out of this country," declared walter perkins. "we shall not. i am going on now, even if they bring in a regiment to put us out!" fairly shouted professor zepplin. "hurrah for the professor! three cheers for the professor!" cried ned. the boys gave three ringing cheers and a tiger. "that will do, boys. we will be on our way now," said the professor, having regained his composure. "are you going to leave the weapons of those men here, tad?" asked walter. "yes, but i'm going to fix them so they won't be of much use to their owners," replied tad. the lad, after drawing the charges from the guns, hammered them over a rock until the barrels of the rifles were bent and twisted and the butts broken, rendering the weapons utterly useless. he then took apart the revolvers and after damaging the parts so that the pistols could not be used heaped the remains of the mountaineers' arsenal on the rock over which he had broken them. "i guess those guns won't do any damage," grinned the pony rider boy. "i'm ready for the hike now, fellows." the hike began at once. even chops, who had fled at the first indication of trouble, now came out from his hiding place and, mounting his horse, joined the procession. "i reckon we've given those fellows a scare that will last them for a time," announced tad, after they had traveled a short distance from the scene of the conflict. "but it was only a near fight after all. they hoped to frighten us. i don't believe they intended to do us harm." "yes, and i am surprised at you, professor," reproved stacy. "why?" "i never knew you were such a savage. why, if we hadn't restrained you, you would have hurt somebody. don't ever let me hear you advising me to control my temper." the professor interrupted with an exclamation of disgust. "i wish i knew what is in the wind," reflected tad. "however, i don't suppose we shall know the motive for this attack. if ever we do you will see that it is some piece of rascality." "i am of the same opinion," agreed professor zepplin. "i wish we knew where to find a sheriff or a constable, or whatever they may call them in this region." "why don't you get a telephone?" suggested chunky. the boys jeered. "yes, why don't we?" demanded ned. "just the very thing! professor, if you don't mind i'll run over and call up the sheriff and--" "tell him you've discovered the black cat," finished stacy. "br-r-r!" said the fat boy, chancing to catch the eye of billy veal. billy exhibited signs of a panic. "let the guide alone," commanded the professor. "we have had quite enough trouble resulting from your pranks." "that's right, lay it all to me. i can stand it. that's what you have me along for--to take the blame for everything else that the rest of you don't want to stand for." "oh, pooh! can't you take a joke?" laughed ned, riding up and slapping stacy on the back. "you know we are only taking advantage of your giving us a chance to have fun with you. this outfit would be tame as fishing in a washtub if it weren't for you, stacy chunky brown." chunky regarded rector with round eyes. "do you mean that, ned rector?" "of course i do." "boo-hoo!" mocked the fat boy. "that's the first kind wor-r-d i've had since i left my happy home in chillicothe. give me your kind old hand, ned rector. may i never hold a dirtier one!" "there! see! you won't let me be good to you. remember, i tried to make amends for a lot of things i've said to and about you, but you wouldn't let me. this is the last time i try to make up. do your worst." "i will," agreed chunky solemnly. "you mean you have," called tad. "no, i mean i will." "all right, only for goodness' sake don't try it on me." "there are indications of gold here!" the professor's voice was calm and analytical. "what?" shouted the boys. professor zepplin was leaning from his saddle, keenly scrutinizing the rocks at the side of the trail. "i said, there are indications of gold in the quartz rock here--" "gold! gold! lead me to it," shouted stacy. "i need some right now. show it to me!" "kindly curb your emotions, stacy," rebuked the professor, eyeing the fat boy sternly. "i need that gold," insisted master brown, unabashed. "please hand it to him, professor," urged tad. "then stacy will be able to pay what he owes me." "always that reminder of debt!" snorted chunky indignantly. "what does a debt amount to between friends?" "that isn't a very honest view to take, stacy," teased butler, "honest?" sputtered chunky. "tad butler, i'm honest, and you know it! i owe you a few dimes, and i'd sooner owe them to you all my life than cheat you out of the money." but tad wasn't listening. he was off his pony now, bending near the professor, and listening intently to what that scientific gentleman had to say of the gold signs. "as to whether there is gold enough here to amount to what miners call 'pay dirt,'" professor zepplin continued, "i don't care to say just yet. gold is plentiful in these mountains, yet there is rarely enough of it found in one place to pay for the trouble of getting it." "show me the gold," pleaded chunky. "here is color," replied the professor, resting a fingertip on a dull yellowish streak. "i don't see the gold," said stacy, after a hard stare. "you're not used to the sight," jibed tad. "now, walter's father is a banker, and i'll wager walter has seen a lot of it at the bank." "only a few bushels of it at a time," said walter dryly. "of course a bushel of gold is a tame sight." "that's enough! that's enough! i can't think in such large amounts. pints are about as far as i can go when it comes to gold," retorted stacy. "pennies, you mean," suggested ned mischievously. chunky gave him a withering glance, then turned his attention to what the professor was saying. the professor was chipping away at the rock with his little geological hammer, carefully selecting samples of the ore, which he tucked in his coat pocket for future examination. "guide, do you think you would be able to lead us to this spot again were we desirous of returning here?" "nassir, yassir." "he means that he could," interpreted butler. "if he couldn't i could. i can follow any trail that i have been over. is it so interesting as all that, professor?" "mind you, i am not saying that it is. after i have made a test i shall be in better position to answer that question. guide, has anyone, to your knowledge, discovered gold hereabouts?" "yassir; ah doan know. ah nebbah found no gold heah--nebbah found no gold nowhere. nassir." the boys shouted. "he is just like chunky. pennies are his gait," scoffed ned. "i thought we'd agreed to cut--to stop using slang," reminded stacy. "ned, stacy is right. he has properly rebuked you this time," laughed tad. "yes, sir. he did catch me napping, didn't he?" "there he goes again, professor," shouted chunky. "well, i am not so sure. one would, indeed, have to draw the line very finely to class 'catch me napping' as a slang expression. as a matter of fact, it may be so, but i should hardly go so far as to characterize it as such," differed professor zepplin. ned winked at stacy, but the fat boy, holding his chin high, pretended not to see the wink. so interested was the professor in his find that he decided to make camp for the night in that vicinity. tad and walter were sent out to choose a suitable site for pitching the tents. they found an ideal spot by a trickling stream of water that oozed from a crevice in the rocks, falling into a natural rocky bowl, almost if the bowl had been hewn to hold the sparkling fluid. of course tad saw at once that the water had worn away the rock, thus forming the bowl. many years had been required to wear away the stone, all of which set tad butler to thinking over the wonders of time as well as those of nature. they pitched their camp there that night. but the night was not destined to pass without some further excitement. excitement had come to be almost a necessary part of the daily routine of the pony rider boys, and they counted that day a dull one that held no thrills. chapter xv the ghost of the tulip glade a large number of varieties of the trees of the blue ridge region were to be seen from their camping ground of that night. there were yellow and gray birch, hickory, the bull bay, and best of all, the giant tulip tree, one of the largest and most beautiful of the trees in all the great ridge country. it was in a lane of tulip trees that the camp of the pony rider boys was pitched. the sky being overcast, tad had put up a tent for the guide while chops was engaged in setting the camp to rights in other directions. this tent was located next to the one occupied by stacy and walter perkins. stacy regarded the arrangements with a satisfied grin, which tad shrewdly interpreted. "look here, chunky, don't you try to play tricks on that poor guide tonight," warned butler. "poor fellah!" mocked stacy, "what am i going to do if i dream of blind horses and black cats?" "get up and stick your head in the spring. that will wake you up." "i guess i'd be awake before i got to the spring. that isn't a joke, tad. that's just an imitation of a joke." "don't you dare stick your head in the spring," admonished ned. "i have to drink that water." "so do the horses," retorted stacy. "you haven't heard them find any fault, have you?" "that's a fact, i haven't," admitted rector sarcastically. "perhaps that is because the horses hadn't thought of it in that light," suggested walter. "great head, great head," cried stacy. "but confidentially, tad." "yes?" "we've missed some more biscuit," whispered the fat boy. "how many?" "twenty since breakfast." "didn't we eat them for dinner?" "not a bisc." "hm-m! you are quite sure you didn't help yourself?" questioned tad quizzically. "help myself? help myself?" demanded chunky indignantly. "do i look as if i had twenty biscuit inside of me?" "i can't answer that question," laughed tad. "but to return to what i was saying, are you going to behave yourself tonight?" "about what?" "about frightening chops," insisted tad. "i can't promise anything about my dreams. if i dream i can't help that, can i?" demanded the fat boy. "i'll tell you how to help it," spoke up rector. "go to bed on an empty stomach. if you will do that, i promise you that you won't dream a single dream." "i just love to dream," murmured stacy, twiddling his thumbs and gazing soulfully up to the tops of the great tulip trees. the professor interrupted at this juncture to say that he thought they should post a guard that night lest the mountaineers come back. tad said he had a plan that he thought would answer fully as well. his plan, as explained to his companions, was to splice their ropes and draw them around trees close to the camp, placing the rope about a foot above the ground. "hm-m-m-m!" reflected the professor. "in the darkness the rope would not be discovered, and one trying to get into camp would surely trip over it," further explained butler. "this, you understand, would make a racket that would awaken the camp." "excellent! excellent!" approved the professor, rubbing his palms together enthusiastically. "i shouldn't be at all surprised to hear that one day you had invented something really worth while." "try your skill on inventing an appetite regulator," suggested ned. "you could try it on chunky." "no you don't," retorted stacy indignantly. "you don't try experiments on my food-consuming machinery. it works quite well enough as it is, though i shouldn't mind if it had a little greater capacity." no one laughed, though a pained expression might have been observed on the faces of three pony rider boys. "if you had thought of the rope plan earlier, it might have saved some of us from sleepless nights," declared the professor. "what a surprise it would be to an intruder were he literally to fall into our camp headfirst." "haw, haw, haw!" roared chunky. "wha--what's the matter? wasn't it time to laugh?" he demanded, observing the eyes of the professor fixed reprovingly upon him. "yes. a most excellent plan," continued the professor, ignoring stacy's flippant remark. "i'll fix it up right away," said tad. "pass over your ropes, fellows. if we rope anyone tonight it will be by his feet rather than over his head." the ropes were quickly spliced and put in place, forming an almost invisible barrier about the camp. after tad had finished his task, stacy fell over the rope to test it, bringing down upon him a torrent of rebuke, for he had nearly pulled the barrier down. "don't you dare do that again," warned tad. "i don't propose to have my work spoiled just to please your curiosity." "pshaw! wasn't the rope put there to fall over?" demanded the fat boy. "yes. of course, but--" "then, what are you growling about?" "oh, nothing," answered butler hopelessly. the professor shook his head as if argument were a sheer waste of time. it was quite late when the last of the boys turned in that night, for there was much to discuss, much to wonder at in the strange actions of the mountaineer who had ordered them from the ridge. during the talk chunky went to sleep by the fire. he was awakened suddenly when ned, who had gone to the spring for a cup of water, poured some of the almost ice-cold water into the fat boy's open shirt front at the neck. chunky leaped up, uttering a howl, and bowling over the professor who sat close beside him. for a few moments there was no end of excitement, which finally came to a finish when stacy started off for his bunk in high dudgeon. tad sat regarding the fat boy with twinkling eyes. tad had something in mind. mischief was brewing when that look appeared in his eyes. soon after that he turned in, followed immediately by the other members of the party. as the hours drew on, the campfire died down to a glowing heap of embers and coals, now and then starting into a sputter and a crackle as some charred piece of wood blazed up and burned briskly for a minute or two. inside a tent one boy lay with half closed eyes gazing thoughtfully at the fire. after a time he got up cautiously and peered out. being satisfied that all were asleep, he stole into the adjoining tent with a rope in his hand. soon afterwards he slipped out and entered another tent, after which he went back to his own tent. once more the camp settled down to silence. the fire burned lower and lower until the camp was almost in darkness. suddenly a figure all in white appeared at the entrance to the tent occupied by stacy brown. "'ware the black cat!" it said in a deep sepulchral voice. "'ware, 'ware the--" "wha-wha-wha-wha-what!" gasped stacy brown, sitting up suddenly, gazing wide-eyed at the apparition at the tent entrance. "'ware the black cat!" just then there was a flash and a report. a gun was fired. it seemed as if the flash and the report had come right out of the top of the head of the ghostly figure. with a wild yell of terror stacy brown leaped from his bunk. almost as soon as he rose, his feet were jerked violently from under him and he flattened out on the ground. "i'm shot, i'm shot!" he yelled, starting from the door. at about the same instant chops, who had sprung up at the first yell of alarm, also measured his length on the ground. his feet had gone out from under him much after the same manner as had chunky's. chops also plunged for the door, howling with terror. then a strange thing occurred. both the tent occupied by stacy brown and that used by the guide began performing strange antics. all at once both tents collapsed. walter perkins was under one of them. walter's howls were now added to the general din. chunky had managed to stagger outside. so had chops; but the tents, now down, kept bobbing as if imbued with life. "ghost! ghost!" yelled chunky. "yi-i-i-i--yah!" screamed the frightened guide. chops's yell was cut short by another fall. at the same instant stacy brown again went down. by this time the professor had charged upon the scene. so had ned rector. walter perkins and tad butler were crawling out from under their collapsed tent, walter frightened, tad laughing. professor zepplin, grasping his revolver, was glaring about for something at which to shoot. he saw only stacy brown and the guide performing strange antics. the professor threw some dry wood on the coals, then roared out a demand to know what had happened. "i'm shot again! i'm shot," bellowed the fat boy, making a spring for the professor's protection. stacy fell short by several feet, landing flat on his face on the ground. billy veal, who had started to run in an opposite direction, went down also. the camp was now in a great uproar. everybody was shouting and gesticulating. the professor excitedly stirred the fire, then danced from one side of the camp to the other. stacy and chops stumbled about, falling on their faces almost as fast as they could get up. the professor in his excitement backed over the rope that tad had strung about the camp earlier in the evening. he landed in a thorn bush, which, in view of the fact that he was clad only in his pajamas, did considerable execution to the professor's skin. nothing like this had ever occurred to interrupt a night's rest for the pony rider boys. "stop it!" roared the professor, when, after extricating himself from the thorn bush, he succeeded in grasping chunky by one shoulder. stacy was jerked from the grasp of the amazed professor as if he were at one end of a huge rubber band that had sprung back. how the fat boy did yell! almost at the beginning of the trouble a figure had darted from the camp and plunged over the guard rope. then, hastily scrambling to its feet, darted away into the shadows. the fire had now blazed up so that the camp showed plainly. chunky and the guide kept falling. the way their feet went out from under them caused the others to roar with laughter though they did not understand the cause at all. suddenly, ned rector let out a yell. "look! oh, look!" he howled. chapter xvi a mysterious night prowler professor zepplin, realizing that ned rector had made a discovery, began peering from one to the other of the pair who were indulging in such strange antics. "stop that nonsense, i say!" he commanded. "i--i can't," yelled stacy. "guide, come here! i demand that you cease this foolishness." "nassir, yassir." chops was willing to stop. he was willing to obey orders, and he did so as far as possible. the guide had started to walk toward the professor when suddenly he was jerked prone on his face. professor zepplin had observed something in the light of the campfire, however. he strode forward and threw himself upon the fallen chops, to the great delight of the pony rider boys. "hm-m-m! i see," observed the professor. "a rope tied to your ankle, eh?" "yassir, yassir." "stacy, are you tied by the ankle also?" demanded the professor. "yes, i'm hobbled for keeps," answered the fat boy. "i'd like to know who played this measly trick on me. am i tied to chops, professor?" "it would appear that you are. remove the rope. whose rope is that?" tad examined the line with which the two had been tied, with a grave face. "it is your rope, professor. surely, you didn't do anything like this?" questioned tad. the boys gazed at professor zepplin in well-feigned amazement. "oh, professor!" groaned ned. "is it possible that you are getting frisky? it's this mountain air. i am beginning to feel like a yearling colt myself." the professor looked his disgust. "you are mistaken, young man," he interrupted. "i know no more about it than do--" "than do i," finished ned. "that was what i was about to say, but i hardly think that would be correct. now if you gentlemen will be good enough to see what has happened to those tents, and put them back, we may be able to get a wink or so of sleep before morning." "surely, you don't think i would do a trick like that, professor?" demanded ned indignantly. "i am not saying. i am making no accusations, neither am i declaring any particular individual's innocence," was the stiff retort. "why don't you blame me, while you are about it?" grumbled stacy. "i can stand most anything now. i've been chased out of bed by a ghost, shot at by a spook, hauled out of bed by the ankles by a band of gnomes, and--" "well, what else?" urged tad. "thrown down by a bunch of veal." "awful, awful!" groaned ned. "positively the most sickening pun i ever heard. chops, did you see any spooks?" "nassir, yassir." "where?" "right dar, sah." "in front of your tent?" "nassir, yassir." "now, chops, what did this particular spook look like?" interjected the professor. "look awful, sah!" already tad butler was busy replacing the overturned tents. walter assisted in the operation. "say, tad, do you know who did this thing?" he inquired. "i could make an excellent guess," grinned butler. "do you know, i believe it was either the professor or ned." "better tell the professor what you think," suggested tad. "oh, i shouldn't dare to do that," protested walter. "we usually say what we think in this outfit. oh, professor!" "what is it, tad?" "did you know we had a visitor in this camp tonight?" "from the evidences at hand i should say we had had several of them." "i don't mean it in that way. i am not saying that the disturbance here tonight was caused by any outside agency. chunky is sure he saw a ghost. maybe he did. chops knows he saw a spook and i, too, saw something that disturbed me a little." "what do you mean?" demanded the professor, fixing a keen gaze on the face of tad butler. "there was a strange man in this camp tonight." "was--was he the ghost-man?" stammered chunky. "he may have been, though i doubt it." "was he the fellow who tied one end of the rope to my ankles and the other end to chops's ankles so that we would slide on our noses and skate on our wishbones when we tried to walk?" "no, i think not." "who did it, then?" "why, i thought you had decided that the ghost did it?" laughed tad. chunky regarded his companion solemnly. "tad butler, you're a fraud," whispered the fat boy. "what i won't do to you will be good and plenty. you're the ghost. you're the one who tied me to chops. you're the one who shot off the gun. you're the one who tore down the house that chops built. you're the--" "oh, that's plenty," answered tad with a laugh. "do you admit it?" "of course i don't." "do you deny it, then?" insisted the fat boy. "in the language of the guide, 'yassir, nassir.'" "i'm wise to you," declared stacy, after regarding his companion searchingly. "look out!" warned tad. "you are talking slang again." "i don't care. it takes strong language to fit this case." "now please explain your remark of a few moments ago, tad," requested professor zepplin. "i don't know that i can explain it," returned tad. "you saw something?" "yes, sir, i did." "what did you see?" "as i came out i saw a man dart out of the camp. he fell over the rope just to the right of the tree there at your back. perhaps we may be able to find his trail." taking a brand from the fire, tad stepped over to the spot he had indicated and holding the torch down near the ground nodded to his companions who had pressed up close to the rope. "the bushes certainly are broken down there," declared ned. "maybe that's where the professor tried to turn a somersault," suggested stacy. "what were you trying to do, professor?" chuckled ned. "we will leave that for future discussion," answered professor zepplin dryly. "someone surely has been floundering about here, that is a fact." "this is where i saw him fall," affirmed tad. "tad, what sort of person was he? how did he look?" questioned the professor. "i was unable to see. it was too dark here." "maybe it was the ghost," suggested stacy. "ghosts do not leave such a broad trail as this," answered tad. "one of them did tonight," answered the fat boy suggestively, whereat tad butler grinned. "i don't like this at all," mused the professor. "we must keep watch every night hereafter. have you any suspicion that the mysterious visitor played the trick on us?" "no, sir, he did not," replied tad soberly. the professor eyed tad reflectively, then asked no more questions along this line. tad, taking a fresh brand, followed the trail away from the camp, the others of the party bringing up the rear. tad was recognized as the best trailer among them, so the work of following this trail was left wholly to him. they had proceeded away from the camp in a southwesterly direction for a full quarter of a mile when tad halted. swinging his torch from one side to the other he finally fixed upon a certain spot. looking up at his companions he nodded. "here is the place," he declared enigmatically. "what place?" questioned chunky, crowding in. "the place where the visitor tethered his horse. and if you will look just to the left of ned rector, you will discover something else." the pony rider boys uttered exclamations of amazement. there a little to ned's left lay a battered sombrero. "somebody was here," breathed the professor. "yes!" cried tad. "i know who that somebody was, too," he shouted triumphantly, dropping down on his knees with face so close to the ground that chunky wanted to know if tad were going to eat grass. chapter xvii prospectors in the hills "no, i am not," answered tad, "but i am going to tell you who our late caller was. we have seen him before." "who--what?" cried the professor. "he was one of the two men who assaulted us yesterday." "are you sure, tad?" "yes, i'm pretty sure of it," answered butler, gazing at the ground reflectively. "but how do you know?" "one of the two ponies those men had, had a broken shoe on the off hind foot. the horse that was tethered here had a shoe that was broken, and the broken shoe was on the off hind foot also. as nearly as i can remember, the shoe was broken in exactly the same place that this one is. it seems to me like a pretty clear case against these fellows. what do you think, professor?" "indisputable evidence, i should say. you did not observe anything familiar about the man, you say?" "no, sir." "those rascals mean mischief. that is certain." "they can't do us any harm unless they try to take a pot shot at us when we aren't looking, which i hardly think they will do," ventured butler. "they aren't desperate enough. but i should like to know what the motive is underneath it all." "i can't help but think that in some way they are connected with griffin," asserted ned. "yes, that may be," agreed professor zepplin. "do you wish me to follow the trail, professor?" asked tad, glancing up. "no, i think not. it would be likely to prove a fruitless chase." "that is my opinion too." the party now slowly retraced its way to camp. in speculating about the greater mystery they appeared to have forgotten the recent ghostly disturbances in the camp, though it was pretty generally understood that the latter incidents were due to a prank of one of the boys. that one boy, as the reader already surmises, was tad butler. tad had evened his score with the fat boy for all the latter's pranks on him and the others, and stacy knew it. the fat boy was shrewd. he said no more about his fright, but tad observed that stacy frequently cast reproachful glances in his direction. tad remained on watch for the rest of the night. they made an early start on the following morning, and, as on the previous day's journeyings, they found rough going all the way, with great rocks towering high above them, cut here and there by frequent deep, gloomy canyons. about noon of this day as they were slowly riding through one of the rifts in the mountains, they pulled up sharply at a signal from tad. "what is it?" demanded the professor, realizing that butler had made a discovery. tad pointed ahead of them. the professor gazed in the direction indicated. "fog?" he asked. "i think not. it looks to me like smoke," answered the pony rider boy. "who, smoke griffin?" piped stacy in a loud voice. "no, just plain smoke. and if you please, don't speak so loudly," admonished tad. "hm-m-m. what would you suggest?" asked the professor. "i would suggest that we climb the side of the canyon," said chunky with emphasis. "on the contrary, we will go straight ahead," replied tad with a firm compression of the lips. "it may be our enemies who are waiting for us," suggested rector. "i hope it is," answered tad. "yes, so do i. i rather think i shall have something to say to those gentlemen when next i have an opportunity to speak with them," added professor zepplin grimly. tad touched his pony with the spur. the party moved on, no one speaking, each instinctively looking to his weapons, though they had little idea that they would have use for firearms. every face wore a serious expression, every boy was wondering what they should find at the source of the smoke. they came upon that source in a sharp bend of the canyon and brought up short. three men who had been sitting about a campfire cooking their dinner sprang up with hands on their revolvers, but which they did not draw from the holsters. tad and professor zepplin rode slowly forward, the men standing by the fire, gazing with suspicious eyes at the visitors. all three were strangers. none of the party of pony rider boys had ever seen the men before. "howdy!" greeted tad, swinging a hand in greeting. "good afternoon, gentlemen," said the professor. from a tent near the campfire a dog came out, barking furiously. "who are you?" demanded one, who acted as spokesman for the three men. "we are a party out for a trip, for pleasure as well as health," answered the professor. "known as the pony rider boys," added tad. "might we ask who you gentlemen are?" "my name's jim dunkan. that's sam ellison, and the other is tom royal. will you get off and have a snack with us?" "thank you. it is a pleasure to see a friendly face once more. we will accept your invitation if you will permit us to use our own supplies. perhaps you gentlemen have not had access to fresh supplies and need all you have," suggested the professor. "well, we are a little short, that's a fact, sir. introduce your party if you want to. if you don't, you don't have to," was the reply. "there is no reason why i should not. i am professor zepplin, in charge of the party. these young men are thaddeus butler, ned rector, walter perkins and stacy brown--" "otherwise known as the good thing of this outfit," added stacy solemnly. the mountaineers laughed at the fat boy's funny face. "glad to meet you, fellows," greeted the men, stepping forward and shaking hands cordially all round. "come far?" "we are all from missouri," answered tad laughingly. "then i reckon you'll have to be shown a few things," grinned dunkan. "we have been," answered stacy. the boys by this time had dismounted and were tethering their horses while the mountaineers looked on curiously. "you younkers 'pear mighty handy. guess you aren't tenderfeet," observed sam ellison. "not exactly, sir," answered butler. "we have been riding the mountains and plains for a few seasons." "do you gentlemen live in these parts?" asked the professor, seating himself by the fire. "no. we're up here prospecting." "ah! gold?" dunkan nodded briefly. "i discovered some indications of gold yesterday," announced the professor. the men were interested at once. they asked many questions which the professor answered freely. when they learned that he was a geologist, among his other accomplishments, the men thawed instantly. "maybe you wouldn't mind looking at some pay dirt for us?" questioned tom royal. "i should be glad to serve you in any way possible," replied the professor cordially. "have you struck anything yet?" "we don't know. we may have. of course we've found evidences, but whether it's real pay dirt or not we don't know." "yes, i came to the conclusion, after analyzing the rock i found, that gold could not be extracted from it in anything like paying quantities. are there many others in here on similar quests?" royal said no. "there are those here who, i reckon, have found some stuff, though," declared dunkan. "yes?" replied the professor, glancing at the speaker inquiringly. tad caught the significance of the remark and fixed his eyes on jim dunkan. "others, sir?" ventured tad. "chops, you get the dinner going at once," directed professor zepplin. "i think these gentlemen would like some bacon. we have an excellent blend of coffee, gentlemen. make a large pot, guide." "yassir," promised chops. "as i was saying," continued dunkan, "there are others here who appear to have struck it rich. that is, there's one, but i don't know how many more are behind him." "may i ask who the man is?" inquired the professor. "his name is jay stillman." the speaker frowned as he pronounced the name. "what sort of looking man is stillman?" asked tad. dunkan described the man, whereat tad and the professor exchanged significant looks. "do you know the critter?" demanded jim suspiciously. "we think we have seen him, sir," replied tad. "why?" "i reckon you aren't friends of his?" "far from it," declared the professor with emphasis. "if he is the man we think from your description, we should like an opportunity to turn him over to a sheriff." dunkan grinned broadly. "i reckon they're on the right side, fellows," he said, nodding to his companions. "what's he been doing to you?" "here is the dinner," answered the professor. "suppose we discuss that?" "right you are, pardner. say that coffee does smell good." "yes, i poured the water on it," stacy informed them. "you can stay here and pour water on our coffee all the time, if you want to," answered sam. "no, thank you. i am a lion hunter, not a coffee boy." "you get away with it in pretty good shape even if you're not a coffee boy," averred dunkan. "oh, there's a lot about stacy brown that you will learn before you have known him long," spoke up ned. "yes, i'm a mine of good things," admitted chunky as modestly as he could. "now about this man stillman?" suggested the professor. "yes, sir, we should like to know what his game is," said tad. "his game?" repeated jim. "yes, sir." "i didn't know he had any game in particular." "he tried to drive us back. he must have had a motive else he would not have done that," declared tad. "just pure meanness," answered dunkan. "he wants it all to himself. he doesn't want anybody else fooling around in the mountains here. he's taking up all the land he can get hold of, and i guess he reckons on getting a fortune out of it. why he had a man from the city up here the other day and the fellow told a man i know that there was gold enough in these hills to buy the earth." professor zepplin glared at the speaker. "very interesting, indeed. then you think he has no other motive in desiring to keep persons away from here?" "what other motive could he have?" "i am sure i do not know." "i will wager that there is another motive that you gentlemen do not know anything about," spoke up tad. "what makes you think that?" questioned ellison. "everything seems to point that way, and if he bothers us any more i shall make it my business to find out." the prospectors laughed good-naturedly. "you better let that job out. jay stillman isn't the man for boys to fool with," advised dunkan. professor zepplin bristled. "i guess you gentlemen do not know my young men." "i think i do," spoke up ellison. "they've got the look of the real stuff about them. can you shoot?" "well, some," admitted tad. "we can run, too," volunteered stacy. "especially when there's a ghost after you," sneered ned. "have you seen either of these men of late?" asked the professor. "sam saw stillman yesterday and told him to mosey out of this or we'd be finding out what he was doing around our diggings." "who is the other man who is with him?" "i don't know," answered dunkan. "why, that must have been joe batts," suggested ellison. "batts is about the worst ever. i wouldn't dare turn my back to him if he had any reason for wanting to get rid of me." "an excellent reputation, most excellent, you are giving these men," smiled the professor. "is he anything like his name?" piped chunky. "how's that?" "batty--like a bat, you know," explained stacy. professor zepplin admonished the fat boy with a stern glance, which chunky pretended not to see. "do they ever bother you here in your camp or at your work?" asked ned. "well, i reckon not," drawled dunkan. "in the daytime they are afraid of our guns. in the night the dog is looking after things here." "where do they live?" interrupted butler. "stillman has a shack near one of the smoky bald's gulches. he isn't there very much, i guess. i don't know where joe lives. i guess anywhere he can find a place soft enough to lie on," answered dunkan with a grin. "say, you folks better make camp here with us and kind of make this a headquarters, hadn't you?" "what do you say, boys?" questioned professor zepplin. "we might remain here until tomorrow," agreed tad. "mr. dunkan wants you to make some tests for him, he says." "all right, boys," agreed the professor. the lads sprang up and began opening their packs, and in a few moments their tents were being pitched, the miners watching them with interested gaze as the odd little tents went up. "well, doesn't that beat all?" wondered ellison. "i never saw anything quite like that outfit before. where'd you get them?" "mr. butler invented those tents," answered the professor proudly. "then mr. butler's all right," smiled the miner. chapter xviii the camp suffers a loss all the rest of the afternoon professor zepplin was absorbed in examining rocks, specimens of ore, and dirt. he was deep in consultation with dunkan and the others of the prospectors. "yes, there are strong indications here, but thus far i have found nothing that would pay," said the professor. "the sample you say you got from stillman gulch is the best of all. it is, i might say, most promising. is that where the other man claims to have found pay dirt?" "somewhere in that vicinity. we don't know the exact location." "are you trying to locate a vein of ore, too?" questioned the professor. "sure we are. it's anybody's gold. of course we don't follow him and spy on him. we aren't that kind of cattle. but we'll find it prospecting if we find it at all, and then you'll see music in these parts." "i understand there are gems in these mountains." "yes, they've been found. here's an amethyst i picked up a week ago." the professor, after examining the stone, became enthusiastic. he pronounced it an exceptionally fine specimen. "if, sir, you are able to pick up such stones as this on this ridge why do you waste your time in seeking for gold?" "that's just the trick, professor. we can't." "but surely they must be here. this one shows evidence of having been wrenched from its original resting place and hurled some distance." dunkan gazed at the professor reflectively. "by hickey, i believe you're right at that. it gives me a new idea. i'll go to that place and hunt until either i find something or i don't." "do so, by all means. those boys of mine will help you." "let them, but if they find anything it belongs to them. jim dunkan hasn't got any claim on anything in these hills unless he finds it for himself. we'll be getting back now." it was a jolly evening spent around the campfire of the prospectors. stories were told, chops was induced to sing a song, the boys related interesting stories of their experiences on their various journeys, then all hands turned in well satisfied with their day and their evening. the pony rider boys slept soundly. but late in the night there came an interruption--a rush of the prospectors' collie dog. the animal, tied to a tree, began to bark and strain at its leash. just before the men turned out to see what the trouble was, the collie broke its leash and dashed away into the bushes, barking furiously. they heard the animal snarling. a yelp followed, then a chorus of explosive barks. the dog's barking ceased suddenly. "i reckon he's chasing some animal," said dunkan. "it didn't sound like that to me," replied tad, still listening intently. "of course you know the dog better than do i. does he bark at every sound?" "pretty near," grinned sam. "yes, he usually wakes us up once a night, sometimes more," added tom royal. "reckon we might as well go back to bed." jim whistled for the dog. he kept whistling for several minutes, then turned back toward their tent disgustedly. "he's got on the trail of something and gone beyond sound," he muttered. "he'll be back here in the morning." "i hope so," muttered tad. "see here, you've got something in your mind, younker!" demanded dunkan. "nothing except that i don't believe your collie was chasing an animal. i know a dog's bark well enough to know when he's on the trail of an animal. that bark and growl wasn't like any animal-chasing growl i ever heard." "all right, sonny, we'll see who's right," smiled jim, turning to his tent. "night." "good-night," answered butler. "he will see whether i am right or not in the morning. i am going to find out something for myself in the morning, too. i don't believe those men are very good mountaineers, though they may be most excellent prospectors." tad went to sleep and slept soundly until break of day when he was up and about. dunkan's first inquiry upon getting up, was as to whether the collie had returned. the collie had not. the broken rope with which he had been tethered before breaking away still hung from the stake. "well, kid, i reckon you were right about the dog's not coming back," announced dunkan, his face troubled and anxious. "i didn't say he would not come back, did i? what i tried to tell you, was that he wasn't chasing an animal." "well, he was. if he hadn't been, he'd been back in this camp hours ago. he's got mixed up in his trail, but i reckon he'll be along when he gets ready. i'm not going to worry about the dog, though i'd rather lose anything i've got than to lose him." "you're wrong all around, mr. dunkan," asserted tad confidently. "you think so?" "i know so." "how d'ye know?" "because if you will look out yonder in the bushes you will find the trail of the man he was following," replied tad gravely. tad's calm announcement startled everyone in camp. even chops paused with frying pan held aloft to listen to the further words of the keen-eyed pony rider boy. "what's that you say?" demanded sam ellison. "your dog chased a man away from here last night." "how--how do you know?" stammered jim. "because i saw the trail this morning." "where?" "right there. it begins with the dog's tracks, which, after a little way, are mixed up with that of the man he was after." dunkan eyed tad keenly to see if the boy was joking. tad butler most certainly was not joking. he had never been more serious in his life. "show it to me," commanded dunkan. the prospector's voice was calm, but there was a menace in it. without a word tad led the way to the edge of the camp ground, where he pointed to the footprints of the dog, faintly discernible on the soft turf. tad kept right on until he had gone some ten rods from the camp, whereupon he halted and pointed again. "what do you make of that, mr. dunkan?" he asked. "man's tracks, as i'm alive," muttered the prospector, after a careful examination of the trail as indicated by tad. "yes, and the man had been standing here for some time. if you will look a little farther you will find that he started to walk away, then broke into a run. the dog was pressing him rather too closely for comfort. at this point the dog began running faster than before. i know that because from this point the collie left only the faintest footprints, showing that he was barely touching the ground with his feet." chapter xix butler makes a discovery "well, if that doesn't beat all!" marveled royal. "it certainly does," agreed ellison. "yes, but that isn't finding the dog," growled dunkan. "boys, we've got to find that collie, and what's more, we've got to find the man he was chasing. the fellow probably took the dog with him. he must have wanted a pup mighty bad to take those chances to get one." "do--do they hang dog thieves down in this country?" questioned stacy apprehensively. "we aren't saying what we'll do," observed dunkan. "you've got to find the dog first," nodded stacy. "you're right, young man. get your guns, fellows. we'll follow this trail right smart." "i do not think it will be of any use," tad informed them. "why won't it? don't you think we know how to run a trail?" "i haven't the least doubt of it," answered tad with a smile. "then what's the matter with you?" demanded dunkan almost savagely. "oh, there's nothing the matter with me. i am trying to help you, that's all." "shake, pard. i didn't mean to be edgewise with you. i'm mad plumb through over that dog business. you're the smartest youngster i've ever come up with and i'll take off my hat to you when i get it on again." "here, i'll lend you mine," offered stacy, reaching his own sombrero toward the prospector. "i shake my own bonnet, not the other fellow's," grinned jim. the others laughed at the fat boy's drollery. "why do you say there is no need to follow the trail, tad?" spoke up professor zepplin at this juncture. "for the good reason that there is no trail to follow," was tad's brief reply. the party did not understand what he meant by that, and dunkan asked him to explain. "i have run the trail out," announced butler. "some twenty rods from here the trail practically ends." "how can that be?" interjected sam. "it is all hard rocks there for some distance and not a tree, hardly a shrub. the fellow went straight up the rocks. i know this because he trampled down a berry vine when he climbed up the rocks. that is the end of the trail. he may have gone in any direction from that point. i followed out several leads, but they came to nothing. i am sure that i should be able to pick up the trail somewhere were i to spend enough time at it. i will try it after breakfast if you want me to. breakfast is getting cold. we'd better get back." "shake, pard," exclaimed dunkan, extending an impulsive hand. "you're the real thing. nothing make-believe about you. the way you've puzzled out this trail business beats me. i'm pretty fair at it myself, but i'm not even a pussy-willow shadow to you." "did you hear about the three-legged rat and our black cat?" bubbled stacy. "no, i didn't. it isn't rats and cats, but dogs, in which we're interested at the present minute. we'll go back for some chuck. in the meantime we'll chew over it," said dunkan. "over the chuck?" asked stacy. "i reckon," grinned the prospector. "and the dog, too." "i'm no chinaman," objected the fat boy. "very strange, very strange," declared the professor, glaring from one to another of them. "a friend of mine lost a valuable pomeranian in a somewhat similar manner a year ago and--" "i ate a whole one of those once," chuckled chunky. "you ate a whole pomeranian?" questioned tad. "yes, yes," bubbled the fat boy. "and i had a stomach-ache for a week afterwards." "professor, stacy says he ate a whole pomeranian once," jeered tad. "what, what's that?" bristled the professor. "i did," insisted chunky. "what, you ate a pomeranian dog?" cried the horrified walter perkins. "a dog?" shouted stacy. "yes, a pomeranian's a dog, you boob," replied tad, shaking with laughter. "a dog? oh, i thought you were talking about a cheese." prospectors and pony rider boys joined in a roar at the expense of the fat boy. professor zepplin's eyes twinkled, but his face was stern. he enjoyed the jokes of his boys fully as much as did they, and this whether the joke was at his expense or at the expense of another. "but what do you make of this disappearance of the collie, mr. dunkan?" asked the professor when they were well started with the breakfast. "i don't make anything out of it." "is it possible that the dog continued to follow the man?" "yes, it might be, but he'd caught the fellow before he got to the ledge that butler told us about. that dog is a streak of greased electricity when he gets headed for anything." "that's the way chunky goes to his meals," nodded rector. "i notice i'm usually about ten paces behind you," retorted the fat boy. "you men go on with your work after breakfast. i am going to fall to the trail, as the rocky mountain guides express it," announced tad. breakfast having been finished, the work of clearing away was left to the guide. tad asked ned to accompany him. ned was hardy and almost as expert on trail work as was butler himself, though with tad such work was more second nature than was the case with the other boy. "don't worry if we don't get back in time for luncheon," said tad. "we have some biscuit in our pockets, and if we don't get back before night, why we will just camp out." "you must return before night," ordered the professor. "i want you here when night comes." "we will do our best. we shall probably return before noon, but if we do not, remember that we are all right." "if you find that dog--well, never mind," said dunkan. "i'll promise to do something handsome for both of you." the boys with their ropes slung over their shoulders, their revolvers in the holsters, strode out of camp waving good-bye to their fellows. they were soon lost sight of. "fine boys," averred ellison. "great," agreed royal. "the best ever," finished dunkan. "what about me?" demanded chunky. "well, i reckon that any fellow who can eat a pomeranian and get off with nothing more serious than a stomach-ache is copper-lined and brass-riveted," answered dunkan. the men soon went about their prospecting work, professor zepplin accompanying jim dunkan, walter going out with the other two men, while chunky remained at camp with chops. the fat boy decided that he could have more fun teasing the guide and sleeping between times than he could in climbing over the rocks on foot. he could ride all day, but a walk of a mile made him weary. tad and ned, in the meantime, had started out on the trail of the dog and the man, which they had again picked up at the very edge of the camp. reaching the rocks where the trail had been lost the boys sat down to take a survey of the landscape. "i think," said butler, after a few moments of study, "that a person climbing up this way would naturally head for that cut yonder. how far is that from here?" "a half mile, i should say." "yes, that is my idea. the course to the cut would seem to be the easiest. naturally the fellow would have taken the easiest route, because he was in a hurry to get away." "but what became of the dog?" "can't you guess, ned?" "i might guess a good many things. but they might be a long way from the truth." "does this tell you anything?" asked butler, pointing to a discolored spot on the rock near where they were seated. "blood!" gasped ned. tad nodded. "he hurt the dog here. it is my opinion that he hid behind this boulder and when the dog leaped up to the slippery rocks, the man struck him with a club. it was very foxy." "gracious, but you have eyes and some other sense that i don't seem to know much about," declared rector admiringly. "it is just horse sense, that's all, ned. a fellow doesn't have to be of the steel-trap variety. all he has to do to find out things is to think a little and use his powers of observation." "but--but, where is the dog?" begged ned, still more perplexed now that tad had pointed out a real clew. "oh, the fellow carried him off so as to get him out of sight. if the dog had been left here dead, that, he knew, would anger the men so that they would get right out on the trail. if the dog were carried away they might think the animal had got lost or fallen off a cliff, or something of the sort." "more horse sense," answered rector with a grin. "yes, that's all it is. and now if you will come with me i'll wager that i show you the dog," added tad, scanning the landscape critically. "all right. i shan't be surprised at anything you show me or tell me after this. i am stricken dumb with amazement and wonder. oh, i am a thick one." "it's well you admit it, ned," answered butler laughingly. "do you admit your failings?" snapped rector. "always, when i am accused by my friends." "then i have nothing more to say." tad had scrambled to his feet. ned followed his lead, and together they began climbing the steep side of the mountain, bearing off to the right towards a gap in the ridge, rather than climbing straight towards the top. all the time butler was keeping a sharp lookout for trail marks, but he found nothing that would aid him in his quest. he was positive that the collie had been killed by the prowler whom he had scared away from the camp on the previous night. "who do you think it was, tad?" questioned the other boy after a long, hard climb. "if i were to guess i should say it was the same old trouble-maker, stillman, or batts, his assistant, or companion-in-crime, whichever you may wish to call it." "well, i must say those fellows are bold." "they probably have a good deal at stake," answered tad. "what do you mean by that?" "that there is crooked business of some kind going on up on this ridge. i don't suppose it is any of our affair, except possibly as it interferes with us and our rights." "we've a large-sized bone to pick with the man anyway." "we have," agreed tad. "here is a ledge that we can walk on. keep a sharp eye down in the gulch below and look out that you don't fall. shall i pass the rope around you?" "no. what do you think i am, a baby? i don't get dizzy so easily as all that." "you're not like mrs. snedeker--you know mrs. snedeker in chillicothe?" "yes." "she refused to go around the world with her husband because she said it made her dizzy and sick to travel in a circle." ned grunted. "if stacy had told that story i shouldn't have been surprised, but i am amazed at you, tad." "all right, we'll let it go at that. what do you see down there?" "nothing but air and the bottom." "then i have sharper eyes than you," chuckled tad. "back up a little. there. now look about six feet to the left of that rock with the twin peaks. see anything?" "not a thing." "where are you looking?" rector pointed a finger, tad glancing over it. "you are looking six feet to the right of the twin peaks. i said you should look about six feet to the left of the peaks." "oh!" "now what do you see?" "good gracious you don't mean--" tad nodded triumphantly. "it's the collie!" whispered ned in an awed voice. "i think so. we can't be sure until we climb down and see for sure whether it is or not." "well, if this doesn't beat anything i ever heard of," muttered ned. chapter xx a mysterious proceeding tad had already started back along the ledge which opened into the gulch just before they reached the gap mentioned in the preceding chapter. a short distance to the rear the rocks sloped down into the gulch with a gradual fall. it was down this rugged place that tad began to climb, followed closely by ned rector. [illustration: tad was followed closely by ned rector.] the boys were too busy with their climb to do much talking on the way down, and had they not been thoroughly seasoned they would have been obliged to stop for breath more than once, even if the way was down hill. "whew! that was some climb, wasn't it?" exclaimed rector when finally they reached the bottom. tad ran forward. some ten rods up the gulch he halted, pointing to a crushed heap on the ground. "there's the poor collie, ned." "the fiends! they threw him over, didn't they?" tad nodded, thoughtfully. the two boys found that the dog bore a severe wound on its head, where tad believed it had been struck with a heavy club or the butt of a gun. there was no way of determining this to a certainty. but tad pointed out something to his companion in support of his theory which again proved that the pony rider boy possessed a keen mind for reasoning out things. "you will remember that the dog was running south when he was struck on the rock where we found the blood?" ned agreed with a nod. "and that i said the man struck the dog from behind the rock on the left-hand side of the trail?" "yes." "if you will examine the collie's head you will see that the wound extends from the top down the left side of the head, indicating that the person who dispatched him was also on that side. doesn't that prove it?" rector gasped. "say, tad, i'll run in a minute if you don't quit. you give me the creeps up and down my back. you're spooky. i'm glad chunky isn't here. he'd have run long ago. what shall we do, leave the dog here?" "why, yes, i don't think it will be worth while to carry him back to camp," decided tad. "then we'll give the faithful old fellow a decent burial and heap some rocks over him so the animals don't get at him. if mr. dunkan wants him we can tell him where to find the collie." the boys, choosing a hollow in the ground for the burial, heaped dirt, stones and rubbish over the dead dog. having completed this, tad started for the long climb back. the climb was somewhat different from the downward journey. it was grilling work going up that mountainside, and there were black and blue marks on the bodies of both boys when they reached the top. ned's hands were skinned in spots and his temper had suffered proportionately. "never again!" he exclaimed with a resentful look at tad. "i might have known better than to follow you." "you ought to feel complimented that i asked you to accompany me." "ha, ha! as chunky would say. what an excellent opinion we have of ourselves, eh?" "you know better than that, ned rector. you know i'm not the least little bit conceited. i never could see any reason why a human being should feel that he was any better or any smarter than any other average person. take my word for it, the conceited fellow gets his bumps sooner or later." "like chunky, for instance?" suggested ned. "no, i don't mean that kind. chunky doesn't mean half of what he says. he likes to make conversation and make fun, but he's a good fellow and smarter than most people give him credit for being." "i know that. i'd eat my hat for the fat little rascal, but i've got to have my fun with him. now what?" "maybe some more climbing. use your eyes again. we are following a trail now." so far as either lad could observe there was no real trail to follow. it was rock, rock everywhere they went. all the time they were getting farther and farther away from the camp. after an hour of toil over the rocky trail they came out into a brush-covered plateau. tad now got to work in earnest. it was but a few moments later when he announced that he had found a trail, but whether this was the particular trail for which they were in search he did not know. it was a trail and he proposed to follow it out until either it led them to something definite or came to a blind ending. the trail proved to be more fruitful than the boys had hoped. half to three-quarters of a mile farther on they were startled by the report of a gun. "someone firing a shotgun," said tad. "yes, it does sound that way," answered ned. "we will head for it. funny thing to be using up here. these people ordinarily use rifles. where did you think the sound came from?" "over there." ned pointed off to the right. "i shouldn't be surprised if it were in the gulch we have just left." "farther to the west then." the boys started to hunt out the man with the gun. they moved along with extreme caution now, not wishing to receive a charge of buckshot, nor were they courting discovery, for other good and sufficient reasons. "there it goes again," exclaimed ned. all at once they caught sight of a man half way down the side of the gulch. a gun was standing against a tree near by, while the man was scraping the ground with a stick. "what is he doing?" whispered ned as the boys, crouching down, eyed him inquiringly. "i don't know." after a little the man, whom they now recognized as their old enemy, jay stillman, took up his gun, reloaded it, and then began walking about the place as if selecting a particular spot for further operations. to the amazement of the boys stillman thrust the muzzle of the gun down to within two feet of the ground, then fired the charge into the earth. a second barrel was fired in a similar manner. "for goodness' sake, what is he trying to do?" whispered ned. "i don't know, unless he has gone crazy," answered tad. "shooting charges into the ground is new business to me. i'll warrant he is up to some monkeyshine, though." "maybe he thinks he can hit a heathen on the other side of the world," suggested ned. "he's going to shoot again," tad announced. two loud bangs gave evidence that stillman had done it again. he continued these same tactics, covering quite an area of ground, his operations lasting until long after midday. all this time the two pony rider boys were creeping along at a safe distance behind the mountaineer, watching his every movement. finally, leaving his gun, he began working among the rocks. what he was doing the lads were unable to make out, and they were more puzzled over these peculiar actions than they ever had been in their lives. late in the afternoon stillman shouldered his double-barrelled gun and started off toward the southwest. the boys promptly secreted themselves, because it looked as though the man were going to pass near them. he did so, though all unconscious of their presence. "are you going down there to see what he has been doing?" whispered ned. "no, i'm going to follow him. we know where that place is. it can't get away, but he can." this being good reasoning rector had nothing more to say. stillman had swung off at a mountaineer's stride, a pace so rapid that he soon outdistanced the two lads, making it necessary for them to run to catch up with him. this running nearly proved their undoing. suddenly they came in sight of the man. he was standing on a rise of ground, apparently listening, but looking off to the left. the boys dropped instantly, lying flat on the ground until they saw stillman shoulder his gun and start on again. "he must have heard us," whispered tad. "we must be cautious. we know him to be a bad man and we know he is up to some crooked business. i wish i knew just what it is. probably he's going to his shack." "i see it!" exclaimed ned. "yes, there's the roof of a building and a chimney. i reckon we're getting near our friend's roosting place. this is fine. you see what a little patience does for one. now go carefully." making a wide detour the boys came up to one side of the building that they had discovered. stillman was nowhere in sight. it was reasonable to suppose that he had entered the building. the structure was built up of small logs, the cracks being chinked with what looked to be red mud, and a broad chimney extended some six feet above the low roof, built high to give the fire below more draft. all about the place was a dense growth of bushes, with occasional paths intersecting the plot. "i wish we could get a look inside that place," muttered tad. "not going to try it, are you?" "no, not now. not while he is in there. i wish he would go away." "no such luck," complained rector. almost ere the words were out of his mouth jay stillman stepped out from the cabin. this time he carried a rifle under his arm. he stood at the doorway of the cabin for some moments as if thinking. after a time he started down a well-beaten path that led him within a rod of where the two boys were in hiding. they scarcely breathed as he strode past them. tad was up soon after on the mountaineer's trail. the boys did not have far to go. stillman's horse was tethered in a glade a short distance from there. the man quickly saddled and bridled his mount; then, leaping into the saddle, he galloped away to the eastward. tad started on a run, to keep the man in sight as long as possible, and further to make sure that stillman really was going away. "he's gone. now for his cabin!" cried tad. "i do hope there's no one there. perhaps we may be able to discover something." turning toward the log cabin, still on a dog-trot, the boys headed towards more trouble and a most exciting experience in the cabin of the mountaineer. chapter xxi trapped in a mountain cabin as they neared the cabin they proceeded with more caution. they did not know if there were others in the building, though tad did not believe such to be the case. at the rear of the place bushes grew close to the side of the building, so the boys chose this way of approaching the cabin. "this is a pretty serious thing, intruding upon a man's home," whispered tad. "but i think we are justified in doing so." they had reached the building. tad placed an ear against the side, but not a sound could he catch from within. "i don't believe there is anyone at home," remarked the lad quietly. "i'm going to take a peep." creeping along one side of the cabin he reached a window and attempted to peer in. a sheet of brown wrapping paper had been secured over the window so as to shut off all view from the outside. but tad, not yet at the end of his resources, decided upon a bold move. first making sure that no one was about, the lad walked boldly around to the front, nodding to his companion to follow. tad rapped on the door. there was no reply. he knocked harder. under his heavy raps the door swung open a little way, butler at the same time stepping back. he thought someone had opened the door, but quickly saw that he had done that himself. the boy pushed the door wide open, gazed in through the opening, then stepped in. it was not an uncommon thing in the mountains for a traveler to enter another's cabin. both boys knew that. had they not done the same thing in the rockies, and had not mountaineers helped themselves to the camp of the pony rider boys on more than one occasion? nothing ever had been thought of it, but somehow tad butler felt some misgivings about his present undertaking. he stepped in, glancing about him inquiringly. there was little to distinguish stillman's home from other mountain cabins they had visited. the shotgun that they had seen the man use was hanging on the wall. the dishes from breakfast were still on the bare deal table, as was a lamp with a smoked chimney. chunks of rock were heaped in a corner. the fireplace was a huge affair. it was built of rough rocks, laid up almost like a staircase, extending half way across the end of the cabin. in one corner was a heap of logs sawed to length, together with a great pile of dry kindling wood. stillman was well prepared for wet or winter weather, though there were not enough blankets in sight to protect a man in very cold weather. a bed of boughs served for a sleeping place. tad stooped over and pried up a loose board in the floor. he found there, in a small hole that had been excavated, another heap of rocks similar to those found in the cabin itself. "it is my opinion that these are samples of ore," reflected the boy. "do you know, i believe it is some shrewd game along this line that stillman is playing." the boys examined the place for the better part of an hour, finally sitting down to discuss what they had discovered and trying to get at the real secret of their discoveries. all at once they realized that the day was drawing to a close. the sun had gone down some time since. twilight fell suddenly. they also realized that they were hungry and that it was high time they were starting back to camp, which they would not now be able to reach until long after dark. tad reasoned that they were a good three miles or more from the camp. the others surely would be worrying about them. "they'll have a fine time finding us if they start to look for us," jeered ned. "yes, i reckon they will," answered butler with a broad grin. "they never would look for us in this place. let's be off. first thing we know, we won't know--" tad paused sharply, bending his head in a listening attitude. all at once he sprang to the door, and opening it a crack peered out. he closed the door softly and bounded back, a worried look on his face. "what is it?" whispered ned. "someone is coming." "hurry! run for it, then!" urged ned. "too late. he is almost here." ned groaned. "the fireplace," cried tad in a low, tense voice. "climb up! there's plenty of room. get up as far as you can. this is a fine fix we have got into. be quiet and have your nerve with you. go on!" tad gave his companion a push towards the broad fireplace. rector made a leap for it, and peered up into the dark chimney. "go on, go on!" urged tad, giving rector another push. ned disappeared up the chimney, and tad squirmed in under the arch and was up, following his companion with the agility of a squirrel. butler had barely drawn his feet up when he heard the door of the cabin open and close with a slam. the intruder put his gun down with a bump plainly heard by both boys. a moment later a faint light was seen below them. the newcomer had lighted the lamp. the boys had been up the chimney but a few moments when they heard the man go to the door where, after listening briefly, he uttered a whistle. an answering whistle, sounding far away to the boys up there, came almost instantly. then a few minutes later a second man came tramping into the cabin. "you're late, joe," announced a voice that the lads recognized as belonging to jay stillman. "yes, i couldn't get away from beach." "that's joe batts," muttered tad. "a precious pair of rascals, as we shall find out if we are discovered." "is he going to bring the other man out soon?" "yes. he and beach will be along in the morning." "think beach is on the level?" "no, of course he isn't. but he doesn't dare play foxy with us. besides, it's money in his pocket to play square. he doesn't know where the plant is." "what's the matter with his having a plant of his own?" batts laughed. "i reckon he doesn't know enough about the game to try that," he answered with a harsh laugh. "he'd better not," growled stillman. "got everything fixed?" "yes. i planted a new patch of yellow daisies this afternoon," answered jay, whereat a series of chuckles drifted up the chimney, causing tad to wonder what the men meant by "yellow daisies." there seemed no explanation of the term. "i'm going to sneeze," whispered rector. "don't you dare," commanded tad in alarm. "i've breathed in enough soot to clog a smoke stack." "hold your nose." "seen anything of that pony rider outfit?" asked stillman. "they've connected with dunkan's crowd," replied joe batts. "they have? i tell you we made a mistake in letting them get in so close. they've got to be driven out. we have too much at stake. first, here is the claim we salted down today, then there is the other thing. between the two we are in to make a big fortune. i'm to meet bates the day after tomorrow and get our pay for the work we are doing up at the other place." "about that pony crowd, and the other bunch. we've got to get rid of them and right smart. they are too nosey," declared batts. "what are we going to do, shoot them down and get strung up for it? not for mine. we'll put them out of business in some other way. i would have done it last night, but--" "but what?" questioned batts. "i opened the way. i got that critter all right." "the dog?" "yes." "they'll raise a row about that," warned batts. "no they won't. they'll think he fell over. oh, i looked after that all right. there's only one thing to be done, get our money for the claim we salted, and the wad for the other work we are doing, and clear out." "what about hans?" "i ain't bothering about him. let him fight his own battles. we have played this game for several months now and have a tidy sum put away where it will be safe. first thing we know the government will get wise, and then it will be all up with us for the next twenty years if not worse." "got anything for hans tonight?" questioned batts. "yes. i'm going to take it over to him later. he doesn't have to send it out until midnight. tomorrow night smoky griffin won't be in until one o'clock with the stuff. it's coming in another way, but the critters won't get wise to it, even if they have doped out the other system, which there's evidence that they are on track of. those pony boys have got to be run out of these mountains before we do anything else, and they've got to go right away." "that's easy," declared batts confidently. stillman shoved back his chair, and, gathering a bundle of dry wood, placed it in the fireplace, first having stuffed an old newspaper in. tad groaned inwardly. he knew what was coming. stillman touched a match to the heap in the fireplace. a faint crackling sound was borne to the ears of the two pony rider boys, and a wave of heat rolled up to them. "oh, help! this settles it!" moaned ned rector. then came a cloud of white, suffocating smoke. ned let go a terrific sneeze. the sneeze jolted him loose, his feet slipped from the ledge, and he went sliding down on top of his companion, uttering a yell as he felt tad giving way beneath him. chapter xxii pony rider boys in the stew jay stillman, after starting the fire, had suspended a kettle from a crane, having first half filled the kettle with a stew that he proposed to warm over for their evening meal. fortunately for the two lads who were sliding down the chimney the stew had not yet become hot enough to do any damage to a boy's skin. on the other hand, the smoke in a dense, suffocating cloud was pouring up the chimney. as the yell in the chimney reached the ears of the two men sitting by the table they gazed at each other in amazement. quick-witted as they were, the true significance did not occur to them. pieces of stone, soot, the accumulation of years, were dropping into the fire. then came a solid body. tad butler hit the fire first. he smashed into it, carrying kettle and crane down with him. fire, burning brands and sparks belched out into the room as though an explosion had occurred in the big fireplace. tad with quick instinct was struggling to get out of the way of his falling companion, when ned rector landed on him full force. tad humped himself, and ned went sprawling out on the hearth. butler did not lose his presence of mind for a second. in fact tad had formed his plans, so far as it was possible to form them, before he reached the fire. uttering a yell, calculated to strike terror to one who heard it, tad rolled out on the hearth, his clothes ablaze and his hair almost singed off. the mountaineers still sat in their chairs, lower jaws hanging, eyes bulging. without waiting for the men to recover from their surprise, tad gave a couple of quick rolls. the rolls served to put out some of the fire in his clothes as well as to bring him nearer to the object towards which he was rolling. the boy's feet came up with great force, and the deal table standing between the two mountaineers rose up into the air, dishes, lamp and all. ned uttered a howl, a series of howls. blood-curdling howls they were, too. he had caught tad's purpose and was aiding it with all his might. the lamp, dishes and all went over with a crash. the two men in trying to get out of the way of the flying dishes and lamp both toppled over backward, landing on their backs on the floor. of course the lamp exploded with a dull "pouff"! "the door!" tad commanded sharply. "run low!" ned scrambled to all fours and made for the door dog-fashion. by this time stillman and batts had sprung to their feet and drawn their revolvers. "shoot! shoot!" yelled jay. "my gun's stuck," howled batts. "bang, bang, bang!" three shots were fired in quick succession from the pistol of jay stillman. two of them bored holes in the door casing just above ned rector's head. the third shot went out through the open door. tad was still in the room, but crawling toward the door with all speed. the light from the burning oil now flared up, revealing his presence. stillman let go two quick shots at the boy. one bullet grazed tad's head. he remembered afterward that it felt hot, like the heat in the fireplace when he fell into the stew. batts at this juncture jerked his weapon from its holster, but the pistol slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. "oh, you fool!" roared stillman. tad plunged out through the open door, landing on his face in the dirt. "jump to one side!" he commanded sharply. ned, taking the hint, gave a leap to the right, and just in time, for he was standing directly in front of the open door, through which two revolver bullets were fired almost at the instant of his leap. tad had crawled to the left. "run!" he called. ned did run until butler called a halt a few rods from the cabin. tad grasped the arm of his companion the instant he reached him, then led the boy back toward the cabin. "where, where you going?" gasped tad. "to see what is going on back there. are you hurt?" "i'm near dead," groaned rector. "i haven't any skin left except what is hanging in shreds. oh, what an awful experience. i'll bet you are a sight, too." the boys were creeping nearer the cabin. they found the two men inside stamping out the fire on which they had thrown blankets from the bunks. stillman dashed out of doors as soon as he had extinguished the fire. in his hand was his rifle. in the meantime batts had procured another lamp and shortly afterwards had lighted and placed it on the table. stillman remained outside, crouching by the doorway listening, with rifle ready to take a shot at the slightest sound. at that moment tad butler and ned rector were lying less than ten feet from the crouching figure of the mountaineer. they dared hardly breathe. "what do you make of it, jay?" asked the other man, thrusting his head out close to the watching mountaineer. "funny business." "where are they?" "i wish i knew. i'd kill them on sight." "you--you don't think it was one of the outfit down in the gulch, do you?" asked batts. "i reckon not. still, it might have been. we'll get supper and i'll go down there and find out," decided stillman with emphasis. "if i see any signs of a fellow who has been in a fire i'll plug him sure as my name's stillman," raged the mountaineer. "look out, joe!" warned batts. "they may still be touchy about the pup and have a weather eye open." "they won't catch me, now that i'm on my guard." stillman entered the cabin, slamming the door behind him. "somebody ought to keep watch," suggested batts. "you go out. i'll fix up the wreck. no; take your own gun. i want mine where i can get hold of it. i overshot, too. did you get wise to the foxiness of those fellows? run out on all fours so we'd shoot over them. foxy, foxy! that wasn't no tenderfoot trick." batts picked up his rifle and started for the door. "skip!" whispered tad. "run for it, but don't make a sound unless you want to stop a bullet." ned rector needed no urging. by the time batts had reached the threshold of the door the boys were well down the path. even then the keen-eared mountaineer heard them, and sent a bullet in their direction, but the bullet sailed far above the heads of the boys. tad changed his course somewhat, as the fellow had their range a little too closely to suit young butler. "i guess that's all," decided ned. "don't be too sure of it. they may be following us, so we must be cautious." "what do you mean?" demanded ned. "i mean that i am going to follow those fellows. there surely is something big on foot. i think i know what it is, and if i am right we shall have done the biggest piece of work of our lives." ned rector groaned. chapter xxiii the mystery of smoky bald an hour passed before the boys discovered any sign of life about the cabin. the hoot of an owl somewhere off to their right brought stillman to the door of the cabin. two quick hoots from stillman elicited an answering one from the brush. then a man stepped into the clearing. "smoky griffin," breathed tad. "i was certain that he was in this deal, whatever it may be. there! see! he is giving stillman something. those fellows surely are bold. how do they know but we are still hanging around here?" tad crept away and was soon pressing his ear close to the window over which the brown paper was stretched. while he could hear the voices of the three men in there, he was unable to make out a word of what they were saying. half an hour later smoky left the cabin. he was shortly followed by joe batts and stillman, who plainly were trailing smoky. something was doing in a very few minutes. stillman and batts had emerged from the cabin so cautiously that none but sharp eyes could have detected their exit. the men separated and cautiously worked their way around the cabin, all the time enlarging their circle of observation, until they had penetrated far into the shrubbery. apparently having satisfied themselves that there were no prowlers about, they joined and started off to the northward, plainly following a well-established trail. "they are off. come on," whispered tad with a trace of excitement in his voice. the mountaineers strode rapidly along, apparently without thought that they might be followed. nevertheless tad used every caution, though he was obliged to travel rapidly to keep up with the men. "look there!" whispered tad, crouching low. the mountaineers had suddenly halted. in the near distance butler discovered, faintly outlined, a cabin. just then one of the men placed his hands to his lips and uttered a long-drawn cry that sounded like the call of a night bird. a light flashed up. it seemed to be high up near the tops of the trees. the light was more like an electric flash than that from an ordinary lamp. "hark! hear that!" exclaimed ned. "a gasoline motor. this is strange," muttered butler. stillman and batts strode to the cabin and after a few moments were admitted. tad and ned crept up closer. they dared not go all the way to the mountain cabin until after they had assured themselves that there were no traps for them to fall into. it had seemed a little too easy for tad thus far. "ah!" he exclaimed suddenly, after having stretched out his hand to feel his way ahead. "what is it?" demanded rector. "a wire, and it's charged. not very heavy, but it stung me. ned, i'll wager that this wire extends all the way around this cabin. you see it is only about a foot from the ground so that a person not knowing it was here would trip over it and probably give the alarm to the occupants of the cabin. this begins to look interesting." "oh, tad, look!" "sh-h-h-h! not so loud, ned. you surely will get us into trouble." "but look up there near the tree tops. what is it? more signals?" "yes, but not what you think," whispered tad. a faint crackling sound was borne to their ears, little crinkly darts of electricity shooting out from a point up there in the air. "i--i don't understand it," whispered ned. "wireless, ned," answered tad. "i looked to find something of the sort. someone is sending." at intervals the rhythmic squeal of the wireless would set in, then suddenly cease. finally the message was sent, so tad interpreted the sounds and flashes. the sending lasted all of ten minutes, then the power was shut off and silence settled over the cabin. "are you going to try to get into the cabin?" questioned ned a little apprehensively. "not tonight. i have other plans in view. i am waiting for--there they come." stillman and batts crept from the cabin and stood silently for several minutes. tad heard stillman say, "all right," whereupon the two men set off toward their own cabin, with tad butler and ned rector following at a safe distance to the rear. at last they saw the men enter their own cabin, after which tad decided that it was time to go home to his own camp. part of the return journey was taken at a trot, a regular indian lope, which was reduced to a cautious feeling of their way as they neared the pony rider boys' camp. a bright campfire was burning there and, as they reached the edge of the camp, tad saw that the entire outfit was up, though it was then two o'clock in the morning. there was a shout when tad and ned stepped into the circle of light. the two boys were not pleasant-looking objects. their faces were blackened and their hair badly singed, while their clothing was half burned from their bodies. jim dunkan and his companions saw that the boys had been through a tough experience, but they waited in patience until tad should be ready to explain what had occurred. walter and chunky were shooting questions at tad and ned at a more rapid rate than any one person could reply to. "first put a guard out, then give us something to eat. we are liable to be spied upon and it is very important that nothing of what i am about to say be overheard by any outsider. who will take the watch?" tom royal volunteered to do so, though it was evident that he much preferred to remain in camp and listen to what tad had to tell them. "i--i got the biscuit thief!" cried chunky. "nassir. yassir. there he sits. chops is the biscuit destroyer. i caught him red handed." "by the way, mr. dunkan, stillman is the man who killed your dog," said tad. "we found the poor collie and gave him a decent burial." dunkan's face hardened and one hand dropped to the holster at his side. "i think we shall even things up with him, so please don't take the law into your own hands," urged tad. "i think you will be willing to let the law take its course after you have heard what i have to say. is there a government officer anywhere within reach?" "jim coville, the forest ranger, is the only man i know of," answered sam ellison. "where may he be reached?" "it's a twenty-mile ride to his station." "i must find him at once. will you go with me and show me the way? after i get something to eat i will tell you what has occurred." dunkan said he would. while tad and ned were eating their belated supper the others sat about--all but chunky, who decided that he too needed food--and waited with some impatience until tad was ready to tell them his story. this he did very shortly afterwards, sketching it briefly up to the time of smoky griffin's appearance on the scene. "you beat anything i ever heard of," growled sam ellison. "what do you make of it, sir?" asked tad. "make of it? why, tad, you've turned up one of the biggest sensations this mountain has ever known. those fellows that you saw shooting into the ground today--or the one you saw doing it--was salting the ground with gold so that when the man they were going to swindle had the soil analyzed it would be found to contain 'pay dirt' in profitable quantities. i wonder who the victim was to be?" "i heard them mention a man named beach," said butler. dunkan laughed loudly. "so! he is in it, too, eh? beach is a crooked real estate man from down asheville way. a wireless outfit on smoky bald, eh? well, if that doesn't beat all. kid, what do you think that wireless outfit way up here means?" "i have been thinking about it backward and forward," answered tad seriously. "i have thought that perhaps the sending that we heard was to some persons belonging to the gang. it may be that the folks at the other end are making a deal to send someone in here to be swindled. i may be on the wrong trail entirely, but that's the way i reason the mystery out." "boy, i reckon you've doped this thing about right," nodded dunkan. "is it possible?" bristled the professor. "then we must do something." "yes. we must get an officer. he will know what to do, sir," replied butler. "i first thought we might bag the outfit ourselves, for they surely are here for no lawful purpose. after thinking the thing over i don't believe it would do at all." "jim coville is the man we want. he is a forest ranger, and has authority over things besides trees. we will go get him when you are ready, butler." "i am ready now, mr. dunkan. we shall be back some time tomorrow, professor. i think the boys had better stay in camp. please, also, be careful how you boys speak of this matter, as there may be eavesdroppers, and no suspicion of the truth must reach the ears of the enemy." it was a few moments later when tad butler and jim dunkan swung to their saddles and started off for their long ride to the station of the forest ranger. chapter xiv conclusion day was dawning when the two, after a trying journey, reached the cabin of the ranger. tad uttered a long drawn "hoo-o-o-o-e-e-e," which brought jim coville to the door of his cabin. he recognized dunkan at once, and invited the two in. jim had another guest, a man who was introduced as rodman, and whom tad butler decided was a very keen, resourceful man. the callers, when they said they had something of importance that they wished to say to coville in private, were informed that they might speak freely before rodman. tad then told his story, watching and noting its effect on rodman. he saw that worthy start when he mentioned the sparking up near the tree tops. "young man," cried rodman after tad had finished, "you have done a big thing, and for which you have earned and will receive the thanks of the united states government. i am dave rodman, united states secret service, and i am here to find a supposed, or rather suspected, gang of swindlers in these mountains. i have covered the ridge and i have found nothing. your eyes and your scent were keener than mine. what is your plan?" "that we go there in force tonight." "i'll have to send for help. that will take nearly two days." "i reckon you will have all the help you need," spoke up jim dunkan. "there are four in my party and there's five of the pony rider outfit. i'll stake that crowd against any twenty men in these mountains. you turn these boys loose on their own hook and they'll bring back every one of these traitors, dead or alive--probably alive." "i am inclined to agree with you," replied the secret service man after a brief consideration of the subject, during which he regarded tad butler shrewdly. "if the others are from the same piece that you are, young man, i don't need any other assistance. i will go with you now." "no, that will not be wise," objected tad. "you must not be seen in our company or you will frighten away the men you are after. if i may offer a suggestion, keep under cover right here until after dark, then take the trail for our camp. i will start out early in the evening and get on the trail of the gang, meeting you at a certain agreed-upon point, where you will go with my party. i shall then know what to tell you about the situation." "all right. i'll be there at nine o'clock. thank you," he added, rising and giving tad's hand a quick, firm pressure. coville made his visitors sit down and have breakfast with him before they started out on their return journey. they left him about nine o'clock that morning. reaching their camp, tad, saying that he was too sleepy to talk, turned in for a long sleep, from which he awakened about four o'clock in the afternoon. he then detailed to his companions what his plans were, and named an hour and place where he would meet them that evening, then, shouldering his rifle, the boy sauntered from the camp as if he were out to hunt game for his outfit, and was seen no more that day. it was eleven o'clock at night when the mournful hoot of an owl in a gulch about half a mile from stillman's cabin brought an answering hoot, after a proper interval. a few moments later the party of pony riders and prospectors, headed by dave rodman, were startled to see tad butler standing before them. though they knew he was to meet them at that point, he had slipped in among them so cleverly that it seemed as if he had suddenly grown out of the ground. "you're a wonder," complimented rodman. "what is the news?" "your men are at the wireless station right now, and some hours before they were supposed to be there. there are five of them. beach is with them. it is to be their last meeting at the cabin, for they seem to have discovered that they are being looked for, and propose to make a getaway to-night." "who are the other three?" demanded rodman sharply. "besides beach, there are smoke griffin and the wireless man, whose name is hans gruber, and one other. i think we had better be going or we may be too late," suggested tad. dave rodman uttered an exclamation under his breath. "i reckon you're right," agreed the secret service man. "for your information i will tell you that i have heard of gruber before. he was under suspicion of being a german spy during the war, and was one of three men who blew up a munition factory in a certain place. the others were caught, but gruber got away. uncle sam is still looking for him. shall we move?" "yes," answered tad. "i suggest that we go cautiously and keep quiet. all ready." in due time tad halted at the point where he and ned had first discovered the cabin. he directed his companions to wait there while he did a little investigating. rodman was willing to leave the arrangements to butler, realizing that the lad was keen, and that, knowing the ground, he would be likely to avoid pitfalls. tad returned half an hour later. "the men are all in the cabin," he said. "they aren't working the wireless tonight, but they are working their jaws, at times having quite a heated discussion over the division of the funds. they expect a victim to come up here tomorrow with one of their fellows, to buy that salted-down gold mine, but they aren't going to wait for him. there is a light in the cabin. you can't see it from here because they have hung a blanket over the window." "do you know if the wireless plant is in the cabin?" questioned rodman. "no, sir, it is under the cabin," answered tad promptly. "the aerials are now down and all traces of the plant above ground have been removed." "huh! anything else?" "there is a burglar alarm wire surrounding the cabin. i'll tell you when you get to it. be careful that you do not stumble over it." rodman was amazed. "wait a moment," he said. "if you have a plan i should like to hear it before we proceed. perhaps i may not approve of it." "yes, sir, i was about to suggest it. there is only one door in the cabin, and that is on this side. there is one window at the rear. two men should get within easy range of that window, so they can plainly see any person who attempts to go out through it. the rest of the party should line up in front with rifles at ready, a little ahead of the others." "and what will you be doing?" demanded the government officer. "oh, i am going in to demand their surrender." "quiet now. every man on the alert," ordered rodman. "take positions." ned and ellison were assigned to guard the window exits, while the others were placed in open order in a curving line about the front of the cabin. "ready, butler?" for answer tad stepped forward cautiously, halting when close to the cabin, to look back at his support. he nodded, and walking up to the door, placed an ear against it. all eyes out there were upon the slender figure of the pony rider boy faintly outlined against the cabin. finally tad waved a hand to indicate that he was ready. he tried the door and found that it was not locked. slipping his revolver from its holster tad gently pushed the door open, so gently in fact that those within evidently thought a mountain breeze was responsible. butler was at one side of the door now, and was unseen by those in the cabin. his purpose was to give dave rodman a good view of the interior. "great guns but that boy is a cool one!" muttered tom royal. stillman sprang up and strode towards the door. his hand was upon it when all at once the muzzle of a revolver was pushed firmly against his stomach. the others in the cabin did not see what had occurred, but it was plain that they understood something was wrong. "put out the light!" yelled stillman, springing back. "you are surrounded. give in before all of you are shot!" retorted butler. he fired a shot into the floor of the cabin, and almost at the same instant a volley of revolver shots answered his own, but tad, crouching low, was unhit. he then fired a little higher, hoping to catch a leg. he did. the leg belonged to stillman, as tad knew by the yell that followed. "do you surrender?" called butler, dodging to one side again. the answer was a volley of shots from the inside. "give them a low volley. look out, you fellows behind the cabin," ordered tad. the volley came at about the instant that tad threw himself on the ground. during the remaining few minutes the men in the cabin fired rapidly at the flashes of the rifles out there, but with poor results. stacy brown got a bullet through an arm--that is, it grazed the skin--because he decided that he could shoot better standing up. chunky yelled that he was "shotted," but no one paid any attention to him. professor zepplin was blazing away, while ned and royal lay flat on their stomachs back of the cabin, narrowly watching the window. their patience was rewarded a few minutes later when the window, sash and all, burst out and a human being tumbled out. he scrambled to his feet. "halt. drop your gun!" commanded royal. instead the fellow ran. royal brought him down with a bullet in the leg. "don't move. you are a dead man if you get up!" warned ned. "if the bullets from the officers don't get you, one of ours will. i know you. you're smoky griffin and we've got you dead to rights this time, you miserable scoundrel. you won't do any more bluffing on this range for a long time to come, i reckon." "why not set fire to the cabin and smoke them out?" cried walter perkins. "no, no, no," returned the professor. "we must not destroy the evidence. tad knows what to do and he is doing it bravely, like the man he is." "cease firing!" shouted tad butler. "they are asking for quarter." "what do you wish us to do?" demanded joe batts. "lay down your arms and come out one by one. don't try to go out by the rear window. i reckon one of your cayuses who tried it is lying on his back out there now." "come and get us!" howled a voice from within the cabin. "all right, we'll come and get you, but first we'll give you some volleys to put you in a more humble frame of mind. low ball!" answered rodman. once more tad, who had risen, threw himself down, and the rifles of his party banged away at the cabin, the front of which was by this time thoroughly perforated with bullet holes. "we give in. stop shooting!" called someone in the cabin. "cease firing!" commanded rodman. "stillman out first. leave your guns in the cabin!" stillman dragged himself slowly out. one leg would not bear his weight. "over there," directed tad, waving a hand toward his companions. "mr. dunkan, here is the man who killed your dog. hans, come out here. be quick about it!" a bespectacled, thin, studious-appearing man staggered out and collapsed on the ground. "batts and beach now!" the two crawled out on all fours. both had been wounded in the legs. "smoky griffin." "he went out through the window," groaned batts. "ned, have you got smoky?" "you bet." "that's all, then. no one else in there, is there, batts?" "go find out if you want to know," growled the mountaineer. "all right, i will." tad swept the interior of the cabin with a flash light that he had brought along, and found that all of the men were out. "gather them in, mr. rodman. all clear within." with a yell the pony rider boys and the prospectors sprang forward and a few moments later the prisoners, whose wounds professor zepplin had dressed, were securely bound. smoky was attended to by ned rector. an examination was then made of the cabin. in the cellar were found a gasoline engine with which the dynamo was operated, and a powerful wireless outfit. papers which proved to be of great value to the government agent also were found in a secret compartment under the cellar floor. at the direction of the secret service man, for reasons known to himself, the plant was left as it was for the time being. early the following morning the prisoners were loaded on ponies, and the long journey to the railroad station was begun. on the way to the station, beach, a cowardly fellow, was induced to make a confession, through which the government agents were enabled to telegraph on for the arrest of the men higher up in the nefarious scheme, which might have made millions for its originators. this crime syndicate had its agents in many cities, where victims were selected and sent to the mountains to be fleeced. ahead of them went the wireless messages giving full details and directions to the men that the pony rider boys had discovered on the ridge. most of the principals in the scheme were arrested, though the leading figure, if there was one, was never captured nor even identified. following the clearing up of the mystery of the mountains, the pony rider boys resumed their adventuring until the time came for them to head their ponies northward. the riders were going home, going regretfully, too, with a year of hard work before them, but to be heard from again in a series of delightful as well as exciting experiences. the story of these will be related in a following volume entitled, "the pony rider boys in new england; or, an exciting quest in the maine wilderness." the end esmeralda*** transcribed by elizabeth durack, who is very pleased to be able to share this rare and charming book. in the riding-school; chats with esmeralda by theo. stephenson browne -- we two will ride, lady mine, at your pleasure, side by side, laugh and chat. aldrich to the modern men of uz; my french, english, and american masters. contents i. a preliminary chat with esmeralda the proper frame of mind --dress--preparatory exercises. ii. shall you take your mother, esmeralda? the first lesson-- various ways of mounting--slippery reins--clucking--after a ride. iii. chat during the second lesson equestrian language-- trotting without a horse--exercises in and out of the saddle. iv. esmeralda's trials at the third lesson pounding the saddle --a critical spectator--a few rein-holds. v. esmeralda on the road good and bad and indifferent riders-- a very little runaway. vi. the ordeal of a private lesson voltes and half voltes-- "on the right hand of the school"--imagination as a teacher. vii. esmeralda at a music ride sitting like a poker--the ways of the bad rider. viii. esmeralda in class keeping distances--corners-- proper place in the saddle--exercises to correct nervous stiffness. ix. elementary military evolutions "forward, forward, and again forward!"--how to guide a horse easily. x. chat during an exercise ride the deeds of the three-legged trotter--the omniscient rider--backing a step or two-- fun in the dressing-room. xi. esmeralda is managed intervals--the secret of learning to ride. xii. chat about the habit riding-dress in history and fiction-- cloth, linings and sewing--boots, gloves, and hats. xiii. chat about teachers foreign and native instructors--why american women learn slowly--"keep riding!" i. impatient to mount and ride. _longfellow_. and you want to learn how to ride, esmeralda? why? because? reason good and sufficient, esmeralda; to require anything more definite would be brutal, although an explanation of your motives would render the task of directing you much easier. as you are an american, it is reasonable to presume that you desire to learn quickly; as you are youthful, it is certain that you earnestly wish to look pretty in the saddle, and as you are a youthful american, there is not a shadow of a doubt that your objections to authoritative teaching will be almost unconquerable, and that you will insist upon being treated, from the very beginning, as if your small head contained the knowledge of a hiram woodruff or of an archer. perhaps you may find a teacher who will comply with your wishes; who will be exceedingly deferential to your little whims; will unhesitatingly accept your report of your own sensations and your hypotheses as to their cause; and, esmeralda, when once your eyes behold that model man, be content, and go and take lessons of another, for either he is a pretentious humbug, careless of everything except his fees, or he is an ignoramus. it may not be necessary that you should be insulted or ridiculed in order to become a rider, although there are girls who seem utterly impervious by teaching by gentle methods. is it not a matter of tradition that queen victoria owes her regal carriage to the rough drill-sergeant who, with no effect upon his pupil, horrified her governess, and astonished her, by sharply saying: "a pretty queen you'll make with that dot-and-go-one gait!" up went the little chin, back went the shoulders, down went the elbows, and, in her wrath, the little princess did precisely what the old soldier had been striving to make her do; but his delighted cry of "just right!" was a surprise to her, inasmuch as she had been conscious of no muscular effort whatsoever. from that time forth, _incessit regina_. you may not need such rough treatment, but it is necessary that you should be corrected every moment and almost every second until you learn to correct yourself, until every muscle in your body becomes self-conscious, and until an improper position is almost instantly felt as uncomfortable, and the teacher who does not drill you steadily and continuously, permits you to fall into bad habits. if you were a german princess, esmeralda, you would be compelled to sit in the saddle for many an hour without touching the reins, while your patient horse walked around a tan bark ring, and you balanced yourself and straightened yourself, and adjusted arms, shoulders, waist, knees and feet, under the orders of a drill- sergeant, who might, indeed, sugar-coat his phrases with "your highness," but whose intonations would say "you must," as plainly as if he were drilling an awkward squad of peasant recruits. if you were the daughter of a hundred earls, you would be mounted on a shetland pony and shaken into a good seat long before you outgrew short frocks, and afterwards you would be trained by your mother or older sisters, by the gentlemen of your family, or perhaps, by some trusted old groom, or in a good london riding- school, and, no matter who your instructor might be, you would be compelled to be submissive and obedient. but you object that you cannot afford to pay for very careful, minute, and long-continued training; that you must content yourself with such teaching as you can obtain by riding in a ring under the charge of two or three masters, receiving such instruction as they find time to give you while maintaining order and looking after an indefinite number of other pupils. your real teacher in that case must be yourself, striving assiduously to obey every order given to you, no matter whether it appears unreasonable or seems, as the concord young woman said, "in accordance with the latest scientific developments and the esoteric meaning of differentiated animal existences." that sentence, by the way, silenced her master, and nearly caused him to have a fit of illness from suppression of language, but perhaps it might affect your teacher otherwise, and you would better reserve it for that private mental rehearsal of your first lesson which you will conduct in your maiden meditation. you are your own best teacher, you understand, and you may be encouraged to know that one of the foremost horsemen in the country says: "i have had many teachers, but my best master was here," touching his forehead. "where do you ride, sir?" asked one of his pupils, after vainly striving with reins and whip, knee, heel and spur to execute a movement which the master had compelled his horse to perform while apparently holding himself as rigid as bronze. "i ride here, sir," was the grim answer, with another tap on the forehead. and first, esmeralda, being feminine, you wish to know what you are to wear. until you have taken at least ten lessons, it would be simply foolishness for you to buy any special thing to wear, except a plain flannel skirt, the material for which should not cost you more than two dollars and a half. harper's bazar has published two or three patterns, following which any dressmaker can make a skirt quite good enough for the ring. a jersey, a norfolk jacket, a simple street jacket or even an ordinary basque waist; any small, close-fitting hat, securely pinned to your hair, and very loose gloves will complete a dress quite suitable for private lessons, and not so expensive that you need grudge the swift destruction certain to come to all equestrian costumes. nothing is more ludicrous than to see a rider clothed in a correct habit, properly scant and unhemmed, to avoid all risks when taking fences and hedges in a hunting country, with her chimney-pot hat and her own gold-mounted crop, her knowing little riding-boots and buckskins, with outfit enough for baby blake and di vernon and lady gay spanker, and to see that young woman dancing in the saddle, now here and now there, pulling at the reins in a manner to make a rocking-horse rear, and squealing tearfully and jerkily: "oh, ho-ho-oh, wh-h-hat m-m-makes h-h-him g-g-go s-s-s-so?" if you think it possible that you may be easily discouraged, and that your first appearance in the riding-school will be your last, you need not buy any skirt, for you will find several in the school dressing-room, and, for once, you may submit to wearing a garment not your own. shall you buy trousers or tights? wait till you decide to take lessons before buying either, first to avoid unnecessary expense, and second, because until experience shall show what kind of a horsewoman you are likely to be, you cannot tell which will be the more suitable and comfortable. laced boots, a plain, dark underskirt, cut princess, undergarments without a wrinkle, and no tight bands to compress veins, or to restrain muscles by adding their resistance to the force of gravitation make up the list of details to which you must give your attention before leaving home. if you be addicted to light gymnastics you will find it beneficial to practise a few movements daily, both before taking your first lesson and as long as you may continue to ride. first--hold your shoulders square and perfectly rigid, and turn the head towards the right four times, and then to the left four times. second--bend the head four times to the right and four times to the left. third--bend the head four times to the back and four times to the front. these exercises will enable you to look at anything which may interest you, without distracting the attention of your horse, as you might do if you moved your shoulders, and thus disturbed your equilibrium on your back. feeling the change, he naturally supposes that you want something of him, and when you become as sensitive as you should be, you will notice that at such times he changes his gait perceptibly. fourth--bend from the waist four times to the right, four to the left, four times forward, and four times backward. these movements will not only make the waist more flexible, but will strengthen certain muscles of the leg. fifth--execute any movement which experience has shown you will square your shoulders and flatten your back most effectually. throw the hands backward until they touch one another, or bring your elbows together behind you, if you can. hold the arms close to the side, the elbows against the waist, the forearm at right angles with the arm, the fists clenched, with the little finger down and the knuckles facing each other, and describe ellipses, first with one shoulder, then with the other, then with both. this movement is found in mason's school gymnastics, and is prescribed by m. de bussigny in his little manual for horsewomen, and it will prove admirable in its effects. stretch the arms at full length above the head, the palms of the hands at front, the thumbs touching one another, and then carry them straight outward without bending the elbows, and bend them down, the palms still in front, until the little finger touches the leg. this movement is recommended by mason and also by blaikie, and as it is part of the west point "setting up" drill, it may be regarded as considered on good authority to be efficacious in producing an erect carriage. stand as upright as you can, your arms against your side, the forearm at right angles, as before, and jerk your elbows downward four times. sixth--sit down on the floor with your feet stretched straight before you, and resting on their heels, and drop backward until you are lying flat, then resume your first position, keeping your arms and forearms at right angles during the whole exercise. still sitting, bend as far to the right as you can, then bend as far as possible to the left, resuming a perfectly erect position between the movements, and keeping your feet and legs still. rising, stand on your toes and let yourself down fifty times; then stand on your heels, and raise and lower your toes fifty times. the firmer you hold your arms and hands during these movements, the better for you, esmeralda, and for the horse who will be your first victim. already one can seem to see him, poor, innocent beast, miserable in the memories of an army of beginners, his mouth so accustomed to being jerked in every direction, without anything in particular being meant by it, that neither arabia nor mexico can furnish a bit which would surprise him, or startle his four legs from their propriety. no cow is more placid, no lamb more gentle; he would not harm a tsetse fly or kick a snapping terrier. his sole object in life is to keep himself and his rider out of danger, and to betake himself to that part of the ring in which the least labor should be expected of him. the tiny girls who ride him call him "dear old billy buttons," or "darling gypsy," or "nice sir archer." heaven knows what he calls them in his heart! were he human, it would be something to be expressed by dashes and "d's"; but, being a horse, he is silent, and shows his feelings principally by heading for the mounting-stand whenever he thinks that a pupil's hour is at an end. why that long face, esmeralda? must you do all those exercises? bless your innocent soul, no! dress yourself and run away. the exercises will be good for you, but they are not absolutely necessary. remember, however, that your best riding-school master is behind your own pretty forehead, and that your brain can save your muscles many a strain and many a pound of labor. and remember, too, that, in riding, as in everything else, to him that hath shall be given, and the harder and firmer your muscles when you begin, the greater will be the benefit which you will derive from your rides, and the more you will enjoy them. the pale and weary invalid may gain flesh and color with every lesson, but the bright and healthy pupil, whose muscles are like iron, whose heart and lungs are in perfect order, can ride for hours without weariness, and double her strength in a comparatively short time. but--esmeralda, dear, before you go--whisper! why do you want to take riding lessons? theodore asked you to go out with him next monday, and nell said that she would lend you her habit, and you thought that you would take three lessons and learn to ride? there, go and dress, child; go and dress! ii. bring forth the horse! _byron_. being ready to start, esmeralda, the question now arises: "is a riding school," as the girl asked about the new french play, "a place to which one can take her mother?" little girls too young to dress themselves should be attended by their mothers or by their maids, but an older girl no more needs guardianship at riding-school than at any other place at which she receives instruction, and there is no more reason why her mother should follow her into the ring than into the class-room. her presence, even if she preserve absolute silence, will probably embarrass both teacher and pupil, and although her own children may not be affected by it, it will be decidedly troublesome to the children of other mothers. if, instead of being quiet, she talk, and it is the nature of the mother who accompanies her daughter to riding-school to talk volubly and loudly, she will become a nuisance, and even a source of actual danger, by distracting the attention of the master from his pupils, and the attention of the pupils from their horses, to say nothing of the possibility that some of her pretty, ladylike screams of, "oh, darling, i know you're tired!" or, "oh, what a horrid horse; see him jump!" may really frighten some lucky animal whose acquaintance has included no women but the sensible. if she be inclined to laugh at the awkward beginners, and to ridicule them audibly--but really, esmeralda, it should not be necessary to consider such an action, impossible in a well-bred woman, unlikely in a woman of good feeling! leave your mother, if not at home, in the dressing-room or the reception room, and go to the mounting-stand alone. in some schools you may ride at any time, but the usual morning hours for ladies' lessons are from nine o'clock to noon, and the afternoon hours from two o'clock until four. some masters prefer that their pupils should have fixed days and hours for their lessons, and others allow the very largest liberty. for your own sake it is better to have a regular time for your lessons, but if you cannot manage to do so, do not complain if you sometimes have to wait a few minutes for your horse, or for your master. the school is not carried on entirely for your benefit, although you will at first assume that it is. as a rule, a single lesson will cost two dollars, but a ten-lesson ticket will cost but fifteen dollars, a twenty-lesson ticket twenty-five dollars, and a ticket for twenty exercise rides twenty dollars. in schools which give music-rides, there are special rates for the evenings upon which they take place, but you need not think of music-rides until you have had at least the three lessons which you desire. buy your ticket before you go to the dressing-room, and ask if you may have a key to a locker. dress as quickly as you can, and if there be no maid in the dressing-room, lock up your street clothing and keep your key. if there be a maid, she will attend to this matter, and will assist you in putting on your skirt, showing you that it buttons on the left side, and that you must pin it down the basque of your jersey or your jacket in the back, unless you desire it to wave wildly with every leap of your horse. flatter not yourself that lead weights will prevent this! when a horse begins a canter that sends you, if your feelings be any gauge, eighteen good inches nearer the ceiling, do you think that an ounce of lead will remain stationary? give a final touch to your hairpins and hatpins, button your gloves, pull the rubber straps of your habit over your right toe and left heel, and you are ready. in most schools, you will be made to mount from the ground, and you will find it surprisingly and delightfully easy to you. what it may be to the master who puts you into the saddle is another matter, but nine out of ten teachers will make no complaint, and will assure you that they do very well. if you wish to deceive any other girl's inconsiderate mother whom you may find comfortably seated in a good position for criticism, and to make her suppose that you are an old rider, keep silence. do not criticise your horse or his equipments, do not profess inability to mount, but when you master says "now!" step forward and stand facing in the same direction of your horse, placing your right hand on the upper pommel of the two on the left of the saddle. set your left foot in whichever hand he holds out for it. some masters offer the left, some the right, and some count for a pupil, and others prefer that she should count for yourself. the usual "one, two, three!" means, one, rest the weight strongly on the right foot; two, bend the right knee, keeping the body perfectly erect; three, spring up from the right foot, turning very slightly to the left, so as to place yourself sideways on the saddle, your right hand toward the horse's head. some masters offer a shoulder as a support for a pupil's left hand, and some face toward the horse's head and some toward his tail, so it is best for you to wait a little for directions, esmeralda, and not to suppose that, because you know all about lucy fountain's way of mounting a horse, or about james burdock's tuition of mabel vane, there is no other method of putting a lady in the saddle. after your first lesson, you will find it well to practise springing upward from the right foot, holding your left on a hassock, or a chair rung, your right hand raised as if grasping the pommel, your shoulders carefully kept back, and your body straight. it is best to perform this exercise before a mirror, and when you begin to think you have mastered it, close you eyes, give ten upward springs and then look at yourself. a hopeless wreck, eh? not quite so bad as that, but, before, you unconsciously corrected your position by the eye, and you must learn to do it entirely by feeling. you will probably improve very much on a second trial, because your shoulders will begin to be sensitive. why not practise this exercise before your first lesson? because you should know just how your master prefers to stand, in order to be able to imagine him standing as he really will. it is not unusual to see riders of some experience puzzled and made awkward by an innovation on what they have regarded as the true and only method of mounting, although, when once the right leg and wrist are properly trained, a woman ought to be able to reach the saddle without caring what her escort's method of assistance. mounting from a high horseblock is a matter of being fairly lifted into the saddle, and you cannot possibly do it improperly. it is easy, but it gives you no training for rides outside the school, and masters use it, not because they approve of it, but because their pupils, not knowing how easy it is to mount from the ground, often desire it. but, being in the saddle, turn so as to face your horse's head, put our right knee over the pommel, and slip your left foot into the stirrup. then rise on your left foot and smooth your skirt, a task in which your master will assist you, and take you reins and your whip from him. how shall you hold your reins? as your master tells you! probably, he will give you but one rein at first, and very likely will direct you to hold it in both hands, keeping them five or six inches apart, the wrists on a level with the elbows or even a very little lower, and he is not likely to insist on any other details, knowing that it will be difficult for you to attain perfection in these. an english master might give you a single rein to be passed outside the little finger, and between the forefinger and the middle finger, the loop coming between the forefinger and thumb, and being held in place by the thumb. then he would expect you to keep your right shoulder back very firmly, but a french master will tell you that it is better to learn to keep the shoulder back a little while holding a rein in the right hand, and an american master will usually allow you to take your choice, but, until you have experience, obey orders in silence. and now, having taken your whip, draw yourself back in your saddle so as to feel the pommel under your right knee; sit well towards the right, square your shoulders, force your elbows well down, hollow your waist a little, and start. he won't go? of course he will not, until bidden to do so, if he know his business. bend forward the least bit in the world, draw very slightly on the reins, and rather harder on the right, so as to turn him from the stand, and away he walks, and you are in the ring. you had no idea that it was so large, and you feel as if lost on a western prairie, but you are in no danger whatsoever. you cannot fall off while your right knee and left foot are in place, and if you deliberately threw yourself into the tan, you would be unhurt, and the riding-school horse knows better than to tread on anything unusual which he may find in his way. now, esmeralda, keep your mind--no, your saddle is not turning; it is well girthed. you feel as if it were? pray, how do you know how you would feel if a saddle were to turn? did you ever try it? and your saddle is not too large! neither is it too small! and there is nothing at all the matter with your horse! now, esmeralda, keep your mind--no, that other girl is not going to ride you down. her horse would not allow her, if she endeavored to do so. the trouble is that she does not guide her horse, but is worrying herself about staying on his back, when she should be thinking about making him turn sharp corners and go straight forward. regard her as a warning, esmeralda, and keep your mind-- what is the matter with the reins? apparently they are oiled, for they have slipped from under your thumbs, and your horse is wandering along with drooping head, looking as if training to play the part of the dead warrior's charger at a military funeral. shorten your reins now, carefully! not quite so much, or your horse will think that you intend to begin to trot, and do not lean backward, or he will fancy that you wish him to back or stop. the poor thing has to guess at what a pupil wishes, and no wonder that he sometimes mistakes. but, esmeralda, keep your mind on those thumbs and hold them close to your forefingers. driving will give no idea of the slipperiness of leather, but after your first riding lesson you will wonder why it is not used to floor roller-skating rinks. but remember that your reins are for your horse's support, not for yours; they are the telegraph wires along which you send dispatches to him, not parallel bars upon which your weight is to depend. hitherto, you have not ridden an inch. your horse has strolled about, and you have not dropped from his back, and that is not riding, but now you shall begin. in a large ring, pupils are required to keep to the wall when walking, as this gives the horse a certain guide, but in small rings the rule is to keep to the wall when trotting, so as to improve every foot of pace, and to walk about six feet from the wall, not in a circle, but describing a rectangle. new pupils are always taught to turn to the right, and to make all their movements in that direction. hold your thumbs firmly in place, and draw your right hand a very little upward and inward, touching your whip lightly to the horse's right side, and turning your face and leaning your body slightly to the right. the instant that the corner is turned, drop your hand, keeping the thumb in place, square your shoulders, look straight between your horse's ears, and then allow your eyes to range upward as far as possible without losing sight of him altogether. no matter what is going on about you. very likely, the criticizing mamma on the mounting-stand is scolding sharply about noting. possibly, a dear little boy is fairly flying about the ring on a pony that seems to have cantered out of a fairy tale, and a marvelously graceful girl, whom you envy with your whole soul, is doing pirouettes in the centre of the ring. all that is not your business. your sole concern is to keep your body in position, and your mind fixed on making your horse obey you, doing nothing of his own will. stop him now and then by leaning back, and drawing on the reins, not with your body but with your hands. then lean forward and go on, but if he should remain planted as fast as the great pyramid, if when started he should refuse to pay any attention to the little taps of your left heel and the touches of your whip, nay, if he should lie down and pretend to die, like a trick horse in a circus, don't cluck. no good riding master will teach a pupil to cluck or will permit the practice to pass unreproved, and riding-school horses do not understand it, and are quite as likely to start at the cluck of a rider on the other side of the ring as they are when a similar noise is made by the person on their own backs. but now, just as you have shortened your reins for the fortieth time or so, your master rides up beside you. you told him of your little three-lesson plan, and being wise in his generation, he smilingly assented to it. "shall we trot?" he asks, in an agreeable voice. "shorten your reins, now! don't pull on them! right shoulder back! now rise from the saddle as i count, 'one, two, three, four!' off we go!'" you would like to know what he meant by "off!" "off," indeed! you thought you were "off" the saddle. you have been bounced up and down mercilessly, and have gasped, "stop him!" before you have been twice around the ring, and not one corner have you been able to turn properly. as for your elbows, you know that they have been flying all abroad, but still--it was fun, and you would like to try again. you do try again, and you would like to try again. you do try again, and, at last, you are conscious of a sudden feeling of elasticity, of sympathy with your horse, of rising when he does, and then your master looks at you triumphantly, and says: "you rose that time," and leaves you to go to some other pupil. and then you walk your horse again, trying to keep in position, and you make furtive little essays at trotting by yourself, and find that you cannot keep your horse to the wall, although you pull your hardest at his left rein, the reason being that, unconsciously, you also pull at the right rein, and that he calmly obeys what the reins tell him and goes straight forward. then your master offers to help you by lifting you, grasping your right arm with his left hand, and you make one or two more circuits of the ring, and then the hour is over and you dismount and go to the dressing-room. tired, esmeralda? a little, and you do wonder whether you shall not be a bruised piece of humanity to-morrow. not if your flesh be as hard as any girl's should be in these days of gymnasiums, but if you have managed to bruise a muscle or to strain one, lay a bottle of hot water against it when you go to bed and it will not be painful in the morning. if, in spite of warnings, you have been so careless about your underclothing as to cause a blister, a bit of muslin saturated with vaseline, with a drop of tincture of benzoin rubbed into it, makes a plaster which will end the smart instantly. this is not a physician's prescription, but is hat of a horseman who for years led the best riding class in boston, and it is asserted that nobody was ever known to be dissatisfied with its effects. muffle yourself warmly, esmeralda, and hasten home, for nothing is easier than to catch cold after riding. air your frock and cloak before an open fire to volatilize the slight ammoniacal scent which they must inevitably contract in the locker, and then be as good to yourself as the hostler will be to your poor horse. that is to say, give yourself a sponge bath in hot water, with a dash of sarg's soap and almond meal in it, rubbing dry with a turkish towel, and then dress and go down to dinner. looking at your glowing face and shining eyes, your father will tell your mother that she should have gone also, but when he marks the havoc which you make with the substantial part of the meal, and sees that your appetite for dessert is twice as good as usual, he will reflect upon his butcher's and grocer's bills, and, considering what they would be with provision to make for two such voracious creatures, he will say, "no, esmeralda, don't take your mother!" iii. up into the saddle, lithe and light, vaulting she perched. _hayne_. and you still think, esmeralda, that three lessons will be enough to make you a horse woman, and that by next monday you will be able to join the road party, and witch the world with your accomplishments? very well, array yourself for conquest and come to the school. talk is cheap, according to a proverb more common than elegant; but it is sinful to waste the cheapest of things. while you dress, you will meditate upon the sensation which it is your intention to make in the ring, and upon the humiliation which you will heap upon your riding master by showing wonderful ability to rise in the saddle. although not quite ready to assert ability to ride hour after hour like a mounted policeman, you feel certain that you could ride as gracefully as he, and perhaps you are right, for official position does not confer wisdom in equitation. to say nothing of policemen, it is not many seasons since an ambitious member of the governor's staff presented himself before a riding master to "take a lesson, just to get used to it, you know; got to review some regiments at framingham tomorrow." and when, after some trouble, he had been landed in the saddle, never a strap had he, and long before his lesson hour was finished, he was a spectacle to make a prussian sentinel giggle while on duty. and for your further encouragement, esmeralda, know that it is but a few years ago that a riding master, in answer to a rebellious pupil who defended some sin against baucher with, "mr. --of the governor's staff always does so," retorted, "there is just one man on the governor's staff who can ride, and i taught him; and if he had ridden like that !" an awful silence expressed so many painful possibilities that the pupil was meek and humble ever after, and yet it was not written in any newspaper that any of those ignorant colonels were thrown from their saddles in public, nor did the strapless gentleman furnish amusement to civilian or soldier by rolling on the grass at framingham. the truth is, that the number of persons able to judge of riding is smaller than the number able to ride, and that number is rather less than one in a hundred of those who appear on horseback either in the ring or on the road; but boston could furnish a legion of men and women who find healthful enjoyment in the saddle, and who look passably well while doing it, and possibly you may add yourself to their ranks after a very few lessons, although there is--you are ready? come then! into the saddle well thought, thanks to your master, but why that ghastly pause? turn instantly, place your knee over the pommel and thrust your foot into the stirrup, if you possibly can, without waiting for assistance. teachers of experience, riding masters, dancing masters, musicians, artists, gymnasts, will unite in telling you that unless a pupil's mental qualities be rather extraordinary, it is more difficult to impart knowledge at a second lesson than at the first, simply because the pupil gives less attention, expecting his muscles to work mechanically. undoubtedly, after long training, fingers will play scales, and flying feet whirl their owner about a ballroom without making him conscious of every muscular extension and contraction, but this facility comes only to those who, in the beginning, fix an undivided mind upon what they are doing, and who never fall into willful negligence. keep watch of yourself, manage yourself as assiduously as you watch and manage your horse, and ten times more assiduously than you would watch your fingers at the piano, or your feet in the dancing class, because you must watch for two, for your horse and for yourself. if you give him an incorrect signal, he will obey it, you will be unprepared for his next act, and in half a minute you will have a very pretty misunderstanding on your hands. but there is no reason for being frightened. you cannot fall, and if your horse should show any signs of actual misbehavior, you would find your master at your right hand, with fingers of steel to grasp your reins, and a voice accustomed to command obedience from quadrupeds, howsoever little of it he may be able to obtain at first from well-meaning bipeds. you are perfectly safe with him, esmeralda, not only because he knows how to ride, but because the strongest of all human motives, self-interest, is enlisted to promote your safety. "she said she was afraid to risk her neck," said an exhausted teacher, speaking the words of frankness to a spectator, as a timid and stupid pupil disappeared into the dressing-room, "and i told her that she could afford the risk better than i. if she broke it, than don't you know, it probably could not be mended, but mine might be broken in trying to save her, and, at the best, my reputation and my means of getting a livelihood would be gone forever in an instant. it's only a neck with her; it's life and wife and babies that i risk, and i'll insure her neck." and when the stupid pupil, who was a lady in spite of her dulness, came from the dressing-room, calmed and quieted, and began to offer a blushing apology, he repeated his remarks to her, and so excellent was the understanding established between them after this little incident that she actually came to be a tolerable rider. feeling that he would tell her to do nothing dangerous to her, she was ready at his command to lie down on her horse's back and to raise herself again and again, and, after doing this a few times, and bending alternately to the right and to the left, the saddle seemed quite homelike, and to remain in it sitting upright was very easy for a few moments. only for a few moments, however, for the necessity of paying attention still remained, as it does with you, and again she stiffened herself, as you are doing now. as mr. mead very justly says, in his "horsemanship for women," a lesson may be learned from a bag of grain set up on horseback, which is, that while the lower part of your body should settle itself almost lazily in place, the upper part, which is comparatively light, should sway slightly but easily with the horse's motion. manage to ride behind the girl who was teaching herself to do pirouettes the other day. her horse is walking rapidly, and you could almost fancy that her prettily squared shoulders were part of him, so sympathetically do they respond to each step, but if you should let your horse straggle against hers and frighten him, you would see that no rock is more firmly seated then she. if it should please your master to require you to perform the bending exercise, you will feel the advantage of having practiced it at home, for it is infinitely easier in the saddle than it is on the floor, and your riding master will be exceedingly pleased at the ease with which you effect it. there is no necessity for telling him that the little feat is quite familiar to you. the woman of sense keeps as many of her doings secret as she can, and the wise pupil confesses no knowledge except that derived from her master. being, in spite of his superior knowledge, a mortal man, he will take twice the pains with her, and a hundredfold more pride in her if persuaded that she owes everything to him. there is no reason to worry about a little stiffness during the first lessons. it is almost entirely nervousness, and will disappear as soon as you are quite comfortable and easy, but the beautiful flexibility of the good horsewoman comes only to her whose muscles are perfectly trained, and it is surprising how few muscles there are to which one may not give employment in an hour's practice in the ring. if you like, you may, without the assistance of your master, lean forward to the right side until your left shoulder touches your horse's crest, and when you are trotting it is well how and then to lean forward and to the right until you can see your horse's forefeet, but you would better not perform the same exercise on the left side for the present, for you might overbalance yourself and almost slip from the saddle. if able, as you should be, to touch the floor with your fingertips without bending your knees, this little movement will be nothing to you, but do not bend to the left, esmeralda. why not? why, because if you will have the truth, you are slipping to the left already, your right shoulder is drooping forward, and your weight is hanging in your stirrup and pulling your saddle to the left so forcibly that your horse has lost all respect for you, and would be thoroughly uncomfortable, were it not that you have forgotten all about your thumbs, and you have allowed your reins to slip away from you, so that he is going where he pleases, except when you jerk him sharply to the right, and then he shakes and tosses his head and goes on contentedly, as one saying, "all things have an end, even a new pupil's hour." now, sit well to the right, remembering the meal sack; shorten your reins, keeping your elbows down and your hands low. shorten them a very little more, so as to bring your elbows further forward. when you stop, you should not be compelled to jerk your elbows back of your waist, but should bring them into line with it, leaning back slightly, and drawing yourself upward. stop your horse now, for practice. do not speak to him during your first lessons, except by your master's express command, but address him in his own language, using your reins, your foot, and your whip, if your master permit. "why do you make coquette of your horse?" asked a french master of a pretty girl who was coaxingly calling her mount "a naughty, horrid thing," and casting glances fit to distract a man on the ungrateful creature's irresponsive crest. "your horse does not care anything at all about you; don't you think he does!" pursued he, ungallantly. "you may coax me as much as you like," said a yankee teacher to a young woman who was trying the "treat him kindly" theory, and was calling her horse a "dear old ducky darling;" "and," he continued, "i'm rather fond of candy myself, but it isn't coaxing or lump sugar that will make that horse go. it's brains and reins and foot and whip." when you have a horse of your own, talk to him as much as you like, and teach him your language as an accomplishment, but address the riding-school horse in his own tongue, until you have mastered it yourself. now, adjust yourself carefully, lean forward, extend your hands a very little, touch your horse with your left heel, and, as soon as he moves, sit erect and let your hands resume their position. hasten his steps until he is almost trotting, before you strike him with the whip. you can do this by very slightly opening and shutting your fingers in time with the slight pull which he gives with his head at every step, by touches with your heel, and by touches, not blows, with the whip, and by allowing yourself, not to rise, but to sit a little lighter with each step. it is not very easy to do, and you need not be discouraged if you cannot effect it after many trials. some masters will tell you to strike your horse on the shoulder, and some will prefer that you should strike him on the flank as a signal for trotting. those who prefer the former will tell you to carry your whip pointing forward; the others will tell you to carry it pointing backward, and many masters will say that it makes little difference as long as it is carried gracefully, and as long as you understand that it takes the place of a leg on the right side of the horse. general anderson, in "on horseback," lays down the rule that a horse should never be struck on the shoulder, as it will cause him to swerve, but use your master's horses in obedience to his orders. now, then, one, two, three, four! one, two, three, four! you don't seem to be astonishing anybody very much, esmeralda! again, one, two, three, four! never mind! sit down and let the horse do the work. keep your left heel down, and your left knee close to the saddle. not close to the pommel, understand, but close to the saddle. try and imagine, if you like, that you are carrying a dollar between the knee and the saddle, after the west point fashion, and do not fret overmuch because you are not rising. if you were a cavalryman riding with your troop, you would not be allowed to rise, and to sit properly while sitting close is an accomplishment not to be despised. "ow!" what does that mean? you rose without trying? watch yourself carefully, and if such a phenomenon should occur again, try to make it repeat itself by letting yourself down into the saddle, and then rising again quickly. but keep trotting! count how many times you trot around the ring, and mentally pledge yourself to increase the number of circuits at your next lesson. and--"cluck!" sit down in the saddle, esmeralda! lean back a little, bring your left knee up against the pommel, keeping the lower part of the leg close against the saddle; keep your right knee in place and your right foot and the lower part of your right leg close to the saddled; guide your horse, but do not otherwise exert yourself. how do you like it? delightful? yes, with a good horse it is as delightful as sitting in a rocking-chair, but, if you were a rider of experience, you would not allow your horse to enter upon the gait without permission, but would bring him back to the trot by slightly pulling first the left rein and then the right, a movement which is called sawing the mouth. the poor creature is really not in fault. he heard the cluck given by that complacent- looking man, trotting slowly about, and not knowing how to use his reins and knees in order to go faster, and he said to himself: "she is tired of trotting and wants a rest; so do i," and away he went. if you had been trying to rise, you might have been thrown, for the greatest danger that you will encounter in the school comes from rising while the horse is at a canter. the cadence of the motion is triple, instead of in common time like that of the trot, and you will soon distinguish the difference, but eschew cantering at first. if you once become addicted to it, you will never learn to trot, or even to walk well. having had your little warning against clucking, perhaps you will now sympathize with the indignant englishwoman who, having been almost unseated by a similar mischance, responded, when the clucking cause thereof rode up to say that he was sorry that her horse should behave so: "it wasn't the horse that was in fault, sir; it was a donkey." but now, try a round or two more of trotting, then guide your horse carefully about the ring two or three times, bring him up to the mounting-stand, dismount, and go to the dressing-room. you are rather warm, but not in the least tired, and you have had "such a good time," as you enthusiastically explain to everybody who will listen to you, but as there is much merry chatter going on from behind screens, and as it is all to the same effect, nobody pays much attention, and if you were cross and complaining, everybody would laugh at you. a riding-school is a place from which every woman issues better contented than she entered, and there is no sympathy for grumblers. remember to be careful about your wraps, and that you may be able to ride better next time, practice these exercises at home: place your knees together and heels together, adjust your shoulders, hands, and arms as if you were in the saddle, and sit down as far as possible, while keeping the legs vertical from the knee down. rise, counting "one," sink again, rise once more at "two," and continue through three measures, common time. rest a minute and repeat until you are a little weary. nothing is gained by doing too much work, but if you do just enough of this between lessons, you cannot possibly grow stiff. when you can do it fairly well, try to do it first on one foot and then on the other, and then bring your right foot in front of your left knee, and, standing on your left foot, assume, as nearly as possibly, the proper position for the saddle, and try to rise in time. you will not find it very difficult, and you will be compelled to keep your heel down while doing it, especially if you put a block about an inch thick under your left tow. you may try doing it while sitting sidewise in a chair, if it be difficult for you to poise yourself on one foot, but a girl who cannot stand thus for some time, long enough to lace her riding boot, for instance, is much too weak for her own good. take all your spare minutes for this work, esmeralda. bob up and down in all the secluded corners of the house; try to feel the motion in the horse-cars--it will not need much effort in many of them. and if you want to be comfortable in a herdic, sit sidewise and pretend that the seat is a horse. this is mr. hurlburt's rule for riding in an irish "outside car." in short, while taking your first riding-lessons, walk, sit, and think to the tune of "one, two, three, four! near the wall, make him trot; you cannot fall!" iv. the horse does not attempt to fly; he knows his powers, and so should i. _spurgeon_. wilful will to water, eh, esmeralda? you are determined to appear in that riding party after your third lesson, and you think that you "will look no worse than a great many others." undoubtedly, that is true, and more's the pity, but, since you will go, let us make the most of the third lesson, and trust that you will return in a whole piece, like henry clay's pie. you do not see why there is any more danger on the road than in the ring, and you have never been thrown! it would be unkind, in the face of that "never," to remind you that you have been in the saddle precisely twice, and, really, there is no more danger from your incompetency, should it manifest itself on the road, than might arise from its display in the ring, but with your horse it is another matter. having the whole world before him, why not, he will meditate, speed forth into space, and escape from the hateful creature who jerks on his head so causelessly, making him sigh wearily for the days of his unbroken colthood? he would endure it within doors, because he has noticed that his tormentor gives place to another every hour, and pain may be borne when it is not monotonous; but he remembers that there is no limit to the time during which one human being may impel him along an open road, and he also remembers some very pretty friskings, delightful to himself, but disconcerting to his rider, and he may perform some of them. even if he should, he would not unseat a rider well accustomed to school work, but you! you actually rose in the saddle three times in succession, the other day, and where were your elbows and where were your feet when you ceased rising, and long before your steady, quiet mount understood that you desired him to walk? your master smiles indulgently when you announce that this is your last practice lesson, and says: "very well, you shall ride charlie, to-day, at least for a little while, until some others come in." he himself mounts, moves off a pace or two, one of the assistant masters puts you in the saddle, and before the groom lets master charlie's head go, your master says, easily: "leave his reins pretty long, especially the right one. put your left knee close against the pommel; don't try to rise until i tell you. ready. now." you feel as if you were in a transformation scene at the theatre. the windows of the ring seem to run into one another, and at very short intervals you catch a glimpse in the mirror of a young woman, in a familiar looking norfolk jacket, sitting with her elbows as far behind her as if held there by the austrian plan of running a broomstick in front of the arms and behind the waist. on and on! you earnestly wish to stop, but are ashamed to say so. close at your right hand, pace for pace with you, rides your master, keeping up an unbroken fire of brief ejaculation: "hands a little lower! arms close to the side!" shoulders square! square! draw your right shoulder backward and upward! now down with your right elbow! don't pull o the right rein! don't lift your hands! you'll make him go faster!" "i like this kind of trot," you say sweetly. "it's easier than the other kind." "it isn't a trot; it's a canter," says your master, with a suspicion of dryness in his voice, "but you may make him trot if you like. shorten both reins, especially the left. whoa, charlie! wait until i say 'now,' before you do it! shorten both reins, especially the left; that will keep him to the wall, then extend your left arm a little, and draw back your right; draw back your left and extend your right, and repeat until he comes down to a trot. that saws his mouth, and gives him something besides scampering to occupy his mind. now we will start up again at a canter. lengthen your reins, but remember to shorten them when you want to trot." "shall i tell you before hand, so that you may have time to make your horse trot, too?" you ask. esmeralda, you must have been reading one of those sweet books on etiquette which advise the horsewoman to be considerate of her companions. how much notice do you think your master requires to "make his horse trot"? you will blush over the memory of that question next year, although now you feel that you have been very ladylike, even very christian, in putting it, for have you not shown that your temper is unruffled and that you are thinking how to make others happy? your master answers that his horse may be trusted, and that if you prefer to take your own time to change from the canter to the trot, rather than to wait for him to say, "now," you may do so. and the canter begins again, and, after a round or two, you try the mouth-sawing process, doing it very well, for it is an ugly little trick at best, rarely found necessary by an accomplished rider, and beginners seldom fail to succeed in it at the very first attempt. if it were pretty and graceful, it would be more difficult. down to the trot comes the obedient charles, and up you go one, two, three, four! and down you come, until you really expect to find yourself and the saddle in the tan between the two halves of your horse. of what can the creature's spinal column be made, to bear such a succession of blows! you begin by pitying the horse, but after about half a circuit, you think that human beings have their little troubles also, and you feel a suspicion of sarcasm in your master's gentle: "you need not do french trot any longer, unless you like. it will be easier for you to rise." you give a frantic hop in your stirrup at the wrong minute, and begin a series of jumps in which you and the horse rise on alternate beats, by which means your saddle receives twice as much pounding as at first, and then you have breath enough left to gasp "stop," and in a second you are walking along quietly, and your master is saying in a matter-of-fact way: "you would better keep your left heel down all the time, and turn the toe toward the horse's side and keep your right foot and leg close to the saddle below the knee; swing yourself up and down as a man does; don't drop like a lump of lead." "like a snowflake," you murmur, for you fancy that you have a pretty wit like will honeycomb. "not at all," says your master. "the snowflake comes down because it must, and comes to stay. you come because you choose, and come down to rise again instantly. you must keep your right shoulder back, and your hands on a level with your elbows, and you must turn the corners, not let your horse turn them as he pleases-- but more pupils are coming now and i must give you another horse. you may have billy buttons." the change is effected, the other pupils begin their lessons, and you and billy walk deliberately about in the centre of the ring. at first he keeps moderately near the wall, but after a time you find that the circle described by his footsteps has grown smaller, and that he apparently fancies himself walking around a rather small tree. your master rides up as you are pulling and jerking your left rein in the endeavor to come nearer to the wall, and says, "try billy's canter. i'll take a round with you. strike him on the shoulder, and when you want him to trot, shorten your reins and touch him on the flank. those are the signals which he minds best. now! canter." you remember having heard of a "canter like a rocking-chair." charlie had it, but you were too inexperienced to know it, but bad riders long ago deprived billy of any likeness to a rocking- chair. he knows that if he should let himself go freely, you would come near to making him rear by pulling on the reins, and so he goes along "one, two, three, one, two, three," deliberately, and you feel and look, as you hear an unsympathetic gazer in the gallery remark, "like a pea in a hot skillet." you prided yourself on keeping your temper unruffled under the wise criticism of your master, but in truth you did not really believe him. you said to yourself that he was too particular, and you even thought of informing him that he must not expect perfection immediately, but this piece of impudence, spoken by a person who, for aught that you can tell, does not know billy from a clotheshorse, convinces you instantly, and you decide to canter no more, but to trot, and so you "shorten your reins and strike him on the flank." as you shorten the right rein more than the left, and as your whip falls as lightly as if you meant the blow for yourself, billy goes to the centre of the ring, but you jerk him to the wall, and in time, trot he does. but your left foot swings now forward and now outward, and you cannot rise. the regular, pulsating count by which a clever girl is moving like a machine, irritates you, and you tell another beginner, "they really ought to let us rise on alternate bats at first, until we are more accustomed to the motion," and she agrees with you, and both of you try this, which might be called trotting on the american pupil plan, but even the calm billy manages to take about six steps between what you regard as the "alternate beats," and at last breaks into a canter, and you hear yourself ordered, very peremptorily, to "sit down." you obey, but begin the pea in the skillet performance again, and at last you tell your master that you will not try to trot anymore, but would like to know all about managing the reins. "and then," you say, looking as wise as the three gothamites of the nursery song, "even if i should not be able to trot long, and should fall behind my friends on the road, i shall have perfect control of my horse, and can walk on until they miss me and turn back for me. will you please tell me all the ways of holding the reins?" your master does not laugh; the joke is too venerable, and he feels awe-struck as he hears it, so ancient does it seem. "if you take your reins in one hand," he says, "an easy way is to hold the snaffle on your ring finger, and the left curb outside the little finger, with the right curb between the middle and fore fingers. then, when you want to use both hands, put your right little finger and ring finger between the right curb and right snaffle, and hold your hands at exactly even distances from your horse's head, with the two reins firmly nipped by the thumbs resting on top of the fore-fingers. this is the way recommended in the encyclopaedia britannica, in colonel dodge's 'patroclus and penelope,' and you will see it in many very good hunting pictures. "colonel anderson, in his 'on horseback,' recommends dividing the curb reins by the little finger of the left hand and the snaffle reins by the middle finger, carrying the ends up through the hand, and holding them by the thumb. mr. mead, in his 'horsemanship for women,' mentions this hold, but prefers taking the curb on the ring finger, and the snaffle outside the little finger, and between the forefinger and middle finger. this hold is used in the british army, and it is convenient in school, because if it be desirable to drop the curb in order to ride with the snaffle only, you can do it by dropping your ring finger, and, if your horse be moderately quiet, you can knot the curb rein and let it lie on his neck. besides, it makes the snaffle a little tighter than the curb, and that is held to be a good thing in england. an english soldier is prone to accuse american cavalrymen of riding too much on the curb, and by the way, i have heard english soldiers assert that they were taught the second method, but it was a riding master formerly in the queen's service who told me that the third was preferred. "m. de bussigny, in his little 'handbook for horsewomen,' gives the preference to crossing the reins, the curb coming outside the little finger and between the ring and middle finger, and the snaffle between the little and ring fingers and the middle finger and forefinger. i hold my won in that way when training a horse, but it is better for you to use both hands on the reins, and he would tell you so. you are more likely to sit square; it gives you twice the hold, and then, too, you know where your right hand is, and are not waving it about in the air, or devising queer ways of holding your whip. now your hour is over, and i will take you off your horse. wait until he is perfectly still, and the groom has him by the head. now drop your reins; let me take off the foot straps; take your foot out of the stirrup; turn in the saddle; put one hand on my shoulder and one on my elbow, and slip down as lightly as you can." you glance at the clock, perceive that you have been i the saddle almost an hour and a half, and murmur an apology. "don't mind," is the encouraging answer. "as long as a pupil does not complain and call us stingy when we make her dismount, we do not say much. but are you really going on the road, monday, miss esmeralda?" "yes, i am," you answer. "ah, well," he says, a little regretfully, "don't forget, then. hold on with your right knee and sit down for the canter." what shall you do by way of exercise before monday? practise all the old movements, a little of each one at a time, and take two lengths of ribbon as wide as an ordinary rein, or, better still, two leather straps, and fasten one to the knobs on the two sides of a door and run the other through the keyhole. call the knob straps the snaffle reins, and the keyhole straps the curb, and, sitting near enough to let them lie in your lap, practice picking them up and adjusting them with your eyes shut. when you can do it quickly and neatly, try and see with how little exertion you can sway the door to left and right, and then practice holding these dummy reins while standing on one foot and executing the movement used in trotting. if the door move by a hair's breadth, it will show you that you are pulling too much, and you must remember that your hold on your horse's mouth gives you greater leverage than you have on the door, and then, perhaps, you will pity the poor beast a little now and then. what is that? your master treated you as if you were an ignorant girl? so you are, dear, and even if you were not, if you knew all that there is in all the books, you might still be a bad horsewoman, because you might now know enough to use your knowledge. you don't care, and you feel very well, and are very glad that you went? of course, that is the invariable cry! and you mean to take some more lessons if you find that you really need them? then leave your skirt in the dressing-room locker! you will come back from your ride a wiser, but not a sadder, girl. one cannot be sad on horseback. v. --pad, pad, pad! like a thing that was mad, my chestnut broke away. _thornbury_. esmeralda was puzzled when she returned from her first riding party. in the morning, looking very pretty in her borrowed riding habit, her english hat with the hunting guard made necessary by the back bay breezes, her brown gauntlets, and the one scarlet carnation in her button-hole, she drove to the riding-school, where she had agreed to meet theodore and her other friends, not like mrs. gilpin, lest all should say that she was proud, but because her master had promised to lend her one of the school horses, to put her ion the saddle and to adjust her stirrup, and because she secretly felt that she would better give herself every possible advantage in what, as it came nearer, assumed the aspect of a trial rather than a pleasure. beholding ronald, the promised horse, severely correct in his road saddle, and looking immensely tall as he stood on the stable floor, she inly applauded her own wisdom, strongly doubting that theodore's unpractised arm would have tossed her into her place as lightly as the master's, and she was secretly overjoyed when the master himself mounted and joined the party with her, making its number nine; esmeralda herself, the graduate of three lessons; theodore, all his life accustomed to ride anything calling itself a horse, but making no pretenses to mastery of the equestrian science; the lawyer, understood, on his own authority, to be well informed in everything; the society young lady, erect, precise, self-satisfied; the texan, riding with apparent laziness, his hands rather high and seldom quiet, but not to be shaken from his seat; the beauty, languid and secretly discontented because her horse was "intended for a brunette, and a ridiculous mount for a blonde"; versatilia, who had "taken up riding a little," and the cavalryman, calm, quiet, and fraternally regarded by the master, as he reviewed the little flock from the back of a horse which had been offered to him as the paragon of its species, and for which and its kind, as he announced after riding a square or two, he "was not paying a cent a carload." "it is a lovely horse," said the beauty. "it is such a beautiful color. but men never care for color." "good color is a good thing, undoubtedly," said the master, "but a beautiful horse is a good horse, not necessarily an animal which would look well in a painted landscape, because its color would harmonize with the hue of the trees." "she is a beautiful girl, isn't she," said esmeralda, looking admiringly at the beauty, who, having just remembered tennyson's line about swaying the rein with flying finger tips, was executing some movements which made her horse raise his ears to listen for the cause of such conduct, and then shake his head in mild disapproval. "what do i care for a pretty girl?" demanded the master. "pretty rider is what i want to see, and 'pretty rider' is 'good rider.' wait until that girl trots three minutes or so, and see whether or not she is pretty." the party went through the streets at a rapid walk, now and then meeting a horse-car, now and then a stray wagon, but invariably allowed to take its own way, with very little regard for the rule of the road. the american who drives, whatever may be his social station, admires the courage of the woman who rides, but he is firmly convinced that she does not understand horses, and gives her all the space available wherein to disport herself. "are we all right in placing the ladies on the left?" asked theodore, turning to the master. "of course," cried the lawyer. "we follow the english rule, and the left was the place of safety for the lady in the days when english equestrianism was born. travelers took the left of the road, and this placed the cavalier between his lady and any possible danger." "and in the united states they take the right, and she is between him and any possible danger," said the master. "it is the custom, but it seems illogical and foolish. true, it removes any danger that the lady may be crushed between her own horse and her escort's, but who protects her from any passing car or carriage, and in case of a runaway what can her escort, his left hand occupied with his own reins, do to aid her with hers, or to disentangle her foot from the stirrup or her habit from the pommels in case she is thrown? can he snatch her from the saddle, after the matter of one of joaquin miller's young men? the truth is that since the rule of the road is 'keep to the right,' the rule of the saddle should be 'sit on the right,' but with a lady on his bridle hand the horseman could not be at his best as an escort, even then. "it is one of the many little absurdities in american customs; the old story of the survival of the two buttons at the back of the coat, and, by the way, miss esmeralda, the two buttons on the back of your habit are out of place, not because of your tailor's fault, but because of yours. they should make a line at right angles with your horse's spinal column. draw yourself back a little, until you can feel the pommel under your right knee. 'draw' yourself back; don't lean, but keep yourself perfectly erect, your back perpendicular to your horse's. sit a little to the left; lean a little to the right. let your left shoulder go forward a little, your right shoulder backward. now you are exactly right. try to remember your sensations at this minute, in order to be able to reproduce them. when i say 'careful,' pass yourself in review and endeavor to feel where you are wrong. but," addressing the cavalryman, who was in advance with versatilia, "is this procession a funeral?" "not exactly," said the cavalryman, and the, after a backward glance, he cried, in the fashion of a military riding-school master: "pr-r-re-pare to tr-r-r-ot--trot!" esmeralda remembered to shorten her reins, and resigned herself to the fates, who were propitious, enabling her to catch the cadence of the trot, and to rise to it during the few seconds before the cavalryman slackened rein. "careful," said the master, and she shook herself into place, eliciting a hearty "good!" from him. "look at your pretty girl," he growled softly, but savagely, and truly the beauty solicited attention. slipping to the left in her saddle, one elbow pointing toward cambridgeport and the other toward dorchester, her right foot visible through her habit, and her left all but out of the stirrup, she was attractive no longer, and to complete the master's disgust she ejaculated: "my hair is coming down!" "better bring a nurse and a ladies' maid for her," he muttered to esmeralda, confidentially. "hairpins in your saddle pocket? well, you are a sensible girl," and he rode forward with the little packet, giving it to the lawyer to pass to the unfortunate young woman. but here arose a little difficulty. the space between the lawyer's horse and the beauty's as they stood was too wide to allow him to lay the parcel in her outstretched fingers. the texan, on her right hand, had enough to do to keep her horse and his own absolutely motionless that she might not be thrown by any unexpected motion of either animal. versatilia exclaimed in remonstrance, "don't leave me," when the cavalryman said, "wait a second, i'll come and give them to her;" the master sat quiet and smiling. "why don't you dismount and give them to her?" cried theodore, and was out of his saddle, had placed the parcel in her hand, and was back in his place again before either of the other three men could speak. "very well done," said the master, approvingly, "but not the right thing to do. never leave your saddle without good cause, and never leave your horse loose for a moment. yes, i saw that you retained your hold of the reins; i was talking at miss esmeralda." "why didn't you make your horse step sideways?" he asked the lawyer. "i can't. he won't. see there!" sundry pulls, precisely like those which he might have used had he intended the horse to turn, a pair of absolutely motionless legs, and an unused whip were accepted as evidence that the lawyer's "i can't" was perfectly true, and the master and the cavalryman exchanged comprehending glances as the latter said: "well, don't mind. an eminent authority announced after the boston horse show of that high-school airs were of no use on the road. to make a horse move a step sideways is the veriest little zephyr of an air, but it would have been of some use to you, then. are we ready now? what's that? dropped your whip?" up went the texan's left heel, catching cleverly on the saddle as he dropped lightly to the right, after the fashion of the arab, the moor, the apache, of all the nations which ride for speed and for fighting rather than for leaping and hunting, and he caught the whip from the ground and was back in his place in a twinkling. the ladies were unmoved, because inappreciative; the lawyer looked savagely envious, the cavalryman and the master approving, and theodore, frankly admiring, but no one said anything, the little cavalcade rearranged itself, and once more moved on at a footpace until an electric car appeared. "ronald is like a rock," said the master, "and you need not be afraid, but i'll take this beast along in advance. he will shy, or do some outrageous thing, and he has a mouth as sensitive as the mississippi's, and no more." the "beast" did indeed sidle and fret and prance, and manifest a disposition to hasten to drown himself in the reservoir, beyond the reach of self-propelling vehicles, and he repeated the performance a the sight of two other cars, although evidently less alarmed than at first, but the fourth car was in charge of a kindly-disposed driver, who came to a dead stop, out of pure amiability. this was too much for the "beast" to endure; a moving house he was beginning to regard as tolerable, but a house which stopped short and glared at him with all its windows was more than horse nature could endure, and he started for the next county to institute an inquiry as to whether such actions were to be allowed, but found himself forced to stop, and not altogether comfortable, while the master cried good-naturedly: "go along and take care of your car. i'll take care of my horse!" "more than some other folks can do," said the driver, with a quiet grin at the lawyer, whose angry, "here, what are you doing!" shouted to his plunging steed, had brought all the women in the car to the front, to explain to one another that "that man was abusing his horse, poor thing." the car glided off, and versatilia turned to look at it; her horse stumbled slightly, jerking her wrists sharply, and but for the cavalryman's quick shifting of the reins to his right hand and his strong grasp of her reins with his left, she might have been in danger. "never look back," lectured the master. esmeralda was his pupil, and he would have taken the whole centennial quadrille and all the cabinet ladies to point his moral, had he seen them making equestrian blunders. "where your horse has been, where, he is, is the past. look to the future, straight before you." "the cavalryman looked back just now," esmeralda ventured to say. "yes, but he turned his horse very slightly to do it, and he may do almost anything because he has a perfect seat, and is a good horseman." "suppose i hear something or somebody coming up behind me?" "if it have any intelligence, it will not hurt you. if it have none, looking will do you no good. turn out to the right as far as you can and look to the front harder than ever, so as to be ready to guide your horse and to avoid any obstacles in case he should start to run. what is the trouble with the ladies now?" "o, dear!" cried the beauty to the society young lady, "your horse." "what's the matter with him?" asked the other, still very stately and not turning. "oh! the dreadful creature has caught his tail on my horse's bit," said the beauty. "then you'd better take your horse's bit away," retorted the other. "my horse's eyes are not at that end of him, and he can't be expected to look at his tail." "and you may be kicked," added the texan. "check him a little; there! we ought not to be so close together, and we ought to be moving a little, i think. shall we trot again?" everybody assented, the cavalryman and versatilia set off, the others followed as best they might, the beauty "going to pieces" in a minute or two, according to the master, the society young lady stiffening visibly, losing the cadence of the trot very soon, but making no outcry as she was tossed about uncomfortably, and not bending her head to look at her reins, as versatilia did. "there's the advantage of training in other things," said the master. "she's a good dancer and a good amateur actress, and she is controlling herself as she would on a ballroom floor, and remembering the spectators as she would on the stage. she's no rider, but is perfectly selfish and self-possessed, and she will cheat her escort into thinking that she is one. glad she's no pupil of mine, however! she always heads the conversation, one of her friends told me the other day. that is to say, she is always acting. i can't teach such a person anything; nobody can. she can teach herself, as she can think of herself and love herself, but she can't go outside of herself--and the lawyer will find it out after he has married her." esmeralda and theodore stared in astonishment. "walk," said the master, noticing that his pupil looked too warm for comfort, and the three allowed the others to go on without them. "careful," he added, and esmeralda, adjusting herself studiously, asked: "is it really easier to ride on the road than it is in the school? it seems so." "it is a little, especially if the corners of the ring are so near together that the horse goes in a circle, for then the rider has to lean to the right, while on the road she may sit straight. give me the right kind of horse for my pupil to ride, and i would as leif give lessons on the road as anywhere, but it is not well for the pupil, whose attention is distracted by a thousand things, and who learns less in a year than she would in a month in school. there is no finish about the riding of a woman so taught. she may be pretty, as you said of one of your friends, she may be self-possessed, like the other, but she will betray her ignorance every moment. you were surprised just now at what i said of the society young lady. a woman can't cheat an old riding-master, after he has seen her in the saddle. he knows her and her little ways by heart. shall we start up? ah!" ronald, the "steady as a rock," was off and away at a canter; theodore was starting to gallop in pursuit, but was sharply ordered back by the master, who went on himself at a rather slow canter, ready to break into a gallop if his pupil were thrown, but keeping out of ronald's hearing, lest he should be further startled by finding himself followed. there was a clear stretch of road before her, and esmeralda sat down as firmly as possible, brought her left knee up against the pommel, clung firmly with her right knee, held her hands low and her thumbs as firm as possible, and thought very hard. "very soon," she said to herself, "i shall be thrown and dragged, and hat a figure i shall be going home, if i', not killed! but i sha'n't be! i shall be ridiculous, and that's worse." here she swept by the riding party, but as versatilia and the beauty turned to look at her, and forgot to control their horses, the cavalryman and the texan had to do it for them, and could do nothing for esmeralda except to shout "whoa," which ronald very properly disregarded. the master came up, and the society young lady addressed him with, "very silly of her to try to exhibit herself so, isn't it?" "that's no exhibition; that's a runaway," said the master grimly. "she's doing well too, poor girl," and he and theodore went on after the flying rider. two or three carriages, the riders staring with horror; a pedestrian or two, innocently wondering why a lady should be on the road alone; a small boy whistling shrilly; these were all the spectators of esmeralda's flight. she felt desolate and deserted, and yet sure that it was best that she should be alone, since the master could overtake her if he would, and she wondered if she should be very seriously injured when thrown at last, but all the time she was talking to ronald in a voice carefully kept at a low pitch, and her hands were held with a steadiness utterly new to them, and the good horse went on regularly, but faster and faster. "that isn't a real runaway," said the master to himself. "ah, i see! her whip is down and strikes him at every stride, and so she unconsciously urges him forward. if there were a side road here, i'd gallop around and meet her, or if there were fields on either side, i'd leap the fence and make a circuit and cut her off, but through this place, with banks like a railway cutting on each side, there is nothing to do." swifter and swifter! esmeralda began to feel weaker, thought of theodore, and of some other things of which she never told even him, said a little prayer, but all the time remembered her master's injunctions, and kept her place firmly, waiting for the final, and, as she believed, inevitable crash, when lo! she saw that just in front of her lay a long piece of half-mended road, full of ugly little stones, and she turned ronald on it, with a triumphant, "see how you like that, sir," and then sawed his mouth. in half a minute he was walking. in another the master was beside her with words of approval. theodore galloped up, pale and anxious, and between the two she had quite as much praise as was good for her, and, being told of the position of the whip, found her confidence in ronald restored. "but you should never start up hastily," said the master. "take time for everything, and check your horse the instant he goes faster than you mean to have him. you are a good girl, and you shall not be scolded, or snubbed, either," he muttered, and the party came up, the cavalryman and the texan loud in praise, the other four clamorous with questions and advice. "you look quite disheveled," said the society young lady agreeably. "ladies often do after they have been on the road a little while. excuse me, but one of your skirt buttons is unfastened," said the master, and, not knowing how to pass her reins into her right hand so as to use her left to repair the accident, the society young lady was effectually silenced, while the master, holding esmeralda's horse, made her wipe her face, arrange the curly locks flying about her ears, readjust her hat, and generally smooth her plumage, until she was once more comfortable. after a little, the master proposed a trot up the hill, and instructed esmeralda to lean forward as her horse climbed upward, "if you should have to trot down hill, lean back a little, and keep your reins short," he said. the lawyer and the society young lady, essaying to descend the next hill brilliantly, barely escaped going over their horses' heads, and all four ladies were glad when they perceived that they were going homeward. "i like it," esmeralda said to the master, "but i wish i knew more, and i'm going to learn, and i see now that three lessons isn't enough, even for a beginning." "i knew a girl who took seventeen lessons and then was thrown," said the society young lady. "native ability is better than teaching. i don't believe any master could make a rider of you, esmeralda." "a good teacher can make a rider out of anyone who will study," said the master, to whom she looked for approval. "as for seventeen lessons, they are better than seven, of course, but they are not much, after all. how many dancing lessons, music lessons, elocution lessons have you taken? more than seventeen? i thought so. here's a railroad bridge, but no train coming. had one been approaching, and had there been no chance to cross it before it came, i should have made you turn ronald the other way, miss esmeralda, so that if he ran he would run out of what he thinks is danger, and not into it. and now for an easy little trot home." an easy little trot it was, and esmeralda, left at her own door, where a groom waited to take her horse to the stable, was happy, but puzzled. "theodore," she cried, as soon as he appeared in the evening, "did you ask the master to go with us? he treated me just as he does in school." "yes, i did," said theodore boldly. "i was afraid to take charge of you alone. that was a 'road lesson.'" "you--you--exasperating thing!" cried esmeralda. "but then, you were sensible." "that's tautology," said theodore. vi. a solitary horseman might have been seen. _g.p.r. james_. and so you are feeling very meek after your road lesson and your runaway, esmeralda, and are a perfect uriah heep for 'umbleness, and are, henceforth and forever, going to believe every syllable that your master utters, and to obey every command the instant that it is given, and--there, that will do! and you are going to take one private lesson so as to learn a few little things before you display your progress before any other pupils again? one private lesson! did your master advise it? no-no, but he consented to give it, when you had persuaded him that it would be best for you? when you had persuaded him? behold the american pupil's definition of obedience: to follow commands dictated by herself! however, there is no use in trying to eradicate the ideas bequeathed and fostered by a hundred years of national self-government, so go to the school at the hour when no other pupils are expected. the horses pace very solemnly around the great ring, and you adjust yourself with wonderful dignity, feeling that your master must perceive by your improved carriage and by the general perfection of your aspect that your exquisite timidity and charming shyness have been responsible for your awkwardness in former lessons, when other pupils were present, but now he leaves your side and takes a position in the centre of the ring, whence he addresses you thus: "keep your reins even! the right ones are too short, the left too long! stop him! that is not stopping him! he took two steps forward after he checked himself. go forward, and try again when i tell you. stop! not so hard, not so hard! you are making him back! extend your arms forward! there! a little more, and you would have made him rear! whoa! wo-ho! now listen! not so! don't drop your reins in that way, and sit so carelessly that a start would throw you from your place! never leave your horse to himself a second! sit as well as you can, look between your horse's ears and listen! always use some discretion in choosing your place to stop. do not try to stop when turning a corner, even to avoid danger, but rather change your direction. in the ring, never stop on the track, unless in obedience to your masters order, but turn out into the centre, but when you have once told your horse to stop, make him do it, for his sake, as well as for your own, if you have to spend an hour in the effort. and it will be an hour well spent, so that you need not lose patient, and if you do lose it, do not allow your horse to perceive it. "to stop, you should press your leg and your whip against your horse's sides; lift your hands a very little, and turn them in toward your body, lean back and draw yourself up. there are six things to do: two to your horse, one on each side of him, two with your hands and two with your body, and you must do them almost simultaneously. unless you do the first two, your horse will surely take a forward step or two after stopping, in order to bring himself into a comfortable position. if you do not cease doing the last four the moment that your horse has stopped, he may rear or he may back several steps, and he should never do that, but should await an order for each step. now, do you remember the six things? very well! go forward! stop! did i tell you to do anything with your arms? no> well, why did you bring your elbows back of your waist, then? it is allowable to do that --to save your life, but not to stop your horse. bend your hands at the wrist, turning the knuckles, if need be, until they are at right angles with their ordinary position, so that the back of your hand is toward your horse's ears, but keep the thumb uppermost all the time. "now, think it over a moment! go forward! stop! pretty well! go on! don't lean forward too much when you start, and sit up again instantly. "now walk around the school once, and go into all the corners. stop! you stopped pretty well, but you leaned back too far, and you did not draw yourself up at all. mind, you draw 'yourself' up; you don't try to pull the bit up through the corners of your horse's mouth. what i wanted to say was that a turn is just half a stop as far as your hands, leg and whip are concerned. to turn to the right, use your right hand and whip, but keep your left leg and hand steady; to turn to the left, use your left leg and hand and keep your whip and whip hand steady. when you turn to the right, lean to the right instead of backward; 'lean,' not twist to the right, and turn your head to the right so as to see what may be there. "if you were on the road, and did not turn your head before going down a side street, you might knock over a bicycle rider, and thereby hurt your horse, which would be a pity," he says, with apparent indifference as to the bicycle rider's possible injuries. "now go around the school again. left shoulder forward! right shoulder back! sit to the right! lean to the left! i told you to sit to the left, the other day? and that is the reason that i have told you to sit to the right to-day. you over-do it. miss esmeralda, if i were talking for my own pleasure, i should say pretty things to you, but i am talking to teach you, and when i say 'this is wrong! this is wrong!' and again 'this is wrong!' i do it for you, not for myself. when your father and mother say 'this is wrong; you must not do it, or you will be sorry,' you do not look at them as if you thought them to be unreasonable--or, i trust that you do not," he adds, mentally. "heaven only knows what an american girl may do when anybody says, 'you must not' to her. "now," he goes on aloud, "it is the same with your teacher; he says 'you are wrong,' lest you should be sorry by and by, and he is patient and says it many times, as your father and mother do, and he says it every time that you do anything wrong, unless you do so many wrong things at once that he cannot speak of each one. now you shall turn to the right, and remember that a turn is half a stop. go across the school and then turn to the left! keep a firm hold on your right rein now so as to keep your horse close to the wall. where, where are your toes? it was not necessary to make you turn so as to see your right foot through your riding habit as i can now, to know that they were pointing outward. your right shoulder told the story by drooping forward. m. de bussigny lays especial stress on this point in his manual, and you will find that your whole position depends more on that seemingly unimportant right foot than on many other things, so bend your will to holding it properly, close against the saddle. walk on now, keeping on a straight line. if you cannot do it in the school, you cannot on the road, and many an ugly scrape against walls, horse-cars, and other horses you will receive unless you can keep to the right and in a straight line. now turn to the left, and go straight across the school. straight! fix your eye on something when you start, and ride at it with as much determination as if it were a fence; now you turn to the right again and go forward. have you read delsarte?" no, you murmur to yourself, you have not read delsarte, and, if you had, you do not believe that you could remember it or anything else just at present. what an endless string of directions! you wish that there was another pupil with you to take the burden of a few of them! you wish you were--oh! anywhere. this is your obedience, is it esmeralda? well, you don't care! this is dull! your horse thinks so, too. he gently tries the reins, and, finding that you offer no resistance, he decides to take a little exercise, and starts off at a canter, keeping away from the wall most piously, avoiding the corners as if some hector might be in ambuscade there to catch and tame him, and rushing on faster and faster, as you do nothing in particular to stop him. "lean to the right," cries the master, and you obey, but the horse continues his canter, almost a gallop now, when suddenly your wits return to you, you draw back first the right hand and then the left, he begins to trot, and by some miracle you begin to rise, and continue to do it, you do not know exactly how, feeling a delight in it, an exhilarating, exultant sensation as if flying. "keep your right leg close to the saddle below the knee and turn your toes in!" you obey, and even remember to press your left knee to the saddle also and to keep your heel down. "don't rise to the left! rise straight! your horse is circling to the right, and you must lean to the right to rise straight! take him into the corners so that he will move more on a straight line, and you can rise straight and be as much at ease as if on the road. whoa! now, don't change your position, but look at yourself! you did not shorten your reins when you began to trot, and, if your horse had stumbled, you could not have aided him to regain his balance. had you shortened them properly, you could, by sitting down, using your leg and whip lightly and turning your hands toward your body, have brought him down to a walk without hurling yourself forward against the pommel in that fashion. now, adjust yourself and your reins, and start forward once more," and you obey, and are beginning to flatter yourself that your master does not know that your canter was accidental, when he warns you against allowing a horse to do anything unbidden. "you should have stopped him at once," he says. "he will very likely try to repeat his little maneuver in a few minutes. when he does, check him instantly, not by your voice, but as you have been directed. and now, have you read delsarte? no? if you have time, you might read a chapter or two with advantage, simply for the sake of learning that a principle underlies all attitudes. "he divides the body into three parts; the head, torso, and legs, and he teaches that the first and third should act on the same line, while the second is in opposition to them. for instance, if you be standing and looking toward the right, your weight should rest on your right leg and your torso should be turned to the left. neither turn should be exaggerated, but the two should be exactly proportioned, one to another. "now for riding, your body is divided into three parts, your head and torso making one, your legs above the knee, the second, and your legs below the knee, the third, and you will find that the first and third will act together, whether you desire it or not. your right foot is properly placed now, but turn its toes outward and upward; you see what becomes of your right shoulder. now try to make a circle to the right, a volte we call it, because it is best to become accustomed to a few french words, as there are really no english equivalents for many of the terms used in the art of equestrianism. "to make a volte you have only to turn to the right and to keep turning, going steadily away from the wall until opposite your starting point, and then regaining it by a half-circle. making voltes is not only a useful exercise, showing your horse that you really mean to guide him, and teaching you to execute a movement steadily, but it affords an excellent way of diverting the horse's attention from the mischief which satan is always ready to find for idle hoofs. give him a few voltes and he forgets his plans for setting off at a canter. do you understand? very well. when you are half-way down the school try to make a volte. i will give you no order. your horse would understand if i did and would begin the movement himself, and you should do it unaided." you try the volte, and convince yourself that the geometry master who taught you that a circle was a polygon with an infinite number of sides was more exact and less poetical than you thought him in the days before the riding-school began to reform your judgment on many things. you are conscious of not making a respectable curve in return, and you draw a deep breath of disgust as you say, "that was very bad, wasn't it?" "not for the first time. keep your left hand and leg steady, and try it again on the other side of the ring. better! now walk around, and make him go into the corners, if you have to double your left wrist in doing it, but don't move your arm, and when you begin to bend you right wrist to turn, straighten your left, and remember to lean your body and turn your head, if you want your horse to turn his body. your wrist acts on his head and keeps him in line; your whip and leg bring his hind legs under him, but you must move your body if you want him to move his. "now, you shall make a half volte, or shall 'change hands,' as it is sometimes called, because, if you start with your left hand nearest the wall, you will come back to the wall with your right hand nearest to it; or, to speak properly, 'if you start on the right hand of the school, you will end on the left hand.' for the half volte, make a half circle to the right, and then ride in a diagonal line to a point some distance back on your track, and when you are close to it make three quarters of a turn to the left and you will find yourself on the left of the school, and in a position to practice keeping your horse to the right. try it, beginning about two thirds of the way down the long side of the school. now to get back to the right hand, you may turn to the left across the school, and turn to the left again. "there is a better way of dong it, but that is enough for to-day. walk now. do you see how much better your horse carries himself, and how much better you carry your hands, after those little exercises? now you must try and imagine yourself doing them over and over and over again, to accustom your mind to them, just as when learning to play scales and five-finger exercises you used to think them out while walking. shall you not need pictures and diagrams to assist you? not if you have as much imagination as any horsewoman should have. not if you have enough imagination to manage a cow, much more to enter into the feelings of a good horse. pictures are invaluable to the stupid; they benumb and enervate the clever, and turn them into apish imitators, instead of making them able to act from their own knowledge and volition. theory will not make you a good rider, but a really good rider without theory is an impossibility, and your theory must have a deeper seat than your retinae. now, you shall have a very little trot, and then you may walk for ten minutes, and try to do voltes and half voltes by yourself, asking me for aid if you cannot remember how to execute the movements. doing them will help you to pass away the time when you are too tired to trot, and will keep you from having any dull moments." and you, esmeralda, you naughty girl! you forgot all about your sulkiness half an hour ago, and, looking your master in the face, you say: "but nobody ever has dull moments in riding-school." there! finish your lesson and walk off to the dressing-room; you will be trying to trade horses with somebody the next thing, you artful, flattering puss! vii. here we are riding, she and i! _browning_. what is it now, esmeralda? by your blushing and stammering it is fairly evident that another of your devices for learning on the american plan--that is to say, by not studying--is in full possession of your fancy, and that again you expect to become a horsewoman by a miracle; come, what is it? a music ride? nell has an acquaintance who always rides to music, and asserts that it is as easy as dancing; that the music "fairly lifts you out of the saddle," and that the pleasure of equestrian exercise is doubled when it is done to the sound of the flute, violin, and bassoon, or whatever may be the riding-school substitutes? as for lifting you out of the saddle, esmeralda, it is quite possible that music might execute that feat, promptly and neatly, once, and might leave you out, were it produced suddenly and unexpectedly by "dot leetle sherman bad," and it is undoubtedly true that, were you a rider, music would exhilarate you, quicken your motions, stimulate your nerves, and assist you as it assists a soldier when marching. it is also true that it will aid even you somewhat, by indicating on what step you should rise, so that your motions will not alternate with those of your horse, to your discomfiture and his disgust, and that thus, by mechanically executing the movement, you may acquire the power of seeing that you are not performing it when you rise once a minute or thereabouts, but a music ride is an exercise which a wise pupil will not take until advised thereto by her master. still, have your own way! why did george washington and the other fathers of the republic exist, if its daughters must be in bondage to common sense and expediency? borrow nell's habit once more, for the criticism to be undergone on the road is mild compared to that of a gallery of spectators before whom you must repeatedly pass in review, and who may select you as the object of their especial scrutiny. dress at home, if possible; if not, go to the school early, and array yourself rapidly, but carefully, for there may be fifty riders present during the evening, and there will be little room to spare on the mounting-stand, and no minutes to waste on buttoning gloves, shortening skirt straps or tightening boot lacings. remember all that you have been taught about mounting and about taking your reins, and think assiduously of it, with a determination to pay no attention to the gallery. there will be no spectators on the mounting-stand, and theodore, who will take charge of you in the ring, will mount before you do, and when you have been put in your saddle by one of the masters, and start, he will take his place on your right, nearer the centre of the ring. while you are walking your horses slowly about, turning corners carefully and never ceasing to control your reins, warn him that when you say, "centre," he must turn out to the right instantly, that you also may do so. if possible, you will not pronounce the word, but will ride as long as the horses canter or trot in time to the music. "do you understand," theodore asks, "that these horses adjust their gait to the music?" "so nell's friend says." "well, i don't believe it. they are good horses, but i don't believe that they practice circus tricks. why must i go to the centre the minute that you bid me? why couldn't you pull up and pass out behind me?" "because if i did, somebody might ride over me. it is not proper to stop while on the track." "oh-h! how long do they trot or canter at a time? half an hour?" "only a few minutes," you answer, wondering whether theodore really supposes that you could canter, much less trot half an hour, even if stimulated by the music of the spheres. "that's a pretty rider," he says, as a girl circles lightly past, sitting fairly well, and rising straight, but with her arms so much extended that her elbow is the apex of a very obtuse angle, though her forearms are horizontal. you explain this point to theodore, who replies that she looks pretty, and seems to be able to trot for some time, whereupon your heart sinks within you. what will he say when he sees the necessary brevity of your performance? other riders enter: two or three men mounted on their own horses, beautiful creatures concerning whose value fabulous tales are told in the stable; the best rider of the school, very quietly and correctly dressed, and managing her horse so easily that the women in the gallery do not perceive that she is guiding him at all, although the real judges, old soldiers, a stray racing man or two, the other school pupils and the master--regard her admiringly, and the grooms, as they bring in new horses, keep an eye on her and her movements, as they linger on their way back to the stable. "her horse is very good," theodore admits, "but i don't think much of her. well, yes, she is pretty," he admits, as she executes the spanish trot for a few steps and then pats her horse's shoulder; "it's pretty, but anybody could do it on a trained horse, couldn't they, sir?" he asks your master, who rides up, mounted on his own pet horse. "anybody who knew how. the horse has been trained to answer certain orders, but the orders must be given. an untrained horse would not understand the orders, no matter how good an animal he might be. antinous might not have been able to ride bucephalus, and i don't believe that alexander could have coaxed rosinante into a spanish trot. it isn't enough to have a corliss engine, or enough to have a good engineer: you must have them both, and they must be acquainted with one another. i don't believe that horse would do that for you." "no, i don't think he would," theodore says dryly, for he has been watching, and has reluctantly owned to himself that he does not see how the movement is effected. meantime, you, esmeralda, have been arduously devoting yourself to maintaining a correct attitude, and are rewarded by hearing somebody in the gallery wonder whether you represent the kitchen poker or bunker hill monument. "don't mind," your master says, encouragingly. "it is better to be stiffly erect than to be crooked, and as for the person who spoke, she could not ride a newfoundland dog," and with that he touches his hat, and rides lightly across the ring to speak to a lady whose horse has, in the opinion of the gallery, been showing a very bad temper, although in reality every plunge and curvet has been made in answer to her wrist and to the tiny spur which his rider wears and uses when needed. the lady nods in answer to something which the master says, the two draw near to the wall, side by side, the others fall in behind them, and the band begins a waltz, playing rather deliberately at first, but soon slightly accelerating the time. there is very little actual need of guiding your horse, esmeralda, because long habit has taught him what to do at a music-ride, but you do right to continue to endeavor to make him obey you. should he stumble; should that man riding before you and struggling to make his horse change his leading foot fail in the attempt, and cause the poor creature to fall; should the rider behind you lose control of her horse, your firm hold of the reins would be of priceless value to you, but now the waltz rhythm suddenly changes to that of a march, and your horse begins to trot, slowly and with little action at first, and then with a freer, longer stride which really lifts you out of the saddle, sending you rather too high for grace, indeed, but making the effort very slight for you, and enabling you to think about your elbows, and sitting to the right and keeping your right shoulder back and your right foot close to the saddle and pointing downward, and your left knee also close, and "about seventy-five other things," as you sum up the case to yourself. thanks to this, you are enabled to continue until the music stops, and theodore says, approvingly, "well, you can ride a little." "a very little," your master says. she has learned something, of course, but it would be the unkindest of flattery for me to fell her that she does well." "one must begin to ride in early childhood," theodore says. "one should begin to be taught in childhood," the master amends, "but it is not absolutely necessary. some of the best riders in the french army never mounted until they went to the military school, and some of the best riders at west point only know a horse by sight until they fall into the clutches of the masters there, and then!" his countenance expresses deep commiseration. "now," he adds, "if you take my advice, you two, you will take places in the centre of the ring; you will sit as well as you know how, miss esmeralda, and you will watch the others through the next music. it is perfectly allowable," he adds, drawing rein a moment as he passes, "to sit a little carelessly when your horse is at rest, always keeping firm hold of the reins, but i would rather that you did not do it until you had ridden a little more and are firmer in your seat. hollow your waist the least in the world, for the sake of our poker-critic in the gallery, and watch for bad riding as well as for good," and away he goes, and again the double circle of riders sweeps around the ring, and you have time to see that the horses seem to enjoy the motion, and that their action is more easy and graceful than it is when they are obeying the commands of poor riders. theodore indulges in a little sarcasm at the expense of a man whose elbows are on a level with his shoulders, while his two hands are within about three inches of one another on the reins, and his horse has as full possession of his head as of his body and legs, which is saying much, for his riders toes are pointing earthward and his heels apparently trying to find a way to one another through the body of his steed. another man, riding at an amble into which he has forced his fat horse by using a mexican bit, and keeping his wrists in constant motion; and another, who leans backward until his nose is on a level with the visor of his cap, also attract his attention, but he persists in his opinion that the best riders among the ladies are those who can trot and canter the longest, until your master, coming up, says in answer to your protest against such heresy, "no. ease and a good seat are indeed essential, but they are not everything. they insure comfort and confidence, but not always safety. it is well to be able to leap a fence without being thrown. it is better to know how to stop and open a gate and shut it after you, lest some day you should have a horse which cannot leap, or a sprained wrist which may make the leap imprudent for yourself. you can acquire the seat almost insensibly while learning the management, but you must study in order to learn the management. however, you came mainly for enjoyment to-night, i think. go and ride some more." and you obey, and you have the enjoyment. and when you go to the dressing-room, it is with a feeling of perfect indifference to the gallery critics, and when you come down, ready for the street, you have a little gossip with the master. this is the only kind of music ride, he tells you, practicable for riders of widely varying ability, but the ordinary circus is but a poor display of horsemanship compared to what may be seen in some private evening classes in this country, or in military schools. there are groups of riders in boston and in new york, friends who have long practiced together, who can dancer the lancers and virginia reels as easily on horseback as on foot, and who can ride at the ring as well as lord lindesay himself, or as well as the pretty english girls who amuse themselves with the sport in india. "just think," you sigh, "to be able to make your horse go forward and back, and to move in a circle, a little bit of a circle, and to do all of it exactly in time! oh!" and then, seeing theodore perfectly unmoved, your master tells of the military music rides when, rank after rank, the soldiers dash across the wide spaces of the school and stop at a word, or by a preconcerted, silent signal, every horse's head in line, every left hand down, saber or lance exactly poised, every foot motionless, horse and rider still as if wrought from bronze. and then he tells of the labyrinthine evolutions when the long line moving over the school floor coils and uncoils itself more swiftly than any serpent, each horse moving at speed, each one obeying as implicitly as any creature of brass and iron moved by steam. and then he talks of broadsword fights, in which the left hand, managing the horse, outdoes the cunning of the right, and of the great reviews, when, if ever, a monarch must feel his power as he sees his squadrons dash past him, saluting as one man, and reflects on the expenditure of mental and physical power represented in that one moment's display. "you can't learn to do such things as these," he says, "by mere rough riding. why, only the other day, when queen victoria went to sandringham, the gentlemen of the norfolk county hunt turned out to escort her carriage, all in pink, all wearing the green velvet caps of the hunt, all splendidly mounted and perfectly appointed. they were a magnificent sight, and it was no wonder that her majesty looked at them with approval. "in a dash across country they would probably have surpassed any other riders in the world, unless, perhaps, those of some other english country, but when her majesty and the prince of wales appeared at a front window, and the gentlemen rode past to salute them, what happened? the first three or four ranks went on well enough, although frenchmen, or spaniards, or germans would have done better, because they, had they chosen, would have saluted and then reined backward, but the englishmen made a gallant show, and her majesty smiled. somebody raised a cheer, and the horses began to rear and perform movements not named in the school manuals. the queen laughed outright, and the gentlemen finished their pretty parade in some confusion. now a very little school training would have prevented that accident, and the huntsmen would have been as undisturbed as queen christina was that day when her horse began to plunge while in a procession, and she quickly brought him to his senses, and won the heart of every spaniard who saw her by showing that 'the austrian' could ride. an english hunting-man's seat is so good that he is often careless about fine details, but a trained horseman is careless about nothing, and a trained horsewoman is like unto him." and now the lights are out, and you and theodore go away, and, walking home, lay plans for further work in the saddle, for he, too, has caught the riding-fever, and now you begin to think about class lessons. viii. all in a wow. _sothern_. and you really fancy, esmeralda, that you are ready for class lessons? you have been in the saddle only six times, remember. but you have been assured, on the highest authority, that fifty lessons in class are worth a hundred private lessons? and the same authority says that the class lessons should be preceded by at least twice as much private instruction as you have enjoyed; but, naturally, you suppress this unfavorable context. you think that you cannot begin to subject yourself to military discipline so soon? after that highly edifying statement of your feelings, esmeralda, hasten away to school before the dew evaporates from your dawning humility, and make arrangements for entering a class of beginners. you are fortunate in arriving half way between two "hours," and find to your delight that you may begin to ride with five or six other pupils on the next stroke of the clock, and you hasten to array yourself, and come forth just in time to see another class, a long line of pretty girls, making its closing rounds, the leader sitting with exquisitely balanced poise, which seems perfectly careless, but is the result of years of training and practice; others following her with somewhat less grace, but still accomplishing what even your slightly taught vision perceives to be feats of management far beyond you; still others, one blushing little girl with her hat slung on her arm, the heavy coils of her hair falling below her waist; and an assistant master riding with the last pupil, who is less skillful than the others, while another master rides up and down the line or stands still in the centre of the ring, criticising, exhorting, praising, using sarcasm, entreaty and sharp command, until the zeal and energy of all gaul seem centered in his speech. the clock strikes, and in a trice the whole class is dismounted, and its members have scampered away to make themselves presentable for the journey home, and to you, awaiting your destiny in the reception room, enter versatilia, the beauty, and the society young lady, and nell, and you stare at them in wrathful astonishment fully equalled by theirs, and then, in the following grand outburst of confession, you are informed that, each one having planned to outgeneral the others and to become a wondrous equestrian, the fates and the wise fairy who, sitting in a little room overlooking the ring, presides over the destinies of classes, have willed that you should be taught together. "and there are three other young ladies who have never ridden at all," the wise fairy says, "and they are to ride behind you, and you must do very well in order to encourage them," she adds with a kind smile; and then there is a general muster of grooms and horses, and in a moment you are all in your saddles and walking about the ring, into which, an instant after, another lady rides easily and gracefully, to be saluted by both masters with a sigh of relief, and requested to take the lead, which she does, trotting lightly across the ring, wheeling into line and falling into a walk with trained precision, and now the lesson really begins. "you must understand, ladies," says the teacher, that you must always, in riding in class, keep a distance of about three feet between your horse and the one before you, and that you must preserve this equally in the corners, on the short sides of the school, and on the long sides." "that's easy enough, i'm sure," says the society young lady, taking it upon herself to answer, and eliciting an expression of astonishment from the teacher, not because he is surprised, habit already rendering him sadly familiar with young women of her type, but because he wishes to relegate her to her proper position of submissive silence as soon as may be. "you think so?" he asks. "then we shall depend on you to regard the distance with great accuracy. at present you are two feet too far in the rear. forward! now, ladies, when i say 'forward,' it is not alone for one; it is for all of you; each one must look and see whether or not her horse is in the right place. and she must not bend sideways to do it, miss versatilia. she must look over her horse's head between his ears. now, forward! now, look straight between your horse's ears, each one of you, and see something on the horse before you that is just on a line with the top of his head, and use that as a guide to tell you whether or not you are in place! now, forward, miss--miss lady! not so fast! keep walking! do not let him trot! keep up in the corners! do not let your horse go there to think! use your whip lightly! not so, not so!" as the society young lady brings down her whip, half on the shoulder of gentle toto, half on his saddle, and sets him dancing lightly out of line, to the discomfiture of versatilia's horse, who follows him from a sense of duty. "take your places again," cries your teacher, "and keep to the wall! if you had had proper control of your horse, that would not have happened, miss versatilia! now, miss lady, hold your whip in the hollow of your hand, and use it by a slight movement, not by raising your arm and lashing, lashing, lashing as if you were on the race course. a lady is not a jockey, and she should employ her whip almost as quietly as she moves her left foot. forward, forward! and keep on the track, ladies! keep your horses' heads straight by holding your reins perfectly even, then their bodies will be straight, and you will make one line instead of being on six lines as you are now. and, miss esmeralda, forward! use your whip! not so gently! it is not always enough to give your horse one little tap. give him many, one after the other with quickened movement, so that he will understand that you are in a hurry. it is like the reveille which sounds ever louder until everybody is awake! "now, you must not make circles! make squares! go into the corners! don't pull on your horse's head, miss nell! he thinks that you mean him to stop, and then you whip him and he tries to go on, and you pull again, and he knows not what to think. always carry out whatever purpose you begin with your horse if you can. if sometimes you make a mistake, and cannot absolutely correct it because of those behind you, guide your horse to his proper place, and the next time that you come to that part of the ring, make him go right! forward, forward! ladies, not one of you is in the right place! keep up! keep up! miss lady, you must go forward regularly! now prepare to trot! no, no! walk! when i say, 'prepare to trot,' it is not for you to begin, but to think of what you must do to begin, and you must not let your horses go until i give the second order, and then not too fast at first. now, prepare to trot! trot! not quite so fast, miss lady; gently! keep up, keep up, miss beauty! miss esmeralda, you are sitting too far to the left, your left shoulder is too far back! on't hold your hands so high, miss versatilia! rise straight, miss esmeralda! now, remember, ladies, what i say is for all. prepare to whoa! whoa!" the leader, by an almost imperceptible series of movements, first sitting down in her saddle, then slightly relaxing her hold of the reins, and turning both hands very slightly inward, brings her horse to a walk and continues on her way. the others, with more or less awkwardness, come to a full stop, and your teacher laughs. "when i say that," he explains, "i mean to cease trotting, not to stop. go forward, and remember how you have been taught to go forward, miss esmeralda. it is not enough to frown at your horse. now, prepare to trot! trot!" and then he repeats again and again that series of injunctions which already seems so threadbare to you, esmeralda, but which you do not follow, not because you do not try, but because you have not full control of your muscles, and then comes once more the order, "prepare to whoa. whoa!" and a volley of sharp reminders about the solemn duty of keeping a horse moving while turning corners, and once more the column proceeds as regularly as possible. "i observe," says your teacher, riding close to you, "that you seem timid, miss esmeralda. do you feel frightened." "no," you assure him. "then it is because you are nervous that you are so rigid. try not to be stiff. give yourself a little more flexibility in the fingers, the wrists, the elbows, everywhere! you are not tired? no? be easy then, be easy!" and you remember that you have been likened unto a poker, and sadly think that, perhaps the comparison was just. "the other master shall ride with you for a few rounds," he continues; "that will give you confidence, and you will not be nervous." you indignantly disclaim the possession of nerves, he smiles indulgently, and the other teacher rides up beside you, and advises you steadily and quietly during the next succession of trotting and walking, and, conscious of not exerting yourself quite so much and of being easier, you begin to think that perhaps you have a nerve or two somewhere, and you determine to conquer them. "you are sitting too far to the right now," says your new guide, the most quiet of north britons. "there should be about half an inch of the saddle visible to you beyond the edge of your habit, if it fit quite smooth, but you would better not look down to se it. it would do no harm for once, perhaps, but it would look queer, and might come to be a habit. try to judge of your position by the feeling of your shoulders and by thinking whether you are observing every rule; but, once in a great while, when you are walking, take your reins in your left hand, pass your right hand lightly along the edge of your saddle, ad satisfy yourself that you are quite correct in position. if you be quite sure that you can take a downward glance, without moving your head, try it occasionally, but very rarely. use this, in fact, as you would use a measure to verify a drawing after employing every other test, and if any teacher notice you and reprove you for doing it, do not allow yourself to use it again for two or three lessons, for, unless you can be quiet about it, it is better not to use it at all." "ladies, ladies," cries a new voice, at the sound of which the leader is seen to sit even better than before, "this is not a church, that you should go to sleep while you are taught truth! attend to your instructor! keep up when he tells you. make your movements with energy. you tire him; you tire me; you tire the good horses! how then, rouse yourselves! prepare to trot! trot!" and away go the horses, for it is not every hour that they hear the strong voice which means that instant obedience must be rendered. "keep up! keep up!" cries your teacher. "come in!" says your own guide, and then pauses himself, to urge one of the beginners behind you, and for a minute or two the orders follow one another thick and fast, the three men working together, each seeming to have eyes for each pupil, and to divine the intentions of his coadjutors, and then comes the order, "prepare to whoa! whoa! and the master sits down on the mounting-stand, and frees his mind on the subject of corners, a topic which you begin to think is inexhaustible. "please show these ladies how to go into a corner," he concludes, and your teacher does so, executing the movement so marvelously that it seems as if he would have no difficulty in performing it in any passageway through which his horse could walk in a straight line. the whole class gazes enviously, to be brought to the proper frame of mind by a sharp expostulatory fire of: "keep your distance! forward!" with about four times as many warnings addressed to the society young lady as to all the others; and then suddenly, unexpectedly, the clock strikes and the lesson is over. the society young lady dresses herself with much precision and deliberation, and announces that she will never, no, never! never so long as she lives, come again; and in spite of nell's attempts to quiet her, she repeats the statement in the reception room, in the master's hearing, aiming it straight at his quiet countenance. "no?" he says, not so much disturbed as she could desire. "you should not despair, you will learn in time." "i don't despair," she answers; "but i know something, and i will not be treated as if i knew nothing." "an, you know something," he repeats, in an interested way. "but what you do not know, my young lady, is how little that something is! this is a school; you came here to be taught. i will not cheat you by not teaching you." "and it is no way to teach! three men ordering a class at once!" "ah, it is 'no way to teach'! now, it is i who am taking a lesson from you. i am greatly obliged, but i must keep to my own old way. it may be wrong--for you, my young lady--but it has made soldiers to ride, and little girls, and other young ladies, and i am content. and these others? are they not coming any more?" and every one of those cowardly girls huddles away behind you, esmeralda, and leaves you to stammer, "y-yes, sir, but you do s-scold a little hard." "that," says the master, "is my bog voice to make the horses mind, and to make sure that you hear it. and i told you the other day that i spoke for your good, not for my own. if i should say every time i want trotting, 'my dear and much respected beautiful young ladies, please to trot,' how much would you learn in a morning?" "we are ladies," says the society young lady, "and we should be treated as ladies." "and you--or these others, since you retire--are my pupils, and shall be treated as my pupils," he says with a courtly bow and a "good morning," and you go away trying to persuade the society young lady to reconsider. "not that i care much whether she does or not," nell says confidentially to you. "she's too overbearing for me," and just at that minute the voice of the society young lady is heard to call the master "overbearing," and you and nell exchange delighted, mischievous smiles. now for that stiffness of yours, esmeralda, there is a remedy, as there is for everything but death, and you should use it immediately, before the rigidity becomes habitual. continue your other exercises, but devote only about a third as much time to them, and use the other two thirds for delsarte movements. first: let your hands swing loosely from the wrist, and swing them lifelessly to and fro. execute the movement first with the right hand then with the left, then with both. second: let the fingers hang from the knuckles, and shake them in the same way and in the same order. third: let the forearm hang from the elbow, and proceed in like manner. fourth: let the whole arm hang from the shoulder, and swing the arms by twisting the torso. execute the finger and hand movements with the arms hanging at the side, extended sidewise, stretched above the head, thrust straight forward, with the arms bent at right angles to them and with the arms flung backward as far as possible. execute the forearm movements with the arms falling at the side, and also with the elbow as high as the shoulder. after you have performed these exercises for a few days, you will begin to find it possible to make yourself limp and lifeless when necessary, and the knowledge will be almost as valuable as the ability to hold yourself firm and steady. you will find the exercises in mrs. thompson's "society gymnastics," but these are all that you will need for at least one week, especially if you have to devote many hours to the task of persuading the society young lady not to leave your class unto you desolate. ix. "left wheel into line!" and they wheel and obey. _tennyson_. when you arrive at the school for your second class lesson, esmeralda, you find the dressing-room pervaded by a silence as clearly indicative of a recent tempest as the path cloven through a forest by a tornado. from the shelter of screens and from retired nooks, come sounds indicative of garments doffed and donned with abnormal celerity and severity, but never a word of joking, and never a cry for deft-fingered kitty's assistance, and then, little by little, even these noises die away, and the palace of the sleeping beauty could not be more quiet. no girl stirs from her lurking-place, until our yourself issue from your pet corner, and then nell, a warning finger on her lip, noiselessly emerges from hers, and you go into the reception room together, and she explains to you that, despite her announcement that she would never come again, the society young lady has appeared, and has announced her intention to defend what she grandly terms her position as a lady. "and the master will think us, her associates, as unruly as she is!" nell almost sobs. "if i were he, i would send the whole class home, there!" but the other girls now enter, each magnificently polite to the others, and the file of nine begins its journey along the wall, attended as before, the society young lady taking great pains about distance, and really doing very well, but the beauty sitting with calm negligence which soon brings a volley of remonstrance from both teachers, who address her much after the fashion of sydney smith's saying, "you are on the high road to ruin the moment you think yourself rich enough to be careless." "you must not keep your whip in contact with your horse's shoulder all the time," lectured one of the teachers, "if you do, you have no means of urging him to go forward a little faster. keep it pressed against the saddle, not slanting outward or backward. when you use it, do it without relaxing your hold upon the reins, for if, by any mischance, your horse should start quickly, you will need it. forward, ladies, forward! don't stop in the corners! use your whips a very little, just as you begin to turn! miss esmeralda, keep to the wall! no, no! don't keep to the wall by having your left rein shorter than your right! they should be precisely even." "as you approach the corner," says the other teacher quietly, speaking to you alone, "carry your right hand a little nearer to your left without bending your wrist, so that your rein will just touch your horse's neck on the right side. that will keep his head straight." "but he seems determined to go to the right," you object. "that is because your right rein is too short now. while we are going down the long side of the school, make the reins precisely even. now, lay the right rein on his neck, use your whip, and touch him with your heel to make him go on; bend your right wrist to turn him, use your whip once more, and go on again!" "forward, miss esmeralda, forward!" cries the other teacher. "that is because miss lady did not go into the corner, and so is too far in advance," your teacher explains. "you must, in class, keep your distance as carefully when the rifer immediately before you is wrong as when she is right. it is the necessity of doing that, of having to be ready for emergencies, to think of others as much as of your horse and of yourself, that give class teaching much of its value." "forward, ladies, forward," cries the other teacher. "remember that you are not to go to sleep! now prepare to trot, and don't go too fast at first. remember always to change from one gait to another gently, for your own sake, that you may not be thrown out of position; for your horse's, that he may not be startled, and made unruly and ungraceful. he has nerves as well as you. now, prepare to trot! trot! shorten your reins, miss beauty! shorten them!" and during the next minute or two, while the class trots about a third of a mile, the poor beauty hears every command in the manual addressed to her, and smilingly tries, but tries in vain to obey them; but in an unhappy moment the teacher's glance falls on the society young lady and he bids her keep her right shoulder back. "you told me that before," she says, rather more crisply than is prescribed by any of he manuals of etiquette which constitute her sole library. "then why don't you do it?" is his answer. "keep your left shoulder forward," he says a moment later, whereupon the society young lady turns to the right, and plants herself in the centre of the ring with as much dignity as is possible, considering that her horse, not having been properly stopped, and feeling the nervous movements of her hands, moves now one leg and now another, now draws his head down pulling her forward on the pommel, and generally disturbs the beautiful repose of manner upon which she prides herself. "you are tired? no? frightened? your stirrup is too short? you are not comfortable?" demands the teacher, riding up beside her. "is there anything which you would like to have me do?" "i don't like to be told to do two things at once," she responds in a tone which should be felt by the thermometer at the other end of the ring. "but you must do two things at once, and many more than two, on horseback," he says; "when you are rested, take your place in the line." "i think i will dismount," she says. "very well," and before she has time to change her mind, a bell is rung, a groom guides her horse to the mounting-stand, the master himself takes her out of the saddle, courteously bids her be seated in the reception room and watch the others, and she finds her little demonstration completely and effectually crushed, and, what is worse, apparently without intention. nobody appears to be aware that she has intended a rebellion, although "whole fourth of julys seem to bile in her veins." "now," the teacher goes on, "we will turn to the right, singly. turn! keep up, ladies! keep up! ride straight! to the right again! turn!" and back on the track, on the other side of the school, the leader in the rear, the beginners in advance, you continue until two more turns to the right replace you. "that was all wrong," the teacher says, cheerfully. "you did not ride straight, and you did not ride together. your horses' heads should be in line with one another, and then when you arrive at the track and turn to the right again, your distance will be correct. now we will have a little trot, and while you are resting afterward, you shall try the turn again." the society young lady, watching the scene in sulkiness, notes various faults in each rider and feels that the truly promising pupil of the class is sitting in her chair at that moment; but she says nothing of the kind, contenting herself by asking the master, with well-adjusted carelessness, if it would not be better for the teacher to speak softly. "it gives a positive shock to the nerves to be so vehemently addressed," she says, with the air of a hammond advising an ignorant nurse. "that is what he has the intention to do," replies the other. "it is necessary to arouse the rider's will and not let her sleep, but if it were not, the teacher of riding, or anybody who has to give orders, orders, orders all day long, must speak from an expanded chest, with his lungs full of air, or at night he will be dumb. the young man behind the counter who has to entreat, persuade, to beg, to be gentle, he may make his voice soft, but to speak with energy in a low tone is to strain the vocal cords and to injure the lungs permanently. the opera singer finds to sing piano, pianissimo more wearisome than to make herself heard above a wagner orchestra. the orator, with everybody still and listening with countenance intent, dares not speak softly, except now and then for contrast. in the army we have three months' rest, and then we go to the surgeon, and he examines our throats and lungs, and sees whether or not they need any treatment. if you go to the camp of the military this summer, you will find the young officers whom you know in the ball-room so soft and so gentle, not whispering to their men, but shouting, and the best officer will have the loudest shout." the society young lady remembers the stories which she has heard her father and uncles tell of that "officer's sore throat," which in and , caused so many ludicrous incidents among the volunteer soldiery, the energetic rill master of one day being transformed into a voiceless pantomimist by the next, but, like juliet when she spoke, she says nothing, and now the teacher once more cries, "turn!" and then, suddenly, "prepare to stop! stop! now look at your line! now two of you have your horses' heads even! and how many of you were riding straight?" a dead silence gives a precisely correct answer, and again he cries, "forward!" a repetition of the movement is demanded, and is received with cries of "this is not good, ladies! this is not good! we will try again by and by. now, prepare to change hands in file." the leader, turning at one corner of the school, makes a line almost like a reversed "s" to the corner diagonally opposite, and comes back to the track on the left hand, the others straggling after with about as much precision and grace as jill followed jack down the hill; but, before they are fairly aware how very ill they have performed the manoeuvre, they perceive that their teacher not only aimed at having them learn how to turn to the left at each corner, but also at giving himself an opportunity to make remarks about their feet and the position thereof, and at the end of five minutes each girl feels as if she were a centipede, and you, esmeralda, secretly wonder whether something in the way of mucilage of thumb-tacks might not be used to keep your own riding boots close to the saddle. "and don't let your left foot swing," says the teacher in closing his exhortations; "hold it perfectly steady! now change hands in file, and come back to the track on the right again, and we will have a little trot." "and before you begin," lectures the master, "i will tell you something. the faster you go, after once you know how to stay in the saddle, the better for you, the better for your horse. you see the great steamer crossing the ocean when under full headway, and she can turn how this way and now that, with the least little touch of the rudder, but when she is creeping, creeping through the narrow channel, she must have a strong, sure hand at the helm, and when she is coming up to her wharf, easy, easy, she must swing in a wide circle. that is why my word to you is always 'forward! forward!' and again, 'forward!' there is a scientific reason underlying this, if you care to know it. when you go fast, neither you nor the horse has time to feel the pressure of the atmosphere from above, and that is why it seems as if you were flying, and he is happy and exhilarated as well as you. you will see the tame horse in the paddock gallop about for his pleasure, and the wild horse on the prairie will start and run for miles in mere sportiveness. so, if you want to have pleasure on horseback, 'forward!'" while the little trot is going on, the society young lady improves the shining hour by asking the master "if he does not think it cruel to make a poor horse go just as fast as it can," to which he replies that the horse will desire to go quite as long as she can or will, whereupon she withdraws into the cave of sulkiness again, but brightens perceptibly as you dismount and join her. "you do look so funny, esmeralda," she begins. "your feet do seem positively immense, as the teacher said." "pardon me; i said not that," gently interposes the teacher; "only that they looked too big, bigger than they are, when she turns them outward." "and you do sit very much on one side," she continues to versatilia: "and your crimps are quite flat, my dear," to the beauty. "never mind; they aren't fastened on with a safety pin," retorts the beauty, plucking up spirit, unexpectedly. "o, no! of course not," the wise fairy interposes, with a little laugh. "you young ladies do not do such things, of course. but, do you know, i heard of a lady who wore a switch into a riding- school ring one day, and it came off, and the riding master had to keep it in his pocket until the end of the session." little does the wise fairy know of the society young lady's ways! what she has determined to say, she declines to retain unsaid, and so she cries: "and you do thrust your head forward so awkwardly, nell!" "'we are ladies,'" quotes nell, "and we can't answer you," and the society young lady finds herself alone with the wise fairy, who is suddenly very busy with her books, and after a moment, she renews her announcement that she is not coming any more. "well, i wouldn't," the wise fairy says, looking thoughtfully at her. "you make the others unhappy, and that is not desirable, and you will not be taught. i gave you fair warning that the master would be severe, but those who come here to learn enjoy their lessons. once in a great while there are ladies who do not wish to be taught, but they find it out very soon, as you have." "there is always a good reason for everything," the master says gravely. "now, i have seen many great men who could not learn to ride. there was gambetta. nothing would make a fine rider out of that man! why? because for one moment that his mind was on his horse, a hundred it was on something else. and jules verne! he could not learn! and emile giardin! they had so many things to think about! now, perhaps it is so with this young lady. society demands so much, one must do so many things, that she cannot bend her mind to this one little art. it is unfortunate, but then she is not the first!" and with a little salute he turns away, and the society young lady, much crosser than she was before he invented this apology for her, comes into the dressing room and-- bids you farewell? not at all! says that she is sorry, and that she knows that she can learn, and is going to try. "and i suppose now that nothing will make her go!" nell says, lugubriously, as you saunter homeward. you are still conscious of stiffness, esmeralda? that is not a matter for surprise or for anxiety. all your life you have been working for strength, for even your dancing-school teacher was not one of those scientific ballet-masters who, like carlo blasis, would have taught you that the strength of a muscle often deprives it of flexibility and softness. you desire that your muscles should be rigid or relaxed at will. go and stand in front of your mirror, and let your head drop forward toward either shoulder, causing your whole torso to become limp. now hold the head erect, and try to reproduce the feeling. the effect is awkward, and not to be practised in public, but the exercise enables you to perceive for yourself when you are stiff about the shoulders and waist. now drop your head backward, and swing the body, not trying to control the head, and persist until you can thoroughly relax the muscles of the neck, a work which you need not expect to accomplish until after you have made many efforts. now execute all your movements for strengthening the muscles, very slowly and lightly, using as little force as possible. after you can do this fairly well, begin by executing them quickly and forcibly, then gradually retard them, and make them more gently, until you glide at last into perfect repose. this will take time, but the good results will appear not only in your riding, but also in your walking and in your dancing. you and nell might practise these delsarte exercises together, for no especial dress is needed for them, and companionship will remove the danger of the dulness which, it must be admitted, sometimes besets the amateur, unsustained by the artist's patient energy. before you take another class lesson, you may have an exercise ride, in which to practise what you have learned. "tried to learn!" do you say? well, really, esmeralda, one begins to have hopes of you! x. --ye couldn't have made him a rider, and then ye know, boys will be boys, and hosses, --well, hosses is hosses! _harte_. when you and nell go to take your exercise ride, esmeralda, you must assume the air of having ridden before you were able to walk, and of being so replete with equestrian knowledge that the "acquisition of another detail would cause immediate dissolution," as the normal college girl said when asked if she knew how to teach. you must insist on having a certain horse, no matter ho much inconvenience it may create, and, if possible, you should order him twenty-four hours in advance, stipulating that nobody shall mount him in the interval, and, while waiting for him to be brought from the stable, you should proclaim that he is a wonderfully spirited, not to say vicious, creature, but that you are not in the smallest degree afraid of him. you should pick up your reins with easy grace, and having twisted them into a hopeless snarl, should explain to any spectator who may presume to smile that one "very soon forgets the little things, you know, but they will come back in a little while." having started, you must choose between steadily trotting or rapidly cantering, absolutely regardless of the rights or wishes of any one else, or else you must hold your horse to a spiritless crawl, carefully keeping him in such a position as to prevent anybody else from outspeeding you. if you were a man, you would feel it incumbent on you to entreat your master to permit you to change horses with him, and would give him certain valuable information, derived from quarters vaguely specified as "a person who knows," or "a man who rides a great deal." meaning somebody who is in the saddle twenty times a year, and duly pays his livery stable bill for the privilege, and you would confide in some other exercise rider, if possible, in the hearing of seven or eight pupils, that your master was not much of a rider after all, that the "natural rider is best," and you would insinuate that to observe perfection it was only necessary to look at you. if, in addition to this, you could intimate to any worried or impatient pupils that they had not been properly taught, you would make yourself generally beloved, and these are the ways of the casual exercise rider, male and female. but you, esmeralda, are slightly unfitted for the perfect assumption of this part by knowing how certain things ought to be done, although you cannot do them, and alas! you are not yet adapted to the humbler but prettier character of the real exercise rider, who is thoroughly taught, and whose every movement is a pleasure to behold. there are many such women and a few men who prefer the ring to the road for various reasons, and from them you may learn much, both by observation and from the hints which many of them will give you if they find that you are anxious to learn, and that you are really nothing more pretentious than a solitary student. so into the saddle you go, and you and nell begin to walk about in company. "in company," indeed, for about half a round, and then you begin to fall behind. touching your abdallah lightly with whip and heel starts him into a trot and coming up beside nell you start off her arab, and both horses are rather astonished to be checked. what do these girls want, they think, and when you fall behind again, it takes too strokes of the whip to urge abdallah forward, arab is unmoved by your passing him, and you find the breadth of the ring dividing you and nell. you pause, she turns to the right, crosses the space between you, turns again and is by your side, and now both of you begin to see what you must do. nell, who is riding on the inside, that is to say on the included square, must check her horse very slightly after turning each corner, and you must hasten yours a little before turning, and a little after, so as to give her sufficient space to turn, and, at the same time, to keep up with her. you, being on her left, must be very careful every moment to have a firm hold of your left rein, so as to keep away from her feet, and she must keep especial watch of her right rein in order to guard herself. after each of you has learned her part pretty well, you should exchange places and try again, and then have a round or two of trotting, keeping your horses' heads in line. you will find both of them very tractable to this discipline, because accustomed to having your master's horse keep pace with them, and because they often go in pairs at the music rides, and you must not expect that an ordinary livery stable horse would be as easily managed. it is rather fashionable to sneer at the riding-school horse as too mild for the use of a good rider, and very likely, while you and nell are patiently trying your little experiment, you will hear a youth with very evident straps on his trousers, superciliously requesting to have "something spirited" brought in from the stable for him. "not one of your school horses, taught to tramp a treadmill round, but a regular flyer," he explains. "is he a very good rider?" you ask your master. "last time he was hear i had to take him off abdallah," he says sadly, and then he goes to the mounting-stand to deny "the regular flyer," and to tender instead, "an animal that we don't give to everybody, william." enter "william," otherwise billy buttons, whom the gentleman covetous of a flyer soon finds to be enough for him to manage, because william, although accustomed to riders awkward through weakness, is not used to the manners of what is called the "three-legged trotter"; that is to say, the man whose unbent arms and tightened reins make a straight line from his shoulders to his horse's mouth, while his whole weight is thrown upon the reins by a backward inclination of his body. if you would like to know how billy feels about it, esmeralda, bend your chin toward your throat, and imagine a bar of iron placed across your tongue and pulling your head upward. it would hurt you, but you could raise your head and still go forward, making wild gestures with your hands, kicking, perhaps, in a ladylike manner, as gail hamilton kicked halicarnassus, but by no means stopping. now suppose that bar of iron drawn backward by reins passing one on each side of your shoulders and held firmly between your scapulae; you could not go forward without almost breaking your neck, could you? no more could billy, if his rider would let out his reins, bend his elbows, and hold his hands low, almost touching his saddle, but, as it is, he goes on, and if he should rear by and by, and if his rider should slide off, be not alarmed. the three-legged trotter is not the kind of horseman to cling to his reins, and he will not be dragged, and billy is too good-tempered not to stop the moment he has rid himself of his tormentor. but while he is still on billy's back, and flattering himself that he is doing wonders in subjugating the "horse that we don't give to everybody," do you and nell go to the centre of the ring and see if you can stop properly. pretty well done, but wait a moment before trying it again, for it is not pleasant to a horse. sit still a few minutes, and then try and see if you can back your horse a step or two. in order to do this, it is not enough to sit up straight and to say "back," or even to say "bake," which, according to certain "natural riders," is the secret of having the movement executed properly. you must draw yourself up and lean backward, touching your horse both with your foot and with your whip, in order that he may stand squarely, and you must raise your wrists a little, and the same time turning them inward. the horse will take a step, you must instantly sit up straight, lower your hands, and then repeat the movement until he has backed far enough. four steps will be quite as many as you should try when working thus by yourself, because you do not wish to form any bad habits, and your master will probably find much to criticise in your way of executing the movement. the most that you can do for yourself is to be sure that abdallah makes but one step for each of your demands. if he make two, lower your hands, and make him go forward, for a horse that backs unbidden is always troublesome and may sometimes be dangerous. "just watch that man on billy buttons," says your master, coming up to you, "and make up your minds never to do anything that you see him do. and look at those two ladies who are mounting now, and see how well it is possible to ride without being taught in school, provided one rides enough. they cannot trot a rod, but they have often been in the saddle half a day at a time in spanish america, whence they come, and they can 'lope,' as they call it, for hours without drawing rein. they sit almost, but not quite straight, and they have strength enough in their hands to control any of our horses, although they complain that these english bits are poor things compared to the spanish bit. you see, they can stay on, although they cannot ride scientifically." "and isn't that best?" asked nell. "it is better," corrects the master. "the very best is to stay on because one rides scientifically, and that is what i hope that you two will do by and by. there's that girl who always brings in bags of groceries for her horse! apples this time!" "isn't it a good thing to give a horse a tidbit of some kind after a ride?" asked nell. "'good,' if it be your own horse, but not good in a riding- school. it tends to make the horses impatient for the end of a ride, and sometimes makes them jealous of one another at the mounting-stand, and keeps them there so long as to inconvenience others who wish to dismount. besides, careless pupils, like that girl, have a way of tossing a paper bag into the ring after the horse has emptied it, and although we always pick it up as soon as possible, it may cause another horse to shy. a dropped handkerchief is also dangerous, for a horse is a suspicious creature and fears anything novel as a woman dreads a mouse." what is the trouble on the mounting-stand? nothing, except that a tearful little girl wants "her dear daisy; she never rides anything else, and she hates clifton, and does not like rex and jewel canters, and she wants da-a-isy!" "but is it not better for you to change horses now and then, and daisy is not fit to be in the ring to-day," says your master. "jewel is very easy and good-tempered. will you have him?" "no, i'll have abdallah." "a lady is riding him." "well, i want him." it is against the rules for your master to suggest such a thing to you, esmeralda, but suppose you go up to the mounting-stand and offer to take jewel yourself and let her have abdallah. you do it; your master puts you on jewel, and sends the wilful little girl away on abdallah, and then comes up to you and nell, thanks you, and says, "it was very good of you, but she must learn some day to ride everything, and i shall tell her so, and next time!" he looks capable of giving her hector, irish hector, who is wilful as the wind, but in reward for your goodness he bestows a little warning about your whips upon nell, who has a fancy for carrying hers slantwise across her body, so that both ends show from the back, and the whole whip is quite useless as far as the horse is concerned, although picturesque enough with its loop of bright ribbon. "it makes one think of a circus picture," he says; "and, miss esmeralda, don't hold your whip with the lash pointing outward, to tickle miss nell's horse, and to make you look like an american mr. briggs 'going to take a run with the myopias, don't you know.' isn't this a pretty horse?" "well, i don't know," you say frankly; "i'm no judge. i don't know anything about a horse." for once your master loses his self-possession, and stares unreservedly. "child," he says, "i never, never before saw anybody in this ring who didn't know all about a horse." "well, but i really don't, you know." "no, but nobody ever says so. now just hear this new pupil instruct me." the new pupil, who thinks a riding habit should be worn over two or three skirts, and is consequently sitting with the aerial elegance of a feather bed, is riding with her snaffle rein, the curb tied on her horse's neck, and is clasping it by the centre, allowing the rest to hang loose, so that clifton, supposing that she means to give him liberty to browse, is looking for grass among the tan. not finding it, he snorts occasionally, whereupon she calls him "poor thing," and tells him that "it is a warm day, and that he should rest, so he should!" "your reins are too long," says your master. "do you mean that they are too long, or that i am holding them so as to make them too long," she inquires, in a precise manner. "they are right enough. our saddlers know their business. but you are holding them so that you might as well have none. shorten them, and make him bring his head up in its proper place." "but i think it's cruel to treat him so, when he's tired, poor thing! i always hold my reins in the middle when i'm driving, and my horse goes straight enough. this one seems dizzy. he goes round and round." "he wouldn't if he were in harness with two shafts to keep his head straight"-- "but then why wouldn't it be a good thing to have some kind of a light shaft for a beginner's horse?" "it would be a neat addition to a side saddle," says your master, "but shorten your reins. take one in each hand. leave about eight inches of rein between your hands. there! see. now guide your horse." he leaves her, in order that he may enjoy the idea of the side saddle with shafts, and she promptly resumes her old attitude which she feels is elegant, and when clifton wanders up beside abdallah, she sweetly asks nell, "is this your first lesson? do you think this horse is good? the master wants me to pull on my reins, but i think it is inhuman, and i won't, and"--but clifton strays out of hearing, and your arouse yourselves to remember that you are having more fun than work. there is plenty of room in the ring, now, so you change hands, and circle to the left, first walking and then trotting, slowly at first, and then rapidly, finding to your pleasant surprise, that, just as you begin to think that you can go no further, you are suddenly endowed with new strength and can make two more rounds. "a good half mile," your master says, approvingly, as you fall into a walk and pass him, and then you do a volte or two, and one little round at a canter, and then walk five minutes, and dismount to find the rider of the alleged william assuring john, the head groom, that redoubtable animal needs "taking down." "shall ride him with spurs next time," he says. "i can manage him, but he would be too much for most men," and away he goes and a flute-voiced little boy of eight mounts william, retransformed into billy buttons, and guides him like a lamb, and you escape up stairs to laugh. but you have no time for this before the merciful young woman enters to say that she is going to another school, where she can do as she pleases and have better horses, too, and the more you and nell assure her that there is no school in which she can learn without obedience, and that her horse was too good, if anything, the more determined she becomes, and soon you wisely desist. as she departs, "oh, dear," you say, "i thought there was nothing but fun at riding-school, and just see all these queer folks." "my dear," says philosophic nell, "they ar part of the fun. and we are fun to the old riders; and we are all fun to our master." here you find yourselves enjoying a bit of fun from which your master is shut out, for three or four girls come up from the ring together, and, not seeing you, hidden behind your screens, two, in whom you and nell have already recognized saleswomen from whom you have more than once bought laces, begin to talk to overawe the others. "my deah," says one, "now i think of it, i weally don't like the setting of these diamonds that you had given you last night. it's too heavy, don't you think?" the other replies in a tone which would cheat a man, but in which you instantly detect an accent of surprise and a determination to play up to her partner as well as possible, that she "liked it very well." "i should have them reset," says the former speaker. "like mine, you know; light and airy. deah me, i usedn't to care for diamonds, and now i'm puffectly infatooated with them, don't you know! my!" she screams, catching sight of a church clock, and, relapsing into her everyday speech: "half-past four! and i am due at"--[an awkward pause.] "i promised to return at four!" there is no more talk about diamonds, but a hurried scramble to dress, an a precipitate departure, after which one of the other ladies is heard to say very distinctly: "i remember that girl as a pupil when i was teaching in a public school, and i know all about her. salary, four dollars a week. diamonds!" "she registered at the desk as mrs. something," rejoins the other. "she only came in for one ride, and so they gave her a horse without looking up her reference, but one of the masters knew her real name. poor little goosey! she has simply spoiled her chance of ever becoming a regular pupil, no matter how much she may desire it. no riding master will give lessons to a person who behaves so. he would lose more than he gained by it, no matter how long she took lessons. and they know everybody in a riding-school, although they won't gossip. i'd as soon try to cheat a pinkerton agency." "i know one thing," nell says, as you walk homeward: "i'm going to take an exercise ride between every two lessons, and i'm going to ride a new horse every time, if i can get him, and i'm going to do what i'm told, and i shall not stop trotting at the next lesson, even if i feel as if i should drop out of the saddle. i've learned so much from an exercise ride." xi. ride as though you were flying. _mrs. norton_. "cross," esmeralda? why? because having had seven lessons of various sorts, and two rides, you do not feel yourself to be a brilliant horsewoman? because you cannot trot more than half a mile, and because you cannot flatter yourself that it would be prudent for you to imitate your favorite english heroines, and to order your horse brought around to the hall door for a solitary morning canter? and you really think that you do well to be angry, and that, had your teacher been as discreet and as entirely admirable as you feel yourself to be, you would be more skilful and better informed? very well, continue to think so, but pray do not flatter yourself that your mental attitude has the very smallest fragment of an original line, curve or angle. thus, and not otherwise, do all youthful equestrians feel, excepting those doubly-dyed in conceit, who fancy that they have mastered a whole art in less than twelve hours. you certainly are not a good rider, and yet you have received instruction on almost every point in regard to which you would need to know anything in an ordinary ride on a good road. you have not yet been taught every one of these things, certainly, for she who has been really taught a physical or mental feat, can execute it at will, but you have been partly instructed, and it is yours to see that the instruction is not wasted, by not being either repeated, or faithfully reduced to practice. remember clever mrs. wesley's answer to the unwise person who said in reproof, "you have told that thing to that child thirty times." "had i told it but twenty-nine," replied the indomitable susanna, "they had been wasted." what you need now is practice, preferably in the ring with a teacher, but if you cannot afford that, without a teacher, and road rides whenever you can have them on a safe horse, taken from a school stable, if possible, with companions like yourself, intent upon study and enjoyment, not upon displaying their habits, or, if they be men, the airs of their horses, and the correctness of their equipment, or upon racing. as for the solitary canter, when the kindly fates shall endow that respectable american sovereign, your father, with a park somewhat bigger than the seventy-five square feet of ground inclosed by an iron railing before his present palace, it will be time enough to think about that; but you can no more venture upon a public road alone than an english lady could, and indeed, your risk in doing so would be even greater than hers. why? because in rural england all men and boys, even the poorest and the humblest, seem to know instinctively how a horse should be equipped. true, a wordsworth or a coleridge did hesitate for hours over the problem of adjusting a horse collar, but johnny ragamuffin, from the slums, or jerry hickathrift, of some shire with the most uncouth of dialects, can adjust a slipping saddle, or, in a hand's turn, can remove a stone which is torturing a hoof. not so your american wayfarer, city bred or country grown; it will be wonderful if he can lengthen a stirrup leather, ad, before allowing such an one to tighten a girth for you, you would better alight and take shelter behind a tree, and a good large tree, because he may drive your horse half frantic by his well- meant unskilfulness. besides, mrs. grundy very severely frowns on the woman who rides alone, and there is no appeal from mrs. grundy's wisdom. sneer at her, deride her, try, if you will, to undermine her authority, but obey her commands and yield to her judgment if you would have the respect of men, and, what is of more consequence, the fair speech of women. and so, esmeralda, as you really have no cause for repining, go away to your class lesson, which has a double interest for you and nell, because of the wicked pleasure which you derive from hearing the master quietly crush the society young lady with unanswerable logic. you have seen him with a class of disobedient, well-bred little girls, and know how persuasive he can be to a child who is really frightened. you have seen him surrounded by a class of eager small goys, and beset with a clamorous shout of, "plea-ease let us mount from the ground." you have heard his peremptory "no," and then, as they turned away discomfited, have noted how kindly was his "i will tell you why, my dear boys. it is because your legs are too short. wait until you are tall, then you shall mount." you know that when versatilia, having attended a party the previous evening and arisen at five o'clock to practise chopin, and then worked an hour at gymnastics, could not, from pure weariness, manage her horse, how swift was his bound across the ring, and how carefully he lifted her from the saddle, and gave her over to the ministrations of the wise fairy. you know that any teacher must extract respect from his scholars, and you detect method in all the little sallies which almost drive the society young lady to madness, but this morning it is your turn. you do, one after the other, all the things against which you have been warned, and, when corrected, you look so very dismal and discouraged that the scotch teacher comes quietly to your side and rides with you, and, feeling that he will prevent your horse from doing anything dangerous, you begin to mend your ways, when suddenly you hear the master proclaim in a voice which, to your horrified ears, seems audible to the whole universe: "ah, miss esmeralda! she cannot ride, she cannot do her best, unless she has a gentleman beside her." in fancy's eye you seem to see yourself blushing for that criticism during the remainder of your allotted days, and you almost hope that they will be few. you know that every other girl in the class will repeat it to other girls, and even to men, and possibly even to theodore, and that you will never be allowed to forget it. cannot ride or do your best without a gentleman, indeed! you could do very well without one gentleman whom you know, you think vengefully, and then you turn to the kindly scotch teacher, and, with true feminine justice, endeavor to punish him for another's misdeeds by telling him that, if he please, you would prefer to ride alone. as he reins back, you feel a decided sinking of the heart and again become conscious that you are oddly incapable of doing anything properly, and then, suddenly, it flashes upon you that the master was right in his judgment, and you fly into a small fury of determination to show him that you can exist "without a gentleman." down go your hands, you straighten your shoulders, adjust yourself to a nicety, think of yourself and of your horse with all the intensity of which you are capable, and make two or three rounds without reproof. "now," says the teacher, "we will try a rather longer trot than usual, and when any lady is tired she may go to the centre of the ring. prepare to trot! trot!" the leader's eyes sparkle with delight as she allows her good horse, after a round or two, to take his own speed, the teacher continues his usual fire of truthful comments as to shoulders, hands and reins, and one after another, the girls leave the track, and only the leader and you remain, she, calm and cool as an iceberg, you, flushed, and compelled to correct your position at almost every stride of your horse, sometimes obliged to sit close for half a round, but with your whole yankee soul set upon trotting until your master bids you cease. can you believe your ears? "brava, miss esmeralda!" shouts the master. "go in again. that is the way. ah, go in again! that is the way the rider is made! again! ah, brava!" "prepare to whoa! whoa!" says the teacher, and both he and your banished cavalier congratulate you, and it dawns upon you that the society young lady is not the only person whom the master understands, and is able to manage. however, you are grateful, and even pluck up courage to salute him when next you pass him; but alas! that does not soften his heart so thoroughly that he does not warningly ejaculate, "right foot," and then comes poor nell's turn. she, reared in a select private school for young ladies, and having no idea of proper discipline, ventures to explain the cause of some one of her misdeeds, instead of correcting it in silence. she does it courteously, but is met with, "ah-h-h! miss esmeralda, you know miss nell. is it not with her on foot as it is on horseback? does she not argue?" you shake your head severely and loyally, but brave nell speaks out frankly, "yes, sir; i do. but i won't again." "i would have liked to ride straight at him," she confides to you afterwards, "but he was right. still, it is rather astounding to hear the truth sometimes." and now, for the first time around, you are allowed to ride in pairs, and the word "interval," meaning the space between two horses moving in parallel lines, is introduced, and you and nell, who are together, congratulate yourselves on having in your exercise ride learned something of the manner in which the interval may be preserved exactly, for it is a greater trouble to the others than that "distance" which you have been told a thousand times to "keep." you have but very little of this practice, however, before you are again formed in file, and directed to "prepare to volte singly!" when this is done perfectly, it is a very pretty manoeuvre, and, the pupils returning to their places at the same movement, the column continues on its way with its distances perfectly preserved, but as no two of your class make circles of the same size, or move at similar rates of speed, your small procession finds itself in hopeless disorder, and in trying to rearrange yourselves, each one of you discovers that she has yet something to learn about turning. however, after a little trot and the usual closing walk, the lesson ends, and you retire from the ring, with the exception of nell, who, having been taught by an amateur to leap in a more or less unscientific manner, has begged the master to give her "one little lesson," a proposition to which he has consented. the hurdle is brought out, placed half-way down one of the long sides of the school, and nell walks her horse quietly down the other, turns him again as she comes on the second long side, shakes her reins lightly, putting him to a canter, and is over-- "beautifully," as you say to yourself, as you watch her enviously. "you did not fall off," the master comments, coiling the lash of the long whip with which he has stood beside the hurdle during miss nell's performance, "but you did not guard yourself against falling when you went up, and had you had some horses, you might have come down before he did, although that is not so easy for a lady as it is for a man. when you start for a leap, you must draw your right foot well back, so as to clasp the pommel with your knee, and just as the horse stops to spring upward, you must lean back and lift both hands a little, and then, when he springs, straighten yourself, feel proud and haughty, if you can, and, as he comes down, lean back once more and raise your hands again, because your horse will drop on his fore legs, and you desire him to lift them, that he may go forward before you do. you should practise this, counting one, as you lean backward, drawing but not turning the hands backward and upward; two, as you straighten yourself wit the hands down, and three, as you repeat the first movement; and, except in making a water jump, or some other very long leap, the 'two' will be the shortest beat, as it is in the waltz. and, although you must use some strength in raising your hands, you must not raise them too high, and you must not lean your head forward or draw your elbows back. a jockey may, when riding in a steeplechase for money, but he will be angry with himself for having to do it, and a lady must not. i would rather that you did not leap again to-day, because what i told you will only confuse you until you have time to think it over and to practise it by yourself in a chair. and i would rather that you did not leap again in your own way, until you have let me see you do it once or twice more, at least." "you did not have to whip my horse to make him leap," nell says, "the whip was not to strike him, but to show him what was ready for him if he refused," says the master. "one must never permit a horse to refuse without punishing bum, for otherwise he may repeat the fault when mounted by a poor rider, and a dangerous accident may follow. one must never brutalize a horse--indeed, no one but a brute does--but one must rule him." by this time he has taken nell from her saddle and is in the reception room where he finds you grouped and gazing at him in a manner rather trying even to his soldierly gravity, and decidedly amusing to the wise fairy, who glances at him with a laugh and betakes herself to her own little nest. "my young ladies," he says. "i will show you one little leap, not high, you know, but a little leap sitting on a side saddle," and, going out, he takes nell's horse, and in a minute you see him sailing through the air, light as a bird, and without any of the encouraging shouts used by some horsemen. it is only a little leap, but it impresses your illogical minds as no skilfulness in the voltes and no _haute ecole_ airs could do, for leaping is the crowning accomplishment of riding in the eyes of all your male friends except the cavalryman, and when he returns to the reception room, you linger in the hope of a little lecture, and you are not disappointed. "my young ladies," he says, "at the point at which you are in the equestrian art, what you should do is to keep doing what you know, over and over again, no matter if you do it wrong. keep doing and doing, and by and by you will do it right. i have tried that plan of perfecting each step before undertaking another, but it is of no use with american ladies. you will not do things at all, unless you can do them well, you say. that is to say if you were to go to a ball, and were to say, 'no, i have taken lessons, i have danced in school, but i am afraid i cannot do so well as some others. i will not dance here.' that would not be the way to do. dance, and again dance, and if you make a little mistake, dance again! the mistake is of the past; it is not matter for troubling; dance again, and do not make it again. and so of riding, ride, and again ride! try all ways. take your foot out of the stirrup sometimes, and slip it back again without stopping your horse, and when you can do it at the walk, do it at the trot, and keep rising! and learn not to be afraid to keep trotting after you are a little tired. keep trotting! keep trotting! then you will know real pleasure, and you will not hurt your horses, as you will if you pull them up just as they begin to enjoy the pace. and then"--looking very hard at nothing at all, and not at you, esmeralda, as your guilty soul fancies-- "and then, gentlemen will not be afraid to ride with you for fear of spoiling their horses by checking them too often." and with this he goes away, and on! esmeralda, does not the society young lady make life pleasant for you and nell in the dressing-room, until the beauty attracts general attention by stating that she has had an hour of torment! "perhaps you have not noticed that most of these saddles are buckskin," she continues; "i did not, until i found myself slipping about on mine to day as if it were glazed, and lo! it was pigskin, and that made the difference. i would not have it changed, because the texan is always sneering at english pigskin, and i wanted to learn to ride on it; but, until the last quarter of the hour, i expected to slip off. i rather think i should have," she adds, "only just as i was ready to slip off on one side, something would occur to make me slip to the other. i shall not be afraid of pigskin again, ad you would better try it, every one of you. suppose you should get a horse from a livery stable some day with one of those slippery saddles!" "i am thinking of buying a horse," says the society young lad; "but the master says that i do not know enough to ride a beast that has been really trained. fancy that!" "and all the authorities agree with him," says versatilia, who has accumulated a small library of books on equestrianism since she began to take lessons. "your horse ought not to know much more than you do--for if he do, you will find him perfectly unmanageable." here you and nell flee on the wings of discretion. the daring of the girl! to tell the society young lady that a horse may know more than she does! xii. costly thy habit as thy purse can buy. _shakespeare_. and now, esmeralda, having determined to put your master's advice into practice and to "keep riding," you think that you must have a habit in order to be ready to take to the road whenever you have an opportunity, and to be able to accompany theodore, should he desire to repeat your music-ride? and you would like to know just what it will cost, and everything about it? and first, what color can you have? you "can" have any color, esmeralda, and you "can" have any material, for that matter. queen guinevere wore grass green silk, and if her skirt were as long as those worn by matilda of flanders, norman william's wife, centuries after, her women must have spent several hours daily in mending it, unless she had a new habit for every ride, or unless the english forest roads were wider than they are to-day. but all the ladies of arthur's court seem to have ridden in their ordinary dress. enid, for instance, was arrayed in the faded silk which had been her house-dress and waking-dress in girlhood, when she performed her little feat of guiding six armor-laden horses. queen elizabeth and mary stuart seem to have liked velvet, either green or black, and to have adorned it with gold lace, and both probably took their fashions form france; the young woman in the scotch ballad was "all in cramoisie"; kate peyton wore scarlet broadcloth, but secretly longed for purple, having been told by a rival, who had probably found her too pretty for scarlet, that green or purple was "her color." there are crimson velvet and dark blue velvet and lincoln green velvet habits without end in fiction, and in the records of english royal wardrobes, but, beautiful as velvet is, and exquisitely becoming as it would be, you would better not indulge your artistic taste by wearing it. it would cost almost three times as much as cloth; it would be nearly impossible to make a well fitting modern skirt of it, and it would be worn into ugliness by a very few hours of trotting. be thankful, therefore, that fashion says that woollen cloth is the most costly material that may be used. in india, during the last two or three seasons, englishwomen have worn london-made habits of very light stuffs, mohairs and fine bradford woollens, and there is no reason why any american woman should not do the same. in hyde park, for three summers, in those early morning hours when some of the best riders go, attended by a groom, to enjoy something more lively than the afternoon parade, skirts of light tweed and covert coats of the same material worn over white silk shirts, with linen collars and a man's tie, have made their wearers look cool and comfortable, and duck covert jackets, with ordinary woollen skirts have had a similar effect, but american women have rather hesitated as to adopting these fashions, lest some one, beholding, should say that they were not correct. thus did they once think that they must wear bonnets with strings in church, no matter what remonstrance was made by the thermometer, or how surely they were deafened to psalm and sermon by longing for the cool, comfortable hats, which certain wise persons had decided were too frivolous for the sanctuary. new york girls have worn white cloth habits at lenox without shocking the moral sense of the inhabitants, but lenox, during the season, probably contains a smaller percentage of simpletons than any village in the united states, and some daring boston girls have appeared this year in cool and elegant habits of shepherd's check, and have pleased every good judge who has seen them. if quite sure that you have as much common sense and independence as these young ladies, imitate them, but if not, wear the regulation close, dark cloth habit throughout the year, be uncomfortable, and lose half the benefit of your summer rides from becoming overheated, to say nothing of being unable to "keep trotting" as long as you could if suitably clothed for exercise. but might you not, if your habit were thin, catch cold while your horse was walking? you might if you tried, but probably you would not be in a state so susceptible to that disaster as you would if heavily dressed. there is little danger that the temperature will change so much during a three hours' ride that you cannot keep yourself sufficiently warm for comfort and for safety, and if you start for a long excursion, you must use your common sense. the best and least expensive way of solving the difficulty is to have an ordinary habit, with the waist and skirt separate, and to wear a lighter coat, with a habit shirt, or with a habit shirt and waistcoat, whenever something lighter is desirable. this plan gives three changes of dress, which should be enough for any reasonable girl. but still, you do not know what color you can wear? black is suitable for all hours and all places, even for an english fox hunt, although the addition of a scarlet waistcoat, just visible at the throat and below the waist, is desirable for the field. dark blue, dark green, dark brown are suitable for most occasions, and a riding master whose experience has made him acquainted with the dress worn in the principal european capitals, declares his preference for gray with a white waistcoat. among the habits shown by english tailors at the french exhibition of , was one of blue gray, and a paris tailor displayed a tan-colored habit made with a coat and waistcoat revealing a white shirt front. london women are now wearing white waistcoats and white ties in the park, both tie and waistcoat as stiff and masculine as possible. this affectation of adopting men's dress, when riding, is comparatively modern. sir walter gives the date in "rob roy," when mr. francis sees diana for the first time and notices that she wears a coat, vest and hat resembling those of a man, "a mode introduced during my absence in france," he says, "and perfectly new to me." but this coat had the collar and wide sharply pointed lapels and deep cuffs now known as "directoire," and its skirts were full, and so long that they touched the right side of the saddle, and skirts, lapels, collar and cuffs were trimmed with gold braid almost an inch wide. the waistcoat, the vest, as sir walter calls it, not knowing the risk that he ran in this half century of being considered as speaking american, had a smaller, but similar, collar and lapels, work outside those of the coat, and the "man's tie" was of soft white muslin, and a muslin sleeve and ruffles were visible at the wrists. the hat was very broad brimmed, and was worn set back from the forehead, and bent into coquettish curves, and altogether the fair diana might depend upon having a very long following of astonished gazers if she should ride down beacon street or appear in central park to-day. your habit shall not be like hers, esmeralda, but shall have a plain waist, made as long as you can possibly wear it while sitting, slightly pointed in front and curving upward at the side to a point about half an inch below that where the belt of your skirt fastens, and having a very small and perfectly flat postilion, or the new english round back. elizabeth of austria may wear a princess habit, if it please her, but would you, esmeralda, be prepared, in order to have your habit fit properly, to postpone buttoning it until after you were placed in the saddle, as she was accustomed to do in the happy days when she could forget her imperial state in her long wild gallops across the beautiful irish hunting counties? the sleeves shall not be so tight that you can feel them, nor shall the armholes be so close as to prevent you from clasping your hands above your head with your arms extended at full length, and the waist shall be loose. if you go to a tailor, esmeralda, prepare yourself to make a firm stand on this point. warn him, in as few words as possible, that you will not take the habit out of his shop unless it suits you, and do not allow yourself to be overawed by the list of his patrons, all of whom "wear their habits far tighter, ma'am." unless you can draw a full, deep breath with your habit buttoned, you cannot do yourself or your teacher any credit in trotting, and you will sometimes find yourself compelled to give your escort the appearance of being discourteous by drawing rein suddenly, leaving him, unwarned, to trot on, apparently disregarding your plight. both your horse and his will resent your action, and unless he resemble both moses and job more strongly than most americans, he will have a few words to say in regard to it, after you have repeated it once or twice. and, lastly, esmeralda, no riding master with any sense of duty will allow you to wear such a habit in his presence without telling you his opinion of it, and stating his reasons for objecting to it, and you best know whether or not a little lecture of that sort will be agreeable, especially if delivered in the presence of other women. warn your tailor of your determination, then, and if his devotion to his ideal should compel him to decline your patronage, go to another, until you find one who will be content not to transform you into the likeness of a wooden doll. women are not made to advertise tailors, whatever the tailors may think. what must you pay for your habit? you may pay three hundred dollars, if you like, although that price is seldom charged, unless to customers who seem desirous of paying if, but the usual scale runs downward from one hundred and fifty dollars. this includes cloth and all other materials, and finish as perfect within as without, and is not dear, considering the retail price of cloth, the careful making, and the touch of style which only practised hands can give. the heavy meltons worn for hunting habits in england cost seven dollars a yard; english tweeds which have come into vogue during the last few years in london, cost six dollars, broadcloth five dollars; rough, uncut cheviots, about six dollars; and shepherds' checks, single width, about two dollars and a half. for waistcoats, duck costs two dollars and a quarter a yard, and fancy flannels and tattersall checks anywhere from one dollar and a half to two dollars. the heavy cloths are the most economical in the end, because they do not wear out where the skirt is stretched over the pommel, the point at which a light material is very soon in tatters. the small, flat buttons cost twenty-five cents a dozen; the fine black sateen used for linings may be bought for thirty-five cents a yard, and canvas for interlinings for twenty-five cents. with these figures you may easily make your own computations as to the cost of material, for unless a woman is "more than common tall," two yards and a half will be more than enough for her habit skirt, which should not rest an inch on the ground on the left side when she stands, and should not be more than a quarter of a yard longer in its longest part. two lengths, with allowance for the hem two inches deep are needed for the skirt, and when very heavy melton is used, the edges are left raw, the perfect riding skirt in modern eyes being that which shows no trace of the needle, an end secured with lighter cloths by pressing all the seams before hemming, and then very lightly blind-stitching the pointed edges in their proper place. strength is not desirable in the sewing of a habit skirt. it is always possible that one may be thrown, and the substantial stitching which will hold one to pommel and stirrup may be fatal to life. so hems are constructed to tear away easily, and seams are run rather than stitched, or stitched with fine silk, and the cloth is not too firmly secured to the wide sateen belt. the english safety skirts, invented three or four years ago, have the seam on the knee-gore open from the knee down to the edge, and the two breadths are caught together with buttons and elastic loops, all sewed on very lightly so as to give way easily. the effect of this style of cutting is, if one be thrown, to transform one into a flattered or libelous likeness of lilian russell in her naval uniform, prepared to scamper away from one's horse, and from any other creatures with eyes, but with one's bones unbroken and one's face unscathed by being dragged and pounded over the road, or by being kicked. for the waist and sleeves, esmeralda, you will allow as much as for those of your ordinary frocks, and if you cannot find a fashionable tailor who will consent to adapt himself to your tastes and to your purse, you may be fortunate enough to find men who have worked in shops, but who now make habits at home, charging twenty-five dollars for the work, and doing it well and faithfully, although, of course, not being able to keep themselves informed as to the latest freaks of english fashion by foreign travellers and correspondents, as their late employers do. there are two or three dressmakers in boston and five or six in new york whose habits fit well, and are elegant in every particular, and, if you can find an old-fashioned tailoress who really knows her business, and can prepare yourself to tell her about a few special details, you may obtain a well-fitting waist and skirt at a very reasonable price. of these details the first is that the sateen lining should be black. gay colors are very pretty, but soon spoiled by perspiration, and white, the most fitting lining for a lady's ordinary frock, is unsuitable for a habit, since one long, warm ride may convert it into something very untidy of aspect. this lining, of which all the seams should be turned toward the outside, should end at the belt line, and between it and the cloth outside should be a layer of canvas, cut and shaped as carefully as possible, and the whalebones, each in its covering, should be sewed between the canvas and the sateen. if a waistcoat be worn, it should have a double sateen back with canvas interlining, and may be high in the throat or made with a step collar like that of the waist. the cuffs are simply indicated by stitching and are buttoned on the outside of the sleeve with two or three buttons. simulated waistcoats, basted firmly to the shoulder seams and under-arm seams of the waist, and cut high to the throat with an officer collar, are liked by ladies with a taste for variety, and are not expensive, as but for a small quantity of material is required for each one. they are fastened by small hooks except in those parts shown by the openings, and on these flat or globular pearl buttons are used. when a step collar and a man's tie are worn, the ordinary high collar and chemisette, sold for thirty-eight cents, takes the place of the straight linen band worn with the habit high in the throat, and the proper tie is the white silk scarf fastened in a four-in-hand knot, and, if you be wise, esmeralda you will buy this at a good shop, and pay two dollars and a quarter for it, rather than to pay less and repent ever after. some girls wear white lawn evening ties, but they are really out of place in the saddle, in which one is supposed to be in morning dress. wear the loosest of collars and cuffs, and fasten the latter to your habit sleeves with safety pins. the belts of your habit skirt and waist should also be pinned together at the back, at the sides, and the front, unless your tailor has fitted them with hooks and eyes, and if you be a provident young person, you will tuck away a few more safety pins, a hairpin or two, half a row of "the most common pin of north america," and a quarter-ounce flash of cologne, in one of the little leather change pouches, and put it either in your habit pocket or your saddle pocket. sometimes, after a dusty ride of an hour or two, a five-minute halt under the trees by the roadside, gives opportunity to remove the dust from the face and to cool the hands, and the cologne is much better than the handkerchief "dipped in the pellucid waters of a rippling brook," _a la_ novelist, for the pellucid brook of massachusetts is very likely to run past a leather factory, in which case its waters are anything but agreeable. whether or not your habit shall have a pocket is a matter of choice. if it have one, it should be small and should be on the left side, just beyond the three flat buttons which fasten the front breadth and side breadth of your habit at the waist. when thus placed, you can easily reach it with either hand. fitting the habit over the knee is a feat not to be effected by an amateur without a pattern, and the proper slope and adjustment of the breadths come by art, not chance; but harper's bazaar patterns are easily obtained by mail. the best tailors adjust the skirt while the wearer sits on a side saddle, and there is no really good substitute for this, for, although one my guess fairly well at the fir of the knee, nothing but actual trial will show whether or not, when in the saddle, the left side of the skirt hangs perfectly straight, concealing the right side, and leaving the horse's body visible below it. when your skirt is finished, no matter if it be made by the very best of tailors, wear it once in the school before you appear on the road with it, and, looking in the mirror, view it "with a crocket's eye," as the little boy said when he appeared on the school platform as an example of the advantages of the wonderful merits of oral instruction. an elastic strap about a quarter of a yard long should be sewed half way between the curved knee seam and the hem, and should be slipped over the right toe before mounting, and a second strap, for the left heel, should be sewed on the last seam on the under side of the habit, to be adjusted after the foot is placed in the stirrup. the result of this cutting and arrangement is the straight, simple, modern habit which is so great a change from the riding dress of half a century ago, with its full skirt which nearly swept the ground. the short skirt first appears in the english novel in "guy livingstone," and is worn by the severe and upright lady alice, the dame who hesitated not to snub florence bellasis, when snubbing was needful, and who was a mighty huntress. now everybody wears it, and the full skirts are seen nowhere except in the riding-school dressing-rooms, where they yet linger because they may be worn by anybody, whereas the plain skirts fits but one person. it seems odd that so many years were required to discover that a short skirt, held in place by a strap placed over the right toe and another slipped over the left heel, really protected the feet more than yards of loosely floating cloth, but did not steam and electricity wait for centuries? since the new style was generally adopted, englishwomen allow themselves the luxury of five or six habits, instead of the one or two formerly considered sufficient, but each one is worn for several years. when the extravagant wife, in mrs. alexander's "a crooked path," suggests that she may soon want a new habit, her husband asks indignantly, "did i not give you one two years ago?" the trousers may mach the habit or may be of stockinet, or the imported cashmere tights may be worn. women who are not fat and whose muscles are hard, may choose whichsoever one of these pleases them, but fat women, and women whose flesh is not too solid, must wear thick trousers, and would better have them lined with buckskin, unless they would be transformed into what sairey would call "a mask of bruiges," and would frequent remark to mrs. harris that such was what she expected. trousers with gaiter fastenings below the knee are preferred by some women who put not their faith in straps alone, and knee-breeches are liked by some, but to wear knee breeches means to pay fifteen dollars for long riding-boots, instead of the modest seven or eight dollars which suffice to buy ordinary balmoral boots. gaiters must button on the left side of each leg, and trouser straps may be sewed on one side and buttoned on the other, instead of being buttoned on both sides as men's are. tailors sometimes insist on two buttons, but as a woman does not wear her trousers except with the strap, it is not difficult to see why she needs to be able to remove it. the best material for the strap is thick soft kid, or thin leather lined with cloth. the thick, rubber strap used by some tailors is dangerous, sometimes preventing the rider from placing her foot in the stirrup, sometimes making her lose it at a critical moment. whether breeches, tights, or trousers are worn, they must be loose at the knee, or trotting will be impossible, and the rider will feel as if bound to the second pommel, and will sometimes be unable to rise at all. as to gloves, the choice lies between the warm antelope skin mousquetaires at two dollars a pair, and the tan-colored kid gauntlets at the same price. the former are most comfortable for winter, the latter for summer, and neither can be too large. nobody was ever ordered out for execution for wearing black gloves, although they are unusual, and now and then one sees a woman, whose soul is set on novelty, gorgeous in yellow cavalry gauntlets, or even with white dragoon gauntlets, making her look like a badly focused photograph. lastly, as to the hat. what shall it be, esmeralda? no tuft of grass-green plumes for you, like queen guinevere's, nor yet the free flowing feather to be seen in so many beautiful old french pictures, nor the plumed hat which "my sweet mistress ann dacre" wore when constance sherwood's loving eyes first fell upon her, but the simple jockey cap, exactly matching your habit, and costing two dollars and a half or three dollars; the derby cap for the same price or a little more; or, best of all, the english or the american silk hat, as universally suitable as a black silk frock was in the good old times when mrs. rutherford birchard hayes was in the white house. the english henry heath hat at seven or eight dollars, with its velvet forehead piece and its band of soft, rough silk, stays in place better than any other, but it is too heavy for comfort. if you can have an american hatter remodel it, making it weigh half a pound less, it will be perfection, always provided that he does not, as he assuredly will unless you forbid it, throw away the soft, rough band, which keeps the hat in place, and substitute one of the american smooth bands, designed to slip off without ruffling the hair, and doing it instantly, the moment that a breeze touches the brim of the hat. a hunting guard, fastened at the back of the hat brim and between two habit buttons is better than an elastic caught under the braids of your hair, for when an elastic does not snap outright, it is always trying to do so, and in the effort holds the hat so tightly on the head so as sometimes to give actual pain. the hunting guard is no restraint at all unless the hat flies off, in which case it keeps it from following the example of john gilpin's, but with the henry heath lining, your hat is perfectly secure in anything from a texas norther to a new england east wind. if you follow london example, and wear a straw hat for morning rides, sew a piece of white velvet on the inner side of the band, and your forehead will not be marked. arrayed after these suggestions, esmeralda, you will be inconspicuous, and that is the general aim of the true lady's riding dress, with the exception of those worn by german princesses, when, at a review, they lead the regiments which they command. then, their habits may be frogged and braided with gold, or they may fire the air in habit and hat of white and scarlet, the regimental colors, as the empress of germany did the other day. if you were sure of riding as these royal ladies do, perhaps even white and scarlet might be permitted to you, but can you fancy yourself, esmeralda, sweeping across a parade ground with a thousand horsemen behind you, and ready to salute your sovereign and commander-in-chief at the right moment, and to go forward with as much precision as if you, too, were one of those magnificently drilled machines brought into being by the man of blood and iron? xiii. 'tis an old maxim in the schools, that flattery's the food of fools. _swift_. if american children and american girls were the angels which their mothers and their lovers tell them that they are, the best possible riding master for them would be an american soldier who had learned and taught riding at west point. being of the same race, pupil and teacher would have that vast fund of common memories, hopes and feelings; that common knowledge of character, of good qualities and of defects, and that ability to divine motives and to predict action which constitute perfect sympathy, and their relations to one another would be mutually agreeable and profitable. unfortunately, esmeralda, you, like possibly some other american girls, are not an angel, and if you were, you could not have such a riding master, because the very few men who have the specified qualifications are too well acquainted with the characteristics of their countrywomen to instruct them in the equestrian art. who, then, shall be his substitute? clearly, either a person sufficiently patient and clever to neutralize the faults of american women, or one capable of adapting himself to them, of eluding them, and of forcing a certain quantity of knowledge upon his pupils, almost in spite of themselves. the former is hardly to be found among natives of the united states; the latter can be found nowhere else, except, possibly, in certain english shires in which the inhabitants so closely resemble the average american that when they immigrate hither they are scarcely distinguishable from men whose ancestors came two or three centuries ago. a foreign teacher, whether french, german, or hungarian, always regards himself in the just and proper european manner as the superior of his pupil. the traditions in which he has been reared, in which he has been instructed, not only in riding, but in all other matters, survive from the time when all learning was received from men whose title to respect rested not only on their wisdom but on their ecclesiastical office, and who expected and received as much deference from their pupils as from their congregations. undeniably, there are unruly children in european schools, but their rebelliousness is never encouraged, and their teachers are expected to quell it, not to submit to it, much less to endeavour to avoid it by giving no commands which are distasteful. even in the worst conducted private schools on the continent, there is always at least one master who must be obeyed, whose authority is held as beyond appeal, and in the school conducted either by the church or by civil authority, the duty of enforcing perfect discipline is regarded as quite as imperative as that of demanding well-learned lessons. passing through these institutions, the young european enters the military school with as little thought of disputing any order which may be given him as of arguing with the priest who states a theological truth from the pulpit. and, indeed, had he been reared under the tutelage of one of those modern silver-tongued american pedagogues, who make gentle requests lest they should elicit antagonism by commands, the military school should soon completely alter the complexion of his ideas, for he would find his failures in the execution of orders treated as disobedience. he would not be punished at first, it is true, but pretty theories that he was nervous, or ill, or the victim of hereditary disability, or of fibre too delicately attenuated to perform any required act, would not be admitted except, indeed, as a reason for expulsion. moreover, the tests to which he would be compelled to submit before this escape from discipline lay open to him, would be neither slight nor easily borne, for the european military teacher has yet to learn the existence of that exquisite personal dignity which is hopelessly blighted by corporal punishment or infractions of discipline. "will you teach me how to ride, sir?" asked a boston man of a hungarian soldier, one of the pioneers among boston instructors. "will i teach you! eh! i don't know," said the exile dolefully, for during his few weeks in the city, he had seen something of the ways of the american who fancies himself desirous of being taught. "perhaps you will learn, but will--i--teach--you? you can ride?" "a little." "very well! mount that horse, and ride around the ring." away went the pupil, doing his best, but before he had traversed two sides of the school, the master shouted to the horse, and the pupil was sitting in the tan. he picked himself up, and returned to the mounting-stand, saying: "will you tell me how to stay on next time?" "i will," cried the hungarian in a small ecstasy; "and i will make a rider of you!" and he did, too, and certainly took as much pleasure in his pupil in the long course of instruction which followed, and in the resultant proficiency. in european riding-schools for ladies, there is, of course, no resort to corporal punishment, but there is none of that careful abstention from telling disagreeable truths which popular ignorance extracts from american teachers in all schools, except in the military and naval academies. indeed, the need of it is hardly felt, for that peculiar self-consciousness which makes an american awkward under observation and restive under reproof is scarcely found in countries not democratic, and the "i'm ez good ez you be" feeling that is at the bottom of american intractability, has no chance to flourish in lands where position is a matter of birth and not of self-assertion. a french woman, compelled to make part of her toilet in a railway waiting-room under the eyes of half a score of enemies, that is to say, of ten other women, arranges her tresses, purchased or natural, uses powder-puff and hare's foot if she choose, and turns away from the mirror armed for conquest; but an american similarly situated, forgets half her hair-pins, does not dare to wash her face carefully lest some one should sniff condemnation of her fussiness, and looks worse after her efforts at beautifying. a french girl, told that her english accent is bad, corrects it carefully; an american, gently reminded that a french "u" is not pronounced like "you," changes it to "oo," and stares defiance at bocher and all his works. and even that commendable reserve which hinders well-bred americans from frank self-discussion, stands in the way of perfect sympathy between him and the european master, representative of races in which everybody, from an emperor in his proclamations to the peasant chatting over his beer or _petit vin_, may discourse upon his most recondite peculiarities. for all these reasons, the european riding master is often misunderstood, even by his older pupils, and young girls almost invariably mistake his patient reiteration and his methodical vivacity for anger, so that his classes seldom contain any pupils not really anxious to learn, or whose parents are not determined that they shall learn in his school and no other. teaching is a matter of strict conscience with him, and even after years of experience, and in spite of more than one severe lesson as to american sensitiveness, he continues to speak the truth. even when his pupils have become what the ordinary observer calls perfect riders, he allows no fault to go unreproved, although nobody can more thoroughly enjoy the evening classes, organized by fairly good riders rather for amusement than for instruction. if you think you can endure perfect discipline and incessant plain speaking go to him, esmeralda. if you cannot, take the other alternative, the american or the english master, but remember that it is only by absolute submission that you will obtain the best instruction which he is capable of giving. if you do not compel him to tax his mind with remembering all your foibles and weaknesses, you may, thanks to race sympathy, learn more rapidly at first from him than from a foreigner, and, unless you are rude and insubordinate to the point of insolence, you may depend upon receiving no actual harshness from him, although he will refuse to flatter you, and will repeat his warnings against faults, quite as persistently as any foreigner. a very little observation of your fellow pupils will show you that presumption upon his good nature is wofully common, and that his american inability to forget that a woman is a woman, even when she conducts herself as if her name were ursa or jenny, often subjects him to stupendous impertinence, which he receives with calm and silent contempt. you will find that his instruction follows the same lines as that of all foreign masters in the united states, for there is no american system of horsemanship, the traditions of the army, and of the north, being derived from france, those of the south fro, england, and those of the southwest from spain, by the way of mexico and texas. under his instruction, you will remain longer in the debatable land between perfect ignorance of horsemanship, and being a really accomplished rider, than you would if taught by a foreigner, but, as has already been said, you will learn more rapidly at first, an the result, if you choose to work hard, will be much the same. should you, by way of experiment, choose to take lessons from both native and foreign masters, you will find each frankly ready to admit the merits of the other, and to acknowledge that he himself is better suited to some pupils than to others and, to come back to what was told you at the outset, you will find them unanimous in assuring you that your best teacher, the instructor without whose aid you can learn nothing, is yourself, your slightly rebellious, but withal clever, american self. you can learn, esmeralda. there is no field of knowledge into which the american woman has attempted to enter, in which she has not demonstrated her ability to compete, when she chooses to put forth all her energy, with her sisters of other nations, but she must work, and must work steadily. there are american teachers of grammar who cannot parse; american female journalists who cannot write; american women calling themselves doctors, but unable to make a diagnosis between the cholera and the measles; and american women practising law and dependent for a living on blatant self-advertising, but with the faculties of vassar and wellesley in existence; with the editor of harper's bazar receiving the same salary as mr. curtis; with american women acknowledged as a credit to the medical and to the legal profession--what of it? the american woman can learn anything, can do anything. do you learn to ride, and, having done it, "keep riding." at present you have received just sufficient instruction to qualify you to ride properly escorted, on good roads, but-- "keep riding!" transcriber's notes : ( ) typos, spelling mistakes and punctuation errors have been corrected. ( ) italic text is marked with _underlining_; bold text is marked with =equals signs=. ( ) footnotes are marked as [a], [b] and so on, placed at the end of the relevant paragraph. [illustration: mr. baucher, upon partisan.] new method of horsemanship, including the breaking and training of horses, with instructions for obtaining a good seat. illustrated. by f. baucher. _translated from the ninth paris edition._ new york: albert cogswell, publisher, no. eighth street. translator's preface. the author's introduction to his "method of horsemanship" is omitted in this edition, because containing much that would be uninteresting to the american reader. it mentions the great difficulties he had in attracting the attention of the public to his system, and the complete success with which it was crowned when once this attention was attracted. one paragraph from it, which contains the principle upon which his whole method is founded, is here given: "however favored by nature the horse may be, he requires a preparatory exercise to enable his forces to afford each other mutual assistance; without this everything becomes mechanical and hazardous, as well on his part as on that of the rider. "what musician could draw melodious sounds from an instrument without having exercised his fingers in handling it? he would certainly, if he attempted such a thing, produce only false discordant sounds; and the same thing occurs in horsemanship when we undertake to make a horse execute movements for which he has not been prepared." m. baucher presents the official documents upon the subject of the introduction of his method into the french army with the following introductory remarks: "since the first publication of my method, indisputable facts have attested the truth of the principles therein contained. field-marshal the minister of war has appointed a commission, presided over by lieutenant-general the marquis oudinot, to examine into its advantages.[a] "fifty horses, some from the troop, and others belonging to officers, which had not yet commenced their education, or which were considered difficult to manage, or vicious, were subjected to the experiment, which commenced on the st march, . the demands of the service of the garrison of paris permitting only a small number of cuirassiers, municipal guards, and first-class lancers to be put at the disposition of the commission, nearly all the horses were intrusted to riders who were by no means intelligent, or else whose education was not very much advanced. the riders themselves exercised their horses. on the th of april--that is to say, after fifteen lessons--field-marshal the minister of war wished to witness the results of the system he had ordered to be tried. his excellency was accompanied by the members of the committee of cavalry, and many other general officers. the men being completely armed and equipped, and the horses caparisoned, they executed, individually and in troop, at all the paces, movements that, up to this time, had only been required of horses that had been exercised for five or six months under experienced riders. the minister of war followed all the trials with the greatest interest, and before retiring expressed his complete satisfaction, and announced his intention of having a general application of it made in the army." [a] "the commission was composed of lieutenant-general oudinot, col. carrelet, commander of the municipal guard, the chef d'escadrons de novital, commanding the cavalry riding-school, and the captain-instructors degues, of the th cuirassiers, and de mesanges, of the d lancers." among the official documents in favor of baucher's method is a letter from m. champmontant, lieutenant-colonel of the staff, secretary of the committee of cavalry, in which he requests m. baucher to fix a convenient time to appear before the committee and explain his system more completely, that they may consider its adoption in the army; another from lieutenant-general marquis oudinot to m. baucher. in this letter the general informs m. baucher that the minister of war has decided that a series of experiments shall be made upon his method of breaking new horses and such as were considered difficult to manage. then follows the report upon the trials of baucher's method, and a recapitulation of the daily operations by the _chef d'escadrons_ de novital, commanding the royal school at saumur. the complete success of the trial is mentioned above, and an extract only from the report will be here given: "but, it may be objected, will not this species of captivity to which the new method will subject the horse, prevent his lasting? will it not be the source of his premature decay? to this it is easy to answer by a comparison, which to us appears conclusive. when all the wheel work of a machine fits well together, so that each part furnishes its share of action, there is harmony, and consequently need of a less force; so when, in an organized body, we are enabled to obtain suppleness and pliability in all the parts, the equilibrium becomes easy, there is suppleness and lightness, and in consequence, a diminution of fatigue. "far from injuring the horse, the new method has the advantage of being a great auxiliary in developing the muscles, particularly in a young subject." extract from the report to lieutenant-general oudinot, by m. carrelet, colonel of the municipal guard of paris: "to shorten this narration, i would say that the officers of the municipal guard are unanimous in their approval of m. baucher's proceedings, applied to the breaking of young horses. "we have assisted at the education of forty troop horses, all more or less difficult to manage; and we are convinced that, by baucher's system, they have been more advanced in fifteen days than they would have been in six months, by the proceedings we have been accustomed to follow. "i am so convinced of the efficiency of the means practised by m. baucher, that i am going to subject to them all the horses of my five squadrons." extract from the report of lieutenant-general marquis oudinot to his excellency the marshal the minister of war: "that the system of m. baucher may produce in the army all the advantages expected from it, it would be necessary to have a certain number of instructors initiated in it as completely as possible, that they may be able to teach it afterwards. "in consequence of which, i have the honor to propose to you to order: " st. that upon the return to saumur of the commanding officer of the riding-school, the young horses be broken after baucher's method, and observations made upon the advantages or disadvantages that it presents. " d. that in the fifth cuirassiers and the third lancers, the application of this method be continued. " d. that the different bodies of cavalry within a circle of twenty-five leagues around paris detach, for about two months, their captain-instructor and one officer, who should come to study the system of m. baucher." the minister of war immediately issued these three orders, and also three additional ones: " th. m. baucher, jr., will repair to the camp at luneville and sojourn there during the months of june, july and august. the captain-instructors and one lieutenant from the troops of horse stationed in the neighborhood of paris will be ordered to luneville during those months to study the baucher system. " th. m. baucher, jr., will receive an indemnity of five hundred francs a month. " th. each of the bodies of troops of horse and establishments of unbroken horses will receive two copies of the work entitled 'a new method of horsemanship, by m. baucher.'" extract from the report of the chef d'escadrons grenier, appointed to the command of the officers detached to paris, by ministerial decision of the th of may, , to study the method of horsemanship of m. baucher: "the officers detached to paris were of the number of twenty-two, the captain-instructor and a lieutenant from each regiment. * * * they exercised for thirty-nine days. * * * these officers did not all arrive at paris with the belief that they could be taught anything. one-half were captain-instructors, the rest, lieutenants, intended to become the same. thus, in the beginning, there was very little confidence, on the part of the officers, in their new professor, sometimes even opposition, but always zeal and good will. "little by little, confidence came, opposition disappeared; but only at the end of the first month, after about twenty-five lessons, did all the officers, without exception, understand the method and recognize the superiority of m. baucher's principles over those previously known. "before leaving, they all approved of the new method, and desired its application in their regiments. "the method of horsemanship of m. baucher is positive and rational; it is easy to understand, especially when studied under the direction of some one who knows it. it is attractive to the rider, gives him a taste for horses and horsemanship, tends to develop the horse's qualities, especially that of lightness, which is so delightful to discover in a saddle-horse. * * applied to the breaking of young horses, it develops their instinct, makes them find the domination of the rider easy and pleasant; it preserves them from the premature ruin that an improper breaking often brings with it; it may shorten the time devoted to the education of the horse; and it interests the riders employed in it." m. desondes, lieutenant of the ninth cuirassiers, winds up a long and highly favorable report upon the breaking of young horses for the army with the words, "to baucher the cavalry is grateful." extracts from the sixth and last report upon the trials of the new method of horsemanship of m. baucher: "the first trials are concluded. the principal movements of the platoon-drill on horseback, the running at the head and charging, have completed the exercises. thus, thirty-five lessons have sufficed to perfect the instruction of the tractable as well as the intractable horses confided to me. the first rough work with the horse--that is to say, the exercises with the snaffle prescribed by the orders--used to take up as much time as this, and then we scarcely dared to touch the curb-rein. in this view, the new system is of great utility for cavalry. "but the promptness with which we can put new horses in the ranks is not the only advantage the new method presents; it guarantees, besides, the preservation of the horse; it develops his faculties and his powers; these increase by the harmony and proper application of the forces among themselves and by their rational and opportune use. it is not the immoderate employment of force which conquers a rebellious horse, but the well-combined use of an ordinary force. the baucher system ought to be considered eminently preservative, since the breaking, being well graduated and well combined, cannot have an injurious influence upon the horse's _physique_; and his forces being at the disposition of the rider, it is he, the absolute dispenser of these forces, who is responsible for their duration or premature destruction. * * * i repeat it, that the new method would be a great benefit, an indisputable improvement for cavalry. * * * i pray then for its adoption, and ardently desire its prompt introduction into the cavalry. (signed) de novital." extract from the _spectateur militaire_: "passionately fond of a science that, from his childhood, has been the object of studies as productive as they were persevering, m. baucher, after having obtained from the horse a submission almost magical, has not been willing to be the only one to profit by his meditations; he has put them cleverly together, and his written method is now in the hands of all those who occupy themselves with horsemanship. * * * the division of dragoons, and the instructors of the different bodies of troops of horse that composed a part of the camp of luneville, intended to execute, after the principles of the new method, and in the presence of their royal highnesses, the dukes of orleans and nemours, equestrian exercises that would have had thousands of spectators. the mournful event that deprived france of the prince royal did not allow of this performance having the _éclat_ that was intended. nevertheless, m. the duke de nemours, wishing to judge for himself of the results, has had part of these exercises performed in his presence." the death of the duke of orleans, and the indifference and afterwards opposition of the duke de nemours, were the principal causes of the system of m. baucher not being adopted for the whole cavalry of the french army. the former was an ardent admirer of the system, while the latter was an equally ardent admirer of a rival professor of horsemanship. extract from a letter of m. de gouy, colonel of the first hussars, to m. baucher: "so far from the muscular power being lessened by the repetition of the flexions, is it not increased by having all the advantage of exercise over repose, of work over indolence? does not the muscular system, in reason, develop itself, physiologically speaking, in proportion to these conditions? will not address and vigor be the result of these gymnastics? has the habitual difference between the forces of the right and left arm any other cause than the difference in the daily use of the one to the prejudice of the other?" baucher says: "to prove the complete success of my mission to saumur, i will back, according to my custom, my assertions by positive facts. the officers present at my course of instruction were of the number of seventy-two; of this number sixty-nine have sent in reports favorable to my method. there were but _three dissenting voices_." this statement is followed by letters from general prévost, de novital, etc., all highly commending the system. baucher's method has been reprinted in belgium and translated into dutch and german. in the latter language, several different translations have been written, one by m. ritgen, lieutenant of the fourth regiment of _houlans_ (prussian), and the other by m. de willisen, lieutenant-colonel of the seventh cuirassiers (prussian). the translator will give some extracts from the preface to m. de willisen's translation, as it shows that some of the difficulties met with by the former were not altogether escaped by his german _confrère_. "after the most positive results had proved to me most convincingly that, of all existing methods, that of m. baucher was the best, i thought that it would be useful to translate it. this translation seemed at first much easier than it proved in the sequel; above all, it was actually impossible for me to render in german, as i wished, such technical french expressions as _attaques_, _acculement_, _assouplissement_, _ramener_, _rassembler_, etc., retaining their clearness and conciseness. in german i could only find expressions that were incomplete. on this account i have put all the words for which i could not find a clear equivalent in german in the original french. "horses may be broken with much success upon other principles--they have been broken before m. baucher's time--but no work has thrown so much light upon horse education; no other method has taught such simple and sure means, nor presented a like result with certainty. he who would ride with safety and satisfaction, ought to be completely master of an obedient and correct horse. to obtain this result, m. baucher gives the surest means and points out the shortest road: "the exact knowledge of the obstacles that the horse presents to dispose him to obey easily; the simple manner, easy to understand and easy to execute, of making these obstacles disappear, distinguish this method from all preceding ones, and render it of the greatest importance to all riders. "the close relations that are established between rider and horse give the former such a certainty of hand and legs, and the latter such suppleness and obedience, that a like result has never previously been obtained. "until now, no horseman has ever had such clear and sure means for breaking a horse given him, even approximatively, as are contained in this book. the trial will give the most convincing proofs of this when we undertake to apply the principles therein contained; but that can only be considered a trial when made by following strictly what is prescribed in the method. there is no other method that can put the horse so certainly in the hand and in the legs of the rider; no other method succeeds in developing so much address and assurance in horse or rider: the horse feels at his ease, the rider is absolute master of him, and both are at their ease. * * * this new method teaches, further, what is of very great importance, the most certain means of making the rider perfectly in harmony with his horse, so that they can understand and mutually trust one another, in such a way that the horse obeys as punctually as the rider guides him skilfully. in place of being obliged to break every horse after our own particular fashion, we will only, thanks to this method, have to occupy ourselves with one horse, for it teaches us that the same means are applicable to all horses. it is unnecessary to enumerate the advantages the instruction of the rider gains from it, for he escapes the martyrdom of the lessons being given him on awkward, badly-broken horses. riders will sooner become masters of these managed horses, and will acquire in six weeks a seat that will come of itself, and their touch will be developed much more quickly. "finally, men learn very quickly to put in practice means that are applied on foot, and there is a great advantage in it; it is that they can see better the moment that the neck becomes flexible and the jaw without contraction; besides this, their hand becomes much more delicate than it would have become in a much greater space of time, if the application took place in the saddle. "until now, only men of great talent were able to break horses; now, by practising this new method, which demonstrates clearly the means of breaking, every rider, in a very short time, can acquire the knowledge necessary to render a horse fit for use. * * * a person commencing to learn this method, and who is obliged to work from the book, ought to proceed slowly and cautiously in the application of principles that are not familiar to him. he ought first to endeavor to perfect his seat, his position, his touch, the obedience of his horse, and his paces; he will thus make great progress in the breaking, and be enabled to undertake the application of the new method. "de willisen, "_lieut.-col. of the seventh cuirassiers_." m. baucher received from the king of prussia a magnificent snuff-box of elegantly carved gold, as a token of the satisfaction of his majesty with our author's system. if anybody has read all this, they will be pleased to hear that there will be no more proofs of the excellence of the system brought from across the atlantic. in consequence of the opposition mentioned above, baucher's system was discontinued in the french army, in spite of the almost unanimous wish of the officers. but he has gained a name as the first horseman of this or any other age--the first who could not only manage horses himself, but teach others to do so equally well. this has been proved under the translator's own eyes. a gentleman of philadelphia purchased a horse, four years old, long, _gangling_, ewe-necked; such a brute as no one but a confident disciple of baucher would have had anything to do with. had he hunted the country for a horse with but one merit, that of soundness, and possessing that only because nothing had ever been done to injure it, he could not have been better suited. mounted upon this animal, it was painful to see a good rider in such a quandary; but a quiet, confident smile showed what was intended to come of it. in six weeks from that time, without the horse ever having crossed the threshold of the stable-yard, the writer saw him splendid, with his neck arched like the steed in holy writ, his haunches well under him, obedient to the lightest touch of hand or heel, ready to do anything that was demanded of him, because he had been put in a position that enabled him to do it. since that, the same person has broken two other horses of greater natural capabilities, and the success was proportionately greater. every one who takes any interest in horses recollects the horse may-fly, when first introduced to an american audience, by sands, of welsh's circus. this horse, a thoroughbred, belonging to the racing stud of baron rothschild, was so vicious that he had to be brought upon the race-course in a van, so that he could see nothing till the moment to start arrived. with even this and similar precautions, he was considered dangerous and unmanageable. the master hand was required, and, under its influence, all such things as vice and being unmanageable disappeared. instead of violent force on the part of man, which would only have produced more violent force on the part of the brute, baucher sought out the sources of these resistances, and conquered them in detail. is it not worth a few weeks' pleasant labor with your horse to be able to make him move with the grace, elegance and majesty of this one, or of those we have since seen ridden by derious, and that french amazon, caroline loyo? it is within the power of every one to do this to a certain extent; and as the education of the man as a rider advances progressively with that of the horse, there are, as baucher himself says, no limits to the progress of horsemanship, and no performance, _equestrianly_ possible, that a horseman, who will properly apply his principles, cannot make his horse execute. __________________________ baucher's new method of horsemanship. --------------------------- chapter i. new means of obtaining a good seat it may undoubtedly be thought astonishing that, in the first editions of this work, having for its object the horse's education, i should not have commenced by speaking of the rider's seat. in fact, this, so important a part of horsemanship, has always been the basis of classical works on this subject. nevertheless, it is not without a motive that i have deferred treating of this question until now. had i had nothing new to say on this subject, i might very easily have managed, by consulting old authors, by transposing a sentence here and changing a word there, to have sent forth into the equestrian world another inutility. but i had other ideas; i wished to make a thorough reform. my system for giving a good seat to the rider, being also an innovation, i feared lest so many new things at one time should alarm even the best intentioned amateurs, and give a hold to my adversaries. they would not have failed to say that my means of managing a horse were impracticable, or that they could not be applied without recourse to a seat still more impracticable. but now i have proved the contrary--that, upon my plan, horses have been broken by troops without regard to the men's seat. to give more force to my method, and render it more easily comprehensible, i have divested it of all accessories, and said nothing about those new principles that concern the rider's seat. i reserved these last until after the indisputable success of the official trials. by means of these principles, added to those i have published upon the art of horse-breaking, i both shorten the man's work, and establish a system not only precise, but complete in these two important parts of horsemanship, hitherto so confused. by following my new instructions relating to the man's seat on horseback, we will promptly arrive at a certain result; they are as easy to understand as to demonstrate. two sentences are sufficient to explain all to the rider, and he will get a good seat by the simple advice of the instructor. _the seat of the rider._--the rider will expand his chest as much as possible, so that each part of his body rests upon that next below it, for the purpose of increasing the adhesion of his buttocks to the saddle; the arms will fall easily by the sides. the thighs and legs must, by their own strength, find as many points of contact as possible with the saddle and the horse's sides; the feet will naturally follow the motion of the legs. you see by these few lines how simple the rider's seat is. the means which i point out for quickly obtaining a good seat, remove all the difficulties which the plan pursued by our predecessors presented. the pupil used to understand nothing of the long catechism, recited in a loud voice by the instructor, from the first word to the last, consequently he could not execute it. here one word replaces all those sentences; but we previously go through a course of supplings. this course will make the rider expert, and consequently intelligent. one month will not elapse without the most stupid and awkward recruit being able to seat himself properly without the aid of the word of command. _preparatory lesson (the lesson to last an hour, two lessons a day for a month)._--the horse is led upon the ground, saddled and bridled. the instructor must take two pupils; one will hold the horse by the bridle, all the while watching what the other does, that he may be able to perform in his turn. the pupil will approach the horse's shoulder and prepare to mount; for this purpose he will lay hold of and separate, with the right hand, a handful of mane, and pass it into the left hand, taking hold as near the roots as possible, without twisting them; he will seize the pommel of the saddle with the right hand, the four fingers in, and the thumb outside; then springing lightly, will raise himself upon his wrists. as soon as his middle is the height of the horse's withers, he will pass the right leg over the croup, without touching it, and place himself lightly in the saddle. this vaulting being very useful in making the man active, he should be made to repeat it eight or ten times, before letting him finally seat himself. the repetition of this will soon teach him what he is able to do, using the powers of his arms and loins. _exercise in the saddle._--(this is a stationary exercise on horseback; an old, quiet horse to be chosen in preference; the reins are knotted, and hang on his neck.) the pupil being on horseback, the instructor will examine his natural position, in order to exercise more frequently those parts which have a tendency to give way or stiffen. the lesson will commence with the chest. the instructor will make use of the flexions of the loins, which expand the chest, to straighten the upper part of the pupil's body; he whose loins are slack will be made to hold himself in this position for some time, without regard to the stiffness which this will bring along with it the first few times. it is by the exertion of force that the pupil will become supple, and not by the _abandon_ so much and so uselessly recommended. a movement at first obtained by great effort, will, after a while, not require so much, for he will then have gained skill, and skill, in this case, is but the result of exertions combined and employed properly. what is first done with twenty pounds of force, reduces itself afterwards to fourteen, to ten, to four. skill will be the exertion reduced to four pounds. if we commenced by a less, we would not attain this result. the flexions of the loins will be often renewed, allowing the pupil often to let himself down into his natural relaxed position, in order to make him properly employ the force that quickly gives a good position to the chest. the body being well placed, the instructor will pass: st. to the lesson of the arm, which consists in moving it in every direction, first bent, and afterwards extended; d. to that of the head; this must be turned right and left without its motions reacting on the shoulders. when the lessons of the chest, arms, and head give a satisfactory result, which ought to be at the end of four days (eight lessons), they will pass to that of the legs. the pupil will remove one of his thighs as far as possible from the quarters of the saddle; and afterwards replace it with a rotatory movement from without inwards, in order to make it adhere to the saddle by as many points of contact as possible. the instructor will watch that the thigh does not fall back heavily; it should resume its position by a slowly progressive motion, and without a jerk. he ought, moreover, during the first lesson, to take hold of the pupil's leg and direct it, in order to make him understand the proper way of performing this displacement. he will thus save him fatigue, and obtain the result more quickly. this kind of exercise, very fatiguing at first, requires frequent rests; it would be wrong to prolong the exercise beyond the powers of the pupil. the motions of drawing in (_adduction_, which makes the thigh adhere to the saddle), and putting out (_abduction_, which separates it from the saddle), becoming more easy, the thighs will have acquired a suppleness which will admit of their adherence to the saddle in a good position. then comes the flexion of the legs. _flexion of the legs._--the instructor will watch that the knees always preserve their perfect adherence to the saddle. the legs will be swung backward and forward like the pendulum of a clock; that is, the pupil will raise them so as to touch the cantle of the saddle with his heels. the repetition of these flexions will soon render the legs supple, pliable and independent of the thighs. the flexions of the legs and thighs will be continued for four days (eight lessons). to make each of these movements more correct and easier, eight days (or sixteen lessons), will be devoted to it. the fifteen days (thirty lessons), which remain to complete the month, will continue to be occupied by the exercise of stationary supplings; but, in order that the pupil may learn to combine the strength of his arms, and that of his loins, he will be made to hold at arm's length, progressively, weights of from ten to forty pounds. this exercise will be commenced in the least fatiguing position, the arm being bent, and the hand near the shoulder, and this flexion will be continued to the full extent of the arm. the chest should not be affected by this exercise, but be kept steady in the same position. _of the knees._--the strength of pressure of the knees will be judged of, and even obtained, by the aid of the following method: this, which at first sight will perhaps appear of slight importance, will, nevertheless, bring about great results. the instructor will take a narrow piece of leather about twenty inches long; he will place one end of this strap between the pupil's knee and the side of the saddle. the pupil will make use of the force of his knees to prevent its slipping, while the instructor will draw it towards him slowly and progressively. this process will serve as a dynamometer to judge of the increase of power. the strictest watch must be kept that each force which acts separately does not put other forces in action; that is to say, that the movement of the arms does not influence the shoulders; it should be the same with the thighs, with respect to the body; the legs, with respect to the thighs, etc., etc. the displacement and suppling of each part separately, being obtained, the chest and seat will be temporarily displaced, in order to teach the rider to recover his proper position without assistance. this will be done as follows: the instructor being placed on one side, will push the pupil's hip, so that his seat will be moved out of the seat of the saddle. the instructor will then allow him to get back into the saddle, being careful to watch that, in regaining his seat, he makes use of his hips and knees only, in order to make him use only those parts nearest to his seat. in fact, the aid of the shoulders would soon affect the hand, and this the horse; the assistance of the legs would have still worse results. in a word, in all the displacements, the pupil must be taught not to have recourse in order to direct the horse, to the means which keep him in his seat, and, _vice versâ_, not to employ, in order to keep his seat, those which direct the horse. here, but a month has elapsed, and these equestrian gymnastics have made a rider of a person, who at first may have appeared the most unfit for it. having mastered the preliminary trials, he will impatiently await the first movements of the horse, to give himself up to them with the ease of an experienced rider. fifteen days (thirty lessons) will be devoted to the walk, trot and gallop. here the pupil should solely endeavor to follow the movements of the horse; therefore, the instructor will oblige him to occupy himself only with his seat, and not attempt to guide the horse. he will only exact that the pupil ride, at first, straight before him, then in every direction, one rein of the snaffle in each hand. at the end of four days (eight lessons), he may be made to take the curb-rein in his left hand. the right hand, which is now free, must be held alongside of the left, that he may early get the habit of sitting square (with his shoulders on a level); the horse will trot equally to the right and to the left. when the seat is firmly settled at all the paces, the instructor will explain simply, the connection between the wrist and the legs, as well as their separate effects. _education of the horse._--here the rider will commence the horse's education, by following the progression i have pointed out, and which will be found farther on. the pupil will be made to understand all that there is rational in it, and what an intimate connection exists between the education of the man and that of the horse. _recapitulation and progression._-- days. lessons. . flexion of the loins to expand the chest . extending and replacing of the thighs, and flexion of the legs . general exercise of all the parts in succession . displacement of the man's body, exercise of the knees and arms with weights in the hands . position of the rider, the horse being at a walk, trot and gallop, in order to fashion and settle the seat at these different paces . education of the horse by the rider ---- ---- total chapter ii. of the forces of the horse. _of their causes and effects._--the horse, like all organized beings, is possessed of a weight and a force peculiar to himself. the weight inherent to the material of which the animal is composed, renders the mass inert, and tends to fix it to the ground. the force, on the contrary, by the faculty it gives him of moving this weight, of dividing it, of transferring it from one of his parts to another, communicates movement to his whole being, determines his equilibrium, speed and direction. to make this truth more evident, let us suppose a horse in repose. his body will be in perfect equilibrium, if each of its members supports exactly that part of the weight which devolves upon it in this position. if he wishes to move forward at a walk, he must first transfer that part of the weight resting on the leg he moves first to those that will remain fixed to the ground. it will be the same thing in other paces, the transfer acting from one diagonal to the other in the trot, from the front to the rear, and reciprocally in the gallop. we must not then confound the weight with the force; the latter determines, the former is subordinate to it. it is by carrying the weight from one extremity to the other that the force puts them in motion, or makes them stationary. the slowness or quickness of the transfers fixes the different paces, which are correct or false, even or uneven, according as these transfers are executed with correctness or irregularity. it is understood that this motive power is subdivided _ad infinitum_, since it is spread over all the muscles of the animal. when the latter himself determines the use of them, the forces are instinctive; i call them transmitted when they emanate from the rider. in the first case, the man governed by his horse remains the plaything of his caprices; in the second, on the contrary, he makes him a docile instrument, submissive to all the impulses of his will. the horse, then, from the moment he is mounted, should only act by transmitted forces. the invariable application of this principle constitutes the true talent of the horseman. but such a result cannot be attained instantaneously. the young horse, in freedom, having been accustomed to regulate his own movements, will, at first, submit with difficulty to the strange influence which comes to take the entire control of them. a struggle necessarily ensues between the horse and his rider, who will be overcome unless he is possessed of energy, patience, and, above all, the knowledge necessary to gain his point. the forces of the animal being the element upon which the rider must principally work, first to conquer, and finally to direct them, it is necessary he should fix his attention upon these before anything else. he will study what they are, whence they spring, the parts where they contract the most for resistance, the physical causes which occasion these contractions. when this is discovered, he will proceed with his pupil by means in accordance with his nature, and his progress will then be rapid. unfortunately, we search in vain in ancient or modern authors, on horsemanship, i will not say for rational principles, but even for any data in connection with the forces of the horse. all speak very prettily about resistances, oppositions, lightness and equilibrium; but none of them have known how to tell us what causes these resistances, how we can combat them, destroy them, and obtain this lightness and equilibrium they so earnestly recommend. it is this gap that has caused the great doubts and obscurity about the principles of horsemanship; it is this that has made the art stationary so long a time; it is this gap that, i think, i am able to fill up. and first, i lay down the principle that all the resistances of young horses spring, in the first place, from a physical cause, and that this cause only becomes a moral one by the awkwardness, ignorance and brutality of the rider. in fact, besides the natural stiffness peculiar to all these animals, each of them has a peculiar conformation, the more or less of perfection in which constitutes the degree of harmony that exists between the forces and the weight. the want of this harmony occasions the ungracefulness of their paces, the difficulty of their movements; in a word, all the obstacles to a good education. in a state of freedom, whatever may be the bad structure of the horse, instinct is sufficient to enable him to make such a use of his forces as to maintain his equilibrium; but there are movements it is impossible for him to make until a preparatory exercise shall have put him in the way of supplying the defects of his organization by a better combined use of his motive power. a horse puts himself in motion only in consequence of a given position; if his forces are such as to oppose themselves to this position, they must first be annulled, in order to replace them by the only ones which can lead to it. now, i ask, if before overcoming these first obstacles, the rider adds to them the weight of his own body, and his unreasonable demands, will not the animal experience still greater difficulty in executing certain movements? the efforts we make to compel him to submission, being contrary to his nature, will they not find in it an insurmountable obstacle? he will naturally resist, and with so much the more advantage, that the bad distribution of his forces will of itself be sufficient to paralyze those of the rider. the resistance then emanates, in this case, from a physical cause: which becomes a moral one from the moment when, the struggle going on with the same processes, the horse begins of his own accord to combine means of resisting the torture imposed on him, when we undertake to force into operation parts which have not previously been supplied. when things get into this state, they can only grow worse. the rider, soon disgusted with the impotence of his efforts, will cast back upon the horse the responsibility of his own ignorance; he will brand as a jade an animal possessing the most brilliant resources, and of whom, with more discernment and tact, he could have made a hackney as docile in character, as graceful and agreeable in his paces. i have often remarked that horses considered indomitable are those which develop the most energy and vigor, when we know how to remedy those physical defects which prevent their making use of them. as to those which, in spite of their bad formation, are by a similar system made to show a semblance of obedience, we need thank nothing but the softness of their nature; if they can be made to submit to the simplest exercises, it is only on condition that we do not demand anything more of them, for they would soon find their energy again to resist any further attempts. the rider can then make them go along at different paces to be sure; but how disconnected, how stiff, how ungraceful in their movements, and how ridiculous such steeds make their unfortunate riders look, as they toss them about at will, instead of being guided by them! this state of things is all perfectly natural, unless we destroy the first cause of it: _the bad distribution of their forces, and the stiffness caused by a bad conformation_. but, it is objected, since, you allow that these difficulties are caused by the formation of the horse, how is it possible to remedy them? you do not possibly pretend to change the structure of the animal and reform the work of nature? undoubtedly not; but while i confess that it is impossible to give more breadth to a narrow chest, to lengthen too short a neck, to lower too high a croup, to shorten and fill out long, weak, narrow loins, i do not the less insist that if i prevent the different contractions occasioned by these physical defects, if i supply the muscles, if i make myself master of the forces so as to use them at will, it will be easy for me to prevent these resistances, to give more action to the weak parts, and to moderate those that are too vigorous, and thus make up for the deficiencies of nature. such results, i do not hesitate to say, were and still are forever denied to the old methods. but if the science of those who follow the old beaten track finds so constant an obstacle in the great number of horses of defective formation, there are, unfortunately, some horses who, by the perfection of their organization, and the consequent facility of their education, contribute greatly to perpetuate the impotent routines that have been so unfavorable to the progress of horsemanship. a well constituted horse is one, all of whose parts being regularly harmonized, induce the perfect equilibrium of the whole. it would be as difficult for such a subject to leave this natural equilibrium, and take up an improper position for the purpose of resistance, as it is at first painful for the badly formed horse to come into that just distribution of forces, without which no regularity of movement can be hoped for. it is then only in the education of these last that the real difficulties of horsemanship consist. with the others the breaking ought to be, so to say, instantaneous, since all the springs being in their places, there is nothing to be done but to put them in motion; this result is always obtained by my method. yet the old principles demand two or three years to reach this point, and when by feeling your way without any certainty of success, the horseman gifted with some tact and experience, ends by accustoming the horse to obey the impressions communicated to him, he imagines that he has surmounted great difficulties, and attributes to his skill a state so near that of nature that correct principles would have obtained it in a few days. then as the animal continues to display in all his movements the grace and lightness natural to his beautiful formation, the rider does not scruple to take all the merit to himself, thus showing himself as presumptuous in this case as he was unjust when he would make the badly formed horse responsible for the failure of his attempts. if we once admit these truths: that the education of the horse consists in the complete subjection of his powers; that we can only make use of his powers at will by annulling all resistances; and that these resistances have their source in the contractions occasioned by physical defects; the only thing will be to seek out the parts where these contractions operate, in order to endeavor to oppose and destroy them. long and conscientious observations have shown me that, whatever be the fault of formation that in the horse prevents a just distribution of his forces, it is always in the neck that the most immediate effect is felt. there is no improper movement, no resistance that is not preceded by the contraction of this part of the animal; and as the jaw is intimately connected with the neck, the stiffness of the one is instantly communicated to the other. these two points are the prop upon which the horse rests, in order to annul all the rider's efforts. we can easily conceive the immense obstacle they must present to the impulsions of the latter, since the neck and head, being the two principal levers by which we direct the animal, it is impossible to obtain anything from him until we are master of these first and indispensable means of action. behind, the parts where the forces contract the most for resistance, are the loins and the croup (the haunches). the contractions of these two opposite extremities are, mutually the one to the other, causes and effects, that is to say, the stiffness of the neck induces that of the haunches, and reciprocally. we can combat the one by the other; and as soon as we have succeeded in annulling them, as soon as we have re-established the equilibrium and harmony that they prevented between the fore and hind-parts, the education of the horse will be half finished. i will now point out the means of infallibly arriving at this result. chapter iii. the supplings. this work being an exposition of a method which upsets most of the old principles of horsemanship, it is understood that i only address men already conversant with the art, and who join to an assured seat a sufficiently great familiarity with the horse, to understand all that concerns his mechanism. i will not, then, revert to the elementary processes; it is for the instructor to judge if his pupil possesses a proper degree of solidity of seat, and is sufficiently a part of the horse; for at the same time that a good seat produces this identification, it favors the easy and regular play of the rider's extremities. my present object is to treat principally of the education of the horse; but this education is too intimately bound up in that of the rider, for him to make much progress in one without the other. in explaining the processes which should produce perfection in the animal, i will necessarily teach the horseman to apply them himself; he will only have to practise tomorrow what i teach him today. nevertheless, there is one thing that no precept can give; that is, a fineness of touch, a delicacy of equestrian feeling that belongs only to certain privileged organizations, and without which, we seek in vain to pass certain limits. having said this, we will return to our subject. we now know which are the parts of the horse that contract the most in resistances, and we feel the necessity of suppling them. shall we then seek to attack, exercise and conquer them all at once? no; this would be to fall back into the old error, of the inefficiency of which we are convinced. the animal's muscular power is infinitely superior to ours; his instinctive forces, moreover, being able to sustain themselves the one by the others, we will inevitably be conquered if we set them in motion all at once. since the contractions have their seat in separate parts, let us profit by this division to combat them separately, as a skillful general destroys, in detail, forces which, when together, he would be unable to resist. for the rest, whatever the age, the disposition, and the structure of my pupil, my course of proceeding at the start will be always the same. the results will only be more or less prompt and easy, according to the degree of perfection in his nature, and the influence of the hand to which he has been previously subjected. the suppling, which will have no other object in the case of a well-made horse than that of preparing his forces to yield to our impulsions, will re-establish calm and confidence in a horse that has been badly handled, and in a defective formation will make those contractions disappear, which are the causes of resistances, and the only obstacles to a perfect equilibrium. the difficulties to be surmounted will be in proportion to this complication of obstacles, and will quickly disappear with a little perseverance on our part. in the progression we are about to pursue in order to subject the different parts of the animal to suppling, we will naturally commence with the most important parts, that is to say, with the jaw and neck. the head and neck of the horse are at once the rudder and compass of the rider. by them he directs the animal; by them, also, he can judge of the regularity and precision of his movements. the equilibrium of the whole body is perfect, its lightness complete, when the head and neck remain of themselves easy, pliable and graceful. on the contrary, there can be no elegance, no ease of the whole, when these two parts are stiff. preceding the body of the horse in all its impulsions, they ought to give warning, and show by their attitude the positions to be taken, and the movements to be executed. the rider has no power so long as they remain contracted and rebellious; he disposes of the animal at will, when once they are flexible and easily handled. if the head and neck do not first commence the changes of direction, if in circular movements they are not inclined in a curved line, if in backing they do not bend back upon themselves, and if their lightness is not always in harmony with the different paces at which we wish to go, the horse will be free to execute these movements or not, since he will remain master of the employment of his own forces. from the time i first noticed the powerful influence that the stiffness of the neck exercises on the whole mechanism of the horse, i attentively sought the means to remedy it. the resistances to the hand are always either sideways, upward or downward. i at first considered the neck alone as the source of these resistances, and exercised myself in suppling the animal by flexions, repeated in every direction. the result was immense; but, although, at the end of a certain time, the supplings of the neck rendered me perfectly master of the forces of the fore-parts of the horse, i still felt a slight resistance which i could not at first account for. at last i discovered that it proceeded from the jaw. the flexibility i had communicated to the neck even aided this stiffness of the muscles of the lower jaw, by permitting the horse in certain cases to escape the action of the bit. i then bethought me of the means of combating these resistances in this, their last stronghold; and, from that time, it is there i always commence my work of suppling. _first exercise on foot._--means of making the horse come to the man, of making him steady to mount, etc., etc. before commencing the exercises of flexions, it is essential to give the horse a first lesson of subjection, and teach him to recognize the power of man. this first act of submission, which might appear unimportant, will have the effect of quickly rendering him calm, of giving him confidence, and of repressing all those movements which might distract his attention, and mar the success of the commencement of his education. two lessons, of a half hour each, will suffice to obtain the preparatory obedience of every horse. the pleasure we experience in thus playing with him will naturally lead the rider to continue this exercise for a few moments each day, and make it both instructive to the horse and useful to himself. the mode of proceeding is as follows: the rider will approach the horse, his whip under his arm, without roughness or timidity; he will speak to him without raising the voice too much, and will pat him on the face and neck; then with the left hand will lay hold of the curb-reins, about six or seven inches from the branches of the bit, keeping his wrist stiff, so as to present as much force as possible when the horse resists. the whip will be held firmly in the right hand, the point towards the ground, then slowly raised as high as his chest, in order to tap it at intervals of a second. the first natural movement of the horse will be to withdraw from the direction in which the pain comes; it is by backing that he will endeavor to do this. the rider will follow this backward movement without discontinuing the firm tension of the reins, nor the little taps with the whip on the breast, applying them all the time with the same degree of intensity. the rider should be perfectly self-possessed, that there may be no indication of anger or weakness in his motions or looks. becoming tired of this constraint, the horse will soon seek by another movement to avoid the infliction, and it is by coming forward that he will arrive at it; the rider will seize this second instinctive movement to stop and caress the animal with his hand and voice. the repetition of this exercise will give the most surprising results, even in the first lesson. the horse having discovered and understood the means by which he can avoid the pain, will not wait till the whip touches him, he will anticipate it by rushing forward at the least gesture. the rider will take advantage of this to effect, by a downward force of the bridle hand, the depression of the neck, and the getting him in hand; he will thus early dispose the horse for the exercises that are to follow. this training, besides being a great recreation, will serve to make the horse steady to mount, will greatly abridge his education and accelerate the development of his intelligence. should the horse, by reason of his restless or wild nature, become very unruly, we should have recourse to the cavesson, as a means of repressing his disorderly movements, and use it with little jerks. i would add that it requires great prudence and discernment to use it with tact and moderation. _flexion of the jaw._--the flexions of the jaw, as well as the two flexions of the neck which follow, are executed standing still, the man on foot. the horse will be led on the ground saddled and bridled, the reins on his neck. the man will first see that the bit is properly placed in the horse's mouth, and that the curb-chain is fastened so that he can introduce his finger between the links and the horse's chin. then looking the animal good-naturedly in the eyes, he will place himself before him near his head, holding his body straight and firm, his feet a little apart to steady himself, and dispose himself to struggle with advantage against all resistances.[b] [b] i have divided all the flexions into two parts, and, in order to facilitate the understanding of the text, i have added to it plates representing the position of the horse at the moment the flexion is about to commence, and at the moment it is terminated. st. in order to execute the flexion to the right, the man will take hold of the right curb-rein with the right hand, at about six inches from the branch of the bit, and the left rein with the left hand, at only three inches from the left branch. he will then draw his right hand towards his body, pushing out his left hand so as to turn the bit in the horse's mouth. the force employed ought to be entirely determined by and proportioned to the resistance of the jaw and neck only, in order not to affect the _aplomb_, which keeps his body still. if the horse backs to avoid the flexion, the opposition of the hands should still be continued. if the preceding exercise has been completely and carefully practised, it will be easy by the aid of the whip to prevent this retrograde movement, which is a great obstacle to all kinds of flexions of the jaw and neck. (plate i.) d. as soon as the flexion is obtained, the left hand will let the left rein slip to the same length as the right, then drawing the two reins equally will bring the head near to the breast, in order to hold it there oblique and perpendicular, until it sustains itself without assistance in this position. the horse by champing the bit will show his being in hand as well as his perfect submission. the man, to reward him, will cease drawing on the reins immediately, and after some seconds will allow him to resume his natural position. (plate ii.) [illustration: plates i. and ii.] the flexion of the jaw to the left is executed upon the same principles and by inverse means to the flexion to the right, the man being careful to pass alternately from one to the other. the importance of these flexions of the jaw is easily understood. the result of them is to prepare the horse to yield instantly to the lightest pressure of the bit, and to supple directly the muscles that join the head to the neck. as the head ought to precede and determine the different attitudes of the neck, it is indispensable that the latter part be always in subjection to the other, and respond to its impulsions. that would be only partially the case with the flexibility of the neck alone, which would then make the head obey it, by drawing it along in its movements. you see, then, why at first i experienced resistances, in spite of the pliability of the neck, of which i could not imagine the cause. the followers of my method to whom i have not yet had an opportunity of making known the new means just explained, will learn with pleasure that this process not only brings the flexibility of the neck to a greater degree of perfection, but saves much time in finishing the suppling. the exercise of the jaw, while fashioning the mouth and head, brings along with it the flexion of the neck, and accelerates the getting the horse in hand. this exercise is the first of our attempts to accustom the forces of the horse to yield to ours. it is necessary, then, to manage it very nicely, so as not to discourage him at first. to enter on the flexion roughly would be to shock the animal's intelligence, who would not have had time to comprehend what was required of him. the opposition of the hands will be commenced gently but firmly, not to cease until perfect obedience is obtained, except, indeed, the horse backs against a wall, or into a corner; but it will diminish or increase its effect in proportion to the resistance, in a way always to govern it, but not with too great violence. the horse that at first will, perhaps, submit with difficulty, will end by regarding the man's hand as an irresistible regulator, and will become so used to obeying it, that he will soon obtain, by a simple pressure of the rein, what at first required the whole strength of our arms. at each renewal of the lateral flexions some progress will be made in the obedience of the horse. as soon as his first resistances are a little diminished, we will pass to the perpendicular flexions or depression of the neck. _depression of the neck by the direct flexion of the jaw._-- . the man will place himself as for the lateral flexions of the jaw; he will take hold of the reins of the snaffle with the left hand, at six inches from the rings, and the curb-reins at about two inches from the bit. he will oppose the two hands by effecting the depression with the left and the proper position with the right. (plate iii.) . as soon as the horse's head shall fall of its own accord and by its own weight, the man will instantly cease all kind of force, and allow the animal to resume his natural position. (plate iv.) [illustration: plates iii. and iv.] this exercise being often repeated, will soon bring about the suppling of the elevating muscles of the neck, which play a prominent part in the resistances of the horse, and will besides facilitate the direct flexions and the getting the head in position, which should follow the lateral flexions. the man can execute this, as well as the preceding exercise, by himself; yet it would be well to put a second person in the saddle, in order to accustom the horse to the exercise of the supplings with a rider. this rider should just hold the snaffle-reins, without drawing on them, in his right hand, the nails downward. the flexions of the jaw have already communicated suppleness to the upper part of the neck, but we have obtained it by means of a powerful and direct motive power, and we must accustom the horse to yield to a less direct regulating force. besides, it is important that the pliability and flexibility, especially necessary in the upper part of the neck, should be transmitted throughout its whole extent, so as to destroy its stiffness entirely. the force from above downward, practised with the snaffle, acting only by the headstall on the top of the head, often takes too long to make the horse lower his head. in this case, we must cross the two snaffle-reins by taking the left rein in the right, and the right rein in the left hand, about six or seven inches from the horse's mouth, in such a way as to cause a pretty strong pressure upon the chin. this force, like all the others, must be continued until the horse yields. the flexions being repeated with this more powerful agent, will put him in a condition to respond to the means previously indicated. if the horse responded to the first flexions represented by plate iv., it would be unnecessary to make use of this one. (plate v.) [illustration: plate v.] we can act directly on the jaw so as to render it prompt in moving. to do this, we take the left curb-rein about six inches from the horse's mouth and draw it straight towards the left shoulder; at the same time draw the left rein of the snaffle forward, in such a way that the wrists of the person holding the two reins shall be opposite and on a level with each other. the two opposed forces will soon cause a separation of the jaws and end all resistance. the force ought to be always proportioned to that of the horse, whether in his resistance, or in his lightness. thus, by means of this direct force a few lessons will be sufficient to give a pliability to the part in question that could not have been obtained by any other means. (plate vi.) [illustration: plate vi.] _lateral flexions of the neck._-- . the man will place himself near the horse's shoulder as for the flexions of the jaw; he will take hold of the right snaffle-rein, which he will draw upon across the neck, in order to establish an intermediate point between the impulsion that comes from him and the resistance the horse presents; he will hold up the left rein with the left hand about a foot from the bit. as soon as the horse endeavors to avoid the constant tension of the right rein by inclining his head to the right, he will let the left rein slip so as to offer no opposition to the flexion of the neck. whenever the horse endeavors to escape the constraint of the right rein by bringing his croup around, he will be brought into place again by slight pulls of the left rein. (plate vii.) . when the head and neck have entirely yielded to the right, the man will draw equally on both reins to place the head perpendicularly. suppleness and lightness will soon follow this position, and as soon as the horse evinces, by champing the bit, entire freedom from stiffness, the man will cease the tension of the reins, being careful that the head does not take advantage of this moment of freedom to displace itself suddenly. in this case, it will be sufficient to restrain it by a slight support of the right rein. after having kept the horse in this position for some seconds, he will make him resume his former position by drawing on the left rein. it is most important that the animal in all his movements should do nothing of his own accord. (plate viii.) [illustration: plates vii. and viii.] the flexion of the neck to the left is executed after the same principles, but by inverse means. the man can repeat with the curb what he has previously done with the snaffle-reins; but the snaffle should always be employed first, its effect being less powerful and more direct. when the horse submits without resistance to the preceding exercises, it will prove that the suppling of the neck has already made a great step. the rider can, henceforward, continue his work by operating with a less direct motive power, and without the animal's being impressed by the sight of him. he will place himself in the saddle, and commence by repeating with the full length of the reins, the lateral flexions, in which he has already exercised his horse. _lateral flexions of the neck, the man on horseback._-- . to execute the flexion to the right, the rider will take one snaffle-rein in each hand, the left scarcely feeling the bit; the right, on the contrary, giving a moderate impression at first, but which will increase in proportion to the resistance of the horse, and in a way always to govern him. the animal, soon tired of a struggle which, being prolonged, only makes the pain proceeding from the bit more acute, will understand that the only way to avoid it is to incline the head in the direction the pressure is felt. (plate ix.) . as soon as the horse's head is brought round to the right, the left rein will form opposition, to prevent the nose from passing beyond the perpendicular. great stress should be laid on the head's remaining always in this position, without which the flexion would be imperfect and the suppleness incomplete. the movement being regularly accomplished, the horse will be made to resume his natural position by a slight tension of the left rein. (plate x.) [illustration: plates ix. and x.] the flexion to the left is executed in the same way, the rider employing alternately the snaffle and curb-reins. i have already mentioned that it is of great importance to supple the upper part of the neck. after mounting, and having obtained the lateral flexions without resistance, the rider will often content himself with executing them half-way, the head and upper part of the neck pivoting upon the lower part, which will serve as a base or axis. this exercise must be frequently repeated, even after the horse's education is completed, in order to keep up the pliability, and facilitate the getting him in hand. it now remains for us, in order to complete the suppling of the head and neck, to combat the contractions which occasion the direct resistances, and prevent your getting the horse's head in a perpendicular position. _direct flexions of the head and neck, or ramener.[c]_-- [c] _ramener_ means to place the horse's head in a perpendicular position.--translator. . the rider will first use the snaffle-reins, which he will hold together in the left hand as he would the curb-reins. he will rest the outer edge of the right hand (see plate xi.) on the reins in front of the left hand in order to increase the power of the right hand; after which he will gradually bear on the snaffle-bit. as soon as the horse yields, it would suffice to raise the right hand to diminish the tension of the reins and reward the animal. as the hand must only present a force proportioned to the resistance of the neck, it will only be necessary to hold the legs rather close to prevent backing. when the horse obeys the action of the snaffle, he will yield much more quickly to that of the curb, the effect of which is so much more powerful. the curb, of course, needs more care in the use of it than the snaffle. (plate xi.) . the horse will have completely yielded to the action of the hand, when his head is carried in a position perfectly perpendicular to the ground; from that time the contraction will cease, which the animal will show, as in every other case, by champing his bit. the rider must be careful not to be deceived by the feints of the horse--feints which consist in yielding one-fourth or one-third of the way, and then hesitating. if, for example, the nose of the horse having to pass over a curve of ten degrees to attain the perpendicular position (plate xi.), should stop at the fourth or sixth and again resist, the hand should follow the movement and then remain firm and immovable, for a concession on its part would encourage resistance and increase the difficulties. when the nose shall descend to no. , the perpendicular position will be complete and the lightness perfect. the rider can then cease the tension of the reins, but so as to keep the head in this position, if it should offer to leave it. if he lets it return at all to its natural situation, it should be to draw it in over again, and to make the animal understand that the perpendicular position of the head is the only one allowed when under the rider's hand. he should, at the outset, accustom the horse to cease backing at the pressure of the legs, as all backward movements would enable him to avoid the effects of the hand or create new means of resistance. (plate xii.) [illustration: plates xi. and xii.] this is the most important flexion of all; the others tended principally to pave the way for it. as soon as it is executed with ease and promptness, as soon as a slight touch is sufficient to place and keep the head in a perpendicular position, it will prove that the suppling is complete, contraction destroyed, lightness and equilibrium established in the fore-hand. the direction of this part of the animal will, henceforward, be as easy as it is natural, since we have put it in a condition to receive all our impressions, and instantly to yield to them without effort. as to the functions of the legs, they must support the hind-parts of the horse, in order to obtain the _ramener_, in such a way that he may not be able to avoid the effect of the hand by a retrograde movement of his body. this complete getting in hand is necessary to drive the hind-legs under the centre. in the first case, we act upon the fore-hand; in the second, upon the hind-parts; the first serves for the _ramener_, the second for the _rassembler_, or gathering the horse.[d] [d] the full meaning of the word _rassembler_ will be understood after reading the chapter, further on in this work, under that head. with regard to the other word, _ramener_, to avoid the constant circumlocution of saying, "placing the horse's head in a perpendicular position," it will be used in future wherever it occurs.--translator. _combination of effects._--i published four editions of my method, without devoting a special article to the combination of effects. although i myself made a very frequent use of it, i had not attached sufficient importance to the great necessity of this principle in the case of teaching; later experiments have taught me to consider it of more consequence. the combination of effects means the continued and exactly opposed force of the hand and legs. its object should be to bring back again into a position of equilibrium all the parts of the horse which leave it, in order to prevent him from going ahead, without backing him, and _vice versâ_: finally, it serves to stop any movement from the right to the left, or the left to the right. by this means, also, we distribute the weight of the mass equally on the four legs, and produce temporary immobility. this combination of effects ought to precede and follow each exercise within the graduated limit assigned to it. it is essential when we employ the aids (i.e. the hand and legs), in this, that the action of the legs should precede the other, in order to prevent the horse from backing against any place, for he might find, in this movement, points of support that would enable him to increase his resistance. thus, all motion of the extremities, proceeding from the horse himself, should be stopped by a combination of effects; finally, whenever his forces get scattered, and act inharmoniously, the rider will find in this a powerful and infallible corrective. it is by disposing all the parts of the horse in the most exact order, that we will easily transmit to him the impulsion that should cause the regular movements of his extremities; it is then also that we will address his comprehension, and that he will appreciate what we demand of him; then will follow caresses of the hand and voice as a moral effect; they should not be used, though, until after he has done what is demanded of him by the rider's hand and legs. _the horse's resting his chin on his breast._--although few horses are disposed by nature to do this, it is not the less necessary, when it does occur, to practise on them all the flexions, even the one which bends down the neck. in this position, the horse's chin comes back near the breast and rests in contact with the lower part of the neck; too high a croup, joined to a permanent contraction of the muscles that lower the neck, is generally the cause of it. these muscles must then be suppled in order to destroy their intensity, and thereby give to the muscles that raise the neck, their antagonists, the predominance which will make the neck rest in a graceful and useful position. this first accomplished, the horse will be accustomed to go forward freely at the pressure of the legs, and to respond, without abruptness or excitement, to the touch of the spurs (_attaques_); the object of these last is to bring the hind legs near the centre, and to lower the croup. the rider will then endeavor to raise the horse's head by the aid of the curb-reins; in this case, the hand will be held some distance above the saddle, and far from the body[e]; the force it transmits to the horse ought to be continued until he yields by elevating his head. as these sorts of horses have generally little action, we must take care to avoid letting the hand produce an effect from the front to the rear, in which case it would take away from the impulse necessary for movement. the pace commencing with the walk, must be kept up at the same rate, while the hand is producing an elevating effect upon the neck. this precept is applicable to all the changes of position that the hand makes in the head and neck; but is particularly essential in the case of a horse disposed to depress his neck. [e] this position of the hand at a distance from the saddle and the body will be criticised; but let the rider be reassured, eight or ten lessons will suffice to make the horse change the position of his head, and allow the hand to resume its normal position. it should be remembered that the horse has two ways of responding to the pressure of the bit; by one, he yields but withdraws himself at the same time by shrinking and coming back to his former position; this kind of yielding is only injurious to his education, for if the hand is held too forcibly, if he does not wait till the horse changes of his own accord the position of his head, the backward movement of his body would precede and be accompanied by a shifting of the weight backwards. in this case, the contraction of his neck remains all the while the same. the second kind of yielding, which contributes so greatly to the rapid and certain education of the horse, consists in giving a half or three-quarter tension to the reins, then to sustain the hand as forcibly as possible without bringing it near the body. in a short time the force of the hand, seconded by the continued pressure of the legs, will make the horse avoid this slight but constant pressure of the bit, but by means of his head and neck only. then the rider will only make use of the force necessary to displace the head. it is by this means that he will be able to place the horse's body on a level, and will obtain that equilibrium,[f] the perfect balance of which has not hitherto been appreciated. [f] the word equilibrium, so often repeated in the course of this work, must be categorically explained. people have never rightly understood what it means, this true equilibrium of a horse, which serves as the basis of his education, and by which he takes instantly, at the rider's will, such a pace, or such a change or direction. it is not here a question of the equilibrium which prevents the horse from falling down, but of that upon which depends his performance, when it is prompt, graceful and regular, and by means of which his paces are either measured or extended at will. _equilibrium of baucher._ _croup_------------------------------------------------_head._ here the weight and the forces are equally distributed. by means of this just distribution the different positions, the different paces, and the equilibriums that belong to them, are obtained without effort on the part of man or horse. resuming what we have just explained in the case of a horse who rests his chin on his breast, we repeat that it is by producing one force from the rear to the front with the legs, and another from below upwards with the hand, that we will soon be enabled to improve the position and movements of the horse. so that whatever may be his disposition at first, it is by first causing the depression of the neck that we will quickly gain a masterly and perfect elevation of it. i will close this chapter by some reflections on the supposed difference of sensibility in horses' mouths, and the kind of bit which ought to be used. _of the horse's mouth and the bit._--i have already treated this subject at length in my comprehensive dictionary of equitation; but as in this work i make a complete exposition of my method, i think it necessary to repeat it in a few words. i cannot imagine how people have been able so long to attribute to the mere difference of formation of the bars,[g] those contrary dispositions of horses which render them so light or so hard to the hand. how can we believe that, according as a horse has one or two lines of flesh, more or less, between the bit and the bone of the lower jaw, he should yield to the lightest impulse of the hand, or become unmanageable in spite of all the efforts of two vigorous arms? nevertheless, it is from remaining in this inconceiveable error, that people have forged bits of so strange and various forms, real instruments of torture, the effect of which is to increase the difficulties they sought to remove. [g] the bars are the continuations of the two bones of the lower jaw between the masticating and the front teeth. it is on these that the bit rests. had they gone back a little further to the source of the resistances, they would have discovered that this one, like all the rest, does not proceed from the difference of formation of a feeble organ, like the bars, but from a contraction communicated to the different parts of the body, and, above all, to the neck, by some serious fault of constitution. it is, then, in vain that we attach to the reins, and place in the horse's mouth a more or less murderous instrument; he will remain insensible to our efforts as long as we do not communicate suppleness to him, which alone can enable him to yield. in the first place, then, i lay down as a fact, that there is no difference of sensibility in the mouths of horses; that all present the same lightness when in the position called _ramener_, and the same resistances in proportion as they recede from this position. there are horses hard to the hand; but this hardness proceeds from the length or weakness of their loins, from a narrow croup, from short haunches, thin thighs, straight hocks, or (a most important point) from a croup too high or too low in proportion to the withers; such are the true causes of resistances; the contractions of the neck, the closing of the jaws are only the effects; as to the bars, they are only there to show the ignorance of self-styled equestrian theoricians. by suppling the neck and the jaw, this hardness completely disappears. experiments a hundred times repeated give me the right to advance this principle boldly; perhaps it may, at first, appear too arbitrary, but it is none the less true. consequently, i only allow one kind of bit, and this is the form and the dimensions i give it, to make it as simple as it is easy. the branches straight and six inches long, measuring from the eye of the bit to the extremity of the branch; circumference of the canon,[h] two inches and a half; port, about two inches wide at the bottom, and one inch at the top. the only variation to be in the width of the bit, according to the horse's mouth. [h] the mouth-piece of the bit consists of three parts: the port, to give freedom to the tongue, and the two canons, which are the parts that come in contact with the bars.--translator. i insist that such a bit is sufficient to render passively obedient all horses that have been prepared by supplings; and i need not add that, as i deny the utility of severe bits, i reject all means not coming directly from the rider, such as martingales, piliers, etc. chapter iv. continuation of supplings. _the hind-parts._--in order to guide the horse, the rider acts directly on two of his parts: the fore-parts and the hind-parts. to effect this, he employs two motive powers: the legs, which give the impulse by the croup; and the hand, which directs and modifies this impulse by the head and neck. a perfect harmony of forces ought then to exist always between these two motive powers; but the same harmony is equally necessary between the parts of the animal they are intended particularly to impress. in vain would be our labor to render the head and neck flexible, light, obedient to the touch of the hand; incomplete would be the results, the equilibrium of the whole imperfect, as long as the croup remained dull, contracted and rebellious to the direct governing agent. i have just explained the simple and easy means of giving to the fore-parts the qualities indispensable to a good management thereof: it remains to tell how we will fashion, in the same way, the hind-parts, in order to complete the suppling of the horse, and bring about a uniform harmony in the development of all his moving parts. the resistances of the neck and croup mutually aiding one another, our labor will be more easy, as we have already destroyed the former. _the flexions of the croup, and making it movable._-- . the rider will hold the curb-reins in the left hand, and those of the snaffle, crossed, in the right, the nails of the right hand held downward; he will first bring the horse's head into a perpendicular position, by drawing lightly on the bit; after that, if he wishes to execute the movement to the right, he will carry the left leg back behind the girths and fix it near the flanks of the animal, until the croup yields to this pressure. the rider will at the same time make the left snaffle-rein felt, proportioning the effect of the rein to the resistance which is opposed to it. of these two forces transmitted thus by the left leg and the rein of the same side, the first is intended to combat the resistance, and the second, to determine the movement. the rider should content himself in the beginning with making the croup execute one or two steps only sideways. (plate xiii.) . the croup having acquired more facility in moving, we can continue the movement so as to complete to the right and the left reversed pirouettes.[i] as soon as the haunches yield to the pressure of the leg, the rider, to cause the perfect equilibrium of the horse, will immediately draw upon the rein opposite to this leg. the motion of this, slight at first, will be progressively increased until the head is inclined to the side towards which the croup is moving, as if to look at it coming. (plate xiv.) [i] see note, page . [illustration: plates xiii. and xiv.] to make this movement understood, i will add some explanations, the more important as they are applicable to all the exercises of horsemanship. the horse, in all his movements, cannot preserve a perfect and constant equilibrium, without a combination of opposite forces, skillfully managed by the rider. in the reversed pirouette, for example, if when the horse has yielded to the pressure of the leg, we continue to oppose the rein on the same side as this leg, it is evident that we will shoot beyond the mark, since we will be employing a force which has become useless. we must then establish two motive powers, the effect of which balances, without interfering; this, the tension of the rein on the opposite side from the leg will produce in the pirouette. so, we will commence with the rein and the leg of the same side, until it is time to pass to the second part of the work, then with the curb-rein in the left hand, and finally, with the snaffle-rein opposite to the leg. the forces will then be kept in a diagonal position, and in consequence, the equilibrium natural, and the execution of the movement easy. the horse's head being turned to the side where the croup is moving, adds much to the gracefulness of the performance, and aids the rider in regulating the activity of the haunches, and keeping the shoulders in place. for the rest, tact alone will be able to show him how to use the leg and the rein, in such a way that their motions will mutually sustain, without at any time counteracting one another. i need not remind you that during the whole of this exercise, as on all occasions, the neck should remain supple and light; the head in position (perpendicular) and the jaw movable. while the bridle hand keeps them in this proper position, the right hand, with the aid of the snaffle, is combating the lateral resistances, and determining the different inclinations, until the horse is sufficiently well broken to obey a simple pressure of the bit. if, when combating the contraction of the croup, we permitted the horse to throw its stiffness into the fore-parts, our efforts would be vain, and the fruit of our first labors lost. on the contrary, we will facilitate the subjection of the hind-parts, by preserving the advantages we have already acquired over the fore-parts, and by keeping separated those contractions we have yet to combat. the leg of the rider opposite to that which determines the rotation of the croup, must not be kept off during the movement, but remain close to the horse and keep him in place, while giving from the rear forward an impulse which the other leg communicates from right to left, or from left to right. there will thus be one force which keeps the horse in position, and another which determines the rotation. in order that the pressure of the two legs should not counteract one another, and in order to be able to use them both together, the leg intended to move the croup will be placed farther behind the girths than the other, which will remain held with a force equal to that of the leg that determines the movement. then the action of the legs will be distinct, the one bearing from right to left, the other from the rear forwards. it is by the aid of the latter that the hand places and fixes the fore legs. to accelerate these results, at first, a second person may be employed who will place himself at the height of the horse's head, holding the curb-reins in the right hand, and on the side opposite to which we wish the croup to go. he will lay hold of the reins at six inches from the branches of the bit, so as to be in a good position to combat the instinctive resistances of the animal. the one in the saddle will content himself with holding lightly the snaffle-reins, acting with his legs as i have already shown. the second person is only useful when we have to deal with a horse of an intractable disposition, or to aid the inexperience of the one in the saddle; but, as much should be done without assistance as possible, in order that the practitioner may judge by himself of the progress of his horse, seeking all the while for means to increase the effects of his touch. even while this work is in an elementary state, he will make the horse execute easily all the figures of the _manège de deux pistes_.[j] after eight days of moderate exercise, he will have accomplished, without effort, a performance that the old school did not dare to undertake until after two or three years' studying and working at the horse. [j] "_la piste_ is an imaginary line upon which the horse is made to walk. when the hind legs follow the same line as the fore ones, the horse is said to go _d'une piste_, or on one line. he goes _de deux pistes_, or on two lines, when his hind legs pass along a line parallel to that traced by the fore legs."--_baucher's dictionnaire d'equitation._ when the rider has accustomed the croup of the horse to yield promptly to the pressure of the legs, he will be able to put it in motion, or fix it motionless at will, and can, consequently, execute ordinary pirouettes.[k] for this purpose he will take a snaffle-rein in each hand, one to direct the neck and shoulders towards the side to which we wish to wheel, the other to second the opposite leg, if it is not sufficient to keep the croup still. at the beginning, this leg should be placed as far back as possible, and not be used until the haunches bear against it. by careful and progressive management the results will soon be attained; at the start, the horse should be allowed to rest after executing two or three steps well, which will give five or six halts in the complete rotation of the shoulders around the croup. [k] "the _pirouette_ is executed on the fore or hind legs, by making the horse turn round upon himself, in such a way, that the leg on the side he is going, acts as a pivot, and is the principal support around which the other three legs move."--_baucher's dictionnaire d'equitation._ _pirouettes_ are either _ordinary_ or _reversed_. in the ordinary _pirouette_, one of the hind legs is the pivot on which the horse moves; in the reversed, one of the fore legs.--translator.] here the stationary exercises cease. i will now explain how the suppling of the hind-parts will be completed, by commencing to combine the play of its springs with those of the fore-parts. _backing._--the retrograde movement, otherwise called backing, is an exercise, the importance of which has not been sufficiently appreciated, and which yet ought to have a very great influence upon his education. when practised after the old erroneous methods, it would have been without success, since the thread of exercises that ought to precede it were unknown. backing properly differs essentially from that incorrect backward movement which carries the horse to the rear with his croup contracted and his neck stiff; that is, backing away from and avoiding the effect of the reins. backing correctly supples the horse, and adds grace and precision to his natural motions. the first of the conditions upon which it is to be obtained, is to keep the horse in hand; that is to say, supple, light in the mouth, steady on his legs, and perfectly balanced in all his parts. thus disposed, the animal will be able with ease to move and elevate equally his fore and hind legs. it is here that we will be enabled to appreciate the good effects and the indispensable necessity of suppling the neck and haunches. backing, which at first is tolerably painful to the horse, will always lead him to combat the motions of our hand, by stiffening his neck, and those of our legs, by contracting his croup; these are the instinctive resistances. if we cannot obviate the bad disposition of them, how will we be able to obtain that shifting and re-shifting of weight, which alone ought to make the execution of this movement perfect? if the impulsion which, to back him, ought to come from the fore-parts, should pass over its proper limits, the movement would become painful, impossible in fact, and occasion, on the part of the animal, sudden, violent movements which are always injurious to his organization. on the other hand, the displacements[l] of the croup, by destroying the harmony which should exist between the relative forces of fore and hind-parts, would also hinder the proper execution of the backing. the previous exercise to which we have subjected the croup will aid us in keeping it in a straight line with the shoulders, in order to preserve the necessary transferring of the forces and weight. [l] these displacements of the croup mean sideway displacements, or the horse's croup not being in a line with the shoulders.--translator. to commence the movement, the rider ought first to assure himself that the haunches are on a line with the shoulders, and the horse light in hand; then he will slowly close his legs, in order that the action they will communicate to the hind-parts of the horse may make him lift one of his hind legs, and prevent the body from yielding before the neck. it is then that the immediate pressure of the bit, forcing the horse to regain his equilibrium behind, will produce the first part of the backing. as soon as the horse obeys, the rider will instantly give the hand to reward the animal, and not to force the play of his fore-parts. if his croup is displaced, the rider will bring it back by means of his leg, and if necessary, use for this purpose the snaffle-rein on that side. after having defined what i call the proper backing (_reculer_), i ought to explain what i understand by backing so as to avoid the bit (_l'acculement_). this movement is too painful to the horse, too ungraceful, and too much opposed to the right development of his mechanism, not to have struck any one who has occupied himself at all with horsemanship. we force a horse backwards in this way, whenever we crowd too much his forces and weight upon his hind-parts; by so doing we destroy his equilibrium, and render grace, measure and correctness impossible. lightness, always lightness! this is the basis, the touchstone of all beautiful execution. with this, all is easy, as much for the horse as the rider. that being the case, it is understood that the difficulty of horsemanship does not consist in the direction to give the horse, but in the position to make him assume--a position which alone can smooth all obstacles. indeed, if the horse executes, it is the rider who makes him do so; upon him then rests the responsibility of every false movement. it will suffice to exercise the horse for eight days (for five minutes each lesson), in backing, to make him execute it with facility. the rider will content himself the first few times with one or two steps to the rear, followed by the combined effect of the legs and hand, increasing in proportion to the progress he makes, until he finds no more difficulty in a backward than in a forward movement. what an immense step we will then have made in the education of our pupil! at the start, the defective formation of the animal, his natural contractions, the resistances we encountered everywhere, seemed as if they might defy our efforts forever. without doubt they would have been vain, had we made use of a bad course of proceeding, but the wise system of progression that we have introduced into our work, the destruction of the instinctive forces of the horse, the suppling, the separate subjection of all the rebellious parts, have soon placed in our power the whole of the mechanism to such a degree as to enable us to govern it completely, and to restore that pliability, ease, and harmony of the parts, which their bad arrangement appeared as if it would always prevent. as i shall point out hereafter in classing the general division of the labor, it will be seen that eight or ten days will be sufficient to obtain these important results. was i not right then in saying that if it is not in my power to change the defective formation of a horse, i can yet prevent the evil effect of his physical defects, so as to render him as fit to do everything with grace and natural ease, as the better formed horse? in suppling the parts of the animal upon which the rider acts directly, in order to govern and guide him, in accustoming them to yield without difficulty or hesitation to the different impressions which are communicated to them, i have, by so doing, destroyed their stiffness and restored the centre of gravity to its true place, namely, to the middle of the body. i have, besides, settled the greatest difficulty of horsemanship: that of subjecting, before everything else, the parts upon which the rider acts directly, in order to prepare for him infallible means of acting upon the horse. it is only by destroying the instinctive forces, and by suppling the different parts of the horse, that we will obtain this. all the springs of the animal's body are thus yielded up to the discretion of the rider. but this first advantage will not be enough to make him a complete horseman. the employment of these forces thus abandoned to him, demand, in order to execute the different paces, much study and skill. i will show in the subsequent chapters the rules to be observed. i will conclude this one by a rapid recapitulation of the progression to be followed in the supplings. _stationary exercise, the rider on foot. fore-parts._-- . flexions of the jaw to the right and left, using the curb-bit. . direct flexions of the jaw, and depression of the neck. . lateral flexions of the neck with the snaffle-reins and with the curb. _stationary exercise, the rider on horseback._-- . lateral flexions of the neck with the snaffle-reins, and with the curb-reins. . direct flexions of the head or placing it in a perpendicular position with the snaffle, and with the curb-reins. _hind-parts._-- . lateral flexions, and moving the croup around the shoulders. . rotation of the shoulders around the haunches. . combining the play of the fore and hind legs of the horse, or backing. i have placed the rotation of the shoulders around the haunches in the nomenclatere of stationary exercise. but the ordinary pivoting, or _pirouettes_, being a pretty complicated movement, and one difficult for the horse, he should not be completely exercised in it until he has acquired the measured time of the walk, and of the trot, and will easily execute the changes of direction. chapter v. of the employment of the forces of the horse by the rider. when the supplings have subjected the instinctive forces of the horse, and given them up completely into our power, the animal will be nothing more in our hand than a passive, expectant machine, ready to act upon the impulsion we choose to communicate to him. it will be for us, then, as sovereign disposers of all his forces, to combine the employment of them in correct proportion to the movements we wish to execute. the young horse, at first stiff and awkward in the use of his members, will need a certain degree of management in developing them. in this, as in every other case, we will follow that rational progression which tells us to commence with the simple, before passing to the complicated. by the preceding exercise, we have made our means of acting upon the horse sure. we must now attend to facilitating his means of execution, by exercising all his forces together. if the animal responds to the aids of the rider by the jaw, the neck and the haunches; if he yields by the general disposition of his body to the impulses communicated to him, it is by the play of his extremities that he executes the movement. the mechanism of these parts ought then to be easy, prompt and regular; their application, well directed in the different paces, will alone be able to give them these qualities, indispensable to a good education.[m] [m] it must not be forgotten that the hand and legs have their vocabulary also; and a very concise one. this mute, laconic language consists of these few words. _you are doing badly; this is what you should do; you do well now._ it is sufficient for the rider to be able to translate, by his mechanism, the meaning of these three remarks, to possess all the equestrian erudition, and share his intelligence with his horse. _the walk._--this pace is the mother of all the other paces; by it we will obtain the cadence, the regularity, the extension of the others. but to obtain these brilliant results, the rider must display as much knowledge as tact. the preceding exercises have led the horse to bear the combined effect of hand and legs, which could not have been done previously to the destruction of the instinctive resistances; we have now only to act on the inert resistances which appertain to the animal's weight; upon the forces which only move when an impulse is communicated to them. before making the horse go forward, we should first assure ourselves of his lightness; that is to say, of his head being perpendicular, his neck flexible, his hind-part straight and plumb. the legs will then be closed lightly, to give the body the impulse necessary to move it. but we should not, in accordance with the precepts of the old method, give the bridle hand at the same time; for then the neck, being free from all restraint, would lose its lightness; would contract, and render the motion of the hand powerless. the rider will remember that his hand ought to be to the horse an insurmountable barrier, whenever he would leave the position of _ramener_. the animal will never attempt it, without pain; and only within this limit will he find ease and comfort. by the application of my method, the rider will be led to guide his horse all the time with the reins half tight, except when he wishes to correct a false movement, or determine a new one. the walk, i have said, ought to precede the other paces, because the horse having three supports upon the ground, his action is less, and consequently easier to regulate than in the trot and gallop. the first exercises of the supplings will be followed by some turns in the riding-house at a walk, but only as a relaxation, the rider attending less to animating his horse than to making him keep his head, while walking in a perpendicular position. little by little he will complicate his work, so as to join to the lightness of the horse that precision of movement indispensable to the beauty of all his paces. he will commence light oppositions of the hand and legs to make the forces of the fore and hind-parts work together in harmony. this exercise, by accustoming the horse always to yield the use of his forces to the direction of the rider, will be also useful in forming his intelligence, as well as in developing his powers. what delights the expert horseman will experience in the progressive application of his art! his pupil at first rebellious will insensibly yield himself to his every wish; will adopt his character, and end by becoming the living personification of him. take care, then, rider! if your horse is capricious, violent, fantastic, we will have the right to say that you yourself do not shine by the amenity of your disposition, and the propriety of your proceedings. in order to keep the measure and quickness of the walk equal and regular, it is indispensable that the impulsive and governing forces which come from the rider, should themselves be perfectly in harmony. we will suppose, for example, that the rider to move his horse forward, should make use of a force equal to twenty pounds, fifteen for the impulse forward, and five to bring his head into position. if the legs increase their motion without the hands increasing theirs in the same proportion, it is evident that the surplus of communicated force will be thrown into the neck, cause it to contract, and destroy all lightness. if, on the contrary, it is the hand which acts with too much violence, it will be at the expense of the impulsive force necessary to move the horse forward; on this account, his forward movement will be slackened and counteracted, at the same time that his position will lose its gracefulness and power. this short explanation will suffice to show the harmony that should exist between the legs and hands. it is understood that their motion should vary according as the formation of the horse renders it necessary to support him more or less before or behind; but the rule is the same, only the proportions are different. as long as the horse will not keep himself supple and light in his walk, we will continue to exercise him in a straight line; but as soon as he acquires more ease and steadiness, we will commence to make him execute changes of direction to the right and left, while walking. _changes of direction._--the use of the wrists, in the changes of direction, is so simple that it is unnecessary to speak of it here. i will only call attention to the fact, that the resistances of the horse ought always to be anticipated by disposing his forces in such a manner that they all concur in putting him in the way of moving. the head will be inclined in the direction we wish to go by means of the snaffle-rein of that side, the curb will then complete the movement. general rule: the lateral resistances of the neck are always to be opposed by the aid of the snaffle, being very careful not to commence to wheel until after destroying the obstacle that opposed it. if the use of the wrists remains very nearly the same as formerly, it is not so with the legs; their motion will be diametrically opposite to that given them in the old style of horsemanship. this innovation is so natural a one, that i cannot conceive why some one never applied it before me. it is by bearing the hand to the right, and making the right leg felt, people have told me, and i have myself at first repeated it, that the horse is made to turn to the right. with me, practice has always taken the precedence of reasoning; and this is the way i first perceived the incorrectness of this principle. whatever lightness my horse had in a straight line, i remarked that this lightness always lost some of its delicacy when moving in small circles, although my outside leg came to the assistance of the inside one. as soon as the hind leg put itself in motion to follow the shoulders in the circle, i immediately felt a slight resistance. i then thought of changing the use of my aids, and of pressing the leg on the side opposite to the direction of wheeling. at the same time, in place of bearing the hand immediately to the right, to determine the shoulders in that direction, i first, by the aid of this hand, made the opposition necessary to render the haunches motionless, and to dispose the forces in such a way as to maintain the equilibrium during the execution of the movement. this proceeding was completely successful; and in explaining what ought to be the function of the different extremities, i recognize this as the only rational way of using them in wheeling. in fact, in wheeling to the right, for example, it is the right hind leg which serves as pivot and supports the whole weight of the mass, while the left hind leg and the fore legs describe a circle more or less extended. in order that the movement should be correct and free, it is necessary that this pivot upon which the whole turns be not interfered with in its action; the simultaneous action of the right hand and the right leg must necessarily produce this effect. the equilibrium is thus destroyed, and the regularity of the wheeling rendered impossible. as soon as the horse executes easily the changes of direction at a walk, and keeps himself perfectly light, we can commence exercising at a trot. _the trot._--the rider will commence this pace at a very moderate rate of speed, following exactly the same principles as for the walk. he will keep his horse perfectly light, not forgetting that the faster the pace, the more disposition there will be on the part of the animal to fall back again into his natural contractions. the hand should then be used with redoubled nicety, in order to keep the head and neck always pliable, without affecting the impulse necessary to the movement. the legs will lightly second the hands, and the horse between these two barriers, which are obstacles only to his improper movements, will soon develop all his best faculties, and with precision of movement, will acquire grace, extension, and the steadiness inherent to the lightness of the whole. although many persons who would not take the trouble to examine thoroughly my method, have pretended that it is opposed to great speed in trotting, it is not the less proved that the well-balanced horse can trot faster than the one destitute of this advantage. i have given proofs of this whenever they have been demanded of me; but it is in vain that i have tried to make people understand what constitutes the motions of the trot, and what are the conditions indispensable for regularity in executing it. so, i was obliged in a race of which i was judge, to make the bets void, and to prove that the pretended trotters were not trotting really, but were ambling. the condition indispensable to a good trotter, is perfect equilibrium of the body. equilibrium which keeps up a regular movement of the diagonal fore and hind feet, gives them an equal elevation and extension, with such lightness that the animal can easily execute all changes of direction, moderate his speed, halt, or increase his speed without effort. the fore-parts have not, then, the appearance of towing after them the hind-parts, which keep as far off as possible; everything becomes easy and graceful for the horse, because his forces being in perfect harmony, permit the rider to dispose of them in such a way that they mutually and constantly assist each other. it would be impossible for me to count up the number of horses that have been sent me to break, and whose paces have been so spoiled that it was impossible for them to trot a single step. a few lessons have always been sufficient for me to get them back into regular paces, and these are the means i employed. the difficulty which the horse experiences in keeping himself square in his trot, almost always proceeds from the hind-parts. whether these be of a feeble construction, or be rendered useless by the superior vigor of the fore-parts, the motions of these parts, which receive the shock and give the bound, in each case become powerless, and in consequence, render the movement irregular.[n] there is, then, weakness in one extremity, or excess of force in the other. the remedy in each case will be the same, viz: the depression of the neck, which by diminishing the power of the fore-parts, restores the equilibrium between the two parts. we have practised this suppling on foot, it will be easy to obtain it on horseback. we here see the usefulness of this perpendicular flexion, which allows us to place on a level the forces of the two opposite extremities of the horse, in order to make them harmonious, and induce regularity in their working. the horse being thus placed, can bend and extend his fore and hind legs, before the weight of the body forces them to resume their support. [n] i am not of the opinion of those connoisseurs who imagine that the qualities of the horse, as well as his speed in trotting, depend principally on the height of his withers. i think, that for the horse to be stylish and regular in his movements, the croup should be on a level with the withers; such was the construction of the old english horses. a certain kind of horses, very much _à la mode_, called steppers, are constructed after an entirely different fashion; they strike out with their fore legs, and drag their hind-parts after them. horses with a low croup, or withers very high in proportion to their croup, were preferred by horsemen of the old school, and are still in favor now-a-days among amateur horsemen. the german horsemen have an equally marked predilection for this sort of formation, although it is contrary to strength of the croup, to the equilibrium of the horse, and to the regular play of his feet and legs. this fault of construction (for it is one) has been scarcely noticed till now; nevertheless, it is a great one, and really retards the horse's education. in fact, we are obliged, in order to render his movements uniform, to lower his neck, so that the kind of lever it represents, may serve to lighten his hind-parts of the weight with which they are overburdened. i ought also to say, that this change of position, or of equilibrium, is only obtained by the aid of my principles. i explain the cause and effect, and i point out the remedies. is this not the proper way for an author to proceed? the practice of this and some other principles that i explain in this work, will place in the rank of choice horses, animals whose inferiority caused them to be considered jades, and that the old method would never have raised from their degradation. it will suffice to accustom the horse to trot well, to exercise him at this pace only five minutes in each lesson. when he acquires the necessary ease and lightness, he can be made to execute ordinary _pirouettes_, as well as the exercise on two lines, at a walk and a trot. i have said that five minutes of trotting were enough at first, because it is less the continuance of an exercise than its being properly done that perfects the execution of it. besides, as this pace requires a considerable displacement of forces, and as the animal will have been already subjected to a rather painful exercise, it would be dangerous to prolong it beyond the time i mention. the horse will lend himself more willingly to your efforts when nicely managed, and of short duration; his intelligence, becoming familiar with this efficient progression, will hasten success. he will submit himself calmly and without repugnance to work in which there will be nothing painful to him, and we will be able thus to push his education to the farthest limits, not only without injury to his physical organization, but in restoring to their normal state organs that a forced exercise might have weakened. this regular development of all the organs of the horse will not only give him grace, but also strength and health, and will thus prolong his existence, while increasing a hundredfold the delights of the true horseman. chapter vi. of the concentration of the forces of the horse by the rider. the rider now understands that the only means of obtaining precision and regularity of movement in the walk and trot is to keep the horse perfectly light while he is exercised at these paces. as soon as we are sure of this lightness while going in a straight line, in changes of direction, and in circular movements it will be easy to preserve it while exercising on two lines.[o] [o] previously explained. i would here treat immediately of the gallop; but this pace, more complicated than the two others, demands an arrangement on the part of the horse, and a power on the part of the rider, that the preceding exercises have not yet been able to give. the proper placing of the horse's head spreads his forces over the whole of his body; it is necessary, in order to perform correctly the different exercises at a gallop, and to enable yourself properly to direct the forces in energetic movements, to bring them into a common focus--that is, to the centre of gravity of the animal. i am about to explain how this is to be done. _the use of the spurs._--professors of equitation and authors upon this subject have said that the spurs are to punish the horse when he does not respond to the legs, or when he refuses to approach an object that frightens him. with them, the spur is not an aid, but a means of chastisement. with me it is, on the contrary, a powerful auxiliary, without which it would be impossible to break any horse perfectly. how! you exclaim, you attack with the spur, horses that are sensitive, excitable, full of fire and action--horses whose powerful make leads them to become unmanageable, in spite of the hardest bits and the most vigorous arms! yes, and it is with the spur that i will moderate the fury of these too fiery animals, and stop them short in their most impetuous bounds. it is with the spur, aided of course by the hand, that i will make the most stubborn natures kind, and perfectly educate the most intractable animal. long before publishing my "_comprehensive dictionary of equitation_," i was aware of the excellent effects of the spur; but i abstained from developing my principles, being prevented by an expression of one of my friends, whom i had shown how to obtain results, which to him appeared miraculous. "it is extraordinary! it is wonderful!" he exclaimed; "but it is a razor in the hands of a monkey." it is true that the use of the spurs requires prudence, tact, and gradation; but the effects of it are precious. now that i have proved the efficacy of my method; now that i see my most violent adversaries become warm partisans of my principles, i no longer fear to develop a process that i consider one of the most beautiful results of my long researches in horsemanship. there is no more difference in sensibility of different horses' flanks than in their sensibility of mouth--that is to say, that the direct effect of the spur is nearly the same in them all. i have already shown that the organization of the bars of the mouth goes for nothing in the resistances to the hand. it is clear enough that if the nose being thrown up in the air gives the horse a force of resistance equal to two hundred pounds, this force will be reduced to one hundred pounds, when we bring the horse's head half-way towards a perpendicular position; to fifty pounds when brought still nearer that position, and to nothing when perfectly placed. the pretended hardness of mouth proceeds in this case from the bad position of the head caused by the stiffness of the neck and the faulty construction of the loins and haunches of the horse. if we carefully examine the causes that produce what is called sensibility of the flanks, we will discover that they have very much the same kind of source. the innumerable conjectures to which people have devoted themselves, in attributing to the horse's flanks a local sensibility that had no existence, have necessarily injured the progress of his education, because it was based upon false data. the greater or less sensibility of the animal proceeds from his action, from his faulty formation, and bad position resulting therefrom. to a horse of natural action, but with long weak loins, and bad action behind, every motion backward is painful, and the very disposition that leads him to rush ahead, serves him to avoid the pain of the spur. he returns to this movement whenever he feels the rider's legs touch him; and far from being a spirited horse, he is only scared and crazy. the more he feels the spur, the more he plunges out of hand, and baffles the means intended to make him obedient. there is everything to fear from such a horse; he will scare at objects from the very ease he possesses of avoiding them. now since his fright proceeds, so to say, from the bad position we allow him to take, this inconvenience will disappear from the moment we remedy the first cause of it. we must confine the forces in order to prevent every displacement. we must separate the _physical_ from the _moral_ horse, and force these impressions to concentrate in the brain. he will then be a furious madman whose limbs we have bound to prevent him from carrying his frenzied thoughts into execution. the best proof we have that the promptness of a horse in responding to the effect of the legs and spurs, is not caused by a sensibility of the flanks, but rather by great action joined to bad formation, is that the same action is not so manifest in a well-formed horse, and that the latter bears the spur much better than one whose equilibrium and organization are inferior. but the spur is not useful only in moderating the too great energy of horses of much action; its effect being equally good in combating the dispositions which lead the animal to throw its centre of gravity too much forward, or back. i would also use it to stir up those that are wanting in ardor and vivacity. in horses of action, the forces of the hind-parts surpass those of the fore-parts. it is the opposite in dull horses. we can thus account for the quickness of the former; the slowness and sluggishness of the latter. by the exercise of suppling, we have completely annulled the instinctive forces of the horse. we must now reunite these forces in their true centre of gravity, that is, the middle of the animal's body; it is by the properly combined opposition of the legs and hands that we will succeed in this. the advantages we possess already over the horse, will enable us to combat from their very birth, all the resistances which tend to make him leave the proper position, the only one in which we can successfully practice these oppositions. it is also of the first importance to put into our proceedings tact and gradation, so that, for example, the legs never give an impulse that the hand is not able to take hold of and govern at the same moment. i will make this principle more clear by a short explanation. we will suppose a horse at a walk, employing a force of forty pounds, necessary to keep the pace regular till the moment of the opposition of the hands and legs which follow. by and by comes a slow and gradual pressure of the legs, which adds ten pounds to the impulse of the pace. as the horse is supposed to be perfectly in hand, the hand will immediately feel this passage of forces, and must then make itself master of them to transfer them to the centre. meanwhile the legs will continue their pressure, to the end that these forces thus driven back may not return to the focus they had left, which would be but a useless ebbing and flowing of forces. this succession of oppositions well combined will bring together a great quantity of forces in the centre of the horse's body, and the more these are increased, the more the animal will lose its instinctive energy. when the pressure of the legs becomes insufficient to entirely collect the forces, more energetic means must be employed, viz.: the touches of the spur. the spurring ought to be done, not violently, and with much movement of the legs, but with delicacy and management. the rider ought to close his legs so gradually, that before coming in actual contact with the horse's flanks, the spur will not be more than a hair's breadth off, if possible. the hand should ever be the echo to the light touches with which we commence; it should then be firmly held, so as to present an opposition equal to the force communicated by the spur. if by the time being badly chosen, the hand does not exactly intercept the impulse given, and the general commotion resulting therefrom, we should, before recommencing, gather the horse together, and re-establish calm in his motions. the force of the spurring will be progressively increased until the horse bears it, when as vigorously applied as possible, without presenting the least resistance to the hand, without increasing the speed of his pace, or without displacing himself as long as we operate with a firm foot. a horse brought thus to bear spurring, is three-fourths broken, since we have the free disposition of all his forces. besides, his centre of gravity being where his forces are all united, we have brought it to its proper place, viz.: the middle of the body. all the oscillations of the animal will then be subordinate to us, and we will be able to transfer the weight with ease, when necessary. it is easy now to understand where the resistances have their origin; whether the horse kicks up behind, rears, or runs away, the cause is always the centre of gravity being in the wrong place. this very cause belongs to a defective formation that we cannot change, it is true, but the effects of which we can always modify. if the horse kicks up, the centre of gravity is in the shoulders; in his croup when the animal rears, and too far forward when he runs away. the principal thought of the rider, then, ought to be to keep the centre of gravity in the middle of the horse's body, since he will thereby prevent him defending himself, and bring back the forces of the badly formed horse to their true place, which they occupy in the finest organizations. it is this that makes me assert that a well-formed horse will not make resistance nor move irregularly, for to do so requires supernatural efforts on his part to destroy the harmony of his moving parts, and so greatly displace his centre of gravity. so, when i speak of the necessity of giving the horse a new equilibrium, in order to prevent his defending himself, and also to remedy the ungracefulness of his form, i allude to the combination of forces of which i have been treating, or, rather, of the removal of the centre of gravity from one place to another. this result obtained, the education of the horse is complete. when the horseman succeeds in obtaining it, his talent becomes a truth, since it transforms ugliness into grace, and gives elegance and lightness to movements which were before heavy and confused.[p] [p] i have often proved that horses that were considered dull, or unable to move their shoulders freely, have not the defect that is supposed; in other words, that it is very rare that they are paralyzed in their shoulders so as to injure the regularity and speed of their paces, principally as regards trotting. the shoulders of the horse, if i may use the comparison, resemble the wings of a wind-mill; the impulse given by the hocks replaces the motive force. there undoubtedly exist some local complaints that affect the shoulders; but this is very rare; the defect, if there is one, has its origin in the hind-parts. for my part, i have been able to make all such horses very free in their movements, and that after fifteen days of exercise, half an hour a day. the means, like all i employ, are very simple. they consist in suppling the neck to get the horse in hand, and then, by the aid of the legs, and afterwards slight use of the spurs, in bringing his haunches nearer the centre. then the hocks will obtain a leverage, by which they can propel the mass forward, and give the shoulders a freedom that people would not expect. the rider's employment of force, when properly applied, has a moral effect also on the horse, that accelerates the results. if the impulse given by the legs finds in the hand the energy and _àpropos_ necessary to regulate its effects, the pain the animal sustains will be always proportioned to his resistances, and his instinct will soon make him understand how he can diminish, and even avoid altogether this constraint, by promptly yielding to what we demand of him. he will hasten then to submit, and will even anticipate our desires. but, i repeat, it is only by means of tact and delicate management that we will gain this important point. if the legs give too vigorous an impulse, the horse will quickly overcome the motion of the hands, and resume with his natural position all the advantages it gives him to foil the efforts of the rider. if, on the contrary, the hand presents too great a resistance, the horse will soon overcome the legs, and find a means of defending himself by backing. yet these difficulties must not be allowed to frighten us; they were only serious ones when no rational principle gave the means of surmounting them. the application of my method will enable ordinary horsemen to obtain results that otherwise could be obtained only by the most favored equestrian organizations. when the animal becomes accustomed by means of the spur to such oppositions, it will become easy enough to combat with the spur all the resistances that may afterwards manifest themselves. since the resistances are always caused by moving the croup sideways, or getting it too far back, the spur, by immediately bringing the hind legs towards the centre of the body, prevents the support of the hocks, which were able to oppose the proper harmony of forces, and prevent the right distribution of the weight. this is the means i always employ to make the horse pass from a swift gallop to a halt, without straining his hocks, or injuring any of the joints of his hind-parts. in fact, since it is the hocks which propel the mass forward, it suffices to destroy their motion to stop the bound. the spur, by instantly bringing the hind legs under the horse's belly, destroys their power from the moment the hand comes in the nick of time to fix them in that position. then the haunches bend, the croup is lowered; the weight and forces arrange themselves in the order most favorable to the free and combined play of each part, and the violence of the shock, infinitely decomposed, is scarce perceptible to either horse or rider. if, on the contrary, we stop the horse by making the hand move first, the hocks remain far in the rear of the plumb-line; the shock is violent, painful for the animal, and especially injurious to his physical organization. horses that are thus stopped, set themselves against the bit, extending their neck, and require an arm of iron and a most violent opposing force. such is the custom of the arabs, for example, in halting suddenly their horses, by making use of murderous bits that break the bars of their horses' mouths. thus, notwithstanding the wonderful powers with which nature has gifted them, are these excellent animals injured. the use of the spur must not be commenced till by gathering him we get the horse well in hand; then the first touch of the spur should be made felt. we will continue to make use of it, at long intervals, until the horse, after his bound forward, presents no resistance to the hand, and avoids the pressure of the bit, by bringing in his chin towards his chest, of his own accord. this submission once obtained, we can undertake the use of the spurs with oppositions, but we must be careful to discontinue them when the horse is in hand. this means has the double advantage of acting morally and physically. the first attacks will be made with a single spur, and by bearing on the opposite rein; these transverse oppositions will have a better effect and give more prompt results. when the horse begins to contain himself, the two spurs being used separately, we can make them felt together and with an equal gradation.[q] [q] i would never have thought that this means, which serves as a corrective to the processes used by all horsemen, would have aroused the sensibility of some amateurs. these latter have preferred to be affected by exaggerated or erroneous reports, rather than satisfy themselves by observation, that this pretended cruelty is in fact the most innocent thing in the world. must we not teach the horse to respond to the spur as well as to the legs and the hand? is it not by this spurring, judiciously applied, that we bring in at will the hind legs more or less near the centre of gravity? is not this the only way of increasing or diminishing the leverage of the hocks, whether for extending or raising them in motion, or for the purpose of halting? to the work, then, cavaliers! if you will follow my principles, i can promise you that your purse will be less often emptied into the hands of horse-dealers, and that you will render the meanest of your hacks agreeable. you will charm our breeders of horses, who will attribute to their efforts of regeneration that elegance and grace that your art alone could have given to your chargers. _lowering the hand._--the lowering the hand consists in confirming the horse in all his lightness--that is, in making him preserve his equilibrium without the aid of the reins. the suppleness given to all parts of the horse, the just oppositions of hands and legs, lead him to keep himself in the best possible position. to find out exactly whether we are obtaining this result, we must have recourse to frequent lowering of the hand. it is done in this way: after having slipped the right hand to the buckle, and having assured yourself that the reins are even, you will let go of them with the left hand, and lower the right slowly to the pommel of the saddle. to do this regularly, the horse must neither increase nor diminish the speed of his pace, and his head and neck continue to preserve their proper position. the first few times that the horse is thus given up to himself, he will perhaps only take a few steps while keeping in position, and at the same rate of speed; the rider ought then to make his legs felt first, and the hand afterwards, to bring him into his previous position. the frequent repetition of this lowering of the hand, after a complete placing of the horse's head in a perpendicular position, will give him a most exquisite mouth, and the rider a still greater delicacy of touch. the means of guiding employed by the latter will immediately be answered by the horse, if his forces have been previously disposed in a perfectly harmonious state. the lowerings of the hand ought to be practised first at a walk, then at a trot, afterwards at a gallop. this semblance of liberty gives such confidence to the horse that he gives up without knowing it; he becomes our submissive slave, while supposing that he is preserving an entire independence. _of gathering the horse, or rassembler._--the preceding exercise will render easy to the rider that important part of horsemanship called _rassembler_. this has been a great deal talked about by people, as they have talked about providence, and all the mysteries that are impenetrable to human perception. if it were allowable for us to compare small things to great, we might say that the more or less absurd theories that have been put forward upon the subject of divine power have not, fortunately, hindered in any way the unchangeable march of nature; but with regard to the progress of horsemanship, the case is not the same as to what has been said and written on the subject of the _rassembler_. the false principles propagated on this subject have made the horse the plaything and the victim of the rider's ignorance. i proclaim it, the gathering a horse has never been understood or defined before me, for it cannot be perfectly executed without the regular application of the principles that i have developed for the first time. you will be convinced of this truth when you know that the _rassembler_ demands: . the suppling, partial and general, of the neck and haunches. . the perfect position that results from this suppling. . the entire absorption of the forces of the horse by the rider. now, as the means of obtaining these different results have never been pointed out in any treatise on horsemanship, am i not justified in saying that the true _rassembler_ has never been practised until now? it is, nevertheless, one of the indispensable conditions of the horse's education; consequently i think i am right in saying that before my method, horses of defective formation have never been properly broken. how is the _rassembler_ defined in the schools of horsemanship? _you gather your horse by raising the hand and closing the legs._ i ask, what good can this movement of the rider do upon an animal badly formed, contracted, and that remains under the influence of all the evil propensities of its nature? this mechanical support of the hands and legs, far from preparing the horse for obedience, will only make him redouble his means of resistance, since, while giving him notice that we are about to demand a movement on his part, we remain unable to dispose his forces in such a way as to force him to it. the real _rassembler_ consists in collecting the forces of the horse in his centre in order to ease his extremities, and give them up completely to the disposition of the rider. the animal thus finds himself transformed into a kind of balance, of which the rider is the centre-piece. the least touch upon one or other of the extremities, which represent the scales, will immediately send them in the direction we wish. the rider will know that his horse is completely gathered when he feels him ready, as it were, to rise from all four of his legs. the proper position first, and then the use of the spurs, will make this beautiful execution of the gathering easy to both horse and rider; and what splendor, grace and majesty it gives the animal! if we have been obliged at first to use the spurs in pushing this concentration of forces to its farthest limits, the legs will afterwards be sufficient to obtain the gathering necessary for the precision and elevation required in all complicated movements. need i recommend discretion in your demands? i think not. if the rider, having reached this stage of his horse's education, cannot comprehend and seize that fineness of touch, that delicacy of process indispensable to the right application of my principles, it will prove him devoid of every feeling of a horseman; nothing i can say can remedy this imperfection of his nature. chapter vii. of the employment of the forces of the horse by the rider. (_continuation._) _of the gallop._--i have said that, until now, the greater part of the resources of horsemanship have not been understood, and had i need of another proof to support my opinion, i would draw it from the error, the suppositions, the innumerable contradictions that have been heaped together in order to explain so simple a movement as the gallop. what contrary opinions upon the means to employ to make the horse go off with his right foot? it is the support of the rider's right leg which determines the movement, one pretends; it is that of the left leg, says another; it is the equal touch of the two legs, affirms a third; no, some others remark, very seriously, you must let the horse act naturally. how can the truth be made out in the midst of this conflict of such contrary principles? besides, they come from such respectable sources; the most of their authors were possessed of titles and dignities which are generally only granted to merit. have they all been deceived for a hundred and fifty years? this is not possible; for many of them joined to long practice a perfect knowledge of physics, anatomy, mathematics, etc., etc. to doubt such authorities would be as presumptuous as imprudent; it would have been considered a crime of high treason against horsemanship. so the riders kept their ignorance and the horses their bad equilibrium; and if any one succeeded, after two or three years of routine labor, in making certain horses of a privileged organization start with the desired foot, and in making them change feet finally, at a fixed point, the difficulty then was to prevent them from always repeating this movement at the same place. thus it is that the most palpable errors gain credit, and often are perpetuated, until there comes a practical mind, gifted with some amount of common sense, who contradicts by practice all the learned theories of its predecessors. they try hard at first to deny the knowledge of the innovator; but the masses who instinctively know the true, and judge from what they see, soon range themselves on his side, turn their backs upon his detractors, and leave them to their solitude and vain pretensions. to the mass of horsemen i address myself, when i say, either the horse is under the influence of your forces, and entirely submissive to your power, or you are struggling with him. if he gallops off with you, without your being able to modify or direct with certainty his course, it proves that, although subject to a certain extent to your power in thus consenting to carry you about, he, nevertheless, uses his instinctive forces. in this case, there is a perpetual fight going on between you and him, the chances of which depend on the temperament and caprice of the animal, upon the good or bad state of his digestion. changes of foot, in such a state, can only be obtained by inclining the horse very much to one side, which makes the movement both difficult and ungraceful. if, on the contrary, the animal is made submissive to a degree that he cannot contract any one of his parts without the intervention and aid of the rider, the latter can direct at his pleasure the whole of his moving parts, and, consequently, can easily and promptly execute changes of feet. we know the contraction of any one part of the horse reacts on the neck, and that the stiffness of this part prevents the proper execution of every movement. if, then, at the moment of setting off on a gallop, the horse stiffens one of his extremities, and consequently his neck, of what use in determining him in starting with the right foot can be the support of one or the other leg of the rider, or even of that of both at once? these means will evidently be ineffectual until we go back to the source of the resistance, for the purpose of combating and destroying it. here, as in every other case, we see that suppleness and lightness alone can make the execution of the work easy. if, when we wish to make the horse start with the right foot, a slight contraction of one part of the animal disposes him to start with the left foot, and we persist in inducing the pace, we must employ two forces on the same side, viz.: the left leg and the left hand; the first to determine the movement, the second to combat the contrary disposition of the horse. but when the horse, perfectly supple and gathered, only brings his parts into play after the impression given them by the rider, the latter, in order to start with the right foot, ought to combine an opposition of forces proper for keeping the horse in equilibrium, while placing him in the position required for the movement. he will then bear the hand to the left, and press his right leg. here we see that the means mentioned above, necessary when the horse is not properly placed, would be wrong when the animal is properly placed, since it would destroy the harmony then existing between his forces. this short explanation will, i hope, suffice to make it understood that things should be studied thoroughly before laying down any principles of action. let us have no more systems, then, upon the exclusive use of such or such leg to determine the gallop; but a settled conviction that the first condition of this or any other performance is to keep the horse supple and light--that is _rassemblé_; then, after this, to make use of one or the other motive power, according as the animal, at the start, preserves a proper position, or seeks to leave it. it must also be understood that, while it is the force that gives the position to the horse, it is position alone upon which the regularity of movement depends. passing frequently from the gallop with the right foot to that with the left, in a straight line, and with halts, will soon bring the horse to make these changes of feet by the touch without halting. violent effects of force should be avoided, which would bewilder the horse and destroy his lightness. we must remember that this lightness which should precede all changes of pace and direction, and make every movement easy, graceful and inevitable, is the important condition we should seek before everything else. it is because they have not understood this principle, and have not felt that the first condition to dispose a horse for the gallop is to destroy all the instinctive forces of the animal (forces that oppose the position the movement demands), that horsemen have laid down so many erroneous principles, and have all remained unable to show us the proper means to be employed. _of leaping the ditch and the bar._--although the combinations of equestrian science alone cannot give to every horse the energy and vigor necessary to clear a ditch or a bar, there are, nevertheless, principles by the aid of which we will succeed in partly supplying the deficiencies in the natural formation of the animal. by giving a good direction to the forces, we will facilitate the rise and freedom of the bound. i do not pretend by this, to say, that a horse of ordinary capabilities will attain the same height and elegance in this movement as one that is well constituted, but he will, at least, be able to display in it all the resources of his organization to more purpose. the great thing is to bring the horse to attempt this performance with good will. if all the processes prescribed by me for mastering the instinctive forces of the animal, and putting him under the influence of ours, have been punctually followed, the utility of this progression will be recognized by the facility we have of making the horse clear all the objects that are encountered in his way. for the rest, recourse must never be had, in case of a contest, to violent means, such as a whip in the hands of a second person; nor should we seek to excite the animal by cries; this could only produce a moral effect calculated to frighten him. it is by physical means that we should before all bring him to obedience, since they alone will enable him to understand and execute. we should then carry on the contest calmly, and seek to surmount the forces that lead him to refuse, by acting directly on them. to make the horse leap, we will wait till he responds freely to the legs and spur, in order to have always a sure means of government. the bar will remain on the ground until the horse goes over it without hesitation; it will then be raised some inches, progressively increasing the height until the animal will be just able to clear it without too violent an effort. to exceed this proper limit would be to risk causing a disgust on the part of the horse that should be most carefully avoided. the bar having been thus gradually raised, ought to be made fast, in order that the horse, disposed to be indolent, should not make sport of an obstacle which would be no longer serious, when the touch of his feet sufficed to overturn it. the bar ought not to be wrapped in any covering that would lessen its hardness; we should be severe when we demand possibilities, and avoid the abuses that always result from an ill-devised complaisance. before preparing to take the leap, the rider should hold himself sufficiently firm to prevent his body preceding the motion of the horse. his loins should be supple, his buttocks well fixed to the saddle, so that he may experience no shock nor violent reaction. his thighs and legs exactly enveloping the body and sides of the horse will give him a power always opportune and infallible. the hand in its natural position will feel the horse's mouth in order to judge of the effects of impulsion. it is in this position that the rider should conduct the horse towards the obstacle; if he comes up to it with the same freedom of pace, a light opposition of the legs and hand will facilitate the elevation of the fore-hand, and the bound of the posterior extremity. as soon as the horse is raised, the hand ceases its effect, to be again sustained when the fore legs touch the ground, and to prevent them giving way under the weight of the body. we should content ourselves with executing a few leaps in accordance with the horse's powers, and, above all, avoid pushing bravado to the point of wishing to force the animal to clear obstacles that are beyond his powers. i have known very good leapers that people have succeeded in thus disgusting forever, so that no efforts could induce them to clear things only half the height of those that at first they leaped with ease. _of the piaffer._[r]--until now, horsemen have maintained that the nature of each horse permits of only a limited number of movements, and that if there are some that can be brought to execute a _piaffer_ high and elegant, or low and precipitate, there are a great number of them to whom this exercise is for ever interdicted. their construction, they say, is opposed to it; it is then nature that has so willed it; ought we not to bow before this supreme arbiter, and respect its decrees? [r] "the _piaffer_ is the horse's raising his legs diagonally, as in the trot, but without advancing or receding."--_baucher's_ "_dictionnaire d'equitation._" this opinion is undoubtedly convenient for justifying its own ignorance, but it is none the less false. _we can bring all horses to piaffer_, and i will prove that in this particularly, without reforming the work of nature, without deranging the formation of the bones, or that of the muscles of the animal, we can remedy the consequences of its physical imperfections, and change the vicious disposition occasioned by faulty construction. there is no doubt that the horse whose forces and weight are collected in one of his extremities will be unfit to execute the elegant cadence of the _piaffer_. but a graduated exercise, the completion of which is the _rassembler_, soon allows us to remedy such an inconvenience. we can now reunite all these forces in their true centre of gravity, and the horse that bears the _rassembler_ perfectly has all the necessary qualifications for the _piaffer_. for the _piaffer_ to be regular and graceful, it is necessary that the horse's legs, moved diagonally, rise together and fall in the same way upon the ground at as long intervals as possible. the animal ought not to bear more upon the hand than upon the legs of the rider, that his equilibrium may present the perfection of that balance of which i have spoken in another place. when the centre of the forces is thus disposed in the middle of the body, and when the _rassembler_ is perfect, it is sufficient, in order to induce a commencement of _piaffer_, to communicate to the horse with the legs a vibration at first slight, but often repeated. by vibration i mean an invigoration of forces, of which the rider ought always to be the agent. after this first result, the horse will be put at a walk, and the rider's legs gradually brought close, will give the animal a slight increase of action. then, but only then, the hand will sustain itself in time with the legs, and at the same intervals, in order that these two motive powers, acting conjointly, may keep up a succession of imperceptible movements, and produce a slight contraction which will spread itself over the whole body of the horse. this reiterated activity will give the extremities a first mobility, which at the beginning will be far from regular, since the increase of action that this new exercise makes necessary will for the moment break the harmonious uniformity of the forces. but this general action is necessary in order to obtain even an irregular mobility, for without it the movement would be disorderly, and there would be a want of harmony among the different springs. we will content ourselves, for the first few days, with a commencement of mobility of the extremities, being careful to stop each time that the horse raises or puts down his feet, without advancing them too much, in order to caress him, and speak to him, and thus calm the invigoration that a demand, the object of which he does not understand, must cause in him. nevertheless, these caresses should be employed with discernment, and when the horse has done well, for if badly applied they would be rather injurious than useful. the fit time for ceasing with the hands and legs is more important still; it demands all the rider's attention. the mobility of the legs once obtained, we can commence to regulate it, and fix the intervals of the cadence. here again, i seek in vain to indicate with the pen the degree of delicacy necessary in the rider's proceedings, since his motions ought to be answered by the horse with an exactness and _à propos_ that is unequaled. it is by the alternated support of the two legs that he will succeed in prolonging the lateral balancings of the horse's body, in such way as to keep him longer on one side or the other. he will seize the moment when the horse prepares to rest his fore leg on the ground, to make the pressure of his own leg felt on the same side, and add to the inclination of the animal in the same direction. if this time is well seized, the horse will balance himself slowly, and the cadence will acquire that elevation so fit to bring out all its elegance and all its majesty. these times of the legs are difficult, and require great practice; but their results are too splendid for the rider not to strive to seize the light variations of them. the precipitate movement of the rider's legs accelerates also the _piaffer_. it is he, then, who regulates at will the greater or less degree of quickness of the cadence. the performance of the _piaffer_ is not elegant and perfect until the horse performs it without repugnance, which will always be the case when the forces are kept together, and the position is suitable to the demands of the movement. it is urgent, then, to be well acquainted with the amount of force necessary for the performance of the _piaffer_, so as not to overdo it. we should, above all, be careful to keep the horse _rassemblé_, which, of itself, will induce the movement without effort. chapter viii. division of the work. i have developed all the means to be employed in completing the horse's education; it remains for me to say how the horseman ought to divide his work, in order to connect the different exercises and pass by degrees from the simple to the complicated. two months of work, consisting of two lessons a day of a half hour each--that is to say, one hundred and twenty lessons--will be amply sufficient to bring the greenest horse to perform regularly all the preceding exercises. i hold to two short lessons a day, one in the morning, the other in the afternoon; they are necessary to obtain good results. we disgust a young horse by keeping him too long at exercises that fatigue him, the more so as his intelligence is less prepared to understand what we wish to demand of him. on the other hand, an interval of twenty-four hours is too long, in my opinion, for the animal to remember the next day what he had comprehended the day before. the general work will be divided into five series or lessons, distributed in the following order: _first lesson. eight days of work._--the first twenty minutes of this lesson will be devoted to the stationary exercise for the flexions of the jaw and neck; the rider first on foot, and then on horseback, will follow the progression i have previously indicated. during the last ten minutes, he will make the horse go forward at a walk without trying to animate him, but applying himself all the while to keeping his head in the position of _ramener_. he will content himself with executing a single change of hand, in order to go as well to the right hand as to the left. the fourth or fifth day, the rider, before putting his horse in motion, will make him commence some slight flexions of the croup. _second lesson. ten days of work._--the first fifteen minutes will be occupied in the stationary supplings, comprising the flexions of the croup performed more completely than in the preceding lesson; then will begin the backing. we will devote the other half of the lesson to the moving straight ahead, once or twice taking the trot at a very moderate pace. the rider during this second part of the work, without ceasing to pay attention to the _ramener_, will yet commence light oppositions of hands and legs, in order to prepare the horse to bear the combined effects, and to give regularity to his paces. we will also commence the changes of direction at a walk, while preserving the _ramener_, and being careful to make the head and neck always go first. _third lesson. twelve days of work._--six or eight minutes only will at first be occupied in the stationary flexions; those of the hind-parts should be pushed to the completion of the reversed _pirouettes_. we will continue by the backing; then all the rest of the lesson will be devoted to perfecting the walk and the trot, commencing at this latter pace the changes of direction. the rider will often stop the horse, and continue to watch attentively the _ramener_ during the changes of pace or direction. he will also commence the exercise _de deux pistes_ at a walk, as well as the rotation of the shoulders around the haunches. _fourth lesson. fifteen days of work._--after five minutes being devoted to the stationary supplings, the rider will first repeat all the work of the preceding lessons; he will commence, with a steady foot, the _attaques_,[s] in order to confirm the _ramener_ and prepare the _rassembler_. he will renew the _attaques_ while in motion, and when the horse bears them patiently, he will commence the gallop. he will content himself in the commencement with executing four or five lopes only before resuming the walk, and then start again with a different foot, unless the horse requires being exercised more often on one foot than the other. in passing from the gallop to the walk, we should watch with care that the horse resumes this latter pace as quickly as possible without taking short steps on a trot, all the while keeping the head and neck light. he will only be exercised at the gallop at the end of each lesson. [s] the use of the spurs. _fifth lesson. fifteen days of work._--these last fifteen days will be occupied in assuring the perfect execution of all the preceding work, and in perfecting the pace of the gallop until we can execute easily changes of direction, changes of feet at every step, and passaging. we can then exercise the horse at leaping the bar and at the _piaffer_. thus in two months, and upon any horse, we will have accomplished a work that formerly required years, and then often gave incomplete results. and i repeat, however insufficient so short a space of time may appear, it will produce the effect i promise, if you follow exactly all my directions. i have demonstrated this upon a hundred different occasions, and many of my pupils are able to prove it as well as myself. in establishing the above order of work, be it well understood that i found myself on the dispositions of horses in general. a horseman of any tact will soon understand the modifications that he ought to make in their application, according to the particular nature of his pupil. such a horse, for example, will require more or less persistence in the flexions; another one in the backing; this one, dull and apathetic, will require the use of the spurs before the time i have indicated. all this is an affair of intelligence; it would be to insult my readers not to suppose them capable of supplying to the details what it is elsewhere impossible to particularize. you can readily understand that there are irritable, ill-disposed horses, whose defective dispositions have been made worse by previous bad management. with such subjects it is necessary to put more persistence into the supplings and the walk. in every case, whatever the slight modifications that the difference in the dispositions of the subjects render necessary, i persist in saying that there are no horses whose education ought not to be completed by my method in the space i designate. i mean here, that this time is sufficient to give the forces of the horse the fitness necessary for executing all the movements; the finish of education depends finally on the nicety of touch of the rider. in fact, my method has the advantages of recognizing no limits to the progress of equitation, and there is no performance _equestrianly_ possible that a horseman who understands properly applying my principles cannot make his horse execute. i am about to give a convincing proof in support of this assertion, by explaining the sixteen new figures of the _manège_ that i have added to the collection of the old masters. chapter ix. application of the preceding principles to the performance of the horses, partisan, capitaine, neptune, and buridan. the persons who systematically denied the efficacy of my method ought, necessarily, also to deny the results shown to them. they were forced to acknowledge that my performance at the _cirque-olympique_ was new and extraordinary, but attributed it to causes, some more strange than others; all the while insisting that the equestrian talent of the rider did not go for nothing in the expertness of the horse. according to some, i was a second carter, accustoming my horses to obedience by depriving them of sleep and food; according to others, i bound their legs with cords, and thus held them suspended to prepare them for a kind of puppet-show; some were not far from believing that i fascinated them by the power of my looks. finally, a certain portion of the public, seeing these animals perform in time to the sound of the charming music of one of my friends, m. paul cuzent, insisted seriously that they undoubtedly possessed, in a very great degree, the instinct of melody, and that they would stop short with the clarionets and trombones. so, the sound of the music was more powerful over my horse than i was myself! the animal obeyed a _do_ or a _sol_ nicely touched; but my legs and hands went for nothing in their effects. would it be believed that such nonsense was uttered by people that passed for riders? i can comprehend their not having understood my means at first, since my method was new; but before judging it in so strange a manner, they ought, at least, it seems to me, to have sought to understand it. i had found the round of ordinary feats of horsemanship too limited, since it was sufficient to execute one movement well to immediately practise the others with the same facility. so, it was proved to me that the rider who passed with precision along a straight line sideways (_de deux pistes_) at a walk, trot and gallop, could go in the same way with the head or the croup to the wall, with the shoulder in, perform the ordinary or reversed volts, the changes and counterchanges of hands, etc., etc. as to the _piaffer_, it was, as i have said, nature alone that settled this. this long and fastidious performance had no other variations than the different titles of the movements, since it was sufficient to vanquish one difficulty to be able to surmount all the others. i then created new figures of the _manège_, the execution of which rendered necessary more suppleness, more _ensemble_, more finish in the education of the horse. this was easy to me with my system; and to convince my adversaries that there was neither magic nor mystery in my performance at the _cirque_, i am going to explain by what processes purely equestrian, and even without having recourse to _piliers_, cavessons or horse-whips, i have brought my horses to execute the sixteen figures of the _manège_ that appear so extraordinary. . instantaneous flexion and support in the air of either one of the fore legs, while the other three legs remain fixed to the ground. the means of making the horse raise one of his fore legs is very simple, as soon as the animal is perfectly supple and _rassemblé_. to make him raise, for example, the right leg, it is sufficient to incline his head slightly to the right, while making the weight of his body fall upon the left side. the rider's legs will be sustained firmly (the left a little more than the right), that the effect of the hand which brings the head to the right should not react upon the weight, and that the forces which serve to fasten to the ground the over-weighted part may give the horse's right leg enough action to make it rise from the ground. by a repetition of this exercise a few times, you will succeed in keeping this leg in the air as long a time as you wish. . mobility of the haunches, the horse resting on his fore legs, while his hind legs balance themselves alternately the one over the other; when the hind leg which is raised from left to right is moved, and is placed on the ground to become pivot in its turn, the other to be instantly raised and to execute the same movement. the simple mobility of the haunches is one of the exercises that i have pointed out for the elementary education of the horse. we can complicate this performance by multiplying the alternate contact of the legs, until we succeed in easily carrying the horse's croup, one leg over the other, in such a way that the movement from left to right and from right to left cannot exceed one step. this exercise is good to give great nicety of touch to the rider, and to prepare the horse to respond to the lightest effects. . passing instantly from the slow _piaffer_ to the precipitate _piaffer_, and _vice versâ_. after having brought the horse to display great mobility of the legs, we ought to regulate the movement of them. it is by the slow and alternated pressure of his legs that the rider will obtain the slow _piaffer_. he will make it precipitate by multiplying the contact. both these _piaffers_ can be obtained from all horses; but as this is among the great difficulties, perfect tact is indispensable. . to back with an equal elevation of the transverse legs, which leave the ground and are placed again on it at the same time, the horse executing the movement with as much freedom and facility as if he were going forward, and without apparent aid from the rider. backing is not new, but it certainly is new upon the conditions that i lay down. it is only by the aid of a complete suppling and _ramener_ that we succeed in so suspending the horse's body that the distribution of the weight is perfectly regular and the extremities acquire energy and activity alike. this movement then becomes as easy and graceful as it is painful and devoid of elegance when it is changed into _acculement_.[t] [t] _acculement_ and _reculer_ have been previously explained; one is the horse backing falsely, the other backing correctly. --translator. . simultaneous mobility of the two diagonal legs, the horse stationary. after having raised the two opposite legs, he carries them to the rear to bring them back again to the place they first occupied, and recommences the same movement with the other diagonal. the suppling, and having got the horse in hand, make this movement easy. when he no longer presents any resistance, he appreciates the lightest effects of the rider, intended in this case to displace only the least possible quantity of forces and weight necessary to set in motion the opposite extremities. by repeating this exercise, it will in a little while be rendered familiar to the horse. the finish of the mechanism will soon give the finish of intelligence. . trot with a sustained extension; the horse, after having raised his legs, carries them forward, sustaining them an instant in the air before replacing them on the ground. the processes that form the basis of my method reproduce themselves in each simple movement, and with still more reason in the complicated ones. if equilibrium is only obtained by lightness, in return there is no lightness without equilibrium; it is by the union of these two conditions that the horse will acquire the facility of extending his trot to the farthest possible limits, and will completely change his original gait. . serpentine trot, the horse turning to the right and to the left, to return nearly to his starting point, after having made five or six steps in each direction. this movement will present no difficulty if we keep the horse in hand while executing the flexions of the neck at the walk and trot; you can readily see that such a performance is impossible without this condition. the leg opposite to the side towards which the neck turns ought always to be pressed. . instant halt by the aid of the spurs, the horse being at a gallop. when the horse, being perfectly suppled, will properly bear the _attaques_ and the _rassembler_, he will be fit to execute the halt upon the above conditions. in the application of this we will start with a slow gallop, in order to go on successively to the greatest speed. the legs preceding the hand, will bring the horse's hind legs under the middle of his body, then a prompt effect of the hand, by fixing them in this position, will immediately stop the bound. by this means we spare the horse's organization, which can thus be always kept free from blemish. . continued mobility or pawing, while stationary, of one of the horse's fore legs; the horse, at the rider's will, executing the movement by which he, of his own accord, often manifests his impatience. this movement will be obtained by the same process that serves to keep the horse's leg in the air. in the latter case, the rider's legs must impress a continued support, in order that the force which holds the horse's leg raised keep up its effect; while, for the movement now in question, we must renew the action by a quantity of slight pressures, in order to cause the motion of the leg held up in the air. this extremity of the horse will soon acquire a movement subordinate to that of the rider's legs, and if the time is well seized, it will seem, so to say, that we make the animal move by the aid of mechanical means. . to trot backwards, the horse preserving the same cadence and the same step as in the trot forwards. the first condition, in order to obtain the trot backwards, is to keep the horse in a perfect cadence and as _rassemblé_ as possible. the second is all in the proceedings of the rider. he ought to seek insensibly by the combined effects to make the forces of the fore-hand exceed those of the hind-parts, without affecting the harmony of the movement. thus we see that by the _rassembler_ we will successively obtain the _piaffer_ stationary, and the _piaffer_ backwards, even without the aid of the reins. . to gallop backwards, the time being the same as in the ordinary gallop; but the fore legs once raised, in place of coming to the ground, are carried backwards, that the hind-parts may execute the same backward movement as soon as the fore-feet are placed on the ground. the principle is the same as for the preceding performance; with a perfect _rassembler_, the hind legs will find themselves so brought under the centre, that by raising the fore-hand, the movement of the hocks can only be an upward one. this performance, though easily executed with a powerful horse, ought not to be attempted with one not possessing this quality. . changing feet every step, each time of the gallop being done on a different leg. in order to practise this difficult performance, the horse ought to be accustomed to execute perfectly, and as frequently as possible, changing feet at the touch. before attempting these changes of feet every step, we ought to have brought him to execute this movement at every other step. everything depends upon his aptness, and above all, on the intelligence of the rider; with this latter quality, there is no obstacle that is not to be surmounted. to execute this performance with the desirable degree of precision, the horse should remain light, and preserve the same degree of action; the rider, on his part, should also avoid roughly inclining the horse's fore-hand to one side or the other. . ordinary _pirouettes_ on three legs, the fore leg on the side towards which we are turning: remaining in the air during the whole time of the movement. ordinary _pirouettes_ should be familiar to a horse broken after my method, and i have above shown the means to make him hold up one of his fore feet. if these two movements are well executed separately, it will be easy to connect them in a single performance. after having disposed the horse for the _pirouette_, we will prepare the mass in such a way as to raise the fore leg; this once in the air, we will throw the weight on the part opposite to the side towards which we wish to turn, by bearing upon this part with the hand and leg. the leg of the rider placed on the converging side, will only act daring this time so as to carry the forces forward, in order to prevent the hand producing a retrograde effect. . to back with a halt at each step, the right leg of the horse remaining in front motionless and held out at the full distance that the left leg has passed over, and _vice versâ_. this movement depends upon the nicety of touch of the rider, as it results from an effect of forces impossible to specify. though this performance is not very graceful, the experienced rider will do well to often practise it, in order to learn to modify the effects of forces, and acquire all the niceties of his art in perfection. . regular _piaffer_ with an instant halt on three legs, the fourth remaining in the air. here, also, as for the ordinary _pirouettes_ upon three legs, it is by exercising the _piaffer_ and the flexion of one leg separately, that we will succeed in uniting the two movements in one. we will interrupt the _piaffer_ by arresting the contraction of three of the legs so as to leave it in one only. it is sufficient, then, in order to accustom the horse to this performance, to stop him while he is _piaffing_, by forcing him to contract one of his legs. . change of feet every time at equal intervals, the horse remaining in the same place. this movement is obtained by the same proceedings as are employed for changing feet every time while advancing; only it is much more complicated, since we must give an exact impulsion sufficiently strong to determine the movement of the legs without the body advancing. this movement consequently demands a great deal of tact on the rider's part, and cannot be practised except on a perfectly broken horse, but broken as i understand it. such is the vocabulary of the new figures of the _manège_ that i have created, and so often executed before the public. as you see, this performance, which appeared so extraordinary that people would not believe it belonged to equestrianism, becomes very simple and comprehensible as soon as you have studied the principles of my method. there is not one of these movements in which is not discovered the application of the precepts i have developed in this book. but, i repeat, if i have enriched equitation with a new and interesting work, i do not pretend to have attained the farthest limits of the art; and one may come after me, who, if he will study my system and practise it with intelligence, will be able to pass me on the course, and add something yet to the results i have obtained. chapter x. succinct exposition of the method by questions and answers. _question._ what do you understand by force? _answer._ the motive power which results from muscular contraction. _q._ what do you understand by _instinctive_ forces? _a._ those which come from the horse--that is to say, of which he himself determines the employment. _q._ what do you understand by _transmitted_ forces? _a._ those which emanate from the rider, and are immediately appreciated by the horse. _q._ what do you understand by resistances? _a._ the force which the horse presents, and with which he seeks to establish a struggle to his advantage. _q._ ought we first to set to work to annul the forces the horse presents for resistance, before demanding any other movements of him? _a._ without doubt, as then the force of the rider, which should displace the weight of the mass, finding itself absorbed by an equivalent resistance, every movement becomes impossible. _q._ by what means can we combat the resistances? _a._ by the methodical and separate suppling of the jaw, the neck, the haunches, and the loins. _q._ what is the use of the flexions of the jaw? _a._ as it is upon the lower jaw that the effects of the rider's hand are first felt, these will be null or incomplete if the jaw is contracted or closed against the upper one. besides, as in this case the displacing of the horse's body is only obtained with difficulty, the movements resulting therefrom will also be painful. _q._ is it enough that the horse _champ his bit_ for the flexion of his jaw to leave nothing more to wish for? _a._ no, it is also necessary that the horse _let go of the bit_--that is to say, that he should separate (at our will) his jaws as much as possible. _q._ can all horses have this mobility of jaw? _a._ all without exception, if we follow the gradation pointed out, and if the rider does not allow himself to be deceived by the flexion of the neck. useful as this is, it would be insufficient without the play of the jaw. _q._ in the direct flexion of the jaw, ought we to give a tension to the curb-reins and those of the snaffle at the same time? _a._ no, we must make the snaffle precede (the hand being placed as indicated in plate no. iii.), until the head and neck are lowered; afterwards the pressure of the bit, in time with the snaffle, will promptly make the jaws open. _q._ ought we often to repeat this exercise? _a._ it should be continued until the jaws separate by a light pressure of the bit or snaffle. _q._ why is the stiffness of the neck so powerful an obstacle to the education of the horse? _a._ because it absorbs to its profit the force which the rider seeks in vain to transmit throughout the whole mass. _q._ can the haunches be suppled separately? _a._ certainly they can; and this exercise is comprised in what is called stationary exercise. _q._ what is its useful object? _a._ to prevent the bad effects resulting from the instinctive forces of the horse, and to make him appreciate the forces transmitted by the rider without opposing them. _q._ can the horse execute a movement without a shifting of weight? _a._ it is impossible. we must first seek to make the horse take a position which causes such a variation in his equilibrium that the movement may be a natural consequence of it. _q._ what do you understand by position? _a._ an arrangement of the head, neck and body, previously disposed according to the movements of the horse. _q._ in what consists the _ramener_? _a._ in the perpendicular position of the head, and the lightness that accompanies it. _q._ what is the distribution of the forces and weight in the _ramener_? _a._ the forces and weight are equally distributed through all the mass. _q._ how do we address the intelligence of the horse? _a._ by the position, because it is that which makes the horse know the rider's intentions. _q._ why is it necessary that in the backward movements of the horse, the legs of the rider precede the hand? _a._ because we must displace the points of support before placing upon them the mass that they must sustain. _q._ is it the rider that determines his horse? _a._ no. the rider gives action and position, which are the language; the horse answers this demand by the change of pace or direction that the rider had intended. _q._ is it to the rider or to the horse that we ought to impute the fault of bad execution? _a._ to the rider, and always to the rider. as it depends upon him to supple and place the horse in the way of the movement, and as with these two conditions faithfully fulfilled, everything becomes regular, it is then to the rider that the merit or blame ought to belong. _q._ what kind of bit is suitable for a horse? _a._ an easy bit. _q._ why is an easy bit necessary for all horses, whatever may be their resistance? _a._ because the effect of a severe bit is to constrain and surprise a horse, while it ought to prevent him from doing wrong and enable him to do well. now, we cannot obtain these results except by the aid of an easy bit, and above all, of a skillful hand; for the bit is the hand, and a good hand is the whole of the rider. _q._ are there any other inconveniences connected with the instruments of torture called severe bits? _a._ certainly there are, for the horse soon learns to avoid the painful infliction of them by forcing the rider's legs, the power of which can never be equal to that of this barbarous bit. he succeeds in this by yielding with his body, and resisting with his neck and jaw, which misses altogether the aim proposed. _q._ how is it that nearly all the horsemen of renown have invented a particular kind of bit? _a._ because being wanting in personal science, they sought to replace their own insufficiency by aids or strange machines. _q._ can the horse, perfectly in hand, defend himself? _a._ no; for the just distribution of weight that this position gives supposes a great regularity of movement, and it would be necessary to overturn this order that any act of rebellion on the part of the horse should take place. _q._ what is the use of the snaffle? _a._ the snaffle serves to combat the opposing forces (lateral) of the neck, to make the head precede in all the changes of direction, while the horse is not yet familiarized with the effects of the bit; it serves also to arrange the head and neck in a perfectly straight line. _q._ in order to obtain the _ramener_, should we make the legs precede the hand or the hand the legs? _a._ the hands ought to precede until they have produced the effect of giving great suppleness to the neck (this ought to be practised in the stationary exercises); then come the legs in their turn to combine the hind and fore-parts in the movement. the continual lightness of the horse at all paces will be the result of it. _q._ ought the legs and the hands to aid one another or act separately? _a._ one of these extremities ought always to have the other for auxiliary. _q._ ought we to leave the horse a long time at the same pace in order to develop his powers? _a._ it is useless, since the regularity of movements results from the regularity of the positions; the horse that makes fifty steps at a trot regularly is much further advanced in his education than if he made a thousand in a bad position. we must then attend to his position, that is to say, his lightness. _q._ in what proportions ought we to use the force of the horse? _a._ this cannot be defined, since these forces vary in different subjects; but we should be sparing of them, and not expend them without circumspection, particularly during the course of his education. it is on this account that we must, so to say, create for them a reservoir that the horse may not absorb them uselessly, and that the rider may make a profitable and more lasting use of them. _q._ what good will there result to the horse from this judicious employment of his forces? _a._ as we will only make use of forces useful for certain movements, fatigue or exhaustion can only result from the length of time during which the animal will remain at an accelerated pace, and will not be the effect of an excessive muscular contraction which would preserve its intensity, even at a moderate pace. _q._ when should we first undertake to make the horse back? _a._ after the suppling of the neck and haunches. _q._ why should the suppling of the haunches precede that of the loins (the _reculer_)? _a._ to keep the horse more easily in a straight line and to render the flowing back and forward of the weight more easy. _q._ ought these first retrograde movements of the horse to be prolonged during the first lessons? _a._ no. as their only object is to annul the instinctive forces of the horse, we must wait till he is perfectly in hand to obtain a backward movement, a true _reculer_. _q._ what constitutes a true _reculer_? _a._ the lightness of the horse (head perpendicular), the exact balance of his body, and the elevation to the same height of the legs diagonally. _q._ at what distance ought the spur to be placed from the horse's flanks before the _attaque_ commences? _a._ the rowel should not be farther than two inches from the horse's flanks. _q._ how ought the _attaques_ to be practised? _a._ they ought to reach the flanks by a movement like the stroke of a lancet, and be taken away as quickly. _q._ are there circumstances where the _attaque_ ought to be practised without the aid of the hand? _a._ never; since its only object should be to give the impulsion which serves for the hand to contain (_renfermer_) the horse. _q._ is it the _attaques_ themselves that chastise the horse? _a._ no. the chastisement is in the contained position that the _attaques_ and the hand make the horse assume. as the latter then finds himself in a position where it is impossible to make use of any of his forces, the chastisement has all its efficiency. _q._ in what consists the difference between the _attaques_ practised after the old principles, and those which the new method prescribed? _a._ our predecessors (that we should venerate) practised spurring in order to throw the horse out of himself; the new method makes use of it to contain him; that is, to give him that first position which is the mother of all the others. _q._ what are the functions of the legs during the _attaques_? _a._ the legs ought to remain adherent to the horse's flanks and in no respect to partake of the movements of the feet. _q._ at what moment ought we to commence the _attaques_? _a._ when the horse supports peaceably a strong pressure of the legs without getting out of hand. _q._ why does a horse, perfectly in hand, bear the spur without becoming excited, and even without sudden movement? _a._ because the skillful hand of the rider, having prevented all displacings of the head, never lets the forces escape outwards; it concentrates them by fixing them. the equal struggle of the forces, or if you prefer it, their _ensemble_, sufficiently explains the apparent dullness of the horse in this case. _q._ is it not to be feared that the horse may become insensible to the legs and lose all that activity necessary for accelerated movements? _a._ although this is the opinion of nearly all the people who talk of this method without understanding it, there is nothing in it. since all these means serve only to keep the horse in the most perfect equilibrium, promptness of movement ought necessarily to be the result of it, and, consequently, the horse will be disposed to respond to the progressive contact of the legs, when the hand does not oppose it. _q._ how can we judge whether an _attaque_ is regular? _a._ when, far from making the horse get out of hand, it makes him come into it. _q._ how ought the hand to be supported at the moments of resistance on the part of the horse? _a._ the hand ought to stop, fix itself, and only be drawn sufficiently towards the body to give the reins a three-quarter tension. in the contrary case, we must wait till the horse bears upon the hand to present this insurmountable barrier to him. _q._ what would be the inconvenience of increasing the pressure of the bit by drawing the hand towards the body in order to slacken the horse in his paces by getting him in hand? _a._ it would not produce an effect upon a particular part, but would act generally upon all the forces, in displacing the weight instead of annulling the force of impulsion. we should not wish to incline to one side what we cannot stop. _q._ in what case ought we to make use of the cavesson, and what is its use? _a._ we should make use of it when the faulty construction of the horse leads him to defend himself, when only simple movements are demanded of him. it is also useful to use the cavesson with restive horses, as its object is to act upon the moral, while the rider acts upon the physical. _q._ how ought we to make use of the cavesson? _a._ at first, the longe of the cavesson should be held at from fifteen or twenty inches from the horse's head, held out and supported with a stiff wrist. we must watch the proper times to diminish or increase the bearing of the cavesson upon the horse's nose, so as to use it as an aid. all viciousness that leads him to act badly is to be repressed by little jerks, which should be given at the very moment of defense. as soon as the rider's movements begin to be appreciated by the horse, the longe of the cavesson ought no longer to act; at the end of a few days the horse will only need the bit, to which he will respond without hesitation. _q._ in what case is the rider less intelligent than the horse? _a._ when the latter subjects him to his caprices, and does what he wishes with him. _q._ are the defenses of the horse physical or moral? _a._ at first they are physical, but afterwards become moral; the rider ought then to seek out the causes that produce them, and endeavor, by a preparatory exercise, to re-establish the correct equilibrium that a bad natural formation prevented. _q._ can the naturally well-balanced horse defend himself? _a._ it would be as difficult for a subject uniting all that constitutes a good horse to give himself up to disorderly movements, as it is impossible for the one that has not received the like gifts from nature, to have regular movements, if art did not lend him its aid. _q._ what do you mean by _rassembler_? _a._ the reunion of forces at the centre of gravity. _q._ can we _rassembler_ the horse that does not contain himself under the _attaques_? _a._ this is altogether impossible; the legs would be insufficient to counterbalance the effects of the hand. _q._ at what time ought we to _rassembler_ the horse? _a._ when the _ramener_ is complete. _q._ of what service is the _rassembler?_ _a._ to obtain without difficulty everything of a complicated nature in horsemanship. _q._ in what does the _piaffer_ consist? _a._ in the graceful position of the body and the harmonized precision of movement of the legs and feet. _q._ is there more than one kind of _piaffer?_ _a._ two; the slow and the precipitate. _q._ which is to be preferred of these two? _a._ the slow _piaffer_, since it is only when this is obtained that the equilibrium is perfect. _q._ ought we to make a horse _piaffe_ who will not bear the _rassembler?_ _a._ no; for that would be to step out of the logical gradation that alone can give certain results. besides, the horse that has not been brought forward by this chain of principles would only execute with trouble and ungracefully what he ought to accomplish with pleasure and nobly. _q._ are all riders alike suited to conquer all the difficulties and seize all the effects of touch? _a._ as in horsemanship, intelligence is the starting point for obtaining every result, everything is subordinate to this innate disposition; but every rider will have the power to break his horse to an extent commensurate with his own abilities to instruct. conclusion. everybody complains now-a-days of the degeneration of our breeds of horses. apprehensive too late of a state of things which threatens even the national independence,[u] patriotic spirits are seeking to go back to the source of the evil, and are arranging divers systems for remedying it as soon as possible. among the causes which have contributed the most to the loss of our old breeds, they forget, it seems to me, to mention the decline of horsemanship, nor do they consider that the revival of this art is indispensable in bringing about the regeneration of the horse. [u] much in this chapter, though written for france, applies with great appropriateness to our own country. the difficulties of horsemanship have long been the same, but formerly constant practice, if not taste, kept it up; these stimulants exist no longer. fifty years ago, every man of rank was expected to be able to handle a horse with skill, and break one if necessary. this study was an indispensable part of the education of young people of family; and as it obliged them to devote two or three years to the rough exercises of the _manège_, in the end they all became horsemen, some by taste, the rest by habit. these habits once acquired were preserved throughout life; they then felt the necessity of possessing good horses, and men of fortune spared nothing in getting them. the sale of fine horses thus became easy; all gained by it, the breeder as well as the horse. it is not so now; the aristocracy of fortune, succeeding to that of birth, is very willing to possess the advantages of the latter, but would dispense with the onerous obligations which appertained to an elevated rank. the desire of showing off in public places, or motives still more frivolous, sometimes lead gentlemen of our times to commence the study of horsemanship, but, soon wearied of a work without satisfactory results, they find only a monotonous fatigue where they sought a pleasure, and are satisfied they know enough as soon as they can stick passably well in the saddle. so insufficient a knowledge of horsemanship, as dangerous as it is thoughtless, must necessarily occasion sad accidents. they then become disgusted with horsemanship and horses, and as nothing obliges them to continue the exercise, they give it up nearly altogether, and so much the more easily as they naturally care very little about the breeds of horses and their perfection. we must then, as a preliminary measure in the improvement of horses, raise up horsemanship from the low state into which it has fallen. the government can undoubtedly do much here; but it is for the masters of the art to supply, if necessary, what it leaves undone. let them render attractive and to the purpose studies which have hitherto been too monotonous and often barren; let rational and true principles make the scholar see a real progress, that each of his efforts brings a success with it; and we will soon see young persons of fortune become passionately fond of an exercise which has been rendered as interesting to them as it is noble, and discover, with their love for horses, a lively solicitude for all that concerns their qualities and education. but horsemen can aim at still more brilliant results. if they succeed in rendering easy the education of common horses, they will make the study of horsemanship popular among the masses; they will put within reach of moderate fortunes, so numerous in our land of equality, the practice of an art that has hitherto been confined to the rich. such has been the aim of the labors of my whole life. it is in the hope of attaining this end that i give to the public the fruit of my long researches. but i should say, however, that if i was upheld by the hope of being one day useful to my country, it was the army above all that occupied my thoughts. though counting many skillful horsemen in its ranks, the system they are made to follow, impotent in my eyes, is the true cause of the equestrian inferiority of so many, as well as of their horses being so awkward and badly broken. i might add that to the same motive is to be attributed the little taste for horsemanship felt by the officers and soldiers. how can it be otherwise? the low price allowed by government for horses of remount, causes few horses of good shape to be met with in the army, and it is only of these that the education is easy. the officers themselves, mounted upon a very common sort of horses, strive in vain to render them docile and agreeable. after two or three years of fatiguing exercise, they end by gaining a mechanical obedience, but the same resistances and the same faults of construction are perpetually recurring. disgusted by difficulties that appear insurmountable, they trouble themselves no more about horses and horsemanship than the demands of the service actually require. yet it is indispensable that a cavalry officer be always master of his horse, so much so as to be able, so to say, to communicate his own thoughts to him; the uniformity of manoeres, the necessities of command, the perils of the battle-field, all demand it imperatively. the life of the rider, every one knows, often depends upon the good or bad disposition of his steed; in the same way the loss or the gain of a battle often hangs on the degree of precision in manoeuvring a squadron. my method will give military men a taste for horsemanship, a taste which is indispensable in the profession they practise. the nature of officers' horses, considered as so defective, is exactly the one upon which the most satisfactory results may be obtained. these animals generally possess a certain degree of energy, and as soon as we know how rightly to use their powers by remedying the physical faults that paralyze them, we will be astonished at the resources they will exhibit. the rider fashioning the steed by degrees will regard him as the work of his hand, will become sincerely attached to him, and will find as much charm in horsemanship as he previously felt _ennui_ and disgust. my principles are simple, easy in their application, and within the reach of every mind. they can everywhere make (what is now so rare) skillful horsemen. i am sure that if my method is adopted and well understood in the army, where the daily exercise of the horse is a necessary duty, we will see equestrian capacities spring up among the officers and sub-officers by thousands. there is not one among them who, with an hour a day of study would not soon be able to give any horse in less than three months the following qualities and education: . general suppling. . perfect lightness. . graceful position. . a steady walk. . trot steady, measured, extended. . backing as easily and freely as going forward. . gallop easy with either foot, and change of foot by the touch. . easy and regular movement of the haunches, comprising ordinary and reversed _pirouettes_. . leaping the ditch and the bar. . _piaffer._ . halt from the gallop, by the aid of first, the pressure of the legs, and then a light support of the hand. i ask all conscientious men: have they seen many horsemen of renown obtain similar results in so short a time? the education of the men's horses, being less complicated than that of those intended for officers, would on that account be more rapid. the principal things will be the supplings and the backing, followed by the walk, the trot and the gallop, while keeping the horse perfectly in hand. the colonels will soon appreciate the excellent results of this exercise, in consequence of the precision with which all the movements are made. the important flexions of the fore-hand can be executed without leaving the stables, each rider turning his horse around in the stall. it is not for me to point out to the colonels of regiments the exact way of putting my method in practice; it is enough for me to lay down my principles and to explain them. the instructors will themselves supply the details of application too long to enumerate here. i must again repeat, this book is the fruit of twenty years of observation constantly verified by practice. a long and painful work without doubt, but what compensation i have found in the results i have been happy enough to obtain. in order to let the public judge of the importance of my discoveries, it is sufficient here to give their nomenclature, and i present these processes as new ones, because i can conscientiously say that they never were practised before me. i have added then successively to the manual of the horseman the following principles and innovations: . new means of obtaining a good seat. . means of making the horse come to the man, and rendering him steady to mount. . distinction between the instinctive forces of the horse and the communicated forces. . explanation of the influence of a bad formation upon the horse's resistances. . effect of bad formations on the neck and croup, the principal focuses of resistance. . means of remedying the faults, or supplings of the two extremities, and the whole of the horse's body. . annihilation of the instinctive forces of the horse, in order to substitute for them forces transmitted by the rider, and to give ease and beauty of motion to the ungraceful animal. . equality of sensibility of mouth in all horses; adoption of a uniform bit. . equality of sensibility of flanks in all horses; means of accustoming them all to bear the spur alike. . all horses can place their heads in the position of _ramener_ and acquire the same lightness. . means of bringing the centre of gravity in a badly-formed horse to the place it occupies in a well-formed one. . the rider disposes his horse for a moment, but he does not determine the movement. . why sound horses often are faulty in their paces. means of remedying this in a few lessons. . for changes of direction, use of the leg opposite to the side towards which we turn, so that it may precede the other one. . in all backward movements of the horse the rider's legs ought to precede the hands. . distinction between the _reculer_ and the _acculement_; the good effect of the former in the horse's education; the bad effect of the latter. . the use of the spurs as a means of education. . all horses can _piaffer_; means of rendering this movement slow or precipitate. . definition of the true _rassembler_; means of obtaining it; of its usefulness to produce grace and regularity in complicated movements. . means of bringing all horses to step out freely at a trot. . rational means of putting a horse at a gallop. . halt at a gallop, the legs or the spur preceding the hand. . force continued in proportion to the forces of the horse; the rider should never yield until after having _annulled_ the horse's resistances. . education of the horse in parts, or means of exercising his forces separately. . complete education of horses of ordinary formation in less than three months. . sixteen new figures of the _manège_ proper for giving the finishing touch to the horse's education, and for perfecting the rider's touch. it is understood that all the details of application appertaining to these innovations are new also, and likewise belong to me. the end. index. backing, - back to, with a halt, bit, false and true, yielding to the, " form of, " pressure of the, breaking, succinct exposition of the method of, croup, flexions of the, gallop, of the, horse, concentration by the rider of the forces of the, " education of the, " " " first lesson, " " " second lesson, " " " third " , " " " fourth " , " " " fifth " , " employment of the forces of the, by the rider, " gathering the, " how to make him come to you, " of the forces of the, " resting his chin on his breast, " education of partisan, capitaine, neptune and buridan, jaw, flexion of the, knees, flexions of the, leaping, legs, flexions of the, neck, depression of the, " direct flexions of the head and, " lateral " " on foot, " " " " " horseback, piaffer, the, riding, preparatory lessons for, saddles, exercises in the, seat, new means for obtaining a good, " of the rider, spurs, the use of the, supplings, the head and neck, - " recapitulations, trot, the, " " backward, _______________________________________________________ just what every housekeeper wants ---------------------- the economical cook book or, how to prepare nice dishes at a moderate cost ----------------------- containing nearly five hundred carefully tried recipes for cooking soups, fish, oysters, clams meats of all kinds, poultry, eggs, vegetables, sauce for meats and puddings, bread, breakfast cakes, etc.; 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" " board " " sent free by mail on receipt of price. address, albert cogswell, publisher, eighth st., new york. ---------------------------------- hints and helps to horsemen a handy manual for horsekeepers, with concise instructions. breeding, breaking, training, driving, grooming, doctoring, buying, feeding, shoeing. with essays on mules and ponies, and racing and betting rules of the _american jockey club_. practical, instructive, and adapted to the daily use of breeders and owners of horses. neatly bound in flexible cloth. =price, cents.= sent by mail on receipt of price. address, albert cogswell, publisher, _ eighth st., new york_. ------------------------------------ famous american race horses containing thirty full page illustrations, by edwin forbes, marsden, henry stull c. lloyd, w. f. attwood, and other artists. beautifully printed on the finest toned paper quarto paper, cents. ------------- famous american trotting horses containing thirty full page illustrations of the celebrities of the trotting turf from drawings by t. c. carpendale, h. c. bispham, henry stull and others. _beautifully printed on the finest toned paper_ quarto paper, cents. ----------------- famous horses of america containing _the above two volumes bound in one_. quarto cloth, extra, $ . . sent free by mail on receipt of price address, albert cogswell, publisher, eighth st., new york. ------------------------------- every horse owner's cyclopedia. the anatomy and physiology of a horse. general characteristics. the points of the horse, with directions how to choose him. =the principles of breeding, and the best kind to breed from. the treatment of the brood mare and foal. raising and breaking the colt. stables and stable management. riding, driving, etc., etc.= _diseases and how to cure them._ the principal medicines, and the doses in which they can be safely administered; accidents, fractures, and the operations necessary in each case; shoeing, etc. =by j. h. walsh, f.r.c.s. 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(stonehenge.) =from the last london edition, with an essay on the american trotting horse, and suggestions on the breeding and training of trotters=, by elwood harvey m. d. illustrated with over engravings, =and full-page engravings from photographs=. = mo., cloth extra, bev. bds., black and gold,= =$ .= ---------- woodruff. the trotting horse of america. how to train and drive him, with reminiscences of the trotting turf. =by hiram woodruff.= =edited by charles j. foster.= =including an introductory notice, by george wilkes, and a biographical sketch by the editor.= th edition, revised and enlarged, with an appendix and a copious index, _with a steel portrait of the author_, and six engravings on wood of celebrated trotters. mo., cloth extra, black and gold, =$ . = sent free by mail on receipt of price. address, albert cogswell, eighth st., new york. --------------------------- dogs. their management in health & disease, by edward mayhew, m. r. c. v. s. containing full instructions for =breeding, rearing, and kennelling dogs=. their different diseases, embracing distemper, mouth, teeth, tongue, gullet, respiratory organs, hepatitis, indigestion, gastritis, st. vitus' dance, bowel diseases, paralysis, rheumatism, fits, rabies, skin diseases, canker, diseases of the limbs, fractures, operations, etc., etc. =_how to detect and how to cure them._= their medicines, and the doses in which they can be safely administered. _ mo., cloth extra, fully illustrated, price, $ ._ =sent free by mail on receipt of price=, =address, albert cogswell, publisher, eighth street, new york=. ------------------------------- [illustration: hunting the buffalo.--from "how to hunt and trap."] the most complete work on hunting & trapping ever published. how to hunt and trap, by j. h. batty, hunter & taxidermist. containing: full instructions for hunting the buffalo, elk, moose, deer, antelope, bear, fox, grouse, quail, geese, ducks, woodcock, snipe, etc., etc.; also, the localities where game abound. in trapping: tells you all about steel traps; how to make home-made traps, and how to trap the bear, wolf, wolverine, fox, lynx, badger, otter, beaver, fisher, martin, mink, etc.; birds of prey; poisoning carnivorous animals; with full directions for preparing pelts for market, etc., etc. =illustrated by over life engravings.= mo., extra cloth, price, $ . . sent free by mail on receipt of price. address, =albert cogswell, publisher=, eighth street, n. y. [illustration: _insultare solopet gressus glomerare superbos._] a new system of horsemanship: from the french of monsieur bourgelat. by richard berenger, esq; _content, if hence th' unlearn'd their wants may view, the learn'd reflect on what before they knew._ pope's essay on crit. _london_: printed by henry woodfall, for paul vaillant in the _strand_, facing _southampton-street_. m.dcc.liv. the translator's preface. _it is not my design, in the task i undertake of giving some account of this work, as well as of the art which is the subject of it, to trace its origin back into past times, or to wander in search of it in the darkness and confusion of remote antiquity. let it suffice to say, that though its beginning, as well as that of other arts, was imperfect, yet its use, and the entertainment it affords, have been known and tasted in all ages. but however distinguish'd it may be by the notice of the great, who have at all times deign'd to profess and practise it; it is yet less entitled to our regard for these distinctions, than for the real advantages we derive from it. riding consists of two parts, the_ useful _and the_ ornamental. _that the latter of these may be dispensed with, is most readily granted; but that it behoves every one who puts himself upon a horse to have some knowledge of the first, is most evident.--for who would trust to the mercy of an animal that may prove wild and ungovernable, who knows himself to be incapable of controuling him, and of acting for his own safety? who would venture alone into a vessel, that can neither row, nor manage a sail, but must trust entirely to the winds and tide? yet is this the case with the generality of mankind, who are carried upon the back of a horse, and think they_ ride. _the_ utility _of this art consists then in knowing how to guide and direct your horse as you please, and in reducing him to obedience, so as to make him execute readily what you require of him. thus far it is to be wish'd every person who is conversant with horses, would endeavour to attain. the_ ornamental _part, i have already said, is not so requisite to be known: it can only be called an accomplishment, and placed among the superfluous but refin'd pleasures of life. in what esteem and honour however it has constantly been held, abundantly appears from the schools and academies every where erected for teaching its elements, as well as from the number of books, ancient and modern, given to the world by eminent and accomplished persons who have studied and practis'd it. among these our illustrious countryman_, william cavendish, _duke of_ newcastle, _has the highest claim to our praise and acknowledgments. it would be needless to describe his excellencies; his character, as a horseman, is universally known, and universally admir'd. the truth and soundness of his principles, and the extensiveness of his knowledge, have opened to us an easier, a shorter, and more certain way to perfection in the art, than was known before. his precepts have accordingly been adopted by all succeeding professors, and his writings consider'd as the oracle of horsemanship, notwithstanding a want of method and exactness, which has been objected to them. to remedy these imperfections, is the design of the present undertaking, and the labours of a judicious and experienced foreigner, must consummate in the knowledge of the art he professes. he has presented us with a new system of horsemanship, extracted from the rules of that great master. the method and conciseness with which he has digested the whole, have made the copy much less than the original, but it is a small well-polished gem. to speak truth, he has made the subject so much his own by the refinement of his remarks, the justness of his reasoning, and the light he has diffused through it, that it must have the merit of an original; at least the reader will be divided to whom he shall render most thanks, whether to him who has given the food, or to him who has prepar'd and set it before us with so much elegance and order. this at least is our author's praise.----the translator has endeavoured to do him as much justice, in the following sheets, as he has done his great original; sensible of the danger of so difficult an enterprize, but prompted to it in hopes of making his merit more known. he translated the work, that the treasures it contains may be gathered by those who are so unfortunate as to want this assistance to obtain them. he has been as faithful to his author, as the languages will allow, judging that to be the surest way of doing him justice. in some places however he has used (as all translators must) a discretionary power. every art has technical terms, or words of its own; these he has preserved in the translation, the_ english _affording none adequate to them. he has given no notes or comments, imagining the original can, and hoping the translation will, want none. of this however his readers will be the best judges; he will say no more of himself, but that he has endeavoured to make the work as perfect as he could; and for this reason will be very ready to own any faults that may be pointed out; for, though desirous of approbation, he is not vain enough to think, there may not be room for censure._ table of chapters. i. _of the horseman's seat_ page ii. _of the hand, and its effects_ iii. _of disobedience in horses, and the means to correct it_ iv. _of the trot_ v. _of the stop_ vi. _of teaching a horse to go backward_ vii. _of the uniting or putting a horse together_ viii. _of the pillars_ ix. _of aids and corrections_ x. _of the passage_ xi. _of working with the head and croupe to the wall_ xii. _of changes of the hand, large and narrow, and of voltes and demi-voltes_ xiii. _of the aids of the body_ xiv. _of the gallop_ xv. _of passades_ xvi. _of pesades_ xvii. _of the mezair_ xviii. _of curvets_ xix. _of croupades and balotades_ xx. _of caprioles_ xxi. _of the step and leap_ to sidney medows, esq; the following sheets, eminently due to him from their subject, and not less so from the author's sincere regard to his person and character, are inscrib'd, by his faithful and obedient servant, richard berenger. errata. page . _for_ remingue _read_ ramingue. p. . _dele_ and. p. . _for_ in _read_ it. p. . _for_ care _read_ ease. p. . _for_ acting _read_ aiding. p. . _dele_ so. p. . _for_ lines _read_ times. a new system of horsemanship. chap. i. _of the horseman's seat._ the principles and rules which have hitherto been given for the horseman's seat, are various, and even opposite, according as they have been adopted by different masters, and taught in different countries; almost each master, in particular, and every nation, having certain rules and notions of their own. let us see, however, if art can discover nothing to us that is certain and invariably true. the _italians_, the _spaniards_, the _french_, and, in a word, every country, where riding is in repute, adopt each a posture which is peculiar to themselves; the foundation of their general notions, is, if i may so say, the same, but yet each country has prescribed rules for the placing of the man in the saddle. this contrariety of opinions, which have their origin more in prejudice, than in truth and reality, has given rise to many vain reasonings and speculations, each system having its followers; and, as if truth was not always the same and unchangeable, but at liberty to assume various, and even opposite appearances; sometimes one opinion prevailed, sometimes another dazzled; insomuch, that those who understand nothing of the subject, but yet are desirous of informing themselves, by searching it to the bottom, have hitherto been lost in doubt and perplexity. there is nevertheless a sure and infallible method, by the assistance of which it would be very easy to overturn all these systems: but not to enter into a needless detail, of the extravagant notions which the seat alone has given rise to, let us trace it from principles by so much the more solid, as their authority will be supported by the most convincing and self-evident reasons. in order to succeed in an art where the mechanism of the body is absolutely necessary, and where each part of the body has proper functions, which are peculiar to it, it is most certain, that all and every part of the body should be in a natural posture; were they in an imperfect situation, they would want that ease and freedom which is inseparable from grace; and as every motion which is constrained, being false in itself, is incapable of justness; it is clear that the part so constrained and forced would throw the whole into disorder, because each part belonging to, and depending upon the whole body, and the body partaking of the constraint of its parts, can never feel that fix'd point, that just counterpoise and equilibre in which alone a fine and just execution consists. it is not therefore sufficient in giving directions for the seat, to keep altogether to trivial and common rules which may be followed or left at pleasure; we ought to weigh and examine them with skill and judgment, in order to know how to apply them properly and suitably as the shape and figure of the person to whom we undertake to give a seat will allow; for many motions and attitudes that appear easy and natural in one man, in another are awkward and ungraceful; whence all those faults and difficulties which in many persons have been thought insuperable; whereas a little more knowledge, a closer attention, and a more serious examination into the principles of the art, would convert in the same subject an awkward and displeasing appearance, into an easy, natural, and graceful figure, capable of drawing the eyes even of judges themselves. indeed the objects, to which a master, anxious for the advancement of his pupil, should attend, are infinite. to little purpose will it be to keep the strictest eye upon all the parts and limbs of his pupil's body; in vain will he endeavour to remedy all the defects and faults which are found in the posture of almost every scholar in the beginning; unless he is intimately acquainted with, and apprized of, the close dependance and connection that there is between the motions of each part of the body, and all the rest; a correspondence caused by the reciprocal action of the muscles which govern and direct them; unless therefore he is master of this secret, and has this clue to the labyrinth, he will never attain the end he proposes, particularly in his first lessons, upon which the success of the rest always depends. these principles being established, let us reason in consequence of them; we shall display them with great force and clearness. the body of a man is divided into three parts, two of which are moveable, the other immoveable. the first of the two moveable parts is the trunk or body, down to the waist; the second is from the knees to the feet; so that the remaining immoveable part is that between the waist and the knees. the parts then which ought to be without motion, are the fork or twist of the horseman, and his thighs: now, that these parts may be kept without motion, they ought to have a certain hold and center, if i may so say, to rest upon, which no motion that the horse can make, can disturb or loosen; this point or center is the basis of the hold which the horseman has upon his horse, and is what is called the _seat_. now, if the seat is nothing else but this point or center, it must follow, that not only the grace, but the symmetry and true proportion of the whole attitude depends upon those parts of the body that are immoveable. let the horseman then place himself at once upon his twist, sitting exactly in the middle of the saddle, let him support this posture, in which the twist alone seems to sustain the weight of the whole body, by moderately leaning upon the buttocks; let his thighs be turned inward, and rest flat upon the sides of the saddle, and in order to this, let the turn of the thighs proceed directly from the hips, and let him employ no force or strength to keep himself in the saddle, but trust to the weight of his body and thighs; this is the exact equilibre; in this consists the firmness of the whole building; a firmness which young beginners are never sensible of at first, but which is to be acquired, and will always be attained by exercise and practice. i demand but a moderate stress upon the buttocks, because a man that sits full upon them, can never turn his thighs flat upon the saddle; and the thighs should always lay flat, because the fleshy part of the thigh being insensible, the horseman would not otherwise be able to feel the motions of his horse. i insist that the turn of the thigh should be from the hip, because this turn can never be natural, but as it proceeds from the hollow of the hip-bone. i insist further, that the horseman never avail himself of the strength or help of his thighs; because, besides that he would then be not only less steady, but the closer he prest them to the saddle, the more would he be lifted above it; and with respect to his buttocks and thighs, he ought always to be in the middle of the saddle, and sit down full and close upon it. having thus firmly placed the immoveable parts, let us pass on to the first of the moveable; which is, as i have already observed, the body or trunk, as far as to the waist: i comprehend in the body or trunk, the head, the shoulders, the breast, the arms, the hands, the loins, and the waist, of the horseman. the head should be free, firm, and easy, in order to be ready for all the natural motions that the horseman may make, in turning it to one side or the other: it should be firm, that is to say strait, without leaning to the right or left, neither advanced, nor thrown back; it should be easy, because if otherwise, it would occasion a stiffness, and that stiffness affecting the different parts of the body, especially the back-bone, they would be without ease, and constrained. the shoulders alone influence by their motion the breast, the reins, and the waist. the horseman should present or advance his breast; by this his whole figure opens and displays itself: he should have a small hollow in his loins, and should push his waist forward to the pommel of the saddle, because this position corresponds and unites him to all the motions of the horse. now, only throwing the shoulders back produces all these effects, and gives them exactly in the degree that is requisite; whereas, if we were to look for the particular position of each part separately, and by itself, without examining the connection that there is between the motions of one part with those of another, there would be such a bending in the loins, that the horseman would be, if i may so say, _hollow-back'd_; and as from that he would force his breast forward, and his waist towards the pommel of the saddle, he would be flung back, and must sit upon the rump of the horse. the arms should be bent at the elbows, and the elbows should rest equally upon the hips; if the arms were strait, the consequence would be, that the hands would be infinitely too low, or at much too great a distance from the body; and if the elbows were not kept steady, they would of consequence give an uncertainty and fickleness to the hand, sufficient to ruin it for ever. it is true, that the bridle-hand is that which absolutely ought to be steady and immoveable, and one might conclude from hence, that the left-elbow only ought to rest upon the hip, but grace consists in the exact proportion and symmetry of all the parts of the body, and to have the arm on one side raised and advanced, and that of the other kept down and close to the body, would present but an awkward and disagreeable appearance. it is this which determines the situation of the hand, which holds the switch. the left-hand being of an equal height with the elbow, so that the knuckle of the little-finger, and the tip of the elbow, be both in a line; this hand then being rounded neither too much nor too little, but just so that the wrist may direct all its motions; place your right-hand, or the switch-hand, lower and more forward than the bridle-hand; it should be lower than the other hand, because if it was upon a level with it, it would restrain or obstruct its motions; and were it to be higher, as it cannot take so great a compass as the bridle-hand, which must always be kept over against the horseman's body, it is absolutely necessary to keep the proportion of the elbows, that it should be lower than the other. the legs and feet make up the second division, of what i call the moveable parts of the body. the legs serve for two purposes; they may be used as aids, or corrections, to the animal. they should then be kept near the sides of the horse, and in a line with the man's body; for being near the part of the horse's body where his feeling is most delicate, they are ready to do their office in the instant they are wanted. moreover, as they are an appendix of the thighs, if the thigh is upon its flat in the saddle, they will, by a necessary consequence, be turned just as they ought, and will infallibly give the same turn to the feet; because the feet depend upon them, as they depend upon the thighs. the toe should be held a little higher than the heel, for the lower the toe is, the nearer the heel will be to the sides of the horse, and must be in danger of touching his flank. many persons, notwithstanding, when they raise their toe, bend and twist their ankle, as if they were lame in that part. the reason of this is very plain; it is because they make use of the muscles in their legs and thighs; whereas, they should employ only the joint of the foot for this purpose; a joint, given by nature to facilitate all the motions of the foot, and to enable it to turn to the right or left, upwards or downwards. such is, in short, the mechanical disposition of all the parts of the horseman's body. i will enlarge no further upon a subject treated on already so amply by every writer; as it is needless to write what has been already handled. i have had no other design in this chapter, than to give an idea of the correspondence that there is between all the parts of the body, because it is only by a just knowledge of this mutual relation of all the different parts, that we can be enabled to prescribe rules for giving that true and natural seat, which is not only the principle of justness, but likewise the foundation of all grace in the horseman. chap. ii. _of the hand, and its effects._ the knowledge of the different characters, and the different nature of horses, together with the vices, and imperfections, as well as the exact and just proportions of the parts of a horse's body, is the foundation upon which is built the theory of our art; but this theory will be unnecessary and even useless, it we are not able likewise to carry it into execution. this depends chiefly upon the goodness and quickness of feeling in the hand, a delicacy which nature alone can give, and which she does not always bestow. the first sensation of the hand consists in a greater or less degree of fineness in the touch or feeling; all of us are equally furnished with nerves, from which we have the sense of feeling, but as this sense is much more subtle and quick in some persons than in others, it is impossible to give a precise definition of the exact degree of feeling in the hand, which ought to communicate and answer to the same degree of feeling in the horse's mouth; because there is as much difference in the degrees of feeling in men, as there is in the mouths of horses. i suppose then a man, who is not only capable to judge of the qualities of a horse's mouth from a knowledge of the theory, but who has likewise by nature that fineness of touch, which helps to form a good hand; let us see then what the rules are that we must follow, in order to make it perfect, and by which we must direct all its operations. a horse can move four different ways, he can advance, go back, turn to the right, and to the left; but he can never make these different motions, unless the hand of the rider permits him by making four other motions which answer to them: so that there are five different positions for the hand. the first is that general position, from which proceed, and indeed ought to proceed, the other four. hold your hand three fingers breadth from your body, as high as your elbow, in such a manner that the joint of your little-finger be upon a right line with the tip of the elbow; let your wrist be sufficiently rounded, so that your knuckles may be kept directly above the neck of your horse; let your nails be exactly opposite your body, the little-finger nearer to it than the others, your thumb quite flat upon the reins, which you must separate, by putting your little-finger between them, the right rein lying upon it; this is the first and general position. does your horse go forward, or rather would you have him go forward? yield to him your hand, and for that purpose turn your nails downwards, in such a manner as to bring your thumb near your body, remove your little-finger from it, and bring it into the place where your knuckles were in the first position, keeping your nails directly above your horse's neck; this is the second. would you make your horse go backwards? quit the first position, let your wrist be quite round, let your thumb be in the place of the little-finger in the second position, and the little-finger in that of the thumb, turn your nails quite upwards, and towards your face, and your knuckles will be towards your horse's neck; this is the third. would you turn your horse to the right, leave the first position, carry your nails to the right, turning your hand upside down, in such a manner, that your thumb be carried out to the left, and the little-finger brought in to the right; this is the fourth position. lastly, would you turn to the left, quit again the first position, carry the back of your hand a little to the left, so that the knuckles come under a little, but that your thumb incline to the right, and the little-finger to the left; this makes the fifth. these different positions however alone are not sufficient; we must be able to pass from one to another with readiness and order.----three qualities are especially necessary to the hand. it ought to be _firm_, _gentle_, and _light_; i call that a _firm_ or _steady hand_, whose feeling corresponds exactly with the feeling in the horse's mouth, and which consists in a certain degree of steadiness, which constitutes the just correspondence between the hand and the horse's mouth, which every horseman wishes to find. an _easy_ and _gentle hand_ is that which by relaxing a little of its strength and firmness, eases and mitigates the degree of feeling between the hand and horse's mouth, which i have already described. lastly, a _light_ hand is that which lessens still more the feeling between the rider's hand and the horse's mouth, which was before moderated by the _gentle_ hand. the hand therefore, with respect to these properties, must operate in part, and within certain degrees; and depends upon being more or less felt, or yielded to the horse, or with-held. it should be a rule with every horseman, not to pass at once from one extreme to another, from a firm hand to a slack one; so that in the motions of the hand, you must upon no account jump over that degree of sensation which constitutes the _easy_ or _gentle_ hand. were you at once to go from a firm hand or a slack one, you would then entirely abandon your horse; you would surprize him, deprive him of the support he trusted to, and precipitate him on his shoulders, supposing you do this at an improper time; on the contrary, were you to pass from a slack to a tight rein all at once, you must jerk your hand, and give a violent shock to the horse's mouth, which rough and irregular motion would be sufficient to falsify the finest apuy, and ruin a good mouth. it is indispensibly necessary therefore, that all its operations should be gentle and light; and in order to this, it is necessary that the wrist alone should direct and govern all its motions, by turning and steering it, if i may so say, through every motion that it is to make. in consequence then of these principles, i insist that the wrist be kept so round, that your knuckles may be always directly above the horse's neck, and that your thumb be always kept flat upon the reins. in reality, were your wrist to be more or less rounded, than in the degree i have fixed, you could never work with your hand, but by the means of your arm; and besides, it would appear as if it were lame: again, were your thumb not to be upon the flat of the reins, they would continually slip through the hand, and, by being lengthen'd, would spoil the apuy; and in order to recover them, you would be obliged every moment to raise your hand and arm, which would throw you into confusion, and make you lose that justness and order, without which no horse will be obedient, and work with readiness and pleasure. it is nevertheless true, that with horses that are well drest, one may take liberties; these are nothing else but those motions which are called _descents_ of the hand, and they are to be made three different ways; either by dropping the knuckles directly and at once upon the horse's neck, or by taking the reins in the right-hand, about four fingers breadth above the left, and letting them slide through the left, dropping your right-hand at the same time upon the horse's neck; or else by putting the horse under the _button_, as it is call'd; that is, by taking the end of the reins in your right-hand, quitting them entirely with your left, and letting the end of them fall upon your horse's neck: these motions however, which give a prodigious grace to the horseman, never should be made but with great caution, and exactly in the time when the horse is quite _together_, and in the hand; and you must take care to counter-balance, by throwing back your body, the weight of the horse upon his haunches. the apuy being always in the same degree, would heat the mouth, would dull the sense of feeling, would deaden the horse's bars, and render them insensible and callous; this shews the necessity of continually yielding and drawing back the hand to keep the horse's mouth fresh and awake. besides these rules and principles, there are others not less just and certain, but whose niceness and refinement it is not the lot of every man to be able to taste and understand. my hand being in the first position, i open the two middle-fingers, i consequently ease and slacken my right rein; i shut my hand, the right rein operates again, and resumes the apuy. i open my little-finger, and putting the end of it upon the right rein, i thereby slacken the left, and shorten the right. i shut my hand entirely, and open it immediately again; i thereby lessen the degree of tension and force of the two reins at the same time; again i close my hand not quite so much, but still i close it. it is by these methods, and by the vibration of the reins, that i unite the feeling in my hand with that in the horse's mouth; and it is thus that i play with a fine and _made_ mouth, and freshen and relieve the bars in which the feeling or apuy resides. it is the same with respect to the second _descent_ of the hand: my right-hand holding the reins, i pass and slide my left-hand upon the reins up and down, and in the degree of apuy of the _easy_ and _slack_ hand; by the means of which the horse endeavours of himself to preserve the correspondence and harmony of that mutual sensation, between his mouth and the rider's hand, which alone can make him submit with pleasure to the constraint of the bit. i have thus explained the different positions and motions of the hand; let me shew now in a few words the effects which they produce. the horseman's hand directs the reins; the reins operate upon the branches of the bit; the branches upon the mouth-piece and the curb; the mouth-piece operates upon the bars, and the curb upon the beard of the horse. the right rein guides the horse to the left; the left rein to the right. would you go to the right, you pass to the fourth position of the hand, that is, you carry and turn your nails to the right; now in carrying thus your nails to the right, and reversing your hand in such a manner, that your thumb point to the left, and your little-finger being raised turns to the right, you by this means shorten your left rein; it is this left therefore that turns and guides the horse to the right: would you go to the left, pass to the fifth position, you will carry the back of your hand to the left, so that your nails will be turned down a little, your thumb will be to the right, and the little-finger to the left; this will shorten the right rein, and the right rein determines your horse to the left. i have already said, that the effect which the mouth-piece has upon the bars, and the curb upon the beard, depends upon the branches of the bitt; when the branches rise or are turned upwards, the mouth-piece sinks, and when the branches sink, the mouth-piece rises; so that when your horse is going strait forward, if you keep your hand low and close to your body, the mouth-piece then presses strong upon the bars, and the chain or curb having, in consequence more liberty, acts less upon the beard; on the contrary, if you keep your hand high, a little forward, and consequently a little out of the line of the end of the branches, the mouth-piece then sinks, and the branches of necessity operate upon the curb, which presses then very strongly upon the beard; now, in order to place, and to bring in your horse's head, you must hold your hand low, and in order to raise and lighten a horse that weighs upon the hand, and carries his head too low, you must advance your hand a little, and keep it high. would you have your horse go backward? come to the third position, but take care to round your wrist exactly, in order to work equally with both reins, and by this means to aid your horse more effectually to go backward strait and ballanced between your legs, which he could never do, if one rein was to operate stronger than the other. there are particular cases, where the reins are separated, and one held in each hand; it is usual to separate them when you trot a young horse, or when you are to work one who is disobedient, and resists his rider; upon these occasions, keep both your hands upon a level, low and near your body: to turn to the right, use your right rein; to go to the left, use your left rein; but in order to make them have their effect, move your arm gently, turning it a little from your body, keeping your hand always low and even near your boot. such are the principles upon which the perfection and justness of the aids of the hand depend, all others are false, and not to be regarded; experience has so much the more evinced the truth of this, as the new discoveries which some people imagine they have lately made, have produced nothing but hands, cold and unactive, without firmness, whose irregular and capricious motions serve only to render a horse's mouth uncertain and fickle, and who, by their manner of holding them high, have ruined absolutely the hocks of all the horses, that they have worked according to these absurd notions. chap. iii. _of disobedience in horses, and the means to correct it._ disobedience in horses is more frequently owing to the want of skill in the horseman, than proceeding from any natural imperfections in the horse; in effect, three things may give rise to it, ignorance, a bad temper, and an incapacity in the animal to do what is required of him. if a horse is ignorant of what you expect him to do, and you press him, he will rebel, nothing is more common; teach him then, and he will know; a frequent repetition of the lessons will convert this knowledge into a habit, and you will reduce him to the most exact obedience. he refuses perhaps to obey, this fault may arise either from ill-humour, dullness, or from too much mettle; it often is the effect of the two first vices, sometimes the result of all the three. in either, or all these instances, recourse must be had to rigour, but it must be used with caution; for we must not forget, that the hopes of recompence have as great an influence over the understanding of the animal, as the fear of punishment. perhaps he is not able to execute what you ask of him; examine him, something may be amiss in some part of his body, or perhaps in the whole body; he may be deficient, he may want strength, or not be light enough; perhaps he is deficient in both, in that he resists and rebels. consider whether he knows what he should do or not; if he is ignorant, teach him; if he knows, but can't execute through inability, endeavour to assist nature as far as you can, by the help of art. but does he already know, and is he able too, and yet does he refuse to obey? after having first tried every method that patience and lenity can suggest, compel him by force and severity. it behoves then every horseman, who would be perfect in his art, to distinguish from whence the different sorts of defences and rebellion in horses proceed: and this knowledge is by so much the more difficult to attain, as he must have penetration enough to distinguish if the cause of their rebellion is in their character and nature, or owing to any fault in their make and structure. the different natures of horses are infinite, though there are certain general principles, of which all, more or less, always partake. a horse may be imperfect from four causes, weakness, heaviness in his make, want of courage, and sloth. four qualities must conspire to make a perfect horse, strength, activity, courage, and judgment. the mixture of these different qualities occasions the different natures and dispositions of the creature, according as he is form'd better or worse; for it is from his temper, or rather from the harmony or unfitness of the parts and elements, of which he is composed, that we are enabled to fix his character; it is therefore the part of every horseman never to work but with discretion and caution, and to adapt his rules and lessons to the nature and ability of the horse he undertakes, and which he ought to know. a horse may be difficult to be mounted, examine the source of this vice; it may be owing either to the ignorance or the brutality of those who have first had to do with him, or perhaps that the saddle may have hurt him, or else to a temper naturally bad. to whatever cause it may be owing, remember never to beat him, for instead of curing him, you would certainly confirm him in his vice; clap him gently when you approach him, stroke his head and mane, talk to him, and as you talk, clap the seat of the saddle; keep yourself still all the while, put your foot only in the stirrup to encourage your horse, without doing any more, in order to make him familiar, and lose all apprehension and fear when he is going to be mounted; by degrees at last he will let you mount him, you will immediately get down and remount, and so successively for several times together, without attempting to do any thing else, but send him back to the stable. if it happens that then when you are upon him, he runs from the place where you got upon him, bring him to it immediately, keep him there some time, coax him, and send him away.----the first lessons ought to be well weigh'd; when you undertake to bring a young horse to obedience, and to reclaim him from liberty to the subjection of the bridle, saddle, and the weight of his rider, so restrain'd, it is not surprizing if he should employ all his strength against you in his own defence. the generality of colts are difficult to be turn'd and guided as you would have them go; we ought not however to be surprized at this their first disobedience, it must be imputed to the habit they acquire from their birth, of constantly following their dams. indulged in this liberty, and subjected all at once by the bit, it is but natural they should rebel; there is no way of eradicating these first impressions, but by gentleness and patience: a horseman, who should make use of force and correction, and employ it all at once upon a young horse, would discourage and make him vicious ever after. if therefore your horse refuses to go forward, you must lead another horse before him, the person who rides the colt will try from time to time, and insensibly, to make the colt go a-breast with him, and afterwards get before him; if being surprized at seeing the horse no longer, he stops or runs back, the rider must endeavour to drive him forward, either by his voice, or some kind of slight punishment, or he that rides the other horse may give him a stroke with the chambriere, in order to make him go forward; if these methods should not succeed, he will go before him again with the other horse, by degrees (for one lesson wont be sufficient) the colt will grow accustom'd to it, and at last will go on of himself. most horses who start, have some defect in their sight, which makes them fear to approach the object. the horseman, upon those occasions, instead of having recourse to punishment, which serves only to alarm the horse, and extinguish his courage and vigour, should first endeavour to lead him gently towards the object that terrifies him, either by encouraging him with his voice, or by closing his legs upon him, to make him go up to it. if he wont go towards it, you may give him the spurs, but with discretion, and by coaxing and caresses push him towards it insensibly; severe correction will never cure him of this fearful temper, which is a fault inherent in his nature, nor of any imperfections in his sight, which is a disorder belonging to him, but the habit of viewing the objects which alarm him, may in time remedy the defects of nature. if notwithstanding you perceive that sloth and malice are added to these faults, you must use as you find necessary both mildness and severe correction, and you will bestow them in proportion to the effect they produce. for the rest, be careful never to surprize a young horse who is shy, and apt to start, never terrify him with what he most fears, never beat him to make him come up to an object which he dreads; accustom him by degrees to it, and have patience; the fear of punishment does oftentimes more harm, and is more dreaded by him, than the very object which first alarmed him. there are some horses, who are struck with such terror at the sight of a stone or wooden bridge, and at the sound and echo of the hollow part of it, that they will fling themselves headlong into the water, without the riders being able to restrain them: they are to be cur'd of this apprehension by covering the pavement of their stall with wooden planks, between two or three feet high; and the horse standing constantly upon them, his feet will make the same noise as they do when he goes over a bridge, and he will of course grow familiar to the sound, and lose all apprehension of it. to accustom them likewise to the noise of the water running under the bridge, lead him to a mill, fix two pillars directly over against the wheels, and tie your horse constantly for two hours together, several times in the day; having done this, bring him back to the bridge, let an old horse, that is not afraid, go before him upon the bridge, by degrees you will find him go over the bridge as readily and quietly as if he had never had the least apprehension. for horses that are addicted to lay down in the water, you must provide yourself with two little leaden balls, tie them to a piece of packthread, and in the moment that he is lying down, you must drop these into his ears, and if he rises instantly, or forbears to lay down, draw them back; but this method is not less sure than that of breaking a flask fill'd with water upon his head, and letting the water run into his ears. fire, smoke, the smell of gunpowder, and the noise of guns, or other arms, naturally surprize and frighten a horse.--there are few that will come near fire, or pass by it without difficulty. there are many occasions however, wherein it is necessary; it is therefore proper to accustom your horse to it. in the first place, begin with your horse by letting him see it; and for that purpose tie him between two pillars, and hold before him, at about thirty paces distant, a burning wisp of straw; this should be continued for some days together, repeating it several times each day. let the person who holds the brand, advance towards the horse step by step, and let him take care to advance or stop often, as he perceives the horse is more or less frighten'd, who in a short time will be imbolden'd, and no longer afraid of the fire: after this get up on him, carry him slowly, and, as it were, insensibly towards the brand, the person who holds it taking care not to stir: if your horse comes up to it, without being frighten'd, let the man on foot walk on, and let the horse follow the fire. lay upon the ground some straw about half burnt out, and he will pass over it. with respect to the noise of arms and drums, let your horse hear them before you give him his oats: do this regularly every day, for some time, and he will be so used to them as not to mind them. a horse is said to be _entier_ to that hand, to which he refuses to turn; a hurt in his foot, leg, or shoulder, may often be the cause of his refusing to turn to that side, where he feels any pain; a hurt in his loins or haunch, a curb or spavin, by hindering him to bend and rest upon his hocks, may make him guilty of this disobedience. art can do little towards curing these evils, consequently a horse so affected will never dress well, because he never can be made supple and ready; besides, every horse is naturally inclin'd to go to one hand more than the other, and then he will go to that hand on which he finds himself the weakest, because with the strongest he can turn more easily. they may likewise refuse to turn, from some defect in their sight, natural or accidental. i have tried a method to remedy this vice, which has answer'd very well; i have put a lunette upon the ailing eye, and as his fault was owing to his eye, the horse began by degrees to go to that hand to which before he had refused to turn: after this i made two little holes in the lunette; i enlarged them afterwards, and the eye of the horse being thus insensibly accustom'd to receive the light, and he to turn to that hand, he no longer disobeyed; i exercised him in this manner from time to time, in order to confirm him in his obedience.--i have said, that there is no horse who is not by nature inclin'd to go better to one hand than the other; their inclination generally carries them to the left rather than to the right. some people impute this preference to the manner in which the foal lies in its dam's belly, and pretend that even then it is entirely bent and turn'd to the left: others insist that horses lay down generally upon their right-side, and from thence contract a habit to turn their heads and necks to the left: but not to regard these groundless notions, it is easier and more natural to believe, that this habit is owing to use, and the manner in which they are treated by those who first have had the care of them. the halter, the bridle, the saddle, and the girths are all put on and tied on the left-side; when they are rubb'd or curried, the man stands on the left-side; the same when they are fed, and when they are led out, the man holds them in his right-hand, consequently their head is pull'd to the left. here are a chain of reasons, sufficient to induce us to believe that if they are readier to turn to one hand than the other, it is owing to a habit and custom which we ourselves have given. we seldom meet with horses that are readier to turn to the right-hand than the left; and when it so happens, it oftentimes denotes an ill temper; it demands much time and pains to cure them of this fault. it is not proper to use severe correction to make a horse obey, who refuses to turn to one hand; if he is cold and dull, he will lose all his vigour and courage; if he is of an angry temper, hot and brisk, you would make him desperate and mad; work him then upon the principles of art, and pursue the methods you think most likely to reform his ill habit, and reduce him to obedience; if he obstinately refuses to turn to one hand, begin the next lesson, by letting him go to his favourite hand a turn or two; finish him on the same hand, by degrees you'll gain him; whereas were you to do otherwise, you might make him ever afterwards rebellious. a horse that strenuously resists his rider, if he has vigour and courage, after he is reduced and conquer'd, will nevertheless succeed in what you want of him, provided he is under the direction of an able and knowing person, who understands the aids of the hand and legs, and their mutual harmony and correspondence. such a horse is even preferable to one who never rebels; because in this last, nature may be deficient, if i may so express myself, from his want of strength and resolution. in order to teach your horses to turn to both hands, you must separate your reins, as i have already mention'd; don't confine him too much, support him moderately so that you may easily draw his head to one side or the other, as you would have him go, and to give him the greater liberty to turn. if he refuses to obey, examine him; if he is by nature impatient, hot and vicious, by no means beat him, provided he will go forwards; because being held in hand, and kept back a little, is punishment enough; if he stops, and strives to resist by running back, drive him forward with the chambriere. the resistance of a horse, whose mouth is faulty, discovers itself more in going forward than backward, and in forcing the hand; a horse of this sort ought never to be beat; he ought to be kept back, as i have just now said. you must endeavour to give him a good and just apuy, and put him upon his haunches, in order to cure him of the trick of leaning upon his bit, and forcing the hand. if your horse is heavy, never press or put him together, till you have lighten'd his fore-part, and put him upon his haunches, for fear of throwing him so much upon his shoulders, that it may be very difficult afterwards to raise him. take particular care to lighten every horse that is heavy before, and has malice in his temper at the same time; for if you were to press him, he would resist you through vice; in which case by his want of strength on one hand, and being heavy and unwieldy on the other, you would be exposed to evident danger. a _restive_ horse is one that refuses to go forward, who standing still in the same place, defends himself, and resists his rider in several different manners; it is much to be fear'd that one should lose all temper with such a horse, since it requires a great deal of patience to cure so capital a fault, and which perhaps by habit and time is so rooted in him as to be almost natural to him; treat a horse of this sort, who has been too much constrain'd and tyrannized over, with the same lenity that you would shew to a young colt. the spurs are as improper to be used to one as the other; make use of your switch in order to drive him forward, you will alarm him the less; the spurs surprize a horse, abate his courage, and are more likely to make him restive, than oblige him to go forward, if he refuses to do so. there is likewise another method to punish a restive horse; it is to make him go backwards the moment he begins to resist; this correction often succeeds; but the general rule is to push and carry your horse forward, whenever he refuses to advance, but continues in the same place, and defends himself, either by turning or flinging his croupe on one side or the other; and for this purpose nothing is so efficacious as to push him forward vigorously. the most dangerous of all defences a horse can make is to rise directly upon his hind-legs, and stand almost quite strait, because he runs a risque of falling backwards; and in that case the rider would be in danger of his life. people have endeavour'd to correct this vice, by a method of punishment, which might prove dangerous, unless given in _time_ and with the greatest exactness. when the horse rises strait up, throw your body forward, and give him all the bridle; the weight of your body on his fore-parts will oblige him to come down: in the minute that his fore-feet are coming to the ground, give him both the spurs firm, and as quick as you can; these aids and corrections however must be given with the greatest caution and exactness: for were you to give him the spurs when he is in the air, he would fall over; whereas if you watch the time so as not to spur him but when he is coming down, and his fore-feet near the ground, it is then impossible he should fall backwards; for then his balance is destroy'd, and he is upon all his legs again, and can't rise without first touching the ground, and taking his spring thence; if therefore you give him the spurs before he is in a situation to rise again, you will punish him, and drive him forward at the same time. this defence is still more dangerous in horses who are of a fiery temper, and weak in their haunches, at the same time; these are continually apt to rise, and whatever precautions the rider may take, he is in continual danger of their coming over. the way to correct them is this: tie your horse between the pillars very short, put on a good cavason of cord, and don't suffer him to be mounted; prick him upon the buttocks with a hand-spur in order to make him strike out; encourage him when he kicks, and continue to make him kick; encourage him from time to time when he obeys; do this for a quarter of an hour every day; when you perceive that he begins to kick the moment you offer to prick him, without waiting till he feels it, get upon him, hold your reins long, prick him, and let a man stand by and prick him at the same time. encourage him when he kicks, and continue to prick him to make him do it, till he will kick readily only at the offer you make of pricking him; he ought to be brought to this point in five or six days: after this take him out of the pillars, mount him, and trot him in the longe, and make him kick by pricking him behind; after that let him walk two or three steps, then make him kick again, and so work him by degrees. put him to the gallop; if he offers to rise, prick him behind, and make him kick: nothing excels this method to break a horse of this terrible and dangerous vice. those horses who are apt to kick, either when they go forward or stand still, must be kept much together, or held in closely; make them go backward briskly, and you will cure them of this vice. to resume our subject. all horses are by nature rather aukward than nervous and strong; fearful than bold; hot and fretful than mischievous or ill-temper'd; whenever they grow desperate and absolutely ungovernable, it is often rather to avoid the extreme pain which they feel, or expect to feel from too great a constraint, than merely to resist the horseman. arm yourself then with great patience; keep such horses as are of a fiery and fretful disposition, rather in awe than in absolute subjection; they are naturally fearful, and apt to be alarm'd; and violent correction and force would dishearten and make them quite desperate. such as are of a hot and impetuous temper, are generally timid and malicious. endeavour therefore to prevent the disorders they would commit; for lenity and good usage would never reduce them to obedience, and severity would make them lifeless and jadish. in fine, let your lessons be short, easy, and often repeated to horses of a cold and heavy disposition, because they have no memory, and want both resolution and strength. in a word, never depart from this great maxim, "always observe a just medium between too indulgent a lenity and extreme severity;" work your horse according to his strength and capacity, give your lessons in proportion to his memory, and dispense your punishment and rewards suitable to his courage and disposition. chap. iv. _of the trot._ when a horse trots, his legs are in this position, two in the air and two upon the ground, at the same time cross-wise; that is to say, the near-foot before, and the off-foot behind are off the ground, and the other two upon it; and so alternately of the other two. this action of his legs is the same as when he walks, except that in the trot his motions are more quick. all writers, both ancient and modern, have constantly asserted the trot to be the foundation of every lesson you can teach a horse; there are none likewise who have not thought proper to give general rules upon this subject, but none have been exact enough to descend into a detail of particular rules, and to distinguish such cases as are different, and admit of exceptions, tho' such often are found from the different make and tempers of horses, as they happen to be more or less suited to what they are destin'd; so that by following their general maxims, many horses have been spoil'd, and made heavy and aukward, instead of becoming supple and active; and as much mischief has been occasion'd by adopting their principles, although just, as if they had been suggested by ignorance itself. three qualities are essentially necessary to make the trot useful, it ought to be _extended_, _supple_, and _even_ or _equal_; these three qualities are related to, and mutually depend upon each other: in effect, you can't pass to the supple trot, without having first work'd your horse upon the _extended_ trot; and you can never arrive at the even and equal trot, without having practised the supple. i mean by the _extended_ trot, that in which the horse trots out without retaining himself, being quite strait, and going directly forwards; this consequently is the kind of trot, with which you must begin; for before any thing else ought to be meditated, the horse should be taught to embrace and cover his ground readily, and without fear. the trot however may be _extended_ without being supple, for the horse may go directly forward, and yet not have that ease and suppleness of limbs, which distinguishes and characterizes the _supple_. i define the _supple_ trot to be that in which the horse at every motion that he makes bends and plays all his joints; that is to say, those of his shoulders, his knees and feet, which no colts or raw horses can execute, who have not had their limbs suppled by exercise, and who always trot with a surprizing stiffness and aukwardness, and without the least spring or play in their joints. the _even_ or _equal_ trot, is that wherein the horse makes all his limbs and joints move so equally and exactly, that his legs never cover more ground one than the other, nor at one time more than another: to do this, the horse must of necessity unite and collect all his strength, and if i may be allowed the expression, distribute it equally through all his joints. to go from the _extended_ trot, to the _supple_, you must gently, and by degrees, hold in your horse; and when by exercise he has attain'd sufficient ease and suppleness to manage his limbs readily, you must insensibly hold him in, still more and more, and by degrees you will lead him to the _equal_ trot. the trot is the first exercise to which a horse is put; this is a necessary lesson, but if given unskilfully it loses its end, and even does harm. horses of a hot and fretful temper have generally too great a disposition to the _extended_ trot; never abandon these horses to their will, hold them in, pacify them, moderate their motion by retaining them judiciously, and their limbs will grow supple; they will acquire at the same time that union and equality, which is so essentially necessary. if you have a horse that is heavy, consider if this heaviness or stiffness of his shoulders or legs is owing to a want of strength, or of suppleness; whether it proceeds from his having been exercised unskilfully, too much, or too little. if he is heavy, because the motions of his legs and shoulders are naturally cold and sluggish, tho' at the same time his limbs are good, and his strength is only confin'd and shut up, if i may so say, a moderate but continual exercise of the trot will open and supple his joints, and render the action of his shoulders and legs more free and bold; hold him in the hand, and support him in the trot, but take care so to do it, as not to check or slacken his pace: aid him and drive him forward, while you support him; remember at the same time, that if he is loaded with a great head, the continuation of the trot, will make his apuy hard and dull, because he will by this means abandon himself still more, and weigh upon the hand. all horses that are inclined to be _remingue_, should be kept to the extended trot; every horse who has a tendency to be _remingue_ is naturally disposed to collect all his strength, and to unite himself; your only way with such horses is to force them forward: in the instant that he obeys, and goes freely on, retain him a little; yield your hand immediately after, and you will find soon that the horse of himself will bend his joints, and go united and equally. a horse of a sluggish and cold disposition, which has nevertheless strength and bottom, should likewise be put to the extended trot; as he grows animated, and begins to go free, keep him together by little and little, in order to lead him insensibly to the _supple_ trot; but if while you keep him together, you perceive that he slackens his action, and retains himself, give him the aids briskly, and push him forward, keeping him nevertheless gently in hand; by this means he will be taught to go freely and equally at the same time. if a horse of a cold and sluggish temper is weak in his legs and loins, you must manage him cautiously in working him in the trot, or otherwise you will enervate and spoil him. besides, in order to make the most of a horse, who is not over strong, endeavour to give him wind, by working him slowly, and at intervals, and by increasing the vigour of his exercise by degrees; for you must remember that you ought always to dismiss your horse, before he is spent and overcome with fatigue. never push your lesson too far in hopes of suppling your horse's limbs by means of the trot; instead of this you will falsify and harden his apuy, which is a case which happens but too frequently. farther, it is of importance to remark, that you ought at no time, neither in the _extended_, _supple_ or _equal_ trot, to confine your horse in the hand in expectation of raising him, and fixing his head in a proper place; if his apuy be full in the hand, and the action of his trot should be check'd and restrain'd by the power of his bridle, his bars would very soon grow callous, and his mouth be harden'd and dead; if, on the contrary, he has a fine and sensible mouth, this very restraint would offend and make him uneasy. you must endeavour then, as has already been said, to give him by degrees, and insensibly, a true and just apuy, to place his head, and form his mouth, by stops and half-stops; by sometimes moderating and restraining him with a gentle and light hand, and yielding it to him immediately again; and by sometimes letting him trot without feeling the bridle at all. there is a difference between horses who are _heavy_ in the hand, and such as endeavour to _force_ it. the first sort lean and throw all their weight upon the hand, either as they happen to be weak, or too heavy and clumsy in their fore-parts, or from having their mouths too fleshy and gross, and consequently dull and insensible. the second _pull_ against the hand, because their bars are lean, hard, and generally round; and the first may be brought to go equal, and upon their haunches, by means of the trot and slow gallop; and the other may be made light and active by art, and by settling them well in their trot, which will also give them strength and vigour. horses of the first sort are generally sluggish, the other kind are for the most part impatient and disobedient, and upon that very account more dangerous and incorrigible. the only proof, or rather the most certain sign of your horse's trotting well, is, that when he is in his trot, and you begin to press him a little, he offers to gallop. after having trotted your horse sufficiently upon a strait line, or directly forward, work him upon large circles; but before you put him to this, walk him gently round the circle, that he may comprehend and know the ground he is to go over.--this being done, work him in the trot; a horse that is loaded before, and heavily made, will find more pains and difficulty in uniting his strength, in order to be able to turn, than in going strait forward.--the action of turning trys the strength of his reins, and employs his memory and attention, therefore let one part of your lessons be to trot them strait forward; finish them in the same manner, observing that the intervals between the stops (which you should make very often) be long, or short, as you judge necessary: i say you should make frequent stops, for they often serve as a correction to horses that abandon themselves, force the hand, or bear too much upon it in their trot. there are some horses who are supple in their shoulders, but which nevertheless abandon themselves; this fault is occasion'd by the rider's having often held his bridle-hand too tight and strict in working them upon large circles: to remedy this, trot them upon one _line_ or _tread_, and very large; stop them often, keeping back your body and outward leg, in order to make them bend and play their haunches. the principal effects then of the trot, are to make a horse light and active, and to give him a just apuy. in reality, in this action he is always supported on one side by one of his fore-legs, and on the other by one of his hind-legs: now the fore and hind parts being equally supported cross-wise, the rider can't fail to supple and loosen his limbs, and fix his head; but if the trot disposes and prepares the spirits and motions of a sinewy and active horse for the justest lessons, if it calls out and unfolds the powers and strength of the animal, which before were buried and shut up, if i may use the expression, in the stiffness of his joints and limbs; if this first exercise to which you put your horse, is the foundation of all the different airs and manages, it ought to be given in proportion to the strength and vigour of the horse. to judge of this you must go farther than mere outward appearances. a horse may be but weak in the loins, and yet execute any air, and accompany it with vigour, as long as his strength is united and intire; but if he becomes disunited, by having been work'd beyond his ability in the trot, he will then falter in his air, and perform it without vigour and grace. there are also some horses, who are very strong in the loins, but who are weak in their limbs; these are apt to retain themselves, they bend and sink in their trot, and go as if they were afraid of hurting their shoulders, their legs or feet. this irresolution proceeds only from a natural sense they have of their weakness.--this kind of horses should not be too much exercised in the trot, nor have sharp correction; their shoulders, legs, or hocks would be weaken'd and injur'd; so that learning in a little time to hang back, and abandon themselves on the apuy, they would never be able to furnish any air with vigour and justness. let every lesson then be weigh'd; the only method by which success can be insured, is the discretion you shall use, in giving them in proportion to the strength of the horse, and from your sagacity in deciding upon what air or manage is most proper for him; to which you must be directed by observing which seems most suited to his inclination and capacity. i finish this chapter by describing the manner of trotting a colt, who has never been back'd. put a plain snaffle in his mouth, fit a caveson to his nose, to the ring of which you will tie a longe of a reasonable length; let a groom hold this longe, who having got at some distance from the colt, must stand still in the middle of the circle, which the horse will make; let another follow him with a long whip or chambriere in his hand.--the colt being alarm'd, will be forced to go forward, and to turn within the length of the cord.--the groom must hold it tight in his hand, by this means he will draw _in_ or towards the center the head of the colt, and his croupe will consequently be _out_ of the circle.--in working a young horse after this manner, don't press or hurry him, let him walk first, afterwards put him to the trot; if you neglect this method his legs will be embarras'd, he will lean on one side, and be more upon one haunch than the other; the inner fore-foot will strike against the outward, and the pain which this will occasion, will drive him to seek some means of defence, and make him disobedient. if he refuses to trot, the person who holds the chambriere will animate him, by hitting him, or striking the ground with it. if he offers to gallop instead of trotting, the groom must shake or jirk the cord that is tied to the caveson, and he will fall into his trot. in this lesson you may decide more readily upon the nature, the strength, the inclination, and carriage of the horse, than you can of one that has already been rode, as it is more easy to consider and examine all his motions; whereas when he is under his rider, being naturally inclin'd to resist at first, to free himself from restraint, and to employ all his strength and cunning to defend himself against his rider, it is morally impossible to form a true judgment of his disposition and capacity. chap. v. _of the stop._ the most certain method to unite and assemble together the strength of a horse, in order to give him a good mouth, to fix and place his head, as well as to regulate his shoulders, to make him light in the hand, and capable of performing all sorts of airs, depends entirely upon the perfection and exactness of the stop. in order to mark or form the stop justly, you must quicken him a little, and in the instant that he begins to go faster than the usual _cadence_ or _time_ of his pace, approach the calves of your legs, and immediately afterwards fling back your shoulders; always holding your bridle more and more tight, till the stop is made, aiding the horse with the calves of your legs, in order to make him bend and play his haunches. by varying the times of making your stops, and the places where you make them, you will teach your horse to obey exactly the hand and heel; which is the end that every one should propose to attain in every kind of exercise of the manege. with a raw and young horse make but very few stops, and when you make them, do it by degrees, very gently, and not all at once, because nothing so much strains and weakens the hocks of a stiff and aukward horse, as a sudden and rude stop. it is agreed by every body, that nothing so much shews the vigour and obedience of a horse as his making a beautiful and firm stop, at the end of a swift and violent career. there are however many horses that have a good deal of vigour and agility, who can't stop without feeling pain, while there are others who are not so strong and active, who stop very easily; the reason of this is plain. in the first place, the facility of stopping depends upon the natural aptness and consent of the horse; in the next place, his make, and the proportions which the different parts of his body have to each other, must be consider'd: therefore we must measure the merit of a stop by the strength and temper of the horse, by the steadiness of his head and neck, and the condition of his mouth and haunches. it will be in vain to look for the justness and perfection of the stop in a horse that is any ways defective, the bars being too delicate, or too hard, a thick tongue, the channel of his mouth narrow, the thropple confin'd, neck short, fore-hand heavy, or too low, weak loins, or too stiff, too much heat, or too much flegm in his temper, or sluggishness; here are a number of faults not easily to be corrected. a horse, though he is strong in his shoulders, in his legs and loins, yet if he is low before, will have much difficulty to collect himself upon his haunches, so as to make a good stop; on the contrary, if his shoulders and neck are high and raised, he will have the greater part of the qualities requisite to it. a horse who is long in the back generally stops very aukwardly, and without keeping his head steady; a horse that is short and truss'd, with a thick neck, generally stops upon his shoulders. the first finds too much difficulty to collect his strength so suddenly, in order to put himself upon his haunches, and the other is not able to call it out, and distribute it with vigour through his limbs.--in effect, when a horse gallops, the strength of his loins, of his haunches and hocks, is all employed in pushing the whole machine forwards, and that of his shoulders and fore-legs, to support the action: now the force of his hinder parts being thus violently agitated, and approaching too near that which lies in the fore parts, a short-body'd horse can't find all at once, that counterpoise, that just equilibre which characterizes a beautiful stop. a horse which can't stop readily, misemploys very often his strength in running; examine him, and you will find that he abandons himself entirely upon his shoulders; consider likewise the proportions of his neck and his thropple, the condition of his feet, the make of his loins and hocks; in short, apply yourself to the discovery of his temper, character and humour.--that horse whose neck is hollow, or ewe-neck'd, instead of ballancing himself upon his haunches, will arm himself against his chest, and will thereby make his stops harsh and disagreeable: weak feet, or hocks that give him pain, will make him hate the stop.--he will either endeavour to avoid it, or will make it with fear, so that he will be totally abandon'd upon the apuy. if he carries his nose high, and is hollow-back'd at the same time, it will be impossible for him to unite and put himself together, so as to be ready, and to present his front, if i may be allow'd the word, to the stop; because the strength of the nape of the neck depends upon the chine; and his powers being thus disunited and broken, he will make his stop upon his shoulders. there is another sort of horses, who in hopes of avoiding the constraint of stopping upon their haunches, plant themselves upon their two hind-legs; yield the hand to them, in the instant, and press them forward, you will insensibly correct them of their defence, which happens only in cases, where you stop them upon declining or uneven ground. there are many people, who imagining they can unite their horses by the means of making a great number of precipitate stops, take little heed whether the creature which they undertake is too weak, or has strength sufficient for his task.--the horse, who, though strong, has suffer'd in his chine, in making the first stop, will meditate a defence in his second or third; this will be to prevent the rider in his design: and being alarm'd at the slightest motion of the hand he will stop all at once, leaning with all his force upon his shoulders, and lifting up his croupe; which is a capital fault, and not easy to be remedied. thus it may happen, that a horse may make his stops very defectively, either from some natural or accidental faults in the different parts of his body; or it may be owing to the unskilfulness and ignorance of the rider, or the effect of faults and bad lessons all together. principles that are true and just will assist and reform nature, but a bad school gives birth to vice and defences that are often not to be conquer'd. it behoves us then to follow with exactness those lessons which are capable of bringing a horse to form a perfect stop; that is to say, to such a point as to be able to make his stop short, firm, and in one _time_; and in which he collects and throws his strength equally upon his haunches and hocks, widening and anchoring, if i may so say, his two hind-feet exactly even on the ground, in such a manner that one does not stand before the other, but both are in a line. it would be a proof of great ignorance to undertake to reduce a horse to the justness of the stop, before he had been work'd and push'd out in the trot and gallop to both hands, or before he was so ready as never to refuse to launch out immediately into a full gallop; for if he should happen to be _restiff_, should disobey the spurs, or refuse to turn to either hand, the means that then must be used to fix his head, would contribute towards confirming him in one or other of these vices. if your horse has not readily obey'd in making his stops, make him go backwards, it is a proper punishment for the fault. if in stopping he tosses up his nose, or forces the hand, in this case keep your bridle-hand low and firm, and your reins quite equal; give him no liberty, press upon his neck with your right-hand, till he has brought down his nose, and then immediately give him all his bridle; this is the surest method to bring him into the hand. to compel a horse to stop upon his haunches, nothing is so efficacious as ground that is a little sloping; this is of service to exercise such horses upon as are naturally too loose in their paces, who are heavy and apt to abandon themselves upon the hand, by this means they become light before; you must nevertheless examine if his feet, his loins, his shoulders and legs are sufficiently able to bear it, for otherwise your horse would soon be spoil'd: the whole therefore depends in this case, as in all others, upon the sagacity and experience of the horseman. when a horseman puts his horse to the stop, in such a place as i have mentioned, he should put the stress of his aids rather in his thighs and knees, than in his stirrups; one of the most trying lessons a horse can be put to, is to stop him, and make him go backwards up hill; therefore upon these occasions you must ease the fore part of the horse as much as you can, and throw your whole weight upon the hinder. we have already said, that there are some horses, which from weakness in their make, can never be brought to form a just and beautiful stop. there are others likewise, who are apt to stop too suddenly and short upon their shoulders, tho' otherwise naturally too much raised before, and too light. these employ all their power in order to stop all at once, in hopes either of putting an end to the pain they feel, from the rudeness of the stop; or else perhaps that some defect of sight makes them apprehend they are near something that they fear, for almost all horses, blind of one eye, or of both, stop with the greatest readiness: take care never to make this sort of horses go backward; on the contrary, stop them slowly and by degrees, in order to embolden them, remembring never to force, or keep them in too great a degree of subjection. i have thus shown, that a stop that is made with ease, steadiness, and according to the rules, will contribute a great deal towards putting a horse upon his haunches, and giving him that firm, equal, and light apuy, which we always desire to gain; because a just stop makes a horse bend and sink his hinder parts; i have made it likewise appear, that a sudden and ill-executed stop raises the fore parts too much, stiffens the hocks, and rather takes a horse off his haunches, than sets him upon them. let us now proceed to the lesson of teaching a horse to go backward. chap. vi. _of teaching a horse to go backward._ the action of a horse, when he goes backward, is to have always one of his hinder legs under his belly, to push his croupe backward, to bend his haunches, and to rest and ballance himself, one time on one leg, one on the other; this lesson is very efficacious to lighten a horse, to settle him in the hand, to make him ready to advance and go forward, and to prepare him to put himself together, and sit down upon his haunches. it should not however be practised, till the horse has been well laid out and worked in the trot, and his limbs are become supple; because, till he is arrived to this point, you should not begin to unite or put him together: care must be taken, that this action of going backward be just, and that in performing it, the horse keeps his head steady, fixt, and in a right place; that his body be trussed or gathered up, as it were, under him; that his feet be even; that he be not upon his shoulders, but on the contrary, on his haunches; for if he should be false as to any of these particulars, this lesson, very far from putting him together, would have the contrary effect, and dis-unite him. in order that a horse may be able to execute what is required of him, he must first comprehend what it is that is asked of him, and for this purpose the horseman should make his lessons short, and demand but little at a time; begin then to make him go backward, when he is arrived far enough to understand what you expect him to do; but at first be contented with a little, it is sufficient if he understands what you want. there are horses, who can go backward, not only with great ease, but do it even with the exactness of horses that are perfectly drest; if you examine these horses, you will find that all the parts of their body are exactly proportioned; they have strength, and nature herself has taught them to unite themselves; but there are others, who can't go backwards without great difficulty; these are weak in the back, or otherwise imperfect in their make; don't demand too much of these, work them with caution, for rigour with such horses, is never successful. there are another sort of horses, who never can be reconciled to subjection; whenever you try to make them go backward, they fix their fore feet fast upon the ground, and _arm_ themselves; in this case you must endeavour to win them, as it were insensibly, and by degrees. for this purpose, raise your hand a little, remove it from your body, at the same time shake your reins, and you will find that by degrees you will accustom your horse to obey; but remember at the same time, that you would have a less share of reason, than the animal you undertake to dress, were you to expect to reduce him to obedience all at once; your horse answering to the reins which you shake, will move perhaps only one of his fore feet, leaving the other advanced; this posture without doubt is defective, because he is dis-united; but as perfection can't be gained at once, patience and gentle usage are the only certain methods of bringing your horse to perform what you want. there are others, who when they go backward, do it with fury and impatience; these you should correct, briskly, and support lightly with your legs, while they go backward. there are another sort, who work their lower jaw about as if they wanted to catch hold of the bit, who bear upon the hand, and endeavour to force it; to such horses you must keep your hand extremely low, and your reins exactly even, distribute equally the power of each, by rounding your wrist, and keeping your nails exactly opposite your body. after having made your horse go backward, let him advance two or three steps, if he obeys the hand readily.--this will take off any dislike or fear, he may entertain from the constraint of going backward; if he forces the hand in going backward, these three steps forward will contribute to bring him into it again; and lastly, they prevent any vice, that this lesson might otherwise produce. after having advanced three steps, let him stop, and turn him; you will by these means support him, and take him off from any ill designs, which the treatment you are obliged to observe towards him, in order to make him stop and go backward with precision and order, might otherwise give rise to.--after having turned him, make him go backward, you will prevent his having too great desire of going too soon from the place where he stopp'd, as well as from that to which he turned. the moment the stop is made, give him his bridle; by stopping you have augmented the degree of the apuy in the horse's mouth; you must increase it still more, in order to make him go backwards; hence a hard hand and bad mouth. this reasoning is plain, and these principles are true; notwithstanding which, there are few horsemen who attend to it, either because they never think and reflect, or else that the force of bad habits overcomes them. this lesson, if well weigh'd and given properly, is a necessary and certain method of teaching horses to make a good stop, of rendering them light and obedient when they pull or are beyond the degree of what is call'd _full in the hand_.--but if given improperly, or if too often repeated, it then grows to be a habit, and a habit is no correction. never practise it long with horses who are hot, and who have hard mouths, their impatience and heat, join'd to habit and custom, would prevent them from knowing the cause, and feeling the effects. it is the same with those who have short fore-hands; for as they are generally thick-shoulder'd and heavy, the difficulty they feel to collect themselves upon their haunches, naturally disposes them to press the branches of the bit against their chest, by which means this lesson becomes quite ineffectual. chap. vii. _of the uniting or putting a horse together._ the end which the horseman proposes to attain by his art, is to give to the horses, which he undertakes, the _union_, without which, no horse can be said to be perfectly drest; every one allows that the whole of the art depends upon this, yet few people reason or act from principles and theory, but trust entirely to practice; hence it follows, that they must work upon foundations false and uncertain, and so thick is the darkness in which they wander, that it is difficult to find any one who is able to define this term of _uniting_ or _putting_ a horse _together_, which is yet so constantly in the mouth of every body; i will undertake, however, to give a clear and distinct idea of it; and for that purpose shall treat it with order and method. the uniting then or putting together, is the action by which a horse draws together and assembles the parts of his body, and his strength, in distributing it equally upon his four legs, and in re-uniting or drawing them together, as we do ourselves, when we are going to jump, or perform any other action which demands strength and agility. this posture alone is sufficient to settle and place the head of the animal, to lighten and render his shoulders and legs active, which from the structure of his body, support and govern the greater part of his weight; being then by these means made steady, and his head well placed, you will perceive in every motion that he makes, a surprizing correspondence of the parts with the whole. i say, that from the natural structure of a horse's body, his legs and shoulders support the greatest part of his weight, in reality his croupe or haunches carry nothing but his tail, while his fore legs, being perpendicular, are loaded with the head, neck, and shoulders; so that, let the animal be ever so well made, ever so well proportioned, his fore part, either when he is in motion, or in a state of rest, is always employed, and consequently in want of the assistance of art to ease it; and in this consists the _union_ or putting together, which by putting the horse upon his haunches, counterballances and relieves his fore part. the _union_ not only helps and relieves the part of the horse that is the weakest, but it is so necessary to every horse, that no horse that is dis-united can go freely, he can neither leap nor gallop with agility and lightness, nor run without being in manifest danger of falling and pitching himself headlong, because his motions have no harmony, no agreement one with another. it is allowed, that nature has given to every horse a certain equilibre, by which he supports and regulates himself in all his motions; we knew that his body is supported by his four legs, and that his four legs have a motion, which his body must of necessity follow; but yet this natural equilibre is not sufficient. all men can walk, they are supported on two legs, notwithstanding this we make a great difference between that person to whom proper exercises have taught the free use of his limbs, and him whose carriage is unimproved by art, and consequently heavy and aukward. 'tis just the same with respect to a horse; we must have recourse to art to unfold the natural powers that lay hid and are shut up in him, if we mean he should make a proper use of the limbs which nature has given him; the use of which can be discover'd and made familiar to him no other way than by working him upon true and just principles. the trot is very efficacious to bring a horse to this union so important, and so necessary; i speak of the trot, in which he is supported and kept together, and suppled at the same time; this compels the horse to put himself together: in effect, the trot in which a horse is well supported partakes of a quick and violent motion: it forces a horse to collect and unite all his strength, because it is impossible that a horse that is kept together, should at the same time abandon and fling himself forward. i explain myself thus.--in order to support your horse in his trot, the horseman should hold his hand near his body, keeping his horse together a little, and have his legs near his sides. the effect of the hand is to confine and raise the fore parts of the horse; the effect of the legs is to push and drive forward the hinder parts: now if the fore parts are kept back or confin'd, and the hinder parts are driven forward, the horse in a quick motion, such as the trot, must of necessity sit down upon his haunches, and unite and put himself together. for the same reason making your horse launch out vigorously in his trot, and quickening his cadence from time to time, putting him to make pesades, stopping him and making him go backward, will all contribute towards his acquiring the union.--i would define his going off readily, or all at once, not to be a violent and precipitate manner of running, but only to consist in the horse's being a little animated, and going somewhat faster than the ordinary time of his pace.--your horse trots, press him a little; in the instant that he redoubles and quickens his action, moderate and shorten, if i may so say, the hurry of his pace; the more then that he presses to go forward, the more will his being check'd and confin'd tend to unite his limbs, and the _union_ will owe its birth to opposite causes; that is to say, on one hand to the ardour of the horse who presses to go forward, and to the diligence and attention of the horseman on the other, who, by holding him in, slackens the pace, and raises the fore-parts of the creature, and at the same time distributes his strength equally to all his limbs. the action of a horse, when going backward, is directly opposite to his abandoning himself upon his shoulders; by this you compel him to put himself upon his haunches: this lesson is by so much therefore the more effectual, as that the cause of a horse's being dis-united, is often owing to the pain he feels in bending his haunches. the pesades have no less effect, especially upon horses that are clumsy and heavy shoulder'd; because they teach them to use them, and to raise them; and when they raise them up, it follows of necessity that all their weight must be thrown upon their haunches. a light and gentle hand then, and the aids of the legs judiciously managed, are capable to give a horse the _union_; but it is not so clear at what time we ought to begin to put a horse upon his haunches. is it not necessary before we do this, that the horse should have his shoulders entirely suppled? it is evident, that a horse can never support himself upon his haunches, unless his fore-part be lightened; let us see then by what means we may hope to acquire this suppleness, the only source of light and free action. nothing can supple more the shoulders than the working a horse upon large circles.--walk him first round the circle, in order to make him know his ground; afterwards try to draw his head _in_, or towards the center, by means of your inner rein and inner leg. for instance,--i work my horse upon a circle, and i go to the right by pulling the right rein; i bring in his outward shoulder by the means of the left rein, and support him at the same time with my inner leg; thus the horse has, if i may so say, his head _in_, or towards the center, although the croupe is at liberty. the right leg crosses over the left leg, and the right shoulder is suppled, while the left leg supports the whole weight of the horse in the action: in working him to the left hand, and following the same method, the left shoulder supples, and the right is pressed and confined. this lesson, which tends not only to supple the shoulders, but likewise to give an apuy, being well comprehended by the horse, i lead him along the side of the wall,--having placed his head, i make use of the inner rein, which draws in his head, and i bring in his outward shoulder by means of the other rein: in this posture, i support him with my inner leg, and he goes along the wall, his croupe being out and at liberty, and his inner leg passing over and crossing his outward leg at every step he makes.--by this, i supple his neck, i supple his shoulders, i work his haunches, and i teach the horse to know the heels. i say, that the haunches are worked, though his croupe is at liberty, because it is from the fore-parts only, that a horse can be upon his haunches. in effect, after having placed his head, draw it _in_, and you will lengthen his croupe, you raise him higher before than behind, his legs come under his belly, and consequently he bends his haunches. it is the same as when he comes down hill, his croupe, being higher than his fore-parts, is pushed under him, and the horse is upon his haunches; since it is evident that the hinder support all the fore-parts, therefore in going along the side of the wall, by the means of the inner rein, i put together and unite my horse. behold then, in short, the most certain methods of enabling yourself to give to a horse this _union_, this freedom and ease, by which learning how to ballance his weight equally and with art, and distributing his strength with exactness to all his limbs, he becomes able to undertake and execute with justness and grace, whatever the horseman demands of him, conformable to his strength and disposition. chap. viii. _of the pillars._ it is the same with respect to the pillars, as with all other lessons which you must teach a horse, in order to make him perfect in his air. excellent in itself, it becomes pernicious and destructive under the direction of the ignorant, and is not only capable to dishearten any horse, but to strain and ruin him entirely. the pillar partly owes its origin to the famous _pignatelli_[ ]. mess. _de la broue_ and _pluvinel_, who were his scholars, brought it first into _france_; the first indeed made little use of it, and seem'd to be very well appriz'd of its inconveniencies and dangers; as for the other, one may say, that he knew not a better or shorter method of dressing and adjusting a horse. in effect, according to his notions, working a horse round a single pillar could never fail of setting him upon his haunches, making him advance, suppling and teaching him to turn roundly and exactly; and by putting him between two pillars, provided he had vigour, he was taught to obey the heels readily, to unite himself, and acquire in a shorter time a good apuy in making curvets. if he wanted to settle his horse's head in a short time, the pillars were very efficacious. he tied the horse between them to the cords of the snaffle which he had in his mouth, instead of the bridle. there he work'd his horse without a saddle, and maintain'd, that if the horse tossed or shook his head, bore too much, or too little upon his bridle, he punish'd himself in such a manner, that (as he imagin'd) the horse was compell'd to put himself upon his haunches, and to take a good apuy; especially as the fear of the chambriere or whip, always ready behind him, kept him in awe. the horse was often taken out of the two pillars, in order to be put to the single pillar, with a cord tied to the banquet of the bit as a false rein; here he was work'd by being made to rise before, and driven round the pillar, with a design and in hopes of making him step out and embrace, or cover well the ground he went round, as well as to give him resolution in his work, and to cure him of dullness and sloth, if he had it in his temper. we don't know whether mr. _pluvinel_ designed any real advantages from this method or no; but be that as it will, it prevails no longer among us.--it must be owned, that the two pillars of his inventing are still preserved, and that no manage is without them; but at least we have suppress'd the single pillar, which serves only to fatigue and harrass a horse: learn never to put a horse between the two pillars till he is well suppled, and you have given him the first principles of the _union_ between the legs, which are the natural pillars that every horseman should employ. we must take care to work the horse with great prudence at first, and as gently as possible; for a horse being in this lesson very much confined and forced, and not able to escape, nor to go forward nor backward, he oftentimes grows quite furious, and abandons himself to every motion that rage and resentment can suggest. begin then this lesson in the plainest manner, contenting yourself with only making him go from side to side, by means of the switch, or from fear of the chambriere. at the end of some days, the horse, thus become obedient, and accustomed to the subjection of the pillars; try to make him insensibly go into the cords, which when he will do readily, endeavour to get a step or two exact and in _time_ of the _passage_ or _piaffer_. footnote : he liv'd at _naples_, and was the most eminent horseman of his time. if he offers to present himself to it, be it never so little, make him leave off, encourage him, and send him to the stable; augment thus your lessons by degrees, and examine and endeavour to discover to what his disposition turns, that you may cultivate and improve it. the worst effect of the pillars is the hazard you run of entirely ruining the hocks of your horse, if you don't distinguish very exactly between those parts and the haunches. many people think that when the horse goes into the cords, he is of consequence upon his haunches; but they don't remark, that often the horse only bends his hocks, and that his hocks pain him by so much the more, as his hinder feet are not in their due equilibre. the fore-legs of a horse are made like those of a man, the knees are before or _without_, the hinder-legs are shaped like our arms, he bends his hocks as we do our elbows; therefore if he rises before very high, he must stretch and stiffen his hocks, and consequently can never be seated upon his haunches; to be upon them, the horse must bend and bring them under him, because the more his hinder-legs are brought under him, the more his hinder-feet are in the necessary point of gravity, to support all the weight of his body, which is in the air, in a just equilibre.--these remarks are sufficient to evince the inconveniencies that may arise from the pillars; never quit sight of these principles, you will find by adhering to them, the horse that is drest according to their tenour, will be a proof of the real advantages that you may draw from a lesson, which never does harm, but when occasioned by the imprudence or ignorance of those who give it. chap. ix. _of aids and corrections._ an aid may be termed whatever assists or directs a horse, and whatever enables him to execute what we put him to do.--corrections are whatever methods we use to awe and punish him, whenever he disobeys: aids therefore are to prevent, and corrections to punish, whatever fault he may commit. the aids are various, and are to be given in different manners, upon different occasions, they are only meant to accompany the ease and smoothness of the horse in his air, and to form and maintain the justness of it; for this reason they ought to be delicate, fine, smooth, and steady, and proportioned to the sensibility or feeling of the horse; for if they are harsh and rude, very far from aiding, they would throw the horse into disorder, or else occasion his manage to be false, his time broken, constrained, and disagreeable. corrections are of two sorts; you may punish your horse with the spurs, the switch, or chambriere; you may punish him by keeping him in a greater degree of subjection; but in all these cases, a real horseman will endeavour rather to work upon the understanding of the creature, than upon the different parts of his body. a horse has imagination, memory and judgment; work upon these three faculties, and you will be most likely to succeed. in reality, the corrections which reduce a horse to the greatest obedience, and which dishearten him the least, are such as are not severe, but such as consist in opposing his will and humour, by restraining and putting him to do directly the contrary.--if your horse don't advance or go off readily, or if he is sluggish, make him go sideways, sometimes to one hand, sometimes to the other, and drive him forward; and so alternatively.--if he goes forward too fast, being extremely quick of feeling, moderate your aids, and make him go backwards some steps; if he presses forward with hurry and violence, make him go backward a great deal.--if he is disorderly and turbulent, walk him strait forward, with his head _in_ and croupe _out_; these sorts of corrections have great influence upon most horses. it is true, that there are some of so bad and rebellious dispositions, which availing themselves of their memory to falsify their lessons, require sharp correction, and upon whom gentle punishment would have no effect; but in using severity to such horses, great prudence and management are necessary. the character of a horseman is to work with design, and to execute with method and order; he should have more forbearance, more experience, and more sagacity than most people are possessed of. the spurs, when used by a knowing and able horseman, are of great service; but when used improperly, nothing so soon makes a horse abject and jadish. given properly, they awe and correct the animal; given unduly, they make him restive and vicious, and are even capable of discouraging a drest horse, and giving him a disgust to the manage; don't be too hasty therefore to correct your horse with them. be patient; if your horse deserves punishment, punish him smartly, but seldom; for besides your habituating him to blows, till he ceases to mind them, you will astonish and confound him, and be more likely to make him rebel, than to bring him to the point you aim at. to give your horse both spurs properly, you must change the posture of your legs, and bending your knee, strike him with them at once as quick and firmly as you can. a stroke of the spurs wrongly given is no punishment; it rather hardens the horse against them, teaches him to shake and frisk about his tail, and often to return the blow with a kick. take care never to open your thighs and legs in order to give both spurs, for besides that the blow would not be at all stronger for being given in this manner, you would by this means lose the time in which you ought to give it, and the horse would rather be alarmed at the motion you make in order to give the blow, than punished by it when he felt in; and thence your action becoming irregular, could never produce a good effect. the chambriere is used as a correction, it ought however to be used with discretion; we will suppose it to be in able hands, and forbear to say more about it. as for the switch, it is so seldom made use of to punish a horse, that i shall not speak of it, till i come to treat of the aids. by what has been said of corrections, it is apparent, that the horseman works not only upon the horse's understanding, but even upon his sense of feeling. a horse has three senses upon which we may work, hearing, feeling and seeing. the touch is that sense, by which we are enabled to make him very quick and delicate, and when he is once brought to understand the aids which operate upon this sense, he will be able to answer to all that you can put him to. though the senses of hearing and sight are good in themselves, they are yet apt to give a horse a habit of working by rote and of himself, which is bad and dangerous. the aids which are employed upon the touch or feeling, are those of the legs, of the hand, and of the switch. those which influence the sight, proceed from the switch; those which affect the sight and hearing both, are derived from the switch and the horseman's tongue. the switch ought neither to be long nor short, from three to four feet or thereabouts is a sufficient length; you can give your aids more gracefully with a short than a long one. in a manage, it is generally held on the contrary hand to which the horse is going; or else it is held up high at every change of hand: by holding the switch, the horseman learns to carry his sword in his hand with ease and grace, and to manage his horse without being encumber'd by it. to aid with the switch, you must hold it in your hand, in such a manner that the point of it be turned towards the horse's croupe, this is the most convenient and easy manner; that of aiding with it, not over the shoulder, but over the bending of your arm, by removing your left arm from your body, and keeping it a little bent, so as to make the end of the switch fall upon the middle of the horse's back, is very difficult to execute. shaking the switch backward and forward to animate the horse with the sound, is a graceful aid; but till a horse is accustom'd to it, it is apt to drive him forward too much. in case your horse is too light and nimble with his croupe, you must aid before only with the switch; if he bends or sinks his croupe, or tosses it about without kicking out, you must aid just at the setting on of the tail.--if you would have him make croupades, give him the switch a little above the hocks. to aid with your tongue, you must turn it upward against the palate of the mouth, shut your teeth, and then remove it from your palate; the noise it makes is admirable to encourage a horse, to quicken and put him together; but you must not use it continually, for so, instead of animating your horse, it would serve only to lull him.--there are people who when they work their horses, whistle and make use of their voices; these aids are ridiculous, we should leave these habits to grooms and coachmen, and know that crys and threats are useless.--the sense of hearing can serve at the most only to confound and surprize a horse, and you will never give him exactness and sensibility by surprizing him.--the same may be said of the sight; whatever strikes this sense, operates likewise upon the memory, and this method seldom produces a good effect; for you ought to know how important it is to vary the order of your lessons, and the places where you give them; since it is certain, that a horse who is always work'd in the same place, works by rote, and attends no longer to the aids of the hand and heels.--it is the same with hot and angry horses, whose memory is so exact, and who are so ready to be disorder'd and put out of humour, that if the least thing comes in their way during their lesson, they no longer think of what they were about: the way of dealing with these horses, is to work them with lunettes on their eyes; but it must be remembered, that this method would be dangerous with horses which are very impatient, hot, and averse to all subjection, and so sensible to the aids, as to grow desperate to such a degree, as to break through all restraint, and run away headlong; it is therefore unsafe with these horses, because they could not be more blinded even with the lunettes, than they are when possessed with this madness, which so blinds them, that they no longer fear the most apparent dangers. having said thus much of the aids which operate upon the touch, hearing and sight, we must now confine ourselves to discourse upon those, which regard the touch only; for as it has been already said, these only are the aids by which a horse can be drest, because it is only by the hand and heel that he can be adjusted. the horseman's legs, by being kept near the horse's sides, serve not only to embellish his seat, but without keeping them in this posture, he never will be able to give his aids justly.--to explain this: if the motion of my leg is made at a distance from the horse, it is rather a correction than an aid, and alarms and disorders the horse; on the contrary, if my leg is near the part that is most sensible, the horse may be aided, advertised of his fault, and even punished, in much less time, and consequently by this means kept in a much greater degree of obedience.--the legs furnish us with four sorts of aids, the inside of the knees, the calfs, pinching delicately with the spurs, and pressing strongly upon the stirrups. the essential article in dressing a horse, is to make known the gradation of these several aids, which i will explain. the aid of the inside of the knees is given, by closing and squeezing your knees, in such a manner, that you feel them press and grasp your horse extremely. you aid with the calfs of your legs, by bending your knees, so as to bring your calfs so close as to touch the horse with them. the aid of pinching with the spurs, is performed in the same manner, by bending your knees, and touching with the spurs the hair of the horse, without piercing the skin. the last aid, which is only proper for very sensible and delicate horses, consists in stretching down your legs, and pressing firm upon the stirrups. the strongest aid is that of pinching with the spur; the next in degree, is applying the calf of the leg; pressing with the knees is the third, and leaning upon the stirrup is the last and least; but if these aids are given injudiciously, they will have no effect. they must accompany and keep pace with the hand; for it is the just correspondence between the heel and hand, in which the truth and delicacy of the art consists; and without this agreement there can be no riding. it is the foundation of all justness; it constitutes and directs the cadence, measure and harmony of all the airs; it is the soul of delicacy, brilliancy and truth in riding; and as a person who plays upon a musical instrument adapts and suits his two hands equally to the instrument, so the man who works a horse ought to make his hands and legs accord exactly together. i say his hands and legs should accord and answer one to the other with the strictest exactness, because the nicest and most subtle effects of the bridle proceed entirely from this agreement; and however fine and nice a touch a horseman may be endued with, if the times of aiding with the legs are broken and imperfect, he never can have a good hand; because it is evident that a good hand is not the offspring only of a firm and good seat, but owing likewise to the proportion and harmony of all the aids together. i understand by the harmony and agreement of the aids, the art of knowing how to seize the moment in which they are to be given, and of giving them equally and in a due degree, as well as of measuring and comparing the action of the hand and legs together; by which both these parts being made to act together, and in time, will create and call out, as it were, those cadences and equalities of time, of which the finest airs are compos'd; measures and cadences which it is not possible to describe, but which every horseman ought to comprehend, attend to, and feel. if i want to make my horse go forward, i yield my hand to him, and at the same time close my legs; the hand ceasing to confine, and the legs driving on his hinder parts, the horse obeys. i have a mind to stop him, i hold him in, and approach my legs to his sides gently, in order to proportion my aids to what i ask him to do; for i would not have it felt more than just to make him stop upon his haunches. i want to turn him to the left, i carry my hand to the left, and support him at the same time; that is to say, i approach my left-leg, my hand then guides the horse to the left, and my leg, which operates at the same time, helps him to turn; because by driving his croupe to the right, his shoulder is enabled to turn with more ease. i want to go to the right, i carry my hand to the right, and i support him with my right-hand, my leg determining his croupe to the left, facilitates the action of the shoulder which my hand had turned to the right. i would make a change to the right, my left-rein directs the horse, and my left-leg at the same time confines his croupe, so that it can't escape, but must follow the shoulders.--i would change hands again to the left, my right-rein then guides the horse, and my right-leg does just the same as my left-leg did in going to the right.--i undertake to work the shoulder and croupe at the same time; for this purpose i carry my hand _out_.--the inner rein acts, and the outward leg of the horse is press'd, either by this rein, or by my outward leg, so that the outward rein operates upon the shoulder, and the inner rein with my outward leg directs the croupe.--i put my horse to curvets.--i aid him with my outward rein, and if he is not enough upon his haunches, my legs, accompanied with the inner rein, aid me to put him more upon them; if he turns his croupe out, i aid and support him with my outward leg; if he flings it in too much, i confine him with my inner leg. i put him to make curvets sideways, my outward rein brings his outward shoulder in, because the outward shoulder being brought in, his croupe is left at liberty; but if i have occasion i use my inner rein, and if his croupe is not sufficiently confin'd, i support it with my outward leg.--again, i put him to make curvets backwards, i use then my outward rein, and keep my hand near my body. at each cadence that the horse makes, i make him feel a _time_; one, and every time he comes to the ground, i receive and catch him as it were in my hand; but these _times_ ought not to be distant above an inch or two at the most; i then ease my legs to him, which nevertheless i approach insensibly every time he rises. thus by making my hands and legs act together, i learn not only to work a horse with justness and precision, but even to dress him to all the airs; which i shall speak of distinctly and more at large. as to the rest, be it remember'd, that it is not alone sufficient to know how to unite your aids, and to proportion them, as well as the corrections, to the motions and the faults in the horse's air, which you would remedy; but whenever you are to make use of them, you must consider likewise if they are suitable and adapted to the nature of the horse; for otherwise they will not only prove ineffectual, but be the occasion even of many disorders. chap. x. _of the passage._ the passage is the key which opens to us all the justness of the art of riding, and is the only means of adjusting and regulating horses in all sorts of airs; because in this action you may work them slowly, and teach them all the knowledge of the leg and hand, as it were insensibly, and without running any risque of disgusting them, so as to make them rebel.--there are many sorts of the passage: in that which is derived from the trot, the action of the horse's legs is the same as in the trot; the passage is only distinguish'd from the trot, which is the foundation of it, by the extreme union of the horse, and by his keeping his legs longer in the air, and lifting them both equally high, and being neither so quick nor violent as in the action of the trot. in the passage which is founded on the walk, the action of the horse is the same as in the trot, and of consequence the same as in the walk; with this difference, that the horse lifts his fore-feet a good deal higher than his hind-feet, that he _marks_ a certain time or interval sufficiently long between the motion of each leg; his action being much more together and short, and more distinct and slow than the ordinary walk, and not so extended as in the trot, in such a manner that he is, as it were, kept together and supported under himself. lastly, there is another sort of passage to which the trot likewise gives birth, and in which the action is so quick, so diligent, and so supported, that the horse seems not to advance, but to work upon the same spot of ground. the _spaniards_ call the horses who make this sort of passage _pissadores_. this sort of horses have not their action so high and strong as the other, it being too quick and sudden; but almost all horses which are inclin'd to this sort of passage, are generally endowed with a great share of gentleness and activity. no horse should be put to the passage till he has been well trotted out, is supple, and has acquir'd some knowledge of the _union_.--if he has not been well trotted, and by that means taught to go forward readily, his action, when put to the passage, being shorten'd and retain'd, you would run the risque of his becoming _restive_ and _ramingue_; and was he utterly unacquainted with the union, the passage requiring that he should be very much together, he would not be able to bear it; so that finding himself press'd and forced on one hand, and being incapable of obeying on the other, he would resist and defend himself. there are some people, who observing a horse to have strength and agility, and naturally disposed to unite himself, endeavour to get from him some _times_ of the passage.--they succeed in their attempt, and immediately conclude that they can passage their horse whenever they will, and so press him to it, before he has been sufficiently suppled and taught to go forward readily, and without retaining himself. --hence arise all the disorders into which horses plunge themselves, which, if they had been properly managed at first, would have been innocent of all vice.--farther, you ought to study well the nature of every horse; you will discover of what temper he is from the first moment you see him passage, and to what he is most inclin'd by nature. if he has any seeds of the _ramingue_ in him, his action will be short and _together_; but it will be retain'd and loitering, the horse craving the aids, and only advancing in proportion as the rider gives them, and drives him forward.--if he is light and active, quick of feeling, and willing, his action will be free and diligent, and you will perceive that he takes a pleasure to work of himself, without expecting the aids.--if he be of a hot and fiery nature, his actions will be quick and sudden, and will shew that he is angry and impatient of the subjection. if he wants inclination and will, he will be unquiet, he will cross his legs, and his actions will be perplex'd. if he is fiery, and heavy at the same time, his action will be all upon the hand. if besides this, he has but little strength, he will abandon himself entirely upon the _apuy_. lastly, if he is cold and sluggish in his nature, his motion will be unactive and dead; and even when he is enliven'd by good lessons, you will always be able to discover his temper by seeing the aids, which the rider is oblig'd to give him from time to time, to hinder him from slackening or stopping the _cadence_ of his passage. having acquir'd a thorough knowledge of your horse's character, you should regulate all your lessons and proceedings conformable to it.--if it hurts a horse who partakes of the _ramingue_ to be kept too much together, unite him by little and little, and insensibly as it were, and quite contrary to putting him to a short and united passage all at once. extend and push him forward, passing one while from the walk to that of the trot, and so alternatively. if your horse is hot and impatient, he will cross his steps, and not go equal; keep such a horse in a less degree of subjection, ease his rein, pacify him, and retain or hold him in no more than is sufficient to make him more quiet.--if with this he is heavy, put him to a walk somewhat shorter and slower than the passage, and endeavour to put him upon his haunches insensibly, and by degrees. by these means you will be enabled by art to bring him to an action, by so much the more essential, as by this alone a horse is taught to know the hands and heels, as i have already observed, without ever being perplex'd or disordered. chap. xi. _of working with the head and croupe to the wall._ the lessons of the head and croupe to the wall are excellent to confirm a horse in obedience. in effect, when in this action he is, as it were, balanced between the rider's legs, and by working the croupe along the wall, you are enabled not only to supple his shoulders, but likewise to teach him the aids of the legs. for this purpose, after having well open'd the corner, turn your hand immediately, and carry it _in_, in order to direct your horse by your outward rein; taking always care to support the croupe with your outward leg directly over-against, and about two feet distant from the wall: bend your horse to the way he goes, and draw back the shoulder that is _in_ with your inner rein, because the outward leg being carried with more care over the inner leg by means of the outward rein, the horse will cross and bring one leg over the other, the shoulders will go before the croupe, you will narrow him behind, and consequently put him upon his haunches. you ought to be careful at the same time, and see that your horse never falsifies or quits the line, either in advancing or going backward.--if he presses forward, support him with your hand; if he hangs back, support him with your legs, always giving him the leg that serves to drive him on, stronger than the other which serves only to support him; that is, acting stronger with the leg that is _without_, than with that which is within. the lesson of the head to the wall is very efficacious to correct a horse that forces the hand, or who leans heavily upon it, because it compels him to put himself together, and be light upon the hand with less aids of the bridle; but no horse that is _restive_ or _ramingue_ should be put to it, for all narrow and confin'd lessons serve only to confirm them in their natural vice.--place your horse directly opposite the wall, at about two feet distance from it; make him go sideways, as i have already directed in the article of croupe to the wall; but left one foot should tread upon the other, and he should knock them together and hurt himself, in the beginning of both lessons you must not be too strict with him, but let his croupe be rather on the contrary side of his shoulders, since by this means he will look towards the way he is going more easily, and be better able to raise the shoulder and leg which is to cross over the other.--by degrees you will gain his haunches, and he will grow supple before and behind, and at the same time become light in the hand: never forget that your horse ought always to be bent to the way he goes; in order to do this readily, guide him with the outward rein; for very often the stiffness of the neck or head is owing to nothing but the confined action of the outward shoulder; it being certain, that either the difficulty or ease of working either of those parts, depends entirely upon the other; your horse going thus sideways, carry your hand a little out from time to time; the inner rein by this means will be shortened, and make the horse look _in_, the more it enlarges him before, by keeping his fore-leg that is _in_, at a distance from the fore-leg that is _out_, which consequently bringing the inner hinder-leg near to the outward, confines his hinder parts, and makes him bend his haunches, especially the outward, upon which he rests his weight, and keeps him in an equal balance.--never put your horse to this lesson, till he has been work'd a long while upon large circles, his head _in_, or to the center, and his croupe _out_; otherwise you would run the risque of throwing him into great disorder. the greater part of defences proceed from the shoulders or haunches, that is to say, from the fore or hinder parts; and thence the horse learns to resist the hand or heel. it is the want of suppleness then, that hinders the horse from executing what you put him to do; and how can it be expected that he should answer and obey, when he is stiff in the shoulders, haunches, and ribs? especially if, without reflecting that suppleness is the foundation of all, you press and teize him, and put him to lessons beyond his power and capacity. chap. xii. _of changes of the hand, large and narrow, and of voltes and demi-voltes._ a change is that action, whereby the horseman guides and causes his horse to go from the right-hand to the left, and from the left to the right, in order to work him equally to both hands; therefore changing the hand, when you are to the right, is making your horse go to the left-hand, and when on the left, making him go to the right. the changes are made either on one _line_ or _path_, or on two, and are either large or narrow. changing the hand upon one line, is when the horse describes but one line with his feet; changing upon two lines, is when the haunches follow and accompany the shoulders; and to make this change, the horse's feet must consequently describe two lines, one made by his fore-feet, the other with his hinder-feet. changing large, is when the line, if the horse makes but one, or both lines, when he describes two, cross the manage from corner to corner; changing narrow, is when these lines pass over but a part of it. a _volte_ is generally defined to be whatever forms a circle.--voltes of two lines or paths, describe two, one with the horse's fore, the other with his hinder-feet. if the circle then forms a volte, by consequence half a circle forms what is called the _half-volte_.--these half-voltes, and quarters of voltes, are made upon two lines, as well as the volte.--a demi-volte of two treads, is nothing else than two half circles, one drawn by the horse's fore-feet, the other by the hinder; it is the same with quarters of voltes.--a horse can be work'd, and put to all sorts of airs upon the voltes, half-voltes, and quarters of voltes.--but as the rules necessary to be observed and followed in making voltes of two treads, and in changing of hands in the passage, are only general, i shall content myself with explaining them in this chapter; reserving to myself a power of pointing out the exceptions, when i shall come to treat of the different airs, and the different manages, that are practised upon the voltes. three things equally essential, and equally difficult to attain, must concur to form the justness of a change; they are the manner of beginning it, of continuing, and closing it.--we will suppose you in the manage, you walk your horse forward, you bend him properly, and you are come to the place where you intend to change large. for this purpose, make a half stop, and take care never to abandon the rein which is to bend your horse's neck; the other rein, that is, the outward rein, is that, which you must use to guide and direct him, but you must proportion the stress you lay upon one with the other.--as it is the outward rein which determines your horse the way he is to go, make that operate, its effect will be to bring the outward shoulder _in_; if then it brings the outward shoulder _in_, it guides and determines the horse to the side to which you are going, and confines and fixes the croupe at the same time. this is not all, at the same instant that your hand operates, support your horse with your outward leg: your hand having determined the shoulder, and fixed the croupe, your leg must help to secure it; for without the aid of the leg, the croupe would be unconfined, would be lost, and the horse would work only upon one line. you see then, how requisite it is for the horseman to be exact, active, and to give his aids with the greatest delicacy, in order to _begin_ his change with justness; because it is necessary, that the times of giving the hand and leg, should be so close one to the other, as not to be perceived or distinguished.--you should never abandon, i have already said, that rein with which you bend your horse; this is the reason--every horse when he makes a change, ought to look towards the way he is going; this turn of the neck, this attitude, enables him to perform his work better, and makes him appear graceful in it; therefore if he is turned or bent before he begins to change, why should you abandon the rein that serves to bend him; since in this case, you would be under a double difficulty in wanting on one hand the point of apuy, which ought to be found in the rein which serves to bend him, and the point of apuy which ought to result from the working of the other rein, which is to determine him.--the outward rein operates to bring in the outward shoulder, your outward leg accompanies the action of your hand; here then is your change begun. the outward shoulder and leg never could have been brought in, without passing over or crossing the inner leg and shoulder; this is the action which the outward leg should constantly perform through the whole change. in order to arrive at a just execution of this, you should be able to feel which feet are off the ground, and which are upon it. if the inner leg is in the air, and the horse is ready to put it to the ground, raise your hand, and carry it _in_ insensibly, and your horse will be oblig'd to advance his outward leg and shoulder, which must by this means cross the inner leg and shoulder whether he will or no. it is not sufficient for the horse to cross his legs only one over the other, he must go forward likewise at the same time, because in making the change large, his feet should describe two diagonal lines.--it is of importance therefore, that the same attention be had to the inner as the outward leg, for it is by the means of his legs only that he can advance. it is true that you should endeavour to make him go forward by putting back your body, and yielding your hand; but if he won't obey these aids, you must make use of the calfs of your legs, aiding more strongly with your left-leg when you are going to the right-hand, and more strongly with your right-leg when you are going to the left. besides, it is so necessary to have an equal attention to the legs, because the horse could never work with justness, if he were not ballanced equally between the rider's legs; and it is from this exact obedience only, that he is enabled to make the changes with precision, because without a knowledge of the hand and heels, it is impossible he should obey the motions of his rider--in order to _close_ the change justly, the horses fore-legs should arrive at the same time upon a strait line; so that a change justly executed, and in the same cadence or time, is such, as is not only begun, but finish'd likewise, and closed in such a proportion, that the croupe always accompanies and keeps pace with the shoulders throughout.--in order to finish it in this manner, you must observe the following rules. the greater number of horses, instead of finishing their changes with exactness, are apt to lean on one side, to make their croupe go before their shoulders, and to throw themselves with impatience, in order to get upon one line again; the method of correcting them for these irregularities, is to make a demi-volte of two lines, in the same place where they were to have closed their change; for example, if in changing to the right, they are too eager to come upon the strait line, without having properly finish'd their change, demand of them a demi-volte to the left, which you must make them round equally with their shoulders and haunches. an essential point, which nevertheless is little regarded, is the making your horse resume his line, or go off again to the other hand, when he has made his change. to make him do this, you must carry your hand to the side to which you have closed your change, and carry it insensibly as it were, after which you will be able with great ease to bend your horse to the inside. i must further explain the necessity of this action. it is evident that a horse in the passage, neither can, nor ought if he could, move the two feet on the same side together. in beginning and finishing the change, the outward leg and shoulder pass and cross over the inner leg and shoulder; he is consequently supported in this action on the outward haunch, for the inner foot behind was off the ground; now, if at the closing of the change, and in the instant that he is again upon one line; as for example--if in closing his change to the right, the horse is supported in this action by the left haunch, how is it possible that he can be bent to the left? to attempt this, would be to make him move two legs on the same side, which would be undertaking a thing impossible to be done. being therefore arrived upon one line, carry your hand to the wall, this will make your horse change his leg; he will be supported in his action by his right haunch, and will be able to bend himself with great facility. in order to make the volte true and perfect, he ought to be just with respect to his head and neck, and have the action of his shoulders and haunches quite equal. when i say that a horse should have his shoulders and haunches equal, i would not be understood to mean, that his fore-feet should not cover more ground than his hinder; on the contrary, i know it is a rule never to be departed from, that his shoulders should precede half of the haunches; but i insist that the haunches should go along with, and follow exactly the motion of, the shoulders; for 'tis from their agreement, and from the harmony between the hind-legs and the fore, upon which the truth of the volte depends. the four legs of a horse may be compared to the four strings of an instrument; if these four cords don't correspond, it is impossible there should be any musick; it is the same with a horse, if the motions of his haunches and fore-legs don't act together and assist each other, and if he has not acquired a habit and ease to perform what he ought to do, the most expert and dextrous horseman will never be able to acquit himself as he ought, nor execute any air justly and with pleasure, be it either on the volte or strait forward. whenever you put your horse to the passage upon the voltes, he ought to make the same number of steps or times with his hinder, as with his fore-feet; if the space of the ground upon which he works is narrow and confin'd, his steps should be shorter. i will suppose that he describes a large circle with his fore-feet; the action of his outward shoulder ought consequently to be free, and the shoulder much advanced, in order to make the outward leg pass over and cross at every step the inner leg, that he may more easily embrace his volte, without quitting the line of the circle, and without disordering his hinder-leg; which ought likewise to be subject to the same laws as the fore-legs, and cross the outward leg over the inner, but not so much as the fore-legs, because they have less ground to go over, and should only keep the proportion.--in working upon voltes of two lines, the horse should make as many steps with his hinder as with his fore-feet; because those horses whose haunches go before the shoulders, and who cut and shorten the exact line of the volte, are apt to keep their hinder-feet in one place, and make at the same time one or two steps with their fore-feet, and by this means falsify and avoid filling up the circle in the proportion they begun it. the same fault is to be found with horses who hang back at the end of a change, and throwing out their croupe, arrive at the wall with their shoulders, and consequently fail to close their change justly. further, in working upon this lesson, it is indispensably necessary that at every step the horse takes, he should make his outward leg cross and come over the inner, because this will prevent a horse that is too quick of feeling, or one, that is _ramingue_, from becoming _entier_, or to bend himself, or lean in his voltes, vices that are occasion'd from having the haunches or hinder-legs too much constrain'd. there are horses likewise who have their croupe so light and uncertain, that from the moment they have begun the volte, they lean and widen their hinder-legs, and throw them out of the volte. to remedy this, aid with the outward leg, carrying your bridle-hand to the same side, and not _in_, because it is by the means of the outward leg and inner rein, that you will be enabled to adjust and bring in the croupe upon the line which it ought to keep. if it happens that the horse don't keep up to the line of his volte, or throws his croupe out, press him forward, letting him go strait on two or three steps, keeping him firm in the hand, and in a slow and just time, and use the aids which i have just now directed.--this lesson is equally useful in case your horse is naturally inclin'd to carry his haunches too much in, and where he is _ramingue_, or in danger of becoming so; but then the aids must be given on the side to which he leans, and presses, in order to widen his hinder-parts, and to push the croupe out. above all you should remember, that whatever tends to bend or turn the head on one side, will always drive the croupe on the other; when the horse's croupe don't follow his shoulders equally, the fault may proceed either from a disobedience to the hand, or from his not answering the heels as he ought. if you would remedy this, keep him low before; that is to say, keep your bridle-hand very low, and while you make him advance upon two treads, aid him firmly with the calfs of the legs; for as the outward leg will confine and keep his croupe _in_, the inner leg, operating with the outward, will make him go forward. if you find that your horse disobeys the heel, and throws his croupe out in spite of that aid, in this case make use of your inner rein, carrying your hand out with your nails turned upwards; this will infallibly operate upon the croupe, and restrain it. use the same remedy, if in the passage your horse carries his head out of the volte, and you will bring it in; but you must remember, in both cases, to replace your hand immediately after having carried it out, in order to make the outward rein work, which will facilitate and enable the outward legs to cross over the inner. if the horse breaks the line, and flings his croupe upon the right-heel, work him to that side with your left; if he would go sideways to the left, make him go to the right; if he flings his croupe _out_, put it quietly _in_; in short, if all at once he brings it _in_, put it quietly _out_; and, in a word, teach him by the practice of good lessons to acquire a facility and habit of executing whatever you demand of him. _the_ consequence of all the different rules and principles, which i have here laid down, and which may be applied equally to the changes, large and narrow, to changes upon the voltes, and half-voltes; the consequence of these instructions i say will be, if practised judiciously, a most implicit and exact obedience on the part of the horse, who from that moment, will resign his own will and inclination, and make it subservient to that of the rider, which he must teach him to know by making him acquainted with the hand and heel. chap. xiii. _of the aids of the body._ the perfection of all the aids consists, as i have already proved, in their mutual harmony and correspondence, for without this agreement, they must be always ineffectual; because the horse can never work with exactness and delicacy, and keep the proportion and measure which is inseparable to all airs, when justly and beautifully executed. this maxim being laid down, we shall undertake to demonstrate, that the aids of the body contribute, and are even capable of themselves, from the principles of geometry, to make us acquire the union of the aids of the hand and leg; and if so, we shall be obliged to own the conclusion, that they are to be prefer'd to all the rest. the justness of the aids of the body depends upon the seat of the horseman.--till he is arrived at the point of being able to sit down close and firm in his saddle, so as to be immoveable in it, it would be vain to expect he should be able to manage a horse; because, besides that he would be incapable of feeling his motions, he would not be possessed of that equilibre and firmness of seat, which is the characteristic of a horseman. i would define the equilibre to be, when the horseman sits upon his twist, directly down and close upon the saddle, and so firm that nothing can loosen or disturb his seat; and by firmness, i express that grasp or hold with which he keeps himself on the horse, without employing any strength, but trusting entirely to his ballance, to humour and accompany all the motions of the horse. nothing but exercise and practice can give this equilibre, and consequently this hold upon the horse. in the beginning, the fear which almost every scholar feels, and the constraint which all his limbs are under, make him apt to press the saddle very close with his thighs and knees, as he imagines he shall by this method acquire a firmer seat; but the very efforts that he makes to resist the motions of the horse, stiffen his body, and lift him out of the saddle, so that any rude motion, or unexpected shock, would be likely to unhorse him; for from the moment that he ceases to sit down and quite close to the saddle, every sudden jirk and motion of the horse attacking him under his twist, must shove him out of the saddle. we will suppose then a person, the position of whose body is just and regular, and who, by being able to sit down perpendicular and full in his saddle, can feel and unite himself to his horse so as to accompany all his motions; let us see then how this person, from the motions of his own body, will be able to accord and unite the aids or times of the hands and legs. in order to make your horse take or go into the corner of the manage, you must begin by _opening_ it. to open a corner, is to turn the shoulder before you come to it, in order to make it cover the ground; and then the croupe which is turn'd _in_ will not follow the line of the shoulders, till they are turn'd and brought upon a strait line in order to come out of the corner.--in order to turn the shoulder to open the corner, you must carry your hand to the right or left, according to the hand to which you are to go; and to throw in the croupe, you must support it with the leg on that side to which you carry your hand.--to make the shoulders turn and come out of the corner, you must carry your hand on the side opposite to that to which you turned it, in order to go into the corner; and that the croupe may pass over the same ground as the shoulders, you must support with the leg on the contrary side to that with which you aided in order to bring the haunches in; the horse never can perform any of these actions without an entire agreement of all these aids, and one single motion of the body will be sufficient to unite them all with the utmost exactness. in effect, instead of carrying your hand out, and seconding that aid with the leg, turn your body but imperceptibly towards the corner, just as if you intended to go into it yourself; your body then turning to the right or left, your hand, which is one of its appurtenances, must necessarily turn likewise, and the leg of the side on which you turn, will infallibly press against the horse, and aid him.--if you would come out of the corner, turn your body again, your hand will follow it, and your other leg approaching the horse, will put his croupe into the corner, in such a manner, that it will follow the shoulders, and be upon the same line.--it is by these means that you will be enabled to time the aids of the hand and legs with greater exactness, than you could do, were you not to move your body; for how dextrous and ready soever you may be, yet when you only use your hand and legs, without letting their aids proceed from, and be guided by your body, they can never operate so effectually, and their action is infinitely less smooth, and not so measured and proportioned, as when it proceeds only from the motion of the body. the same motion of the body is likewise necessary in turning entirely to the right or left, or to make your horse go sideways on one line, or in making the changes. if when you make a change, you perceive the croupe to be too much _in_, by turning your body _in_, you will drive it out, and the hand following the body, determines the shoulder by means of the outward rein, which is shorten'd; if the croupe is too much _out_, turn your body _out_, and this posture carrying the hand out, shortens the inner rein, and confines the croupe, acting in concert with the outward leg, which works and approaches the side of the horse.--this aid is by so much better, because if executed with delicacy, it is imperceptible, and never alarms the horse; i say, if executed as it ought to be, for we are not talking here of turning the shoulder, and so falsifying the posture. in order to make the hand and leg work together, it is necessary that the motion should proceed from the horseman, which in turning carries with it the rest of the body insensibly; without this, very far from being assisted by the ballance of your body in the saddle, you would lose it entirely, and together with it the gracefulness of your seat; and your ballance being gone, how can you expect to find any justness in the motions of your horse, since all the justness and beauty of his motions must depend upon the exactness of your own? the secret aids of the body are such then as serve to prevent, and accompany all the motions of the horse. if you will make him go backward, throw back your own body, your hand will go with it, and you will make the horse obey by a single turn of the waist.--would you have him go forward, for this purpose put your body back, but in a less degree; don't press the horse's fore-parts with your weight, because by leaning a little back you will be able to approach your legs to his sides with greater ease.--if your horse rises up, bend your body forward; if he kicks, leaps, or strikes out behind, throw your body back; if he gallops when he should not, oppose all his motions, and for this purpose push your waist forward towards the pummel of the saddle, making a bend or hollow at the same time in your loins: in short, do you work your horse upon great circles, with the head _in_ and croupe _out_? let your body then be a part of the circle, because this posture bringing your hand _in_, you bring in the horse's outward shoulder, over which the inner shoulder crosses circularly, and your inner leg being likewise by this method near your horse's side, you leave his croupe at liberty. i call it becoming a part of the circle yourself, when you incline a little the balance of your body towards the center; and this balance proceeds entirely from the outward hip, and turning it _in_. the aids of the body then are those which conduce to make the horse work with greater pleasure, and consequently perform his business with more grace; if then they are such, as to be capable alone of constituting the justness of the airs; if they unite, and make the hand and legs work in concert; if they are so fine and subtle, as to be imperceptible, and occasion no visible motion in the rider, but the horse seems to work of himself; if they comprize at the same time, the most established and certain principles of the art; if the body of the horseman, which is capable of employing them, is of consequence firm without constraint or stiffness, and supple without being weak or loose; if these are the fruits which we derive from them, we must fairly own, that this is the shortest, the most certain, and plainest method we can follow, in order to form a horseman. chap. xiv. _of the gallop._ the trot is the foundation of the gallop; the proof of its being so is very clear and natural. the action of the trot is crosswise, that of the gallop is from an equal motion of the fore and hinder-legs; now, if you trot out your horse briskly and beyond his pitch, he will be compell'd when his fore-feet are off the ground, to put his hinder-foot down so quick, that it will follow the fore-foot of the same side; and it is this which forms the true gallop: the trot then is beyond dispute the foundation of the gallop. as the perfection of the trot consists in the suppleness of the joints and limbs, that of the gallop depends upon the lightness and activity of the shoulders; a good apuy, and the vigour and resolution of the career, must depend upon the natural spirit and courage of the horse. it should be a rule, never to make a horse gallop, till he presents and offers to do it of himself.--trotting him out boldly and freely, and keeping him in the hand, so as to raise and support his fore-parts, will assist him greatly; for when his limbs are become supple and ready, and he is so far advanced, as to be able to unite and put himself together without difficulty, he will then go off readily in his gallop; whereas, if on the contrary he should pull or be heavy, the gallop would only make him abandon himself upon the hand, and fling him entirely upon his shoulders. to put a horse in the beginning of his lessons from the walk to the gallop, and to work him in it upon circles, is demanding of him too great a degree of obedience. in the first place, it is very sure that the horse can unite himself with greater ease in going strait forward, than in turning; and, in the next place, the walk being a slow and distinct pace, and the gallop being quick and violent, it is much better to begin with the trot, which is a quick action, than with the walk, which is slow and calm, however raised and supported its action may be.--two things are requisite to form the gallop, _viz._ it ought to be _just_, and it ought to be _even_ or _equal_.--i call that gallop _just_, in which the horse leads with the right-leg before, and i call that the right-leg which is foremost, and which the horse puts out beyond the other. for instance--a horse gallops and supports himself in his gallop, upon the outward fore-foot, the right fore-foot clears the way, the horse consequently gallops with the right-foot, and the gallop is just, because he puts forward and leads with his right-foot. this motion of the right-foot is indispensably necessary, for if the horse were to put his left fore-foot first, his gallop would be _false_; so that it is to be understood, that whenever you put a horse to the gallop, he should always go off with his right fore-foot, and keep it foremost, or he can never be said to gallop _just_ and _true_.--i understand by an _even_ or _equal_ gallop, that in which the hind-parts follow and accompany the fore-parts; as for example--if a horse gallops, or leads with his right-leg before, the hind right-leg ought to follow; for if the left hind-leg were to follow, the horse would then be disunited: the justness then of the gallop depends upon the action of the fore-feet, as the union or evenness of it does on the hind-feet. this general rule which fixes the justness of the gallop, that is to say, this principle which obliges the horse to lead with the right fore-foot when he gallops, strict as it is, yet sometimes parts with its privileges in deference to the laws of the manage.--the design of this school is to make equally supple and active all the limbs of a horse.--it is not requisite then that the horse should lead always with the same leg, because it is absolutely necessary that he should be equally ready and supple with both his shoulders, in order to work properly upon the different airs.--it seems but reasonable that this rule should be observed likewise out of the manage; and therefore it has of late obtain'd that hunting-horses should lead indifferently with both legs; because it has been found on trial, that by strictly adhering to the rule of never suffering a horse to gallop but with his right fore-leg, he has been quite ruin'd and worn out on one side, when he was quite fresh and sound on the other.--be that as it will, it is not less certain, that in the manage a horse may gallop false, either in going strait forward, or in going round, or upon a circle; for instance--he is going strait, and to the right-hand, and sets off with the left fore-foot; he then is false, just as he would be, if in going to the left, he should lead with his right fore-foot. the motions of a horse, when disunited, are so disorder'd and perplex'd, that he runs a risque of falling, because his action then is the action of the trot, and quite opposite to the nature of the gallop. it is true, that for the rider's sake he had better be false. if a horse in full gallop changes his legs from one side to the other alternately, this action of the amble in the midst of his course, is so different from the action of the gallop, that it occasions the horse to go from the trot to the amble, and from the amble to the trot. when a horse gallops strait forward, however short and confin'd his gallop is, his hind-feet always go beyond his fore feet, even the foot that leads, as well as the other.--to explain this.--if the inner fore-foot leads, the inner hind-foot ought to follow, so that the inner feet, both that which leads, and that which follows, are prest, the other two at liberty.--the horse sets off, the outward fore-foot is on the ground, and at liberty, this makes one _time_; immediately the inner fore-foot which leads and is prest, marks a second, here are two _times_; then the outward hind-foot which was on the ground, and at liberty, marks the third _time_; lastly, the inner hind-foot which leads and is prest, comes to the ground, and marks the fourth; so that when a horse goes strait forward and gallops just, he performs it in four distinct _times_, _one_, _two_, _three_, _four_. it is very difficult to feel exactly, and perceive these times of the gallop; but yet by observation and practice it may be done.--the times of a horse, who covers and embraces a good deal of ground, are much more easy to mark than his who covers but little.--the action of the one is quick and short, and that of the other long, slow, and distinct; but whether the natural motions and _beats_ of the horse are slow or quick, the horseman absolutely ought to know them, in order to humour and work conformably to them; for should he endeavour to lengthen and prolong the action of the one, in hopes of making him go forward more readily, and to shorten and confine that of the other, in order to put him more _together_; the action of both would in this case not only be forced and disagreeable, but the horses would resist and defend themselves, because art is intended only to assist and correct, but not to change nature.--in working your horse upon circles, it is the outward rein that you must use to guide and make him go forward; for this purpose turn your hand _in_ from time to time, and aid with your outward leg.--if the croupe should be turn'd too much out, you must carry your hand on the outward side of your horse's neck; and you will confine it, and keep it from quitting its line.--i would be understood of circles of two lines or treads, where the haunches are to be attended to.--before you put your horse to this, he should be gallop'd upon plain, or circles of one line only.--in this lesson, in order to supple your horse, make use of your inner rein to pull his head towards the center, and aid with the leg of the same side, to push his croupe out of the volte; by this means you bend the ribs of the horse. the hind-feet certainly describe a much larger circle than his fore-feet; indeed they make a second line: but when a horse is said to gallop only upon a circle of one line or tread, he always and of necessity makes two; because, were the hind-feet to make the same line as the fore-feet, the lesson would be of no use, and the horse would never be made supple; for he only becomes supple in proportion as the circle made with his hind-feet is greater than that described by his fore-feet. when your horse is so far advanced, as to be able to gallop lightly and readily upon this sort of circle, begin then to make frequent stops with him.--to make them well in the gallop, with his head in, and croupe out, the rider must use his outward leg, to bring _in_ the outward leg of the horse; otherwise he would never be able to stop upon his haunches, because the outward haunch is always out of the volte. to make a stop in a gallop strait forwards, you should carefully put your horse _together_, without altering or disturbing the apuy, and throw your body back a little, in order to accompany the action, and to relieve the horse's shoulders.--you should seize the time of making the stop, keeping your hand and body quite still, exactly when you feel the horse put his fore-feet to the ground, in order that by raising them immediately, by the next motion that he would make, he may be upon his haunches.--if on the contrary, you were to begin to make the stop, while the shoulders of the horse were advanced, or in the air, you would run the risque of hardening his mouth, and must throw him upon his shoulders, and even upon the hand, and occasion him to make some wrong motions with his head, being thus surprized at the time when his shoulders and feet are coming to the ground. there are some horses who retain themselves, and don't put out their strength sufficiently; these should be galloped briskly, and then slowly again, remembring to gallop them sometimes fast, and sometimes slow, as you judge necessary.--let them go a little way at full speed, make a half stop, by putting back your body, and bring them again to a slow gallop; by these means they will most certainly be compelled both to obey the hand and heel. in the slow gallop, as well as in the trot, it is necessary sometimes to close your heels to the horse's sides, this is called _pinching_; but you must pinch him in such a manner, as not to make him abandon himself upon the hand, and take care that he be upon his haunches, and not upon his shoulders, and therefore whenever you pinch him, keep him in the hand. to put him well together, and make him bring his hind-legs under him, close your two legs upon him, putting them very back; this will oblige him to slide his legs under him; at the same instant, raise your hand a little to support him before, and yield it again immediately. support him and give him the rein again from time to time, till you find that he begins to play and bend his haunches, and that he gallops leaning and sitting down as it were upon them; press him with the calfs of the legs, and you will make him quick and sensible to the touch. if your horse has too fine a mouth, gallop him upon sloping ground, this will oblige him to lean a little upon the hand, the better to put himself upon his haunches; and the fear that he will be under of hurting his bars, will prevent his resisting the operation of the bitt. if galloping upon a sloping ground assures and fixes a mouth that is weak and fickle, make use of the same ground in making your horse ascend it, in case he is heavy in the hand; and his apuy be too strong, and it will lighten him. there are some horsemen who mark each motion of the horse in his gallop, by moving their bodies and heads; they ought, however, without stiffness or constraint to consent and yield to all his motions, yet with a smoothness and pliancy so as not to be perceived, for all great or rude motions always disturb the horse.--to do this you must advance or present your breast, and stretch yourself firm in your stirrups; this is the only way to fix and unite yourself entirely to the animal who carries you. the property of the gallop is, as may be gathered from all that has been said of it, to give the horse a good apuy. in reality, in this action he lifts at every time both his shoulders and legs together, in such a manner, that in making this motion his fore-part is without support, till his fore-feet come to the ground; so that the rider, by supporting or bearing him gently in hand, as he comes down, can consequently give an apuy to a mouth that has none.----you must take care, that by retaining your horse too much in his gallop, you don't make him become _ramingue_, and weaken the mouth that is light and unsteady; as the full or extended gallop is capable on the other hand, to harden an apuy which was strong and _full in the hand_ before. the gallop does not only assure and make steady a weak and delicate mouth, but it also supples a horse, and makes him ready and active in his limbs.--it fixes the memory and attention of horses likewise, who from too much heat and impetuosity in their temper, never attend to the aids of the rider, nor the times of their setting off; it teaches those who retain themselves, to go forward, and to set off ready and with spirit; and lastly, it takes off all the superfluous vigour of such horses as, from too much gaiety, avail themselves of their strength and courage to resist their riders.--take care, however, to proportion this lesson to the nature, the strength, and inclination of the animal; and remember, that a violent and precipitate gallop would hurt an impatient and hot horse, as much as it would be proper and useful to one who retains himself, and is jadish and lazy. chap. xv. _of passades._ the passades are the truest proofs a horse can give of his goodness.--by his going off you judge of his swiftness; by his stop, you discover the goodness or imperfection of his mouth; and by the readiness with which he turns, you are enabled to decide upon his address and grace; in short, by making him go off a second time you discover his temper and vigour.--when your horse is light and active before, is firm upon his haunches, and has them supple and free, so as to be able to accompany the shoulders, is obedient and ready to both hands, and to the stop, he is then fit to be work'd upon passades. [illustration: passade to the right.] walk him along the side of the wall in a steady even pace, supporting and keeping him light in the hand, in order to shew him the length of the passade, and the roundness of the _volte_ or _demi-volte_, which he is to make at the end of each line.--stop at the end, and when he has finish'd the last time of the stop raise him, and let him make two or three pesades. after this make a demivolte of two lines in the walk; and while he is turning, and the moment you have clos'd it, demand again of him two or three pesades, and then let him walk on in order to make as many to the other hand. [illustration: passade to the left.] you must take care to confirm him well in this lesson.--from the walk you will put him to the trot upon a strait line; from the trot to a slow gallop, from that to a swifter; being thus led on by degrees, and step by step, he will be able to furnish all sorts of passades, and to make the demi-volte in any air that you have taught him. you should never put your horse to make a volte or demi-volte at the time that he is disunited, pulls, or is heavy in the hand, or is upon his shoulders; on the contrary, you should stop him at once, and make him go backward till you perceive that he is regulated and united upon his haunches, light _before_, and has taken a good and just apuy. a perfect passade is made in this manner.--your horse standing strait and true upon all his feet, you go off with him at once, you stop him upon his haunches; and in the same _time_ or _cadence_ in which he made his stop, being exactly obedient to the hand and heel, he ought to make the demi-volte, balancing himself upon his haunches, and so waiting till you give him the aid to set off again. it is requisite then that the least motion or hint of the rider should be an absolute command to the horse.--if you would have him go off at full speed, yield your hand, close the calves of your legs upon him; if he don't answer to this aid, give him the spurs, but you must give them so as not to remove them from the place where they were, and without opening or advancing your legs before you strike. the high passades are those which a horse makes, when being at the end of his line, he makes his demi-volte in any air he has been taught, either in the _mezair_ or in _curvets_, which is very beautiful.--therefore in high passades let your horse go off at full speed; let your stop be follow'd by three curvets; let the demi-volte consist of the same number, and demand of him three more before he sets off again.--it is usual to make nine curvets when you work a horse alone and by himself. the furious or violent passades, are when a horse gallops at his utmost speed strait forward, and makes his half stop, bending and playing his haunches two or three times, before he begins his demi-volte, which is made upon one line, in three times; for at the third time he should finish the demi-volte, and be strait upon the line of the passade, in order to go off again and continue it. this sort of passades was heretofore used in private combats, and although it may appear that the time that is employed in making the half stop is lost, and only hinders you from gaining the croupe of the enemy; yet the half stop is indispensably necessary, for unless a horse is balanced upon his haunches, and they bend and play under him, he could never make his demi-volte, without being in danger of falling. chap. xvi. _of pesades._ the pesade takes its name from the motion of the horse, which, in this action, leans and lays all the weight of his body upon his haunches.--to be perfect, the hind-feet which support the whole ought to be fix'd and immoveable, and the fore-part of the horse more or less rais'd, according as the creature will allow, but the fore-legs, from the knee to the feet, must always be extremely bent and brought under him. the property of the pesade is to dispose and prepare a horse for all sorts of manages; for it is the foundation of all the airs: great caution, however, must be had not to teach your horse to rise up or stand upon his haunches, which is making a _pesade_, if he is not quite exact and obedient to the hand and heel; for in this case you would throw him into great disorder, spoil his mouth, and falsify the apuy, would teach him to make _points_, as they are called, and even make him become _restive_; inasmuch as the generality of horses only rise up to resist their rider, and because they will neither go forward nor turn. your horse then being so far advanced as to be fit to be tried and exercised in the pesade, work him upon the walk, the trot, and gallop; stop him in the hand, keep him firm and moderately _together_; aid with the tongue, the switch, and your legs; the moment you perceive he comprehends what it is you would have him to do, though never so little, encourage and caress him.--if in the beginning of this lesson you were to use force or rigour, he would consider the strictness of your hand, and the aids of the legs, as a punishment, and it would discourage him. it is therefore proper to work gently and by degrees; whenever then he makes an attempt to rise, caress him; make him go forwards, try to make him rise a second time, either more or less, and use him by degrees to rise higher and higher; you will find that he will soon be able to make his pesades perfect, and to make four, or even more, with ease and readiness; sluggish and heavy horses require in the beginning stronger and sharper aids. there are other horses who are apt to rise of themselves, without being requir'd to do so; drive them forward in order to prevent them.--some in making the pesade, don't bend and gather up their fore-legs, but stretch them out, paw, and cross them one over the other in the air, resembling the action of a person's hands who plays upon the spinnet; to these horses you mush apply the switch, striking them briskly upon the shoulders or knees.--there are others, who in the instant that you endeavour to make them rise, availing themselves of the power which they have from being put _together_, in order to perform this action, throw themselves forward in hopes of freeing themselves from all subjection; the only way to correct such vices, is to make the horse go backward the same length of ground, that he forced and broke through.--there is another kind of horses, who to avoid being _put together_ in order to make a pesade, as well as to resist the rider, will fling their croupe _in_ and _out_, sometimes to one side, sometimes to the other; in this case, if you perceive that your horse is apt to fling his croupe more to the left than to the right, you must put him to the wall, the wall being on the left-hand, and there support and confine him with your right-leg, and even _pinch_ him if there should be occasion; taking care to carry your hand to the right, but imperceptibly, and no more than what will just serve to shorten the left rein. if he throws himself to the right, you must put him so as to have the wall on the right; you must support and pinch him with your left-leg, and shorten your right-rein by carrying your hand to the left.--i must however repeat it over and over, that in a lesson of this kind, in which a horse may find out methods and inventions to resist and defend himself; i say, in giving such lessons, the rider ought to be master of the surest judgment and most consummate prudence. moreover, you should take care not to fall into the mistake of those who imagine that the higher a horse rises, the more he is upon his haunches.--in the pesade, the croupe is pushed back, and the horse bends his haunches; but if he rises too high, he no longer sits upon his haunches, for from that moment he becomes stiff, and stands strait upon his hocks; and instead of throwing his croupe back, he draws it towards him. those sort of pesades, in which the horse rises too high, and stiffens his hocks, are call'd _goat-pesades_, as they resemble the action of that animal. the aids that are to be given in pesades are derived from those used to make a horse go backward.--place your hand as if you intended to make your horse go backward, but close your legs at the same time, and he will rise.--for this reason nothing is more absurd than the method which some horsemen teach their scholars, who oblige them, in order to make their horses rise, to use only their switch; they must certainly not know that the hand confining the fore-part, and the rider's legs driving the hinder-parts forward, the horse is compell'd, whether he will or no, to raise his shoulders from the ground, and to throw all the weight of his body upon his haunches. chap. xvii. _of the mezair._ the gallop is the foundation of the _terre-a-terre_; for in these two motions the principle of the action is the same, since the _terre-a-terre_ is only a shorten'd gallop, with the croupe _in_, and the haunches following in a close and quick time. the mezair is higher than the action of _terre-a-terre_, and lower than that of _curvets_; we may therefore conclude, that the _terre-a-terre_, is the foundation of the mezair, as well as of _curvets_.--in the _terre-a-terre_, the horse should be more _together_ than in the gallop, that he may mark his _time_ or _cadence_ more distinctly; although in a true _terre-a-terre_, there are no times to be mark'd, for it is rather a gliding of the haunches, which comes from the natural springs in the limbs of the horse. i have said, that the _terre-a-terre_ is the foundation of the _mezair_; in effect, the higher you raise the fore-parts of the horse, the slower and more distinct his action will be, and by making him beat and mark the time with his hind-feet, instead of gliding them along as in the _terre-a-terre_, you put him to the _mezair_, or _half-curvets_. when a horse works _terre-a-terre_, he always ought, the same as in the _gallop_, to lead with the legs that are within the volte, his two fore-feet being in the air, and the moment that they are coming down, his two hind-feet following. the action of the gallop is always one, two, three, and four; the _terre-a-terre_ consists only of two lines, one, two.--the action is like that of _curvets_, except that it is more under the horse; that is, he bends his haunches more, and moves them quicker and closer than in curvets. to work a horse _terre-a-terre_ upon large circles, take care to keep your body strait, steady and true in the saddle, without leaning to one side or the other.--lean upon the outward stirrup, and keep your outward leg nearer the side of the horse than the other leg, taking care to do it so as not to let it be perceived.--if you go to the right, keep your bridle-hand a little on the outside of the horse's neck, turning your little finger up, without turning your nails at the same time; although if need be you must turn them, in order to make the inner rein work which passes over the little-finger.--keep your arms and elbows to your hips, by this means you will assure and confine your hands, which ought to accompany, and, if i may so say, run along the line of the circle with the horse. in the _mezair_, use the same aids as in working upon _curvets_.--give the aids of the legs with delicacy, and no stronger than is just necessary to carry your horse forward.--remember when you close your legs to make him go forward, to press with the outward in such a degree as to keep your horse confin'd; and to assist the other in driving him forward; it is not necessary to lay so much stress on the inner leg, because that serves only to guide the horse, and make him cover and embrace the ground that lays before him. chap. xviii. _of curvets._ of all the high airs, curvets are the least violent, and consequently the most easy to the horse, inasmuch as they require nothing of the horse but what he has done before. in reality, to make him stop readily and justly, he has been taught to take a good and true apuy; in order to make him rise, he has been put _together_, and supported firm upon his haunches; to make him advance, to make him go backward, and to make him stop, he has been made acquainted with the aids of the heels and hands; so that in order to execute curvets, nothing remains for him to do, but to learn and comprehend the measure and time of the air. curvets are derived and drawn out of the pesades.--we have already said that pesades ought to be made slowly, very high before, and accompanied a little by the haunches. curvets are lower before, the horse must advance, his haunches must follow closer, and _beat_ or mark a quicker _time_; the haunches must be bent, his hocks be firm, his two hind-feet advance equally at every time, and their action must be short quick, just, and in exact measure and proportion. this action, when suited to the strength and disposition of the horse, is not only beautiful in itself, but even necessary to fix and place his head; because this air is, or ought to be founded, upon the true _apuy_ of his mouth. it likewise lightens the fore-part; for as it can't be perform'd unless the horse collects his strength upon his haunches, it must of consequence take the weight off from the shoulders. it is well known, that in working upon every air, the strength, the vigour, and the disposition of the horse should be consider'd; the importance of this attention to these qualities is sufficiently acknowledged; and it is granted and allowed, that art serves, and can serve, to no other end than to improve and make nature perfect.--now it will be easy to discover to what air a horse should be destin'd, and to what he is most dispos'd and capable of executing, by seeing his actions, and by the greater or less degree of pains which will be requisite to supple him. when you design a horse for the _curvets_, take care to chuse one, which, besides having the necessary disposition to that manage, will have likewise patience enough in his temper to perform them well.--a natural disposition alone will not suffice; there are horses who will present themselves to them, but being by nature impatient of all restraint, from the moment that they feel any pain or difficulty in furnishing what you ask of them, they will disobey and deceive you in the very instant that you thought them gain'd.--it requires much skill to know how to begin with such horses, and to confirm them in their business.--take it for a certain truth, that you will never succeed, if your horse is not perfectly obedient to the hand and heel; if he is not supple, and able to work upon one line or path, with freedom and ease; and if he is not likewise very well seated upon his haunches in his _terre-a-terre_, which he ought to be able to execute perfectly well. curvets are improper, and never succeed with horses which have bad feet, or any weakness or complaint in their hocks, whatever powers and qualifications they may otherwise have.--they are likewise apt to encourage a horse that is _ramingue_ in his vice, and are capable of teaching one which is not so by nature, to become _ramingue_, if he is not adjusted and brought to this air with great prudence. indeed, impatience and fretfulness often make a horse desperate when put to this manage; and not being able to endure the correction, nor comprehend the aids, he betakes himself to all sorts of defences, as well as that being confounded through fear, he is bewilder'd, and becomes abject and jadish.--it is almost impossible to say which of these imperfections are the most difficult to be cured.--before you put a horse to make _curvets_, he ought to work _terre-a-terre_; and if he can do this, he ought to be able to change hands upon _one_ and _two lines_, to go off readily, and to make a good stop. after this he should be able to make pesades easily, and so high before as to be held and supported in the hand, and always make them upon a strait line at first, and not on a circle.--after this ask of him two or three _curvets_; let him go then two or three steps, then make two or three _curvets_; and so alternately.--if you find that your horse is well in the hand, and that he advances regularly, is patient, and don't break his line, but keeps even upon it, he will dress very easily, and soon; if he presses forward too much, make him curvet in the same place, and make him often go backward.--after he has thus made two or three, demand then more of him, afterwards make him go backward, and so successively. one sees but few horses which in making curvets, plant themselves well upon their haunches and hocks, at least that are not apt to hang back, and who beat and mark equally and smartly the measure of the air, and keep their heads true and steady; for this reason the first lessons should be slow and gentle, making your horse rise very high before, because the longer time the horse is in the air, the easier it will be to him to adjust himself upon his haunches, and to assure his head, and bend or _gather up_ his fore-legs; on the contrary, if he don't rise high before, he only beats and throws about the dust, and shuffles his legs, and can never assemble the different parts of his body and be united, as he ought to be in this manage. when a horse in his first curvets makes of himself his beats, or times, diligent and quick, it is to be fear'd that this is only owing to fire and impatience; in this case there will be reason to suspect, that he has not strength sufficient for this manage, that he will soon do nothing but shuffle and throw about his legs without rising as he ought, or else that he will become _entier_; but if he rises freely and sufficiently high, without being in a hurry, or stiffening himself, and bends his hocks, it will then be very easy to shorten, reduce, and adjust the measure of his air, and to make it perfect in proportion to his resolution, his strength, and activity.--if when you are going to raise him, he rises suddenly of himself, consider whether this hasty action be not a proof likewise of what i have just now told you. the beauty and perfection of the fine airs when neatly executed, and their time just and true, don't consist so much in the diligence and quickness with which the horse brings his hind-feet to the ground and makes his _beats_; for if that were the proof, the horse would not have sufficient time to raise his fore-part, and to gather his fore-legs under him; but the true measure, and the harmony of his _time_, is when the hind-feet follow smoothly, and answer immediately to the fore-feet, and that these rise again in the instant that the others touch the ground. to teach a horse to _beat_ his _curvets_ neatly, and in an equal _time_ and _measure_, take care to keep him in a good and just _apuy_; keep yourself strait and well stretch'd down in the saddle, but without any stiffness, preserving always a certain ease and freedom, which is the characteristic of an horseman: let your hand be about three fingers breadth above the pommel of the saddle, and a little forward or advanced, keeping your nails up, and be diligent and ready to raise your horse; when you do this, put your body a little forward, but so as not to let it be perceived: above all put no stress in your legs, but let them be easy and loose, they will catch the _time_ of themselves better than you can give it. i am now speaking of an high-drest and perfect horse, who works with the greatest exactness; for if he was to break the line, to throw himself from one side to the other, refuse to advance, or not to lift his legs, you would then be obliged to give the aids in proportion to his understanding and feeling. it is not requisite that a horse should be absolutely perfect in curvets strait forward, before you put him to make them upon _voltes_. by being accustom'd to make them strait forward, when he is put to do them differently, he would feel a fresh constraint; in this case he might break and perplex his air in the action of turning, he would falsify the _volte_, and perhaps fall into many disorders; it is therefore right, as soon as he is grounded a little in curvets strait forwards, to begin to teach him the _time_ and the proportions of the _volte_. walk him then upon a _volte_ that is sufficiently large, and exactly round, taking care that he walks neither too slow nor too fast, and making him bring _in_ his head to the _volte_, so that he may acquire a habit of looking always into the _volte_, without letting his hind-feet however go off the line of his fore-feet. having thus taught him in the walk to both hands the space or ground of the _volte_, let him make three _pesades_, then three more, and let him make them with patience and lightly, but without stopping. trot him then upon the _volte_, stop him without letting him rise, caress him, and begin with him again to the other hand, and repeat the same.--when he begins to understand this lesson, let him make two _pesades_ together, then let him walk as before; observe these rules and this method, without hurrying or pressing him; increase by degrees by the number of _pesades_, and let him walk less as he begins to work with more ease; by these means he will soon be brought to furnish an entire _volte_. when your horse is so far advanced as to work upon the large _voltes_ in this slow manner, begin then by degrees to contract his compass of ground, and the measure of the pesades, till the _volte_ and the _air_ are reduced to their exact proportion; preventing him by aids and correction from putting his croupe _out_, or bringing it too much _within_ the _volte_, and taking care that he makes no wrong or aukward action with his head. it is impossible that a horse should furnish his air high, without shortening and contracting his body a good deal beyond his natural posture or make; because the action of itself is contracted and supported on the haunches, in such a manner that the hind-feet must of necessity advance, and widen the line which they made in the walk; or else the fore-feet must go back, and keep up the line and roundness of the _volte_; or else that the hind or fore-feet keeping an equal proportion, and answering each to each shorten it equally.--these different effects are very essential and worth remarking.--the first aid to be given should be with the legs, in order to make the horse's fore-feet keep thro' this high air the line of the _volte_, which he had mark'd out before in the walk. if he goes large, or quits the line, or abandons himself upon his shoulders, or upon the hand, the first aid then should come from the hand; this by confining will operate so as to raise him, and the hind-feet will come upon the line describ'd in the passage; lastly, if the horse is obedient, the rider will be able to unite him both behind and before, by the usual aids of the hand and heel acting together. when a horse walks or trots upon the _volte_, he is supported in his action by one of his fore and one of his hind-feet, which are both upon the ground together, while the other two are in the air; so that according to this method the line of the fore-feet, and that of the hind, are made at the same time; but when he raises his air and advances upon the _volte_, all his actions are changed; for then the two fore-feet are lifted up the first, and while they are coming down, he lifts the two hind-feet from the ground together, to finish and continue the _beats_ or _time_ of his air. the fore-feet being more advanced than the hind, must necessarily come down first, and consequently the horse can never be upon strait lines crossing each other, as he is when he walks or trots upon the _volte_. moreover, in a high air the horse does not only shorten and contract his whole action; but the better to strengthen and assist the attitude in which he supports and goes through his air, he opens and widens his hind-feet, keeping them at least twice the distance one from the other, that he did when he only walk'd or trotted upon the _volte_, and by consequence describes different lines.--there are three actions, and three motions, still to be consider'd in making _curvets_. these are, to raise him, to support him while he is in the air, and to make him go forwards.--to raise him, is to lift him up as it were by the action of the hand, and put him upon an high air; to support, is to hinder him from bringing his fore-part too soon to the ground; and carrying him forward, is to raise, support, and go forward at the same time, while the horse is off the ground. to make a horse go in _curvets_ sideways, aid only with the hand, keeping his head to the wall. for instance, to the right, aid him chiefly with the outward rein; that is to say, turn your hand to the right, for then the left-rein, which is the outward rein, will be shorten'd and operate upon the shoulders so as to work them.--if they go too much, use your inner rein, carrying your hand _out_, and in such a manner that the shoulders may go before the croupe.--let him make three _curvets_ sideways, passage him afterwards, always sideways; then let him make the same number of _curvets_ sideways, and obliquely, again, and begin by little and little to diminish his _passage_, and augment the _curvets_, till he is able to furnish without intervals an entire _volte_ of two lines. the same method must be followed in working to the left, as has been prescribed for the right. _curvets_ made backward are more fatiguing, and more apt to make a horse rebel, than _curvets_ strait forward upon the _voltes_, _demi-voltes_, or _sideways_.--to teach him to make them backwards, you must make him go backward; afterwards put him to make three or four _curvets_ in the same place, that is, without advancing.--then make him go forward again, let him make the same number again; and so successively till he makes them readily and without assistance. by habit he will expect to be made to go backward immediately after the last _curvet_: now, the moment he has made one in the same place, when he is making the second, seize the moment just as he is coming down, and pull him back, marking a _time_ with your hand, just as you would pull to make a horse go backward which resisted the hand; and this _time_ of the hand being made, ease it immediately. in this manner continue the _curvets_, pulling more or less, according as he obeys or resists; observing to lessen the times of pulling him back, and to increase the number of the _curvets_ backwards.--if he drags his haunches, that is, if the hind-feet don't go together, but one after the other, pinch him with both spurs; but you must put them very back, applying them with great delicacy, and taking care that he be in the hand when he comes down.--if with all this he continues _disunited_, aid on the croupe with the switch, turning the bigger end of it in your hand; and this will make him work and keep his _time_ or _beats_ very exactly. to go backwards in _curvets_, aid with the outward rein, you will confine the fore-part, and widen the hind-legs, which ought to be at liberty, because it is with them that he leads. they are follow'd by the fore-parts, which should keep the same ground or tract.--you must keep your hand low, that the horse may not go too high.--let your body be a little forward to give the greater liberty to the hind-legs, which are those that lead; and don't aid with your legs, unless he drags his haunches.--if the horse does not _unite_ of his own accord, you must catch the _time_ with your bridle-hand, as the horse is coming to the ground; in that instant, put your hand to your body, and so pull him back.--let us now see how you should be placed in the saddle, to make _curvets_ upon the _voltes_.--let only your outward hip and outward haunch be a little advanc'd; and remember to loosen always, and relax the inside of your knees, or your legs from the knees. when you intend to change to the left, let your hand accompany and correspond with your right-leg, which is to operate; when you would change to the right, let it answer to your left-leg: having given this aid, replace yourself, stretch yourself down in your saddle, take away your legs, one or the other, forbear to aid, and let the balance of your body be somewhat on the inside. understanding thus, and being master of the aids for working a horse in _curvets_ strait forwards, backwards, sideways, to the right and left, you will be able easily to teach your horse to make a cross, or even dance the saraband in this air; but this requires as much justness and activity in the horse, as exactness and delicacy in the rider to be able to give the aids, and very few horses are able to execute all these lessons which i have described: the utmost efforts of art, and the greatest suppleness that a horse can acquire, will be in vain, and unsuccessful, if he is not by nature inclin'd and disposed to the manage. that sort of exercise which hits the temper, and best suits the strength of a horse, will appear graceful, and preserve his health; while that which is opposite to his temper and genius will dishearten him, make him timid and abject, and plunge him into numberless ails and vices. chap. xix. _of croupades and balotades._ the _croupade_ is a leap, in which the horse draws up his hinder-legs as if he meant to shorten and truss them up under his belly. the _balotade_ is likewise a leap, in which the horse seems as if he intended to kick out, but without doing it; he only offers or makes a half kick, shewing only the shoes of his hind-feet. the horses that are destin'd to these airs ought to have a light and steady mouth, and an active and lively disposition, with clean and nervous strength; for all the art and knowledge of the horseman can never confer these qualities, which are essentially necessary to the perfection of this manage. the _croupades_ and _balotades_ are different from _curvets_, inasmuch as that they are much higher behind, and consequently their time and measure not so quick and close, but slower and more extended. therefore the rider should keep his horse's croupe ready and in awe, by striking it from time to time with the switch, supporting him not quite so high before, and observing to aid with his legs slower, and not so forward, as in the _curvets_. as the perfection of _curvets_, both upon the _voltes_ and strait forwards, is owing to the ease and justness of the pesades, the goodness of _croupades_ and _balotades_ depends likewise upon the same rules. your horse being made light before by the means of _pesades_ and _curvets_, begin by making him rise, as well before as behind, less however in the first lessons than afterwards; for you will never bring him to the true pitch, were you to exhaust all his strength at once, since while he is prest and compell'd to put forth all his strength, he will never be able to catch and mark the _time_, the cadence, and the just _beats_ of his air, both behind and before. i have already said, that the _croupades_ and the _balotades_ are higher than the curvets, they nevertheless partake of it; for though a horse that makes _balotades_, makes the measure of each time as high behind as before, yet he follows the _beat_ of his fore-feet with that of his hind-feet, the same as in _curvets_; for this reason, a horse that is intended for the _croupades_ and _balotades_, ought to be more active, light, and strong than one that is to be drest for _curvets_, as he should have less strength than one who is put to make caprioles strait forwards, or on voltes of one line, and to repeat them in the same place. to manage the strength and vigour of the horse you intend to work upon the _voltes_ in _croupades_ and _balotades_, let the line of the _volte_ be larger than for _curvets_, and let the action of the shoulders not be quite so high; thus you will not only check and confine his activity and lightness; but by raising his shoulders in a less degree, you will give liberty to his croupe, and he will be enabled by this method to furnish his airs all together, that is _before_ and _behind_, better, and with more ease; there is still another reason for this, for when the shoulders come to the ground from too great a height, the shock alarms and disorders the mouth; and then the horse losing the steadiness of his _apuy_, he never will raise his croupe so high as he ought, to make perfect _balotades_. chap. xx. _of caprioles._ there is no such thing as an universal horse; that is, as a horse who works equally well upon all airs, the _terre-a-terre_, the _curvets_, _mezair_, _croupades_, _balotades_, and _caprioles_, each horse having a particular disposition, which inclines to some certain air which suits him best. a horse that is naturally inclin'd to the high airs, ought to be managed with great gentleness and patience; inasmuch as he will be in greater danger of being disgusted and spoil'd, as his disposition to the high airs is owing generally to the gaiety and sprightliness of his temper; and as such tempers are usually averse to subjection, constraint and correction, rigour and severity would make him become timid and angry, and then he could not attend to and catch the _time_, _order_, and _measure_ of the high airs; therefore if you would reduce him to the justness of the high airs, and teach him their harmony and measure, you must not expect to succeed by any other ways than by giving your instructions with great patience and judgment, and soon or late he will be gain'd. the feet are the foundations upon which all the high airs, if i may use the word, are built. they ought then to be attended to very strictly; for if your horse has any pain, weakness, or other defect in his feet, he will be so much the more improper to leap, as the pain which he must feel when he comes to the ground, would shoot quite to his brain. as a proof of this, when a horse whose feet are bad or tender trots upon the stones, or hard ground, you will see him shut his eyes, drop his head at each step, and shake his tail from very pain. the _capriole_ is the most violent of the high airs. to make it perfect, the horse is to raise his fore-parts and his hinder to an equal height; and when he strikes out behind, his croupe should be upon a level with his withers. in rising and in coming down his head and mouth should be quite steady and firm, and he should present his forehead quite strait.--when he rises, his fore-legs should be bent under him a good deal, and equally. when he strikes out with his hind-legs, he ought to do it nervously, and with all his force; and his two feet should be even, of an equal height, and their action the same when he strikes out: lastly, the horse should at every leap fall a foot and a half, or the space of two feet distance from the spot from which he rose.--i don't assert, that in order to make _caprioles_ a horse must necessarily pass through _curvets_ and _balotades_; for there are horses who are naturally more light and active in their loins than strong, and who are brought to leap with more difficulty, than to the other airs in which their strength must be much more united, and their disposition attended to; but yet it is certain, that if the horse is brought to rise by degrees, and is work'd in the intermediate airs, before he undertakes the _caprioles_, he will not weaken and strain himself so much, and will be sooner confirm'd in his lesson than one who begins at once with the _caprioles_. having thus explain'd to demonstration the motions of a horse, when he makes a perfect _capriole_, you may hence gather that they have an effect directly opposite to that of _curvets_ and _pesades_.--these two airs are proper to assure the head of the horse, and to make it light, and this by so much the more as the principal action depends upon the haunches, and a moderate _apuy_ of the mouth; but _caprioles_ are apt to give too great an _apuy_, because the horse when he makes the strongest action of his air, that is, when he strikes out as he is coming to the ground, is entirely supported by the hand; therefore before he is put to leap, he ought to have a perfect apuy, and his shoulders should at least be suppled and lighten'd by having made _pesades_; and he should be without fear, anger, or any kind of uneasiness, because, as i have already said, by leaping he learns to know his own strength and power; and he may put it to bad purposes to free himself from obedience, and indulge his caprice and ill-humour. some horses have a disposition to this air, and sufficient strength to go through it; yet have their mouth so delicate, sensible, and averse to the hand, that you can't support them without hindering them from advancing; hence it follows that their action before is cold and slow, and never sufficiently high, and they can't be carried forward when they raise their croupe and strike out; and it is impossible to keep them firm as they come down. to remedy this, begin their lesson upon the trot, and press them in it so smartly as to make them often go into the gallop; observe a medium however in order to save their strength and vigour, that they may furnish as many leaps as is requisite to the perfection of the air. do the same with a horse that has too much strength, and who retains and avails himself it, so as not to make his leaps freely and readily; by this means you will abate his superfluous vigour, which serves only to _disunite_ and make him troublesome. it is usual to supple a horse that is light in the hand by means of the trot, before you teach him to leap: but a contrary method must be observed with those which are heavy and clumsey, or that are heavy in the hand. gallop and trot them, and when they are made obedient and drest to the _caprioles_, their apuy in leaping will grow by degrees lighter and more temperate. the exercise of the trot and gallop will take away all fear of the aids and corrections, and the day following they will present themselves more freely and willingly. with respect to the horse who pulls or wants to force the hand, don't try to correct him by making him go backward, because by working upon his bars too much with the bit, you would make them become hard and insensible; but compel him to make some _caprioles_ with his face to the wall, and keep him up to it closer or further off, as you find him heavy, or endeavouring to force the hand; by these methods you will constrain him to shorten his leaps, and give more attention to his business. if he abandons himself, or bears too hard upon the hand, hold him firm at the end of his leap; and in the instant that his feet are coming to the ground, yield it immediately to him, and he will abandon himself much less upon the bit.--if he retains himself, and hangs back, easing your hand to him alone will not be sufficient; but to make him advance you must push him up to his bit, by aiding him briskly and in _time_ with your legs. to dress a horse to the caprioles, the pillars may be employ'd, or they may be dispens'd with: let us explain the rules we should follow with respect to both these methods. it is certain that the pillars are of use in putting a horse to this air.--tie him to them, make him keep up to his bit properly, or what is call'd _fill up the cords_, and endeavour by little and little to make him rise before, taking care to make him bend his knees, and gather up his legs as much as you possibly can. for this purpose use your switch briskly; for if you can teach him to bend his legs well, his manage will be infinitely more beautiful; as well as that he will be much lighter in the hand. having thus gain'd the fore-part, put him in the pillars again, making the cords somewhat shorter in order to make him raise his croupe from the ground, and yerk out equally at the same time with both his hind-legs, which you must teach him to do, by attacking and striking him upon the croupe with the switch or _chambriere_. when he is so far advanced as to rise before, and lash out behind, it will be proper to teach him to unite these two times, and perform them together.--let him then be mounted, and always in the pillars; let the rider support him in the hand, and try to make him make one or two leaps, without hanging upon the cords of the caveson, in order that he may learn to take a just apuy, and to feel it. as soon as he begins to know and obey the hand, he should be aided gently with the calves of the legs, should be supported, and you should pinch him delicately and finely with both spurs. if he answers once or twice to these aids, without losing his temper, or being angry, you will have great reason to expect that he will soon furnish his leaps equally and justly with respect to the hand and heel. having brought him thus far between the pillars, walk him strait forward for a certain space, and if he don't offer to rise of himself, try to make him. if he himself takes the right time, seize the moment, avail yourself of it, and make him make two or three _caprioles_, or one or two, according as you judge it necessary; by letting him walk thus calmly and quietly, in a short time he will of himself begin to make _caprioles_ strait forward; but in case he should discover any signs of resistance to the hand or heel, or the other aids, immediately have recourse to the caveson and pillars. this is in short the method of adjusting and dressing a horse for _caprioles_ by the means of the pillars.--a method extremely dangerous in itself, and capable of spoiling and making a horse become desperate and ungovernable, if it is not practised by persons of the most consummate skill and experience. the method which i prefer is indeed more difficult and painful to the horse, but more perfect and sure. the horse having been well exercised in _pesades_, walk him strait forward, keeping him together, and supporting him so as to hold and keep him in the hand, but not to such a degree as to stop him entirely. after this strike him gently with the end of the switch upon his croupe and buttocks, and continue to do it till he lifts up his croupe, and kicks.--you should then caress him, and let him walk some steps, and then attack him again, not minding to make him rise before, nor hindering him from it, if he offers so to do. remember to encourage and coax him every time that he answers to the aids, and obeys.--being thus acquainted with the aid of the switch, put him to make _pesades_ of a moderate height strait forward, and at the second or third, attack him behind with your switch to make him lash out. if he obeys, make him rise before again in the minute that his hind-legs come to the ground, in order to make him furnish two or three more _pesades_, to work his haunches. after this coax and caress him without letting him stir from the place, if his _apuy_ be firm and good; and in case it is hard, make him go backward, or if it is light and just, letting him advance quietly and slowly. to enable him to make his leaps just, and to know the exact time of making them, you should no longer regard what number of _pesades_ he makes before or after his leap, but in the moment that you feel him ready and prepar'd, and whilst he is in the _pesade_, aid him briskly behind, letting him in the beginning not rise so high before, when you intend he should yerk out behind, as you would were he only to make a _pesade_, that so his croupe may be more at liberty, and he may yerk out with greater ease; in proportion as his croupe becomes light and active, you may raise his fore-parts higher and higher, and support him while in the air, till he makes his leaps true and in just proportion. when you have sufficiently practised these lessons, you may retrench by degrees the number of the _pesades_ which separated and divided the leaps. you may demand now of him two leaps together; from these you may come, with patience and discretion, to three, from three to four leaps; and lastly, to as many as he can furnish in the same air, and with equal strength. remember always to make him finish upon his haunches, it is the only sure way to prevent all the disorders a horse may be guilty of from impatience and fear. there are some horses who will leap very high, and with great agility strait forwards, which when put to leap upon the _voltes_, lose all their natural grace and beauty; the reason is, that they fail for want of strength, and are not equal to the task, in which all their motions are forced and constrain'd. if you find a horse who has a good and firm _apuy_, and who has strength sufficient to furnish this air upon the _voltes_; begin with him by making him know the space and roundness of the _volte_ to each hand; let him walk round it in a slow and distinct pace, keeping his croupe very much press'd and confin'd upon the line of the _volte_, which ought to be much larger for this air than for _croupades_ and _balotades_. this being done, make him rise, and let him make one or two _caprioles_, follow'd by as many _pesades_; then walk on two or three steps upon the same line; then raise him again, supporting him more and more, and keeping him even on the line of the _volte_, so that it may be exactly round, and confining his croupe with your outward leg. if this lesson be given with judgment, your horse will soon make all the _volte_, in the same air; and to make him furnish a second, as soon as he has closed and finish'd the first, raise him again, and without letting him stop get from him as many as you can, working him always upon this _volte_, in which he walks and leaps alternatively, till he closes and ends it with the same vigour and resolution as he did the first. aid always with the outward rein, either upon the _voltes_, or when you leap strait forwards, you will narrow and confine the fore-parts, and enlarge the hind-parts, by which means the croupe will not be press'd, but free and unconstrain'd. i will enlarge no further upon his chapter; for what regards the making _caprioles_ upon the _voltes_, you may look back to what has been already said on the subject of _curvets_: remember that the surest way to succeed, when you undertake to dress a horse to _caprioles_, is to arm yourself with a patience that nothing can subdue or shake; and to prefer for this purpose such horses as have a disposition, are active, light, and have a clean sinewy strength, to such as are endowed with greater strength and force; for these last never leap regularly, and are fit for nothing but to break their riders backs, and make them spit blood, by their irregular, violent, and unexpected motions. chap. xxi. _of the step and leap._ the step and leap is composed of three airs; of the _step_, which is the action of the _terre-a-terre_; the rising before, which is a _curvet_; and the leap, which is a _capriole_. this manage is infinitely less painful to a horse than that of the _capriole_; for when you dress a horse to the _capriole_, he will of himself take this air for his ease and relief; and in time those horses, which have been drest to the _caprioles_, will execute only _balotades_ and _croupades_, unless particular care is taken to make them yerk out. it is this likewise, which, next to running a brisk course, enlivens and animates a horse most.--to reduce a horse to the justness of this air, you must begin by emboldening and making him lose all fear of correction; teaching him to keep his head steady, and in a proper place; lightening his fore-parts, by putting him to make _pesades_; teaching him to know the aids of the switch, the same as in the lesson of the _caprioles_; and by giving him a firm and good _apuy_, _full in the hand_: though it is certain, that the _step_ contributes to give him this _apuy_, inasmuch as that it puts him in the hand; besides that it gives him strength and agility to leap, just as we ourselves leap with a quicker spring while running, than if we were to stand quite still and leap; therefore most old horses generally fall into this air. when your horse is sufficiently knowing in these several particulars, teach him to rise, and support or hold him in the air; then let him make four _pesades_, and afterwards let him walk four or five steps slow and equal; if he forces the hand, or retains himself too much, he should be made to trot these four or five steps rather than walk; after this make him rise again, and continue this lesson for some days. when he is so far advanced as to comprehend and understand this sufficiently, begin by putting him to make a _pesade_, demand then a _leap_, and finish by letting him make two _pesades_ together. there are two things to be observ'd, which are very essential in this lesson; one, that when he is to make the leap he should not rise so high before as when he makes _pesades_ only, that so he may yerk out with greater ease and liberty; the other caution is always to make your last _pesade_ longer and higher than the other, in order to prevent your horse from making any irregular motions by shuffling about his legs, if he should be angry and impatient, as well as to keep him in a more exact obedience; and to make him light, if he is naturally heavy and loaded in his fore-parts, or apt to lean too much upon the hand. again, reduce the fourth _pesade_ into a leap, as you did the first; then make two _pesades_ following, and after this let him walk quietly four or five steps, that he may make again the same number of _pesades_, and in the same order. in proportion as the horse begins to understand, and is able to execute these lessons, you should augment likewise the leaps one by one, without hurrying or changing the order, making always between the leaps a single _pesade_, but lower than those in the first lesson; and then two more again after the last leap, sufficiently _high_. by degrees the horse will grow active and light in his hind-parts, you must raise him then higher before, and support him longer in the air, in order to make him form the leaps perfect, by means of prudent and judicious rules, often practised and repeated. if your horse forces the hand, or presses forward more than you would have him, either from heaviness of make, or from having too much fire in his temper; in this case you should oblige him to make the _pesades_ in the same place, without stirring from it; and instead of letting him advance four or five steps, you should make him go backwards as many. this correction will cure him of the habit of pressing forward, and forcing the hand. upon this occasion likewise you should use a hand-spur to prick his croupe, instead of a switch. to make this air just and perfect, it is necessary that the action of the leap be finish'd as in the _caprioles_, except that it ought to be more _extended_, and the _pesade_ which is made between the two leaps should be changed into a _time_ of a quick and short gallop; that is, the two hind-feet ought to follow the fore-feet, together in a quick time and briskly, as in _curvets_ in the _mezair_; but in this the horse should advance more, not be so much _together_, nor rise so high. the perfection of this _time_ of the gallop depends upon the justness of the horseman's motions.--they ought to be infinitely more exact in this lesson, than in the caprioles, or any other airs, which are performed strait forward. in reality, if the horseman is too slow, and don't catch the exact time which parts the two leaps, the leap which follows will be without any spring or vigour, because the animal so restrain'd and held back, can never extend himself, or put forth his strength; if he don't support and raise his shoulders sufficiently high, the croupe will then be higher than it ought to be; and this disproportion will force the horse to toss up his nose, or make some other bad motion with his head as he is coming to the ground in his leap; or else it will happen that the succeeding time will be so precipitate, that the next leap will be false and imperfect, as the horse will not be sufficiently united, but will be too heavy and lean upon the hand.--if he is not together, the leap will be too much extended, and consequently weak and loose, because the horse will not be able to collect his strength, in order to make it equal to the first. learn then in a few words what should be the horseman's seat, and what actions he should use in this lesson. he should never force, alter, or lose the true _apuy_, either in raising, supporting, holding in, or driving forward his horse.--his head should be not only firm and steady, but it is indispensably necessary that his seat should be exactly strait and just; for since the arm is an appendix of the body, it is certain that if the motions of the horse shake or disorder the body of the rider, the bridle-hand must inevitably be shook, and consequently the true apuy destroy'd. in this attitude then approach the calves of your legs, support and hold your horse up with your hand, and when the fore-part is at its due height, aid with the switch upon the croupe. if your horse rises before, keep your body strait and firm; if he lifts or tosses up his croupe, or yerks out, fling your shoulders back without turning your head to one side or the other, continuing the action of the hand that holds the switch. remember that all the motions of your body should be so neat and fine as to be imperceptible; as to what is the most graceful action for the switch-hand, that over the shoulder is thought the best; but then this shoulder must not be more back than the other; and care must be taken that the motion be quick and neat, and that the horse do not see it so plainly as to be alarm'd. i have said, that when the horse made his leaps too _long_ and _extended_, you should then aid with your hand-spur; and for this reason, because the hand-spur will make the horse raise his croupe without advancing, as the effect of the switch will be to raise the croupe, and drive the horse forward at the same time; it should therefore be used to such horses as retain themselves. remember that you should never be extreme with your horse, and work him beyond his strength and ability; indeed one should never ask of a horse above half of what he can do; for if you work him till he grows languid and tired, and his strength and wind fail him, you will be compell'd to give your aids roughly and openly; and when that happens, neither the rider or the horse can appear with brilliancy and grace. the end. the pony rider boys in the ozarks by frank gee patchin chapter i a mysterious visitor "boys! b-o-y-s!" there was no response to the imperative summons. professor zepplin sat up in his cot, listening intently. something had awakened him suddenly, but just what he was unable to decide. "be quiet over there, young men," he admonished, adding in a lower tone, "i'm sure i heard some one moving about." the camp of the pony rider boys lay wrapped in darkness, the camp-fire having long since died out. not a sound disturbed the stillness of the night save the soft murmurings of the foliage, stirred in a gentle breeze that was drifting in from the southwest. the professor climbed from his cot, and, without waiting to draw on his clothes, stepped outside. he stood listening in front of his tent for several minutes, but heard nothing of a disturbing nature. "i believe those young rascals are up to some of their pranks--either that, or i have been having bad dreams. while i'm up i might as well make sure," he decided, tip-toeing to the tent occupied by tad butler and walter perkins. both were apparently sleeping soundly, while in an adjoining tent ned rector and stacy brown were breathing regularly, sleeping the sleep that naturally comes after a day in the saddle over the rugged, uneven slopes of the ozark mountains. professor zepplin uttered something that sounded not unlike an indian's grunt of disgust. "dreams!" he decided sharply. "i should not have eaten that pie last night. pie doesn't seem to trouble those boys in the least, but it certainly has a bad effect on my digestive apparatus." having thus delivered himself of his opinion on the value of pie as a bedtime food, the scientist trotted back to his tent, his teeth chattering and shoulders shrugging, for the mountain air was chill and the professor was clad only in his pajamas. no sooner had he settled himself between his comforting blankets, however, than he suddenly started up again with a muttered exclamation. "i knew it! i told you so!" this time there could be no doubt. he plainly heard a dry twig snap near by; whether it were under the weight of man or beast, he did not know. "there is something out there. it couldn't have been the pie after all. i'm going to find out what it is before i get back into this bed again," he decided firmly, slipping quietly from under the covers and peering out through the half closed flap of his tent. as before, all was silence, the drowsy, indistinct voices of the night passing almost without notice. but professor zepplin instead of waiting where he was, reached for his revolver and then strode boldly out into the open space in front of the tents, determined to solve the mystery, and, if possible, without waking the boys. the reader no doubt already has recognized in the four boys sleeping in the little weather-beaten tents the same lads who some time before had started off for a vacation in the mountains where they hunted the cougar and the bobcat, the thrilling adventures met with on that journey having been related in a former volume entitled, "the pony rider boys in the rockies." they will be remembered, too, as the lads who, in "the pony rider boys in texas," crossed the plains on a cattle drive, during the course of which tad butler bravely saved the life of the chinese cook, by plunging into a swollen torrent; and later, saved a large part of the great herd, himself being nearly trampled to death in a wild stampede of the cattle. it will be recalled also, how tad butler and his companions, after many strange and startling experiences, solved the veiled riddle of the plains and laid the ghost of the old church of san miguel, for all time. the stirring adventures of "the pony rider boys in montana," too, are still fresh in the minds of those who have followed the fortunes of the four lads since they first started out on their journeyings. it will be recalled that in the latter story the lads experienced the thrill of being in a real battle between the cowboys and the sheep herders on the free-grass range of the north; how tad butler was captured by the blackfeet indians, and how, with the help of an indian maiden, he managed to make his escape. it will also be remembered that tad was able to rescue another lad who, like himself, had been taken by the blackfeet, and to return the boy to his father, none the worse for his exciting experiences. it will be recalled as well, how tad butler through his own efforts solved the mystery of the old custer trail--a mystery that had perplexed and annoyed the ranchers along the historic trail for many months. and now they were once more in the saddle, having chosen the ozark mountains in southwestern missouri as the scene of their next explorations. with them they carried a pack train of four mules, these being best adapted to packing the boys' belongings over the rugged mountains. for their guide they had engaged a full-blooded shawnee indian named joe hawk, known among his people as eagle-eye, making a party of six, with eight head of stock in all. at the time of the beginning of this narrative the pony riders were encamped on a fork of the white river some three days out from springfield. joe hawk had asked permission to leave the party for the night to pay a visit to a fellow-tribesman who lived somewhere in the mountains to the west of them. on second thought it occurred to professor zepplin that perhaps it might have been joe, or eagle-eye, as the boys had decided to call the indian, whom he had heard skulking about the camp. "eagle-eye," he called softly. there was no response, so the professor, gripping his gun resolutely, crept along toward the opposite side of the camp where the noise had seemed to come from. so quietly had he moved that he made scarcely a sound, until suddenly there came a commotion that more than made up for the noise he had so successfully avoided before. stacy brown, with his usual forgetfulness, had left his saddle in the middle of the camp. the professor caught his toe on the obstruction, measuring his length on the ground instantly, where he floundered about for a few seconds. "instead of discovering the other fellow, i think i am discovering myself," he growled, scrambling to his feet, gingerly rubbing a knee. now the professor walked with a distinct limp, while his bare feet seemed to pick up every sharp pebble in camp, all of which added to his discomfort. "i'd make a nice sort of scout," he muttered. "everybody within a mile of me would know i was coming even before i got started, i guess--" the professor suddenly cut short his words, and crouched down close to the ground. he thought he heard something ahead and a little to the right of him. "who's there?" he demanded. no answer being made to his inquiry, he gripped his gun more firmly and crawled cautiously toward the spot where he thought he had heard some one moving. the night was so dark that he could make nothing out of the shadows about him, being obliged therefore to trust entirely to his sense of hearing. now he was certain that some one was in camp who had no business there, for the sound of footsteps was plainly borne to his ears--cautious, catlike steps, as if the intruder were seeking to get away without attracting attention. the professor, determined to capture the intruder, getting down on all fours to avoid possible detection, made a wide detour so as to come up behind where the fellow seemed to be at that moment. after much labor he managed to reach the desired position. the professor straightened up to listen. he must be close upon the other by this time. but what was his chagrin to hear those same footsteps on the opposite side of the camp. professor zepplin by much effort had just come from the other side himself. "stupid!" he muttered. "i'll take no roundabout way this time. i'll go straight ahead and be as quiet about it as i can." he did so. he moved straight across the camp ground, not forgetting the saddle which he carefully avoided, but narrowly missing falling over it a second time. by the time he had crossed to his former position, the intruder had done likewise. professor zepplin dodged behind a tree. by this time the scientist was beginning to feel a little worried. he could not understand what the other fellow's object might be. if it were robbery, the fellow certainly would desire to get away as quickly as possible, rather than remain when he knew that efforts were being made to capture him. if not plunder, what could be his purpose? with suddenly formed determination, professor zepplin strode out from his hiding place, starting for the other side on a run. the other man did the same, and the only result of the move was that their positions were exchanged. once more the professor decided to try strategy and see if he could not come up behind his opponent. at the same moment the visitor apparently decided to resort to the same tactics. they went in opposite directions, however, to carry out their purpose, and when each arrived at the place it was to find that the other was opposite him again. the professor's bare feet were in a sad state by this time, his pajamas were torn and his hands were worn tender from using them for feet when running along on all fours. at the same time his temper was wearing to a point of dangerous thinness. it was likely to break down the slender barrier that held it at almost any time. suddenly he realized that the intruder had been silent for some minutes, and the professor decided that it was time he ceased thinking over his own troubles and paid more attention to what the other man was doing. "now, i wonder what he is up to," growled the scientist. "i believe he has given me the slip and gotten away. here i've been dreaming for minutes. i'll slip some myself and see if i can't surprise him if he's there yet." once again he started across the camp ground, without resorting to any of his former tactics, other than to proceed with extreme caution, covering the intervening space with long, careful strides. reaching the rock, he paused to listen, but could hear nothing. gun ready for instant use, professor zepplin dashed around the corner of the rock, running plump into the arms of the fellow whom he had been so successfully dodging for the past twenty minutes. so startled was the scientist that he dropped his revolver, throwing both arms about his antagonist. he was surprised at the slenderness of the fellow, though he quickly discovered that what the other lacked in bulk he easily made up for by his lithe, supple body and muscular arms. almost before professor zepplin had collected his wits sufficiently to make any sort of defense he found himself lying flat on his back, with his opponent sitting on top of him, both wrists pinioned to the ground in an iron grip. there seemed to the professor something strangely familiar about the figure that was holding him down so firmly, but he did not try to analyze the impression. he had other things to think of at that moment. "i'll wait a second until he lets up ever so little, then, with my superior weight, i ought to be able to throw him--" "i've got you this time. what do you mean by prowling about our camp at this time of the--" "wha--what--who--who--" exclaimed the professor. "what!" fairly shouted the other. "who--who are you?" "i'm professor zepplin. who are you?" "oh, shucks! i'm tad butler," answered the boy, hastily releasing his prisoner, and, more crestfallen than he would have cared to admit, assisting the professor to his feet. "what do you mean, you young rascal?" demanded the professor, grasping the boy by the shoulders and shaking him vigorously. "i say, what do you mean by playing such pranks on me as this? why, i might have shot you. i--" "you are wrong, professor; i have not intentionally played pranks on you--" "yes you have--yes you have," fumed the professor. "i might accuse you of doing the same thing to me, only i know you didn't get up in the middle of the night to play hide and seek with a boy--" "then what does this mean? answer me instantly!" "i can do so easily. the fact is, i heard somebody prowling around. the slight noise awakened me--" "i should think it might," snarled professor zepplin. "and, without waiting to dress, i slipped out--" "and led me a nice chase. look at me. there isn't a spot on my body that isn't black and blue. and to think i've been running around here in my bare feet trying to catch you--" "you haven't entirely. you were chasing the same thing that i was," answered tad thoughtfully. "what's that? what's that you say?" "i mean that somebody was here--somebody who had no business to be here." "you mean--" "yes, i mean that after i had been out here a few moments i distinctly heard two men. one of them, it appears, was yourself. who the other was i don't know. he evidently got away. as i couldn't follow both of them, i chose you. you seemed to be the easiest one to catch. i was right, wasn't i?" laughed the boy, at the thought of the game they had been playing with each other. "somebody else here? i knew it, i knew it," exclaimed the professor. "when i first came out you were sound asleep. i must have awakened you when i fell over the saddle out there. who left that thing there for me to nearly break my neck on?" he demanded angrily. "i guess it must be chunky's saddle." "of course. i'll talk to him in the morning. i'm going to bed. i'll catch my death of cold." chapter ii a pack mule goes over a cliff next morning the boys, assisted by eagle-eye, had prepared the breakfast by the time the professor had awakened. they took keen satisfaction in calling him for breakfast. ordinarily they slept so late that the professor had to turn them out by physical force. "anybody'd think you'd been keeping late hours, professor," laughed ned rector. "perhaps i have," answered the scientist good naturedly. "but if so, i am not the only one of this party who has." that the professor's words held some meaning unknown to them the boys were fully aware. tad had said nothing of his experiences of the previous night, so they did not think to turn to him for an explanation. "i might as well tell you, young gentlemen, that there was some one prowling about this camp after we all were asleep last night--" "what!" cried the pony riders in sudden surprise. "yes, that is true. thaddeus and myself chased him around for nearly half an hour, but--" all eyes were now turned on tad, who was bending over his plate that they might not observe the grin that was spreading over his face despite the lad's effort to keep it down. "o tad, tell us all about it," urged walter perkins. "what was he, a bold robber or what?" "i guess he must have been an 'or what,'" suggested stacy brown wisely. "don't mind him. he's dreaming still. it's only his appetite that's here at the table. the rest of him is in bed asleep," jeered ned rector, with such a funny grimace that the boys laughed. "yes," answered tad, looking up, "we ran around here in our pajamas until we found each other. then we gave it up and went to bed." "but who was it?" insisted walter. "it was an--" "now, never mind, chunky. you are supposed to be asleep," admonished ned, with a superior wave of his hand. "i cannot say as to that," answered tad. "i really don't think it amounted to so very much. probably some prowler curious to know what sort of camp he had stumbled upon. i didn't lose any sleep over it after i got back to bed." "neither did chunky," laughed ned. "did you?" asked the fat boy sharply, turning the laugh on ned. "you remember what we were told in springfield," said walter. "what was that?" asked the professor. "that a band of robbers had been causing considerable excitement in the ozarks for several months past." "yes, you are right. i had forgotten that," nodded professor zepplin. "stealing horses and other things." "yes." "but it's all nonsense to think they would bother us," objected ned. "we haven't anything that they would want." "no, nor do we want them," replied walter, with emphasis. "i guess we had better sleep on our rifles to-night." "that will hardly be necessary," smiled the professor. "how about eagle-eye?" asked ned. "didn't he hear anything?" "eagle-eye was away last night." "oh, yes, that's so. i had forgotten that." "it might be a good idea to tell him about it," suggested tad, glancing over at the professor. professor zepplin nodded his head. "eagle-eye, will you come here, please?" called tad. the shawnee, who had been pottering about the camp-fire, strode over to them with his almost noiseless tread, and squatted on the ground near the breakfast table. "there was somebody here last night, eagle-eye," tad informed him in an impressive voice. the shawnee nodded. "of course, you not having been here, you knew nothing about it, but to-night you'd better sleep with one eye open. "joe hawk know," answered the indian. "know what?" demanded the professor sharply. "know indian come last night," was the startling announcement. "what's that? what's that, eagle-eye? you mean yourself, i presume. you mean you came back. but that is not the point--" the indian shook his head with emphasis. "other indian come." tad nodded at his companions as if to say, "i told you so." then the shawnee did know more than he had seen fit to tell them? "tell us about it, eagle-eye." "joe hawk find trail of canoe on river at sun-up," answered the indian tersely. "a trail on the river?" demanded stacy, suddenly breaking into uproarious laughter, which died away in an indistinct gurgle when he found the eyes of his companions fixed sternly upon him. "funny place to find a trail," he muttered, threatening to indulge in another fit of merriment. "i don't understand you, eagle-eye," said the professor. "you say you found the trail of a canoe on the river?" "yes." "that sounds peculiar. i agree with master stacy that it is a most remarkable place to find a trail hours after. perhaps you will explain." eagle-eye rose to his feet. "come. i show you." all rose from the table, forgetful that they were eating their breakfast, and followed the guide down the steep bank to the river. "there trail," he announced, pointing a long, bronzed finger at the edge of the water. tad stooped over, examining the shore critically. "the shawnee is right," he said, turning to the professor. "how do you know? what have you found?" "there. you can see for yourself. it is distinctly marked--" "what's marked?" demanded stacy, pressing forward. "you can see where the keel of a canoe has rested in the dirt there. the trail is ever so faint, but it is unmistakably there. see how it broadens out as it extends backward until it reaches the gravel in the stream." "moccasin tracks," grunted the guide. "where?" asked walter, apprehensively. "there," answered the indian, pointing up the bank whence they had just come. the boys looked at each other in wondering silence. "what do you think is the meaning of the visit, eagle-eye?" asked the professor. the shawnee shrugged his shoulders. "mebby hungry." "that is a sensible explanation of the visit," decided professor zepplin. "what other motive could an indian have for a visit at that hour? there is no cause for alarm. but i wish if any more hungry ones pay us a visit, they would do so in the day time, so as not to interrupt my sleep." "and mine," laughed tad. "yah-hum," yawned stacy, sleepily. "i told you you weren't awake yet," growled ned. "let's all go back to our breakfast." "i second the motion," laughed the professor. "we are forgetting all about the inner man. and it is time we were getting on our way if we are to make any great progress to-day." anxious to be in the saddle again, the boys bounded up the bank and hastily finished their breakfast. while they were doing so the guide stoically busied himself with packing the cooking kits and loading the pack mules, so that by the time the lads were ready all save their own belongings had been stowed away. it was the work of a few minutes only to strike their tents, fold blankets and pack their personal belongings. they had now been roughing it long enough so that they had become really expert in the work. and, besides, they had learned to get together a fairly satisfying meal out of not much of anything. they had learned many other things that were to prove useful to them in after years, but which at the time was making little or no impression upon them. fairly radiating health and spirits, the boys threw themselves into their saddles with a shout. the guide led the way, leading the mule train, and his pace was so rapid that the pack animals were put to their best to keep up with him. most of the time he appeared to be dragging the led mule, instead of leading it. "a wonderful country," breathed the professor, as they finally came out on a high elevation that gave them a glimpse of the eastern slope of the mountains. they halted to take in the magnificent view. "this is what is known as the 'ozark uplift,'" the professor informed them. "i should call it a downfall," answered ned, gazing off at the deep gorges and jagged precipices. "why do you call it that?" the professor waxed eloquent. "from the earliest time, young gentlemen, this region has been subject to uprising or downsinking. in all sections of its area it has experienced the effects of powerful dynamic forces--" "dynamite--did they use dynamite to blow the mountains up into such shapes as that?" asked stacy innocently. "i said nothing about dynamite. dynamic was the word i used," replied professor zepplin, casting a withering glance at the fat boy. "oh," stacy exclaimed. "it is therefore called the 'ozark uplift.'" "that is interesting," answered ned solemnly, though it is doubtful if he understood what the professor was really talking about. "there is still another of tremendous import connected with this region. you will all be interested in it," announced the professor impressively. the boys gathered about him in a circle, meantime allowing their ponies to nibble at the green leaves. "yes," urged tad. "the region where is now located the ozark uplift is said to have been the first land to appear above the waters of the continental ocean." "you--you mean--" stammered ned. "he means this was the first land to appear above the water when this continent was all an ocean," spoke up tad, with quick understanding. stacy urged his pony further into the circle. his face was flushed and he evidently was filled with some sudden new thought. "what is it, master stacy?" asked the professor. "you--you say this was the first land to--" "yes, so it has been said." "then--then this--then this must have been where the ark landed," exploded the fat boy. for a few seconds a profound silence greeted this announcement. then the lads broke out into a shout of laughter. even professor zepplin threw his head back and laughed immoderately. "i am afraid, my young friend, that the place where the ancient craft ran aground was some distance from this rugged spot--" "but why not?" persisted the boy. "in the first place, this continent came to life some time after the event you speak of is supposed to have taken place." "oh," muttered the lad. "and now we had better be pressing on." "when do we reach the red star mine?" asked ned. "you will have to ask eagle-eye. i don't know." the indian, when questioned on this point, said the red star mine lay three suns to the southwest of them. the country seemed to be getting more rough as they proceeded, and it had now become necessary to move with extreme caution for fear of plunging over one of the many abrupt cliffs that now and then appeared almost under the feet of the advancing train. but the indian seemed to feel no concern over these. he merely changed his course, skirting the canyon until a turn in its winding course enabled him to head straight into the southwest again. not even in the rockies had the boys met with such peculiar formations as now appeared on all sides of them. "i'd hate to travel this trail in the night," growled stacy. "you wouldn't have to travel it far," laughed tad. "you'd be walking on air before you knew it." stacy had pressed on ahead while the others were talking. he had observed what they had not. one of the pack mules had lagged behind, and with head lowered almost to the ground appeared to have gone sound asleep. the shawnee, engaged with his own thoughts, apparently was unaware that he had left a mule behind. the fat boy, with great glee, was urging his pony quietly along, approaching the pack animal with as much caution as possible. it was stacy's intention to give the beast the fright of its life, in which ambition he succeeded beyond his fondest anticipations. getting near enough for his purpose, stacy slipped from his pony, hunted about until he found a stick long enough for his purpose, and with this crept up on the sleeping mule. with a shrill shriek the lad brought the stick down on the long-eared animal's rump with a whack that, while it could not have hurt, did all that he had hoped it might. both the mule's hind feet shot up into the air, while the beast with a short, sharp bray of fright lunged straight ahead. the guide uttered a shrill exclamation of warning as he saw the mule tearing through the bushes to the left of the trail. leaving his two pack animals, eagle-eye leaped for the fleeing one. but he was too late. all at once the frightened beast appeared to stand on his head, his hind feet beating a tattoo in the air; then he disappeared altogether. the pony rider boys, hearing the disturbance, had hurried up, and just in time to see the final scene in the little tragedy that their companion had caused. "what's this? what's this?" demanded the professor. "what's the matter?" "pony fall down! pony fall down!" exclaimed the indian, with a trace of excitement in his tone. "he means our long-eared friend has taken a header over that rock there," ned rector informed them. "i am afraid it is more serious than that," added tad. "it looked to me as if the pack mule went over a cliff." "him fall down, fall down, fall down," repeated the guide. chunky, frightened at the result of his prank, had quickly scrambled into his own saddle and drawn back from the scene of his late exploit. professor zepplin did not understand how it had happened. "i'm to blame, sir," announced chunky, plucking up courage and riding up beside the professor. "i hit him with a stick and he ran away." in spite of the disaster that had come upon them, the boys could not but laugh at the boy's rueful countenance. nor did the professor find it in his heart to be harsh. "you deserve to be punished, sir, but somehow when i look at you my anger vanishes instantly. the next question is, how are we going to get the beast up here? what do you say, guide?" "him dead." "what's that?" "pack pony, him gone happy hunting ground." "you don't mean he has been killed?" the guide nodded with emphasis, at the same time bringing the palms of his hands sharply together to convey the impression that the mule had hit the rocks below so hard that he would never rise of his own accord again. "now we are in a fix," said ned. "i guess we had better make chunky walk and use his pony for packing the outfit," suggested walter. "yes, but we have little or no outfit to pack," answered tad. "most of it is down there with the dead mule; how far i don't know." the pony rider boys gasped. this, indeed, was a serious situation. chapter iii a daring proposal for a full moment the boys looked at each other doubtfully. professor zepplin was the first to break the silence. "wha--what pack did the mule have?" "part of the kitchen outfit and all of the canned goods," answered tad butler impressively. ned rector laughed. "this is where we give our stomachs a rest," he mocked. "i fail to see anything humorous in our present predicament," chided the professor. "we are many miles from our base of supplies, with our supplies at the bottom of a gorge, goodness knows how deep down. whether we can get down there or not i haven't the slightest idea--" "don't we get anything to eat?" wailed chunky. "think you deserve to have anything?" demanded ned. "don't be hard on him," spoke up tad. "he feels cut up enough about it as it is. we've all done just as foolish things, only they didn't happen to turn out the way this one has." chunky turned his pony about and rode a few paces away from them, being more disturbed than he cared to have his companions know. "eagle-eye," called the professor. the indian was leaning over the cliff looking down into the deep canyon, trying to find the pack mule. he straightened up and strode over to the professor upon being called. "you sure the mule is dead?" "mule no pack more." "can you get down there to gather up our belongings?" eagle-eye shook his head. "no get um." "why not?" interjected walter. "pony fall in--injun fall in," grunted the shawnee. "but can we not go forward or else back a mile or so and find an entrance to the gorge?" demanded the professor. "yes, that's the idea. of course we can," urged ned. "we are not half as bad off as we thought. of course the mule is done for, but we can divide up the pack amongst us boys and carry it all right until we get where we can either hire or buy another mule. don't think a little thing like that will stop us." "how about it, eagle-eye?" asked tad. "no get um. water him deep. him cold, b-r-r-r! pony drown, indian drown. mebby fat boy drown, too." "that seems to settle it," announced the professor. "we shall have to hold a council of war, as eagle-eye does not seem to have any suggestions to make. what have you to say about it, master tad?" "i think it would be a good idea to take a look over the cliff before offering any suggestions," answered the lad, dismounting and tethering his pony. "perhaps the guide may be wrong." one look over the bold cliff, however, was sufficient to convince tad of the correctness of the indian's judgment. he found himself gazing down into one of those deep canyons that had been cut through the mountains by water courses during hundreds of years. the wall on each side, while nearly straight up and down, was jagged and broken, but so precipitous as to make any idea of descending it impossible. there was not a bush nor shrub in sight until near the bottom, where tad discovered a thick growth of bushes on the edge of the swiftly flowing water course. a disturbed spot among these showed where the pack mule had fallen. that he had not gone on into the stream and been swept away was due to the matted growth down there. the others had joined tad by the time he had made up his mind that their guide had described the situation correctly. "what do you make of it, master tad?" asked the professor. "nothing very encouraging." "whew! that's a drop!" exclaimed ned, peering cautiously over. "where is our kitchen outfit?" "there, where you see the bushes trampled down. what there is left of it, anyway. but perhaps the canvas wrapped around the stuff has protected it from serious damage." "little difference it makes to us whether or not," answered the professor. "the supplies are lost and that's all there is about it. we have scarcely enough left to carry us through the day." "no!" said walter. "then what are we going to do?" "i don't know, master walter." "we've got to get the stuff up here, that's all," answered tad, with a firm compression of the lips. "then you'll have to borrow a flying machine if you do. that's the only way we'll ever reach the pack mule. why, it's a mile down there--" "not quite," answered tad. "how deep do you think the gorge is, tad?" asked the professor. "oh, forty or fifty feet, i should say. i hardly think it is deeper than that. but that is quite enough--" tad, in the meantime, had been considering the problem, thinking deeply on the best means of solving it. "yes, i think i can do it," he decided. "do what?" asked walter. "get the stuff up." "how?" demanded ned sharply. "why, go down after it, of course." "out of the question," answered the professor, with emphasis. "no, i think it can be done, if you will allow me to--" "you mean, master ted, that you will attempt to get to the bottom of that gorge and bring up the provisions?" "yes, sir; i'll try it." "impossible. i cannot permit it." "i should say not," growled ned. "if anybody goes it should be the guide. he is an expert at climbing, i should imagine, and--" tad laughed. "why, my dear ned, you couldn't even push eagle-eye down there. for some reason he seems to have a superstitious dread of that place. i don't know why, for indians are not supposed to be much afraid of anything. i'll ask him. eagle-eye, will you go down there and try to get the provisions for us?" asked tad, turning to the guide. eagle-eye shrugged his shoulders, at the same time giving a negative twist to his body. "eagle-eye not go down there," he grunted. "why not?" asked ned. "bad spirits live in waters. bymeby come out and get eagle-eye." "oh, shucks!" jeered ned. "my opinion is that they wouldn't bother to get you, even if there were any such things down there." "then there remains only one thing for us to do," said the professor. "and that?" queried walter. "get to the nearest settlement as quickly as possible." "that would take at least a day or two, would it not?" inquired tad. "yes, i believe so." "then why not let me try--at least make an effort to recover our things? why, just think of the amount of stuff we are losing, professor." "but the risk, tad. no, i cannot assume the responsibility--" "i'll take the risk of all that. the only danger will be up here. i shall not be taking any risks to speak of--" "how do you propose to go about it, young man?" "simplest thing imaginable. i'll climb down with a rope around me, so that in case i slip anywhere you can straighten me up. i promise you i will not fall." "the next question is, where are you going to get the rope?" "i have one that is plenty long enough," answered tad. "you mean the quarter-inch rope?" spoke up walter. "that's in the pack that went over the cliff." tad butler's face fell. "guess you are mistaken, walt," corrected ned. "you threw that rope down when you were packing. i picked it up and it's in my kit on my pony now." "hurrah!" shouted the other boys. "you can't down the pony riders." tad hurried to ned's mount, and, pulling down the pack, secured the precious rope, which he adjusted about his waist carefully, the others observing him silently. "i guess i am ready now, boys. i'll tell you what i want you to do, so pay close heed to what i am about to say." chapter iv into the canyon "thaddeus, i cannot consent to this. i--" "please, now, professor, don't stop me. i'm all right, don't you see i am?" "yes, at this precise moment you are. it's the moments to come that i am thinking about." "don't you worry one little bit. walt, will you bring me two of those staking-down ropes? i want to splice them on in case this one should prove to be a little short. distance is deceptive, looking down, as we are here." "what do you want us to do?" asked ned. "hold on to the rope, that's all." "in other words, we are to be a sort of 'tug-of-war' team, eh? is that it?" "i suppose it is, ned." "then i hope we win." "i sincerely hope you do, too," laughed tad. "if i win, i'll lose. that sounds funny, doesn't it?" "what do you mean?" demanded chunky, pushing his way forward. "he means," walter informed him, "that if he wins it will be because he takes a tumble to the bottom of the canyon. understand?" "oh," muttered chunky, thrusting his hands into his trousers pockets. he stepped to the edge of the cliff, where he stood peering over curiously. "i hope tad doesn't win, too," he decided sagely, whereat the others laughed loudly. "now, professor, will you please take charge of the operations?" "certainly. but, you understand, i permit this thing under strong protest. i am doing wrong. i should use my authority to prevent it were we not already in such a serious predicament." "don't worry. what i want is to have you take a few turns around that small tree there with the rope, and pay it out carefully, so that i can lower myself safely. don't give me too much rope at one time, you know." "no," chuckled ned. "you know what they say happens to people who have too much rope." "you mean?" "that they usually hang themselves." tad laughed softly. "please call that lazy indian over here and set him to work. little does he care what trouble we're in. see, he's asleep against a tree now." "yes, his head would fall off if it were not nailed fast to him," added ned, striding to the shawnee and giving him a violent shake. "wake up, you sleepy head!" shouted ned in a voice that brought the indian quickly to his feet. "come over here, eagle-eye. you're wanted," called walter. "put the indian on the end of the rope; and, professor, you please take a hold nearest to the tree. you'll be my salvation. the rest of you, except chunky, can stand between the professor and eagle-eye." they took their places as directed, while tad straightened out the rope until it extended to the edge of the cliff. "what do you want me to do? have i got to stand here and look on?" demanded stacy. "no, chunky. you may run the signal tower," laughed tad. "what's that? i don't see any such thing around here?" "you are it." "what? i'm what?" answered the fat boy, plainly puzzled. "you are the signal tower in this case. that is, you will stand here and watch me. when i give a signal you will receive and pass it on to the others." "what kind of signals?" "that's what i'm trying to tell you, if you will give me the chance. when i hold up my hand, it means that they are to stop letting out rope. when i move it up and down, it means they are to let out on the rope a little. understand?" "oh, yes; that's easy. when they shake their hand, it means you want to go up or down," exclaimed the lad enthusiastically. "o chunky, you're hopeless. no, no! nothing of the kind. listen. when i move my hand up and down, just like this--understand?" "sure." "that means i want to go down further. they don't wave their hands at all, at least i hope they don't while i am hanging in the air. now, do you think you understand?" "yes, i understand." "repeat the directions to me then, please." stacy did so. "that's right. see that you don't forget. remember, i'm depending upon you, chunky, and if you fail me, i may be killed." "don't you worry about me, tad," answered stacy, swelling with pride because of the responsibility that had been placed upon his plump shoulders. "i can make motions as well as anybody. eagle-eye, tend to business over there. get hold of that rope. twist it around your arm. there, that's right." "hear, hear!" cried the boys. such self-confidence they had never observed in their companion before. and then again, they were trying to be as jolly as possible, that they might not give too much thought to the seriousness of the undertaking before them. "chunky's coming into his own," muttered ned. "he'll be wanting to thrash some of us next. see if he doesn't." "i think i am all ready now," announced tad, casting a critical glance at the men holding the rope, then taking a careful survey of the depths below him. he was standing on the very edge of the cliff, a position that would have made the average person dizzy. yet it seemed to have no effect at all on tad butler. he motioned for them to let out a little rope. "more rope!" bellowed stacy. "all right, captain," jeered ned. "better port your helm, though, or the rope will give you a side wipe and take you along over with tad." stacy quickly changed his position, which tad had intended telling him to do. without another word tad sat down with his feet dangling over, then crawled cautiously down the steep wall. for a short distance he was able to do this without depending on the rope, stacy in the meanwhile lying flat on his stomach, peering down and passing on the signals to those holding the rope. now tad came to a piece of rock that was straight up and down and perfectly smooth. he motioned for them to lower him slowly, which they did until the boy's feet once more touched a solid footing. he carefully settled down until he was in a sitting posture. he was on a narrow, shelving rock, and there he remained for a few moments to rest, for the trip thus far had been exceedingly trying. "the water's fine, chunky," he called up cheerfully. "the water's fine," bellowed chunky, glaring at his companions. then a sheepish grin spread over his countenance when he realized what he had said. "i mean, that's what tad called," he explained, amid a roar of laughter. "he won't find it so fine if he falls in," muttered walter. "bad spirits in water," grunted the indian. "unfortunately for us, they're not all down there," growled ned. but his barbed wit failed to penetrate the tough skin of the red man. "tend to business, boys," warned the professor, observing a series of frantic gestures on the part of stacy brown. "what does he want, to be lowered?" "yes, yes, don't you understand?" "no, we don't understand motions in a foreign language," laughed walter, permitting the rope to slip through his hands a little. "how's that?" queried professor zepplin. "more rope!" roared stacy. "watch my signals, then you'll know what to do." "what not to do," muttered ned. once more tad began his cautious creeping down the uncertain trail. though he had gone some distance, it seemed to him as if the bottom were further away than when he started. "i'm afraid this rope is not going to be long enough," he breathed. "however, i believe i can crawl down the last fifteen or twenty feet if the line will only reach to them. it's not nearly so steep down there as it is higher up." there occurred a sudden sharp jolt on the rope, due to the men above not letting the loops slip around the tree while the rope was taut. this gave tad a drop of three or four feet and a jar that made him think he was falling. "here you, up there! what are you trying to do?" "what do you fellows mean?" demanded stacy. "just a slip, that's all," answered walter. "somebody slipped," shouted stacy. "tell them to be careful, chunky. this rope won't stand many such jerks as that. remember, it's running over some sharp rocks above here and is liable to be cut in two." stacy transmitted the order in a loud tone of command, which the professor emphasized by a sharp command to the boys, at the same time admitting that he himself had also been at fault. "tell him we will not make that mistake again, chunky," said the professor. "won't do it again," called stacy, passing the word along. "all right. i'm doing well now. just keep the line fairly steady so that i won't lose my footing." he was obliged to raise his voice now, being a long way down the slope, with the goal still far from him. "who would have ever thought it so far?" tad asked himself. "i'm sure now that the rope will not reach." believing that he could obtain a better footing a little to the right of him, he motioned for more rope, then raised his hand aloft as a signal that he had sufficient for present needs, all of which stacy repeated with more or less correctness. tad had gained a broad, shelving rock this time. above him projected a rocky roof that reminded him of the roof over his mother's porch at home. it shut off his view of the cliff above him entirely. straight down below him roared the river, here and there a spout of white spray shooting up into the air, revealing the presence of a hidden, treacherous rock. it was an impressive moment for tad butler up there alone, with nothing between himself and sudden death save a slender quarter-inch strand of rope. but though he felt the loneliness of his position, he felt no fear; he was impressed with the solitary grandeur of it all. time was pressing, however, and he decided that he must continue his descent. stepping back to his former position, he started to grope his way downward. for several minutes he made more rapid headway than he had at any time before. he was congratulating himself that he would soon be at the bottom of the cliff, which lay about twenty feet below him. all at once he gave a gasp as he felt the rock crumble beneath his feet. he had thrown his weight on a piece of crumbling limestone and it had given way. at that moment he had some two or three feet of slack rope, that he had motioned to them to pay out, as the way was not now nearly so steep. grasping wildly for some projecting rock to break the jolt which he knew would come when he reached the end of his rope, and perhaps seriously hurt him, the boy was able to stay his progress a little. however, the pressure that his body threw on the slender rope was so great as to jolt nearly all the air from his lungs. then tad suddenly made another and terrifying discovery. he was going down. he was falling. at the top of the cliff another scene was being enacted. the sudden jolt on the rope had occurred just after the boys had paid out the rope beyond the place where tad had spliced it before beginning his descent. the strain was too great for it. the ropes parted at a weak spot near the knot. the pony riders were too much stunned to do more than gaze upon that which they believed meant the death of their companion. chunky, who appeared to be the coolest of any, had been watching the knot approaching him with almost fascinated interest. he was speculating what would happen should the knot chance to come apart. and the very emergency that he was considering did happen. "the rope's broken!" shouted the professor. but chunky had no need to be told that. he knew it already, almost before they realized it. with great presence of mind, and an agility that none would have given him credit for, the fat boy threw himself upon the line that was whisking over the cliff. somehow he managed to fasten both hands on it. the boy began to slide along the ground with the speed of an express train. "grab him! grab him, somebody! he's going over the cliff!" "let go!" bellowed ned rector. stacy hung on grimly, perhaps not realizing the danger he was in. at any rate, he was determined to save tad if he could. "there he goes!" fairly screamed the professor. chunky slipped over the brink and disappeared with a terrified "wow!" "they're both down there, now," groaned the professor, leaning against the tree and wiping the perspiration from his brow. chapter v rescued by a human chain too much stupefied to speak, even to move, the other two boys stood pale and trembling. there was no doubt in their minds that both tad and stacy had been killed. "do something! do something!" shouted the professor, recovering his voice in a sudden rush of words. "i--i am afraid there is nothing we can do now," stammered walter. but ned rector had bounded to the edge and was gazing over half fearfully. "there's chunky! there he is!" he shouted. "where? where?" cried the professor, running up. "where is he, i say?" "right down there, not more than ten feet below us. he has lodged between two rocks--no, i see now, he's caught on one." now that they looked closer, they observed that he was hanging head down, doubled over like a sack of meal, a sharp rock having caught in his left trousers pocket, thus stopping his downward flight. it was not a very secure position at best. "are you hurt, chunky?" called walter. "i--i don't know. i think i'm killed." "can you see tad? do you know what happened to him?" asked ned, in an excited tone. "no, i can't. i've got troubles of my own. get me out of here quick. i can't hold on much longer." "if the trousers only hold out, we'll save you," cried walter. "get a rope, eagle-eye." "move! move, idiot!" snorted the professor. "what are you standing there for?" eagle-eye shrugged his shoulders, if anything more indifferently than before. "no rope," he answered, as if it were a matter of no moment. "i'll get a lariat. that surely ought to be long enough," said walter, darting away to the ponies. "come back. there's no lariats there. they're all in the pack down at the bottom of the canyon," shouted ned. "then we're helpless," groaned the professor. "no, we're not. i'll find a way to get the boy out," announced ned, in a voice of stern determination. there was no laughter in his face now. purpose was written in every line of it. "come here, you lazy redskin, you," he commanded, which summons eagle-eye obeyed reluctantly. "what are you going to do?" demanded the professor. "help!" came a wail from the unhappy chunky. "we're coming. keep quiet. don't you move," admonished walter. "i'll get a nosebleed if i have to hang here this way." "you'll get worse than that if you don't get a grip on yourself and keep quiet. i'm going to form a human chain, the way we used to do to get pond lilies at home. professor, lie down there, while i tie your feet to the tree. we will use you for an anchor." in a trice the professor's feet were made fast to the tree with the remaining piece of rope that had broken off short. "down on your stomach, eagle-eye!" commanded the resourceful ned, giving the redskin a jerk that sent him sprawling. "take hold of his ankles and hang on, professor. you next, walter. good. now grab me by the ankles, while i go over head first." but ned's carefully laid plans failed. the human chain was not long enough to reach. "pull back, quick!" he ordered. the return, however, was less easily executed, and perspiring, weak and trembling, ned finally succeeded in scrambling to the cliff, with the aid of those behind him. "what can we do now?" begged the professor, greatly agitated. "try it another way, that's all. we've simply got to do it. sit down and brace your feet against that boulder near the edge, there, professor." this professor zepplin did quickly. walter dropped down in front of him, and next came the shawnee and ned rector, each, save the professor, sitting on his knees, facing the edge of the cliff. "now each one grab the ankles of the one ahead of him," directed ned. as they did so, the sitting men and boys, still doubled up, let themselves fall forward on their faces. slowly the line lengthened out like the unwinding of the coils of a serpent, ned rector slipping slowly over the brink, the red man squirming after him, until both were clear of the edge, hanging head down. "i've got him," came up the muffled voice of ned. "but i've got a rush of blood to the head. pull now! pull for all you're worth, all of you. if you slip we're all gone. be careful." his words of caution were not needed. each realized the responsibility that rested upon his shoulders, and each was bending every nerve and muscle in his body to the task. eagle-eye himself was urged to renewed efforts by the certain knowledge that if he failed he would go to join the "evil spirits" in the rapid waters below. "wait a minute. i want to turn him around. he's a dead weight this way and i'm afraid we won't get him over," cautioned ned. after much effort he succeeded finally in turning stacy around so that they could clasp hands. "now brace your feet, chunky, and help all you can." this stacy did gladly enough. "don't drop me," he warned. "if somebody doesn't let go you'll be all right," was the comforting answer. walter, being weaker than the others, was by this time well-nigh exhausted, but he held on with a determination that did him credit. at last they succeeded in pulling ned and chunky to the surface. both boys were thoroughly exhausted by the time they were hauled up, and for a moment they lay breathing hard. "lucky my pants didn't rip, wasn't it?" grinned chunky. "did you see me fall in? but where's tad?" he exclaimed, suddenly sitting up. the professor had already hurried to the edge as soon as he was able to get his breath, calling loudly into the depths. there was no answer. then the boys added their voices to his, but without result. tad could hear them call, but as yet he did not possess the strength to answer. when the rope parted he realized instantly that he was falling, and sought desperately to check his fall. he was powerless to do so. however, the rope did this for him to a certain extent, catching here and there in crevices in the rocks, jolting tad almost into unconsciousness as he bounded up and down. finally the springing rope bounced him clear of the last jagged points, dropping him neatly into the bushes. tad landed squarely on the pack that he had gone in search of, but the shock was so severe that for a time he lay stunned and motionless. when finally he became conscious he heard his companions far above calling. the lad tried and tried to answer them, to assure them that he was safe, but the roar of the stream beside him seemed to drown his weakened voice. "i've got to make them hear. i simply must make them hear," he said to himself. "they will be beside themselves with worry, believing that i am killed." finding that he could not raise his voice sufficiently to carry to the top of the cliff, the lad struggled to his feet and began waving his handkerchief. at first those above were so busy using their voices that they did not observe the tiny piece of cloth. they had about given up hope of finding the boy alive, when ned rector, who had been anxiously peering into the gorge, suddenly raised himself to his knees. "i see something moving," he shouted. the others crowded around him as close to the edge as they dared. they were able to make nothing of what he saw. "it's tad! it's tad! he's signaling us," cried ned eagerly. "are you sure?" asked the professor doubtfully. "come and see for yourself," answered ned, grasping the professor by the arm and rushing him to the edge. "be careful! be careful! you'll have both of us over there, next thing you know." "judging from the experiences of our friends, it wouldn't do us much harm," laughed ned. "there's tad butler down there. goodness knows how far he fell, and chunky got a bump that would have knocked the breath out of almost anyone. hooray, t-a-d!" roared ned in answer to his companion's signal. "are you all right?" the tiny piece of cloth waved more emphatically. "what's the matter, can't you talk?" the handkerchief fluttered more rapidly. ned interpreted this as meaning that the boy could not make himself heard. "i am afraid he is hurt." "can't be very seriously or he would be unable to stand up and swing that rag," suggested walter. "looks to me as if he were trying to climb up the rocks," announced chunky. as they gazed down intently they discovered tad emerging from the bushes, slowly making his way upward. "he never can make it," breathed the professor, anxiously. "he will be killed if he tries it." "trust tad. he knows what he is about. he won't try to climb up here," returned ned. "you'll see what he's up to in a minute." the lad's object in scaling the steep wall as far as he could was to get away from the roar of the water that was hurling itself furiously through the gorge, so he could talk with his companions. after ascending as far as the formation of the rocks would allow, tad perched himself behind a point of limestone and swung his hand gayly to those above. "you can't kill a pony rider," glowed ned. "yes, judging from what we have been through, you young gentlemen seem to be immune to almost everything. of course there is liable to be a first time. we don't want that to happen. but we have a serious difficulty on hand at the present moment. call to master tad. see if he is all right." ned did so. "i got a pretty fair shaking up," answered tad, in a voice that they could catch only by the most careful attention. "how far did you fall?" shouted walter. "i didn't have time to measure the distance," answered the voice from below. the boys uttered a shout of laughter. "neither did chunky." "what happened to him?" "he fell over in trying to catch the rope and save you." "good boy! hurt him any?" "no. it hurt us more in getting him out." "ask him if he found the provisions ruined?" suggested the professor. tad informed them that nothing save some of the cooking utensils had been damaged. all had been too securely packed and wrapped with canvas to insure them against exactly the kind of an accident that had happened. "think you can get the stuff up here?" asked ned. "i'd like to know how? the rope is all down here. i can't very well throw the things up to the top of the mountain," replied tad. "that's so. we had forgotten that," muttered the professor. "and young gentlemen, will you tell me how master tad himself is going to get back? don't you see my judgment was right when i said it was a dangerous undertaking?" "it seems so," answered ned ruefully. "but there must be some way to get the provisions out." "bother the provisions," interrupted the professor, impatiently. "we've something more important than food to consider just now. master tad is down in the canyon and from the present outlook he is liable to remain there for some time. any of you think of a plan that will help us? here, eagle-eye, perhaps you can tell us how to get that young gentlemen out of there." the indian shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "him stay. spirits git um bymeby." "you stop that kind of talk," commanded ned. "tad is calling," interrupted walter. "what is it?" asked ned. "get a rope and let down here." "there is not ten feet of rope in the outfit." "send for help then. i've got to get out of here somehow." "tell him there is no help that we could depend upon, within twenty or thirty miles of here," said the professor. chapter vi making the best of it they were well along in the afternoon now and their predicament was apparently serious. "there seems to be only one way out of the difficulty," said the professor, after a little thought. "what's that, professor?" asked walter. "we must send for help, distant as it is." "if you will pardon my differing with you, professor, we have help in plenty right here and a lazy indian thrown in for good measure," said chunky. the boys laughed and nodded their heads in approval. "what we need is a rope, not more help. don't you think so?" "yes, yes. i should have put it that way myself only--" "why not send the indian for a rope?" suggested chunky. "i would go myself if i knew the way." "no, you'd fall in somewhere," chuckled ned. "and the indian probably would forget to come back," added walter. "altogether we are in a fix." "i think master stacy's suggestion is the most practicable of all," decided the professor. "yes, but where could you send eagle-eye?" asked ned. "it would take two days for him to ride to springfield, and that much more time to return. tad would starve to death before that, wouldn't he?" "not hardly. altogether, the situation has some humor in it. master tad is down there with plenty of food, but he cannot get up here. on the other hand we are up here safe, but without food and cannot get down to him." "if tad couldn't get out, he'd be even better off than we then," laughed walter. "we would all be all right in that event, my boy. come here, eagle-eye." the indian obeyed the command lazily. "we want you to take one of the ponies and ride back to your friend's place as fast as you can. get a rope, one long enough to reach down into the gully. don't spare the pony. get back as quickly as possible." "him no got rope." "how do you know? you go just the same and you go in a hurry. don't you dare to show your face back here unless you bring a rope, sir. if you get back before dark, i shall make you a present of this rifle that you have admired so much--" "i beg your pardon, that's my gun you are trying to give away," objected stacy. "never mind, you shall have another. don't you think it's worth that much to get master tad out of his difficulty quickly?" "of course it is. i didn't mean it just that way. sure, give the lazy indian my gun, give him anything i have, only do something to make him hurry." the indian's eyes sparkled with anticipation. "you give indian gun?" he asked. "yes. me ride um pony like fire from sky." "well, get off now," said the professor. "we'll take for granted that you'll do your best. but get back before dark." the red man was off with a bound, and releasing one of the ponies leaped into the saddle, plunging over the rough, rocky trail at a pace that threatened destruction to pony and rider. "they'll break their necks. but he certainly is making time," grinned walter. "hope he doesn't break any necks until he returns with a rope. i don't care how soon after that he--" "that's not a kind thing to say, even of an indian," corrected the professor. "then i won't say it. i'll just think it," laughed ned. "we have sent for a rope, tad," called walter. "you must have patience, for it may be several hours before he gets back." "whom did you send?" "the noble red man," interjected ned, with a laugh. "then, it is more likely to be a week before he returns," sighed the lad. they could almost hear tad groan. however, there was nothing they could do, and after talking back and forth for a time, the boys settled down to rest, rather worn out from the excitement of the last few hours. chunky, though, seemed drawn to the edge of the cliff as if by some invisible force. he simply could not keep away from it. twice ned rector had hauled him back. "fall over if you wish to, chunky. i can't be bothered to watch you all the time," said ned finally. "i won't fall over. once is enough," replied stacy, then they left him to himself. the boy, observing that his friends were not looking, began to toss tiny pebbles over. he was chuckling with glee. first he would throw one, peer over to watch the effect, then dodge back. stacy brown's sense of humor seemed impossible to satisfy. at first tad paid little attention, believing that what he heard dropping about him was particles dislodged from the rocks overhead. but when finally, a bit of limestone the size of a chestnut hit the lad fairly on the top of his head and bounded off, he sprang up from where he had been sitting, with an exclamation of impatience. moving slightly to one side, tad peered cautiously upward. he was gratified a moment later by a sight of stacy brown's red face peeking over at him. "hi, yi, yi, yi!" exploded tad butler. just at this time professor zepplin happened to cast his eyes over toward stacy and, seeing that something unusual was going on, went quickly but silently over to the boy. "what's the trouble? anything the matter?" called the professor. "there will be if you don't tie chunky to a tree or something," called tad. "we haven't any rope to tie him with, but we'll attend to the young man," answered the professor. "see here, boy, what have you been up to?" "i--i was tossing pebbles over at him," answered stacy whimsically. "that will do, young man," warned the professor. "i shall have to take you in hand if i hear any more such complaints. do you know that you might have seriously injured master tad? anything thrown from such a height strikes with considerable force." stacy hung his head, and thrusting his hands in his pockets walked away, after which there was peace in the camp of the pony riders for some time. "every time i try to have a little fun i get into trouble," muttered the boy. "i'll show them some of these days that stacy brown isn't the tenderfoot they seem to think he is. i'll do something yet." he had already done so when he threw himself on the rope with the hope of saving his companion from a terrible fall. but, as usual, his effort had resulted in his own undoing. "got anything to eat?" he asked, approaching the group. "you deserve to go hungry," retorted ned. "looks as though he would, whether he deserves it or not," added walter. "young men, there are some canned beans in my saddle bag. i carried them along in case we should become separated from our pack train," observed the professor. "hooray!" laughed ned, tossing his hat in the air. "i guess we won't starve this evening. let's cook them?" "what shall we cook them in?" asked walter. "that's so. i'd forgotten that. our cooking outfit is at the bottom of the gorge." "i think you will find something on one of the two remaining mules--something that will answer the purpose," suggested the professor. "but first, i would suggest that you unpack your tents and pitch them. it is plain that we shall have to remain here all night." "why not throw tad's tent down to him if we don't succeed in getting him up?" asked chunky. "don't you think we've got enough to do with getting him and the provisions up, without throwing down the rest of our stuff?" sniffed ned. "you must think we have an easy job ahead of us. well, if you think that you're wrong; we haven't." they got to work at once, unloading their tents. the canvas was soon spread out on the ground, ropes laid in place and folding cots placed where they belonged. the next task was to cut some tent poles, which was quickly accomplished. shortly afterwards, the little tents sprang up, and the boys busied themselves with making them inhabitable. while they were doing this, professor zepplin had busied himself with gathering firewood. he had trouble in finding enough dry stuff to answer their purpose. walter remembered having seen some in a gully a short distance away. "i know where it is. i'll go fetch it as soon as we have finished here," he said. "very well, walter. i have enough here to start the supper with." having done all that was necessary to the tent for the time being, walter perkins ran off to get the wood for the night fire, while ned, having found a spider, prepared to cook the supper. out of the packs he had drawn a small package that looked good to him. he opened it and uttered a shout. "will we starve to-night? i guess not," he laughed, waving the contents of the package above his head. "what have you found?" asked the professor. "bacon. enough for all of us and perhaps some to spare." "then, we are not so badly off after all, master ned. how about the coffee?" "coffee went down the hill." "the tea also?" "yes. the whole business. neither have we any butter or lard. we shall have to cook the beans in themselves and eat them without seasoning." "cook the bacon with them. that will furnish the salt," suggested stacy. "large head," laughed ned. "i'll do it. go fetch me some water." stacy hurried away whistling, and in a few minutes returned with his sombrero filled with clear, cool mountain water. "here, here! what do you mean? think we want to drink out of that old hat?" jeered ned. "get a pail; what ails you?" "nothing ails me. it's the pail you want to find fault with--not with me." "what do you mean?" "the pail's down at the bottom of the mountain with tad," grinned stacy. "that's one on me," laughed ned. "very well, go wash the hat thoroughly. i suppose we shall have to use it for a water pail. a good scrubbing won't do it any harm, at that." "i did wash it," replied stacy. "think i'd bring you water in it without doing so?" "all right, put it down," said ned, turning away. "i can't." "why not?" "if i put the hat down the water will all run out over the top." "then stand there and hold it till we get through supper," growled ned, turning to the fire where the bacon was frying in the pan of beans. stacy eyed him questioningly for a few seconds, and then with an exclamation poured the water on the ground, jamming the wet, dripping sombrero down over his head. "you go get your own water. i'm not the cook, anyhow," he said, thrusting both hands into his trousers pockets and strolling over to the other side of the fire, where he watched the supper preparations out of the corners of his eyes. "serve you right if we didn't give you any supper," commented ned. "i'll set the table if you will agree not to find fault with the way i do it," offered the boy. "go ahead. i'll promise." stacy flirted the table cloth in the air, and after walking around several times, succeeded in smoothing it out. he could find only two spoons in their kit, and no knives and forks. the boy pondered deeply for a moment, then hurried off into the brush, returning shortly, stuffing something in his inside coat pocket. "grub pi-i-i-lee!" announced the cook. "hey, tad, supper's ready," shouted ned, peering over the cliff. "all right," came back the answer. "i'm eating mine now. i've got corned beef and--" "and what? it must be something pretty good." "it is. what would you say to canned peaches?" "canned peaches! now, fellows, what do you think of that? i didn't know there were any in the pack," mourned ned. "and you the cook! i don't think you're much of a cook after all. it's lucky for us you didn't know it, i guess," said stacy, with a grimace. "lucky for tad, you mean. precious little of those canned peaches we'll ever see. come, fall to. you'll make me late with my dishes," urged ned. they were hungry enough, and the spiderful of beans and bacon looked good to them. "what, do we have to eat with a spoon--a large spoon, at that?" "you do, unless you prefer to use your fingers, professor. we are not allowed by you to do that, but i presume you can if you want to. chunky doesn't need any. we will divide the two spoons between the three of us," said ned, with a twinkle in stacy's direction. but his levity did not disturb the fat boy in the least. after having had his plate heaped with beans and bacon, stacy calmly took from his pocket two sharp sticks that he had cut and trimmed just before supper. on one of these he speared a piece of bacon, stringing several beans on the other, and carrying both mouthward at the same time. the boys burst out laughing. "well, will you look at the chopsticks!" exclaimed ned. "i always thought he'd make a good chinaman." "master stacy is at least resourceful," answered the professor, a broad grin on his face. "i think i shall cut me some sticks just like those." the boy stripped the beans from one into his mouth and extended the stick to professor zepplin. "no, thank you," laughed the scientist. "i think i prefer to get my own." chunky solemnly chased a truant bean about his plate, finally spearing and conveying it to his already well-filled mouth. chapter vii boy and ponies strangely missing after all, the supper proved a very jolly meal, now that they were sure tad was all right. then, again, the beans and bacon were pronounced excellent by each of them, and stacy had made fully as good time with his crude chopsticks as had the others with the tablespoons. supper finished, all hands turned in to help wash the dishes, and in a few moments the camp was again in perfect order. tad was informed of stacy's skill with chopsticks, and they could hear him laughing over it, even though they were no longer able to see him. "are you warm enough down there?" called ned. "sure thing. i have most of the blankets." "that means we freeze, i guess," interjected stacy. "you can go cut yourself a few chopsticks and sleep under them," retorted ned rector. "hey, tad, why don't you build a fire down there?" "haven't any matches." "never mind, tad, the moon soon will be up and you can get warm by that," shouted the fat boy. "chunky has suddenly developed into a wit, tad. i don't know what's happened to the boy. it must have been that fall over the cliff that shook his thinking machinery into place." "pity some other folks not more'n a million miles away wouldn't fall over," muttered stacy. "what's that you say?" demanded ned, turning on him. "i--i was just thinking to myself," explained chunky, edging away. ned was glaring at him ferociously, at the same time struggling to keep back the laughter that rose to his lips because of stacy's sharp retort. "i'll make a suggestion, young gentlemen," said the professor. "yes, sir, what is it?" asked the boys in chorus. "pile up all the dry wood that walter has gathered. pile it right up on the edge of the cliff and light it. i think that will make the evening more cheerful for master tad down there." "that will be fine," cried walter. quickly carrying the dried wood to the place indicated, they piled it so that it would make a long fire, then lighted it from three sides at the same time. the result was a bright blaze that flared high, lighting the rocks far down into the canyon, but not sufficiently far to reach tad. "trying to burn up the mountain?" shouted tad. "no; we're trying to burn it down, so we can pick you up," called ned rector. "oh," came up from the depths. "it seems to me that you young men are getting rather sharp with each other," said the professor, shaking his head. "i guess it must be the ozark air getting into our lungs," answered ned. "i've felt like having a wrestling bout with some one ever since we got into these mountains." "wait till tad comes up. i think he will accommodate you," suggested chunky wisely. "you mustn't mind our talk, professor," explained walter. "we say things to each other, but it's all in fun. we don't mean to be mean. do we, ned?" "of course not. chunky is the only one who--" "never mind chunky. he'll take care of himself," answered the fat boy sharply. "isn't it about time that lazy indian were back, professor?" asked walter. "yes, that's so. i hadn't thought of that, walter. he has been gone all of five hours now, and the trip should not have taken him more than three all told." "suppose he had to stop to smoke a pipe of peace with his friend," suggested ned. "then there would be a certain amount of grunting to do before eagle-eye could state his business, and after that much talk, talk. that's the indian of it." "you seem to know a lot about indians. were you ever an indian?" asked stacy innocently. "even if i were, i couldn't be called a savage," retorted ned. the hours wore on, and the moon came up in a cloudless sky, much to the relief of the boy down in the canyon. just before dark he had observed that there was quite a strip of rock and sand on his side of the rushing mountain torrent. it extended further than he could see and the lad wondered where it might lead to. after a time he cuddled up, but could not sleep. perhaps it was the loneliness of his position. yet he had been alone in mountain and forest many times before. "hello, up there!" he shouted, pulling himself to a sitting position. "hello!" answered walter. "i'm going to bed. don't worry about me. i suppose the indian has not returned?" "no such luck," answered ned, who had come up beside walter and replied to tad's question. "and he won't be back till morning," sang the boy down there in the shadows. "right you are," laughed ned. "if he gets back then we are in great luck. i'll let the rope down to you if he should happen to return during the night." "no; wait till morning. i wouldn't care to try to climb up in the dark. i'd be likely to get hurt if i did. you had better all turn in now. there will be no need for you to sit up." "all right," answered ned and walter at once. "i think perhaps master tad is right. we had better go to bed. i would suggest, however, that one of you roll up in his blankets outside here, so that he can hear if master tad calls," suggested professor zepplin. "that's a good idea. i'll do that, with your permission, professor," offered ned rector promptly. "yes. then walter and stacy had better go to their tents. if anything occurs during the night, remember you are to let me know at once. if eagle-eye returns, i want to know it, too." "very well, sir," answered ned. after replenishing the fire, determined to remain awake until daylight, the lad rolled up in his blankets. in a few minutes after the camp quieted down he fell sound asleep; and he did not open his eyes again until the sun peeped over the eastern range of the mountains and burned apart his eyelids. ned awoke with a start. he could scarcely believe that another day had dawned. he sat up, rubbing his eyes and blinking in the strong morning light. "whew! i'm stiff in every joint," he mumbled. "and sleepier than stacy brown ever thought of being." ned pulled himself to his feet, yawning broadly. "that's another bad habit i have learned from chunky. i wonder if tad's awake." peering over the edge, ned was unable to make out whether his companion down there were awake or sleeping. he hesitated to call, knowing that if tad butler were still asleep at that hour of the day it was because he was tired out and needed rest badly. ned strode over to stacy's tent. "wake up," he commanded, pinching one of the fat boy's big-toes. "get out," mumbled stacy sleepily, at the same time kicking viciously with the disturbed foot. thus encouraged, ned pulled the other big-toe. chunky rose in his wrath, hurling the rubber pillow on which he had been sleeping full into the face of his tormentor. ned, caught off his balance, tumbled over in a heap, while stacy crawled back under the blankets, very well satisfied with the result of his throw. but he was left in peace only a moment. ned recovered himself and returned to the charge. over went the cot, with stacy beneath it. from the confusion of blankets emerged the red face of the fat boy. ned rector thought it time to leave. he did so, with stacy a close second and the rubber pillow brushing ned's cheek in transit. there was no more sleep in the camp. ned and stacy's foot race continued until both were out of breath and thoroughly awake. then they sat down, laughing, the color flaming in their cheeks and eyes sparkling with pleasurable excitement. "i'll wake up tad, i guess," announced ned after recovering his breath. going to edge of the cliff, he shouted loudly. but there was no answer to his summons. then both boys added their voices to the effort, joined a few minutes later by the professor and walter perkins. they were unable to get any reply at all; nor was there the slightest movement or sign of life where tad had last been seen. "what can it mean?" they asked each other, all the laughter gone out of their faces now. "it means," said ned, "that tad isn't there. beyond that, i would not venture an opinion." "maybe he's fallen into the stream during the night and drowned," suggested chunky. "we shall not even consider that as possible, nor do i believe it is," replied the professor. nevertheless, he was deeply concerned over the mysterious disappearance of the lad. "if the indian ever gets here with a rope, i'll go down there and see if i can find out anything," said ned. "not until all other means have been exhausted," declared the professor. "we appear to have lost one boy, and i do not intend that we shall lose another." "i wouldn't worry," comforted walter perkins. "you all know tad, and you know he isn't a boy that you can lose so easily. i'll bet my share in the next meal that he's back here before dark this afternoon." this confidence brightened the others visibly. "that's right," agreed ned. "you can't down tad. i guess i'll go water my pony and give him some fresh trees to eat up while some of you are starting the fire. we had better eat, anyway." "what is there to eat?" asked the professor. "beans, that's all, and not much of that. unless we get the stuff down there, we won't have another meal to-day." the other two boys began preparing for the camp-fire. ned had been gone only a few moments when he returned on a run. "boys! boys!" he cried. "what is it? what is it?" they exclaimed in sudden alarm. "the ponies! the ponies!" "what about them?" asked walter, pausing as he was about to strike a match to the wood. "yes, what of them, master ned? has anything happened to them?" asked the professor, striding toward the excited ned rector. "happened? i should say there had--" "well, what is it? don't keep us waiting in suspense all--" "they're gone!" "gone?" exclaimed the two boys in chorus. "it can't be possible." "two of them are. they have broken away, i think. it must have happened late last night, for i looked at them just before going to bed, and they were all asleep then." "whi--which ponies--which ones are gone?" asked walter apprehensively. "chunky's and tad's." "is it possible?" sputtered the professor, striding to the place where their stock had been tethered. "yes, they've broken away," he decided, observing that a piece of stake rope belonging to each had been broken short off. "look around, boys. they cannot be far away. probably got hungry and concluded to look for some tender bushes to browse on." the boys, thus encouraged, hastened to begin their search for the missing stock. "they went this way," shouted ned. all hands hurried to him. "yes, there's their tracks," agreed the professor. "now follow them, but look out that you do not get lost." instead, a few moments afterward, they lost the trail. it disappeared from before them as utterly as if the ponies had walked on air from that point on. no amount of searching brought it to view again, and after more than an hour of persistent effort, the professor called the hunt off, and the crestfallen party returned to camp. "what are we going to do?" asked stacy dolefully. "i know what you are going to do," returned ned. "what?" "you're going to ride a mule from this point on." chapter viii the indian makes a discovery it was not a cheerful breakfast to which the lads sat down. it seemed as if nothing but trouble had overtaken them ever since they had been in the ozark mountains. they had just finished when the indian rode in on ned's mount, which he had chosen for his journey. this was something at least to detract their attention from their troubles. "hey, you haven't got back, have you?" taunted ned, noting the flecks of foam on his pony with disapproving eyes. "me back," grinned the indian. "i see you are," replied the professor dryly. "where's the rope?" "yes; we don't care so much about seeing you, but we want that rope," added ned emphatically. "no got um." "do you mean to say you have been gone nearly twenty-four hours and have not found a rope?" demanded professor zepplin. "no rope," persisted the guide sullenly. "why not?" demanded ned, steadying himself, for he was more wrought up than he wished to admit, even to himself. the shawnee shrugged his shoulders. "where's that rope?" snapped chunky, with sudden new-found courage, facing the guide at close quarters. "no get um! no get um!" insisted the indian, gesticulating extravagantly. "yes, but why not, why not?" urged the professor. "no find." "you mean you could not find one?" "he doesn't know what he means," sneered ned. "he's had too much pipe of peace." "go take care of that pony," commanded the professor sternly. "rub him down well. after you have done so, return and get your breakfast. there's not much for you." "he'll have to wash his own dishes," announced ned. "no washing dishes for a lazy indian. no, not for me." "yes, he will have to do that," agreed the professor. "come back here, eagle-eye." the boys did not know at the moment what the professor had in mind. "two of our ponies got away last night, eagle-eye." the indian nodded, but without exhibiting any surprise. "did you know it?" "me know." "how?" demanded the professor, with unfeigned surprise. "me see um tracks. me see um ropes there." "well, you have got some sense after all,"' retorted the professor. "how do you suppose they got away?" "no get away." "what's that? what do you mean?" asked ned sharply. "no get away." "i guess the pipe of peace has gone to his head," declared ned disgustedly. "now you say they didn't get away. if not, they must be over there now. how do you explain that?" "no there." "of course they're not. then they got away." "no get away. steal um," announced the indian calmly. his announcement was like an electric shock to them. "stolen? stolen? is that what you mean?" shouted professor zepplin. "yes." "oh, preposterous! stolen? and with all of us sleeping within a rod or so of them? impossible." "eagle-eye say stole," insisted the guide. "how do you know?" "see um tracks, then not see um tracks." "well, what do you infer from that--what does that mean?" the indian went through a series of pantomimic gestures to indicate that the feet of the missing ponies had been bound with cloths so that their hoofs would leave no imprint. "come eagle-eye," he commanded, striding off toward the bedding-down place. they followed and gathered around him as he picked up the ends of the tether ropes. "break um? no, cut um." "you mean the ropes have been cut?" "uh-huh," he grunted in gutteral tones. there was silence for a moment. "he isn't such a wooden indian as he'd have us believe after all," grinned ned. "can't you trail them?" asked stacy. the shawnee shook his head. "why not?" "no leave trail. smart man." "yes, there is no doubt of that," agreed the professor. "have you any idea who did this thing, eagle-eye?" the shawnee shrugged his shoulders as indicating that he did not know. "probably it was the same fellow whom you found fooling about the camp the other night," suggested walter. "just what i was thinking," added ned. "yes, no doubt he is the man. but what we are going to do, i don't know. it occurs to me that i might send some one on to mr. munson, superintendent of the red star mine, to whom i have a letter, asking him to send us on a couple of extra ponies." "does he know who we are?" asked walter perkins. "yes, he knows your father. mr. munson is expecting us, and is to entertain us when we reach the place." "how far are we from there now?" inquired ned. "how far, eagle-eye?" "two suns." "two days, eh. we could make it while eagle-eye was going there and back. i move that we wait until to-morrow. perhaps we may find tad some time to-day. i believe he will return, as i said before. if he does, we can start right on. some of us will have to walk, but that doesn't matter. we are pretty well used to doing that, i guess." "master ned, your suggestion is a good one. we shall adopt it. i presume the other animals are safe. the thieves certainly will not have the assurance to come back again." "no come more," affirmed the guide. "after you have finished your breakfast i want you to start in and look for master butler. you'll have to find a way to get down there, even if you have to wade in the stream--" "spirits git um boy." "we will leave that out of the question. you find him, that's all." "he won't go down there," said ned. "he may say he will, but he won't." "i'll see that he does," replied the professor, with a firm closing of the lips. "i have trifled long enough. now we shall do something. i--" "well, what's all the excitement about?" demanded a cheery voice behind them. "tad! it's tad!" shouted the boys in chorus. with yells of delight they pounced upon him and for a moment there was a regular football scrimmage, with tad butler at the bottom of the heap, the others mauling him about with shouts of glee. it was the pony rider boys' way of showing their delight at the return of their companion. but tad did not mind it at all. throwing them off with a prodigious effort he scrambled to his feet, dust-covered, hatless and with hair in a sad state of disorder. professor zepplin had thrust the other boys aside and was gripping tad's hands. "it's the last time you ever get me to consent to your taking such a chance," he said. "how did you get out? you certainly did not climb up the side of the mountain." "oh, no," laughed tad. "i knew there must be some way out, for i found a moccasin track down there in the sand before i turned in last night." "you must have pretty good eyes to find a moccasin track in the dark," laughed ned. "i did not say it was dark. i made the discovery before that." "tell us about it," urged walter. "you didn't find any of eagle-eye's evil spirits down there, did you?" asked ned. "no. i wish i had. i should have been glad of company of any kind." "we want to hear how you got out," spoke up chunky. "i--i came pretty near falling in after you, too." "yes, i know. well, to begin with, before i found the moccasin track i noticed that there was room to walk along by the side of the stream. when the moon came up, not being able to sleep, for some reason--i guess it was on account of the water that made such a racket, i thought i'd look around a bit. after i got started i kept on going and going, and the further i went the less steep did the banks appeared--" "how far did you go?" interrupted the professor. "i haven't the slightest idea." "i presume you found no great change in the topographic features of--" tad laughed good-naturedly. "i was trying to get out, professor. finally, i found a place that looked good and after i had scrambled up some fifteen feet i discovered that i had struck a trail. it had been in use not long since. what for i cannot imagine. the rest was very easy. i reached the top of the cliff just after daylight." "how--how did you find your way back?" wondered stacy. "i followed along the ridge. after a while i saw the smoke from your camp-fire, then i hurried in and here i am." "you always were a lucky fellow," laughed ned. "now if that had been myself i should have been down there yet, or else in the river or whatever you call that stream down there." "got anything to eat?" asked tad. "my appetite this morning is a thing to be feared." "depends upon how much the guide has eaten," replied walter. "i guess you will have to lick the frying pan." "yes, that's all he'll get," added ned. "any fellow who has filled up on canned peaches and the like doesn't need any more than that." "professor," continued tad, "i would suggest that we pack up and move along down until we come to the trail. we can all then work into the gorge leaving the ponies on top. it will be an easy matter for us to pack the stuff to the top. we'll be in good shape then. shall we do it?" "yes, yes," answered the professor absently. "come on then, fellows. i'll tighten my belt and save my appetite until we get something like real food to eat. licking a frying pan won't satisfy my longings this morning. i'll pack the ponies while you are striking the tents. i--" tad turned, gazing at them curiously. they were strangely silent. the lad felt instinctively that something had gone wrong, for tad butler was quick to catch a suggestion. "well, what is it all about? you are as solemn as a lot of owls at sunrise. anything happened?" walter nodded. "it's about the ponies, master tad," the professor informed him. "the ponies? which ponies? are they hurt?" exclaimed the lad sharply. "we don't know," answered professor zepplin. "then what is the matter? don't keep me in suspense." "gone," growled ned dismally. "where?" "i'm sure i don't know. the redskin says they have been stolen--your pony and chunky's. the trail has been masked so we cannot follow them." without a word, tad butler hastened to the spot where the animals had been tethered when he went over the cliff. silently he made a careful inspection of the place. "well, what do you think of it?" asked ned. "i think i'll walk," answered tad, thrusting both hands in his trousers pockets. "but i'm going to get my pony back before ever i leave these mountains," he announced quietly. chapter ix horse thieves pay a second visit tad was unusually silent while they were packing ready to break camp, but as they got out on the trail he became more talkative. he did not refer to the ponies again on the way, though the lad's mind was working rapidly. "do you think we shall be able to hire some ponies of mr. munson?" he asked when they had been an hour on their journey. "i have no doubt of it," answered the professor. "perhaps it would be better to buy a couple." "i don't want to do that just yet. there's the place where we are to leave the trail," he added, pointing to what appeared to be a broad gash in the rocks ahead of them. "we shall have to leave the ponies, what few we have left. i don't suppose the thieves will come back for the rest of them, do you?" "hardly," answered the professor. securing their mounts as well as the two pack mules, they started down the mountain side with tad butler in the lead. on down the long, sloping trail they trudged until at last they reached the point where they were obliged to get down on all fours to clamber the last fifteen feet of precipitous rocks. eagle-eye halted, standing rigid, gazing off across the gorge. "well, what are you waiting for?" demanded the professor. "come along. we shall need you." "me stay." professor zepplin was angry. he was for trying to force the indian to accompany them. "i would suggest that you let him remain where he is," said tad. "we shall need some one here to haul up the packs when we get them at the bottom there. i'll leave my rope for him." "very well, just as you say. i hate to see even an indian make such an exhibition of himself," answered the professor witheringly. "i never supposed there were such cowards among the red men." tad handed his rope to eagle-eye, at the same time telling the fellow what he was to do. the party then scrambled down the rocks, soon finding themselves on more secure footing by the side of the roaring stream. the mountain torrent was more of a reality to the boys now than had been the case when they were gazing down upon it from the top of the cliff. "my, i'd hate to fall in there!" decided stacy, edging away from the flying spray that floated like a thin cloud along the edge of the bank, masking the torrent like a white veil. "wonderful! wonderful!" exclaimed the professor, raising both hands above his head, glancing first up then down the imposing mountain gash. he was deeply impressed by the spectacle. "young gentlemen," he said, turning to them, impressively, "it would be well for you to give serious thought to the remarkable region in which you now find yourselves." "yes, sir," agreed tad. "we are not liable to forget it, professor," added ned. "the ozark region is unusual in having within such limited areas so wide a range of geological formation." professor zepplin in his enthusiasm was waxing eloquent, and the lads were giving respectful attention. "perhaps you are unaware," continued the scientist, "that in both the eastern and western portions of this range, a section running transversely to its main axis presents a complete succession from the oldest archaean to the newest quaternary." the professor fixed stacy with a stern eye. "do you follow me, young gentleman?" "ye--yes, sir," stammered chunky weakly, shrinking back against the rocks. "and from perfectly massive rocks to the most perfectly stratified sediments there are represented a considerable variety of masses belonging to different ages--a very complete section of the palaeozoic and a rather full sequence of the latter deposits which recline against the older strata." "yes, sir," agreed ned meekly. "a-h-e-m. and now having thus enlightened you, we will proceed with our quest for something to eat. i trust my explanation has been perfectly clear to you all?" queried the scientist, with the suspicion of a twinkle in his eyes. "with all due respect to you, sir, i must confess that i didn't understand a word of it," answered tad boldly. "i hadn't the slightest idea that you did," retorted the professor, with a hearty laugh. "our friend, master stacy, appears to be the only one of you who grasped the scientific truths." the boys shouted with laughter. ned rector proposed three cheers for professor zepplin, which were given with a will. stacy, rather crestfallen, joined in the cheering, weakly, however. "it is well to give thought now and then to more serious matters, boys. after we are out of our present difficulty i will put what i have just told you into more simple language--language that you will all understand. this is the most unusual country we have been in yet, and i want you to leave it with a pretty clear idea of the lessons it teaches. how far is it to where our provisions were dumped?" "it will take us an hour to get there, i should say," replied tad. "we had better be on our way." tad tied his red handkerchief to a bush, so they might not miss the trail upon their return, after which the party started out on its long tramp. "if we were nearer to food, i should not take the time to rescue the supplies. at the present rate, it may be days before we reach a settlement." "especially if we lose any more live stock," said tad. lost in admiration, the lads worked their way along the bank, gazing first at the swirling waters, whose spray here and there gave off the colors of the rainbow in the morning sun, then up at the towering white limestone cliffs above them. "there's the place," announced tad finally. "where?" queried the professor. "just below where you see that projection of rock that looks like an indian's nose. that's the rock that i tumbled down after the rope broke with me. i am black and blue yet. don't think there's a spot on the rock that i didn't hit on my way down. my, i got a bump!" "are the things damaged?" asked ned solicitously. "no, nothing to speak of. i guess i did the most damage when i helped myself last night," laughed tad. tad, after finishing his meal, had carefully packed the stuff together, and they now found it all in excellent condition. the heavy canvas had protected the food and dishes in the dizzy fall, though some of the cans had been considerably flattened. "what do you say to having a real breakfast down here?" suggested walter. "yes, i'm hungry," urged chunky. "oh, you'll get over that," retorted ned. "an excellent idea, but what are you going to do for a fire?" asked professor zepplin. they had not thought of that before. "that's so. there is no wood down here at all," said tad. "but, wait a minute. i know where there are some dead brush sticks a little way from here. come on, some of you fellows, and we'll see what we can do." when they returned each had his arms full of brush and vines, all of which they dumped in a heap on the edge of the rapids. "it doesn't look very promising," said the professor, with a doubtful shake of his head. "no, i guess it will be a quick fire," answered tad. "ned, you get the coffee ready and the other things so we can put them on the fire the moment we get it started. i'll have the pile ready by the time you are." with considerable skill the lad arranged the heap, placing the dead leaves and the driest of the sticks at the bottom. on top he placed a mass of half green stuff, packing the whole down by throwing himself on the pile, after which he rounded it up in a mound shape, with a circle of stones in the middle. the fire blazed up encouragingly, and ned, getting water from the rapids for the coffee, put the pot quickly into the ring of stones. "something's going to happen in about a minute," announced chunky, with an air of great wisdom. he had been watching the preparations with hands thrust deeply into his pockets. "what's going to happen?" demanded ned, turning on him sharply. chunky, instead of replying, leaned back against the rocks and began to whistle. in a moment the disaster that he had foreseen was upon them. the flimsy pile of brush and vines, after the fire had burned away its foundations, gave way beneath the weight of the stones. coffee pot, coffee and stones went down with a crash and a clatter. "save the coffee pot!" shouted ned, giving chunky a push. "save it yourself. i'm not the cook," answered the fat boy, who chanced to be nearest to the fire. "i told you something was going to happen." in the meantime tad butler had sprung to the rescue. with one well-directed kick he had scattered the brush and rescued the coffee pot before serious damage had been done to it. rushing to the river, he scooped up a fresh supply of water, planting the pot in the center of the fire and heaping the burning stuff about it. "we'll have some coffee after all," he glowed. "i don't think ned is much of a cook, do you, chunky?" "'bout as good as you are at making fires to cook by, i guess," mumbled chunky. tad laughed with them at his own expense. the water was soon boiling, however, and with the canned stuff laid on the canvas which had been spread out close to the water, the jolly party shortly after that were able to sit down to breakfast. "two lumps of sugar i believe you take, professor?" questioned ned politely, poising a handful of lumps over the professor's cup. "give me four," interjected chunky. "you take yours clear this morning," retorted ned. "i got the condensed milk, anyway," jeered chunky. "no sugar for me, no condensed milk for you," and he planted the can firmly between his feet, which were curled up half under him. "oh, give him the sugar. i have to take my coffee half milk," begged walter. "all right, hand over the condensed milk then. i'll give you two lumps," said ned. "three," replied chunky, firmly, making no move to hand over the milk. ned let the lumps drop into his companion's cup, but from such a height that chunky had to dodge as the coffee flew up. he wiped a few drops of the coffee from his face, deliberately filled his cup to overflowing with milk, then handed the can to walter. "i guess chunky doesn't need any of our help. he is pretty well able to take care of himself," laughed tad. "delicious," breathed the professor, sampling his cup of steaming liquid. "who, chunky?" asked ned quizzically. "certainly not the coffee," replied the professor in a tone of reproof. the meal was finished with many a jest and the pack divided up into bundles so that each should have his share to carry, after which the lads took up their return tramp. they arrived at the mountain trail shortly before noon. "where's the guide?" asked tad, glancing about. "probably asleep somewhere," replied ned. "he's almost as big a sleepy head as chunky." "he is not here, ned." "most unreliable guide we've had. i shall dismiss him immediately upon our arrival at the red star mine," decided the professor. "you are sure he is nowhere about, tad?" "you can see. he's not here. i hope he has left the rope. i'll climb up there and find out. no, he has taken it with him, evidently." "here's the rope," called stacy, hauling it from a clump of bushes where it had evidently been dropped. "coil it and cast it up here," directed tad. this done, he began hauling up the bundles that they made fast to it below. finally, this was completed without accident. all hands took up their packages from that point and started along the winding trail that led up the mountain side. "most peculiar, most peculiar," muttered the professor. "maybe some of those spirits that the indian was talking about came up and got him," suggested stacy, with serious face. "maybe," agreed ned. "but i'd sooner think they would take you if they were the real bad spirits." "it is my opinion," declared professor zepplin gravely, "that the spirits that trouble eagle-eye most are not the supernatural kind. we certainly drew a prize when we picked him." "we did," agreed tad, laughing. "next time we'll choose a white man, if we can get one--" "hello, he isn't here, either," called ned, who was the first to reach the end of the trail at the top. tad, close behind him, cast a searching glance about. "that's not all that is missing, either," he said sharply. "what!" exclaimed the professor. "two more ponies, that's all," replied tad butler. "we are a smart lot to let him steal our stock right under our very eyes." chapter x the professor distinguishes himself the boys uttered a cry of dismay. "you don't mean--you can't mean they have been here again?" "it looks that way," replied tad. "both walter's and ned's ponies are gone. see, the ropes have been untied, not cut. the ponies surely did not do that." the professor was much too excited to speak for the moment. "i am glad they did not take your mount, professor. that is one thing to be thankful for, anyway," said tad. "i don't understand this business at all." "why, they must have been hanging about our camp all the time. they followed us here," exploded ned. "we are a lot of tenderfeet." "some of us," suggested chunky. "this is no joke," snapped ned, turning on him almost savagely. "we are in a fix." "yes, but we've got two mules left, haven't we," queried the boy whimsically. "it's an outrage!" shouted the professor. "i'll have the law on them whoever they are. they shall suffer for this!" "yes, but first we shall have to catch them, professor," returned tad. "it seems we were not misinformed when they warned us to be on the lookout for horse thieves." "in springfield, yes. i had no idea it was as bad as this. they certainly can't get away without being caught." "i don't know about that. but i do know that we have been easy game for the thieves." "do you think they took anything else?" demanded the professor. "i don't see that anything else is missing, do you, ned?" "no." "see, they took off the saddles. didn't want them for some reason. i'm glad of that. by the way, did they get my saddle when they stole my pony last night?" asked tad. "no, i had your saddle in my tent," walter informed him. "the question is--" began tad. "the first question is, what has become of eagle-eye," interrupted the professor. "that's so. i had forgotten about him," said tad. the lads looked at each other questioningly. the same thought was in the mind of each. "you--you don't suppose--" muttered walter. "of course! that's it! it's eagle-eye!" exclaimed ned. "don't be too quick to accuse anyone, young gentlemen. it is very irritating, i know. but let us be slow about placing the charge at any man's door, be he copper colored or white." "but, professor," expostulated ned rector, "he goes away, and while absent from camp two ponies are stolen. to-day we leave him halfway down the rocks and upon our return, two more ponies are missing, as well as the indian himself. what can we think, but that he has had something to do with our loss?" "if i remember correctly, it was eagle-eye who called our attention to the fact that the animals had been stolen last night. you thought they had broken away," recalled professor zepplin. "that's so," agreed ned. "it certainly does look bad. if eagle-eye had no hand in the theft, why should he run away as he seems to have done?" asked tad. "this is what is known as circumstantial evidence," the professor informed them. "i do not say that the indian is guiltless. i am simply counseling caution. wait. we shall soon be at the mines, and from there, we can set the officers of the law on the track, which we shall do as soon as we are able to communicate with mr. munson." "yes, but how are we going to get there?" asked ned. "guess we'll have to ride the mules," grinned stacy. "you may be a mule driver if you wish--i'll walk," retorted ned. "that's what we all shall have to do," laughed tad. "glad the thieves didn't take our guns." "and the food," reminded stacy. "yes. probably they knew you had your appetite with you," laughed ned. in the meantime tad had begun a search about the place for clues. he discovered where the animals had been taken from camp, but, as in the case with the loss of the other animals, the trail suddenly disappeared a short distance from camp. "they seem to have headed for the west. we are sure of that much," decided ned. "which means nothing at all," answered tad. "they may have turned and gone back or else are traveling along ahead of us. in either case we can't follow them. do you not think we had better be starting, professor? we cannot afford to lose a minute now. i want my pony." "and so do i--and i--and i," added the lads, one after the other. "i think so. yet how are we going to find our way? we shall be lost." "no, we can't get lost, professor," interrupted stacy. "not lost--cannot get lost?" "no." "why not?" glared the professor. "we can't get lost," announced stacy impressively, "because we don't know where we are, anyway." a roar of laughter greeted this assertion. it did more than anything else to put the boys in a better frame of mind--unless perhaps it might have been the return of the lost ponies. "i am forced to admit the correctness of master stacy's logic," replied the scientist, after their laughter had subsided. "it seems fairly simple to me," spoke up tad. "the mountains run in a southeasterly direction. if we follow that direction we are bound to come out somewhere--" "in arkansas or the indian territory or some other place," cut in ned rector. "as i understand it," went on tad, not heeding the interruption, "these gorges or canyons in the ozark range follow the same general direction. we have one right here by us, and we have the sun above us. between the two we should be able to find our way." "that sounds promising, master tad. you are a level-headed young man, even if you do take long chances and do foolish things now and again. i shall adopt your suggestion and we'll be off at once." they were forced to pack some of their belongings on the back of professor zepplin's mount, while each of the two mules was subjected to an additional load. when the packing had been finished there was little room for anyone to ride, so tad took one of the mules, ned rector the other, leading them by short ropes, and started off followed by walter and stacy on foot, with the professor riding his own pony. the boys moved away with broad grins on their faces as they thought of the spectacle they were creating. yet there was none to watch their undignified progress. however, leading a mule and riding a pony were two distinctly different operations. the boys were in a hurry and the mules were not and over this difference of inclination they had many disagreements. once ned lost his temper with the beast of burden that he had in tow, and used his crop rather too freely to suit the long-eared animal. the latter kicked until he kicked the pack from his back. amid the shouts of laughter of his companions, his face red and perspiring, ned was obliged to gather up the pack in sections and strap it in place again, which he did after much endeavor. thereafter he kept his temper. "i've heard it said that a mule wouldn't kick after twelve o'clock," said chunky. "guess it wasn't true." "perhaps it is after twelve o'clock at night that was meant," suggested tad. "mules are asleep then, aren't they?" "supposed to be, i guess." "then that's it," answered the fat boy somewhat enigmatically. they failed to make any great distance that day. how far they had advanced they did not know. shortly before sundown they called a halt at professor zepplin's suggestion. the mules went to sleep while the boys were unloading them. ned confessed that he was nearly fagged. tad, on the other hand, declared that he had never felt better in his life. "hope they won't steal anymore live stock," said ned. "if they do we'll have to pack the outfit on our own backs, which, after all, probably wouldn't be any harder than trying to lead a stubborn mule. i think i'll tie a string around the necks of the stock and hitch the string to my big-toe to-night. then i'll know if anybody tries to run off with them." "run off with your big-toes?" queried chunky. "no, run off with the ponies, i said--i mean the pony and the mules." stacy's eyes lighted up appreciatively. "i've got a string that you can use," he said. "i'll fix it up for you. shall i?" "you would like to see me lose my big-toes, wouldn't you? no, thank you, i'll furnish my own string if i decide to adopt the plan." after supper had been cooked and eaten, and the dishes washed, all hands gathered around the camp-fire, where they remained until bedtime, which on that particular night was earlier than usual, because all were more or less tired after their active day. it was decided that some one should be left on guard lest they lose their remaining stock. the professor took the first half of the night, tad going on at half past twelve and remaining through the rest of the night. nothing occurred to disturb the camp, for which all hands were thankful. tents were quickly struck after breakfast and once more the outfit started out on the trail after having discussed the advisability of bearing to the west a little. their final conclusion, however, was to keep within sight of the gorge. two days passed as the little outfit crawled along over the rough mountain passes, down through broad deep washes and narrow draws. it was trying work, but the lads kept up their spirits. so inured were they to hardships, by this time, that the unusual strain gave them little or no inconvenience. on the morning of the third day they had about decided to change the course and try to find their way out of the mountains as the quickest method of getting out of their predicament. they were gathering their equipment together preparatory to making a start in the new direction, when tad startled the camp by a sudden exclamation of surprise. "what is it this time?" cried the professor, prepared for almost any surprise. "i see smoke!" "oh, is that all," answered ned disgustedly, not at first realizing the importance of the announcement to them. "i thought maybe you had discovered the missing ponies." "perhaps i have. who knows? at any rate, don't you see it means we are going to meet some human beings at last? we haven't seen one, outside of our own party, in several days, though we have good reason for thinking that one or more has been near us." "smoke, smoke?" queried the professor. "where?" "there, to the southwest." "that's so, it is smoke. it surely is." "must be somebody's camp-fire," decided tad, studying the wisps of vapor that were curling lazily up on the clear, warm morning air. "indeed, it must be," declared the professor. "we must get in touch with them at once, for they no doubt will soon be on their way. we have not a minute to lose." the professor began bustling about excitedly. "it will be an hour or more before we can hope to get there with our old local freight train," objected ned. "they probably will be gone long before that." "yes. i have it," cried the professor. "i will hurry over there on my pony. you boys come along at your leisure. even if they do not wish to wait for the rest of our party, i shall be able to get directions at least, and perhaps to hire some one to pilot us on to the red star." this seemed to be good judgment, so the boys hastened to saddle the professor's mount, and in a few moments he was jogging away as rapidly as the uneven ground would permit, his eyes fixed on the distant spiral of smoke curling lazily upward. "guess we had better follow as fast as we can," suggested tad. "chunky, get busy. what are you standing around with your hands in your pockets for while rome is burning?" shouted ned rector. "hurry up! take down those tents, pack all the stuff over to the mules and--" "and what are you going to do while i'm doing that?" drawled stacy. "me? i'm going to boss the job. what did you suppose i was going to do?" "oh, that's about what i thought you would be doing. i'll pack my own stuff. you can leave yours here for all i care," laughed the fat boy, sauntering to his tent without the least attempt to hurry. "don't tease him so," advised tad in a low voice. "what, tease chunky brown? you couldn't tease chunky with a club. i just say those things to get him started. he says such funny things." nevertheless, the camp was struck in record time that morning, and the pack mules loaded so rapidly that they turned back their soulful eyes in mild protest. "got a new job for you to-day, chunky," announced ned rector while cinching the pack girths. "what is it?" "we've decided to let you follow along behind with a sharp stick and prod the mules so they will make better time." "think i'll wait till after twelve o'clock to-night," answered the fat boy. they were off soon after that, but the mules had never seemed to move as slowly as they did that morning. instead of an hour, more than two hours had passed before they finally came within hailing distance of the camp-fire. for some time, they had been finding difficulty in keeping it in sight, as the fire appeared to be dying down. tad shouted to attract the attention of the campers or the professor to let them know the pony riders were coming. there was no reply, which caused the lads to wonder. so they pushed the mules all they could, a vague apprehension that all was not as it should be, growing in their minds. they soon came upon the object of their search. what they found was a smouldering camp-fire. "the camp is deserted," groaned tad. not a person save themselves was within sight or sound. professor zepplin, too, had disappeared. chapter xi chunky objects to egg water "well, doesn't that beat all!" marveled tad. "certainly does," agreed ned. "yes, but i don't understand--what does this mean?" exclaimed walter. "i'm a poor guesser," answered ned. "it means that we are all alone," replied tad. "beyond that i could not guess." chunky had been viewing the scene with solemn complacency. "we've got the mules, anyway," he nodded. "precious lot of good they'll do us," returned walter. "and we've got the food and--and i don't have to build a fire, either," added the fat boy. "yes, we have some things to be thankful for, that's a fact," laughed tad. "my idea is that the professor, finding the men had just left here, has hurried on to overtake them. i don't think we have any reason to worry." "then we had better stay right here," answered ned. "yes. that is all we can do for the present." "think we had better unpack?" tad considered the matter briefly. "i think we had better wait a little while," he decided. "i think you are right. i hope we don't have to. we have enough food in our pockets to keep us going until night and--" "don't we get anything to eat until night?" wailed chunky. "not unless you can browse," retorted ned. "there's plenty of green stuff hereabouts." "you can eat with the mules if you wish to. i don't." "might as well keep the fire up," decided tad, gathering up a fresh supply of green stuff which he dumped on the graying ashes. "the smoke will help the professor to find us quickly when he comes back." "what if he shouldn't come back?" asked walter, with sudden apprehension. "oh, he will. don't worry about that. you can't lose the professor." the boys laughed, then settled down to make the best of their situation, whiling away the time with jest and stories. after a time, tad left the party and strolled from the camp in an effort to determine which way the late occupants of the camp had gone. he was beginning to feel worried, but as yet had confided nothing of this to his companions. examining the ground closely he found four distinct trails leading from the abandoned camp. these trails were fresh, showing that ponies had only recently been ridden over them. they all looked alike, however, and he was unable to determine which of them had been made by professor zepplin's pony. "evidently the party, whoever they were, split up after leaving here," thought the lad aloud. "i'd like to follow out the trails, but i don't dare do so. the professor would be liable to return while i was away. then again i might lose the trail and my own way at the same time. i've caused this outfit enough trouble as it is." with this, tad slowly turned back toward the camp. he found a growing sense of uneasiness among his companions there. "what did you discover?" asked ned rather more solemnly than was his usual wont. tad told him. "then, there's no use trying to follow?" "no." "what time is it?" "half-past three," announced tad after consulting his watch. "huh!" grunted ned. "i guess the professor has gone and done it himself this time." "we'll wait," answered tad easily. after piling fresh fuel on the fire tad went over and sat on the bluff overlooking the eastern slope of the range of mountains which they were traversing. chunky lay stretched out sound asleep, untroubled by the series of disasters that had overtaken them. tad after running over in his mind many plans, none of which seemed practicable, also lay down for a nap, and in a few moments the tired boys were all sound asleep, including the pack mules. when they awakened the sun had been down all of half an hour. tad was the first to awake. he started up guiltily, and looking around found that he was not the only one who had napped. "hallo, the camp!" he shouted. the other boys sat up suddenly, rubbing their eyes. "time to go to bed. get up!" laughed tad. "nice way to put it," growled ned. "tell a fellow to get up because it's time to go to bed." "wat'cher wake me up for?" demanded chunky. "i was sleeping." "so were all of us. first time i ever heard you object to being called to eat." "eat? eat? who said eat?" cried the fat boy, struggling to his feet with difficulty, his head whirling from the effort of pulling himself awake so suddenly. "i did. it's night." "you don't say," wondered ned, looking around in surprise. "i--i thought i was back home in chillicothe." "dreams, dreams," muttered stacy. "no professor yet, eh?" "no. i believe he is lost. he surely would have been back long before this." "maybe he's gone the same place the indian went," ventured walter. "where's that?" queried stacy, at once interested. "that's a conundrum. you dream over it to-night," jeered ned. "we had better unpack and make camp," advised tad. "chunky, walt and i will do that if you will get the supper." "all right. somebody get me some water." "i will," said walter quickly. "anybody know where i can find it?" "there must be some near by. those other fellows would not have made camp here and remained all night unless there was water near--" "unless they know no more about these confounded mountains than we do, you mean?" laughed ned. after some searching about, walter found a spring. it was full of water that had a whitish tinge to it. the lad tasted it gingerly, then smiled knowingly. filling his pail he returned to camp with it. by this time tad and stacy had unloaded the mules. the three boys got to work at once putting up the tents. in the absence of professor zepplin, they concluded to erect only two, and by the time this had been accomplished, ned was ready for them. "come and get it!" he bellowed. there was no table cloth, no table, just the bare ground, and the boys sat down to eat in the fresh, bracing air. "no one who has not been camping for a long time can appreciate smoke," announced ned oracularly. "if i had to go without my supper i believe if i could breathe smoke for a few minutes, i could almost imagine i had a full stomach." "well, i couldn't. i've heard of smoke-eaters, whatever or whoever they are, but i want something a little more lasting," announced walter perkins. "no smoked smoke diet for me." "nor for me," agreed tad. "what's a smoke eater?" asked stacy. "i should say that a pony rider boy named ned rector was one, according to his own admission," laughed walter. "pass the water, please." walter filled stacy's cup. the fat boy drank it down without taking a breath. no sooner had he swallowed the liquid than he hurled the cup from him and leaped to his feet coughing and making wry faces. they could not imagine what had happened. "slap him on the back, he's choking," shouted ned. walter perkins, by this time, was laughing immoderately, while his companions were jolting stacy between the shoulders and shaking him violently. "stop pounding me, d'ye hear? stop it, i tell you," cried stacy, wriggling from their grasp, red of face, an expression of great indignation in his eyes. "did you swallow a bone?" queried ned. "bone nothing." "then, please tell us the cause of all this unseemly disturbance. your table manners are about the worst i ever saw, stacy brown." "water," gasped stacy. "here," twinkled walter, passing the pail. "what's the matter with the water?" demanded ned. "somebody's been putting old eggs in it. i believe you did that, ned rector, just to tease me." ned did not understand what the fat boy meant. "here, pass that pail. is there anything the matter with that water, walt? you got it." "i think it is thoroughly good, wholesome water," replied walter, holding his head low over his plate that they might not observe his amusement. "ugh!" exclaimed ned, after tasting the liquid. he hurled the remaining contents of the cup full into the camp-fire. "i told you so," nodded stacy solemnly. "it's eggs and they weren't laid yesterday, either." "you're right. walt, where did you get that awful stuff?" tad and walter were both drinking deeply of the liquid and apparently enjoying it. "from the spring," gasped walter, placing his cup on the ground. "don't drink that stuff. it'll make you all sick," commanded ned. "don't be silly. that water is all right," laughed tad. "all right? call that all right?" demanded ned. "call that all right?" echoed chunky. "of course it is. it is mineral water--sulphur water," spilling over his clothes the contents of the cup that he was carrying to his lips. walter was laughing so that he finally let go of the cup itself and rolled over on his side, shouting with merriment. "you can have it," announced ned firmly. "yes, all of it," added chunky. "i'll take my eggs hard boiled after this." "drink it. it will do you good, chunky," urged tad. "no, thank you. i wouldn't offer it to a mule." "so i see," flung back ned, with a malicious little grin appearing in the corners of his mouth. "but speaking of mules, i wonder if it has occurred to anyone that our mules might be wanting a drink, too." "haven't they had any water to-day?" asked tad. "haven't seen them drink since we left springfield." "why, of course they have had water every day. they could not live without it." "if they're like me they could--if they had to drink egg water," grumbled stacy amid a loud laugh from his companions. "i'll attend to them right after supper," decided tad. "but just now we had better talk over our own situation. it is plain that something has happened to the professor. how much longer will our provisions last, ned?" "well, on a rough guess, i should say not beyond to-morrow." "then i should say in the first place that it would be wise to put the outfit on half rations beginning to-morrow morning--" "no, no, no," protested chunky, springing up and waving his plate excitedly. "you won't have anything before you know it, young man," warned ned. "yes, but we may have to stay here a week, if the professor does not return. i do not see what good it will be to begin starving us until it is necessary," objected walter. "it will be necessary to-morrow," replied tad. "and after to-morrow what?" "i shall hope to have some provisions here by that time, ned." ned rector laughed. "yes, i can almost see it now. how do you propose to get them, may i ask?" "go after them." "where?" queried walter. "red star mining camp. it cannot be so very far from here." "going to drag the mules after you?" asked ned in a half sarcastic tone. "no, i'm going on foot." "what!" exclaimed the boys in one voice. "you heard me. if professor zepplin has not returned by to-morrow morning i'm off for assistance and a fresh supply of food." "and leave us here alone?" cried chunky. "don't you see, fellows," continued tad, "the professor undoubtedly is in a worse fix than we are. he may wander about the mountains until he starves. i've simply got to stir somebody up to start out hunting for him. by remaining here we are only getting deeper into trouble. don't you understand that?" "yes," admitted ned. "but, then, why not let us all go with you?" "yes, that's the idea," interjected walter. "no, that is not good judgment." "why not?" "in the first place some one must remain here to watch our outfit. we don't want to lose anything more than we have." the boys nodded. "secondly, the professor might possibly find his way back here, and the chances are he would lose himself again trying to find us." "that's so," chorused the boys. "and thirdly, as the professor says, i can get along a lot faster alone than if you are all with me." "fellows, i understand why our friend tad butler wears a hat a size and a half larger than any of us--his head's bigger. yes, you're right, tad." "yes, yes," shouted walter and stacy, "that's the reason." "and don't i get all i want to eat until he-he--until tad gets back?" "that depends upon how much you want. judging from past experience, i should say you wouldn't," replied ned. "but what will happen to us if you get lost, tad?" "yes, yes, that's what i want to know?" questioned ned. "i'll see that i don't." "how?" "this time i am going to blaze every tree i pass, with my hunting knife. it will enable me to get back if i fail to find the way, and it also will serve to guide the men here, if i find any to return with me." "i take off my hat to you," exclaimed ned. "how many eggs have we left, ned?" "a dozen hard boiled ones, i think." "then i'll take three. i'll eat one for breakfast and carry the other two with me. that will leave three apiece for the rest of you." "oh, take a drink of water from that--that spring and save your egg till you need it," suggested chunky. "i'm going to start early in the morning, so i guess i'll turn in now. remember, you are not to leave this place till i get back--that is, unless the professor should return in the meantime." "we promise," answered the lads together. after putting the camp in shape for the night and attending to the mules the boys turned in and slept the night through without further incident. next morning when they turned out, tad butler had gone. on a piece of paper pinned to a tree they found a note reading: "i'm off, fellows. bye." chapter xii all gone but two "well," grunted ned rector, as he served the meager breakfast, "at this rate there soon will be nothing left of the pony rider boys except the skeletons of two mules." chunky, solemn-visaged, was munching his hard boiled egg slowly, in an effort to make it last as long as possible. "this all i get to eat to-day?" "eat? no, certainly not. i'm going to cook all the rest of the day for you. let's see, you shall have a porterhouse steak, fried potatoes, some nice fresh salad and a soup plate of ice cream and--" "and a finger bowl," finished chunky, without the suspicion of a smile. "yes, with egg water in it," added ned. it was the longest day they had ever put in. there was no difference of opinion on that point when the day was ended. they had hoped to hear from tad before nightfall. he did not return, however, and they had little hopes of his doing so now that the darkness was coming on. there was no merriment in the camp that night. by dint of careful management they had saved enough out of their supplies to give them a light breakfast on the following morning, after that they had no idea how they should manage, providing no assistance came to them. the mules were the only indifferent ones in the party. they munched the green leaves contentedly, sleeping when they were not eating. near the middle of the night one of the animals set up a loud braying which brought the boys from their cots in quick alarm. at first they could not imagine what it was. they tumbled out, shouting to each other. "what is it, indians?" cried stacy, dancing about in his pajamas. "no, it's nothing but a mule with an overloaded stomach," answered ned turning back to his tent growling his disgust. "wish it wouldn't dream quite so loudly," grumbled chunky. when morning came, and still no tidings from either the professor or tad, the boys began to realize the seriousness of their position. "something's got to be done, fellows," announced ned rector. "i wonder if we could not shoot some game," suggested walter. "that's a good idea. but, is there any game here?" "i heard an owl last night," said stacy. "we haven't got down to owls yet. we may when we get hungry enough," returned ned. "i think i'll take my rifle and go out gunning." "do you think the professor would like you to do that?" questioned walter. "i am sure he would not wish us to starve. there must be some kind of game in these mountains that's fit to eat. i'll shoot almost anything that comes along." "don't you get lost, now," cautioned walter. "no danger. and i'll bring back something to eat, you take my word for that." ned, with rifle thrown over his left arm, stepped boldly from the camp, heading west, reasoning that this direction would take him into the heart of the mountains where he would be more likely to find game. an hour passed; then they heard a gun. "he's shot something," exulted walter. "at something, you mean," corrected chunky. a second shot followed quickly on the first, then a third one. "guess you're right, chunky," smiled walter. later on they heard three more shots. "that sounded a long way off," mused walter. "i'm afraid he is getting too far from camp." chunky nodded thoughtfully. "he thinks he can shoot, but he can't. i wish i had a fish line. i'd go down to the river in the gorge there and see if i couldn't catch a fish. maybe i can fix up something that will--" "no, you don't, stacy brown. you stay right here. you would get lost before you got out of sight of the camp. i don't want to be left alone here, with nothing but a pair of long-eared mules for company." stacy shrugged his shoulders and began idly cutting his name in the bark of a tree with his knife. "funny we haven't heard ned shoot in some time," said walter after a long interval of silence. "he must be working his way back. think so?" "nope," answered stacy, still engaged with the knife. "you don't? why not." "hasn't got any more shells, that's why." "i don't understand." "he shot six times, didn't he?" "let's see--yes, i believe he did." "well, that's all the bullets he had in the gun. he'll have to throw stones if he sees anything else to shoot at." a startled expression appeared on walter perkins's face. "you're right, chunky. but why don't he come back, then?" "lost, i guess," replied stacy, not appearing to be in the least disturbed by his own announcement. walter started up in alarm. "you don't--you don't think--" "no, i'm just guessing." "if--if ned should get lost, too, it would be awful." stacy nodded indifferently, walter meanwhile pacing restlessly back and forth. the lad's face wore a troubled look. with the professor and all his companions save stacy, gone; with no food left in camp, walter perkins had reason to feel alarmed. chunky, however, whittled on undisturbed. "are you hungry, chunky?" asked walter, pausing in his walk, later on. stacy nodded. the day had worn along well into the afternoon and neither of the boys had had anything to eat since early morning. their appetites were beginning to assert themselves. "i'm going to get some mineral water. it surely will help some. come on, it won't hurt you." stacy turned a pair of resentful eyes on his companion. "no egg water for me. i'll starve first," he answered, with more spirit than usual. while walter went to the spring to help himself to the sulphur water, stacy stood off to view his artistic work on the bark of the tree. "guess--guess they'll know i've been here, anyway," he mumbled. "that's real good stuff," announced walter, as he returned. "i do not feel nearly so hungry as i did before. better try some." stacy made no reply to the suggestion. when twilight came on, walter perkins was more alarmed than ever. there could be no doubt now that ned rector had missed his way. stacy remained unmoved. he bedded down the mules. when he returned from this duty he carried something bright in one hand. walter's eyes caught it at once. "what have you there?" he demanded. "can of orange marmalade," replied chunky, with a twinkle. "guess it must have been dropped out when we unloaded the pack. good thing there's only two of us to eat it." chapter xiii winning through pluck tad butler had left the camp at daybreak. he started off at a slow trot which he kept up over the rough, uneven ground until some time after sunrise, all the time keeping the mountain gorge in sight so that he might not lose his way. he had eaten no breakfast, having simply taken a cup of sulphur water, believing that he could make better time on an empty stomach. however, he now sat down and munched on one of the three hard boiled eggs he had taken with him. "guess it will be a good thing to rest for half an hour," he said to himself. this he did, by stretching flat on his back, after having finished his scanty breakfast. sharp on the half hour by his watch, tad sprang up, greatly refreshed. leaning well forward he dropped into a long, easy lope, which carried him over the ground rapidly. hard as nails and spurred on by the need of his companions, the lad pushed on and on, blazing his trail as he went, not feeling any fatigue to speak of. now and then he would pause for a few moments to make sure that he was not straying from the river gorge, which occasional rocks and foliage hid from his view. at noon tad sat down and ate another egg. "i must be getting near the place," he mused. still there was no trace of human habitation. there remained nothing for him to do save to push on, which he did stubbornly. when the sun went down he seemed no nearer to the object of his search than when he had set out at daybreak. the lad, after looking about, came upon a tree which he climbed in order to get an unobstructed view of the country. he argued that camp-fires would be lighted for the evening meal. not a sign of smoke could he discover anywhere. tad's heart sank. "i've got to stay out all night," he muttered. "if i were sure of finding some one in the morning i wouldn't mind." there remaining about two hours before dark, he decided to push on as long as he could see. so he trotted on resolutely until the shadows fell so densely about his path that he could no longer find his way. tad reluctantly halted and after selecting a suitable place, gathered wood for a camp-fire. water there was none, so he had to do without it while he ate his last egg. then he lay down to sleep, refusing to allow himself to think very long at a time of his lonely position. late that night, the boy awakened, finding the moon shining brightly. he got up and looked about him. the camp-fire had died out. the light of the moon was so strong that he could make out the surroundings almost as well as in daylight. "i may as well go on," he decided. "perhaps i'll get somewhere in time for breakfast. if i don't i surely will have no breakfast, for i haven't a scrap of food left." so he trudged on. he did not run this time, for a little more care than he had been exercising was now necessary to avoid pitfalls in the shadows cast by rock and tree. daylight came, but still the weary boy kept on his way. hungry? yes, tad was actually faint for want of food. he tried the experiment of chewing some leaves that he knew were harmless. at first this gave him some relief. after a little it made him sick, so he did not try the experiment again. he feared he was going to give out. toward eleven o'clock the boy came out upon a rise of ground overlooking a long slope. he rubbed his eyes almost unbelievingly. halfway down the slope was a shack and off beyond it stood a man with his back turned toward him. tad uttered a shout of joy and began leaping down the incline. the man down there, startled by the cry, wheeled suddenly and descrying the figure of tad butler racing toward him, ran to his cabin, appearing a moment later with a rifle in his hands. a moment more a second man dashed out, he too carrying a gun. both men stood facing the lad, until, when he got near enough, they discovered that it was a boy; then they laughed and lowered their weapons. tad fairly staggered up to them. "act as if ye'd seen a ghost, young feller. what's the excitement about?" demanded the first of the two men. tad explained as best he could between breaths, at which the men laughed more heartily than ever. "i want something to eat first of all. i'm half starved," he told them. "sorry, younker, but we ain't got more'n enough for ourselves. it's a long ways to where we kin git more." "but i am willing to pay you for it. i must have food right now," protested tad. "so must we." "who are you?" demanded tad indignantly. "i didn't suppose there was a man mean enough to refuse a boy at least a piece of bread when that boy was starving." "we're prospecting. i reckon we know our business best. ye can't get any chuck out of this outfit." "then tell me where the red star mine is. i've got to get there at once." "she's nigh onto fifteen miles off thar--" "why, that's the direction i came from," exclaimed the lad. "sure. ye must have dodged it. did ye pass the ruby mounting?" "i don't know. where is it?" asked tad butler. "you'd know if ye saw it once. it's a peak that looks red when the sun shines on it." "no, i didn't pass the place. tell me how i can get to the mining camp, even if you won't let me have anything to eat," begged the boy. "my companions will starve before i can get back unless i get help to them soon." "got a compass?" "yes." "then lay yer course north by northwest three p'ints and ye'll hit the red star plumb in the eye--if ye don't miss it," and the miner laughed coarsely. "know anybody there?" "mr. munson, richard munson." "dick munson, eh?" returned the man, with increasing interest. "i'll be going now. much obliged for directing me, at least," said tad, turning away and starting with compass in hand. the men said something to each other in a low tone, but tad paid no attention to them, hurrying away as fast as his weary limbs would carry him. "hey, young feller, come back here." tad did so reluctantly. "sorry we can't give ye anything to eat. my pardner and i reckon though that ye can milk the goat if ye want to." "the goat?" "yep. the goat's our milk wagon--she gives milk for the outfit." at first he thought they were joking, but tad suddenly realized that the men were in earnest. "i--i never milked a goat," he replied hesitatingly. "well, if yer hungry enough ye'll try." "where is the goat?" "oh, i dunno. browsing hereabouts, i reckon. look her up if ye want to. we ain't got time." "thank you. i'll try." "mebby you'll find her over in that little draw there to the left," suggested the miner. tad sought the draw and after some search came upon the goat rather unexpectedly. the animal gazed at him suspiciously and moved off when he spoke to her. tad coaxed without avail, until finally with a handful of green leaves, that he had pulled from a branch above his head, he managed to excite the animal's interest. while she was nibbling at his offering, tad patted her and after a time managed to quiet her sufficiently to enable him to get around to one side. he had milked cows, but this was his first experience at milking a goat. as a result the lad went about his task rather awkwardly. holding his cup with the left hand and using the right, he soon filled the cup, gulping down the contents greedily. "gracious, that tastes good!" gasped the boy. "i never knew goat's milk was anything like that. i suppose i can take all i want." he helped himself to another and still another cupful, until he felt that he could hold no more. "thank you, mrs. goat," he soothed, patting the animal, while she in turn rubbed her nose against his sleeve as much as to say, "you're welcome. help yourself if you wish any more." "no, thank you, i think i have plenty, but you shall have some more green leaves." tad pulled down branch after branch which he piled up in front of the goat, and which she attacked with vigorous nibbles and tugs. very much refreshed, the boy ran back to the miners' shack. "how much do i owe you?" he asked. "don't owe us nuthin'." "well, here is twenty-five cents. i thank you very much," replied the lad, laying the money down in front of the door of the shack, because the miner refused to reach out his hand for it. "you're welcome, kid. mebby we might squeeze out a chunk of bread after all." "i think i have had plenty. i do not feel hungry now," he smiled. "how far is it to the red star the way you have directed me?" "as the eagle flies, 'bout twelve miles. you'll make it in fifteen, cause you'll have to go around a draw that you can't get through. when you get round the draw just come back till ye git on yer course again," directed the miner. "thank you. good-bye. hope i have a chance to return the favor some time," smiled tad, swinging his hand in parting salute, as he started with renewed courage. the fifteen miles of rough traveling did not discourage him in the least. he reasoned that he ought to reach the mining camp by four or five o'clock that afternoon. that would be in time for him to start back with food for the other boys, whom he had left in camp. "my, but i'll bet chunky is a walking skeleton by this time," smiled tad, as the thought of his companion's appetite came humorously into his mind. talking to himself to keep up his courage, consulting his compass frequently, that he might not stray from the course in the least, the lad hurried on. reaching the draw that the miners had described, he recognized it at once, worked his way around it and came back. he might have shortened the journey had he but known how to work out his course by the compass. tad realized this. he told himself that he could not afford to try any experiment, however. his judgment was verified, when, shortly after four o'clock he was gratified by sighting several pillars of black smoke. "that's the place. i've hit it!" exulted the lad, breaking into a sharp trot, which he increased until he was running at top speed. with clothes in a sad state of disorder, eyes red and sunken, tad butler burst into the red star mining camp. his sudden entrance caused the few people about to pause and gaze at him in astonishment. "where's mr. munson--mr. richard munson? i must see him at once," he asked of one of these. "he ain't here." "what! not here?" "no." "then where is he? i must find him," expostulated the lad. "reckon you'll have a long run, then. he's gone over to the mears mines. that's a good twenty miles from here, i reckon." tad groaned in his disappointment, and sitting down on a rock, buried his head in his hands. chapter xiv rescue parties on the trail "who is in charge in his place? there must be some one that i can talk to," demanded the lad, starting to his feet. "might see tom phipps, the assistant superintendent." "where is he? tell me quickly." "see that shack over there?" "yes." "well, if he ain't there, he's somewhere else." "thank you," said tad, unheeding the fling. tad started for the shack at top speed. he burst into the place, which proved to be office and sleeping place as well, without even thinking to knock, so excited was he. a young man, who sat studying a map, glanced up in surprise. "mr. phipps--mr. thomas phipps, i want," said tad. "i am he." "i beg your pardon for my seeming rudeness, sir, but i'm in an awful hurry." "so i have observed," smiled the young man. "what is it--is there something i can do for you?" "indeed there is. i had hoped to find mr. munson, as he would know who i am. you do not, but i am going to ask a very great favor of you--" "perhaps i may know, if you will tell me," smiled phipps. "i am tad butler, one of the pony rider boys, and we're in an awful fix." "shake," nodded the assistant superintendent, extending his hand. "of course i know about you. dick has told me about your trips this summer and he's been expecting you almost any time now. when he left this morning he charged me to be on the lookout for you. where's the rest of your party?" "i'm afraid most of them are in trouble." "tell me about it." tad related in detail all that occurred since they left springfield, not omitting the sudden disappearance of the indian, nor the loss of the ponies. "so you've been hit too, eh? you are not the only ones who have lost stock. it's getting to be a common thing in this part of the country. nor do they confine their depredations to stealing horses. they help themselves liberally to whatever they happen to want. it's never seen again. they have some secret method of smuggling their plunder from the range that we can't discover," continued phipps breezily. "i am most concerned just now with getting food to my companions and having some one start out for the professor," urged tad. "yes, i'm thinking that over. there are not many ponies in camp here. we had more, but the same thing happened to them that did to yours," said the young miner. "i think munson is planning to make a round-up of the country with the idea of breaking up the band. you stay here while i go out and see what i can do about it. by the way, have you had anything to eat?" asked phipps suddenly. tad told him honestly what he had had. "three eggs and a drink of nanny goat milk, eh? not much to travel more than thirty miles on. can you cook?" "after a fashion," admitted tad. "then get to work. there's bacon. you'll find bread and butter in the large tin box there. help yourself. i would cook it for you only i would rather get things going for your friends," said phipps cordially. tad protested that he could help himself and urged the miner to make all haste possible. after the latter had left him, the lad lost no time in starting the fire and in a few moments had bacon sizzling in the spider and the coffee pot steaming. he found some cold potatoes which he fried in the grease of the bacon. "don't that smell good!" exclaimed tad, as the odor of the cooking drifted up to his nostrils. "if it tastes half as good as it smells i'll have the meal of my life." he was not disappointed. tad ate and ate, yet he was wise enough to restrain himself and chew his food well, knowing full well that he would have to submit himself to a still further test of endurance before he could call his work done. the lad was still eating when tom phipps returned. "what luck?" cried tad anxiously. "it's all right. i've rounded up enough ponies for the party. i have called six of the miners from work. they are men who know the mountains. the cook in the chuck house is preparing food for you to take back with you--that is if you intend to go--" "of course i do," spoke up tad quickly. "i think it will be best for the whole party to return with you to the place where your friends are camped. from that point they can start on the trail. they'll find the professor. no doubt about that. after you all get back we will talk with you about the loss of your stock. perhaps your experience may help us to land the band. i hope so." "can--can your men find their way in the dark?" "i should say they could. some of them know now from my description just where your camp is. don't worry about that. here they come now." the miners, leading an extra pony for tad, rode up at that moment. when they glanced at the slight, boyish figure of tad butler they were of the opinion that he had best remain at the mining camp. they did not believe him hardy enough to stand the grilling journey that lay before them. they changed their minds before they had been out of camp an hour. tad rode well up with the leader, sitting in his saddle like a veteran, taking obstructions in their path with jumps that some of the party balked at and rode around. "say, kid, where'd you learn to hit a saddle like that?" called one. "does my riding please you?" inquired tad. "i should say it did. you are no tenderfoot." though the party rode rapidly, the hour was late when they reached the vicinity of the pony rider boys camp. having approached the place from another direction, tad did not know where he was. "it must be somewhere hereabouts," decided the leader. "can't you remember whether it was to the north or the south of this?" "which way is the gorge?" asked tad. "that way. lays right the other side of those rocks." tad considered for a moment. "wait," he said, a sudden idea coming to him. "i do not remember this particular spot, but when i left the camp i blazed trees all along so i could find my way back. if there are any marks on the trees here, i made them." the men leaped from their ponies and began examining the trees, from the cliff back several rods. not a sign of fresh blazing were they able to discover. "there's nothing here," announced the leader. "then i didn't go this way," answered tad, with a note of finality in his tone. "we are too far to the north, boys. turn around and follow the canyon." this they did until they had proceeded for something like half an hour, when the leader of the rescue party decided to get down again and examine the trees. "here's a blaze. is that yours, kid?" he exclaimed. tad examined the mark on the tree carefully, having first lighted a match to aid him. "yes, yes; i did that." "then we've gone by the place. there can't be anybody there or we would have seen the camp-fire." "they must be there! let's go back over the ground!" exclaimed tad. the men turned about without another word. after a few moments had passed tad began calling loudly. soon a shout just ahead of them told the party that at last they had found that which they were in search of. tad uttered a glad cry. "where are you?" "here," answered the voice of stacy brown. tad put spurs to his pony and dashed up to where he thought the voice had come from. "where are the rest of the boys?" "got anything to eat?" asked chunky, rousing himself to full wakefulness. "yes, plenty. but where's ned and walter? are they asleep?" insisted tad butler half fearfully. "i don't know." "what do you mean?" "ned went off to hunt some game because we didn't have anything to eat. he hasn't come back. walt got crazy about it and i guess he went out to look for him, though he didn't tell me he was going to--" "what time was that?" interrupted tad. "when ned went away?" "no, when did walter leave?" "i don't know. it was somewhere about sundown when i saw him last." "which way do you think he went?" "that way, i guess," replied chunky, pointing. by this time the men had lighted the fire. "give that boy something to eat right now," commanded the leader the moment he set eyes on stacy. "he's half starved. he can hardly stand." they opened the package of food at once, giving the once fat boy a little at a time at first and compelling him to eat slowly. "then there is not one of them here but chunky," muttered tad. "no--nobody but me and the mules," answered stacy quickly. no one thought of laughing. "are we not going out to look for the others now?" asked tad. "yes, i reckon we might as well," decided the leader. "we'll leave your friend here till morning. one of our men will remain here with him. at daylight they will start for the red star. if anything has been heard there of the folks we are looking for, they can then send word back to us so we don't spend the rest of our lives hunting for them." his plan seemed a logical one to tad. the party was to spread out, covering a large area, literally dragging the mountains with a human net, it being agreed that when one made a discovery he was to inform the others by shooting twice into the air. after having received their instructions the men quickly rode away. the moon had come out, lighting the way and making their journey much easier. stacy gave no further heed to the miner who had been left in charge of him, and promptly went to sleep on a full stomach. he had not experienced that agreeable sensation for some time. the night was well advanced when two sharp reports from the south told the searchers that some of their party had gained tidings of the absent ones. each man wheeled sharply about and raced for the camp as rapidly as the rough trail would permit, arriving there about the time their leader rode in with walter perkins. he had found the lad less than half a mile from camp. beyond being very badly frightened, walter seemed none the worse for his experience. instead of having followed the direction in which he had started, walter had gradually worn around to the north until finally he was headed back toward their original starting point. in a short time he realized that he was lost. he called loudly for help, but as there was no one to hear his cries, he had at last thrown himself down on the ground in despair to wait for morning. it was there that the leader of the rescue party had stumbled upon him, walter having heard and answered his hail. "that's one. spread out again, boys. we'll rope the rest of the youngsters before morning. they can't be far away. the professor, as they call him, has a horse, and there's no telling where he is by this time." but the task they had set for themselves this time, was not quite so easy of accomplishment. chapter xv the round up some miles from the camp the searchers next morning came upon an abandoned camp where there had been a fire and where, from the bones found there, they decided some one had eaten a rabbit. "we're on the trail," said the leader. "we'll get him yet." an hour later one of the men reported that he had picked up a repeating rifle with the magazine empty. when tad joined them later, he identified the weapon as having been the one used by ned rector. the course he was taking, if followed, would eventually take him out of the mountains into the open country. perhaps through some instinct, the boy understood this and was seeking to gain the open where he would soon get food and directions for continuing his journey. they found no other trace of the one they were looking for, however. all that day and the next they drew the net slowly over that portion of the ozark range that cut through the southwestern part of the state. "i guess we shall have to give it up," confided the leader to tad. "oh, no, we can't do that," objected the lad hastily. "we simply must find ned and the professor." "if you can show me the way how or where, i wish you would then. we are only a few miles from the mining camp. i'll wager a jack rabbit couldn't have gotten through our lines, so we'd have been pretty likely to have rounded up a man on a pony or a boy on foot. don't you think so?" tad was forced to admit that this was true. "it's my idea that neither of them is in the range now, at all. if they are, they're below the red star--gone by the place entirely." "that may be, but i do not see how it is possible." "you went by her, didn't you?" tad colored. "i guess so. but it was different in my case." "ah, that's it. it's different with them, too. if it wasn't, we would have found them long before this." "then you are going to give it up? is that what you mean?" "don't see as there is anything else we can do. if we don't come across them this afternoon, we won't at all. see, there's the ruby mountain already." "the ruby mountain! i've heard of that. what a peculiar formation it is. almost blood red in spots. what is it--isn't there some superstition about the rock?" "well, you might call it that. there are those who declare they have seen strange lights appear on the face of the rock after dark." "have you?" queried tad. "well, that's another story," laughed the leader. "what makes it look so red?" "that's the quality of the rock. it is red only when the sun or bright moonlight is shining on it. isn't really red, you see." tad did not see, but his mind was too full of his own troubles to permit him to interest it deeply in the subject of the ruby mountain. continuing on their journey, the searchers eventually rode into the red star camp. by this time the entire camp was interested in what it was pleased to call "the man hunt." somehow they were unable to free their minds of the idea that the disappearance of the members of the pony rider party was due to the mysterious band that had been terrorizing that part of the country for a long time. tom phipps, assistant superintendent of the mine, had awaited the return of his rescue party with an impatience that he made no effort to conceal. he met them, mounted on his pony, as they entered the mine property. at first he was inclined to make the men turn about and go over the ground again, but after learning from the leader of the party the precautions they had taken, he decided that further search to the north would be futile. what to do next he did not know, and in the absence of mr. munson, who had not yet returned, he was considering sending another party out to cover the territory south of the mining camp. stacy brown had come in with his guide and the mules, and having satisfied his appetite, was in as good humor as usual. if he worried about the disappearance of his companions, he kept his trouble well to himself. nevertheless he was waiting for tad and the rescue party when they rode in. "hello, chunky, any news?" called tad on espying him. stacy shook his head. "have you any?" asked chunky. "no. we found where ned had been, but we didn't see anything of him." "that's too bad." "yes, you do seem to feel sad over it. i believe they are all right, however. mr. mccormick, who has charge of this party, thinks so too. he believes they have succeeded in getting out of the mountains." "so do i," cut in tom phipps. "otherwise you could not have missed them." "yes, sir. but what would you advise doing now?" "should we hear nothing from them by morning i'll start a party for the open country to the west, and send another through the mountains south of here. i do not believe there will be much use in doing so to-night. come over to my shack, you and your friend brown, and we will talk the matter over while we are having our supper." "thank you. i guess i am pretty hungry. has mr. munson returned?" "no. i cannot imagine what is keeping him." turning his pony over to mr. mccormick, tad and chunky followed the young mining engineer to his one-roomed cabin where the host had prepared an appetizing meal. it was tad's second meal in the place. this time, however, he found himself too much disturbed to eat heartily. his appetite seemed to leave him all at once. "as i was saying just after you arrived," began mr. phipps-- "hark! what was that?" tad raised a hand for silence. "i heard nothing." "it was somebody shouting, i am sure," answered tad in a voice of tense expectancy. "yes, there it is again." "you're right," answered the miner, springing up and hurrying to the door. the shouting now became general all up and down the street. "what is it?" asked tad. "i don't know. seems to be a party coming into the camp. it's munson, that's who it is. there are two people with him on foot. i can't make them out in the twilight. come on, we'll hurry down and find out what the uproar is about." instinctively tad and tom phipps set off at a jog-trot, followed more leisurely by stacy brown. tad soon observed something familiar in the movements of the two figures who were walking beside the superintendent's pony, and in a moment tad made out through the gloom the well-known form of professor zepplin. "there they are! there they are!" he shouted. "they've got back. hurrah!" "rah!" echoed stacy brown, flirting one hand lazily. the meeting was a joyous one for all concerned. "all hands come over to my shack," glowed tom phipps. "i want to hear about this mystery. thought you were riding a pony, professor zepplin?" "he was," laughed dick munson. "some other people wanted the animal more than he did and helped themselves." at this point, walter, who was staying in another cabin, having heard the noise, had hurried over and joined the little party. "now let us hear all about it," urged phipps, after all had gathered in his shack. "there is not much to tell," smiled the professor. "i did exactly what i had been warning my young men against. i lost myself. then the next thing that happened, i lost my pony." "how?" interrupted mr. phipps. "i don't know." "stolen," nodded dick munson. "same old game," muttered phipps. "yes, what next?" "then in a most miraculous way i found master ned. i had gone to sleep, worn out and discouraged, not caring much whether i got back or not, the way i felt then. along toward morning i woke up. i thought i had heard something. i listened, and then all at once realized that some one was snoring not far from me." "and it wasn't chunky this time," cut in walter perkins. "chunky doesn't snore on an empty stomach," laughed tad. "i called out, 'hello, who's there?' the snorer woke up calling out something that i could not catch." "who was it?" asked stacy in a hurry to learn what the professor was getting at. "well, when he woke up he said his name was ned rector and that he was lost." the professor smiled grimly as the boys shouted with laughter, in which tom phipps joined. even the rugged face of the superintendent relaxed into a broad smile. "yes, it was i," nodded ned. "we had been sleeping within a rod of each other nearly all night and didn't know it. i had stumbled along after the professor got to sleep. in the darkness of course i did not see him, and in his sound sleep he did not hear me." "that's the funniest mix-up i ever heard of," chuckled young mr. phipps. "what did you do for food?" "master ned, it seems, had shot two rabbits which he intended to take back to our camp. when he found that he too was lost, he built a fire and cooked them. what he did not need at once he wrapped up in his handkerchief and carried along with him--" "yes, we found the remnants of the jack rabbits," tad informed them. "we picked up your rifle later, as well." "good," brightened ned. "i had to throw it away. i had about all i could do to carry myself." "well, the rabbits saved us from starvation." "yes, but how did you happen to find dick munson, or he to find you?" queried phipps. "we wandered out of the mountains and lost ourselves in the foothills. how we got so far south i do not know. this morning we saw a horseman and shouted until we attracted his attention. the horseman proved to be the very man we wanted to see--mr. richard munson himself." "i--i am the only one who didn't fall in," piped stacy, which caused everyone to laugh. "we heard you shooting," said walter. "i wish we might have had some of that rabbit meat. we nearly starved up there." "yes, let's hear how you boys got along," spoke up ned. "we have told you all about our experiences. now we want to know about yours." tad related in detail all that occurred to them since the professor left them in pursuit of the elusive camp-fire. the professor's eyes glowed appreciatively upon learning of tad butler's heroic tramp over nearly forty miles of rough mountain trail in the desperate effort to find food for his starving companions as well as help to rescue them from their perilous position. but munson, while complimenting tad, was more deeply interested in the loss of their stock, about which occurrence he asked many questions. "if we had a few men with your courage and resourcefulness we should soon put a stop to this wholesale thieving," he said. "i'm going to find my pony before i leave this place, mr. munson," announced tad firmly. "at least i am going to try pretty hard--" a knock on the door of the shack cut short what he was going to say. "mccormick reports that two ponies are missing from number two section," said a voice outside the door. chapter xvi the voice in the rock "the thieves are getting bold!" was dick munson's comment. "seems to me they not only are getting, but have been for some time," laughed the professor. "the condition of my feet proves that." the number section to which the superintendent's informant had referred, was a quarry mine, off among the mountains in the vicinity of the red rock that had attracted tad's attention as they neared the camp. he made a sudden resolve to visit the place on the following day. borrowing a pony next morning, and without telling anyone where he was going, tad rode away with the ruby mountain as his destination. the trail was an easy one to follow and, besides, he had so recently been over it that he would be able to find his way there and back. just why he felt such a keen interest in the place the lad did not know. perhaps it was that the miners had thrown such an air of mystery about it in speaking of the red rock. aside from its color there was nothing about the pile of stone to distinguish it from almost any other rocky formation in the ozark range, unless it were the slight resemblance that it bore to the form of a church. the lad had observed this the first time he saw it. after riding around the pile, tad dismounted, and, tethering his pony, proceeded to examine the place more carefully. the rock was rough and uneven, with little spires running up here and there. the lowest of these was a considerable distance from the ground. "i'd like to climb up there if i knew how," decided the boy, looking for an advantageous place to make the attempt. "i have it. i know what i'll do. i'll rope the rock." tad laughed gayly at the thought as he ran back to where he had tethered the pony in the shrubbery. tom phipps had seen to it that the outfit was fully equipped, having added a lariat, because tad had jokingly inquired where this necessary equipment was. "glad i happened to think of that. i'll never ride out without a rope again, even if it's up and down main street in chillicothe." fetching the rawhide rope he skilfully cast it up and over the pinnacle of rock nearest to him. it was now a comparatively easy matter to climb by going hand over hand up the rope and bracing his feet against the side of the rock at the same time. once having reached the point where the rope had been fastened, the rest of the way was less rough. the lad sat down to look about him, noting that the formation was a peculiar one, and that the reddish shade of the rock disappeared when one came into close contact with it. "why, it's just a plain, ordinary pile of stone," laughed tad. "the idea that there could be anything mysterious about it! i'll climb up to the top and see if there is anything more interesting there." there were frequent narrow crevices that the young explorer discovered on the way up. these appeared to reach down to a considerable depth, but having no weight to attach to the end of his rope he could not sound the depth with any degree of certainty. one of these crevices was large enough to admit his body. the place fascinated him. "i'm coming out here prepared to go down in that hole and investigate it," he said to himself. "i'll bring the boys--no, i won't either. i'll explore it all myself and maybe i'll find out something." the lad was coiling his rope, preparing to descend when a low chuckle caused him to pause in sudden surprise. startled, the boy looked about him. he was alone as he had been before. "that's strange. i was sure i heard some one. sounded as if it were right here beside me. i must have been wrong of course. believe i'm losing my grit. after all the shaking up my nerves have had on this trip--" "hello!" this time there could be no doubt. it was a human voice beyond all question. "hello," answered tad, when, an instant later, he had in a measure mastered his surprise. "where are you?" "guess." "i can't. i am not a good hand at guessing." getting to his feet the lad began searching about, peering into crevices, looking over the edge of the cliff, becoming more and more perplexed and mystified as the moments passed. "no, i can't find you. come out and show yourself, whoever you are," he commanded, with some impatience. a low, mocking laugh answered tad's irritated command, yet the owner of the voice still remained hidden. "who are you, anyway? i know you are a girl, but--" "but what?" tantalized the voice. "that's all i know about it, and all i shall at the present rate. come on, it's not fair to expect me to talk with you when i can't see you--" "aren't you afraid of ghosts, boy--" "ghosts!" tad uttered the word in a startled voice. "wha--what ghosts?" "yes." "no, i'm not," he answered sharply. "but if it were night i think i'd run. pshaw! you're no more ghost than i am. you're just a girl and i am going to find out where you are right now." acting upon his resolution, tad began searching for the owner of the voice again. but when he had crawled to one side of the rock, the voice appeared to be on the other, where he had just been. after a time tad gave it up. he no longer heard the mysterious voice, so he clambered down, and after examining the rock from the ground once more, mounted his pony for return to camp. arriving there, his companions wanted to know where he had been, but tad managed to evade their question without giving them a direct answer. he was determined to return on the following day, when he would go about finding the owner of the mysterious voice in a different way. when tom phipps came in from work, tad drew him aside at the first opportunity. "i've been over to the ruby mountain to-day, but please don't tell anyone." "saw something, did you?" laughed the assistant superintendent. "no, that's the trouble. i didn't." "what happened then?" "i did not see, but i heard." tad then related all that had occurred on his visit to the strange mountain. phipps did not laugh. he remained silent and thoughtful for some moments. "that's strange. a miner prospecting there came back with a similar story a few months ago. nobody believed him, though many strange things are said to have happened in the vicinity of that rock." "what?" "that's the trouble. one cannot get them to tell what they saw. you have come the nearest to doing so." "only i just missed it by about a mile," laughed tad. "but you do not think it's--how shall i say it?" phipps bent a keen glance on the young man. "you mean through any supernatural agency?" tad nodded. "that's what i wanted to say, but didn't know just how to put it." "no, i am too practical to believe any such trash as that. my idea is that some one of a humorous turn of mind is trying to play tricks on people. you say it was a girl's voice?" "yes." "that's strange. i'm going to look into that." "let's you and i go over there together to to-morrow, then," urged tad enthusiastically. "i'll do it--that is, if there is nothing on hand to detain me. i'll let you know later whether it will be possible or not." "very well. i have been thinking--wondering whether--" tad hesitated. "wondering what?" "whether that rock has anything to do with so many horses and things being stolen in the range." tom phipps laughed heartily. "i never thought of it in that light. don't see how a rock could possibly have any connection with it. guess we shall have to look for something more human than a pile of stone." it was decided, therefore, that on the morrow the two should visit the ruby mountain, when they would make a careful examination of the place in an effort to solve the mystery. but they were destined to delay this trip for some time, and to pass through some exciting experiences before they solved the mystery of the ruby mountain. chapter xvii when the dark horse won "professor, mr. munson says there's going to be a roping contest and horse race near here, this afternoon. may we go over to see it?" asked ned rector early on the following morning. "well, i don't know about that. haven't you boys had enough straying from home for a time?" "we can get some one to go with us and show us the way," urged walter. "yes, let the lads go," said mr. munson, coming up at that moment. "where is this place?" asked the professor. "at jessup's ranch. it is about ten miles to the southeast of here, just outside the foothills of the range." "i am afraid they would never find the way there and back," objected professor zepplin, shaking his head doubtfully. "that is easily taken care of. i will have some one go with them. why not go yourself?" "i? no, thank you, not without a guide. i have had quite enough experience in trying to find my way about in these mountains," laughed the professor. "then i'll have tom phipps go with you. i understand the boys are fond of anything in the horse line, and they usually have a great time over at jessup's. he is a cattle man and, besides his own men, cowboys from neighboring ranches for twenty miles around ride in to take part." "but, we have no ponies." "i think we can arrange that all right. here, tom, i want you." mr. phipps approached the little group, the superintendent, informing him in a few words of the plan he had in mind. "of course i'll go with them," smiled phipps. "i'll be glad of the chance to get out in the open once more. we had better get started pretty soon if we are going." "how about it, professor?" queried mr. munson. "i do not object if mr. phipps accompanies them." "hooray!" shouted the boys. "wish we had our own ponies," added ned. "so do i," chorused the others. "you will come along, won't you, professor?" urged walter. "no, i think not. i've had quite enough for a time. think i will remain and study the geological formations of the strata hereabouts." "there's plenty of it to occupy you for some time," laughed tom. "the most important zinc mines in the world are strung along this range. and besides, there's lead enough hereabouts to supply the armies of the world if they were all engaged in active warfare." arrangements were quickly made for the trip to jessup's, and the boys, full of anticipations for a pleasant day in the saddle, donned their chaps and spurs, and began practising with their ropes, while the ponies were being saddled and made ready for the journey. "do we take our rifles, professor?" asked stacy. "you do not," answered the professor, with emphasis. "what do you think you will need with guns at a horse race?" "i--i don't know but that we might meet some wild animals," stammered stacy. everybody laughed. "why, there are no wild animals of any account here," laughed tom. "nothing bigger than a jack rabbit," said ned. "and ned rector got all there was of them," added walter. laughing and joking, the lads mounted their ponies and set off for a day's pleasure. the entertainment at the ranch was scheduled for the afternoon, so they had plenty of time in which to make the journey. they arrived shortly before noon, just in time to see the preparations made for a barbecue. a large texas steer had been chosen for the occasion and roasted in a pit, and they were making ready to serve it. stacy's eyes stuck out as he saw the cook with a knife almost as long as a sword, cutting off slices as large as a good-sized platter, and serving them on plates scarcely large enough to hold the pieces, without the latter being folded over. the fat boy managed to get an early helping by pushing his way through the crowd of hungry men that had gathered about the savory roast. when there was anything to eat, stacy brown would always be found in the front rank. just as they got started with the meal, a volley of shots sounded up the valley and a band of half a dozen cowboys, yelling, whooping and shouting came racing down on the jessup ranch. with a wild "y-e-o-w!" they circled the roast ox, then bringing their ponies up sharply, threw themselves from their saddles and greedily attacked the portions that were quickly handed out to them. this barbecue and day of sports was one looked forward to by the cowmen with keen anticipation. two a year were given on the jessup ranch, one after the midsummer round up, and another late in the fall. "this is great," confided tad to tom phipps, as the two seated themselves on the grass to eat the good things set before them. "it seems so to me. i don't get out of the mountains very often. i wish i could ride the way you boys do. you ride very well." "we have to. at first some of us came a few croppers," laughed ned, who had overheard the conversation. "chunky had the most trouble, his legs being so short that it's difficult for him to reach the stirrups." "i fell off," interjected the fat boy. "that's a habit of his," laughed ned. "i wonder if they would let us take part in some of the games this afternoon," inquired tad. "why, of course they will. i'll speak to mr. jessup about it," answered tom phipps. when the owner of the ranch passed them later on, tom called him, and after introducing the boys to him, told the rancher what they desired to do. mr. jessup looked the lads over critically. "it's a pretty rough game, boys," he smiled. "but you look as if you were able to take care of yourselves. of course you may go in for the fun if you want to. i'll tell the bunch." "thank you," said tad, rising. mr. jessup shouted to attract the attention of the noisy cowboys. "hey, fellows, we have a bunch of tenderfeet lads from the east with us to-day. they're taking a trip over the mountains and they want to know if they can join you in the fun this afternoon?" "sure!" roared the cowboys. "we'll give the tenderfeet all the fun they want." tad smiled appreciatively. "don't let them disturb you," warned tom. "they mean all right." "yes, sir; i understand cowmen pretty well. have spent quite a little time with them." "i guess they are getting ready for something." "line up for the hurdle race!" shouted the ranch foreman, who was acting as master of ceremonies. "half mile down and back with a hurdle every quarter!" "here's where you see some real fun," announced mr. jessup, nodding significantly to tad and tom phipps. "are you boys going into this?" "guess we might as well. will these ponies take hurdles, mr. phipps?" "you try them and see. every one trained down to the ground." "that's not the way i want to go," laughed tad. "i want to stay above it while i'm riding." ned rector already was tightening his saddle girths preparatory to entering, so tad hurried to his own mount to get ready for the contest. when the contestants had finally lined up, the pony rider boys were surprised to observe that stacy brown had ridden down to the scratch with the others. he was sitting on his pony as solemn as an owl, industriously munching a sandwich that he had made for himself. "you'll break your neck. you'd better keep out of this," advised ned rector. "better look out for your own neck," retorted stacy. "guess i know how to ride as well as the rest of you." "all right, it's not my lookout. remember i gave you good advice," was ned's parting admonition. stacy's pony was a glossy black, the only one of that color among the contestants, and between pony and boy the cowmen were undecided as to which was the most conspicuous. "at the second shot of the pistol you will start," announced the foreman. "all ready for the first?" "yes!" roared the impatient riders. the foreman pulled the trigger and the ponies began to dance about. bang! "whoop-e-e-e!" yelled the riders, digging in the rowels of their spurs. a dozen ponies fairly leaped into the air under the prod of spur and quirt. away they dashed enveloped in a cloud of dust. "they're off!" roared the crowd. stacy, still clinging to his sandwich, was well up with the leaders of the bunch when they got away. he was riding with elbows up to a level with his shoulders, one hand grasping reins and quirt, the other holding the sandwich to his mouth. the spectators shouted with laughter at the sight. "there goes somebody!" cried walter. one of the ponies had fouled the first hurdle and gone down, plowing the dust with its nose, while the cowboy made a fairly graceful dive through the air, landing on his head and shoulders. the riders directly behind him were obliged to hurdle pony and rider, which they did without mishap to either. stacy, fortunately was ahead, else he too might have come a cropper. this left a field of eleven, all of whom were bunched, their mounts almost rubbing sides. by this time the dust cloud was so dense that the spectators were able to make nothing at all of what was going on at the other end of the course. "i hope the youngsters are all right," said phipps a little anxiously, for the race was one of the roughest he had ever seen, and then the young miner was not much of a horseman, which made the contest seem much more hazardous to him than it really was. "they're coming back," shouted a voice. the turn had been made, but at the expense of two riders, whose mounts, less sure footed than the rest, had gone down in the sharp whirl for the home stretch. the prize in this contest was to be a handsome telescope repeating rifle, and the rivalry for it was keen. the battle would be a stern one, and it was a foregone conclusion that the best horse would win. stacy brown had not leaned far enough in at the turn, his saddle girth slipping a little as a result. he felt the saddle give a little beneath him, but did not realize what had happened until the pony had straightened away on the home stretch. the saddle then slipped still further under the weight of the rider. stacy threw almost the whole force of his weight on the right stirrup to offset the list of the saddle on the other side, where the stirrup had gone down too far for him to reach. and the first hurdle found the lad clinging desperately to the pony's mane with one hand, the jolt of the jump nearly dislocating his neck as the animal took it. the youthful rider, finding himself safely over, uttered a series of shrill yells and began urging on the pony with quick, short encouraging blows of the quirt, though the blows were not heavy enough to hurt the tough little beast at all. it was used to much more serious treatment. somehow the animal seemed bent on doing its best, though the more it strove to reach the goal, the greater was the fat boy's torture. stacy brown's grit was aroused. he seemed to have come into his own at last. "they laughed at me," he muttered. "i'll show them that chunky brown isn't a tenderfoot. even if i don't win the race, there will be some others who will finish after i get through." he was reasonably certain of this from his present position. "but i hope i don't fall in," he grinned. by this time the dust caused by their first trip over the course, had settled so that the spectators were enabled to get a view of the last quarter of the race. and they all admitted, without exception, that it was a real race that they were watching. over the last hurdle went two ponies in beautiful curving leaps, ahead of all the others. with their cowboy riders they took the obstruction neck and neck. a full length behind them rode stacy with the rest of the field strung out to his rear. the spectators were able to identify the black now from their point of vantage, and stacy could hear their cheers, though unaware that these were for him. tad butler, second to him in the race, was getting every ounce of speed from his pony that the animal possessed. yet instead of feeling chagrin over the fact that his companion was out-footing him, tad was elated. "go it, chunky! go it!" he encouraged. "i am going," floated back to tad faintly, causing him to laugh so heartily that he was nearly unhorsed when his pony rose to the hurdle. as stacy's mount cleared the last barrier, the fat boy fell forward on the pony's neck, which he grasped wildly, for the saddle in that final leap had, with disheartening suddeness, given way beneath him, slipping clear down under the animal's stomach. nothing daunted, stacy, with his newly discovered grit, worked both spurs vigorously, eyes staring straight ahead of him over the head of his fleeing pony. they were almost at the finish. now the dust of the two cowboy leaders in the race did not smite him in the face as heretofore. he was too close up with them for that. all at once the lad realized that he was gaining. excitement among the spectators ran high. observing his predicament and understanding full well the grit he was exhibiting, they were yelling like mad. chunky began to yell also, uttering a series of shrill whoops, using voice and spurs incessantly, urging the pony to the goal. the black pony, almost gray with the dust that had settled on his sleek, glossy coat, forged ahead in a noble sprint with head on a level with its back, nose reaching for the finish. a roar of applause sounded in the fat boy's ears. yells, cat calls and shrill whoops rent the air. all at once a pistol barked, the black pony's feet plowed the dust, bringing it to a sharp halt. the suddenness of the movement caused chunky's feet to rise straight up into the air. for a few brief seconds he was standing on his head on the pony's neck like a circus performer. then, as the animal lowered its head, the rider toppled over, still clinging to the neck of his mount. such a chorus of laughter and shouting the jessup ranch had never known before. "how is it, mr. umpire?" piped stacy, releasing one hand from the pony's neck and raising it questioningly. "this isn't a baseball game, young fellow," jeered the foreman. "this is a hoss race and you've won it. the black wins and you get the rifle." the grimy hand that the lad had held aloft still clung to the remnants of the roast sandwich that he had carried throughout race. chapter xviii tad wins a roping contest in their enthusiasm two of the ranchers hoisted chunky to their shoulders and marched about singing. others fell in behind them until fully half the spectators had joined the procession. chunky leered down at his companions as he passed them and winked solemnly. "i didn't suppose he could ride like that," marveled tom phipps. "neither did any of the rest of us," answered walter. "i never saw a more plucky piece of work in my life." tad came up to where they were, laughing heartily. "doesn't that beat all, walt?" "it certainly does." "our friends who were defeated do not seem to appreciate the humor of it, though," interjected the young engineer. "no, not very sportsmanlike, is it? who is that fellow with whom chunky's competitors are talking?" "name is cravath. queer sort of a chap." "haven't i seen him about the red star?" asked tad. "yes, no doubt. he is a checker at the mine. he and his wife and daughter have a cabin out near the ruby rock that you are so much interested in. i know very little about him--" "don't like his looks at all," decided tad. "no, i never warmed up to him very much myself. i understand he is not very popular among the men, either. but i guess that is because he wins their money in games of chance." "a gambler?" questioned both boys in surprise. "i wouldn't go far enough to say that. what are they going to do next here do you know?" asked the engineer, changing the subject. "i believe it is to be a roping contest. that will be a lot of fun." "you are not going in it, are you?" "of course. why not? i don't know what they are going to rope, but i'll take my chance with the rest of them whatever it is. guess i'll ride over and ask mr. jessup. i see him over there now." mr. jessup when questioned informed the boy that it was to be a most realistic contest in which two men mounted were to try to rope each other. one of the rules of the contest was that the roper, when he caught his opponent, was to drop the lariat instantly so as not to pull his victim from the saddle. as only two could meet for the prize it was decided that lots should be drawn from a hat. the two who drew slips of paper with the word "rope" written on them, were to have the honor of meeting in a test of skill. the prize was a mexican saddle, silver mounted, at which all the cowmen looked with covetous eyes. "think you want to take a chance for the saddle, boy?" asked mr. jessup. "that i do," laughed tad. "that's the saddle i want--i always have wanted one just like it. but i'm afraid i shall not get the opportunity to try for it." "they are getting ready to draw. you had better go over," advised the rancher. tad found that they were not only getting ready, but that most of the men had already drawn. only one "rope" slip had been taken from the hat, however, so there still was a chance. he rode up to the foreman, who was holding the hat from which the drawing was being done. "may i draw?" he asked. "do you know how to sling a rope, kid?" "a little," answered tad, with an embarrassed smile, for the cowmen were making uncomplimentary remarks about letting babies into a man's game. the boy's face burned, but he gave no heed to their ungentlemanly remarks. the foreman held up the hat. tad leaned over and drew from it a slip of paper. "next--who draws next?" demanded the foreman. "if it will save you any trouble, i might suggest that it isn't necessary to draw further," tad informed him, with the suspicion of a smile on his face. "what's that?" asked the foreman sharply. "i have the second slip," was the quiet reply. the cowboys broke into loud exclamations of disapproval. "fair is fair, boys," warned mr. jessup. "you all had your chance and you lost." "yes, that's right," agreed the foreman. "you fellows will have to swallow your pills without making faces." the man cravath was now talking with the cowboy who had drawn the other slip. he was one of the men chunky had won from, though tad did not know it at the moment. tom phipps pushing his way up to the lad informed him of this fact, and drawing tad to one side whispered something to him. "is that so?" "yes, cravath owns one of the ponies that came near winning the race. he is not a very good-natured man and i imagine they are putting up some plan to get even with you boys," warned tom. "i'm not afraid. they won't let them do anything unfair," said tad. "besides, i ought to be able to take care of myself, by this time, though i haven't been doing much with the rope of late. is that chap an expert roper?" "i couldn't say as to that. but he's big and strong--" "which doesn't count for very much in this sort of a contest," laughed the boy. "very well, you know best. but keep your eyes on him." "are you gentlemen ready to begin?" called the rancher. "i must go now," said tad hurriedly. "good-bye and good luck," breathed mr. phipps, as the lad rode away at the same time straightening out his rope which he allowed to drag behind his pony while he recoiled it, working it in his hands to limber the rawhide. "it's a good rope," decided tad. the foreman halted them for final instructions. "now, gentlemen, understand that the rope must go over the head and be drawn taut, after which you are to let go of it. you are to take your places some distance apart--i'll place you--and start at the crack of the pistol, not before. understand?" tad and the cowman opposed to him nodded, the latter with a sarcastic grin on his face. the miner had lost the rifle which he coveted, and the cowboy did not propose to have the same luck in the case of the saddle, which was very valuable. the cowboy had his rope in hand ready to begin, while tad's had been hung over the saddle horn. the lad was sitting in his saddle easily, with a quiet smile on his face, and the spectators noted that he was not in the least nervous. "i guess that boy knows his business," muttered mr. jessup, who had been observing him keenly. "at least he's got the pluck and will give a good account of himself, though he never will be able to win against a professional rope thrower." in the meanwhile, the foreman had started to place the contestants. tad had the sun in his eyes, but he made no protest, knowing that he could change his position as soon as they got the word to go. "are you ready?" "all ready," answered tad cheerfully. "yes," said the cowboy shortly. tad's rope was now held in his right hand. both men put spurs to their mounts almost before the report of the revolver had died way. the ponies leaped forward and the two opponents rode straight at each other. they passed at racing speed, neither making an attempt to cast. no sooner had they cleared each other, however, than the cowboy pulled up his horse sharply, wheeled and dashed after the pony rider boy. tad, having foreseen the movement, had likewise stopped his mount, and turned about. but instead of spurring on, he stood still. the cowboy had hoped to come up behind tad and rope him as he raced away. he was slightly disconcerted when he noted tad's position. but the smiling face of the boy angered him, and the cowman's rope squirmed through the air. tad ducked, allowing the lariat to shoot on over him. it fell harmlessly on the other side of his pony and a quick pressure of the spurs took boy and pony from under it. with a "yip-yip" tad rushed at his opponent. the latter had had no time to gather in his own lariat, but he began shortening it up intending to swing it from where it lay on the ground. his opponent gave him no time for this. tad made a quick cast. the cowboy threw himself to one side, but the loop of the lariat that had been thrown true reached his broad sombrero, neatly snipping it from his head. the spectators uttered a yell of approval. they shook out their revolvers, sending a rattling volley up into the air. tad butler had scored first. his opponent was angered almost beyond control. that a mere boy could thus outwit him, which tad had neatly done, was too much for his fiery temper. with a growl of rage he drove his horse straight at the lad. it was plain that it was the fellow's intention to ride him down, which tad circumvented by standing still until the man was nearly upon him, and then driving his pony out of the path of the oncoming horseman. each began a series of manoeuvres, the purpose of which was to place the rider behind his opponent, but each proved too wary to be caught in any such way. the contest was growing hotter every moment, and the spectators were getting worked up to a high pitch of excitement. they had never seen a more interesting roping exhibition than this, and that a boy was one of the contestants gave their enthusiasm an added zest. the two were, by this time, working far out on the field. tad realized this and sought to get back nearer to their starting point. he did not, however, understand that his adversary had any object in getting so far away, though the man had a distinct purpose in so doing, as tad eventually learned. the foreman was shouting a warning to them, which tad tried to heed, although his adversary prevented his doing so by blocking the way each time. whenever the opportunity presented itself the cowboy would bump his pony violently against the one that tad butler was riding, in an effort either to so jar the boy that he could rope him or else possibly to unhorse the lad. "see here, you stop that!" shouted tad after the third attempt. "what are you trying to do to me?" "i'll show you, you freckle-faced tenderfoot!" yelled the cowboy, making a vicious rush. at the same time his rawhide shot out. tad narrowly missed being caught that time, and in turn the cowboy was nearly caught by tad's loop. a lucky sweep of his arm brushed i the lariat away not a second too soon. tad observing that his adversary, who was about to cast again, had him at a dangerous advantage, threw himself down on the side of the pony's neck. both animals were running almost neck and neck at the moment. with a whoop the cowboy let go. his loop closed around the boy's ankle which from his position on the pony's side, was sticking well up in the air. tad's opponent, suddenly braced his pony, while the boy's mount raced straight ahead. the result of this move was that tad butler was torn from his saddle, fetching away the stirrup box on one side with him. he struck the ground violently, and for a moment lay still, while the cowboy sat grinning, making no effort to learn how badly his adversary was hurt. the foreman and several others were rushing to the scene. by the time they reached it, tad was scrambling to his feet. "i roped the kid," announced the cowboy, as if it were all finally settled. "you roped me by the foot," retorted tad. "yes, that was a foul," said the foreman. "i saw it myself. how'd you come to do that, bob?" "mistake," answered the cowboy, thus admitting that they were right. tad turned on him sharply. "did you say it was a mistake?" he asked with a world of meaning in his tone. "we will award the prize to you, butler," announced the owner of the ranch. "that's the usual way when a foul has been committed." the cowboy glowered angrily. "i couldn't think of accepting it, mr. jessup," answered tad, straightening to his full height. "i'll go on with the contest, but he mustn't do that to me again or there will be trouble." some of them laughed at the boy's veiled threat. "there certainly will be trouble," agreed mr. jessup--"trouble with me. i want you two to keep up the field further so we can see what is going on. are you hurt, boy?" "shaken up a little that's all. guess my saddle was worse used than i was." the contestants lined up for another bout, amid the most intense excitement. so closely had the spectators gathered about them that the ropers had no room in which to work, and the foreman found it necessary to urge them back before giving the word to start. the pony rider boys could scarcely contain themselves. they, too, were worked up to a high pitch of excitement. but tad butler, dirty, with clothes torn and grimy, appeared to be the coolest one in the crowd. if he was angry no one would have imagined it from the pleasant expression of his face and almost laughing eyes. "all ready! go!" they went at each other again, the cowboy ferociously--tad easily, but keenly on the alert, narrowly watching every move of his opponent. round and round circled the pair, neither making an effort to cast for at least ten minutes, ducking, side stepping, or as near to this latter as a pony could get, and with movements much like those of boxers in a ring. the crowd was offering advice and suggestions freely, but both men turned a deaf ear to all of this. their whole beings were centered on the work in hand. once both men cast and their lariats locked, the cowboy's loop having slipped over tad's. the foreman called a halt while he untied the tangle. the instant this had been accomplished, tad drew in his with one hand, coiling it at the pony's side. "remember, i haven't called time," warned the foreman. "you are still roping." tad knew that, but he did not wish to take an unfair advantage. the cowboy looked up with a startled expression on his face, but nodded and began hauling in his rope when he noted that tad was making no move. his rope was in. "all ready," he said. so was tad. the boy's lariat shot gracefully through the air, landing neatly over the cowman's shoulders where it was quickly jerked taut before the other fully realized what had happened. chapter xix wrecked in an ore car it was all the ranch owner could do to keep peace after tad butler had so cleverly outwitted his adversary in the rope throwing contest. yet, though the defeated man was fairly beside himself with rage, the cowboys generally favored fair play. their companion had been beaten in a fair contest, principally because his opponent had been quicker witted. tad and chunky, one bearing a rifle, the other a handsome saddle, were proud boys when they rode home with tom phipps and their companions that night. the pony rider boys had carried away the real prizes of the cowboy meet. chunky had few words. he was so filled with self-importance that he could only look his gratification. when part way home, however, he rode up beside tad, and leaning from his saddle, whispered, "i didn't fall off, did i?" the news of triumph spread about the mining camp quickly. when the miners learned that cravath's pony and his man had been defeated, they shouted for joy. from that moment the pony rider boys became persons of consequence in the red star mining camp. it was suggested that evening that the whole party spend the next day in the mine. tom phipps had permission to devote the day to them if they wished to go underground. "that will be fine," cried tad, to which sentiment all the rest subscribed, except stacy. "i'm going hunting," he announced. "hunting? what for?" questioned ned. "anything i can see." "then, i'm glad we are all going to spend the day underground. it will be about the only safe place around this part of the country." "remember, chunky, that's a powerful weapon of yours and long range," warned tad. "and remember to watch out that you don't fall off your new saddle and break your neck," retorted the fat boy. on the following morning the boys, with the exception of stacy, reported at tom phipps's shack ready for the day's sight-seeing in the zinc mine far underground. the assistant superintendent had made ready a large basket of food, as the party was to dine in the mine. professor zepplin was enthusiastic. it was an opportunity that he had much desired. "i understand," he said, fixing tom phipps with a stern glance of inquiry, as they started for the mine, "that silurian species have been found in the limestones hereabouts. also that others believed to be cambrian have been discovered. is this in accordance with your experience?" "i think i understand to what you refer," answered tom gravely. "i can't say that i am familiar with the species, however." "if chunky was here he would want to know if it were something to eat," laughed ned. "i'm not very certain myself whether it is or not." "you'll be wiser by-and-by," said tad. entrance to the mine was gained through a shaft leading straight down for a great many feet. a windlass and bucket was employed to carry the miners up and down, while through another and larger shaft automatic buckets raised the zinc ore to the surface. all of the party could not be accommodated in the passenger bucket at one time, so it was necessary to make two trips, mr. phipps returning with the vehicle to see that the rest of the boys got down safely. descending into the cool, damp darkness was a new experience for them. and while the sensations were not particularly pleasant, they agreed that it was the most interesting journey they ever had taken. "how far down do we go?" asked walter. "about fifty feet," answered the miner. "of course the mine is not that far underground all around. some of the strata of rock we work lead almost to the surface in places." "why don't you begin at the top and work down then?" questioned tad. "some of the mines do that. in this case it was deemed best to sink a shaft. here we are." from the darkness the boys had suddenly been plunged into a blinding glare of light. it was so intense that at first they were unable to see anything. "good gracious," blinked ned. "this is brighter than the opera house at chillicothe. it's enough to put a fellow's eyes out. what is it?" "electric lights," laughed phipps. "we don't have many conveniences above ground, but down here we are right up-to-date, as you have observed." "as i perhaps shall observe when i am able to get my eyes open once more," added ned humorously. "why, the place is full of tunnels!" exclaimed walter. "regular checker-board under ground," agreed tad. "where do all those tunnels go to?" "under where you have been tramping since you have been in camp." "to the ruby mountain?" inquired tad meaningly. "yes, most probably that far, or pretty close to it, i should say; but i have never made a measurement with that in view, so that i am unable to give you a definite answer. we should have to bore through some pretty solid rock to get under the little red mountain, i'm inclined to think." "i'd like to go over that way." "all right, we will visit that part of the drift later," replied mr. phipps. what tad's motive might have been in wishing to get under the ruby mountain, perhaps he himself did not know. but he did know that somehow he felt that before leaving the mining camp he would solve the mystery of the place. they first followed the drifts to the west where here and there a dull distant report told them the miners were blasting out the rocks with dynamite. after being broken up into large chunks the ore was placed on little cars and run along tracks to the hoisting apparatus from where it was quickly shot to the surface. it was a busy scene that the pony rider boys found--a different world from the one they had just left above them. "do these mines ever blow up or catch fire?" asked walter a bit apprehensively. "no, we have no fires of any consequence. we have never had an explosion and i trust we never shall," answered the assistant superintendent gravely. "you see there is not the same danger in this sort of place that you find in a coal mine. i would prefer to work digging out dynamite to mining coal." "dynamite? do you keep much of it down here?" interrupted the professor. "oh, yes, we have to. there is enough down here at this moment to more than blow up the ruby mountain. the greater part of it is stored in what is known as the ozark drift, the drift running to the southeast. i'll show it to you when we go that way." now they were nearing the more active operations and the metallic click of the steam drills filled the air as they bored their way through the solid rock, necessitating the raising of voices that the boys might make themselves heard. "would you like to take a ride in one little cars?" asked mr. phipps. the boys were quite certain that they would enjoy such a trip. "pile into the next car, then. we'll send it through without any ore this time. there would not be room if we were to load the car. i think it will be a novel experience for you." and tom phipps smiled significantly. directing the switch man to shift the car back to the return track, the mining engineer told the lads to climb in and sit down on the floor, which they did promptly. only the tops of their heads projected above the sides of the ore car. "under no circumstances must any of you straighten up unless you wish to get your heads smashed." "why, there is plenty of room for our heads here," replied ned. "we could stand up and yet have some to spare." "right here, yes. we shall go through some places that you would not want to stand through, i imagine." "are you ready?" "yes." tom phipps climbed over into the car. "all right, jim," he called. immediately the car began to move and in a few moments had attained a high rate of speed. "now, boys, remember your heads," cautioned their guide. instinctively each crouched lower as their vehicle was all at once plunged into sudden darkness. drops of water now and then spattered down on their bare heads. the noise of the car in the dark was deafening. the sound was as if many ore cars instead of one were crashing through the dark tunnel. the lads experienced a strange thrill when the realization came to them with its full force, that they were shooting through the earth, far beneath the surface at the speed of an express train. "why don't you have lights in here?" asked one of the passengers. "not necessary," said mr. phipps. "it is seldom that anyone has occasion to go through this tunnel--practically never unless something happens to a car in here. there are lights along that may be turned on if necessary, but it would be a needless expense to keep them going all the time--" "what's that loud noise?" asked tad. his ears had caught a booming roar that was a new note in the terrifying sounds of the underworld through which they were traveling. the boys started uneasily. "it's water," shouted the guide. "a cataract in an underground water course. these courses have cut channels all through the limestone rocks in the ozark uplift." this somewhat calmed the nerves of the lads, though not wholly so. faster and faster rolled the car and louder and louder grew the roar of the cataract. "are we almost out of here?" demanded walter uneasily. "yes. we shall be clear of it in five or six minutes now. you notice that we strike little grades occasionally, which cause the car to slow down considerably and for that reason the journey seems longer than it really is." "if we have slowed down at any time i have failed to observe it," laughed tad. "what if we should jump the track in here?" suddenly suggested ned. "but we won't," answered the guide. "we--" a grinding, crunching sound cut short his words. the car appeared to pause and tremble throughout the length of its frame; then followed a deafening crash, accompanied by the sound of breaking timbers and splintering wood. a deep silence, broken only by the roar of the cataract, settled over the scene. the ore car lay a broken, twisted, hopeless wreck. chapter xx a message that thrilled out of the silence came the voice of ned rector. "help, i'm pinned down," he groaned. "get me out of this awful hole." "i'm coming as soon as i can get free of what's on top of me," answered tad. "is everybody else all right? w-a-l-t! mr. phi-ipp-s!" tad struggled desperately and in a brief time succeeded in freeing himself. what had happened to the guide and to walter he did not dare to think. first upon getting clear of the obstruction that pinned him down, he rushed to ned rector and succeeded in releasing him without great difficulty. neither boy was hurt much. "where's the other two?" cried tad in a voice of anxiety. "i don't know. don't know where i am myself," groaned ned. "hurry, help me find them." together the boys groped about in the black tunnel. "i've got one," called ned. "which one?" "i don't know. yes, yes, it's walt. he's breathing. what shall i do?" "drag him over to one side. i've got mr. phipps here. i'll have him over there in a minute." tad began tugging, with hands under the shoulders of the guide, understanding instinctively that he must get him where they could work over him and try to bring him back to consciousness. something whizzed by in the darkness, the rush of air nearly knocking both boys over, and leaving them trying to catch their breaths. "wh--what's that?" gasped ned. "i--i don't know," answered tad. "yes, i do too. it--it was a car returning on the other track for a load of ore." the lad's knees went weak under him when it came to him that he had only a second before dragged the unconscious figure of the young engineer from that very track. now still another sound startled them. it was a roar heavier than any that they had heard before, and as near as they could tell, it was from the direction that they had come. "hurry, ned!" shouted tad butler fairly electrified by the thought that suddenly flashed over him. "what is it? what is it?" "i--i don't know, but i think it's a car of ore rushing down the grade toward us." "we're dead ones, then!" cried ned. "be quick, ned! grab walt and run as you never ran before! "on, on! keep to your right so you don't get on the return track. oh, hurry!" tad had already gotten into action. once more grasping the guide by the arms, the lad ran backward with his heavy burden, with almost marvelous speed under the circumstances. he was none too soon. back of him he could hear ned stumbling over rails and ties with his burden. then came the heart-rending crash. the car of ore had plunged into the wreck of their empty car, hurling rocks in all directions. had they remained where they had been, there would have been none left to tell the story of their experiences. "i guess it's all over," shouted ned. "but, there will be more, soon, and some of them may hit us." in obedience to tad's command, ned dragged walter along a few rods further, where on a curve both boys laid down their burdens. tom phipps under the rough treatment that he had received was stirring and making an effort to sit up. tad helped him along by slapping him vigorously between the shoulders. ned was shaking walter almost savagely. "wake up, walt! wake up! what's the matter with you?" walter groaned. by this time tom phipps had partially pulled himself together. tad's heart leaped with joy. "walt will be all right in a minute, i guess," ned informed him. "and so will mr. phipps." "where am i?" asked the young engineer. "we've had an accident, mr. phipps," replied tad. "how do you feel?" "as if i had been put through the ore mill. did we have a smash?" "i should say we did?" "who's hurt?" "walter was knocked out too, but he is coming round now. ned thinks the boy is not hurt very badly." "no, i'm half scared to death, but i'm all right otherwise," answered walter for himself. "which track are we on?" demanded phipps suddenly, trying to locate his position. "our own. you nearly got run over on the other. i pulled you off just in time." "i'll thank you later. there must be a cross cut near here. if we can find it we'll be able to get to a point where i can telephone them to hold back the cars. they'll fill the tunnel before they know anything has happened, if i don't get word to them at once." "i should think they would miss the cars." "they should," answered the engineer. "is your friend able to walk?" "how about it, walter?" called tad. "yes, i can run if it will take me out of this terrible place any sooner." "then we'll run," decided tom phipps. "i must have gotten an awful hit on my right leg, for i can scarcely bear my weight upon it." "shall i rub it for you?" asked tad. "no, we haven't time. we must look for that cross cut, which leads into the number eleven drift. keep to your right, boys. we are safe here now, but not on the other track." "i know that," answered tad. he shuddered as he recalled the black, projectile-like object that had whisked by him just after he had pulled mr. phipps from the return track. there was still another reason why the assistant superintendent was so filled with anxiety to reach a place where he could notify the terminals to stop the cars. he did not confide this to his young friends, not wishing to disturb them any more than they had been. all hands started on a trot, now stumbling, now falling, but without a single murmur, or protest. "you are a nervy bunch of boys. never saw anything to equal you," gasped the engineer. "i can't forgive myself for getting you into this wretched mix-up." "you never mind us. we're all right," answered tad brightly. "i'm sorry you got knocked out so." "here's the cross cut," cried the miner. he had paused and was cautiously feeling his way along the wet, slippery wall. the boys breathed a sigh of relief. "now run as if the indians were after you. i'm in a bigger hurry than i ever have been in my life." and run they did. the boys had no idea what tom phipps's reasons were for urging such haste upon them, but they knew they must be urgent ones. tad found himself wondering what new peril might be facing them. he decided that the assistant superintendent must be seeking to protect the company's property by stopping the sending of more cars through the tunnel. yet, if this were so, why had the guide urged them to such haste. "no," said tad to himself, "it's something that we don't know anything about. but unless i am greatly mistaken we are going to find out pretty soon." in this the boy was right. they were to find out what it was that tom phipps feared, and in a manner that they would not soon forget. the narrow cut through which they were now rushing was little higher than their heads, and was very narrow, so that by raising their elbows they could barely touch the sides and keep themselves in the middle of the passage way. "look out for a turn just ahead," warned phipps. "after that it is straight away." the turn which they made a few seconds later, tad imagined, led back toward the place where the car had started from. but they came to the end of the passage abruptly. they caught a faint click, and instantly they were surrounded by dazzling light. as soon as they became used to the brightness they discovered that they were in a sort of chamber which looked as if it had been worn out by constant and long action of water. instantly upon switching on the light, the young engineer sprang to a telephone on the wall. tad observed that the wires from it followed out into the passage through which they had entered. the assistant superintendent was telephoning now, and the lads listened intently. "hello, hello!" called phipps in an impatient voice. "yes, who's this? acomb? say, acomb, there's been a wreck on the number one track just west of here. two cars smashed, one loaded the other carrying myself and some young men, guests of the company. don't let any more through until the wreck is cleared away. send an empty along with the wrecking crew so we can get out. what's that?" tom phipps shuffled his feet about nervously on the stone floor. "hurry then, hurry! yes, we're all here, but hurry!" the boys instinctively drew near. they imagined that they could hear each other's hearts beat, so tense was the silence. he turned halfway around to glance at the boys. "is it anything serious?" asked ned in a strained voice. "i hope not. i can't tell you just yet. we shall know in a minute... well, send some one for him," he snapped, answering something the man at the other end of the line had said to him. "hello, hello! that you, bob? did acomb tell you of our predicament? yes. what i wanted to say was don't for goodness' sake send out the red car while the line is blocked." "the red car," repeated ned and tad in one voice. neither knew what it meant, but impressed them just the same. "what, gone? gone?" groaned phipps. "are you sure? how long ago? ten minutes? shut off the current! quick! i hope so." the assistant superintendent hung up the telephone deliberately and turned toward them. the boys observed that his face was white and drawn. "what, what is it?" asked tad. "there's a car of dynamite coming through the tunnel on the number two track," announced the young engineer calmly, thrusting both hands deep into his trousers pockets. chapter xxi imprisoned in a mine "that--that's the track that the empty cars go back on, is it not?" asked tad, after an interval of tense silence. "yes." "the wreck was on the other track." tom phipps nodded. "then what harm can the red car, as you call it, do?" interrupted ned rector. "that remains to be seen. the chances are that the number two track was blocked when the car of ore was spilled out." "which means?" questioned tad. "that there may be another collision," smiled the assistant superintendent. his was a wan smile, however, and failed to enliven the pony rider boys. "will the dynamite explode?" asked walter half fearfully. "probably not. i hope not. but you can't tell anything about these high explosives. they're very freaky. all we can do will be to remain here and wait for the car either to stop somewhere after the power has been turned off or to rip its way through the wreck we just left. at any rate we are safe in here." the boys breathed a sigh of relief. "then, there is no danger to us?" asked ned rector. "the danger is minimized." "how far are we from where we started?" "probably a couple of miles." "my! the professor will be half scared to death when he hears what a fix we are in," half laughed ned. "the foreman, mr. acomb, said he would telephone to the other end of the drift telling them we were all right and not to worry about us," said phipps. this relieved the boys' minds of one source of worry. "hark!" cautioned the young engineer. the lads ceased their talking instantly and listened with straining ears. "what is it?" breathed tad. "it's a car going through the tunnel." "is--is it the red car?" "i don't know. it's a gravity car--traveling along down grade by its own weight, so it must be on track two." "what can we do?" asked ned. "not a thing, my boy, only keep cool. it will not help matters any to get excited." "we are not!" replied ned firmly. each of the other two boys protested that they had never been less excited, which brought an approving smile from their guide, who was filled with admiration for the plucky lads. the fact is, his admiration had been steadily growing since he had seen their achievements from the time tad butler had first staggered into the red star mining camp a few days before. "i guess the car is going through safely. i am glad--" tom phipps did not finish the sentence. he was interrupted in a way that shook all the speech out of him, as it did from the rest of the party. there occurred a sudden sharp tremor of the rocks about them; then the stones beneath their feet seemed to heave up and down. their little universe was being turned topsy-turvy, it seemed to them. at the first tremor, the pony rider boys were thrown prone upon their faces on the rocky floor, partially stunned by the sudden shock. a distant boom, like the report of a cannon sounded in their ears, then all at once a terrifying rending of the rocks about them, accompanied by loud crashes. "are you all right?" shouted mr. phipps after the deadening effect of the shock had passed. "i'm all right," returned ned rector. "can't anything kill me now. i'm proof against bullets, wrecks and earthquakes." "was that an earthquake?" questioned walter weakly. "dynamite. the red car exploded when it was wrecked," explained the mining engineer. "that was what i feared. is master tad hurt?" "no, he's all right, i guess," answered tad for himself. "all the lights have gone out. can't we turn them on again?" "i'm afraid not. the wires undoubtedly have been torn and twisted apart in many places. there will be no more light in this drift for some time to come, i reckon." "think anyone was killed?" asked walter apprehensively. "oh, no. there was no one near the explosion, except ourselves, and luckily we are safe and sound. i'll try the telephone." mr. phipps spun the handle of the telephone, but without result. "like the lights, it's dead," he said. "what was that crashing noise in here? was that what did it?" questioned tad. the miner struck a match. "look!" he exclaimed. in the center of the chamber was a heap of rocks, weighing probably a ton or more. these had been wrenched from the roof of the place and dropped into the room where phipps and the lads were waiting. "somehow, i'm feeling a goneness under my belt," spoke up ned. "let's get out of here." "my goneness is in my knees," walter perkins informed them. "either place is bad enough," returned ned. "do you think it safe for us to leave here now?" asked tad. "i have been waiting until i thought it was," answered the guide. "of course, i have no means of knowing how much the explosion has loosened the rocks further out, near where the blast was fired." "that's so," agreed the boys. "we may have to face still other dangers, but i think we had better make a start. i am not sure that these rocks over our heads are any too secure, either. have you boys any matches?" "yes, i have some," replied tad. "i'll use mine first, then. we'll need all we have before we get out into the car tunnel," said tom. "are you getting hungry?" "to tell the truth, i for one haven't had time to think about my appetite," laughed ned. "yes, i guess our minds have been so full of other things that our stomachs have not had a chance to make their wants known," said tad. "how about you, walt?" "what i want most of anything in the world just at this minute, is to see daylight. isn't night outside yet, is it?" "no, it is only just past noon," the miner informed him. "always have a total eclipse of the sun down here," muttered ned humorously, but no one paid any attention to his feeble joke. "if you are ready we will be going now," announced their guide. "fall in behind me and go very carefully. you are liable to stumble over fallen rocks and break some bones. that's almost as bad as being hit on the head by one, eh?" "well, hardly," laughed ned. "i've got that experience coming to me still, and i'm in no hurry to meet it." "keep as far to the side of this chamber as possible," directed mr. phipps. he proceeded ahead of them, lighting the way with matches, which served to relieve the darkness a little, casting weird, flickering shadows on the damp walls and ceiling of the narrow passage. to the miner's gratification, the tunnel appeared not to have been harmed at all, not a stone having been jarred loose so far as he was able to observe. "i guess we are in luck, boys," he said in a relieved tone. "all clear so far. we shall be out in the main tunnel in a few minutes now. there will be a car along to pick us up very shortly after we get there." "hurrah!" shouted the lads joyously, hurrying forward in their anxiety to be clear of the place as quickly as possible. "can you see the end of the place?" "no, not yet." they had just rounded the bend in the tunnel and were heading for the exit into the main cut. drawing near to it, they observed that tom phipps hesitated, then began picking his way along with more caution than before. "anything wrong?" asked tad, who was close behind him. "i don't know. be careful. there's a lot of rubbish under foot ahead. i don't like the looks of it at all. stand where you are." after proceeding a few paces, their guide halted, holding a match high above his head. he turned toward them slowly. "the rocks have caved in, boys. there's a solid wall in front of us." "which means," asked tad hesitatingly. "that we are imprisoned far under the surface," answered the miner impressively. chapter xxii the boys face a mystery "then how are we going to get out?" asked ned rector as the guide's match went out. "that depends upon how long it takes to dig us out," answered mr. phipps. "then they know we are here?" questioned tad. "oh, yes. luckily for us, they do." "will they have to dig far--is that pile between us and the railroad very thick?" stammered ned. "it looks so. of course i am unable to say what has taken place on the other side of it. the entire main cross cut may have tumbled in for all i know." "if it has, what then?" demanded tad. "it will take that much longer to get us out. that's all." "how long?" "master ned, i don't know. no one can answer that question. perhaps hours--perhaps days," said tom solemnly. "but we'd starve in that time," protested walter. "one can go without food much longer than one would imagine. people have fasted for more than a month, as you probably are aware. no, boys, they will get us out in time. the only thing that troubles me now is the air," said the engineer. "what about it?" "well, we can't live without air, you know. it seems to be fairly fresh now, but how long it will continue that way there is no knowing. i'll examine the barrier, but keep back out of the way while i am doing so." the young engineer climbed over the heap of broken rock in front of him, and made a careful inspection of the cave-in that had so effectually imprisoned them in the drift. he found nothing to encourage him. the condition of the collapse was even worse than he had anticipated. "can you pace--measure off by taking a series of long steps?" he asked. "yes," replied tad promptly. "then please go back to where the bend in the cut begins, and pace down to where i am." tad did so promptly, glad to be able to do something to occupy himself as well as to help relieve the tension for the others. "exactly forty paces," he informed mr. phipps. "one hundred and twenty feet, eh?" the engineer made a brief calculation in his mind. "one hundred and twenty feet. h-m-m-m." "is it as bad as you thought?" questioned tad. "worse." "tell me what you have found?" "only forty feet of cave-in between us and freedom. that's all." "i should say that was enough," muttered the lad. "ample." "is there anything we can do, mr. phipps?" spoke up ned. "not a thing. all any of us can do at present is to wait. knowing we are here, they will lose no time in attempting to get us out. i wish the telephone were working so we might let them know we are all right. we might as well go back. i'll make a trip out here occasionally to learn if they are making any signals to us. they will do this as soon as they can get near enough to the obstruction to make themselves heard." "make signals--how?" questioned ned. "we use a code, a telegraph code. they will rap with a hammer then we'll answer them." "but you have no hammer--" "no, i'll use a rock to pound with if they get near enough. there's no hurry, however. it will be a long time before there's any occasion to communicate." turning back, tom led the way through the passage to the large chamber which they had but recently left. arriving there, he directed each of the lads to light a match at the same time so he could make a survey of the room to determine whether it were safe for them to remain there or not. "see that hole up there?" he exclaimed. "yes, what is it?" asked tad. "it's a check. you see there must have been a weakness in the strata at that point--perhaps it had already started to check there, when the force of the explosion split it wide open. the opening is large enough to admit a man's body. hold your lights down here while i examine this rubbish that has fallen through." they did so, and mr. phipps dropping to his knees sorted over the stones and dirt that had fallen from above. at a muttered exclamation from him, the lads crowded closer. "queer, very queer," he mused. "what's queer?" asked ned. "why, this stuff. it appears to be surface material mixed with pieces of rock of about the same quality as that of which the ruby mountain is composed." "i don't understand--" "i mean that this material that has fallen in here did not all come out of the solid rock." "what does that mean?" asked ned. "perhaps nothing so far as we are concerned. i was thinking that if they could not blast through the drift, they might as a last resort, drill down through the surface from above and pierce this chamber." "how could they locate our position close enough to do that?" asked tad. "that would not be difficult. from the maps of the mine mr. munson could work out our position as closely as a captain does that of his ship at sea." it was a ray of hope which the boys grasped eagerly. they tried to forget that they were practically entombed many feet underground, and that days might elapse before they were rescued. "i'll bet chunky will hug himself with delight when he finds out what's happened," suggested walter. "yes, he'll probably think it's very funny, our being bottled up or rather down in a corner underground," said ned somewhat dolefully. "i didn't mean that. he'll be glad he went hunting instead of coming along with us," corrected walter. "yes, i guess he will," agreed tad. "he'll have a right to congratulate himself that he has missed an opportunity to fall in." the lads forgot their predicament for the moment in the laugh that followed. "i wish we had a light," said one. "we might build a fire. what's the matter with burning up our hats?" suggested ned. "no, we should be suffocated. don't you know we are sealed up," objected tad. "we don't want to make any additional trouble for ourselves." "yes," agreed the guide. "but it is peculiar that there is so much fresh air here. now and then i can almost imagine i feel a draft, though i know that is not the case." "could we not get a draft through that large crack in the rocks up there?" "i don't see how, tad. there is nothing but solid rocks above it." the lad stepped under the opening, holding up a finger which he had wet between his lips. for a full moment he stood poised like a statue while the other two boys lighted matches that they might the better see what he was doing. "i don't care what you say, there is air coming from somewhere. there can be no doubt of it. i feel it plainly. try it and see if you don't agree with me, mr. phipps." the engineer stepped up and went through the same process that the boy had gone through. he repeated the experiment twice more. "you're right," he exclaimed, letting his hand drop to his side. "your good sense is worth more than all my technical knowledge and training." "the next question is to find out where the draft comes from. it must be from the outside somewhere," said tad hopefully. "not necessarily, my boy. of course it may be drawn down through crevices covering many feet of solid rock before reaching us. then again, the air may come from some subterranean water course. as you know the mountains are full of them, channel upon channel, some high and broad enough to drive a coach and four through." "oh. i hoped--" "never mind regrets, boys. wherever the air comes from makes little difference so long as it really is air. it is saving our lives." "from what?" demanded walter. "from eventual suffocation. were it not for that we would stand a good chance of dying before they were able to reach us." the boys were thoughtful for a few moments. "hungry?" questioned the engineer. "somewhat," admitted tad. "we might be more so if we had a chance to think about it," added ned. "i've got a package of chewing gum here. help yourself," offered mr. phipps. the lads were not slow to do so, and in a moment were chewing industriously, laughing and talking at the same time. "beats all what a little thing will make a fellow forget his troubles," said ned. "now, i remember--" "hello, boy!" "who said that?" demanded tad butler springing up from the pile of rocks on which he had been sitting for some time. "said what?" snapped ned. "i was talking when you interrupted me." "i thought i heard somebody say 'hello,'" confirmed mr. phipps. "so did i," added walter. "and i know they did," said tad emphatically. "hello, boy!" this time all sprang up, startled. "who's playing tricks?" shouted ned. "heard it that time, did you?" asked walter. "it wasn't i." "nor i," chorused tad. "then it must have been ned or myself," said phipps. "i'm sure that i am no ventriloquist." for the moment phipps wondered if they were all losing their senses. he had heard of men, imprisoned under similar circumstances, imagining they heard voices. tad butler, however, knew that imagination had played no part in this voice. he had heard the voice before. he informed his companions of this fact. "heard it before? where?" exclaimed ned. "on top of the ruby mountain yesterday," answered the boy. chapter xxiii in the ruby mountain tom phipps nodded. he recalled his conversation with tad upon the other's upon his return from his visit to the ruby mountain, and the lad's description of the mysterious voice he had heard there. mr. phipps did not give very serious consideration to that part of the boy's story at the time. now, however, he was startled beyond words. all of them were startled. to hear a strange voice many feet down under the ground, when all supposed they were far beyond the reach of a human voice, was enough to give almost anyone a start. yet tad was not as much surprised as were his companions, for it will be remembered he already had been through the experience that was so new to the others. "who are you?" demanded mr. phipps almost sternly. there was no reply to his question. "tad, are you sure that is the same voice?" "positive. there can be no doubt. and, besides, she has used the same words." "but it's impossible," insisted the young engineer. "no one, let alone a woman, could get near enough to this chamber to be heard as distinctly as that." "i--i think it must be somebody who can go right through a rock," stammered ned. "ghosts," nodded walter. "that's what i thought at first. but i knew it couldn't be after i had time to think twice. and i--" "he-l-l-l-o-o-o!" "there it goes again," fairly shouted tom phipps. "i'm going to find out what this means before i'm another minute older." hastily lighting a match he made a tour of the chamber, every corner of which he examined carefully, ending by a long, critical survey of the hole in the roof. "it is just as impossible for anyone to be up there as it is to expect to see some one walk through the solid rocks here beside us," he decided, throwing the spent match on the floor where it glowed briefly and went out, leaving the darkness more dense than before. tad struck a fresh match. "hello, what's this?" he cried, reaching for a small package that lay wrapped in a piece of newspaper on the floor near him. "i didn't see that before." "doughnuts!" shouted ned, who had been peering curiously over tad's shoulder as the latter opened the package. "yes, and they are real," exulted tad. already one of them was in his mouth, and the others of the party quickly helped themselves. there was just enough to go around. "i don't care who you are, but we're much obliged just the same," called ned in a muffled voice. "yes, there's nothing ghostly about this 'bear sign,'" added tad. as for their companion, tom phipps, words failed him. "i'm sure i'm going crazy now," he said. "if you are real, for goodness' sake tell us who you are and where you are?" he pleaded. a merry, chuckling laugh answered him. "she's up there!" said tad butler sharply. he had been listening with every sense on the alert, determined to locate the owner of the voice when next she spoke. now he was sure that he had succeeded. "i know where you are but i don't know how you ever got there." "do you know a way out of this?" interjected walter. "of course," answered the girl. tad nodded to his companions. they were burning up their matches very fast now in an effort to catch sight of the owner of the voice. "how did you suppose i got there if i didn't know the way?" "no ghost about that, i guess," said the boy. "will you help us to get out of here?" asked tom. "can't." "why not?" demanded ned. "can you climb up here?" "no, certainly not." "well, that's the answer." they laughed in spite of themselves. "will you tell us how you got where you are?" asked mr. phipps. "that's a secret," replied the girl. "and i presume your name is a secret too?" "yes." "we'll find out who you are when we get out of here. i promise you that," threatened the assistant superintendent. "then good-bye." "no, no, don't go! don't go!" begged tad. "say you won't tell on her, mr. phipps. don't you see--" "all right, girl, i'll promise to keep your secret." "you'd better," retorted the girl. "how did you know we were here?" asked mr. phipps. "i didn't. i heard about the explosion, so i came in here to see if my cave had been harmed any." "you knew we were right under it, then?" "of course. how stupid you are!" "where is your cave?" "i'm in it." "yes, i understand that, but where?" "you ask too many questions." "say, young lady, can you find a rope that will reach down to us?" asked tad, who had been turning over a plan in his mind. "i guess." "please do so then. and hurry, won't you?" "you will ask no questions?" "certainly not!" "you won't try to find out anything about my cave?" "no, no, of course not," answered mr. phipps impatiently. "and you will do as i tell you?" "yes." "all right. i'll be back in a minute." mr. phipps sat down nonplussed. "i never was so mixed up in my life," he grumbled. "i can't understand it at all. how did she ever get there?" "she says it's a cave," suggested tad. "but i know of no caves about here." tad shrugged his shoulders. that there was one and through it a prospect of their being liberated from their unpleasant and perilous position, was enough for him to know. "hello," shouted the girl after a few minutes. "yes, did you get the rope?" called tad excitedly. "uh-huh." "then drop the end of it down." a heavy coil hit tad on the top of his head, nearly knocking him down. he scrambled from under while from above there sounded a peal of merry laughter. "i don't care, so long as we have the rope," laughed the boy. "can you fasten the end of the rope to something up there?" "no." "oh, pshaw! that's too bad," grumbled the boy. "but wait a minute." striking a match and shading his eyes with one hand, he peered up to the hole in the rocks. he noted a long narrowing crevice extending back from the main opening. "i'll tell you what to do." "yes." "draw the rope into that crack as far as it will go, then tie a knot in the rope so it cannot slip through. i'll climb up--" "you couldn't get up here. the end of the crack is too far from the place you see. hold on, here's another crack just like it, right here in the rocks by me. i'll fix it. you all promise not to tell on me?" insisted the girl. "yes, yes, yes, we promise. we'll promise anything just now," laughed ned. an interval of silence followed while the girl was adjusting the end of the rope. then she called down to them: "all ready?" asked tad. "yes, try it." tad grasped the rope, and swinging himself clear of the floor, jounced up and down several times. "i guess it will hold. i'll go up first to see that the rope is secure; then the rest of you can follow me up." "why, i couldn't climb that rope to save my life," objected mr. phipps. "i'll fix it so you can. i'll tie some knots in it, then climbing will be easy." with that tad once more swung clear of the floor and went up hand over hand with amazing rapidity. by the light of their matches they saw him disappear through the hole in the roof of the chamber. "it's all right, fellows," he called down to the others. "i'll just haul up the rope and fix it for you." this he did, letting the rope down to them a few moments later. walter was the first to try the climb. "i can't do it, tad. i just can't," he cried, slipping back to the floor where he landed in a heap. "hold the rope down for him, then he ought to be able to make it," directed tad. walter, however, had apparently lost his courage and declared that he could not do it. "take a hitch under his arms, good and strong. i'll pull him up," he commanded. they did as the boy above directed, then tad began his pull. it was a fearful task. "grab hold of me, put your arms around my waist and brace yourself," he commanded, and the girl with quick wit comprehended what he wished her to do. slowly, foot by foot tad hauled the dead weight up. the last few feet of the rope seemed a mile to him. with a final desperate effort, just as his muscles seemed to be at the breaking point, tad, hauled his companion safely to the flat rock beside him, then fell on the floor of the cave, gasping for breath. "le--let the r-rope down," he said faintly. the girl obeyed. ned shinned it with little difficulty, tom phipps insisting that the lad should precede him, though ned wanted him to go first. tad was on his feet again. "can you make it?" he called down. "i don't know. i'm going to make a big attempt at it," answered the miner. they heard the rope creak and knew that he had thrown his weight upon it. "i'm afraid i can't get all the way up. my arms are giving out," they heard him gasp. "don't let go! don't let go!" "i'm afraid i can't help it, my muscles won't stand the strain." "twist the rope about one leg and rest. you can hang there all day if you'll do that," snapped tad. "how is it!" "yes, that works fine. my arms are all a-tremble. i didn't suppose i was so weak?" "you are not used to it, that's all. that's right; come along. i'll strike a match to light the way." little by little and with frequent rests, tom worked his way up and up until within reach of tad's strong arm. the lad grasped him by the coat collar and pulled him clear of the hole, dropping him flat on his back safe and sound on the rock where he had previously dumped walter. "good gracious!" breathed mr. phipps. "boy, you must be made of cast iron. you--you pulled me up here with one hand." "you're here, that's all we need worry about just now," answered tad, breathing heavily. "now, miss, will you please tell us how to get out of here?" "come," she said, taking tad by the hand. she turned away, the others following in single file. almost at once they emerged into a high-ceilinged cave, dimly lighted as if through stained glass windows. the lads uttered an exclamation of amazement. "i know you now. you're rose cravath, tom cravath's daughter!" cried phipps, striding forward and grasping the girl by the shoulder. "i demand to know what all this means?" tad stepped between them, pushing tom aside. "remember your promise, mr. phipps," he warned. "yes, but do you realize where we are, boys?" "no, and i don't care." "we're in the ruby mountain." "look! look!" shouted tad excitedly, grasping the arm of phipps. with this, he dashed away to a distant part of the chamber that lay in deep gloom. phipps looked in bewilderment. a few moments later, tad emerged from the darkness leading a broncho. "didn't i tell you?" he asked triumphantly. "i knew i'd get him some day--this is my stolen broncho." and then patting the pony's neck affectionately, he added: "good old fellow. i'm glad to have you again." he had indeed recovered his pony. probably awaiting the departure of the pony riders from ruby mountain, the desperadoes had kept the pony--with two others--secreted in the mountain chamber. the other two ponies did not, however, belong to the pony rider boys, much to the disgust of the latter. "just tad's luck," growled ned. chapter xxiv conclusion before the pony rider boys had an opportunity to voice their astonishment, rose held up a hand for silence. voices were heard approaching. "hurry, hurry!" she whispered excitedly, leading the way through a low, narrow opening into another part of the cave. tom phipps's hat was knocked off by the low archway, but not realizing the loss of it, he did not stop. as they entered the second chamber, which was even more brightly lighted than the one they had just left, they heard the sound of water, but were unable to locate the stream which they knew must be near by. the voices died away to a low murmur and the girl who had been trembling violently, began creeping cautiously toward the opening to reconnoitre when all at once she started back with a little cry of alarm. before the eyes of the astonished boys there suddenly appeared two men. mr. phipps's hat had warned the men of the presence of strangers in their stronghold. their faces, therefore, reflected anger instead of surprise. for a few seconds the newcomers stood glaring at phipps and the pony rider boys. "tom cravath!" exclaimed the assistant superintendent. "so, you are the mystery, are you?" "poaching, eh?" sneered cravath unabashed. "what business you got in here?" snapped his companion. "i might ask you the same question, you fellow and tom cravath?" retorted mr. phipps, holding the two men with a level gaze. "and what's more i think your peculiar doings will bear looking into. there's something mighty queer about this business. i shouldn't be surprised if we found we'd solved a greater mystery than we thought--" "you'll solve nothing!" shouted cravath, suddenly drawing a revolver. his companion did likewise, both men quickly covering tom phipps and the boys with their weapons. "you'll find it ain't profitable to meddle with other folks' business." "pity you hadn't learned that lesson yourself," jeered tom. "it's over the cliff for the whole blooming bunch of you. i'll give you all the mystery you want." "father, father," protested rose, horrified at her parent's cold-blooded threat. "they haven't done anything. they--" "you shut up!" roared the miner. "get out of here! get in under the arch there! i'll attend to you later!" the girl hesitated, then crept away sobbing as cravath made a threatening move toward her. "now, i'll settle with you and your bunch of meddling tenderfeet," announced cravath sternly. "right about face!" they hesitated, then turned in obedience to his command. there seemed nothing else for them to do, for both men were fingering their weapons suggestively. "these boys have done nothing to harm you, cravath," protested mr. phipps. "and no more have i. mark me, you'll pay for this indignity, and dearly too." "you don't say?" sneered the miner. "i suppose this is where you hide the ponies you have been stealing," said phipps boldly, a sudden thought having come to him. "forward march!" roared the enraged miner. "not--not over the cliff--you--you can't mean it?" begged phipps, his face going suddenly pale. "that's what i mean. you fellows are supposed to be buried in the mine down there. it'll take 'em months to blast into the place where they think you are, and when they reach the place you all will be gone a long time." cravath laughed harshly. "come now, over you go, unless you prefer to stand there and take your medicine." "hold on there a minute. i guess if anybody does the leap for life, it'll be you that does it," shouted a voice behind the two desperate men. a second dynamite explosion could not have surprised them more. the men wheeled like a flash. from the shadow of the archway, through which they had just entered, protruded a rifle barrel. the pony rider boys who had also turned sharply at the interruption, observed that the gun barrel had a telescope attachment. their eyes following further back, observed something else, too. "chunky!" gasped the lads in one voice. cravath made a move to level his weapon at the boy who had interfered with his plans thus unexpectedly. "you stop that, now! i've got six bullets in this gun. if you get me excited i may press too hard on the trigger, and--well, maybe you'll think you've stepped into a hornets' nest. drop those pistols!" the muzzle of the repeating rifle never wavered. behind the sights, the eyes of stacy brown had contracted into two narrow slits. the desperadoes hesitated, measuring their chances shrewdly. they must have considered that these were not worth the taking, for they permitted their fingers to relax, the weapons falling to the floor with a clatter. chunky lowered his rifle ever so little, and the pony riders uttered a yell of triumph. for one brief instant chunky was off his guard. in that second he lost his prisoners. with a bound the two men cleared the intervening space that lay between them and the cliff. they reached it at a point near the corner of the chamber some distance from where they had attempted to drive the boys over. throwing themselves flat on their faces, they wriggled over the edge and disappeared. a faint splash below, a few seconds later, told the lads that their desperate assailants had reached the water. "they'll drown, they'll drown!" cried walter. "no such luck," growled tom phipps. "they've got away, that's all. they know what they're doing." chunky swaggered to the edge with rifle dropped over his left arm, and peered over. "guess i'll hurry 'em along," he announced, clearing his weapon for action. tad sprang forward and forced the barrel up. "chunky, chunky!" he warned. "i was just going to scare 'em, that's all," grinned the fat boy, lowering his rifle. at that moment the boys fell upon chunky, fairly hugging him in their delight. after the keen edge of their excitement had worn off, they pressed him for the story of how he had happened to find his way into the ruby mountain at that time. the lad explained that having been hunting in that vicinity and becoming tired out he had sat down to rest. while thus engaged the men had come along. they were talking of the explosion, and from them he learned that the drift in which the pony rider boys were imprisoned was immediately beneath their hiding place in the ruby mountain. interested at once, the lad followed them into the mountain. "but, how did they get in here?" demanded tom. "through a hole in the rocks, that went straight in." phipps insisted on being taken to the place at once. he found that entrance had been made through an abandoned shaft that extended into the mountain a short distance on the level. a door had been skilfully constructed, shutting off the entrance to the cave itself. years before a notorious band of outlaws had been known to have a hiding place somewhere in the vicinity. tom cravath and his associates had come upon it and used it for their own nefarious purposes. "i think we'll find we've come upon a very important discovery," decided mr. phipps after listening to the fat boy's story. and so it proved. cravath had been at the head of a band of thieves, who made way with their plunder through the ruby mountain. a large quantity of it was found there on the following day. as for the stock which they stole, this was led into the mine entrance, down into a subterranean water course along which it was directed for several miles along towards the indian territory where it was eventually sold by other members of the gang. no trace of any of the desperate band was ever found. eagle-eye, the missing indian guide, was discovered bound and gagged in a remote chamber in the ruby mountain, weak from loss of food. he had caught some of the band stealing the ponies and they had taken him prisoner. it was proved, however, that neither rose cravath nor her mother had any knowledge of the transactions of the desperate band. great was the rejoicing in the mining camp when the news of the discovery became noised about. the lads were made heroes by the enthusiastic miners. but this did not bring back the lost ponies. rather than purchase others for the brief time they would be in the ozarks, it was decided to close the trip and continue their journeyings amidst other scenes. on the second morning after their exciting experiences in the mines they rode away, bound for the nearest railroad station, all anticipation at the prospect of a sojourn on the great nevada desert, of which they had heard so much. how they lost themselves there, their efforts to extricate themselves from the desert maze, attended by a remarkable series of strange happenings, will be told in a following volume entitled, "the pony rider boys in the alkali." the end how women should ride by "c. de hurst" illustrated [illustration] new york harper & brothers, franklin square copyright, , by harper & brothers. all rights reserved. to e. e. f. to whom i owe the experience which has enabled me to write of riding this book is gratefully and affectionately dedicated introduction it has not been the intention of the author of this little volume to present the reader with elaborate chapters of technical essays. entire libraries have been written on the care and management of the horse from the date of its foaling; book upon book has been compiled on the best and proper method of acquiring some degree of skill in the saddle. the author has scarcely hoped, therefore, to exhaust in pages a subject which, after having been handled on the presses of nearly every publisher in this country and england, yet contains unsettled points for the discussion of argumentative horse-men and horse-women. but it happens with riding--as, indeed, it does with almost every other subject--that we ignore the simpler side for the more intricate. we delve into a masterpiece, suitable for a professional, on the training of a horse, when the chances are we do not know how to saddle him. we stumble through heavy articles on bitting, the technical terms of which we do not understand, when if our own horse picked up a stone we probably would be utterly at a loss what to do. we, both men and women, are too much inclined to gallop over the fundamental lessons, which should be conned over again and again until thoroughly mastered. we are restive in our novitiate period, impatient to pose as past-masters in an art before we have acquired its first principles. beginning with a bit of advice to parents, of which they stand sorely in need, it is the purpose of this book to carry the girl along the bridle-path, from the time she puts on a habit for the first attempt, to that when she joins the hunt for a run across country after the hounds. there is no intention of wearying and confusing her by a formidable array of purely technical instruction. the crying fault with nearly all those who have handled this subject at length has been that of distracting the uninformed reader by the most elaborate dissertation on all points down to the smallest details. this author, on the contrary, has shorn the instruction of all hazy intricacies, with which the equestrienne has so often been asked to burden herself, and brought out instead only those points essential to safety, skill, and grace in the saddle. no space has been wasted on unnecessary technicalities which the woman is not likely to either understand or care to digest, but everything has been written with a view of aiding her in obtaining a sound, practical knowledge of the horse, under the saddle and in harness. contents chapter i a word to parents page dangers of early riding, .--vanity, . chapter ii girls on horseback hints to mothers, .--the beginner's horse, .--costuming, .--preparatory lessons, .--instructors, .--balance, .--hands, .--position, .--management, . chapter iii beginning to ride form, .--insufficient training, .--mounting, .--dismounting, .--stirrup, . chapter iv in the saddle below the waist, .--above the waist, .--hands and wrists, .--reins, . chapter v emergencies eagerness to start, .--shyers, .--stumblers, .--rearers, .--plungers, .--buckers, .--pullers, .--runaways, .--punishment, . chapter vi choosing a mount an adviser, .--park hack, .--measurement, .--conformation, .--hunter, .--gait and manners, . chapter vii dress skirt, .--safety skirt, .--divided skirt, .--bodice, .--waistcoat, .--corsets, .--boots, breeches, tights, .--collars and cuffs, .--gloves, .--hair and hat, .--veil, .--whip or crop, .--spur, . chapter viii leaping requirements, .--in the ring, .--approaching jump, .--taking off, .--landing, .--lifting, .--out-of-doors, .--pilot, .--selecting a panel, .--stone wall, .--in hand, .--trappy ground and drops, .--in and out, .--picket and slat fences, .--wire, .--combined obstacles, .--refusing, .--timidity, .--temper, .--rider at fault, . chapter ix leaping (continued) rushers, .--balkers, .--sluggards, .--falls, . chapter x riding to hounds courtesy, .--the novice, .--hard riding, .--jealous riding, .--desirable qualities, .--getting away, .--indecision, .--right of way, .--funk, .--excitable and sluggish horses, .--proximity to hounds, .--choosing a line, . chapter xi sympathy between horse and woman talking to horse, .--in the stall, .--on the road, .--cautions, . chapter xii practical knowledge of the stable stabling, .--picking up feet, .--grooming, .--bitting, .--clipping, .--bridling, .--noseband, .--martingale, .--breast-plate, .--the saddle, .--stirrup, .--girths, .--saddling, . chapter xiii something on driving desirability of instruction, .--vulgar display, .--bad form, .--costume, .--cockade, .--confidence, .--the family-horse fallacy, .--on the box, .--position of reins, .--handling reins, .--a pair, . chapter xiv something more on driving management, .--stumbling, .--backing, .--rearing and kicking, .--rein under tail, .--bolting and running, .--crowded driveways, .--road courtesy, .--tandems and teams, .--reins, .--unruly leader, .--turning, . illustrations correct position _facing p._ incorrect position " incorrect left leg and heel correct left leg and heel incorrect right thigh and knee correct right thigh and knee correct knuckles, side view incorrect position of hands hands in good form, front view snaffle outside, curb inside, front view snaffle outside, curb inside, side view reins in two hands, snaffle outside, curb inside _facing p._ position of reins and hands in jumping, curb outside, snaffle inside reins in two hands, curb outside, snaffle inside, side view hands and seat in rearing _facing p._ crop a good spur taking off _facing p._ about to land " double bridle for general use " correct saddle undesirable saddle safety stirrup, closed safety stirrup, open a well-balanced cart _facing p._ position in tandem driving " i a word to parents riding has been taken up so generally in recent years by the mature members of society that its espousal by the younger element is quite in the natural order of events. we can look upon the declaration of young america for sport with supreme gratification, as it argues well for the generation to come, but we should not lose sight of the fact that its benefits may be more than counterbalanced by injudiciously forcing these tastes. that there is danger of this is shown by the tendency to put girls on horseback at an age much too tender to have other than harmful results. it is marvellous that a mother who is usually most careful in guarding her child's safety should allow her little one to incur the risks attendant upon riding (which are great enough for a person endowed with strength, judgment, and decision) without proper consideration of the dangers she is exposed to at the time, or a realization of the possible evil effects in the future. [sidenote: dangers of early riding] surely parents do not appreciate what the results may be, or they would never trust a girl of eight years or thereabouts to the mercy of a horse, and at his mercy she is bound to be. no child of that age, or several years older, has strength sufficient to manage even an unruly pony, which, having once discovered his power, is pretty sure to take advantage of it at every opportunity; and no woman is worthy the responsibilities of motherhood who will permit her child to make the experiment. even if no accident occurs, the knowledge of her helplessness may so frighten the child that she will never recover from her timidity. it is nonsense to say she will outgrow it; early impressions are never entirely eradicated; and should she in after-life appear to regain her courage, it is almost certain at a critical moment to desert her, and early recollections reassert themselves. the vagaries of her own mount are not the only dangers to which the unfortunate child is exposed. many accidents come from collisions caused by some one else's horse bolting; and it is not to be expected, when their elders often lose their wits completely, that shoulders so young should carry a head cool enough to make escape possible in such an emergency. it is a common occurrence to hear parents inquiring for a "perfectly safe horse for a child." such a thing does not exist, and the idea that it does often betrays one into trusting implicitly an animal which needs perhaps constant watching. if fresh or startled, the capers of the most gentle horse will not infrequently create apprehension, because totally unexpected. on the other hand, if he is too sluggish to indulge in any expressions of liveliness, he is almost sure to require skilful handling and constant urging to prevent his acquiring a slouching gait to which it is difficult to rise. a slouching horse means a stumbling one, and, with the inability of childish hands to help him recover his balance, he is likely to fall. supposing the perfect horse to be a possibility--a girl under sixteen has not the physique to endure without injury to her health such violent exercise as riding. from the side position she is forced to assume, there is danger of an injured spine, either from the unequal strain on it or from the constant concussion, or both. if a mother can close her eyes to these dangers, insisting that her child shall ride, a reversible side-saddle is the best safeguard that i know of against a curved spine; but it only lessens the chances of injury, and is by no means a sure preventive, although it has the advantage of developing both sides equally. another evil result of beginning too young is that if she escapes misadventures and does well, a girl is sure to be praised to such an extent that she forms a most exaggerated idea of her prowess in the saddle. by the time she is sixteen she is convinced that there is no room for improvement, and becomes careless, lapsing into many of her earlier faults. parents should guard against this. it is often their affection which permits them to see only the good points of their daughter's riding, and their pride in her skill leads to undue flattery, which she is only too willing to accept as her due. later i shall mention some of the principles a young rider should acquire, and it is the duty of those who have put her in the saddle when too young to judge for herself to see that she follows them correctly. the necessity of riding in good form cannot be too firmly impressed on her mind. one often hears: "oh, i only want to ride a little in the park; so don't bother me about form. i ride for pleasure and comfort, not work"--all of which is wrong; for, whether in the park, on the road, in the country, or in the hunting-field, nothing is of more importance than to ride in good form. to do so is to ride easily, being in the best position to manage the horse, and therefore it is also to ride safely. [sidenote: vanity] the desire to attract attention often induces women to ride. young girls soon learn to do likewise, and their attempts at riding for the "gallery" by kicking the horse with the heel, jerking its mouth with the curb, that she may impress people with her dashing appearance, as the poor tormented animal plunges in his endeavors to avoid the pressure, are lamentable and frequent sights in many riding-schools. objectionable as this is in an older person, it is doubly so in a child, from whom one expects at least modesty instead of such boldness as this betokens. it is to be hoped that those in authority will discourage her attempts at circus riding, and teach her that a quiet, unobtrusive manner will secure her more admirers than an air of bravado. ii girls on horseback [sidenote: hints to mothers] notwithstanding these numerous reasons to the contrary, mothers will undoubtedly continue to imperil the life and welfare of children whom it is their mission to protect, and, such being the case, a few directions as to the best and least dangerous course to pursue may be of service to them. sixteen is the earliest age at which a girl should begin to ride, as she is then strong enough to control her mount, has more judgment, is better able to put instruction into practice, more amenable to reason, and more attentive to what is told her. if the parents' impatience will not admit of waiting until this desirable period, it is their duty to see that the child has every advantage that can facilitate her learning, and to assure her such safety as is within their power. [sidenote: the beginner's horse] a common theory is that any old screw, if only quiet, will do for a beginner. nothing could be more untrue. the horse for a novice should have a short but square and elastic trot, a good mouth, even disposition, and be well-mannered; otherwise the rider's progress will be greatly impeded. even if the child is very young, i think it is a mistake to put her on a small pony for her first lessons, as its gaits are so often uneven, interfering with all attempts at regular rising to the trot. ponies are also more liable to be tricky than horses, and, from the rapidity of their movements, apt to unseat and frighten a beginner. they are very roguish, and will bolt across a road without any reason, or stand and kick or rear for their own amusement; and, being so quick on their feet, their various antics confuse a child so that she loses her self-possession and becomes terrified. it is just as bad to go to the other extreme, as a large, long-gaited horse will tire the muscles of the back, and, if combined with sluggish action, require twice the exertion needed for a free traveller. furthermore, it destroys the rhythm of the movement by making the time of her rise only half as long as necessary, thus giving her a double jolt on reaching the saddle. having secured the right sort of horse, the saddle should be chosen with great care. [sidenote: costuming] it is a shame that little girls are made to ride in the ill-fitting habits seen half the time. they must set properly, or the best riders will be handicapped and appear at a disadvantage. a child's skirt should not wrinkle over the hips more than a woman's, nor should it ruck up over the right knee, exposing both feet, while the wind inflates the superfluous folds. above all things, a girl should not lace nor wear her habit bodice tight, as no benefit can possibly be derived from riding with the lungs and ribs compressed. [sidenote: preparatory lessons] it often happens that a child is put into the saddle before she has had the opportunity of becoming familiar with a horse, either by visiting it in its stall or going about it when in the stable. a more harmful mistake could not be made; the child is likely to be afraid of the animal the first time she is placed on its back, and nothing so interferes with tuition as terror. many of the difficulties of instructing a little girl will be overcome if her familiarity with the horse she is to ride has given her confidence in him. she should frequently be taken to the stable, and encouraged to give him oats or sugar from her hand, and to make much of him. meanwhile whoever is with her must watch the animal, and guard against anything which might startle the child. she may be lifted on to his back; and if he is suitable to carry her, he will stand quietly, thus assuring her of his trustworthiness and gaining her affection. before being trusted on a horse, a beginner should have the theory of its management explained to her; and here is another drawback to infantile equestrianism, as a young mind cannot readily grasp the knowledge. nevertheless, she must be made to understand the necessity of riding from balance, instead of pulling herself up by the horse's mouth, and be shown the action of the curb chain on the chin, that she may realize why the snaffle should be used for ordinary purposes, so that in case of an emergency she may have the curb to fall back upon. she must know that if she pulls against him, the horse will pull against her, and therefore she must not keep a dead bearing on his mouth. unyielding hands are the almost invariable result of riding before realizing the delicate manipulation a horse's mouth requires. a light feeling on the curb and a light touch of the whip will show her how to keep the horse collected, instead of allowing him to go in a slovenly manner. she must not try to make the horse trot by attempting to rise. until the animal is trotting squarely she should sit close to the saddle, instead of bobbing up and down, as he jogs or goes unevenly at first. when wishing to canter, in place of tugging at the reins, clucking, and digging the animal in the ribs with her heel, the child should be told to elevate her hands a trifle, and touch him on the shoulder with the whip. no habit is more easily formed than that of clucking to a horse, and it is a difficult one to cure. it is provocative of great annoyance to any one who is near, and who may be riding a high-spirited animal, as it makes him nervous and anxious to go, for he cannot tell whether the signal is meant for him or not, and springs forward in response, when his owner has perhaps just succeeded in quieting him. thus can one make one's self an annoyance to others near by, in a manner which might so easily have been avoided in the beginning. after being familiarized with such rudimentary ideas of horsemanship, comes the time for putting them into practice. [sidenote: instructors] it is a pity that there are not more competent instructors in the riding-schools, for it is of great importance to begin correctly; to find a teacher, however, who possesses thorough knowledge of the subject is, unfortunately, rare. their inefficiency is amply demonstrated by the specimens of riding witnessed every day in the park; and either their methods, if they pretend to have any, must be all wrong, or they are but careless and superficial mentors, as the results are so often far from satisfactory. there are, to be sure, plenty of teachers who ride well themselves, but that is a very different matter from imparting the benefit of their knowledge and experience to others. with the best intentions in the world, they may fail to make their pupils show much skill in the saddle. skill, and the power of creating it in the pupil, is an unusual combination. [sidenote: balance] if a young girl is to ride, she should be put in the saddle and not permitted to touch the reins. her hands may rest in her lap, and the horse should be led at a walk, while the teacher shows her the position she must try to keep, and tells her what she must do when the pace is increased. as she becomes used to the situation, and understands the instructions, the horse may be urged into a slow trot, she being made to sit close, without, at first, any attempt at rising. then a quiet canter may be given her, but on no account should the child be allowed to clutch at anything to assist in preserving her balance. it is that she shall not rely on the horse's mouth for balance that i have advocated keeping the reins from her, and it is a plan which men and women would do well to adopt. dependence on the reins is one of the commonest faults in riding, and every one should practise trotting (and even jumping, if the horse be tractable) with folded arms, while the reins are left hanging on the animal's neck, knotted so they will not fall too low. if the importance of riding from balance above the waist were more generally recognized, the seat would of necessity be firmer, the hands lighter, and horses less fretful. [sidenote: hands] too much emphasis cannot be put on the importance of good hands. good hands are hands made so by riding independently of the reins. intuitive knowledge of the horse's intentions, sympathy and communication with him, which are conveyed through the reins in a manner too subtle for explanation, must accompany light hands to make them perfect. such qualities are absolutely impossible with heavy hands, which are incapable of the necessary delicate manipulation of the horse's mouth. light hands, therefore, should be cultivated first, and experience may bring the rest. a child, beginning as i have advised, will early have this instilled into her mind, and not be obliged to overcome heavy hands when from experience she has learned their disadvantages. after sitting close to the trot and the canter, the beginner must be told to rise to the trot. at first she will find it difficult to make her effort correspond to the action of the horse's fore-legs, but, having once caught the motion, she will soon have no trouble in rising regularly. when she rises correctly and without much effort, the reins may be given her. a snaffle will be the best to use until she is sure of not letting them slip through her fingers, or of not interfering with the horse's mouth. she should hold the reins in both hands, as this lessens the probability of sitting askew, although as she becomes more certain of her seat she may transfer them to the left hand, and carry a whip or crop in the right. if a double bridle has been substituted for the snaffle, the instructor must show the child that the left snaffle rein goes outside of her little finger, the left curb between the little and third fingers, the right curb between the second and third fingers, and the right snaffle between the first and second. [illustration: correct position] now, as the child begins to have confidence in herself, is the time to guard against the formation of bad habits, which would later, if uncorrected, be difficult to eradicate. if parents will take the trouble to make an impartial criticism of their daughter's riding, they can aid her by insisting upon her doing as she ought, which is beyond the authority of the riding-master. [sidenote: position] they should see that her body is held erect, her shoulders squarely to the front and thrown back, head up, chin held back, arms hanging straight to the elbows, hands low and close together, her right knee immovable, as from there she must rise. her left leg must be held quiet, and the heel away from the horse, the ball of the foot resting on the stirrup; but she must be kept from placing too much reliance on that support, by practising without it every time she rides, taking care that, in relinquishing that aid, she does not instead take hold of the horse's mouth. [illustration: incorrect position] [sidenote: management] as the most trustworthy mount will at times be frisky or make a mistake, a child should be prepared for such a contingency, and know how to meet it. if a horse stumbles, she must sit well back and pull his head up. in rearing, the reins must be left loose and the body thrown forward. a tendency to back must be met with a sharp crack of the whip. in shying, she must try to sit close, and in case of a runaway she should understand that no good will come of throwing herself off. to stick close and try to direct him is all she can do, for she cannot hope to stop him when once started. if a horse falls with her, it is best to try and hold on to the reins, as then he cannot reach her with his heels; but if she cannot succeed in doing this, she must endeavor to get clear of him and as far away as possible, to avoid being rolled on or trampled upon as he makes his effort to get up. when i consider the trials and dangers she must pass through, a girl who is allowed to ride before she is sixteen has my sympathy, while i look with indignation on the mothers who thus thoughtlessly expose children to all the evils attendant upon a too early attempt at riding. iii beginning to ride that riding is increasing in popularity is clearly attested by the crowded bridle-path of central park. it is greatly to be hoped, however, that with its growth in public favor a more than superficial knowledge of horsemanship will be sought for by those who desire to experience all the pleasure which may be derived from this sport. women especially, laboring as they do under the disadvantages of a side-saddle and imperfectly developed muscles, should try to follow the most efficacious means of managing their horses, a result best attained by riding in good form. [sidenote: form] even those who consider themselves first-class horsewomen, and who are undoubtedly competent to manage an unruly animal, often have defects in form which destroy the grace and ease of their appearance, and prevent them, in case of an emergency, from employing the full amount of power of which they are capable. besides this, there are so many benefits to be derived from the exercise--if one will take it in a common-sense manner--that every endeavor should be made to extract from it the full amount of good. this cannot be done with any undue strain on the muscles arising from either a poor saddle, a back bent almost double, the arms nearly pulled out by improper handling of the horse's mouth, or with that abomination--a tight waist. sense in dressing and attention to form are the two indispensable attributes by which women can make riding a means to improved health. under such conditions all the organs are stimulated, and good digestion, an increased appetite, quieted nerves, better spirits, and sound sleep follow. with such advantages in sight, it is strange that more of an effort is not made to bring about these results by overcoming bad habits. [sidenote: insufficient training] in most instances the faults come either from improper instruction, or vanity which will not permit or heed criticism. if her horse has been docile, and refrained from any attempt to throw her, a woman is sometimes so impressed with her skill that after a few lessons she no longer regards the advice of her instructor, and thinks she is beyond the necessity of heeding his admonitions. having acquired so little knowledge, she will soon have numerous objectionable peculiarities in form, resulting from her imperfect conception of horsemanship. occasionally, too, a woman considers herself "a born rider, with a natural seat," and the result of this belief is a combination of pitiful mistakes, when, had her taste for the sport been properly trained and cultivated, instead of being allowed to run wild, she would probably have become a rider. there might yet remain hope of her acquiring a seat could she be convinced that there really is some knowledge on the subject that she has not yet mastered. in reference to those who have been taught by incompetent masters, a great deal is to be said, both to enable them to adopt the right way, and to prevent those who are desirous of learning from falling into their mistakes. [sidenote: mounting] unfortunately it is almost impossible for a woman to mount without assistance, unless she be very tall and her horse small. in this case she can reach the stirrup with her foot, and pull herself up by the saddle. sometimes the stirrup can be let down and used to mount with, then drawn up when seated in the saddle. but this can only be done when the stirrup leather buckles over the off flap, which is not usual. another method is to lead the horse to a fence or wall, climb that, and jump on to his back; but all these methods require a very quiet horse, and even then are not always practicable. it is advisable to learn to mount from the ground as well as from a block. this is done by placing the right hand containing whip and reins on the upper pommel, the left foot, with the knee bent, in the clasped hands of the attendant, the left hand on his shoulder, and, at a signal, springing from the right foot and straightening the left leg. nine out of ten women, after mounting, first carefully adjust the habit, and have the stirrup or girths tightened before putting the knee over the pommel, while some even button their gloves before; and, as a secondary consideration, when everything else has been seen to, they take up the reins, which have been loose on the horse's neck. he might easily wrench himself from the groom at his head, and without her hold on the pommel she would fall heavily to the ground; or if she were seated, but without reins, the horse might bolt into a tree, a wall, or another horse. she would probably grasp the first rein at hand, perhaps the curb, and then the horse might rear dangerously, and if she did not relax her hold on his mouth at once would be likely to fall backwards with her--the worst thing that can happen to a woman on a horse. all this may be avoided by taking the reins before mounting, and upon touching the saddle, instantly putting the right knee over the pommel. the reins should then be transferred to the left hand, with the snaffle on the outside, and the curb inside, but loose. it will then be the proper time to arrange the skirt and the stirrup. [sidenote: dismounting] to dismount she must transfer the reins to her right hand, take her left foot from the stirrup, and lift her right knee over the upper pommel, making sure that her skirt is not caught on any part of the saddle. she must then take a firm hold of the pommel with the hand containing the reins and the whip, the latter held so that it will not touch the horse. if there is some one to assist her she may reach out her left arm, and by this she can be steadied as she dismounts. in jumping down she should keep hold of the pommel and turn slightly, so that as she lands she is facing the horse, ready to notice and guard against signs of kicking or bolting. until she is fairly on the ground she must not let go of the reins or the pommel, for should the horse start she might be dragged with her head down, if her skirt or her foot caught, and without the reins she could not stop him. [sidenote: stirrup] it is well to discard the stirrup for some time during each ride, first at the canter, then at the trot, to make sure that too much weight is not rested on this support, and that the rise is from the right knee. if too much dependence is placed on the stirrup the seat is sure to be too far to the left, unless the leather is too short, when the body will be as much too far to the right, instead of directly on top of the horse. if these directions are observed, a very firm seat will be the result, which gives a confidence that enables one to be thoroughly flexible above the waist without fear of going off, and dispels a dread that often accounts for a stiff or crouching position. a test as to whether one is sitting sufficiently close in the canter is to put a handkerchief on the saddle, and note if the seat is firm enough to keep it there. iv in the saddle [illustration: incorrect left leg and heel] [sidenote: below the waist] the first impulse of a novice is to grasp the horse with her left heel, while the leg is bent back from the knee so that it almost reaches his flank. instead of this, the leg from the knee, which should not be more than half an inch below the pommel, must hang naturally in a perpendicular line, and the foot parallel with the horse, the heel being held away from his side and slightly depressed, the ball of the foot resting on the stirrup. this alters the grip entirely, and gives the greatest possible purchase, with the knee firmly in the angle between the pommel and the saddle flap, the thigh close to the saddle above, and the inside of the calf below, where one should be able to hold a piece of paper without having it fall out while trotting. the left foot will, of necessity, remain quiet--a most desirable point often neglected. [illustration: correct left leg and heel] now for the right leg. the first direction usually given is to grasp the pommel with it. that is all very well, but it leads to a grievous error. in the endeavor to obey the order, the right knee is pressed hard to the left--against the pommel, it is true, but in such a manner that there is considerable space between the leg and the saddle, extending from the knee half-way up the thigh. thus the rider rises, owing to her grip being too high, so that a person on the right can often see the pommel beneath her. [illustration: incorrect right thigh and knee] the first thing to do is to sit well back on the saddle, with the shoulders square to the front, and press down from the hip to the knee until as close to the saddle as possible. then, when sure that the knee is down, taking care that it does not leave the saddle in the slightest degree, grasp the pommel. it is from this knee that one must rise, and the most essential point is to have it absolutely firm, with a secure hold on as extended a surface as possible. from the knee the leg hangs straight, kept close to the horse, with the toe depressed just enough to avoid breaking the line of the skirt. it is seldom realized that the right leg below the knee should be held as firmly against the horse as the left, but such is the case. [illustration: correct right thigh and knee] [sidenote: above the waist] the body should be held erect at all times, the back straight while rising, instead of appearing to collapse with each movement, or rising from right to left with a churning motion instead of straight up and down; shoulders should be level--the right one is inclined to be higher than the left, as well as farther forward--well back and equidistant from the horse's ears, chest expanded, and chin held near the neck, as nothing is more unsightly than a protruding chin. the arms should fall naturally at the sides, bending inward from the elbow, but on no account to such an extent as to cause the elbows to leave the sides or form acute angles. all stiffness should be avoided. some difficulty may be experienced at first, though, in attempting to relax the muscles above the waist while keeping the lower ones firm. a little practice will accomplish this, and, as a stiff carriage is most frequently the result of self-consciousness, it will be desirable to practise where there are no spectators. as the woman becomes more accustomed to riding she will lose some of her rigidity; but she must not go to the other extreme and be limp or careless in her way of holding herself. a woman's body should be at right angles to her horse's back, neither inclining backwards nor giving evidence of a tendency to stoop. her anxiety to comply with these directions may render her conscious and awkward for a while; but if she will persevere, bearing them all in mind, they will become as second nature, and she will follow them naturally and gracefully. [sidenote: hands and wrists] the hands should be held about two thirds of the way back between the right knee and hip, and as low as possible. they should be perfectly steady, and in rising never communicate the motion of the body to the horse's mouth. if the right knee is used to rise from, the seat will not need to be steadied by the reins. in the canter, however, the hands, as well as the body above the waist, should sway slightly with the horse's stride, but not more than is necessary; for that, and rising too high in the trot, give an appearance of exertion not compatible with grace. [illustration: correct knuckles, side view] [illustration: incorrect position of hands] the wrists should be bent so that the knuckles point straight ahead with the thumbs up, thus giving the horse's mouth play from the wrist, instead of, as is often the case, from the shoulder, the former admitting of much greater delicacy of handling, and the give-and-take movement being not so easily observed. most teachers instruct a pupil to keep her finger-nails down, but this also necessitates all movement coming from the shoulder, or else sticking out the elbows. [illustration: hands in good form, front view] [sidenote: reins] many hold their reins in the left hand, allowing the right to hang at the side. this does not look well, and in case of an emergency, such as stumbling, the hand being so far from the reins precludes the possibility of rendering the quick assistance required. the reins should be held in the left hand, but the right should be on them, lightly feeling the horse's mouth, thereby anticipating his movements. the left snaffle-rein should go outside of the little finger, the left curb between the little and third fingers, the right curb between the third and middle fingers, and the right snaffle between the middle and first fingers. they must all be brought through the hand, over the second joint of the first finger, where they must lie flat and in order, held there by the thumb. the third finger of the right hand should rest on the right snaffle, leaving the first and second free to use the curb if required, thus giving equal bearing on all four reins. [illustration: snaffle outside, curb inside, front view] if the use of the curb alone is wanted, the third finger of the right should release the right snaffle, the first and second retaining their hold on the curb, and the desired result will be produced. [illustration: snaffle outside, curb inside, side view] if only the snaffle is desired, it may be brought to bear more strongly by keeping hold of the right rein with the third finger of the right hand, and reaching over on the left snaffle with the first finger. when this method is pursued there is no necessity for shifting the reins or hauling at them, and constantly changing their position and length. when a rein has slipped through the fingers of the left hand, instead of pushing it back from in front it should be pulled to the proper length from back of the left hand. [illustration: reins in two hands, snaffle outside, curb inside] it is quite correct, though inconvenient, to hold the reins in both hands; but the hands should be held close together, with the thumbs up, and always on the reins to prevent slipping. the little fingers then separate the reins, the left snaffle being outside of the left little finger, the left curb between the little and third fingers, with the reins drawn over the first finger; the right snaffle outside of the right little finger, the right curb between the little and third fingers, and these also drawn over the first finger, in both instances held by the thumbs. in this way the right reins may quickly be placed in the left hand by inserting the middle finger of the left hand between them without displacing the others. sometimes the ends of the left reins are passed over the first finger of the right hand as well as of the left one, and carried on past the little finger, the same being done to the right reins, thus giving additional purchase should the horse pull. [illustration: position of reins and hands in jumping, curb outside, snaffle inside] it is well to know several ways of holding the reins, and to practise them all. for instance, the positions of the snaffle and curb may be reversed; indeed, many expert riders always hold their reins with the curb outside and the snaffle inside, especially in jumping, where the curb is not used, and therefore requires a less prominent place in the hand. [illustration: reins in two hands, curb outside, snaffle inside, side view] another position of the reins is to have the middle finger of the left hand separate the snaffle and the little finger the curb, both right reins being above the left ones. however, unless a horse is bridle-wise this plan is not a convenient one, because the right and left reins alternate. a horse so trained may be guided by a turn of the wrist. to turn him to the left the hand should be moved in that direction, pressing the right reins against his neck, and to go to the right the hand should be carried to that side, the thumb turned downward, thus pressing the left reins against the horse's neck. v emergencies although she may ride in good form, and, when her horse goes quietly, feel at home in the saddle, no woman can be considered proficient until she is prepared for any emergency, and knows how to meet it. [sidenote: eagerness to start] many horses show restlessness while being mounted, some carrying it to such an extent as to back and rear or swerve most unpleasantly. the groom at his head should hold him lightly but firmly by the snaffle, or, better still, the cheeks of the bridle; not lugging or jerking at him, but endeavoring to soothe him. if the horse swerves from her, he should be made to stand against a wall. the woman must get settled in the saddle as expeditiously as she can, not taking any unnecessary time in the arrangement of her skirt, which might augment the animal's uneasiness. once mounted she must walk the horse quietly for a few minutes, using the snaffle only, as his restlessness may have come from expecting the spur on starting, as is customary with the horses of those who care for display rather than good manners. before long she should dismount, and, at a different place, repeat the lesson without fighting him, even should he fail to show much progress at first. if he rears, the attendant should let go of his head until he comes down; then, before starting, try to make him stand a few moments. each time the rider mounts she should increase the period of his standing, doing it firmly while talking to him, but without force or harshness, and presently he will obey as a matter of course and without an idea of resistance. [sidenote: shyers] the most common fault of a horse is shying, and though no one who has a secure seat should be inconvenienced thereby, its treatment needs some discrimination. shying often arises from defective vision. if, however, the animal's eyes are in good condition, it may come from timidity, but in either case the horse should be soothed and coaxed up to the object of his aversion and shown its harmlessness. if it is merely a trick, then playing with his mouth and speaking in a warning tone when approaching anything likely to attract his notice will usually make him go straight. as a rule the whip should not be used, because the horse may learn to associate a blow with the object he has shied at, and the next time he sees it is likely to bolt in order to avoid the impending chastisement--thus going from bad to worse. [sidenote: stumblers] for the same reason, i object to a horse being punished for stumbling. disagreeable as it is, the fault usually comes from defective muscular action or conformation, or from not being kept collected by his rider. it is not fair to punish the horse for these causes. the thing to do is to sit well back and give the reins a sharp pull to bring his head up, and then keep him going up to the bit, for if the rider is careless the horse will follow her example. [illustration: hands and seat in rearing] [sidenote: rearers] a rearing horse is not fit for a woman to ride. if she finds herself on one which attempts it, she must throw her weight forward and a little to the right, because she can lean farther forward on this than on the left side, to help the horse preserve his balance, as well as to prevent being struck by his head. if necessary she can clutch his mane, but on no account must she touch his mouth in the slightest degree. as he comes down, a vigorous kick with the heel, a shake of the snaffle, and a harsh exclamation may send him along. i cannot advocate a woman's striking him, for if he has a temper, it may arouse it to such an extent that he will throw himself back. [sidenote: plungers] those with a strong seat have no reason to fear a horse that plunges, if it does not develop into rearing or bucking. they should sit close and urge the horse to a faster pace, as it stands to reason that if he is kept going briskly he cannot so easily begin his antics as he could at a slower gait. [sidenote: buckers] a woman is seldom if ever required to ride a horse which bucks, and if he is known to do it viciously she had better not try any experiments with him, as he will surely exhaust her in a fight. by bucking i do not mean the mild form of that vice which is usually found under that name in the east. here an animal that plunges persistently and comes down hard is said to buck; while if his head is lowered, that settles the question in the minds of those ignorant of what a real bucking horse is capable. in encountering the eastern variety of this species, the woman must elevate the horse's head, sit well back, and firmly too, for even the mild form of bucking is not easy to sustain undisturbed. the genuine article, the real western bucker, is quite another matter. newspapers have published instances of women who have managed to stay on one through all his various and blood-stirring antics; but such cases are in fact unknown outside of buffalo bill's wild west show, and there the animals have been taught to perform to order. when the bronco bucks, he gives no preliminary warning by harmless plunging; he simply throws his head down between his knees, humps his back like a cat, and proceeds to business. he jumps into the air, coming down to one side of where he started, with all four feet bunched and legs stiffened, only to bound into space again. an occasional squeal adds to the general hilarity of the scene, and the alacrity with which that meek-looking mustang can land and go into the air again would astonish one not accustomed to the sight. [sidenote: pullers] in riding a puller, his head must be kept in a correct position, neither low nor high, by lightly feeling his mouth until he gives to the motion. should he have his head up and nose out, elevating the hands and drawing the snaffle across the bars sometimes causes the bit to bear in such a manner that the horse will drop his nose, and at that moment an effort must be made to keep it there. this method is exceptional, however, and should be resorted to only when other means fail, and the horse's head is so high, with the nose protruding, that the bit affords no control. ordinarily, the hands should be low, one on each side of the withers, and quietly feeling the snaffle until he obeys its signal. if he pulls with his head down, almost between his knees, the curb must not be touched, but the snaffle should be felt and the hands held higher than usual and a little farther forward, playing with his mouth. this may make him raise his head; but if not, then several determined pulls, yielding the hand between them, given without temper and with a few soothing words, may stop him. if he has the bit between his teeth, quick give-and-take movements will probably surprise him into releasing it. it is useless for a woman to try to subdue him by force. it is well to have a horse's teeth examined for pulling, as one which has become displaced or sensitive causes excessive pain, and often results in this habit. when a horse shows a tendency to kick, by putting his ears back or a peculiar wriggle of the body, his head must instantly be pulled up and kept there, for in that position he will not attempt it. [sidenote: runaways] a runaway nearly always frightens a woman so that she loses her head. composure will best enable her to escape without accident. as the horse starts she must keep her heel well away from his side and her hands down, and instantly begin sawing his mouth with the reins; then a succession of sharp jerks and pulls should be resorted to--never a dead pull--and possibly he may be brought down. once well in his stride, no woman can stop a horse. she must then be governed by circumstances, and, if in a crowd or park, try to keep him clear of all objects, and not exhaust herself and excite the horse by screaming. some one will try to catch him; and as a terrific jerk will be the result, she must brace herself for it. if the horse runs where there is open country, and she is sure his running is prompted by vice, not fright, she should urge him on when he tires and keep him going up-hill or over heavy ground if possible, using the whip freely, and not permit him to stop until he is completely done. there are some good riders who advise pulling a horse into a fence to stop him, but there is always a chance of his attempting to jump it, while, as the rider tries to prevent this, the horse may be thrown out of his balance or stride and fall over the fence. if he is driven at a high wall or other insurmountable obstruction the horse will stop so suddenly that the rider is likely to be precipitated over the animal's head, even if she have a good seat. again, the horse may miscalculate the distance and run into the object, perhaps seriously hurting himself and his rider. if this method is to be employed, a grassy or sandy embankment should be chosen, if possible, as there will then be fewer chances of injury. others believe in throwing the horse, which may be done by letting him have his head for a few strides, then suddenly giving a violent tug at the reins. if he can thus be made to cross his legs, he will go down. another way is for a woman to put all her strength into pulling one rein, and if she can use enough force he may be twisted so that he will lose his balance and fall. then the danger is that a woman will not get clear of him before he regains his footing and starts off, in which case she might better have remained on his back than risk being dragged at his heels. if some one else's horse is running instead of the one she is on, and it is coming towards her, a woman should instantly, but quietly, wheel her horse, and keep him as much to one side of the road as possible; and if she is sure of her control over him, a brisk canter will be the safest gait. thus, if the runaway strikes her horse, it will not be with the same force as it would had they met from opposite directions. besides, it is almost impossible to tell which way a frightened horse may turn, and in endeavoring to avoid him, if they are facing, a collision may result. if a horse falls, from crossing his legs for instance, to keep hold of the reins must be the first thought, and then to get clear of him as quickly as possible and out of his way if he seems likely to roll. if the rider retains her hold on the reins, he cannot kick her, as his head will be towards her; nor can he get away, leaving her to walk home. [sidenote: punishment] punishment of a horse should never be begun without the certainty that what has given displeasure is really his fault, wilfully committed. even then a battle should always be avoided, if possible, for it is better to spend a half-hour, or even much more, gently but firmly urging a horse to obedience than to fight him. it sometimes drives him to such a state of excitement and temper that the effects of it will be perceptible for days, sometimes weeks, in a nervous, highly strung animal, and he will, perhaps, prepare for a combat whenever the same circumstances again arise. that which comes from misconception on the part of the horse is often treated as though it were vice, and such unjust chastisement, without accomplishing its object, bewilders and frightens the unfortunate victim. therefore one should know positively that it is obstinacy or vice, not dulness or timidity, which has made the horse apparently resist his rider's authority. a horse with much temper may only be made worse by the punishment he undoubtedly deserves; therefore, forbearance and ingenuity should be exercised to bring him into submission. discipline must be administered at the time of insubordination, or it loses its meaning to the horse. it is folly to postpone punishing him, for then he fails to connect it with the act of resistance which has provoked it. another great mistake, and one to be strongly censured, is that of venting one's impatience or temper on the poor brute, which may be doing its best to understand the clumsy and imperfect commands of a cruel taskmaster. having calmly decided that the horse requires punishment, it should be given in a firm and temperate manner, no more severity being employed than is necessary. however, the whip should fall with force and decision, or it is worse than useless; and if a moderate amount of whipping or spurring does not result in victory, it must be increased, as, once begun, the fight must end in the conquest of the animal, or the woman on his back will thenceforth be unable to control him. it must be done dispassionately and continuously, and no time allowed him to become more obstinate by a cessation of hostilities when he might be about to give in. at the first sign of yielding, he should be encouraged, and the punishment cease, until he has had an opportunity to do what is desired of him. while using the whip, the right hand should never be on the reins, as that necessitates jerking the horse's mouth and hitting from the wrist, a weak and ineffectual method. the blow should fall well back of the saddle and with the force given by the full swing of the arm. a woman usually expends her energy in hitting the saddle-flap, making some noise, to be sure, but not producing the desired effect. if these suggestions are followed, there will be comparatively little trouble in learning to properly handle a horse that he may be kept up to the mark. until having laid a solid foundation for one's self, it is useless to hope to obtain the best results from the horse, which will surely appreciate and take advantage of any incompetency on the part of the rider. even if not aspiring to more than ordinary park riding, attention to these hints will add so materially to the comfort and safety of both horse and woman that it will be a subject of wonder to the latter how she could have found the wrong way pleasant enough to admit of any hesitation in giving the correct one at least a fair trial. vi choosing a mount much of a woman's comfort will depend on the horse she chooses. she is too often inclined to procure a showy one, which pleases the eye, even though she cannot control his antics, rather than a trustworthy and less conspicuous mount. [sidenote: an adviser] in choosing a horse, she should not rely exclusively on her own judgment. few women are aware of the artifices resorted to by dishonest dealers to render presentable some animal which in its natural condition she would at once reject; therefore she should enlist the services of some man in whose knowledge of horse-flesh she has reason to place confidence, and of whose disinterestedness she is certain. when a horse is found which appears to fulfil her requirements, she should insist upon a trial of him herself; for, although he may go well and comfortably with her friend, a woman might not possess the qualities which had assured success in the former trial by the man. the horse would recognize the difference, take advantage of her inexperience or lack of skill, and act as he would not think of doing under an expert. furthermore, gaits which would suit a man are often too hard for a woman, and a horse which he might think merely went well up to the bit would to her weaker arms seem a puller. after being approved of by her friend, the woman should try the animal herself, outside, alone and in company. if he proves satisfactory, she should endeavor to have him in her stable for a few days, and during that time to have him examined by a veterinary surgeon, obtaining his certificate of the horse's soundness. an animal absolutely sound and without blemish is a rare sight; but there are many defects which do not lessen the horse's practical value, although their presence lower his price, and may enable her to secure something desirable which would otherwise have been beyond her means. such a horse should be accepted only after a thorough examination by the veterinary, and upon his advice. it is well to avoid purchasing a horse from a friend, unless one is perfectly familiar with the animal, as such transactions frequently lead to strained relations, each thinking bitterly of the other. some, having pronounced their horse sound, would take offence should a veterinary be called; while if he were not consulted the horse might go wrong, and the purchaser would perhaps think the former owner had disposed of him with that expectation, or at least knowing the probability of it, yet their social relations would prevent accusation or explanation. furthermore, a difference of opinion as to the price is awkward, and altogether it requires more tact, discretion, and liberality than most people possess to make a satisfactory horse-trade with a friend. having decided as to whose advice she will take, a woman should not be influenced by the comments and criticisms of others. if she waits until all her friends approve of her choice she will never buy a horse. however, by listening to what the best informed of them say, she may gain much instruction and knowledge. as a woman may wish to know what points are desirable in a horse, and what to look for, a general idea of this may be welcome. it is only by comparison that she will learn to distinguish whether certain parts are long or short, normal or excessive, therefore she should critically notice horses at every opportunity, and observe in what they differ from one another. [sidenote: park hack] if a woman could have a park hack made to order, the following points would be the most prominent: a horse should always be up to more weight than he will have to carry; and as, in the park, appearances are of importance, a woman should buy a horse on which she will look well. much will depend upon her mount being of an appropriate size and build. a woman of medium size will look her best on a horse of about . . no exact height can be fixed upon, as the present system of measurement is so incomplete. [sidenote: measurement] a horse standing . at the withers, where it is always measured, may be much higher there than anywhere else, his quarters being disproportionately low. on the other hand, the withers might be low and the rump high, giving the strength, power, and stride to a horse of hands which might be expected in one of several inches higher. in races and shows it enables low-withered horses to run and compete against those which, although high at the withers, have not the posterior conformation to justify their being in the same class. the more common-sense and accurate method of measurement, if it would only be generally adopted, is to take the height at the withers and also at the rump, average it, and call that the size of the horse. for instance, a horse . at the withers and . at the rump should be registered as measuring . - / . the fashionably bred trotting horse often measures higher at the rump than at the withers, while the properly proportioned saddle horse should measure as high, or highest, at the withers. in a saddle horse there are other points than height to be considered. if the woman is stout, the horse should be of substantial build, very compact, and like a cob. if she is slight, she will look best on a horse of light build and possessed of quality. in my opinion, three quarters, or a trifle more, thoroughbred blood makes the pleasantest mount for a woman. five to seven is a good age at which to buy a horse, as he will then have been through the early ailments of young horses and be just entering his prime. [sidenote: conformation] as to his points, his head should be small and clear-cut, with delicately pointed ears, prominent eyes, a fine muzzle, full nostrils, clean-cut angle at the throttle, and the head carried somewhat less than vertical to the ground; the crest curved, and the neck thin and supple, but muscular and well set on to broad shoulders. these should be long and oblique, thus reducing the concussion and making the horse easier to ride as well as safer, because his forelegs are proportionately advanced, giving less weight in front of them to cause a fall should he trip. the true arms (commonly called lower bones of the shoulders), extend from the points of the shoulders to the elbows, and should be short, or the forelegs will be placed too far back. the forearms, extending from the elbows to the knees, should be large and muscular and rather long. broad, flat knees are indicative of strength, and they should have considerably more width than the forearms or the shanks. below the knees and to the fetlocks the legs should be rather short, flat, deep, and fine, no swelling to prevent one from feeling distinctly, especially near the fetlocks, the tendons and ligaments quite separate from the shanks or cannons and the splint-bones. the fetlock-joints much developed give evidence of overwork, therefore any undue prominence is not desirable. long, slanting pasterns give elasticity to a horse's gait and prevent disagreeable concussion; but if the length is excessive, there will be too much strain on the back tendons. the fetlocks reach to the coronet, below which are the feet, which must be of good shape and absolutely sound. the thorax must be either broad or deep and full, so that the lungs and heart may have plenty of room to expand. it should be well supplied with muscle where the forelegs are joined to it, and these should be straight, with the feet pointing straight ahead. the toe should be under the point of the shoulder. high withers are preferred to low ones, but if they are too high they place a side-saddle at an uncomfortable angle, which needs an objectionable amount of padding at the back to rectify the fault. the back should not sink perceptibly, but it may be somewhat longer in a woman's horse than in a man's, as her saddle occupies so much more space; but the ribs should be long in front and short back of the girth, running well up to the hips. this conformation will prevent the saddle from working forward; a tendency to slip back may be checked by using a breast-plate. a horse should be broad across the loins; if these are strong, and the horse well ribbed up, there will be no unsightly sinking of the flanks even in front of hips that are broad, as they should be. the thighs extend from the lower part of the haunches or hips to the stifle-joints, and these and the haunches are covered with powerful muscles, which, when well developed, form strong quarters. a well-placed tail, carried at a correct angle, adds greatly to a horse's appearance. from the stifles to the hocks are found the lower thighs, and these should be long and strong. the hocks should be prominent, clearly defined, and free from all puffiness or swelling. from the hocks to the fetlocks the leg should descend perpendicularly, neither bent under him nor back of him. the same rule applies to these fetlocks as to the fore ones; and the same may be said of the feet, but the latter are too important to dismiss without further comment. the hoofs when on the ground should be at an angle of about forty-five degrees from the toe to the coronet. any unevenness or protrusions on the wall of the hoofs, or a sinking-in at the quarters, should be viewed with suspicion. breadth is desirable at the heels, and the bars should not be cut away. the frog should be nearly on a level with the shoes, and the soles should be slightly concave. [sidenote: hunter] if a hunter is to be chosen, looks are not of so much importance, although i like him to be almost if not quite thoroughbred. however, if the animal can gallop and jump, has good staying qualities and a strong constitution, a kind disposition and a light mouth, good manners and plenty of power, he should not be discarded because he lacks beauty. a large head, ewe neck, ragged hips, rat-tail, poor coat, and other such ungainly points, are not bad enough to condemn him if he has the other qualities i have mentioned; and often a peculiarly shaped animal will out-jump a horse of the most correct conformation. [sidenote: gait and manners] after carefully looking over the horse, a woman should have some one trot and canter him, to see that his action is what she wants. a park hack should have free, easy gaits, with good knee and hock action, and travel evenly and without brushing, cutting, interfering, dishing, or showing any such irregularities of gait. she should watch him from in front, from behind, and at the sides; and, after his trial by a man, the woman should ride him, and find out what his faults are under the saddle. his manners should be perfect: no sign of bolting, or rearing, or other vices; nor should he be a star-gazer, nor lug on the bit, as a good mouth is very essential to her comfort. however, if he is green--that is, unaccustomed to his surroundings and to being ridden--he should not be rejected without a fair trial, to ascertain whether his cramped gait, shying, and other such failings are the result of inexperience under the saddle, or are established traits. the most desirable points are a light but not over-sensitive mouth, even gait, with swinging (not jerky or shuffling) action, a kind disposition--with which quality considerable friskiness need not condemn him--good manners, and freedom from tricks and vices. he should be practically sound and of correct conformation--a more valuable attribute for safety and ease than high action. vii dress simplicity is the rule for the habit. it should be of thibet cloth--black, dark brown, or blue for winter, tan or a medium shade of gray for summer. all conspicuous colors and materials are to be avoided. it is well to have the skirt made of a heavy-weight cloth, which will help to make it set properly without the assistance of straps; while the bodice may be of a medium weight of the same cloth, that it may fit better and be less bulky. for very warm weather in the country a habit made of heavy gingham or white duck is cool and comfortable, and will wash. the skirt and bodice may be of the same material, or a silk or cheviot shirt and leather belt may be worn with the skirt. a straw sailor-hat completes this convenient innovation, but it should be reserved for use out of town. [sidenote: skirt] the skirt should reach only far enough to cover the left foot, and be too narrow to admit of any flowing folds. fashion and safety both demand this. a skittish horse is often frightened by a loose skirt flapping at his side. [sidenote: safety skirt] i should be very glad to see the safety skirt, which is worn in the hunting-field, adopted in general riding. its advantages are manifold. although it appears the same, less cloth is used, therefore it is cooler; there is nothing between the pommel and the breeches, thus improving the hold, and in case of accident it is impossible to be dragged. there are several kinds in use, but the less complicated the more desirable it is. the simplest is made like any other skirt, except that where the pommels come there is a large piece of the cloth cut out, extending in a circle at the top, and then straight down, at both sides, so that there is no cloth near the pommels or where it could catch in case of a fall. this leaves enough to extend under both legs when in the saddle, and looks like an ordinary one. under the right knee, where the skirt is rounded out, a small strip of cloth buttons from this point on to the piece which is under the leg; this and an elastic strap on the foot keep it in place; but neither is strong enough to stand any strain, therefore would not be dangerous in a fall. another pattern has eyelet holes made on each side from where the cloth has been taken, and round silk elastic laced through them, thus preventing the possibility of disarrangement. both of these skirts loop at the back, and can be kept from appearing unlike others if the wearer will immediately fasten them on dismounting. an ordinary skirt may be made safer by having no hem. [sidenote: divided skirt] we hear a great deal now of the divided skirt, and the advisability of women riding astride. the theory is good, as having a leg each side of the animal gives much greater control over his movements. for most women, however, it is impracticable, since they cannot sit down in the saddle and grip with their knees as they should, owing to the fact that their thighs are rounded, instead of flat like a man's. it might be possible for a lean and muscular woman to acquire a secure seat, but not for the average one. being short is another drawback to a strong seat against which most of them would have to contend. this is particularly trying, as so much of her weight is above the waist, making it difficult to ride from balance, which might otherwise replace the deficient leverage of the short thigh. again, if on a large or broad horse, the constant strain on the muscles necessary when astride him must be injurious. aside from any physical reasons, the position for a woman is, in my opinion, most ungraceful and undignified, while few of them possess the strength to profit by the changed seat in forcing the horse up to his bridle or keeping him collected; and i cannot blame those who think it open to the charge of impropriety. [sidenote: bodice] the bodice should be single-breasted, long over the hips, reaching almost to the saddle in the back, and cut away in front to show a waistcoat, the upper edge of which makes a finish between the collar and lapels of the waist and the white collar and ascot or four-in-hand. the waistcoat gives more of an opportunity for the exercise of individual taste. the most desirable, i think, has a white background, on which is a black, brown, blue, or red check. it may be all tan or a hunting pink, plain, figured, or striped, so long as too many colors are not combined; but, as a rule, something quiet and simple will be the most desirable. in summer a piqué waistcoat is worn, or something similar, that is light, cool, and will wash. a black or white cravat always looks well, or one which, without being glaring, harmonizes with the waistcoat. [sidenote: waistcoat] sense, health, and comfort all demand that the waist shall not be laced to the painful extent endured by many foolish and vain women. they would let out an inch or two if they could realize that the blood is forced from their waists to their faces, making them scarlet at any exertion, while they have difficulty in conversing except in gasps, and are compelled to walk their horses at frequent intervals to catch their breath. [sidenote: corsets] it is so invigorating to feel the lungs expanded by a long, deep breath, and the blood, quickened by the motion of the horse, coursing unrestrained through all the veins, while the muscles of the back and abdomen are allowed full play, that those who go along panting and aching lose half the beneficial effects of riding, and more pleasure than they can possibly derive from trying to make people believe that they have small waists. the corsets are of great importance and must be of good quality and not very stiff, small bones being used instead of large ones or steels. they must be short in front and over the hips, that the movements may not be unnecessarily restricted, or the skin become raw from rubbing against the ends of the bones. a plain corset-cover should be worn over them, as the lining of the habit-waist sometimes discolors the corsets if this precaution is not taken. [sidenote: boots, breeches, tights] considerable latitude is permitted a woman in the choice of what she shall wear under her skirt. boots and breeches are considered better form than shoes and trousers; but there is no reason why the latter should not be used, especially if the shoes lace. boots and tights, however, are the most comfortable of all. breeches are made of stockinette, re-enforced with chamois skin, and reach half-way down the calf, where they should button close to the leg--the buttons being on the left side of each leg, that the right may not be bruised by the buttons pressing against the saddle. chamois skin is sometimes used to make breeches, but it is not very satisfactory. at first they are soft and pliable, but after being worn a few times they become stiff and unyielding, and rain will render them hard as boards. tan box-cloth gaiters, extending from the instep almost to the knee, are sometimes worn with breeches and shoes. they are made exactly like those for men, and take the place of boots. boots may be of calf-skin or patent leather, with wrinkled or stiff legs, the tops reaching a few inches above the bottom of the breeches. in warm weather tan boots are often worn; but, of whatever variety they may be, they should always be large, with broad, thick soles and low, square heels. trousers are of the same material as the skirt, and are also re-enforced. elastic bands passing under the shoes keep the trousers down. tights should be of the color of the habit, and fit smoothly without being stretched. they come in different weights, and either silk, cotton, or wool may be worn. they should have feet woven on them, thus doing away with the necessity for all underclothing below the waist. when breeches or trousers are worn, tights may advantageously be substituted for the other usual garments worn under such conditions. if tights are not worn, whatever replaces them should fit snugly and be without starch or frills. the stockings should be kept up from the waist, as garters chafe the knee when it presses the pommel, and often interfere with the circulation. some women wear union garments, which are practically tights extending from the neck to the feet, taking the place of shirts. however, when a shirt is worn it will be most comfortable if of a light-weight wool. this absorbs the perspiration, and is therefore pleasanter to wear than silk, and more likely to protect from a cold. outside of this should be the corset. when it is cold a chamois-skin waist with long sleeves should be worn under the bodice, as this is much better than a fur cape, which is often used, and which confines the arms. a covert coat is the most convenient, but the former is more readily obtained. a wool shirt, short corsets, plain corset-cover, and tights are all the underclothing needed for riding. some women wear a linen shirt, with collar and cuffs attached, like a man's, except that it is narrowed at the waist. with this the corset-cover is not needed. [sidenote: collars and cuffs] separate collars and cuffs are more generally used, and the scarf should be pinned to the collar at the back, as these have a way of parting company that is most untidy. to make it more certain, a clasp or pin such as men use to hold a four-in-hand tie in place should fasten the ends of the scarf to the shirt-front or corset-cover, thus securing it against slipping. the cuffs should not be pinned to the sleeve, as the lining of the coat will be torn, and the pin will catch on the habit and stretch and roughen it in places. a small elastic band put over a button at the wrist of the sleeve, and attached to the cuff-button, will answer every purpose. [sidenote: gloves] gauntlets should be discarded, and gloves worn large enough to admit of the muscles of the hand being used freely. dogskin of a reddish shade of tan is the best material for gloves. the stitching is such as to form slight ridges of the glove itself on the back of the hand, the red stitches being scarcely perceptible at a little distance. it is difficult to find women's gloves broad enough for comfort in riding, and it is a good plan to buy boys' gloves, which give the desired freedom. they have only one button, an advantage over women's, which have two or three that are in the way under the cuff. should the wrists need more protection from the cold, wristlets may be worn, as they take up but little room. for cold weather, gloves come in a softer kid, like chevrette, and have a fleecy lining, very warm, but too soft and light to make the gloves clumsy. flowers and jewelry are decidedly out of place on horseback, and a handkerchief should never be thrust into the front of the bodice. it should be put in the slit on the off saddle-flap, or in the pocket at the left side of the skirt where it opens. [sidenote: hair and hat] the hair should be firmly coiled or braided on the neck, and not worn on top of the head. a top hat is correct, especially on formal occasions, but it should not be allowed to slip to the back of the head. however, i prefer usually a derby, as being more comfortable and looking more business-like. it should be kept on by an elastic which fastens under the hair. pins through the crown are an uncalled-for disfigurement, and a hat may be made just as secure without them. in fact, they will be of but little use if the hair is not done high. a large hair-pin on each side should pin the hair over the elastic; and if the wind or anything else causes the hat to become displaced, it will not come off entirely, forcing some one to dismount and restore it to the woman, who cannot get it alone. hair-pins should be long and bent half-way up each prong, so that they will not easily slip out. [sidenote: veil] [sidenote: whip or crop] when a veil is worn, it should be of black net or gauze, never white or figured, and the ends should be neatly pinned out of sight, instead of being allowed to float out behind, like smoke from a steam-engine. if a whip is carried for use, it should be a substantial stiff one, held point down, not a flimsy thing that a sound blow will break, nor should it be made absurd by a bow or tassel being tied to it. if for style, then a crop is the correct thing, with the lash-end held up. the handle should be of horn, rather than silver or gold, and the stick quite heavy and somewhat flexible. short bamboo sticks are in favor just now, and are often tipped with gold, and have a gold band a few inches from the end where it is held. [illustration: crop] [sidenote: spur] i do not approve of a spur for women, as it is difficult to use it just right, and its unintentional application often has disastrous results, while should she be dragged by the foot, it will keep hitting the horse, urging him faster and faster. in mounting, the spur sometimes strikes the horse, making him shy just as the rider expects to reach the saddle, and a nasty fall is the consequence. where a man would use it advantageously, a woman cannot produce the same effect, having it only on one side. moreover, a horse suitable for her to ride should not require more than her heel and her whip. [illustration: a good spur] some horses are very cunning, and will shirk their work if they discover that there is no spur to urge them, but such may be taught that a whip in skilful hands is quite as effective. in a crowd a spur is of value, as it may be applied noiselessly, and without danger of startling other horses, as a whip will do. in leaping, a spur on one side of the horse and the whip on the other form a combination which will often compel him to jump when, from sulkiness or indolence, he has been refusing. it requires some practice, however, to use it in the right place and at the right moment; a woman's skirt has an unhappy faculty of intercepting the spur when it should strike him, and her heel of hitting the horse when it should leave him alone. for these reasons i am in favor of women riding without a spur when it is possible, for, although it looks well as a finish to a boot, its adoption by inexpert riders may lead to sad results. if a spur is to be worn, there are several kinds from which to choose. i prefer a box-spur with a rowel, such as men use, but having a guard, which prevents it from catching in the habit, and lessens the probabilities of its unintentionally punishing a horse. when it is applied with force, the rowel comes through the guard, which works on a spring, and upon releasing the pressure the guard again protects the sharp rowel. they may be of the kind that fit in a box which has been put in the heel of the boot, or they may have straps and buckle over the instep. viii leaping [sidenote: requirements] when a woman has attained some degree of proficiency in the saddle, she will probably desire to perfect herself in riding by learning to leap. her equestrian education cannot be considered complete without this, but she should not attempt it until she has learned thoroughly how to ride correctly on the road. a secure seat, light hands, a cool head, quick perception, judgment, and courage form a combination which will enable her in a short time to acquire skill in jumping. few women possess all these qualities, but an effort should be made to obtain as many of them as possible before trying to jump. [sidenote: in the ring] the first lessons should be on a horse which has been well trained to this work and requires no assistance from his rider. he should inspire confidence, and jump easily and surely rather than brilliantly. i think it is well to begin in a school over bars, as there the rider is not under the necessity of choosing a good take-off or landing, and is thus free to give undivided attention to herself. [sidenote: approaching jump] three feet is high enough to put the bars at the start; or they may be even lower should the rider feel timid. as she approaches the jump she must sit firmly in the middle of the saddle (not hanging either to the right or to the left, thereby upsetting the horse's balance), and she must look straight at the obstacle, with her head up and her body thrown a trifle back. the reins should at first be held in both hands, for several reasons. it lessens the chances of sitting crooked, and it prevents throwing up the right arm as the horse jumps--a common and unsightly practice, calculated to frighten him and distract his attention from his work, and to jerk his mouth, while it has no redeeming features. in addition to this, when the horse lands, the reins are not so liable to slip through two hands as through one. approaching the jump, the horse should break into a moderate canter, and the only rule his rider will be likely to remember at the first trial will be to "lean back as he jumps and give him his head." as she becomes accustomed to the action, her attention must be called to details. while nearing the jump, she must keep her hands low, and just feel her horse's mouth with the snaffle without interfering with it or shifting her hold on the reins. quiet, steady hands are indispensable to success. [illustration: taking off] [sidenote: taking off] [sidenote: landing] by watching his stride one can tell when he will take off. at that moment he will stretch out his neck; then she must, by instantly pushing them forward, let her hands yield to his mouth. this must be accurately calculated, for should the pressure on his mouth be varied too suddenly and at the wrong time, it would throw him out of his stride by letting go of his mouth when he needed steadying. some advocate leaning forward before leaning back as the horse takes off, but the slight involuntary motion communicated to the body by thrusting the hands forward will be sufficient to precede the backward movement. before he has finished his effort, she must lean back just enough (but no farther) to avoid being thrown forward by the action of his quarters or by the angle at which he comes down. her left heel should not come in contact with him after he has taken off, although she may strike him with it to urge him on if he goes at the jump too slowly. below the waist she must be firm and immovable; above, yielding and flexible. as the horse lands, she regains her upright position, and should be careful that he does not pull the reins through her fingers. under all circumstances she must have too firm a hold on the reins to admit of such an occurrence. if the horse stumbles at the moment of landing, he needs the support of her hands; or should he bolt, it must not be necessary to pull in the slack rein before being able to check him. [sidenote: lifting] one of the most erroneous theories extant is that it is desirable to "lift" a horse at his fences. doing so only necessitates carrying the weight of his rider's hands on his mouth, and risks pulling the horse into the jump, while he is hindered from stretching his neck, as he must to land safely and correctly. hanging on to his mouth is often the cause of a horse's landing on all four feet at once, or dropping too close to the jump. the pull on the reins holds him back, thus inducing these bad habits, and will often make him refuse or dread to jump, knowing that it entails a sharp jerk on his sensitive mouth. to a casual or ignorant observer it sometimes looks as though a good rider were "lifting" his horse; but it only appears so because, knowing intuitively at just what instant his hands must yield, he so accurately gives to the animal's mouth that the action of the horse's mouth and the rider's hands is simultaneous. [illustration: about to land] [sidenote: out of doors] after some practice in the ring, a woman may try jumping out-of-doors, for inside there is not a sufficient variety of obstacles; and she should then have a breast-plate attached to her saddle. by this time she should, in jumping, hold her reins in one hand, the snaffle inside, curb outside, and quite loose. as she goes towards a jump, her right hand should be placed in front of the left on the snaffle to steady the horse. in this way she can remove it without leaving an uneven pressure on the horse's mouth, as would be the case if, as is customary, her hand had rested on the two right reins, then been suddenly withdrawn in order to urge the horse with the whip, or to protect the face from overhanging branches. [sidenote: pilot] the most favorable conditions under which a woman may begin jumping in the country are when she can go across fields with a capable pilot to give her a lead over some easy timber or walls. she must never forget to see that the horse in front of her is well away from the fence before she jumps, or she will risk landing on top of him if he makes a mistake; or if he refuses, her horse, if too near, would be forced to do likewise. she should not allow herself to become dependent on the services of a pilot, or let her horse become accustomed to jumping only when he has a lead; therefore she must learn to choose a panel of the fence for herself. [sidenote: selecting a panel] supposing the fences to be moderate, she must decide, as she canters towards the first, where she will jump, and there are a number of considerations by which she must be governed. first, to find a panel which is low, for in riding across country it is wise to save one's mount, as all his strength may be needed at a big place later on. then the take-off must be looked to, sound level turf being chosen if possible; and if the landing is plainly visible, so much the better. a moderately thick top rail is often safer to put a horse at than a very thin round one, which is liable to be a sapling, that will not break if a horse tries to crash through it, as he is sometimes tempted to do by its fragile appearance. it is well to send a horse at the middle of a panel; for, should he hit it, this, being the weakest spot, may break, while should he hit nearer the end, where it is strong, he may be thrown. such details as these she will observe instinctively with a little practice. having decided where she will jump, her horse's head must be pointed straight at the place, and her mind must not waver. if the rider is determined to go, and has no misgivings, the horse is sure to be inspired with the same confidence. having once put him at a panel, she should avoid changing her mind without good reason, as her uncertainty will be imparted to him. a fence such as described is jumped just as are the bars in the ring; safely over it, the next obstacle must be examined. [sidenote: stone wall] if it be a stone wall, it may often be taken in one of two places--either where it is high and even, or where it is lower and wide, because of the stones which have fallen from the top. in the first instance it should be jumped in a collected manner, but at a slower pace than the second requires. at the latter some speed is necessary, as the horse must jump wide enough to avoid the rolling stones on both sides. [sidenote: in hand] few riders remember that it is as important to keep a horse collected when going fast as at any other time. when he is hurried along, no chance is given him to measure his stride or get his legs well under him, but he is nevertheless expected to take off correctly and clear the obstacle. a good rider will always have her horse well in hand, and never hustle him at his fences, even if she goes at them with considerable speed. [sidenote: trappy ground and drops] if the take-off looks treacherous, or is ploughed or muddy, the horse should be brought to it at a trot, well collected, and allowed to take his time at it. when the ground approaching the jump is uphill, or descending, the same tactics should be pursued, and unlimited rein given the horse. on encountering a drop on the far side of a fence or wall, a woman must lean back as far as possible, leaving the reins long, but ready to support the horse's head as he lands. at a trappy place, where, for instance, there might be a broken-down fence among some trees, overgrown with vines and bushes, the horse must be taken quietly and slowly and made to crawl through the gap. his rider will even then have enough trouble in keeping her feet clear of the vines, and in preventing the branches from hitting her face, which she could not do if a jump were made with a rush. if her horse carries his head high, she can probably pass where it has been without injury by leaning forward over his withers, to the right, and raising her right arm to ward off the branches with her whip or crop. [sidenote: in-and-out] sometimes she will not notice a limb or other obstruction until almost under it, when it will be necessary for her to lean back, resting her shoulders on the horse's quarters. under these circumstances it is most important that her right arm should guard her eyes from pieces of bark or other falling particles. where two fences are within a few feet of each other, forming an "in-and-out," the pace needs to be carefully regulated. if the horse goes very fast, he will jump so wide that he will land too close to the second fence to take off as he should. therefore if he is rushing, his stride must be shortened and his hind-legs brought well under him. on the other hand, he must not go so slowly that all impetus for the second effort is lost, as he would then be likely to refuse. it is difficult to turn him in so short a space and get him into his stride before he is called upon to jump. at a ditch or stream considerable speed is needed to gain the momentum necessary to cover the distance, and the horse must have plenty of rein given him. [sidenote: picket and slat fences] a picket fence is usually regarded as a very formidable obstacle, but if negotiated properly it is no worse than others. it should be taken at a good rate of speed, for the danger is that the horse will get hung up on it and be cut with the points by not having enough impetus. it is not so dangerous to hit this fence in front, for it is frail and the top of the pickets will snap off at the binder if hit with force. a slat fence is more to be dreaded, on account of the ledge on the top of it formed by the binder. this should be taken with deliberation, as the thing to be guarded against is having the horse hit his knees on the ledge which protrudes a couple of inches beyond the fence. the lower slats give way easily if they are approached from the side where the posts are; if from the opposite direction, they are braced against the posts and offer great resistance. [sidenote: wire] any fence that has wire on it should be avoided if possible, unless the horse has been trained to jump it. when it extends along the top of a fence, the horse should be made to jump a post, as it is not safe to count on his seeing the wire. if the fence is made of strands of wire, with only a binder of timber, it should be taken slowly, so that the horse will not attempt to crash through it, under the impression that it is a single bar. [sidenote: combined obstacles] a stone wall having a rail on top must be taken in the horse's stride, for considerable swing is required, as there is width as well as height to clear. when a ditch is on the near side of a wall or fence, the horse should be allowed time to see it. when it is on the landing side, he should be sent at it fast enough to carry him safely over. thus far i have been supposing that the horse has gone without a mistake. under these circumstances he should not be struck--just to encourage him, as some maintain--or he will grow to dislike jumping if associated with a blow. no woman who rides much can expect to be always so perfectly mounted; therefore, a few suggestions as to what she should do in emergencies may be of practical value. [sidenote: refusing] [sidenote: timidity] the most common fault of the jumper is refusing, and it must be dealt with according to its cause. if it arises from weakness in the hocks, the horse hesitating to propel himself by them, or from weak knees, or corns that cause him to dread the concussion of landing, he should not be forced to jump--it is both cruel and unsafe. if he be sound and well, and the fence not beyond his capabilities, the rider must know whether the disinclination to jump comes from timidity or from temper. she will soon learn to distinguish between the two, but it is difficult to lay down any rule for recognizing the difference. if she thinks it is for the former reason, the cause may be that he was not in his stride when he should have taken off, and was allowed to sprawl as he cantered. she should take him back and keep him well collected, making him take short, quick strides in the canter, measuring the distance, and giving him his head when he should take off. if he seems inclined to swerve or hesitate, the whip, applied just when he should rise, will often prevent his stopping. when over, a caress and a word of praise will greatly encourage him. [sidenote: temper] temper is a very different and a very difficult thing to manage. coaxing and ingenuity may accomplish something; turning him short at another place will often surprise him into jumping before he realizes it. the human voice has great power over animals, and a few loud, sharp exclamations, with a quick use of the whip, may make him take off when otherwise he would have refused. a really obstinate horse, having made up his mind not to jump, needs such a thrashing as a woman is seldom able to give him. if she begins it, she must keep it up until she has conquered him, or he will try the same trick constantly. as a horse almost invariably turns to the left when he refuses, a sharp crack on the near shoulder, being unusual and unexpected, sometimes prevents his turning. when, in one way or another, he finally has been forced to yield, he should be rewarded by a few words of approval. at the next fence a firm hold, keeping his head straight and his legs well under him, will be of more service than a whip, unless he refuses again, when the lesson must be repeated. [sidenote: rider at fault] at least half of the refusals are the fault of the rider, and it is most unjust to punish a horse at such times. unfortunately, conceit is such a common failing that few of us are willing to acknowledge ourselves in the wrong, therefore the poor horse suffers for our error. the timid rider sends the horse at an obstacle in such a half-hearted way that he does not know whether he is expected to jump or not; or, feeling his rider waver, he imagines there must be unknown dangers connected with the place, and so hesitates to encounter them. one of a woman's frequent failings is shifting the reins as she nears a jump. this form of nervousness is very disconcerting to a horse, and takes his mind from the work in front of him. lack of skill makes one lug at a horse's mouth just as he is getting ready to jump, thus throwing him out of his stride and frustrating his effort. after one or two refusals, a woman often puts her horse at the place in a mechanical way, fully expecting the animal to stop, and doing nothing to guard against such an occurrence. if she would instead then summon all her courage, and determine to go either over or through the fence, and ride at it with resolution, the horse would be infected with her spirit and probably clear the obstacle, as he would have done at first had his rider's heart then been in the right place. in such cases it does not seem fair to punish a horse for our own want of nerve. ix leaping--(_continued_) [sidenote: rushers] on a horse which rushes when put at a jump, the use of the whip will only make matters worse. this habit of rushing comes most frequently from the horse having been frightened while being taught to jump, either by extreme harshness and punishment or from having hurt himself severely. even if it comes from viciousness, quiet, kind treatment will do more to eradicate the tendency than coercive measures. such a horse should be walked towards a fence until within half a dozen strides of it. this can best be achieved by not indicating that he will be expected to jump, but by approaching it as though by chance. otherwise the restraint will make him the more unmanageable when he does start. he should be induced to stand a few moments, while his rider strokes him and talks to him in a soothing way. the snaffle should then be gradually and quietly shortened until there is a light but firm feeling on the reins, when a pressure of the leg (not of the heel, which might suggest a spur) will put him to a trot. if the hands be held low and steady and the voice be soft and pacifying, they will probably prevail upon him to trot all the way, although he may break into a canter a stride before the jump. when over it he should be gently, not sharply, pulled up, and coaxed to walk again, or, better still, to trot slowly. when he has learned to jump from the trot he will soon do so from a slow canter, which will be more trying for him, as it has a closer resemblance to the gait at which he has been in the habit of rushing, and he will therefore be inclined to return to his old failing. [sidenote: balkers] sometimes a horse will not go near a fence, and on being urged will back or rear. if he persists in backing, his head should be turned away from the jump, and when he finds his movements only bring him nearer the fence, he will stop. if then he is made to wheel suddenly, and can be kept going by whip or spur, he will be likely to jump. should he, instead, face the direction in which he should go, and rear whenever an attempt is made to urge him forward, the whip only inciting him to rear higher, the woman who hopes to triumph over him must resort to strategy; she must not whip him, at the risk of his falling back on her. a ruse which may prove successful is to occupy his attention by playing with his mouth while he is allowed to go diagonally towards the fence. he will be apt to concede this point, in the hope of bolting alongside of it; but when he has been inveigled into a closer proximity to the jump, even if he be parallel to it, and before he has time to divine his rider's intention, he should be turned sharply to the fence. he must be ridden at it resolutely and with a firm hand, while a determined swing of the body, corresponding to his stride, conveys to his mind the impression that he will be forced to jump. if he can be kept moving forward, he cannot rear; therefore, should he attempt to swerve or bolt, a blow from the whip will keep him straight, and when he should take off, another will guard against a refusal. [sidenote: sluggards] a sluggish animal calls for constant watching, as he cannot be trusted at small places any more than at large ones. he is always liable to rap, or even fall, at his fences, because of the careless, slovenly manner in which he moves. he should be forced up to the bit, and kept active by the whip, the noise of which is desirable in his case, as it will assist in rousing him. if his laziness or sulkiness is such that he will endeavor to crash through fences, he is not suitable for any woman to ride. he may miscalculate his power and come in contact with a rail which withstands his weight, when a fall will ensue. in this case the lunging-rein should be resorted to, and, either in a ring or out-of-doors, the horse should be put over some stiff bars, that he may learn he will be hurt if he touches them. i do not approve of intentionally throwing him by pulling him in the jump; there are too many chances of his being injured, even though he has no weight to carry. the bars should be strong enough to sustain his weight, without breaking, so that if he hits them hard he will have a tumble and a lesson. the top bar should, if possible, be covered with straw, to protect the knees from sharp edges. some forcible raps and a few tumbles will teach the horse the necessity of exerting himself, and how to bend his knees and lift his hind-legs over a jump. [sidenote: falls] a fall is, at the best, a dangerous and often a disastrous affair for a woman, whose very position on a horse lessens the chance of escape from such a predicament without injury. a safety skirt will prevent her being dragged; but much harm may result from the fall, even though she be clear of the horse when he gets up. if she is not hurt, there is still danger that the shock to her nerves will weaken her pluck. should such symptoms appear, she should remount at once; for the longer she waits the greater will be her apprehension, and it might end in her never regaining her nerve. she should make as light of the casualty as possible, and not regard it seriously if she has been only somewhat bruised or shaken up. it is marvellous how many and what ugly falls one can encounter without being any the worse for them; nevertheless, no precaution should be neglected to prevent exposure to them. when a woman has experienced several, she will know instinctively what to do; but at first she should try to bear in mind some points which may help her on such occasions. a rider not accustomed to jumping will probably lose her seat if the horse hits a fence with much force; as she feels herself going she should try to grasp the animal's neck, and not attempt to keep on by the aid of the reins, for by so doing she might throw him. even if she has gone farther than the saddle, if she can fling her weight, above the waist, to the off side of the horse's neck, she will balance there for a moment, and that will give her time to grasp the saddle and pull herself back. should she find herself beyond that, then as she slips off she can keep her head from the ground by seizing hold of the breast-plate with one hand, but without letting go of the reins. these must always be retained, as their possession renders it impossible for the horse to reach her with his heels, and precludes the chance of his getting away. if the horse bungles the jump, or comes down on his knees without disturbing his rider's equilibrium, and seems likely to fall, a woman cannot disentangle herself from him in time to get away. if he should go down, therefore, she must sit evenly, leaning back, that her weight may be taken from his fore-legs, while he is allowed plenty of rein. he may thus regain his balance or his footing after a scramble; but it will be impossible, in a slow fall like this, for a woman to be thrown clear of him. as he will not roll immediately, the closer she sits the better; so that if he tumbles on his near side, the force of the blow will be broken by the pommels, which, if she be sitting close, will hit the ground first, thus protecting her legs from the concussion. moreover, if she were half out of the saddle, the pommels might strike her chest or crush a rib, and she would be more likely to be kicked. as the horse makes an effort to get up, she must be ready to extricate herself from him and scramble as far away as possible, as the danger then is that he will not regain his feet, but will sink down a second time and thus roll over his prostrate rider. if he should fall on his off side, a woman must strive to get clear on that side as he lands, and not where the horse's feet are. where a ditch has caused a fall, it is usually from unsound banks; therefore, in attempting to climb out, firmer ground should be chosen. if the woman has been thrown and the horse has landed on top of her, the ditch being deep or narrow, she must try to keep his head down until help arrives, so that he cannot strike her, as he might do, because of the limited space, in his struggles to get up. in a stream, if she has preserved her seat, she must keep the horse moving, or he will be inclined to lie down. if she has been thrown into the water, she must obtain a hold on the saddle and the reins, but use only the former to support herself until the horse reaches the shore. in all of these events a cool head and presence of mind will be of the greatest assistance; but when a horse turns completely over at a fence, or falls heavily and without warning, to drop her stirrup, relax her muscles, and get clear of him as best she may is all a woman can do. occasionally, after a number of jumps, the girths become loosened and the saddle begins to turn. in such an emergency the horse's mane should be firmly grasped and the foot taken out of the stirrup. the horse should be quieted and stopped, if he is not too much startled by the turning saddle. with a breast-plate it will probably not turn all the way, and her hold of the mane will enable a woman to keep her head up until some one comes to the rescue. it will probably be a long time before such a variety of contingencies as i have mentioned will happen to any one rider. a well-mounted woman may jump a great deal and escape with only a few tumbles. if she perseveres, there will be so many delightful experiences to counterbalance each mishap that she will gladly risk the consequences of indulging in a sport which, to so great an extent as leaping, develops her nerve, skill, and self-possession. x riding to hounds whether hounds are running on the scent of a fox or a drag, a woman who is following them should always remember certain points to guide her in her conduct and in the management of her horse while in the field. [sidenote: courtesy] many a beginner renders herself objectionable by striving to take a place among the hard riders of the first flight. it is not to be expected that a woman without experience in the hunting-field can keep up with those who have followed hounds for several seasons; and should she attempt it, the probable result would be a fall not only endangering herself and her horse, but compelling some man to come to her assistance, and thereby perhaps lose the remainder of the run. even though too well mounted to have this occur, there are countless ways in which a novice, in endeavoring to keep on even terms with the leaders, may unwittingly call down anything but blessings on her head from those for whose good opinion she most cares. it is a mistake for her to suppose that people are watching her, ready to admire her pluck and dash, when she crashes through fences because her horse was not collected, or rides so close to the hounds as to risk hitting them. if she flatters herself that she is cutting out the work, it is pretty certain she has no business to be so far forward, and that she will add to the number of men who consider the hunting-field no place for women. [sidenote: the novice] a beginner should be content to stay behind the first flight until, by experience and skill, she has earned the right to take a better place. at first she should find out which of the men go straight, yet ride cautiously and manage to keep the hounds in sight. such a one she should choose as her pilot, rather than a reckless rider or one who shirks his fences. unless she is very well acquainted with him, a woman should not let a man know that she is following him. it annoys him to think that some one is "tagging on behind," or that he is responsible for the jumps she takes. above all things, she must invariably give him or any one in front of her time to get well away from a jump before she takes it. this is of the utmost importance, and is a point neglected by men and women alike in the excitement and impatience of a run. if she desires to be looked upon otherwise than as a nuisance, she must be as unobtrusive and cool-headed as possible, always courteous to and considerate of others, patient when waiting for her turn at a narrow place, and not try to take jumps that well-mounted, hard-riding men deem impracticable. [sidenote: hard riding] women seldom need to be urged on in the hunting-field; they require rather to be cautioned and restrained. if they are new at it, they do not know the dangers to which they are exposed, so go recklessly; if they appreciate the chances they take, they grit their teeth and go desperately; if they are timid they nevertheless resolve not to be outdone, and, trusting all to their horse, go blindly, even closing their eyes at a critical moment. therefore hard riding does not prove that a woman has either pluck or skill. she is an exception who goes straight and keeps with the hounds without taking foolish risks, unnecessarily tiring her mount, or interfering with others, for this requires judgment, discretion, skill, and nerve. [sidenote: jealous riding] an undesirable trait observed in many instances is jealous riding. this cannot be too strongly condemned, not only for the unsportsmanlike spirit it betrays, but because it often threatens the safety of others than those who ride in that manner. a jealous rider crowds past people, jumps too close to them, and is constantly trying to be among the first, regardless of the consequences to those he or she hurries by. the motive that usually actuates a woman in such a case is vanity. she cannot bear to see another woman ahead of her, so she dashes along unmindful of the rules of etiquette and the hunting-field, until by pushing, crowding, and taking big chances for herself and against others, she reaches the object of her jealousy, thinking to wrest from her the admiration of the field. if the other woman is of the same mind and objects to being passed, a steeple-chase will ensue that may end in accidents, disabled hounds, and bad feelings. admiration is far from the minds of the spectators, who do not fail to see that jealousy and vanity, not eagerness for sport, are the incentives to such hard riding. [sidenote: desirable qualities] when a woman begins riding to hounds, she should already have had some experience in larking a horse across country, and be acquainted with the way to take the different kinds of jumps she will encounter during a run. if she starts with a good seat and hands, pluck and nerve, a little time and practice will add composure, judgment, and discretion, and the experience necessary to cross a stiff country without mishap. she may then discard the services of a pilot and ride her own line. [sidenote: getting away] when hounds are thrown in, she must watch them, and, although not interfering with their work, be ready to get away on good terms with them when they begin to run. indecision at the first two jumps may cost one dearly, for during that moment of hesitation hounds slip away, horses crowd one another and begin to refuse, while the few who make the most of their opportunities ride on ahead with the hounds. much hard galloping may retrieve the lost ground, but a stern chase is always disheartening to horse and rider. by getting away in front, both are encouraged, and start with mutual good-will and satisfaction--relations which should always exist between a hunter and his rider. [sidenote: indecision] if, after pointing her horse's head at a certain part of a jump, she thinks another place is more inviting, she must not change her course, unless certain that she can do so without inconveniencing some one else who may have been going straight at it. it is inexcusable to turn from one place to another by cutting in ahead of following riders. it throws their horses out of their stride, and may force them to pull up in order to avoid a collision. therefore, in suddenly changing her direction, a woman must assure herself that she is at least half a dozen lengths in front of her follower, who is going straight, or she must wait until she has been passed. [sidenote: right of way] when a horse refuses, the rule is that the rider shall immediately pull out and give the next a chance to jump. this is so often overlooked in the field, that a few words seem desirable to impress its importance upon the minds of those who hunt. women particularly seem to consider themselves privileged to keep their horse at a fence while he refuses at each trial, blocking the way, if there is no other place to jump, of those in their rear. frequently, when her horse refuses, his rider thinks there is time to try it again before the next one reaches the place; she puts him at the fence, in her hurry turning him so short he could not jump if he wanted to, and the result is that he stops just as the other horse arrives, whose rider is thereby obliged to pull up. had the woman pulled to one side in the first place, and waited until her follower had given her horse a lead, which would probably have induced him to jump, both would have been in the next field much sooner than her impatience in the first instance eventually permitted. [sidenote: funk] a horse should not be ridden behind one that is likely to refuse, or he may be inclined to imitate the misdoings of his predecessor. in the same way, it is injudicious to take a horse to a place where others are refusing, either from their own or their riders' timidity. he is liable to be infected with their faint-heartedness; for it needs an unusually sensible, reliable horse to be the first to jump out from a crowd at a place that has stopped those in front of him. it is far better for a woman to choose another way of reaching the hounds than to risk adding to the number of refusers, unless she be so well mounted as to be sure of giving the rest a lead. [sidenote: excitable and sluggish horses] a hot-headed, excitable horse will go more quietly if he can be made to think he is ahead of the others. therefore his rider should choose a line for herself, apart from the others, and if he is a good performer it will be safer to put him at a big jump where he can take it coolly than to trust him at a smaller place where other horses are crowding and goading him into a state of such impatience that in his anxiety to overtake any one in front of him he will jump without calculation, and endanger all in his vicinity by kicking, rearing, or rushing. a sluggish horse, on the contrary, should be kept near others, that their lead and example may arouse his ambition and keep up his heart. it will not do to allow such a horse to fall far behind, as he will probably get discouraged and refuse to jump without a fight, at the end of which the hunt may have disappeared in the distance. [sidenote: proximity to hounds] it is never wise to ride on the line of hounds, but rather to the right or left of them. horses directly behind them frighten the hounds and interfere with their hunting. it also makes a few run very fast to keep from being galloped over, while many others sneak away or get behind the horses, of whose heels they stand in terror. it is a nuisance to be obliged to stop and give some slow hound a chance to get by, or, if not considerate enough to do this, no rider likes to see a hound going through a fence with the probability of having a horse jump on him, should he pause for a moment on the other side. a woman will escape these occurrences if she will keep to one side of the pack. in this position it is permissible to ride farther up than when so doing would bring her too near the pack; but the leading hounds must be watched closely, and should always be allowed plenty of room to turn sharp to the side where she is, without bringing them in contact with her horse. the instant they check, or even hover, for a moment, a woman must stop, and for two reasons: in the first place, because she does not want to be in the way should it be necessary to cast the hounds in her direction; and, secondly, because she should seize every opportunity of giving her horse a few moments' respite, which she can afford to do if well enough up to notice what the hounds are doing. [sidenote: choosing a line] she must be guided as to her course by the character of the country over which she is riding. if the hounds run over a succession of small hills, much unnecessary exertion may often be spared the horse by galloping around the base of them, instead of over their crest. but the hounds must not be lost sight of too long, or a sharp turn may hide them from view and conceal the line they have taken. when a very steep hill is to be descended, it should be done by going down sideways in a zig-zag course, so that in case of a slip or stumble the horse will not roll over, as he might if attempting to make the descent in a straight line. if the going is rough or through furze or some low growth of underbrush, a woman should sit well back in her saddle, and although guiding her horse, allow him plenty of rein to stretch his neck and see where he is putting his feet. should he stumble or step into a hole, she will in this way have the best chance of keeping her seat, and he of regaining his balance. if riding in a district where wire is extensively used for fencing, it will not do for a woman to go very far to one side of the hounds or to try to cut out a line for herself, unless she knows the country. otherwise she may get pocketed by the wire, which few horses here are trained to jump, and which, therefore, should not be ridden at. in this case she would have to go back the way she came until she could get clear of it. in jumping towards the sun, extra precautions should be taken. a horse is often quite blinded, and unable to accurately gauge the size of the jump he is to take, especially if it is timber. when the rays are directly in his eyes, the best thing to do is to walk him up to and alongside of the fence for a few yards, giving him a chance to measure it, then take him back and put him at it. this must not be done where it will interfere with any one else, but in any case such a jump must be approached slowly. wide ditches and streams are probably shirked as often as any kind of jump. too much preparation for them excites the horse's suspicions and makes him hesitate, then refuse. a horse must be kept collected, yet sent along too fast to admit of any faltering on his part, and there must be no involuntary checking of his stride as the rider tries to see the depth or width of ditch or stream. when such are in sight, it is well to quicken the horse's pace, that he may reach the place before he sees any horse refusing, or before the banks have been made unsound by the jumping of the others. each horse will probably widen the distance as the ground gives way beneath him, so a woman must use her own judgment in deciding where she will jump, instead of following some one else. a bog or swamp is a most disagreeable place in which to be caught, and calls for calmness to get out without a wetting or fall. to quiet the horse is the first thing, and prevent his plunging into it deeper and deeper, as he will with every struggle. should he be sinking, his rider must get off, keeping hold of the reins, for, although their combined weight would cause the bog to give beneath them, they might separately be able to keep on the surface, and quietly and gradually work their way to firm ground. whenever one comes upon something that cannot be seen at a distance, such as a hole, a drop, or a wire, the first person who discovers it should warn those behind by shouting back what it is, and, if possible, motioning where it is, that those in the rear may avoid it, each person cautioning the next one. xi sympathy between horse and woman the advantages derived from the existence of sympathy between horse and rider cannot be too highly estimated. when a woman gives her horse to understand that he will be ruled by kindness, he is very certain to serve her far more willingly and faithfully than if she tried to control him by force. if he has learned to be fond of her voice, it will calm and reassure him in moments of excitement which might otherwise result in a runaway; it will stimulate him to expend his best energies at her command, when force or punishment would fail, and will do more to establish a mutual understanding in a few weeks than would be gained in as many months of silent control. a horse soon learns to distinguish the intonation of words of praise from those of censure, terms of endearment from admonition, and will often respond to them more readily than to severe discipline. few horses are so dull as not to be susceptible to kindness, or so vicious as not to be influenced by gentle treatment. [sidenote: talking to horse] i do not approve of a woman, once she is in the saddle, entering upon a lengthy address of endearment to her horse if she is riding with friends. they may care for a little of her attention themselves; it is just as well not to show them the horse is the more interesting, even if she feels so. moreover, incessant chatter becomes after a little time so familiar to the animal that the voice loses its power when intended to convey a definite meaning, and he fails to distinguish the difference between commands and idle pettings. it is only necessary to reprove him, to give words of command, such as "walk," "trot," "canter," "whoa," which he may easily be taught to obey, and a few words accompanied by a caress to soothe, encourage, or command him when the occasion presents itself. when living in the country, with a stable near the house, a woman is afforded the most favorable opportunity of making friends with her horse. a good way to begin will be to dismount at the stable after a ride and take off the saddle and bridle. it is very simple, for it is only to unbuckle the outside leather girth, stirrup leather, two inside girths, and perhaps a balance strap, and take off the saddle, unfasten the throat latch, lip strap, and curb chain on the bridle, throw the reins over his head, and take hold of the headstall, when he will withdraw his head. she must have his halter ready to put on at once, or he might pull away. this will give him a pleasant impression of her, which is an important point gained. should she through some mistake find no one in the stable, and the horse in a heat at the end of her ride, she should not hesitate to scrape him herself, brush the mud off his legs, put a light blanket on him, give him only a mouthful of water, and put him in his stall with a little hay. if she will rub his ears, and sponge out his mouth, it will be a great relief to him. all this should be accomplished in a quiet manner, nothing done to alarm or excite him; and she may talk to him most of the time, and thus become quite friendly with him. [sidenote: in the stall] when she visits him in the stall, she should always speak before touching him or entering, otherwise he might be startled and kick or plunge from fright. if in a standing stall, entrance should always be made at the near side of the horse. i greatly prefer a loose box in which the horse may turn at his pleasure. if he eats too much of his bedding, it is better to keep a leather muzzle on him than to tie his head up. before opening the door of the box, he should be induced to face it, to avoid the possibility of his kicking. this can be managed by offering him some sugar, carrots, or oats, which he will come for, held quietly on the palm of the hand, with the fingers out of his reach. it is well for a woman, at first, to keep a light hold of the halter, so that he cannot crush her against the wall or hit her with his head. she should never put her head above his, or a severe knock may be the result. she should pet him, avoiding all sudden movements, and accustom him to her voice; when it has become familiar to him, he will listen for it, and neigh at her approach. if he seems inclined to kick, the closer she keeps to him the better, as then she will receive only a shove, instead of the full force of the blow. if he shows a tendency to nip or bite, from play or mischief, he should be muzzled until, by coaxing and kindness, he has been made to give it up. to strike him would be to turn his playful though dangerous prank into a vicious habit. in petting him she should begin by stroking his neck, and gradually work down and backwards with a firm, light touch, until he does not resent being handled. he must be taught to let her lean on any part of him, and not to fear her skirts. this is often of value in case a woman is thrown and her habit catches on the saddle; for if the horse were accustomed to her weight and skirt being against him, he would not become frightened. knowing her voice, he might be quieted by it, and had he learned the important lesson of stopping at the word "whoa," she might escape being dragged. [sidenote: on the road] if in the course of a ride a woman dismounts at a house or stable, she should always be sure that a light blanket is immediately thrown over her horse. she should not start for a ride until some time after her horse has been fed, or his digestion will become impaired, as would hers under similar circumstances. after mounting, it is always well, by a light hold of the snaffle, to make a horse walk a short while; it is most annoying to have him start with a series of plunges or an inclination to bolt. if he is so fresh that he will not walk without restraint likely to irritate him, perhaps spoiling his temper for the rest of the ride, it will be better to let him indulge in a brisk trot, after which he may be brought back to a walk. the next time, if having had more work, he will walk at first, while had his mouth been jerked the previous time, or a fight ensued, he would remember it, and prepare for a repetition of the performance. a horse should not of his own will be allowed to change his gaits, but his rider must think to vary them; for if the horse is kept on one too long, it tires him unnecessarily and causes him to travel carelessly. whatever gait she makes him adopt, it should be distinct and regular, and he should be kept collected and not urged beyond the pace at which he can comfortably travel. [sidenote: cautions] a jog-trot, trotting in front and cantering behind, and other such eccentricities, should not be permitted in a park hack. in turning a corner, the horse should always be somewhat supported, and have his hind-legs brought well under him, or he will be liable to slip. he should never be cantered around a corner unless leading with the foot towards which he will turn. he should not be pulled up abruptly, unless to avoid sudden obstacles, but his pace should be gradually decreased until it is as required. a sharp stop entails considerable strain on the back tendons and hocks, and if done too often would be apt to make the horse throw a curb. in going downhill, a walk is the gait which should be taken, or the horse's fore-legs will suffer. should the ground be uneven and rough, or covered with rolling stones, the horse ought to be permitted to walk. his head should not be held too tightly, or he will be unable to see where he is going, while if the reins are slack he will appreciate that he must pick his way, and then will seldom put a foot wrong. it is most undesirable to canter where there is a hard road; nothing will more quickly use up a horse than pounding along, each stride laying the foundation of windgalls and stiffness, if nothing more serious results from this ill-advised practice. if a horse is at all warm, he must never be allowed to stand in a draught; five minutes of it might founder him, so that he would be ruined, or thrown into pneumonia. if, while on her ride, a woman should be forced to wait, she must keep her horse moving in a circle or any other way, keeping his chest from the wind as much as possible. before reaching home, the horse should be walked for some time, so that he may enter the stable cool, and not be endangered by draughts if not attended to at once. when riding with others, their horses should be regarded; and as the woman sets the pace, she should not make it faster than that which her companions' horses can easily maintain. xii practical knowledge of the stable [sidenote: stabling] the woman should visit her horse in the stable, and there she cannot talk to him too much. if it be a private one, i assume that it is constructed on hygienic principles; but as horses are frequently boarded at livery-stables, a woman should not leave the choice of a stall to her groom. she should see that of those procurable it is the best drained and ventilated, though free from draughts, and well lighted. if these conditions are not obtained, sickness and incapacity may be looked for in the horse. she should notice the feed occasionally, and see that her horse is supplied with all he requires, and of the best quality, and that he has an abundance of good bedding. a frequent or indiscriminate use of physics is to be deprecated. pure air, good food, careful grooming, and regular, moderate exercise are the best tonics. [sidenote: picking up feet] she must learn to pick up her horse's feet, as she should examine his shoes personally, and ascertain that they have been made to fit the feet, instead of the horn being rasped away to fit the shoes. the soles must be pared, but the frogs and bars should not be interfered with. she cannot expect to have the shoes on more than a month; although, if the horse has not had enough work to wear them down, they may be removed and put on again, for were they worn too long, corns and inflammation, causing lameness, would be the result. another reason for knowing how to lift his feet is that he might pick up a stone on the road, and if alone she would be obliged to take it out, or run the risk of seriously laming him. while a woman is playing with him is an excellent opportunity for her to look at her horse's feet, which should be taken up in the following manner. she must stand on his near side, a trifle back of his fore-legs, and facing his hind ones. she should run her left hand from his knee to his fetlock, behind, and inside of his near fore-leg, grasping just below his fetlock, with the fingers on the coronet and the thumb above on the pastern. a horse which has been broken will yield his foot, bending his knee at once, but sometimes with such force that she must keep her head held up, so that there be no chance of contact with his heel. with the right hand she can examine his foot, after which she may pass to his off fore-foot, and then to the near hind-leg. for this she must stand close to his side, and stroke him firmly from the quarters to the hock. passing her right hand under his hock to his fetlock, and grasping his foot as she did the fore one, she must raise it, letting the hock rest in the angle of her arm, while with her right hand she turns up the foot for inspection. she must not lean too far over or get back of the horse, or she is likely to be kicked if he offers any resistance. then, too, she may unfasten the roller and throw back his blanket, that she may be sure the saddle has not rubbed his back. a slight abrasion of the skin, if treated at once, will require only a day or two to heal; but if neglected for some days, the time will be greatly prolonged. if any soreness is detected, the saddle should be looked to immediately and the cause of the trouble remedied. [sidenote: grooming] a shining coat is not positive proof that the horse is properly groomed. the hair should be rubbed the wrong way, and if the skin leaves a whitish deposit on the fingers, it will be well for the horse's owner to watch the groom the next time the horse is dressed, and to insist upon its being thoroughly done. [sidenote: bitting] much of what seems to be vice in a horse comes from his having been imperfectly bitted when young, or from subsequently having his mouth roughly handled. he should always be ridden in as easy a bit as possible, as some horses go well and quietly in a plain snaffle, and will pull, bolt, or run in a curb or any severe contrivance. no rule can be given as to what bit will best control certain tendencies. experimenting with each kind will be the only means of finding out, but pulling is as likely to arise from an over-sensitive mouth as from a hard one, in which case a rubber snaffle might prove efficacious where a chifney would fail. sometimes certain parts of the mouth become callous, and a bit bearing on a different place might produce the desired result. most horses will go well in a bit and bridoon, varied to suit their peculiarities by the height of the port, the length of the branches, and the pressure of the curb-chain. there are certain points which should always be regarded. the mouth-piece must fit the horse's mouth exactly, being neither so narrow as to pinch him, nor so wide as to lose its power. the port should be the same width as the tongue-channel, and no higher than required to leave room for the tongue. the curb-chain must be sufficiently tight to furnish leverage for the branches, yet not so tight as to pinch the jaw when no force is applied. [sidenote: clipping] clipping horses in winter i have heard objected to on the ground of its being unsafe to deprive them of the thick coat which affords protection from the cold. if their coat is thick and long, it is, in my opinion, much wiser to clip them, and for several very good reasons. their work is rarely continuous, and the alternating of the heated with the cooling-off condition is very liable to work more or less injury. a heavy-coated horse which has been driven until very warm, and then left for half an hour to stand outside of a shop or house and become chilled by the wind striking the heavy wet coat, which frequently does not dry for hours, is likely to become a subject for the veterinary. on the other hand, if the horse is clipped, he does not get so warm in the first place, and, in the second, would cool off more quickly and without danger of becoming chilled. in very cold weather quarter blankets will furnish all the protection necessary, and prevent the wind from striking the horse while standing. with saddle horses, although not so important, it is an advantage to have them clipped, because a cold day is certain to make the rider go steadily to keep warm, and the horse, becoming overheated (if his coat is heavy), is in great danger of taking cold if permitted to stand for a moment in a draught. [sidenote: bridling] no woman who rides should be without a practical knowledge of how to saddle and bridle her horse, as the groom often turns him out imperfectly bitted or girthed; and unless she knows how to do it herself, she will not perceive that anything is wrong until too late to prevent mischief. she should learn to hold the bridle by the headstall, in her left hand, as with the right she slips off the horse's halter, and throws the reins over his head. then change it to the right hand, putting her left on the bits, which she gently inserts between his jaws. with the right she must pull his ears under the headstall, and then turn her attention to fitting the bridle. she must see that the headstall fits, that the forehead-band is not too tight, and that there is plenty of room between the throat-latch and the throat. the snaffle-rein is fitted by the buckles of the cheek-piece, and should fall a trifle below the angle of the mouth. the curb needs careful adjustment, that the mouth-piece may rest exactly on the bars of the mouth. then the chain must be hooked when quite flat on the chin-groove, but not tight enough, unless used vigorously, to inconvenience the horse. the lip-strap should pass through the small ring attached to the curb-chain, thus keeping it in place. i like a bridle with buckles, or billets as they are called, rather than one which is stitched to the rings. in the first place, it is frequently desirable to change the bits, especially in a large stable, and being sewed would necessitate a bridle for each bit. furthermore, when the bits are washed, the leather gets wet, and the stitching is apt to become rotten, and unexpectedly give way at a critical moment, when some unusual strain is put on it. [illustration: double bridle for general use] [sidenote: noseband] a noseband furnishes additional control over a horse; but it should not be attached to the bridle, or it may interfere with the action of the bit. it should have a headstall and cheek-pieces, and be buckled tight enough to prevent the horse from opening his mouth too wide, but it must not restrain his breathing. [sidenote: martingale] if a martingale is used, i much prefer a running to a standing one. it is useful with star-gazers or horses that get their noses out too far. some horses need one to steady them in hunting, but the running martingale is the only one which should be tolerated in jumping, and then not be used unless necessary. it is attached to a girth, and at the two upper ends are sewed rings through which the snaffle passes. with a running martingale there must be a stop on each snaffle, considerably larger than the rings of the martingale; otherwise there is danger of these rings getting caught in the bits, frightening the horse, and making him rear or back, as there is no way to release the pressure thus brought on his mouth. the length should be carefully regulated, so that it will keep the horse's head at the desired height. this admits of considerable play to the horse, but within control of the rider, while with a standing martingale no liberty is attainable. once mounted, the rider cannot influence its bearing; and should the horse trip, he cannot fling up his head, as he must to regain his balance. [sidenote: breast-plate] for ordinary riding a breast-plate is not always used, but in hunting it is almost indispensable, and is always a safeguard against a woman's saddle slipping back. it is put on over the horse's head with the reins, and one strap passes between his fore-legs, through the loop of which one of the girths passes. two other ends buckle, one on each side of the saddle, near the horse's withers, and it should be loose enough to admit of free movement in galloping and jumping. [illustration: correct saddle] [illustration: undesirable saddle] [sidenote: the saddle] the saddle should be very plain in appearance. it must have a level seat, which can only be obtained in those having the tree cut away above the withers; otherwise, to clear them, the saddle must be so elevated in front that it is sometimes six inches higher than the cantle, placing the knee in an awkward and fatiguing position, and it is impossible to rise without an unusual amount of exertion, which will lead to arching the back, thrusting the head forward, and probably galling the horse's withers. there should be no third pommel, such as there formerly was on the right side of the saddle, bending to the left over the right leg. the two pommels must fit the knees exactly, or the circulation will be impeded, and a cramp brought on which renders the muscles powerless to grip the pommels. the seat must extend about an inch beyond the line of the spine, and, although i usually object to it, for a child the seat should be covered with buckskin. no more padding should be used than is required to fit the horse's back, as it looks badly for the top of the saddle to be several inches above the horse. moreover, the nearer one is to the animal's back, the greater will be the control. it enables one more readily to detect the stiffening of the muscles when mischief is contemplated, and to be prepared to thwart it. it should not have any superfluous straps, stitching, or attempts at ornamentation: the simpler the style the better; even the slit on the saddle-flap for the pocket is now frequently dispensed with. a safety pommel-band is sometimes fastened from the extreme upper forward end of the right saddle-flap to the top of the right pommel, thence to the left. this lessens the likelihood of a skirt becoming caught. [sidenote: stirrup] on no account should a slipper stirrup be used, but a safety stirrup without any padding, and one which does not work by having the bottom drop out, as these are apt to come to pieces when least desired, leaving the foot without any support. the best kind have the inner half-circle jointed in the middle and working on a hinge at both sides, so that it can open only on being pulled from below, as in case of a fall. next to this in safety comes a plain, small racing stirrup. [illustration: safety stirrup, closed] [sidenote: girths] the fitz-william web girths are the best for a woman's saddle, white being used in preference to darker shades. there are braided raw-hide and also cord girths, the former being very serviceable, but they do not look so well as either of the others. [illustration: safety stirrup, open] [sidenote: saddling] when the saddle is in position, free from the play of the shoulders, the first girth is taken up, then the back one, and kept clear of the horse's elbows, that his action may not be impeded. although pulling the girths excessively tight is to be avoided, it will not do to leave them loose, as a woman's unevenly distributed weight might cause the saddle to turn. any wrinkles in the skin caused by the girthing should be smoothed away by passing the fingers between the girths and the horse. then the stirrup-leather is buckled, after this the outside leather strap that keeps the saddle-flap in place, and finally the balance-strap, which must be fairly tight, assists in keeping the saddle in position. before mounting she should always glance at the saddle and bridle, and be sure that they are properly put on; otherwise her ride may be rendered uncomfortable, if not dangerous. xiii something on driving [sidenote: desirability of instruction] ninety-nine women out of every hundred are firmly convinced that instruction is by no means necessary to their driving safely and in good form. four men out of five labor under the same delusion. it is a sad error, that leads to numberless failures, and many accidents which might so easily be avoided if the services of a competent teacher were employed at the beginning. having seen others drive without any apparent difficulty, the novice conceives the notion that there is nothing to learn which cannot be mastered without assistance after one or two attempts. if such a one escapes a bill of damages, it should be credited to the ministering care of her guardian angel. she may indeed escape accident; she may learn to start without dislocating the neck of every one in the trap, and get around the corner without an upset; but she will never learn to _drive_. there is something more for her to know than that she must pull the off rein to turn to the right and the near one to go to the left, though this appears to be the extent of knowledge deemed necessary. women, even more than men, require a thorough understanding of what they are doing, for they lack the strength to rectify a miscalculation at the last moment. the ignorance, indecision, and weakness frequently displayed by women in driving are what so often render them objects of apprehension to experienced whips. it is folly for any woman to flatter herself that she needs only a little practice, and that the rest "will come." if she has not begun correctly, practice will only wed her to the faults she must have acquired. assuming, however, for the sake of argument, that, after having discounted her call on an all-protecting providence and stricken with terror her long-suffering friends, she manages to guide the family nag along the turnpike without the aid of a civil escort to clear the road before her--what of it? she hasn't learned anything; her form is execrable; and in case of an emergency she is quite as unprepared as when she took up the reins weeks before, with the ill-conceived notion that she was not of the common clay, and that, a whip, rather than a rattle, had been the insignia of her infantile days. how much better, safer, and more sensible to acquire good form than by its neglect to become an object of ridicule to those who, by their knowledge of driving and exposition of superior horsemanship, are entitled to criticise others who have disregarded proper instruction, and, wise in their own conceit, relied on their ignorance for guidance. [sidenote: vulgar display] some women there are who drive only because they consider it the "proper thing." absorbed in the opportunity for display, and ignorant of the fitness of things, they array themselves in the treasures of their wardrobe, more likely than not to be a gay silk, and, with every discordant ribbon and flounce of their _bizarre_ costume loudly challenging the attention of the on-lookers, they sally forth perched on the box of a spider phaeton, tilbury, or dog-cart, indifferent to, because ignorant of, the incongruity of their turnout, unconscious of the signal they have flung to the breeze, which unmistakably proclaims their lack of early instruction. [sidenote: bad form] these are they who in the handling of their animals instantly call to mind the puppet-shows of our childhood days, and fill us with an almost irresistible desire to look under the box-seat and discover who is working the invisible wires. every movement is spasmodic--the arms work as though an alternating electric current were constantly being turned through them--the hands finger the reins nervously; and if the vehicle happens to be a two-wheeler, the unhappy driver looks as though every jolt of the poorly balanced cart would send her into the road from her very insecure seat. another harrowing spectacle is that of the woman leaning forward, a rein in each hand, with her arms dragged almost over the dash-board by her horse's mouth, a look of direful expectancy in her eyes, and a much be-flowered and be-ribboned hat occupying unmolested a rakish position over one ear, where it has fallen during her hopeless struggle with the reins. [illustration: a well-balanced cart] [sidenote: costume] it is strange women should not have a sufficiently clear idea of the fitness of things to realize that elaborate toilets of silks, laces, and flowers, and large hats, although appropriate in a victoria, are inconvenient and totally out of place when driving a sporting-trap, such as a dog-cart. a plain, neatly fitting, but not tight cloth suit, with a small hat, which will not catch the wind, is far more serviceable and in better taste. however, she should avoid the other extreme affected by the woman who desires to appear masculine and "sporty," and who, showing a large expanse of shirt front, wears a conspicuous plaid suggestive of a horse-blanket. this specimen of feminine "horsy-ness" invariably drives with her hands held almost under her chin, and her whip in as vertical a position as herself. she is as powerless to control her animal as is the one who leans over the dash-board. [sidenote: cockade] this is the sort of woman who compels her groom, if she have one, to wear a cockade in his hat, in ignorance of the fact that we in this country have no claim to its use. in great britain it is the distinguishing mark of either the royal family or the military, naval, or civil officers of the government; but used here it is only a meaningless affectation. [sidenote: confidence] to achieve success, and to obtain a business-like appearance in driving, a woman must possess confidence in her power to control her horses, and it must be the confidence derived from knowledge and skill, and not that born of ignorance or fool-hardiness. she must know what to do, and how to do it promptly, under all circumstances, and this necessitates a thorough comprehension of the sport she is pursuing. it is to be hoped she will gain this from competent instruction, and that she will embrace every opportunity of adding to her information on the subject. [sidenote: the "family-horse" fallacy] a quiet, steady old horse, such as one might expect to see doing farm-work, cannot always be recommended even to a beginner, for he generally requires so little management that when he does occasionally become unruly it is so unusual that the woman is taken unawares. moreover, it makes one careless and slovenly always to drive a horse which goes along in a leisurely manner, without any display of life. a woman who has been accustomed to such an animal will be at a loss to manage a spirited pair, should she be called upon to do so. if she begin with a horse which goes well into his collar and does his work generously, she will learn twice as much as she would in the same time with a lazy horse, and will sooner be able to drive a pair. [sidenote: on the box] the position on the driving seat should be comfortable and firm, which cannot be the case when it is used merely to lean against, instead of to sit upon. from the knee down, the leg should be but slightly bent, with the feet together and resting against the foot-rail. the elbows should be held near the body, and the reins in the left hand, with the little finger down, and the knuckles pointing straight ahead, about on a line with or a trifle below the waist, and in the middle of the body. whether driving one or two horses, the manner of holding the reins is the same; but more strength and decision, as well as the judgment which, of course, experience will bring, are required for the pair. [sidenote: position of reins] the near rein belongs on top of the first finger, held there firmly by the thumb, and the off rein should be between the second and third fingers. the gloves should be large, broad across the knuckles, and long in the fingers; otherwise cold, stiff hands will result from the impeded circulation. the right hand, close to the left, should contain the whip, which must be held at an angle of a little less than forty-five degrees, and at the collar, about eight to ten inches from the butt, so that it balances properly. [sidenote: handling reins] when about to start, the reins should be tightened, to feel the horse's mouth, and a light touch of the whip will suffice to send him forward. the hand should then yield, so that as he straightens the traces there will be no jerk on his mouth. in turning to the right or to the left, the reins must not be separated. the right hand should be placed on the rein, indicating the desired direction, until the turn has been made; but a slight pressure on the opposite rein should keep the horse from going too near a corner. the left hand must not relax its hold, so that when the right is removed the reins will be even, as they were before. in stopping, the body is not to be bent backwards, suggestive of an expected shock, and the hands raised to the chin. it cannot be too strongly impressed on the woman's mind that the less perceptible effort she makes, the more skilful will she appear. therefore, if she take hold of the reins with her right hand as far in front of the left as she can handily reach, and then draw them back, she will have accomplished her purpose in a quiet and easy manner. [sidenote: a pair] driving a pair is much the same as driving one horse; but allowances should be made for the peculiarities of each, and they should not be treated as though machines of identical construction. frequently a woman driving a nervous horse with a quiet one will hit them both with the whip, when, should she touch the quiet one only, the sound of it would urge the other as much as the blow does the dull one. here is another objection to clucking to horses: one of them needs it much more than the other, yet they hear it with equal clearness, and simultaneously; therefore the high-mettled horse increases his pace sooner and more than his sluggish companion, and does more than his share of the work. several noiseless touches of the whip, administered in quick succession to the laggard, will do more to equalize their pace than would a sharp, loud cut or any amount of clucking. sometimes a woman will experience great inconvenience from not having her horses properly bitted and harnessed. this should always be seen to, either by herself or some one who is competent to judge for her. when she has more than one horse to control, she will soon become tired if one of them pulls and the other will not go into his collar. a judicious readjustment of the curb-chain and the coupling-rein will often make the difference between discomfort and ease. xiv something more on driving [sidenote: management] while a horse is doing his work in a satisfactory manner he should not be irritated by having his mouth jerked and the whip applied for the driver's amusement. it is a pity all women do not realize that a horse will accomplish, with less fatigue, much more work when taken quietly than he will if fretted and tormented by needless urging or restraint. constant nagging affects an animal in the same way as it does a human being; and though a horse is usually subjected to such treatment through want of thought, it is none the less exasperating to him. one result of this ordeal is that it prompts him to break into a canter as he becomes restless; and then he must be brought back to a trot by decreasing the speed and keeping the hands steady. [sidenote: stumbling] a stumbling horse must be kept awake and going at a medium rate of speed. in either a very fast trot or a slow one he is likely to trip, and unless his driver is prepared for it, and ready to keep him up, he will probably fall, and she may be pulled over the dash-board. a bearing-rein may assist in keeping him on his feet, but an habitual stumbler can never be considered safe. such a horse must not be driven with loose reins, as a feeling on his mouth is necessary at all times. [sidenote: backing] when a horse persistently backs, there are two great dangers: first, he may upset the carriage, unless it cuts under; and, secondly, he may back into something or over an embankment. if the road be level, a woman must try to keep the horse from backing to one side, although in case of a steep declivity it may be necessary to pull him sideways, and risk an overturn rather than a fall over a bank. in all events, the whip should be vigorously applied, in the hope of starting the horse forward; if the woman have a groom with her, he should go to the horse's head at once and lead him. occasionally, backing may arise from sore shoulders caused by an ill-fitting collar; but if there is no such excuse for his action, and it should become a habit, the horse is not suitable for any woman to drive. if desirous of making a turn in a narrow lane, it will often be necessary to back off the road, between trees or on to a foot-path, to obtain room. some horses will not back under these circumstances, nor from a shed where they have been tied. in most instances all that will be required is to get out, take the horse by his bridle, and by lightly tapping one foot make him raise it, at the same time pushing him back by the bit. the other foot should be moved in the same way, and this repeated until he has gone far enough. after a few steps the woman may resume her seat, with the probability of the horse backing without further resistance. [sidenote: rearing and kicking] if the horse is nervous, the pull at his mouth may make him back so fast that in his excitement he will rear. in this event the reins should be loosened a moment and the animal quieted, after which the backing process may be continued. if the rearing comes from temper, and takes place when he has been going forward, there should be no weight on his mouth while he seems in danger of falling backward, but a cut of the whip administered as he comes down may prevent his trying it again. it is important to feel his mouth at this juncture, as the whip will make him plunge forward, and the hold on his mouth must be firm enough to keep the traces loose as he lands; otherwise there would be a sudden strain on them, and consequently an unpleasant jerk, which might bring the carriage on to his hocks, as he stopped to gather himself for another effort, and, even if it did not make him kick or run, he would probably be bruised. a determined kicker needs to have his head kept up, and for this purpose a bearing-rein will be found of great service. he should be driven with a kicking-strap, but it must not be too tight, or it will induce the habit it is intended to cure. he may kick if the crupper is too tight, so this also should be looked to. [sidenote: rein under tail] when a rein gets under the tail of a horse, under no circumstances should an attempt be made to pull it away. it should be pushed forward, and the horse spoken to in a reassuring manner. if he does not then release it, a slight cut of the whip may divert his attention; he will whisk his tail, and at this instant the rein must be allowed to fall to one side, as were it pulled directly up, it would be likely to be caught again. if these methods do not prove efficacious, a woman must try to keep the horse straight, and prevail upon him to walk until some one sees her predicament and comes to her assistance. in some traps she might be able to reach forward and remedy the difficulty, meanwhile watching for any symptoms of kicking. but whether she does it herself or directs some one else, she must see that the tail is lifted, instead of an effort being made to pull the rein away. many mishaps come from this seemingly trivial occurrence, and a horse frightened by improper treatment is liable to bolt or run. it is always an excellent plan to have a horse trained to stop short at the word "whoa!" this expression is usually misapplied, being made to do duty for "steady" or "quiet," and it will be difficult to teach a horse its true significance unless he is never driven without this end in view, and the term employed only when it is meant. [sidenote: bolting and running] in the event of a horse bolting, the chances are very great against a woman's checking him. if she can do it at all, it will be by sawing his mouth, and giving a succession of sharp jerks, while endeavoring to control his course. the most dangerous and irrational thing she can do is to jump out of the trap. severe injuries almost invariably attend such a proceeding; and if it be possible to stay in, she should do so, never relinquishing her hold on the reins. if from the swaying of the carriage she seems in danger of being thrown out, a woman must make sure that her skirts are not caught on anything, and that her feet are clear of the reins. men sometimes pull a runaway horse into a ditch or up a steep bank, which stops him; but a smash or an overturn is inevitable; and should a woman attempt this, there is great danger of her being unable to extricate herself from the tangle. she is handicapped by her skirts, which are more than likely to cause her to be dragged should the horse manage to start off again. besides this, after a struggle such as she will have had, a woman will seldom have enough strength left to force a horse from the direction he has chosen. [sidenote: crowded driveways] in whatever pranks horses indulge, the dangers are multiplied and intensified when encountered by a woman who ventures to drive in a crowded park or avenue during the afternoon. women of culture and refinement, realizing this, and wishing to avoid making themselves conspicuous on public highways, are content to be driven at this hour, reserving the mornings for the pleasure of handling the reins themselves. some women there are who drive better than most coachmen, and a few of these may desire to display their skill and their well-appointed traps when the spectators are most numerous. they may be competent to make their way through such a maze as one finds on popular carriage roads, but they do it in defiance of the condemnation they will receive from people of more refined ideas. the majority of women who drive are unable to control their horses, and they need not flatter themselves that their immunity from accidents is the result of their skill. they owe their safety to the fact that men, appreciating the uncertainty of their movements, give them plenty of room, and keep as far as they can from anything driven by a woman. [sidenote: road courtesy] such women would be less objectionable if they were more considerate of others. for example, they should keep on their own side of the drive, and, if they are going slowly, as much to the right of it as possible, that those who desire to pass may not have their way blocked. again, they should remember that some one is behind them, and that they should not endeavor to turn or stop abruptly without having intimated their intention to those in the rear. another heedless thing they do is, in passing a leading trap to turn in ahead of it so sharply that a more careful driver is forced to pull up rather than endanger his horses by having the wheels swing against them. women seem to forget now and then that they must always pass to the left of a vehicle in front of them, and not try to get through a small space on its right. if they would only take a few lessons in driving, pay attention to the instruction they receive, and cultivate consideration for others, their presence on the box might be welcomed more frequently and with greater warmth than it now is. it would be well if equestrians rode with more regard for the convenience of those who are driving. when a bridle-path is provided for them, there is no reason why they should usurp any of the road intended for carriages. they would feel outraged, and justly so, if one vehicle should appear on their road; yet swarms of them daily use the drive, occupying much-needed space, and clattering and darting along, unmindful of startled horses and the narrow escapes of their own mounts from collisions with many wheels. [sidenote: tandems and teams] comparatively few women are so fortunate as to have an opportunity to drive tandem or four-in-hand. if they are so situated that they would be likely to do so frequently, they should not hesitate to take lessons, as otherwise they would slowly learn from many dangerous and costly experiences what a trustworthy teacher could have shown them with safety and expedition. however, it is well to be prepared for all contingencies, and therefore many women may desire to know something about these branches of driving, in case they should in some unforeseen manner have an opportunity to essay them. if, for instance, she were driving with a friend who offered to let her take the reins, a woman would not be expected to look to the harnessing and bitting, but there are a few points she might be glad to know. [sidenote: reins] the reins are held the same in tandem and team-driving. the first finger separates the leaders' reins, and the second those of the wheelers, with each near rein above the off one. thus over the first finger will be the near leader, under it the off leader, and between this rein and the second finger the near wheeler, with the off wheeler between the second and third fingers. the right hand must be free to hold the whip and to manipulate the reins. the off-wheel rein will often need attention, as the third finger is not so strong as the other two used, and therefore this rein will more readily slip through. in changing a rein it must always be done by pushing it back from in front of the hand, instead of pulling it through from behind. [illustration: position in tandem] the correct handling of the whip can be mastered only after much patience and constant practice, but its proper use is of paramount importance. women will find driving tandem easier than driving four, because, although it requires more skill to keep the horses straight, it does not call for the amount of muscle needed to manage four horses, the brake, and whip. [sidenote: unruly leader] at first the weight alone of the reins would tire her, and of course there are more chances of mishaps with four horses than with two. in the latter the leader has no horse at his side to steady him; but if well trained he will travel straight, and not attempt to turn around and join the wheeler. should he do this, and not respond to the reins, the whip should hit his neck with force sufficient to make him change his mind. as a last resort, the wheeler must be turned to follow him, and then they must both be made to proceed in the direction desired by the driver. if the leader, instead of being exactly in front of the wheeler, gets too far to the right, his near rein should be shortened; but the wheeler must be made to meet him half-way by pulling his off rein at the same time. in the opposite case the off-lead and near-wheel reins must be shortened. [sidenote: turning] to turn a corner, say to the left, with a tandem or a four, the near-lead rein should be looped by taking up several inches, pushing it back of the forefinger, and holding it there in this shape with the thumb. the right hand must be placed on both off reins, to guard against the turn being made too sharply, and the cart or coach being brought into contact with the corner. to turn to the right, the reverse tactics are employed, but it is more difficult to loop the off rein. when the corner has been successfully rounded, the right hand should be taken away and the left thumb raised, thus leaving the horses in a position to go straight. in going downhill all the reins should be shortened, and care taken that the leaders' traces particularly are loose, or they may pull the wheelers down when these should be holding back the coach. the wheelers should always, if possible, start and stop the load. in going uphill the leaders must do their full share, and on the level each horse must be kept up to his work. an unnecessary nervous fingering of the reins should be avoided, as, besides being most unworkmanlike, it irritates the horses. it is the height of folly for a woman to attempt to drive a tandem or a four-in-hand until she is thoroughly familiar with one horse and a pair. she may understand the theory of it, but until she has had some practice under proper instruction she should not take the reins, unless some one is near to assist her, or she will endanger not only her own safety, but jeopard that of those who may accompany her. finis * * * * * blaikie's how to get strong. how to get strong, and how to stay so. by william blaikie. illustrated. mo, cloth, $ . mr. blaikie has treated his theme in a practical common-sense way that appeals at once to the judgment and the understanding. a complete and healthful system of exercise is given for boys and girls; instructions are set down for the development of every individual class of muscles, and there is sound advice for daily exercise for children, young men and women, business men and consumptives. there are instructions for home gymnastics, and an easy routine of practice laid out.--_saturday evening gazette_, boston. every word of it has been tested and confirmed by the author's own experience. it may be read with interest and profit by all.--_christian instructor_, chicago. a successful performance, everything in the line of gymnastic exercise receiving copious illustrations by pen and pencil. the author's aim is genuinely philanthropic, in the right sense of the word, and his work is a useful contribution to the cause of physical culture.--_christian register_, boston. published by harper & brothers, new york. _the above work will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the united states, canada, or mexico, on receipt of the price._ blaikie's sound bodies. sound bodies for our boys and girls. by william blaikie. with illustrations. mo, cloth, cents. a manual of safe and simple exercises for developing the physical system. mr. william blaikie's new manual cannot fail to receive a warm welcome from parents and teachers, and should be introduced as a working text-book into thousands of schools throughout the country.--_boston herald._ a book which ought to be placed at the elbow of every school-teacher.--_springfield union._ the directions are so simple and sensible that they appeal to the reason of every parent and teacher.--_philadelphia press._ the influence of judicious exercise upon mind as well as body cannot be overestimated, and this will be a safe guide to this end, requiring no costume nor expensive apparatus.--_presbyterian_, philadelphia. published by harper & brothers, new york. _the above work will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the united states, canada, or mexico, on receipt of the price._ * * * * * transcriber's note: obvious typographical errors were corrected. hyphenation variants were retained as in the original. illustration list: "hands and seat in rearing ... facing p. ." the illustration was actually facing p. ; it has been moved to p. . note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the saddle boys in the grand canyon or the hermit of the cave by captain james carson author of "the saddle boys of the rockies," "the saddle boys on the plains," "the saddle boys at circle ranch," etc. illustrated new york cupples & leon company publishers * * * * * * books for boys by captain james carson the saddle boys series mo. cloth. illustrated. the saddle boys of the rockies or, lost on thunder mountain the saddle boys in the grand canyon or, the hermit of the cave the saddle boys on the plains or, after a treasure of gold the saddle boys at circle ranch or, in at the grand round-up cupples & leon co publishers, new york. * * * * * * copyrighted , by cupples & leon company the saddle boys in the grand canyon printed in u.s.a. contents chapter page i. the work of the wolf pack ii. ridding the range of a pest iii. the floating bottle iv. the listener under the window v. starting for the grand canyon vi. buckskin on guard vii. standing by the law viii. the moqui who was caught napping ix. "talk about luck!" x. the copper-colored messenger xi. at the grand canyon xii. how the little trap worked xiii. going down the canyon trail xiv. the home of the cliff dwellers xv. the treacherous guide xvi. a wonderful discovery xvii. the windows in the rocky walls xviii. finding a way up xix. fortune still favors the brave xx. another surprise xxi. the little old man of echo cave xxii. turning the tables--conclusion the saddle boys in the grand canyon chapter i the work of the wolf pack "hold up, bob!" "any signs of the lame yearling, frank?" "well, there seems to be something over yonder to the west; but the sage crops up, and interferes a little with my view." "here, take the field glasses and look; while i cinch my saddle girth, which has loosened again." frank haywood adjusted the glasses to his eye. then, rising in his saddle, he gazed long and earnestly in the direction he had indicated. meanwhile his companion, also a lad, a native of kentucky, and answering to the name of bob archer, busied himself about the band of his saddle, having leaped to the ground. frank was the only son of a rancher and mine owner, colonel leonidas haywood, who was a man of some wealth. frank had blue eyes, and tawny-colored hair; and, since much of his life had been spent on the plains among the cattle men, he knew considerable about the ways of cowboys and hunters, though always ready to pick up information from veterans of the trail. bob had come to the far southwest as a tenderfoot; but, being quick to learn, he hoped to graduate from that class after a while. having always been fond of outdoor sports in his kentucky home, he was, at least, no greenhorn. when he came to the new country where his father was interested with frank's in mining ventures, bob had brought his favorite kentucky horse, a coal-black stallion known as "domino," and which vied with frank's native "buckskin" in good qualities. these two lads were so much abroad on horseback that they had become known as the "saddle boys." they loved nothing better than to ride the plains, mounted on their pet steeds, and go almost everywhere the passing whim tempted them. of course, in that wonderland there was always a chance for adventure when one did much wandering; and that frank and bob saw their share of excitement can be readily understood. some of the strange things that happened to them have already been narrated in the first volume of this series, "the saddle boys of the rockies, or, lost on thunder mountain," and which, in a way, is an introduction to the present story. in the first book the boys cleared up a wonderful mystery concerning a great cavern. for several minutes bob was busily engaged with the saddle girth that had been giving him considerable trouble on this gallop. "there," he remarked, finally, throwing down the flap as though satisfied with his work. "i reckon i've got it fixed now so that it will hold through the day; but i need a new girth, and when we pull up again at circle ranch i'll see about getting it. oh! did you make out anything with the glasses, frank?" he sprang into the saddle like one who had spent much of his time on horseback. domino curvetted and pranced a little, being still full of mettle and spirits; but a very firm hand held him in. "take the glass, and see if you can make out what it is," frank remarked, as if he hardly knew himself, or felt like trusting his eyes. a minute later bob lowered the glasses. "there's something on the ground, and i can catch a glimpse of what looks like a dun-colored hide through the tufts of buffalo grass. the yearling was red, you said, frank? all right. then i reckon we'll find her there; but not on her feet." "come on!" as he said these curt words frank let buckskin have his head; and, accompanied by his chum, started at a full gallop over the level, in the direction of the spot where the dun-colored object had been sighted. shortly afterward they topped a little rise, and pulled up. no need to doubt their eyes now. just before them lay the mangled remains of the lame yearling, very little being left to tell the story of how the animal had met its fate. "wolves!" said frank, gloomily, as he sat looking down at the torn hide. "i don't know the signs as well as you, frank, but i'd say the same from general indications. and they had a royal good feast, too. this makes a round half dozen head your father has lost in the last month, doesn't it?" asked bob. "seven, all told. when bart heminway told me he had noticed that one of those fine yearlings seemed lame, i wondered if something wasn't going to happen to it soon. and then, when we missed it from the herd last night, i guessed what had come about. they caught her behind the rest, and pulled her down. the poor thing didn't have a ghost of a show against that pack of savage wolf-dogs." "i'd like to have just one chance at them, that's all," grumbled bob, as he let his hand fondle the butt of a modern repeating rifle, which he carried fastened to his saddle. "this is sure the limit, and it's just got to stop!" declared frank, grimly. "right now?" queried his chum, eagerly. two pairs of flashing eyes met, the black ones sending a challenge toward the blue. "why not?" said frank, shutting his jaws hard, "the day is before us still; and we're well primed for the business of hunting that pack to their den. look at that bunch of rocks a few miles off; that must be where they hang out, bob! queer that none of the boys have ever thought of hunting in this quarter for that old she-wolf sallie, and her brood." "then you think she did it, do you?" asked bob. "sure she did. you can see for yourself where her jaws closed on the throat of the poor yearling. everybody knows her trademark. that sly beast has been the bane of the cattle ranches around here for several years. they got to calling her sallie in fun; but it's been serious business lately; and many a cowboy'd ride two hundred miles for a chance to knock her over." "and yet none of the rough riders have even thought to search that rocky pile for her den, you say?" bob continued. "why, you see, the killings have always been in other directions," frank explained. "just as shrewd animals often do, up to now sallie has never pulled down a calf anywhere near her den. i reckon she just knew it might cause a search. but this time she's either grown over-bold, or else the pack started to do the business in spite of her, and she was forced into the game." "well, shall we head for that elevation, and see what we can find?" asked bob, who was inclined to be a little impatient. "wait a bit. it would be ten times better if we could only track the greedy pack direct; but that's a hard proposition, here on the open," frank observed. "well, what can we do then?" his chum asked. "perhaps put it in the hands of the best trailer in arizona," and with a laugh frank pointed off to the left. the kentucky boy turned his head in surprise, and then exclaimed: "old hank coombs, on his pony, as sure as anything! you knew he was coming along all the while, and just kept mum. but i'm sure glad to see the old cowman right now. and it may turn out to be a day of reckoning for that cunning sallie, and her half grown cubs." the two lads waved their range hats, and sent out a salute that was readily answered by the advancing cowman. hank coombs was indeed a veteran in the cattle line, having been one of the very first to throw a rope, and "mill" stampeding steers in texas, and farther to the west. he was an angular old fellow, grim looking in his greasy leather "chaps;" but with a twinkle in his eyes that told of the spirit of fun that had never been quenched by the passage of time. "howdy, boys," he called out, as he drew rein alongside the two lads. "what's this here yer lookin' at? another dead calf? no, i swan if it ain't a yearling as has been pulled down now. things seem t' be gittin' t' a warm pass when sech doin' air allowed. huh! an' it looks like sallie's work, too! that sly ole critter is goin' t' git t' the end of her rope some fine day." "why not to-day, hank?" demanded frank, briskly. the veteran grinned, as though he had half anticipated having such a question asked. "so, that's the way the wind blows, hey?" he remarked, slowly; and then he nodded his small head approvingly. "jest as you say, frank, thar's no time like the present t' do things. the hull pack hes been here, i see, an' no matter how cunning old sallie allers shows herself, a chain's only as strong as th' weakest link. one of her cubs will sure leave tracks we kin foller. all right, boys count on me t' back ye up. i'll go wharever ye say, frank." "we'll follow the trail, if there is one," said frank, instantly; "but the chances are that's where we'll bring up," and he pointed with his quirt in the direction of the rocky uplift that stood like a landmark in the midst of the great level sea of purple sage brush, marking the plain. after one good look the cowman nodded his head again in the affirmative. "reckon as how y'r' right, frank," he remarked; "but we'll see how the trail heads." throwing himself from his saddle he bent down over the remains of the yearling that had been so unfortunate as to become lame, and thus, lagging far behind the rest of the herd, fallen a victim to the wolf pack. "easy as fallin' off a log," announced old hank, immediately. "jest as i was sayin', thar's nearly allers one clumsy cub as don't hev half sense; an' i kin foller this trail on horseback, 'pears to me." he ran it out a little way; then, once more mounting, went on ahead, with his keen eyes fastened on the ground. bob watched his actions with the greatest of interest. he knew old hank was discovering a dozen signs that would be utterly invisible to one who had not had many years of practice in tracking both wild animals and human beings. now and then the trailer would draw in his horse, as though desirous of looking more carefully at the ground. twice he even dropped off and bent low, to make positive his belief. "i reckon you were right, frank," remarked bob, after half an hour of this sort of travel "because, you see, even if the trail did lead away from the rocks at first, it's heading that way now on a straight line." "thet was only the cuteness of the ole wolf," said hank. "she's up t' all the dodges goin'. but that comes a day of reckonin' for all her kind; an' her's orter be showin' up right soon." when another half hour passed the three riders had reached the border of the strange pile of rocks. and as frank looked up at the rough heap, with its many crevices and angles, he considered that it certainly must offer an ideal den to any wild beast wishing to hide through the daytime, and prowl forth when darkness and night lay upon the land. "here's whar the trail ends at the rocks," said hank, as he dismounted and threw the bridle over the head of his horse, cowboy fashion, knowing that under ordinary conditions the animal would remain there, just as if hobbled, or staked out. both of the saddle boys followed his example, and, holding their rifles ready, prepared to search the rocks for some trace of the wolf den. wild animals may be very cunning about locating their retreat in a place where it will be hidden from the eye of a casual passer; but, in course of time, they cannot prevent signs from accumulating, calculated to betray its presence to one who is keenly on the watch. the three searchers had not been moving back and forth among the piles of rocks more than ten minutes when old hank was observed to raise his head, smile, and sniff the air with more or less eagerness. "must be close by, boys," he said, positively. "i kin git the rank odor that allers hangs 'round the den of wild animals as brings meat home, an' leaves the bones. the air is a-comin' from that quarter, an' chances are we'll find the hole sumwhar over yonder." "i think i see it," said frank, eagerly. "just above that little spur there's a black looking crevice in the rock." "as dark as my hat," added hank; "an' i reckon as how that's whar sallie lives when she's t' home. now t' invite ourselves int' her leetle parlor, boys!" chapter ii ridding the range of a pest "well, what do you think now, frank?" asked bob, as they stood in front of that gloomy looking crevice, and observed the marks of many claws upon the discolored rock, where hairy bodies had drawn themselves along countless times. "i'm wondering," the other replied; "what ails our boys at the ranch never to have suspected that old sallie had her den, and raised her broods, so close to the circle ranch. why, right now we're not more'n ten miles, as the crow flies, away from home. and for years this terrible she-wolf has lived on the calves and partly grown animals belonging to cattlemen in this neck of the land. it makes me tired to think of it!" "but frank, it's a long lane that has no turning," remarked bob; "and just now we've got to the bend. sallie has invited her fate once too often. that lame yearling is going to spell her finish, if old hank here has his way." "it sure is," agreed frank. "and when we get back home with the hide of that old pest fastened to a saddle, the boys will be some sore to think how anyone of the lot might have done the job, if they'd only turned this way." "but what's hank going to do?" asked the kentucky boy, watching the veteran cow-puncher searching on the ground under a stunted pinon tree that chanced to grow where there was a small bit of soil among the rocks. "i don't know for a dead certainty," replied the other; "but i rather think he's picking up some pieces of wood that might make good torches." "whew! then he means that we're to go into the cave, and get our game--is that it, frank?" demanded the other, unconsciously tightening his grip on his rifle, as he glanced once more toward that yawning crevice, leading to unknown depths, where the wolf pack lurked during the daytime to issue forth when night came around. "that would be just like the old chap, for he knows nothing of fear," frank replied; "but of course there's no necessity for _both_ of us to go with him. one might remain here, so as to knock over any stray beast that managed to escape the attention of those who went in." "all right; where will you take up your stand, frank?" asked bob, instantly; at which his chum laughed, as though tickled. "so you think i'd consent to stay out here tamely, while you two were having a regular circus in there?" he remarked. "that would never suit me. and it's easy to see that you count on a ticket of admission to sallie's parlor, too. well, then, we'll all go, and share in the danger, as well as the sport. for to rid the range country of this pest i consider the greatest favor under the sun. but there comes hank with a bundle of torches under his arm." "we're off, then!" chuckled bob. "make sure o' yer guns, lads," said the cowman, as he came up; "because, in a case like this, when ye want t' shoot it's apt t' be in a hurry. an' anybody as knows what a fierce critter ole sallie is, kin tell ye it'll take an ounce of lead, put in the right place, t' down her fur keeps." "i'm ready," frank assured the old hunter. "then, jest as soon's i kin git this flare goin' we'll push in." hank announced. "will we be able to see the game with such a poor light?" asked bob, a trifle nervously, as his mind went back to school days, to remember what he had read of that old revolutionary patriot, israel putnam, entering a wolf's den alone, and killing the beast in open fight; truth to tell bob had never seen a real den in which wild beasts hid from the sun; and imagination doubled its perils in his mind. "fust thing ye see'll be some yaller eyes starin' at ye outen the dark," said hank, obligingly. "then, when i gives the word, both of ye let go, aimin' direct atween the yaller spots." "but what if we miss, and the beast attacks us?" bob went on, wishing to be thoroughly posted before venturing into that hole. "in case of a mix-up," the veteran went on; "every feller is for hisself; only, recerlect thar mustn't be any shootin' at close quarters. use yer knives, or else swat her over the head with yer clubbed guns. we're bound t' git sallie this time, by hook er by crook! ready, son?" both boys declared that they had no reason for delaying matters. since it had been decided as best to invade the wolf den, the sooner they started, the better. true, bob thought that had it been left to him, he would have first tried to smoke out the occupants of the cleft, waiting near by to shoot them down as they rushed out of the depths. but then hank was directing matters now, and whatever he said must be done. besides, hank had known wolves ever since he first "toted" a gun, now more than fifty-five years ago. perhaps he understood how difficult it is to smoke out a pack of wolves, that invariably seek a cave with a depth sufficient to get away from all the influences of the smudge. without the slightest hesitation old hank got down on hands and knees, and began to crawl into the gaping mouth of the crevice. it did not go straight in, but seemed to twist around more or less. all the while the two boys kept close at the heels of the guide who carried that flaring torch. they watched ahead to detect the first sign of the enemy; and had their ears on the alert with the same idea in view. stronger grew the odor that invariably marks the den of carnivorous animals. "we ought to stir her up soon now, frank," whispered bob, on whom the strain was bearing hard, since he was not used to anything of this sort. "yes, unless the sly old beast has a back door to her home; how about that, hank?" asked the cattleman's son. "don't reckon as how it's so," came the ready response. "in thet event, we'd feel a breath of fresh air; an' ye knows as how we don't. stiddy boys, keep yer wits about ye! she's clost by, now!" "i heard a growl!" admitted bob. "and there were whines too, from the half grown cubs," ventured frank. "once we turn this bend just ahead, likely enough we'll be in the mess," bob remarked. "range on both sides of me, boys," directed hank, halting, so that they could overtake him; because he knew full well that the crisis of this bold invasion of the she-wolf's den was near at hand. in this fashion, then, the three turned the rocky corner. "i see the yellow eyes!" whispered bob, beginning to bring his gun-stock nearer to his shoulder. "say, there's a whole raft of 'em, frank!" "sure," came the quick reply, close to his ear. "hank said there was about five of the brood. hold your fire, bob. pick out the mother wolf first." "that's what i want to do; but how can i make sure?" demanded the kentucky lad, trying his best to keep his hands from trembling with excitement. he had sunk down upon one knee. this allowed him to rest his elbow on the knee that was in position, always a favorite attitude with bob when using a rifle. "take the eyes that are above all the rest, and which seem so much larger and fiercer. are you on, bob?" continued the other, who was also handling his gun with all the eagerness of a sportsman. "yes," came the firm reply. "then let her go!" the last word was drowned in a terrific roar, for when a gun is fired in confined space the din is tremendous. even as he pulled the trigger bob knew that luck was against him; for the animal had moved at a time when he could not delay the pressure of his finger. he heard a second report close beside him. frank had also fired, realizing what had occurred, and that in all probability the first bullet would only wound the savage beast, without putting an end to her activities. the torch went sputtering to the floor of the cave, having been knocked from the hand of hank when the wolf struck him heavily. he could be heard trying to rescue it before it went completely out, all the while letting off a volley of whoops and directions. fortunately frank had kept his wits about him. and his rifle was still gripped firmly in his hands, he having instantly pumped a new cartridge into the chamber after firing. the half grown cubs showed an inclination to follow their mother in her headlong attack on the human invaders of the den; for the numerous gleaming pairs of eyes were undoubtedly advancing when frank turned his gun loose on them. the din was simply terrific. bob was more concerned with the possibility of an attack from the ferocious mother wolf then anything else. he had lost track of her after that first furious rush, and crouching there, was trying the best he knew how to locate the creature again. meanwhile old hank had succeeded in picking up the torch, which, being held in an upright position, began to shed a fair amount of light once more. not seeing anything else at which he could fire, bob now started in to assist his chum get rid of the ugly whelps that were advancing, growling, snarling, and in various other ways proving how they had inherited the fearless nature of the beast that had nursed them in that den. perhaps it was all one-sided, since the animals never had a chance to get in touch with the invaders. neither of the boys ever felt very proud of the work; but in view of the tremendous amount of damage a pack of hungry wolves can do on a cattle ranch, or in a sheepfold, they had no scruples concerning the matter. besides, every one along the arizona border hated a wolf almost as badly as they did a cowardly coyote; for while the former may be bolder than the beast that slinks across the desert looking for carrion, its capacity for mischief is a good many times as great. "i don't see any more eyes, frank!" called out bob, presently, as he tried to penetrate the cloud of powder-smoke that surrounded both of them. "that's because we got 'em all, i reckon," replied his chum. "how about that, hank?" "cleaned the hull brood out, son," replied the other, chuckling; "an' no mistake about it either." "but where did the big one go to; has she escaped after all?" asked bob, with a note of regret in his voice; for he thought the blame would be placed on him, for having made a poor shot when he had such a splendid chance to finish the animal. "oh! i wouldn't worry myself about her, bob," chuckled frank, who had already made a discovery; and as he spoke he pointed to a spot close by, where, huddled in a heap, lay the heavy body of the fiercest cattle thief known for years along the border. "she was mortally hurted by the fust shot," said hank, as they stood over the gaunt animal, and surveyed her proportions with almost a touch of awe; "but seemed like the critter had enough strength left t' make thet leap, as nigh knocked me flat. then she jest keeled over, an' guv up the ghost. arter this the young heifers kin stray away from their mother's sides, without bein' dragged off. thar'll be a vote o' thanks sent ter ye, bob, from every ranch inside of fifty mile, 'cause of what ye did when ye pulled trigger this day." hank, being an experienced worker, did not take very long to secure the pelt of the dead terror of the desert. then they left the rocks, finding their horses just where they had left them. all of the animals showed signs of alarm when they scented the skin of the wolf; and domino in particular pranced and snorted at a great rate since his education had been neglected in this particular. so hank, having the best trained steed in the bunch, insisted on carrying the pelt with him on their return trip to the ranch. ten miles, as the crow flies, and they would be at home; and with comparatively fresh steeds, that should not count for more than an hour's gallop. before they had gone three miles, however, bob called the attention of his chum to a horseman who was galloping toward them. it was a cowboy, and he waved his broad-brimmed hat over his head as he came sweeping forward. "is he doing stunts; or does he want us?" asked bob. "it's ted conway," replied frank, with a sudden look of anxiety; "one of the steadiest boys at the ranch; and he acts as if something had happened at home!" chapter iii the floating bottle waving his hat after the extravagant manner of his kind, the cowboy swept constantly nearer the little party. indeed, it was impossible for them to guess whether ted conway bore a message, or was simply delighted to see the son of his employer, and his chum. presently he reached the constantly advancing trio, and under the pull of the reins his pony reared upon its hind legs. "what's wrong, ted?" asked frank, immediately. "wanted at the ranch, frank," came the answer. "the boss has sent me out to look you up on the jump. told me as how you started out on a gallop this way, an' i took chances. reckon i was some lucky to strike you so easy." "but what has happened, ted?" insisted the boy, trying to read the bronzed face of the other, and get a hint as to whether his mission verged on the serious or not. it was so very unusual for colonel haywood to send anyone out to find him, that frank's suspicions were naturally aroused. "well, the colonel had a little tumble with that game leg of his--same one that the steer fell on, and broke two years back, in the big round-up--" began the cowboy, when frank interrupted him. "then he must have been seriously hurt this time, or he wouldn't send you out for me. tell me the worst, ted; you ought to realize that it's better for me to know it all in the start, than by degrees. is my father dead?" "no. last i seen of the colonel, he was a real live man; only he had his leg done up agin in splints; an' the ole doc. from the arrowhead ranch was thar, 'tending to him. no, it ain't on count of his leetle trouble with that leg that made him send me out huntin' for you, frank." "what then?" demanded the boy, curtly; but with a sigh of relief, for his father was very dear to him. "thar come a messenger to the ranch a while ago, an' somethin' he fetched along with him, 'peared to excite the boss right from the word go," ted admitted. "a messenger, ted?" the boy echoed, wonderingly. "never seen him afore, an' think he kim from town," the new arrival went on to say. "leastwise, he looked like a stray maverick, an' had a b'iled shirt, with a collar that i reckoned sure would choke him. atween you an' me i tried to get him to chuck the same; but he only grinned, an' allowed he could stand it." "oh! a messenger from town, was it?" said frank, with a relieved look. "then the chances are it must have been some business connected with a shipment of cattle. perhaps the railroad has had a bad wreck, and wants to settle for that last bunch we sent away." but ted shook his head in the negative. "'t'wan't no railroad man; that i know," he affirmed, positively. "'sides, the boss was holdin' of a bottle in his hand, an' seemed to set a heap of store by it." "a bottle, ted?" cried frank, deeply interested. "that's what," replied the cowboy, energetically. "but jest why he should reckon such a thing wuth shucks i can't tell ye. but he sent me out to bring you back to the ranch house like two-forty. i seen that he was plumb locoed, and some excited by the news, whatever it might be." frank looked at his chum in a puzzled way, and shook his head. "i don't seem able to make head or tail of this business, bob," he remarked; "but there's only one thing to be done, and that's to romp home on the gallop. so away we go with a rush. who's after me! hi! get long, buckskin! it's a race for a treat of oats as a prize! here you are, bob; hit up the pace!" with the words frank gave his horse free rein, and went tearing over the level plain, headed as straight for the distant ranch as though he were a bird far up in the clear air, and could see to make a direct line "as the crow flies!" and after a time, in the distance, they saw the whitewashed outbuildings of circle ranch. frank never viewed the familiar and dearly loved scene with more anxiety than he did now; but so far as he could see there did not appear to be anything out of the ordinary taking place around the ranch house. "looks all right, bob!" exclaimed frank, as though a great load had been taken from his heart. the sudden coming of ted conway, with that queer message that meant a hurried return, had mystified the boy not a little. but he knew that all would soon be made plain now, since they were nearly home. dashing up in front of the house, the two lads jumped to the ground almost before their mounts had come to a halt. the door was open, and frank led the way in a headlong rush. as they entered he saw his father seated in his comfortable easy-chair, with that unfortunate leg, that had given him more or less trouble for two years now, propped on another seat, and bound up. there was a stranger with him, but no sign of the arrowhead ranch cowboy doctor; which would indicate that, having done his duty, the roving physician and bone-setter had returned to his regular business, which was roping and branding cattle. colonel haywood was a man in the prime of life. up to the time that clumsy steer had broken his leg he had been most active; but since then he had not been able to get around on his feet so well, though able to ride fairly comfortably. "hello! frank, my boy!" he exclaimed, as the two came rushing in. "so ted managed to round you up in great style; did he? well, i always said ted was the sharpest fellow on the range when it came to finding things. where have you been to-day?" "doing a little missionary work for the country," replied frank, smiling. "we came across that lame pet yearling, the dun-colored one you thought so much of; and there was mighty little left of the poor beast but a torn hide, not worth lifting." "huh! wolves again!" exclaimed the stock-raiser, with a frown. "sure thing, sir," frank went on. "we saw a heap of signs that told us our old friend, sallie, with the broken tooth, had been on the job again. but that was the last of our beef the old lady'll ever taste, or anybody else's, for that matter." "what's that? did you sight her, and get a shot?" demanded the pleased rancher, forgetting his broken leg in his excitement, and making a movement that immediately caused him to give a grunt, and settle back again. "old hank happened to run across our trail just then," frank continued; "and we made up our minds to track the beast to her lair. where do you suppose we found it, dad, but in the big bunch of rocks that lies about ten miles to the west?" "you surprise me; but go on, tell me the rest, and then i'm going to let you in on something that will open your eyes a little," remarked the stockman. "oh! there isn't much more to tell, dad," the boy hastened to say, for he was eager to learn what all this mystery meant. "we found the opening, easy enough, and made up our minds to crawl in after sallie, the whole three of us. so hank picked up some wood for a flare, and in we went." "and you found her home? you met with a warm reception, i warrant!" the other exclaimed, his eyes kindling with pride as he saw the quiet, confident air with which frank rattled off his story. "sallie was in, ditto five of her half-grown brood, and all full of fight," the boy continued. "but of course they didn't have a ghost of a show against our two repeating rifles. hank held the torch, and bob fired first. then the brute jumped, and nearly got hank, who lost the flare for a few seconds. we keeled over the ugly whelps as they started for us; and later on found old sallie, just as she had dropped. that big jump was her last." "well, i'm glad to hear that, son," declared the rancher, who had suffered long and seriously from the depredations of that sly animal and her various broods, despite all efforts to locate her, and put an end to her attacks. "i'm glad you're pleased with what we did," frank remarked. "it will mean a lot to all honest ranchmen in this section," continued the cattleman. "with sallie gone, we can hope to raise a record herd the coming season, without keeping men constantly on the watch, day and night, for a slinking thief that defied our best efforts. shake hands, bob, and let me congratulate you on making the shot that ended the loping of the worst pest this country has known in five years." "but when ted came whirling along, shouting, and waving his hat, to tell us you wanted me back home on the jump, it gave me a bad feeling, dad; especially when i heard that you'd gone and hurt that leg again!" frank cried, as he, too, seized the other hand of his father, and squeezed it affectionately. "but i told ted to be sure and let you know that it was not on account of my new upset that i wanted you back," declared the ranchman, frowning. "yes, he delivered the message all right, dad; but all the same i was bothered a heap, let me tell you," frank went on. "and now, please, tell us what it's all about; won't you; and what this gentleman has to do with it; also the bottle ted said you were handling?" at that colonel haywood smiled, and looked up at the stranger. "this is a mr. hinchman, frank," he remarked. "he lives in a small place on the great colorado river called mohave city. and one day, not long ago, a man who was fishing on the river at a place where an eddy set in, found a curious bottle floating, that was sealed with red wax on the top, and seemed to contain only a piece of paper. this is the bottle," and as he spoke he opened a drawer of the desk, and drew out the flask in question. frank took it, and turned it around. so far as he could see it was an ordinary bottle. it contained no cork, but there were signs of sealing wax around the top. "mr. hinchman, is, i believe," the ranchman went on, "though he has been too modest to say so himself, a gentleman of some importance in mohave city, which accounted for the fisherman fetching his queer find to him. the bottle had evidently come down the great river, perhaps for one or two hundred miles, escaping destruction from contact with rocks in a marvelous manner, and finally falling into the hands of one who had both the time and the curiosity to examine its sealed contents." colonel haywood thereupon took up a small piece of paper from the pad of the desk. "this is what he found in the bottle, frank," continued the stockman. "it bore my address, and the name of my ranch here; so thinking that it might be something more than a practical joke he concluded to journey all the way across the country to see me. it was a mighty nice thing for mr. hinchman to do, and something i am not apt to forget in a hurry, either." "then the paper interested you, dad, it seems?" frank remarked, eagerly. "it certainly did, son, and i rather think you will feel the same as i did when i tell you whose name is written at the bottom of this little communication," the cattleman went on. "all right, i'm ready to hear it," frank remarked, laughingly. "felix oswald!" replied his father, quickly. the boy was indeed intensely surprised, if one could judge from his manner. "your uncle felix, dad, who has been gone these three years, and whose mysterious disappearance set the whole scientific world guessing. and you say his name is there, signed to that paper found in the sealed bottle? well, you sure have given me a surprise. then he's still alive?" "he seemed to be when he wrote this," the cattleman said, reflectively; "but as he failed to put any date on it, we can only guess how long the bottle has been cruising down the colorado, sucked into eddies that might hold it for weeks or months, until a rise in the river sent it forth again." "say, doesn't that beat everything you ever heard of, bob?" declared frank, turning to his chum. "it certainly does," replied bob, and then the ranchman's boy continued: "perhaps you remember me telling you some things about this queer old uncle of dad's, bob, and how, after he had made a name for himself, he suddenly vanished in a night, leaving word behind that he was going to study the biggest subject any man could ever tackle. and as he didn't want to be bothered, he said he would leave no address behind. they've looked for him all over europe, asia and africa, but he was never heard from again. and now to think that he's sent word to dad; and in a sealed bottle too!" "that looks as if he must be somewhere on the colorado river, don't it?" suggested bob. "undoubtedly," replied the stockman; "in fact, in this brief communication he admits that he is located somewhere along the grand canyon, in a place where travelers have as yet never penetrated. i can only guess that uncle felix must have been seized with a desire to unearth treasures that might tell the history of those strange old cliff dwellers, who occupied much of that country as long as eight hundred years ago. all he mentions about his hiding place is to call it echo cave. you never heard of such a place, did you, mr. hinchman; and you've lived on the lower river many years?" "i never did, colonel," replied the man from mohave city; "and perhaps few people have climbed through that wonderful gash in the surface of the arizona desert as many times as i have." "in this brief note," continued colonel haywood, "uncle felix simply says that he has become aware of the passage of time; and since his labors are not yet completed, and he does not wish to allow his friends to believe him dead, he has concluded to communicate with me, his nephew. and as he knew of no other way of doing so, he resorted to the artifice of the floating bottle." "mighty considerate of him, that's sure," chuckled frank. "been gone now two or three years, and suddenly remembers that there are people who might worry about his dropping out of sight." "but son," remarked the stockman, "don't forget that uncle felix is wrapped up in his profession, and cares very little about the ties of this world. i know him well enough for that. but it happens, singularly enough, that just now it is of the greatest importance he should be found, and communicated with. i would undertake the task myself, only for this unfortunate break that is bound to keep me laid up for another month or two. the doctor set my leg afresh, and tells me that this time i will really get perfectly well, given time. but it's hard to think that my cousin janice, his only child, will lose so great a sum if some one fails to locate uncle felix, and get his signature to a paper inside of another month." "why, how is that, father?" asked frank. "circumstances have arisen that will throw a fortune into her hands;" the stockman continued; "but the time limit approaches, and if his signature is not forthcoming others will reap the benefit, particularly that rascally cousin of mine, eugene warringford. you remember meeting him a year ago, frank, when he came around asking many questions, as though he might have tracked his uncle out this way, and then lost the trail?" "why not send us, dad?" demanded frank, standing up in front of the stockman, with a smile of confidence on his face. chapter iv the listener under the window "that was what i had in mind, frank, when i hurried ted conway out to find you both," colonel haywood remarked, his face filled with pride and confidence. "will you let me see the note, please?" asked bob; who expected some day to study to be a lawyer, his father's family having had several kentucky judges among their number. just as the owner of the ranch had said, the communication was exceedingly brief, and to the point, not an unnecessary word having been written. it was in pencil, and the handwriting was crabbed; just what one might expect of an elderly man, given over heart and soul to scientific research. "i suppose you know the writing well enough to feel sure this came from your noted uncle, sir?" asked bob, as he turned the paper over. "certainly, bob," replied the cattleman, promptly. "there is not the least possibility of it's being a practical joke. nobody out here knows anything about my uncle, who disappeared so long ago. yes, you can set it down as positive that the letter is genuine enough. he's located somewhere up in that most astonishing hole, the greatest wonder, most people admit, in the entire world. but just how you two boys are ever going to find him is another question." "we can try, dad; and that's all you could do if you were able to tramp. it happens that the grand canyon isn't more than a hundred and thirty miles from our ranch here, and we can ride that in a few days. how do you feel about it, bob?" "nothing would please me better," replied the other boy, quickly, his face lighting up with delight at the prospect of a long ride in the saddle, to be followed by days, and perhaps weeks, of roaming through that wonderland, where nature had outdone all her other works in trying to heap up astonishing surprises. "so far as i'm concerned," frank went on, "i've always wanted to visit the grand canyon, and meant to do it some day later on. of course i've seen what the little colorado has to show, because it's only a long day's ride off. mr. hinchman can, i reckon, give us some points about the place, and maybe even mention several smaller canyons where we might be likely to find uncle felix in echo cave." "which i'll be only too happy to attempt," answered the gentleman from mohave city; "and as i said before, i know considerable about the mysteries of the big hole in the desert, all of which is at your service. somehow, the queer way that message in the floating bottle came to me, excited my curiosity; and i'll be satisfied if i can only have a hand in the finding of the noted gentleman who, as your father has been telling me, vanished in the midst of his fame." "and now, dad, please explain just what we are to do in case luck follows us in our hunt, and we run across the professor," said frank. "you are to explain to him that the long option which he held on that san bernardino mine will expire in one more month. the work had been going on in a listless way for three years. all at once some time back they struck a wonderfully rich lode, and vein has been followed far enough to show that it is bound to be a record breaker." "that sounds great!" declared the deeply interested bob. "the mine couldn't be bought for a million to-day," continued the stockman; "and yet uncle felix is probably carrying around with him (for it couldn't be found at his home) a little legal document whereby it will become his sole property in case he chooses to plank down the modest sum of twenty thousand dollars by the thirtieth of next month!" "whew! that's going some, eh, bob?" exclaimed frank, with a little whistle that accentuated his surprise. "then if we are fortunate enough to find uncle felix before that time has expired, what shall we do, sir?" asked the precise bob, who was always keeping an eye out for the legal aspect of things. "coax him to accompany you to the nearest notary public, where he can sign his acceptance of the terms under which he holds the option on the san bernardino. but if this happens after the thirtieth it is all wasted energy; for at midnight of that day, i happen to know, the option expires," the ranchman continued, somewhat impressively. just as he finished speaking he suddenly turned toward the window, at which his keen vision had caught sight of a moving shadow, as though someone might have been crouching without, and listening. "who is there at the window?" he called out, sternly. all eyes were turned that way. after several seconds had passed a figure rose up, and a head was thrust through the opening. it belonged to a dark-faced cow-puncher, named abajo, who was supposed to be a half-breed mexican. although never a favorite with the owner of the circle ranch, abajo was a first-class handler of the rope, and could ride a horse as well as anyone. he had been employed by colonel haywood for half a year. he talked "united states," as frank was used to saying, as well as the average cowman. but frank had never liked the fellow. there seemed something crafty in his ways that was foreign to the make-up of the boy. "it's only me, boss," said abajo, with an attempt at a grin. "i wanted to ask you about that job you set me on yesterday. i took pete along, and we found the lost bunch of stock in a valley ten mile away from thunder mountain in the fox canyon country. got 'em all safe in but seven. never seen hair nor hide of them; but after gettin' back it struck me there was one place they might a strayed to that we didn't look up. if so be you say the word i'll pick up pete again, and make another try." "why, of course you had better go, abajo," remarked the stockman, looking keenly at the other, for he did not like the way in which the half-breed had been apparently loitering under that open window, as though listening to all that was passing in the room beyond. "i told you not to draw rein till you'd found all the missing stock; or knew what had become of them. that's all, abajo." the mexican cowboy hurried away. a minute later and they heard him shouting to pete; and then the clatter of horses' hoofs told that the pair were galloping wildly across the open. "i wonder how much he heard?" said frank; from which it would appear that he also suspected the other of having spied upon them for some purpose. "much good it could have done him, even if he caught all we said," replied his father. "because, of course, he doesn't know anything about uncle felix; and couldn't be interested in whether he is living or dead." "no," remarked mr. hinchman, "but the mention of a mine going a-begging that is worth a comfortable fortune, like a million or two, would interest abajo. i know his type pretty well, and you can rest assured that they're always on the lookout for easy money." "but didn't it strike you, dad," ventured frank, "that his excuse for being under that window was silly?" "yes, because abajo has always been able to understand, without asking what he should do under such conditions. he wanted some excuse for drawing near the open window, and he found it. perhaps he's heard something about the coming of mr. hinchman here, and the queer finding of the bottle that floated down the colorado for one or two hundred miles. i spoke to the foreman, bart heminway, about it." "when would you want us to make a start?" asked bob, looking as though he might be ready to jump into his saddle then and there. "oh! there is no such rushing hurry as all that," replied the cattleman, laughing at the eagerness of the two lads. "your horses are a bit off, just now, and after all that fight in the wolf den you boys need a rest." "but when do we start?" asked frank. "suppose you get ready to move in the morning," colonel haywood replied, after reflecting a moment. "that will give me time to write a letter to uncle felix, so that you can deliver it, if you're lucky enough to find his echo cave; and at the same time you can make up your packs; for you will need blankets, and plenty of grub along." "well, i reckon you're right, dad," admitted frank; "only it seems as if we might be losing valuable time. all the same we're going to do just what you say. now, if you haven't anything more to tell us, we'll just skip out, and begin looking up some of the supplies for our campaign in the grand canyon." "get along with you, then," laughed the ranchman. "i want to ask mr. hinchman a few more questions that have occurred to me since you came home. and, boys, grub will be ready in a short time, now, for there's ah sin stepping to the door every little while, to look around and see if the boys are in sight. you know what that sign means." frank and his chum went off, to make out a list of things they would take along with them on the strange expedition upon which they were about to start on the following morning. "what do you think of that slippery customer, abajo?" bob asked his chum, as the afternoon waned, and they were sitting on the long porch of the ranch house. "i've never liked him ever since he came here; but dad was in need of help, and the half-breed certainly knows his business to a dot," replied frank, who was examining the new girth his chum had attached to his saddle, mentally deciding that whatever the young kentuckian attempted, he did neatly and well. "didn't i hear something about his being a relative to that spanish joe who gave us so much trouble a little while back, on thunder mountain?" bob continued. "well, i couldn't say for sure, but some say he is a nephew," frank answered. "both of them have mexican blood in their veins; and, when you come to think of it, there is some resemblance in their faces." "but do you really think abajo was listening?" the other asked. "it looked like it; that's as far as i've got," laughed frank. "but," bob protested, "even if he knew that there was a big fortune connected with the paper this queer old professor carries on his person, what good would that do abajo?" frank shrugged his broad shoulders as he replied: "well, you never can tell what crazy notions some of these schemers after a fortune will hatch up. he might make up his mind to start a little hunt for the hermit of echo cave on his own hook; with the idea of getting a transfer of that valuable paper." "that's a fact!" declared bob, looking interested. "perhaps, after all, we won't have our work cut out for us as easy as we thought." "small difference that will make," frank went on, with a shutting of his teeth that told of the spirit animating the boy when difficulties hove in sight. "i agree with you, all right, frank," his companion remarked. "and perhaps it'll only make the hunt all the more interesting if we believe we've got opposition. you know how it was when peg grant threw his hat in the ring, and tried to find out what made those queer sounds in the heart of thunder mountain?" "sure i do," came the quick reply. "it stirred us up to doing bigger stunts than if we'd thought we had it all our own way. nothing like competition to get the best out of any fellow." "correct you are, frank. but speaking of abajo, perhaps that's him coming back now," and as he spoke the kentucky boy pointed across to a point where a single rider could be seen heading for the ranch house. he was still far away, but the eyes of frank haywood were very keen. besides, he knew the "style" of every cowboy who was in the employ of his father, and was able to pick them out almost as far as he could see them. "you're away off there, bob," he remarked quietly. "then it isn't the half-breed?" asked his chum. "i know the way that chap sits in the saddle," came the reply. "only one man on the pay roll of circle ranch holds himself that way. it's pete." "pete rawlings, the fellow who went with abajo to round up the missing cattle?" asked bob. "he's the one," frank went on. "and from the fact that he rides alone, i take it he's bringing news." "of the seven head of cattle that have disappeared, you mean, frank?" "perhaps. they may have found them, and abajo is standing by, while pete comes in to make some sort of report. there's that rustler bunch that comes from the other side of the gila river once in a while, under pedro mendoza, you remember. but he'll soon be on deck, and then we'll know. come along, bob, and we'll let dad hear that pete is sighted. he'll be interested some, i reckon." a short time later the single rider threw himself from his saddle after the usual impetuous manner of cowboys in general. "back again, pete; and did you see anything of that seven head?" asked colonel haywood, who had come outside. "ain't run across hair nor hide of 'em, colonel," replied the squatty cattleman, as he "waddled" up to the spot where the little group awaited his coming; for like many of his kind, pete was decidedly bow-legged, possibly from riding a horse all his life; and his walk somewhat resembled that of a sailor ashore after a long cruise. "where did you leave abajo?" asked frank, unable to restrain his curiosity. "didn't leave him," replied the other, with a grin. "he gave me the merry ha! ha! and said as how he reckoned he'd had enough of the old circle. got his month's pay yesterday, you see, an' he's even. i reckoned somethin' was in the wind when i seen him talkin' with that feller." "who was that, pete?" questioned colonel haywood; and the prompt answer made frank and bob exchange significant looks, for it seemed to voice their worst fears. "a gent as you had avisitin' here some time back, colonel. reckon as how he don't feel any too warm toward you, accordin' to the way he used to bring them black brows of his'n down, when he thought you wa'n't lookin'. and his name was eugene warringford." chapter v starting for the grand canyon no one appeared to be greatly surprised at this piece of news. apparently it had been already discounted in the mind of frank, his father, and even bob archer. "so, that's the way the wind sets, is it?" remarked the colonel, frowning. "anyhow, dad, that proves one thing," declared frank. "meaning about that business of listening under the window?" observed the owner of circle ranch. "it certainly does. abajo has been in the employ of eugene warringford from the start. but there must have been some other good reason why that schemer wanted to find uncle felix. he suspected that, sooner or later, the old gentleman would communicate with me, because i used to be quite a favorite of his, years ago." "yes, and he sent the half-breed here to get employment from you just to spy around," declared frank. "all the time he was accepting your money, he had a regular income from eugene." "oh! well, he earned all he got here," said the ranchman, quickly. "say what i may about abajo, he had no superior when it came to throwing the rope, and rounding up a herd. those mexicans make the finest of cowboys. they are at home in the saddle, every time." "also in hanging around under windows, and listening to what is said," added frank. "as for me, i have little use for their breed. and, dad, if ever you give me the reins here, no mexican will ever get a job on old circle ranch." "well," remarked the stockman, laughing at the vigor with which his son and heir made this assertion, "perhaps i'm leaning that way myself. after all, there's nothing like your own kind. we don't understand these fellows. their ways are not the same as ours; and i reckon we puncture their pride often enough. but there's no trouble now about understanding why abajo gave us the go-by to-day." "huh! he had some news worth while carrying to his boss," said frank. "and i can just imagine how eugene's little eyes will sparkle when he hears about that valuable paper; eh, dad?" "you're right, son," the ranchman replied. "because, it stands to reason he couldn't know anything about it before. the mine was a dead one up to a few months back, when that lucky-find lode was struck by accident. eugene will put up a big chase to find this echo cave, now that he knows uncle felix is located somewhere in the grand canyon of the colorado." "but it won't make a bit of difference in our plans, dad; will it?" asked frank. "that depends on you two boys. if you think you can carry the game along, even with eugene against you, i see no reason to make any change," the stockman replied, with a look that spoke of much confidence. the balance of the afternoon was spent in exchanging views, and much study of the map of the famous canyon of the colorado, which it happened the ranch owner had in his desk. all sorts of theories were advanced by first one and then another of the group. it happened that colonel haywood himself had never as yet paid a visit to the strange gash in the soil of northwestern arizona; and he admitted the fact with a rueful face. "then just as soon as you get well, dad, make up your mind you're going to take a little vacation, and see the grand canyon," said frank. "when we come back, perhaps what we have to say will set you wild to go. and we expect to bring news of old uncle felix too, if he's still in the land of the living." "let's go over that ground again," remarked bob. "now you're referring to what was said about the funny old stone dwellings of the cliff dwellers, who used to live there centuries ago," remarked frank. "and he's right, too," declared the ranchman. "i get the point bob makes. it was about these wonderful people that uncle felix was so deeply interested, and he made up his mind to shut himself away from all the world, just to study up their history, as left in the holes in the rock." "and it would seem to follow, then," said bob, readily, "that he will be found located in one of those series of terraces where these holes are discovered. i notice that there are a number of these villages connected with the map of the grand canyon; but the chances are your uncle felix wouldn't take up with any where tourist travel was common." "now, that sounds all right," admitted frank. "in the first place he would have been heard from long ago, if tourists ran across him; because they always talk, and send their accounts to be published in the papers." "besides, these scientific men hate to be watched when they're wrapped up in work like this. i've known a couple back in old kentucky," bob went on. "according to your idea, then," said the colonel, nodding approvingly, "this echo cave he mentions will prove to be some new place that the ordinary tourist in the big canyon has never set eyes on?" "that's my opinion, sir," replied bob. "and if that's so, then it wouldn't pay you boys to waste any time looking into these ruins of the homes of the cliff dwellers located around grand view; and in walnut canyon, some nine miles from flagstaff," the ranchman continued. "i think we'd save more or less time that way, sir," bob declared. "and you still want to go on horseback; when you might reach the railroad, and take a train, easily enough?" asked colonel haywood. the boys exchanged glances. they were wedded to the saddle, and disliked the idea of leaving their favorite steeds behind them when embarking on this new venture. "we've picked out the trail we expect to follow, dad," frank said, pleadingly; "and it seems to run pretty smooth, with only a few mountains to cross, and a couple of rivers to ford. if you don't object seriously, bob and i would prefer to go mounted." "oh! as far as that goes, i don't blame you, boys," the stockman hastened to say in reply; for he could understand the yearning one feels for a favorite horse; and how a seat in the saddle seems to be the finest thing in the world. "thank you, dad!" exclaimed frank. "i reckoned that you'd talk that way. somehow or other i just don't feel more'n half myself out of the saddle. and when we start to go down into the canyon we can find some place to leave our mounts where they'll be 'tended decently enough." ah sin, the chinese cook of the ranch, who generally accompanied the boys when the whole outfit went on the grand round-up, with the mess wagon in attendance, now came outdoors, and beat his gong to announce dinner. the cowboys were not far away, awaiting the summons with the customary range appetites held in check; and when they were seated at the table they presented a merry crowd. frank's mother happened to be visiting east at this time. he had a maiden aunt, however, who looked after the household duties, and sat at the end of the long table to pour the coffee. of course there was more or less talk about the sudden flitting of the half-breed, abajo. nobody had any regrets, for he had never been liked. and there were several who secretly felt pleased, because they had happened to quarrel with the dark-skinned mexican at different times, and did not altogether fancy the way he had of scowling, while his finger felt the edge of the knife he carried in his gay sash, after the manner of his countrymen. colonel haywood did not see fit to explain the real cause for the going of abajo, except to his foreman, bart heminway. but during the evening, when frank and bob were making up their packs so as to get an early start in the morning, the ranch owner might have been seen in earnest consultation with the foreman. presently bart went out, to return with old hank coombs, and another cowman known as chesty lane; who had of course received this name on account of the way he thrust out his figure, rather than from any inclination on his part to boast of his wonderful deeds. "chesty tells me, colonel," said bart, "that he used to be a guide in this same grand canyon, years ago. i never knowed it 'till right to-day. and if so be you intend to send old hank up thar to keep tabs on the doings of that ugly pair, abajo and warringford, thar couldn't be a better man to pick out than chesty. you can depend on him every time." then followed another conference, of which the two boys, wrapped up in their own plans in another room, were of course entirely ignorant. it was decided, however, that the two cowmen should wait until the boys were well on their way. then, supplied with ample funds, they could ride to the nearest station, meet the first train bound north, and be at flagstaff before night came around. in this way the colonel figured that he was safeguarding the interests of bob and frank. already had he begun to regret allowing them to go, and if it had not been for the high regard he had for his word, once given, he might have backed down. however, perhaps the sending of hank and his companion might answer the purpose, and prove a valuable move. the night passed, and with early dawn there was a stir all about circle ranch. every cowboy on the place accompanied frank and bob several miles on their long journey, every fellow wishing he had been asked to join them for the adventure. and when bart hemingway gave the word to turn back, the entire group waved their hats, and cheered as long as the two lads remained within hearing. chapter vi buckskin on guard "a good day's ride, all right, bob!" "you never said truer words, frank. and now, with night setting in, how far do you think we've covered since the start this morning?" the kentucky boy sat in his saddle with a slight show of weariness, which was not to be wondered at, considering the steadiness with which they had kept on the move, hour after hour, heading in a general westerly direction. the satin skin of domino was flecked with foam. even the tough little buckskin mount of frank showed signs of weariness; though ready to keep on if his master gave the word. "that would be hard to tell," replied the rancher's son; "but it must be all of sixty-five miles, i reckon." "then that beats my record some," declared the other. "but it was a glorious gallop all the way through," asserted frank. "that's what; and more to follow to-morrow," his chum hastened to remark. "but a different kind of travel, the chances are, bob. to-day it happened that we were crossing the great mesa, and it was like a floor for being level. over yonder, ahead, you can see the mountains we must cross. then there are rivers to ford or swim. yes, variety is the spice of life; and unless i miss my guess we're due for a big change to-morrow." "think we can make flagstaff by to-morrow night?" asked the kentucky lad, who, at a time like this, seemed to depend very much upon the superior knowledge of his chum, who had been brought up on the plains. "we're going to make a try; that's as far as i've got," laughed frank. "but what about camping here?" "as good as anywhere," answered bob. "fact is, i'm admitting to being ready to drop down in any old place, so long as i can stretch my legs, and roll. no wonder a horse likes to turn over as soon as you take the saddle off. shall we call it a go, frank?" the other jumped to the ground. bob thought he heard him give a little grunt in doing so; but just then he was interested in repressing his own feelings. however, when they had moved about somewhat, both boys confessed to feeling considerably better. as for the horses, there was no danger of their straying after that gallop of many hours in the hot sun. they took their roll, and then began hunting for stray tufts of grass among the buffalo berry bushes. the sun had already set, and twilight told of the coming night. around them lay the mesa, with the mountains cropping up like a crust along the edge. it was a familiar scene, to frank in particular, and one of which he never tired. "i noticed some jack rabbits as we came along," remarked bob, "and as they always come out of their burrows about dusk to play, suppose i try and knock over a couple right now." "wouldn't object myself to a good dinner of rabbit, after that ride," frank admitted, as he proceeded to get the little tent in position, a task that was only a pleasure to a boy fond of all outdoors. so bob immediately sauntered off toward the spot where he had noticed the long-eared animals, calculated to make a good meal for hungry campers. "i heard gophers whistling," called out frank, "and that means there's a village somewhere close by. keep your eyes out for the rattlers; they are always found where prairie dogs live." "i never forget that, frank," came back from the disappearing hunter. frank went on with his preparations. a fire would be necessary, if they expected to cook fresh meat; and it is not always an easy thing to have such when out on the open plain or mesa. but frank had already sighted a supply of fuel sufficient for their needs and it was indeed next door to a miracle to find the dead branch of a pine tree here, far away from the mountains, where the nearest trees seemed to grow. "i reckon it was just lifted up in some little tornado, and carried through the air, just to land where we needed it," he remarked, as he dragged the log closer to where he had quickly put up the tent; and then began chopping at it with his little camp hatchet. as he worked there came a quick report from a point not far away. "that means one jack," he remarked, raising his head to listen; but to his surprise no second shot followed. "well, if he hopes to get a pair, he'll have to hurry up his cakes," frank went on; "because the night's settling down on us fast. but then one will give us a taste all around, and help out." it was some little time before he heard bob coming, and then the kentuckian seemed to be walking rather unsteadily. frank jumped to his feet, with the suspicion that possibly after all bob had met with a misfortune. in the minute of time that he was waiting for his chum to appear, a number of things flashed through his head to give him uneasiness. had bob been unlucky enough to run across one of those aggressive little prairie rattlesnakes after all? could he have wounded himself in any way when he fired his repeating rifle? neither of these might prove to be the case; and yet bob was certainly staggering as he came along. now he could be seen by the light of the little fire. frank stared, for his chum was certainly bending over, as though bearing a load. he had heard no outcry that would signify the presence of others in the neighborhood. ah! surely those were the long slender legs of an antelope which bob gripped in front of him. "bully for you!" exclaimed frank. "where under the sun did you run across that fine game? say, you sure take the cake, stepping out just to knock over a couple of long-ears; and then coming back ten minutes later with a fine antelope on your back. how did you do it, bob?" "i don't know," laughed the other. "happened to start up against the wind, and was creeping up behind some buffalo berry bushes to see if there were any jack rabbits beyond, when this little fellow jumped to his feet. why he didn't light out when we came along, i never could tell you." "oh! he just knew we wanted a good supper, i reckon," frank remarked. "and now to get busy." it did not take them long to cut some choice bits from the antelope, which they began to cook at the fire, thrusting the meat through with long splinters of wood, which in turn were held in a slanting position in the ground. when one part gave evidence of being browned the novel spit was turned until all sides had been equally served. "remember the way old hank showed us how to toll antelope for a shot, when you can't find cover to get near enough?" asked frank, as they sat there, disposing of their supper, with the satisfaction hunger always brings in its train. "you mean with the red handkerchief waved over the top of a bush?" bob went on. "hank said there never was a more curious little beast than an antelope. if he didn't have a red rag a white one would do. once he said he just lay down on his back and kicked his heels in the air. the game ran away, but came back; and each time just a little bit closer, till hank could fire, and get his supper. i've done something the same for ducks, in a marsh back home, trying to draw their attention to the decoys i had out." a small stream ran near by, at which the boys and horses had quenched their thirst. sometimes its gentle murmur floated to their ears as they sat there, chatting, and wondering whether their mission to the grand canyon was destined to bear fruit or not. "i can get the smell of some late wild roses," remarked frank. "and it isn't often that you find such things up on one of these high mesas, or table lands. do you know, i rather imagine this used to be a favorite stamping ground for buffalo in those good old days when herds of tens of thousands could be met with, rolling like the waves of a sea over the plains." "what makes you think so?" asked bob, always seeking information. "the grass, for one thing," came the reply. "then i noticed quite a few old sun-burned remnants of skulls as we came along. the bone hunter didn't gather his crop in this region, that means. besides, didn't you see all those queer little indentations that looked as though they might have been pools away back years ago?" "sure, i did; and wondered whatever could have made them," bob admitted. "i may be wrong," frank continued; "but somehow i've got an idea that those must be what they used to call buffalo wallows. anyhow, that doesn't matter to us. we've made a good day of it; found a jim-dandy place for a camp; got some juicy fresh meat; and to-morrow we hope to land in flagstaff." "and what then?" queried bob. "we'll decide that while we ride along to-morrow," frank answered. "perhaps it may seem better that we leave our horses there, and take the train for the grand canyon; though i'm inclined to make another day of it, and follow the old wagon trail over the mesa, and through the pine forest past red butte, to grand view." "listen to buckskin snorting; what d'ye suppose ails him?" asked bob, as his chum stopped speaking. "i was just going to say that myself," remarked frank, putting out his hand for his rifle; and at the same time scattering the brands of the dying fire so that darkness quickly fell upon the spot. "too late, i'm afraid," muttered bob. "seems like it, because the horses are sure coming straight for us," said frank; "but there are many people moving around in this section, and perhaps some tenderfeet from the east have lost themselves, and would be glad of a chance to sit by our blaze and taste antelope meat, fresh where it is grown. step back, bob, and let's wait to see what turns up!" chapter vii standing by the law "what had we ought to do?" asked bob. "they must have seen our fire, and that's what made them head this way. so, all we can do is to wait, and see what they want," replied frank. "but there don't seem to be many in the party," his chum went on. "i think not more than two, bob." "you can tell from the beat of their horses' hoofs--is that it?" inquired the boy who wanted to learn. "yes, it's easy enough, bob." by this time the sounds had grown quite loud, and both boys strained their eyes, trying to locate the approaching horsemen. in the old days on the plains every stranger was deemed an enemy until he had proven himself a friend. nowadays it is hardly so positive as that; but nevertheless those who are wise take no chances. "i see them!" bob announced; but although the other saddle boy had not said so, he had picked up the advancing figures several seconds before. "one thing sure," remarked frank, as though relieved, "i reckon they can't be horse thieves or cattle rustlers." "you mean they wouldn't be so bold about coming forward?" ventured bob. "that's about the size of it; but we'll soon know," frank went on. as the strangers drew rapidly nearer he began to make out their "style" for the night was not intensely dark. and somehow frank's curiosity increased in bounds. he discovered no signs of the customary cowboy outfit about them. they wore garments that savored of civilization, and sat their horses with the air of men accustomed to much riding. "hold hard there, strangers; or you'll be riding us down!" frank sang out, as the newcomers loomed up close at hand. at that the others drew rein, and brought their horses to a halt. bending low in the saddle they seemed to be peering at the dimly-seen figures of the two boys. "who is it--speak quick!" one of the strangers said; and frank believed he heard a suspicious click accompanying the thrilling words. "two boys bound for flagstaff and the grand canyon," he answered, not wishing to take any unnecessary chances. "where from, and what's your names?" continued the other, in his commanding voice, that somehow told frank he must be one accustomed to demanding obedience. the ranch boy no longer felt any uneasiness. he believed that these men were not to be feared. "i am the son of colonel haywood, owner of the circle ranch; and this is my chum, bob archer, a kentucky boy," he said, boldly. then the other man, who as yet had not spoken, took occasion to remark: "'taint them, after all, stanwix! perhaps we've been following the wrong trail." the name gave frank an idea. he had heard more or less about the doings of a sheriff in a neighboring county, called yavapai, and his name was the same as that mentioned by the second dimly seen rider. "are you gentlemen from prescott?" he asked. "that's where i hold out when i'm home," replied the one who had asked about their identity. "are you sheriff stanwix?" pursued the boy, while his companion almost held his breath in suspense. "i am; and this is hand, who holds the same office in this county of coconino," replied the other, as he threw a leg over his saddle as though about to dismount. both of them joined the boys, leaving their horses to stand with the bridles thrown over their heads, cowboy fashion. frank meanwhile had picked up some small fuel, and thrown it on the still smouldering fire. it immediately started up into a blaze that continued to increase. they could now see that their visitors were two keen-eyed men. the evidence of their calling lay in the stars that decorated their left breasts. both looked as though they could hold their own against odds. and of course they were armed as became their dangerous profession. bob was especially interested. he had never really had anything to do with an officer of the law; and surveyed the pair with all the ardor of boyish curiosity. to see one sheriff was a treat; but to have two drop down upon them after this fashion must be an event worth remembering. "we had the good luck to knock over a young antelope just before dark," frank remarked, after each of the men had insisted in gravely shaking hands with both himself and bob. "perhaps you haven't had any supper, and wouldn't mind taking pot luck with us?" "how about that, hand?" questioned the taller man, turning with a laugh to the second sheriff. "just suits me," came the reply, as the speaker threw himself down on the hard ground. "half an hour's rest will do the hosses some good, too." "thank you, boys, we accept, and with pleasure," mr. stanwix went on, turning again toward frank. bob immediately got busy, and started to cut further bits from the carcase of his small antelope. there would be plenty for even the healthy appetites of the two officers, and then leave enough for the boys' breakfast. "we're in something of a hurry to get on to flagstaff ourselves, boys," the yavapai sheriff remarked, as he sniffed the cooking venison with relish; "but the temptation to hold over a bit is too strong. you see, hand and myself have just made up our minds to bag our birds this trip, no matter where it takes us, or how long we're on the job." "then you're after some cattle rustlers or bad men, i reckon," frank remarked. "a couple of the worst scoundrels ever known around these diggings," replied the officer. "they've been jumping from one county into another, when pushed; and in the end hand, here, and myself concluded we'd just join our forces. we've got a posse to the south, and another working to the north; but we happened to strike the trail of our birds just before dusk, and we've been following it in hopes of reaching flagstaff before they can get down into the gash, and hide." "a trail, you say?" frank observed. "could it have been the one i've been following just out of curiosity, and because it seemed to run in the very direction my chum and myself were bound?" "that's just what it was, frank," the sheriff answered, as he accepted the hot piece of browned venison, stick and all, which bob was holding out. "we saw that there had come into the trail the marks of two new hosses; and naturally enough we got the idea that it might mean our men were being followed by a couple of their own kind." "then when you saw our little fire, you thought we were the kind of steers you wanted to round up?" the boy asked. "oh! well," mr. stanwix replied with a little chuckle; "we kept a touch on our irons when i was asking you who you were; and if the reply hadn't been all that it was, i reckon we'd have politely asked you to throw up your hands, boys. but say, this meat is prime, and seems to go to the spot." "i don't know which spot you mean, stanwix," remarked the other officer, who was also munching away like a half-starved man; "but mine suits me all right. i'm right glad we stopped. the rest will tone the nags up for a long pull; and as for me, i'll be in great shape after this feed." bob was kept busy cooking more and more, for the two men seemed to realize, after once getting a taste, that they were desperately hungry. but he did it with pleasure. there was something genial about the manner of mr. stanwix that quite captured the heart of the kentucky lad. he knew the tall man could be as gentle as a woman, if the occasion ever arose when he had a wounded comrade to nurse; and if his reputation did not speak wrongly his courage was decidedly great. while they sat there the two men talked of various subjects. frank was curious to know something about those whom they were now banded together in a determined effort to capture, and so mr. stanwix told a few outlines of the case. the men were known as the arizona kid and big bill guffey. they had been cattlemen, miners, and about every other thing known to the southwest. by degrees they had acquired the reputation of being bad men; and all sorts of lawless doings were laid at their door. and finally it came to defying the sheriff, evading capture by flitting to another county, and playing a game of hide-and-seek, until their bold methods were the talk of the whole country. then it was the coconino sheriff had conceived the idea of an alliance with his brother officer in the adjoining county, of which the thriving city of prescott was the seat of government. frank even had mr. stanwix describe the two men whom the officers were pursuing. "we expect to be around the grand canyon for some weeks," the lad remarked; "and it might be we'd run across these chaps. to know who they were, would be putting us on our guard, and besides, perhaps we might be able to get notice to you, sir." "that sounds all right, frank," the other had hastened to reply; "and believe me, i appreciate your friendly feelings. it's the duty of all good citizens to back up the man they've put in office, when he's trying to free the community of a bad crowd." then he explained just how they might get word to him in case they had anything of importance to communicate. although the tarapai sheriff knew nothing about wireless telegraphy, he did understand some of the methods which savage tribes in many countries use in order to send news hundreds of miles; sometimes by a chain of drums stationed on the hill tops miles apart; or it may be by the waving of a red flag. "and i want to tell you, frank," mr. stanwix concluded, "if so be you ever do have occasion to send me that message, just make up your minds that i'll come to you on the jump, with hand at my heels. but for your own sakes i hope you won't run across these two hard cases. we've got an idea that they mean to do some hold-up game in the grand canyon, where hundreds of rich travelers gather. and if luck favors us we expect to put a spoke in their wheel before they run far!" chapter viii the moqui who was caught napping sheriff stanwix arose with a sigh. "reckon we'd better be moving on, hand," he said, evidently with reluctance; for it was very pleasant sitting there, taking his ease beside the camp fire of the two boys; but when duty called this man never let anything stand in the way. their horses had not strayed far away. like most animals they had sought the company of their kind, as various sounds indicated, buckskin doubtless showing his prairie strain by sundry nips with his teeth at the strangers. another shake of hands all around; then the sheriffs threw themselves into their saddles, and were off. the last the two lads saw of them was when their figures were swallowed up in the night-mists; and then it was a friendly wave of the arm that told how much they had appreciated the hospitality of the saddle boys. "well, anyhow, it doesn't seem quite so lonely out here, after all," said frank, laughing, as he and his chum settled down again. "why, no," added bob, "i thought we owned the whole coop; but i take it back. there are others abroad, it seems." "i only hope those two fly-by-night birds don't take a notion to double on their trail, and come back to pay us a visit," frank remarked; and of course bob understood that he meant the bad men who were being rounded up by sheriff stanwix, aided by the official of coconino county. "perhaps we'd better douse the glim, then?" bob suggested. "let it burn out," frank remarked; "i don't believe there's much chance of anybody else seeing it now; because it's pretty low. our tent shows up about as plain, come to think of it; but i don't mean to do without shelter." they sat there, chatting on various subjects, for some time. of course their mission to the region of the greatest natural wonder in the world took a leading part in this conversation. but then they also spoke of their recent visitors; and as bob showed signs of considerable interest, frank told all he had ever heard about the valor of the prescott sheriff. "i don't know how you feel about it, bob," he said, at length, with a yawn, "but i'm getting mighty sleepy." "same here; and i move we turn in," bob immediately replied. accordingly, as the idea had received unanimous approval, they took a look at the horses, now staked out with the ropes, and, finding them comfortable, both boys crawled under the canvas. some hours later they were aroused suddenly by a shrill yell. as they sat up, and groped for their rifles, not realizing what manner of peril could be hanging over them, the loud snorting of the horses came to their ears. "come on!" exclaimed frank, in considerable excitement. "sounds like somebody might be bothering our mounts!" bob had not been so very long in the western country; but he knew what that meant all right. horses were supposed to be the most valuable possessions among men who spent their lives on the great plains and deserts of this region. in the old days it was deemed a capital crime to steal horses. so bob, shivering with excitement, but not fear, hastened to follow at the heels of his chum, as frank hastily crawled out of the tent. a rather battered looking moon was part way up in the eastern heavens. though the light she gave was none of the best, still, to the boys, coming from the interior of the tent, it seemed quite enough to enable them to see their way about, and even distinguish objects at a little distance. frank lost no time heading in the direction where he knew the horses had been staked out. "anyhow, they don't seem to have got them yet," remarked bob, gleefully, as the sound of prancing and snorting came to their ears louder than ever. frank stopped for a couple of seconds to listen. "buckskin is carrying on something fierce," he muttered. "he seems to be furiously mad, too. perhaps, after all, it may be a bear sniffing around; though i'd never expect to find such a thing out here, so far away from the mountains." he again started on, with bob close at his elbow. the words of his chum had given the kentucky lad new cause for other thrills. what if it should prove to be a grizzly bear? he had had one experience with such a monster, and was not particularly anxious for another, not being in the big game class. now they were approaching the spot where the two roped horses were jumping restlessly about, making queer sounds that could only indicate alarm. frank spoke to his animal immediately, thinking to reassure him. "easy now, buckskin; what's making you act this way? i don't see any enemy. if you've given a false alarm, it'll sure be for the first time!" "frank!" ventured the other lad, just then. "what is it, bob?" "i thought i heard a low groan!" continued the kentucky boy, in awed tones. "you did?" ejaculated frank, quickly. "have you any idea where it came from?" as if to make it quite unnecessary for bob to reply, there came just then a low but distinct grunt or groan. frank could not tell which. "over this way, frank; he's in this direction!" exclaimed the impulsive bob, as he started to move off. "wait a minute," said the practical and cautious frank. "you never know what sort of game you're up against, around here. some of these horse thieves can toll a fellow away from his camp to beat the band, while a mate gets off with the saddle band. i've been warned against that very sort of play. go slow, bob, and keep a finger on your trigger, i tell you." they advanced slowly, looking all around in the dim moonlight. twice more the strange sounds arose. frank jumped to the conclusion that it was, after all, no attempt to draw them farther and farther away from the tent; because the groans seemed to come from the one spot, instead of gradually moving off in a tempting manner. "here he is, bob!" he said, presently; and the other, looking, saw a huddled-up figure lying upon the ground in the midst of the low buffalo berry bushes. immediately they were bending over the form, which had moved at their approach. "why, it's an indian, frank!" cried bob, in surprise. "yes, and unless i miss my guess, a moqui indian at that," frank replied. "three of them wandered down our way once, and gave us some interesting exhibitions of their customs. you know their home is up to the north. they are said to be the descendants of the old cliff dwellers who made all those holes high up in the rocks, to keep out of the reach of enemies." he was bending down over the other even while saying this; and feeling to see if the indian could have been wounded in any way. "what seems to be the matter with him, frank?" asked bob, when this thing had been going on for a full minute, the stricken man grunting, and frank appearing to continue his investigations. "i tell you what," frank remarked, presently; "i honestly believe he's been kicked by the heels of my sassy little buckskin; perhaps he's badly hurt; and then again, he may only have had the wind knocked out of him. that horse is as bad as any mule you ever saw, when it comes to planting his heels." "but what was he prowling around the camp for?" asked bob, who had a hazy idea concerning the red men of the west, gained perhaps from early reading of the attacks on the wagon trains of the pioneers of the prairie. "oh! these moqui indians wouldn't do a white man any harm, unless they happened to take too much juice of the agave plant, in the shape of mescal," frank hastened to say; "and i don't seem to get the smell of that stuff. so the chances are that he had something of an eye to our horses." "and as he didn't know about buckskin's ways he gave the little pony a chance to get in some dents. but he may be badly hurt, frank," bob went on, his natural kindness of heart cropping up above any feeling of animosity he might have experienced. "i suppose, then, we'll just have to tote the beggar to the tent, and start up that fire again, while we look him over. if those hind feet came slap against his ribs, the chances are we'll find a few of them broken." swinging their rifles into one hand they managed to take hold of the grunting moqui, and in this primitive fashion began hauling him along. buckskin continued to prance and snort as though demanding whether he had not amply fulfilled his duty as guardian to the camp; but no one paid the least attention to him just then. arriving at the tent the boys proceeded to rekindle the fire. "why, he's coming to, frank!" exclaimed bob, as, having finished his task, he turned to see his chum bending over the victim of buckskin's hoofs, and noted that the would-be horse thief was struggling to sit up. "i don't believe he's hurt very bad," frank declared. "i've felt all over his body, and don't seem to find any signs of broken bones." "listen to him gasp right now, as if the breath had been knocked out of him," remarked bob. "he's going to speak, frank, sure he is. i wonder can we understand what he says. moqui wasn't included in my education at the military institution at frankfort." the indian was indeed trying to get enough air in his lungs to enable him to say something. chapter ix "talk about luck!" "no hurt havasupai!" was what he managed to say, hoarsely. "we're not going to hurt you, old man," remarked frank; for he had seen that the indian was no stripling. "what we want to know is, how you came to get so close to the heels of my horse as to be kicked? tell us that, havasupai, if you please." there was no answer, although twice the exhausted red man opened his lips as if to speak. "that knocks the props out from under him, frank," remarked bob; "because he was bent on getting away with one or both mounts." "how about that, havasupai; weren't you thinking of stealing a horse, when that animal just keeled you over so neatly?" frank demanded. the indian was sitting up now. his head was hanging low on his chest. perhaps it was shame that caused this: or it might have been a desire to keep his face hidden from the searching eyes of the white boys. then, as though realizing the utter folly of denying what must appear so evident, he nodded his head slowly. "it is true, white boy," he muttered, in fair english. "havasupai meant to take a horse. he had looked upon the man who beckons, and he was afraid, because he had trouble at his village. he believed every man's hand was against him. and so he would flee to the desert where the white man's big medicine would not find him. there he might die with the poison snakes and the whooping birds." bob was of course puzzled by some of the things the indian said. "what does he mean, frank?" he asked. "i take it the warrior has been in some sort of fuss at his village," the other replied. "perhaps he even struck his chief in anger, and that made an offense punishable with death. these moqui indians are a queer lot, anyhow, i've heard. then he must have skipped out, and by accident seeing our friend, sheriff stanwix, known to him as the 'man who beckons,' he just imagined they were looking for him." "and that locoed him so much that he just couldn't stand it any longer," bob said. "discovering our camp he got the notion in his head that a horse might take him out of the danger zone. so he was in the act of jumping on one of our mounts when your clever little beast took a hand, or rather a hoof, in the matter. but do you know what he means by whooping birds?" "well, i can give a guess," replied frank. "that must mean the little owl that lives with the prairie dogs in their holes, along with the poison snake, otherwise the rattler." "looks like we've just got our hands full to-night, frank!" "you're right, bob. first we feed two hungry sheriffs, and pick up quite a little news about the bad men they're looking for. next, along comes this moqui, havasupai he says his name is, and he gets in a bad fix by trying to run off our horses; and feeling sorry for the old chap we lug him to our tent, and look him over, ready to even bind up his wounds, if he has any." "getting to be a habit, isn't it, frank?" "seems like it," returned the taller boy, as he once more turned toward the seated indian. "here, can you tell us where my horse kicked you?" "it matters not much. havasupai get what he needs because he try to steal horse from good white boys," came the humble reply. "one thing sure," remarked frank aside to his chum, "he's been in touch with the whites a heap, or he wouldn't know how to talk as he does. but then, that isn't so queer. you know that these moquis pick up a lot of good coin from the travelers who come and go at the grand canyon." "why, yes," bob went on to say, "i've always heard that one of the sights of this wonderland was the snake dance of the moquis. i read an account of it in a magazine once. it said that hundreds of people gathered from many quarters to be on hand and see it, because it occurs only once a year. some of them were big guns in science, too." "they're getting more and more interested in these indians of the southwest," frank continued; "and trying all the time to find out just where they fit in the long-ago past. that's what made old uncle felix, who had already made a name for himself, give up his happy home, and hide all these months down here. he wants to learn the long-buried secrets of the past history of the zunis, the moquis, and other tribes that might have sprung from the old cliff builders." "but what can we do with this fellow, frank?" "oh! well, nothing much, i reckon," the other answered, carelessly. "he must have been plum locoed at seeing the sheriff, and hardly knew what he was doing when he set out to grab buckskin. we'll just have to let him sleep here till morning, and then give him a bite of breakfast." "just as you say, frank; you ought to know what's best," bob hastened to declare. "now i wonder what'll be the next thing on the programme? i hope we don't have the two men the sheriff is hunting, drop in to make us a call." "little danger of that now," frank remarked reassuringly. "by this time they're well on their way to flagstaff. here, havasupai, as you call yourself; we don't mean to do you any harm, even if you did play us a mean trick when you tried to steal a mount. understand?" the old indian looked up at frank through his masses of coarse black hair, just beginning to be streaked with gray. "not do any harm," he repeated, as though hardly able to grasp the meaning of the words frank spoke; then his brown face lighted up with a grim smile. "white boys good; havasupai glad him not take horse. bad indian! but not always that way; him carry speaking paper tell how make good," and he thumped his breast as he said this. again did bob's eyes seek the face of his chum in a questioning manner. frank, having been raised amid such scenes, could more readily understand what the moqui meant when he referred to certain things which bob had never heard mentioned before. "he means that he's got a letter of recommendation along with him, written by some tourist, i reckon. perhaps this old fellow may have found a chance to do some one a good turn. he may have run across a greenhorn wandering on the desert; saved a fellow who had been stabbed by the fangs of a viper from the gila; or helped him to camp when he broke a leg in climbing around the grand canyon." "oh! i see what you mean, frank; that this party wrote out a recommendation to all concerned, stating that in his opinion havasupai was a fine fellow, and worth trusting. but then that was before he got into this trouble at this village. if he's a fugitive from justice at the hands of his own tribe, such a paper isn't worth much, i guess." "no more it isn't," agreed frank. "but all the same he means to stick us with it," chuckled bob; "for you can see he's got his hand in his shirt right now, as if searching for something so valuable that he won't even carry it in his ditty bag." "that's right, bob." "and now he's got in touch with that old letter," grunted bob. "i suppose we'll just have to read it to please him." "you can if you care to," remarked frank. "as for me, i'm that sleepy i only want a chance to crawl back into the tent, and take up my interrupted nap where it broke off." "but good gracious! do you really mean it?" exclaimed the puzzled bob. "why not?" demanded his chum. "and leave him loose here, with the horses close by?" bob went on, aghast. at that frank laughed a little. "well," he said, drily; "so far as the horses are concerned, i reckon our old friend havasupai will go a long way on foot before he ever tries to steal a promising looking pony again. as long as he lives he'll remember how it feels to get a pair of hoofs fairly planted against his back. so long, bob. tell the old fraud he can lie down anywhere he pleases, and share our breakfast in the morning." "that's the way you rub it in, frank; returning evil with good," the kentucky boy remarked. "but since you want me to take him in hand, i'll be the victim, and read his letter of recommendation, though i can already guess what it will say." the old moqui had meanwhile succeeded in getting out the paper which he seemed to set so much store by. looking up, and seeing that frank had turned away, he offered it to bob, who took it gravely, and proceeded to hold it so that the light of the little fire would fall upon the writing. frank was half way in the tent when he heard his chum give utterance to a shout. he backed out again, and turning, looked hastily, half expecting to see bob engaged in a tussle with the old indian. nothing of the sort met his gaze. the moqui was sitting there, staring at bob, who had straightened up, and was starting to dance around, holding the paper in his extended hand. "what ails you, bob?" demanded the other. "haven't been taken with a sudden pain, after all that venison you stowed away, i hope." "come out here, frank!" called the lad by the fire. "of all the luck! to think we'd strike such a piece as this! it's rich! it's the finest ever! we go to hunt for clues, and here they come straight to us. talk to me about the favors of fortune, why, we're in it up to the neck!" "you seem to be tickled about something, bob; has that paper any connection with it?" demanded frank. "well i should say, yes, by a big jugfull," replied the kentucky boy. "and you'll agree with me when i tell you it's signed by professor felix oswald, the very man we're going to search the grand canyon up and down to find!" chapter x the copper colored messenger "do you really mean it, bob?" asked frank, with the bewildered air of one who suspects a joke. "take it yourself, and see," replied the other, holding out the discolored and wrinkled sheet on which the writing was still plainly to be read. frank bent over, the better to allow the firelight to fall upon the queer document. this was what he read in a rather crabbed hand, though the writing could be read fairly well: _"to whom it may concern; greeting!_ "this is to certify to the good character of the bearer, a moqui indian by the name of havasupai, who has rendered me a very great service, which proves him to be the friend of the white man, and a believer in the pursuit of science. i cheerfully recommend him to all who may be in need of a trustworthy and capable guide to the grand canyon. "professor oswald." frank looked up to see the grinning face of his chum thrust close to him. "think it's genuine, frank?" demanded the other. "i can see no reason why it shouldn't be," answered the other, glancing down again at the crumpled paper he held, and which the old moqui was regarding with the greatest of pride on his brown face. "looks like that paper mr. hinchman brought to my dad; yes, i'd stake my word on it, bob, that the same hand wrote both." "but how d'ye suppose this greasy old indian ever got the document?" asked the young kentuckian. "we'll have to put it up to him, and find out," came the reply. "he can speak united states all right; we've found that out already; and so you see, there's no reason under the sun why he shouldn't want to tell us." he turned to the moqui. it was not the same sleepy boy apparently who, but a minute before, had started to creep into the comfortable tent, where the blankets lay; but a wide-awake fellow, eager to ascertain under what conditions this fugitive brave could have secured such a letter of recommendation from the man of science, who was supposed to have utterly vanished from the haunts of men without leaving a single trace behind, up to the hour that message came to colonel haywood. holding the paper up, and shaking it slightly, frank started to put the moqui warrior on the rack. "this belong to you, havasupai?" he demanded, trying to assume a stern manner, such as he believed would affect the other more or less, and be apt to bring out straight answers to his leading questions. "the white boy has said," answered the other, for an indian seldom answers in a direct way. "where did you get it?" frank continued, slowly, as if feeling his way; for he did not wish to alarm the indian, knowing how obstinate a moqui may prove if he once suspects that he is being coaxed into betraying some secret or a friend. the black, bead-like eyes were on the face of frank as he put these questions. doubtless the old moqui balanced every one well before venturing a reply. "he gave it," nodding in the direction of the paper frank held. "do you mean the man who signed his name here, professor oswald?" a nod of the head in the affirmative settled that question. "was he a small man with a bald head, no hair on top, and wearing glasses over his eyes, big, staring glasses?" frank aided comprehension by touching the top of his own head when speaking about the loss of hair on the part of the noted scientist; and then made rings with his fingers and thumbs which he clapped to his eyes as though looking through a pair of spectacles. evidently the moqui understood. reading signs was a part of his early education. in fact it comprised nearly four-fifths of all the indian knew. "white boy heap wise; he know that the man give havasupai talking paper. much great man; know all. tell havasupai about cliff men. find much good cook pot, heap more stuff in cave. find out how cave men live. write all down in book. send havasupai one, promise. it is well!" "but where did you meet him?" asked frank; and he saw at once that this was getting very near the danger line, judging from the manner in which the moqui acted; for he seemed to draw back, just as the alarmed tortoise will hide its head in its shell at the first sign of peril. "in canyon where picture rocks laugh at sun," the indian slowly said. "that ought to stand for the grand canyon," remarked the boy. the keen ears of the moqui caught the words, although they were almost spoken in whispers, and only intended for bob. he nodded violently, and frank somehow found himself wondering whether, after all, the shrewd indian might not be wanting to deceive him. he may have conceived the idea that these two white boys were the enemies of the queer old professor; and for that reason would be careful how he betrayed the man who trusted him. "listen, moqui," said frank, putting on a serious manner, so as to impress the other; "we are the friends of the little-old-man who has no hair on top of his head. we want to see him, talk with him! it means much good to him. he will be glad if you help us find him. do you understand that?" the indian's black eyes roved from one to the other of those bright young faces. apparently he would be foolish to suspect even for a minute that the two lads could have any evil design in their minds. still, the crafty look on his brown face grew more intense. "he has some good reason for refusing to accommodate us, i'm afraid," bob said just then, as if he too had read the signs of that set countenance. "why don't you answer me, moqui?" frank insisted, bent on knowing the worst. "we are on the way now to find the man who gave you this letter that talks. we have some good news for him. and you can help us if you will only tell in what part of the grand canyon echo cave lies." the indian seemed to ponder. evidently his mind worked slowly, when it tried to grapple with secrets. but one thing he knew, and this must be some solemn promise he had made the man of science, never under any conditions to betray his hiding-place to a living soul. "no can say; in canyon where picture rocks lie; that all," he finally declared, and frank knew indians well enough to feel sure that no torture could be painful enough to induce havasupai to betray one he believed his friend, and whose magic talking paper he carried inside his shirt, to prove his good character. "that settles it, bob, i'm afraid," he remarked to his chum, who had been listening eagerly to all that was being said. "you might try all sorts of terrible things and he wouldn't whisper a word, even if he believed all we told him." "that's tough," observed bob; "but anyhow, we've got something out of it all, because we know now that the silly old professor must be hiding in one of those cliff caves, trying to read up the whole life history of the queer people who dug their homes out of the solid rock, tier after tier, away up the face of the cliffs." "true for you, bob, and i'm glad to see how you take it. i had hoped the moqui might make our job easier, as he could do, all right, if only he wanted to tell us a few things. but we're no worse off than we were before, in all things, and some better in a few." "i wish i could talk moqui," declared bob; "and perhaps then i'd be able to make the old fellow understand. perhaps, frank, if you gave him a little note to uncle felix, he might promise to take it to him later on!" "hello! that's a good idea, i declare," exclaimed frank; "and i'll just do that same while i think of it." he immediately drew out a pad of paper, and a fountain pen which he often carried for business purposes, since there were times when he had to sign documents as a witness for his father. the old moqui watched him closely. evidently the spider-like handwriting was a deep mystery to him, and he must always feel a certain amount of respect for any white person who could communicate with another by means of the "talking paper." "there," said frank, presently, "that ought to do the business, i reckon." "what did you say?" asked his comrade, who was busy at the fire just then, drawing some of the partly-burned wood aside, so that their supply might hold out in the morning. "oh!" frank went on, "i told him dad had his note, sent in that bottle. then i mentioned the important fact that the mine paper he carried had increased in value thousands of dollars. and i wound up by telling him how much we wanted to see and talk with him. i signed my name, and yours, to the note." "and now to see whether the moqui will promise to carry it to your great-uncle." frank held the note up. "you will not tell us where we can find the little man without any hair on his head, havasupai," he said. "but surely you will not say no when i ask you to carry this talking paper to him. it will please him very much. he will shake your hand, and many times thank you. how?" the cautious old moqui seemed to be weighing chances in his suspicious mind. "three to one he thinks we mean to spy on him, and find it all out that way," was bob's quick opinion. "just what was in my mind; i could read it in his sly old face. but all the same he's going to consent, bob." the kentucky boy wondered how frank could tell this. he was even more surprised when the indian stretched out a hand for the note, as he said solemnly: "havasupai will carry the talking paper to the man who has no hair on his head. but no eye must see him do it. the white boys must say to havasupai that they will not try to follow him." frank looked at his chum, and nodded. "we'll just have to do it, i guess, to satisfy the suspicious old fraud, bob," he remarked; and then raising his hand, while his chum did likewise frank went on, addressing the moqui, who watched every action with glittering black eyes: "we promise not to follow, havasupai, and will hope that this talking paper may cause the man-who-hides to send you for us to take us to him. you understand all that i am saying, don't you?" the moqui said something in his native language, which of course neither of them comprehended. but at the same time he reached out his hand and deliberately took the note intended for uncle felix. "hurrah! he's going to act as our messenger!" exclaimed bob, filled with anticipations of success. "say, that was a pretty smart dodge on our part, after all. but it makes me hold my breath every time i think of our good luck in running across this chap the way we did. and buckskin deserves all the credit. he did it with his wonderful little tap." "all right," said frank; "me for the land of sleep now! havasupai, you can lie down where you will. in the morning we promise you a share of our meat. how?" "it is well, white boy," replied the old moqui, as he dropped in a heap, and evidently meant to sleep just as he was without any further preparations. bob also crawled into the tent, although he had some misgivings, and wondered whether his chum were really doing a wise thing to trust one who had just confessed to a desire to raid their horses. but as bob, too, was tired and sleepy, he soon forgot all his suspicions in slumber. when he awoke he could see the daylight peeping under the canvas. without disturbing his companion, bob immediately started to crawl out. he had suddenly remembered the old moqui; and it seemed as though his fears must have returned two-fold, and nothing would do but that he must hasten to make sure all was well. frank was just opening his eyes a little while later when he saw bob's head thrust in at the opening of the tent. "better get up, frank," the other said. "i've started the fire, and after we've had breakfast we'll be on our way. it was just as you said, though; he had the good sense to keep clear of the heels of the horses." "who are you talking about, the moqui?" asked frank, sitting up suddenly, as he caught a peculiar strain in the other's voice. "yes, our friend, havasupai; who vamoosed in the night!" laughed bob. chapter xi at the grand canyon "do you mean it?" asked frank. "come out, and see for yourself," bob returned. "i've looked all around, and not a sign of the old fellow can i find." "and both horses are there?" frank continued, making a break for the exit. "as fine as you please. our friend didn't want a second try from those clever heels of buckskin. he gave them a wide berth when he cleared out, i warrant. oh! you can look everywhere, and you won't see a whiff of havasupai. he's skipped by the light of the moon, all right." bob backed off, as his chum walked this way and that. he grinned as though he really enjoyed the whole thing. in his mind he had figured that it would turn out something this way, so he was not very much surprised. "what d'ye think, frank," he exclaimed, presently; "don't you remember promising to share our venison at breakfast with the moqui?" "why yes, to be sure i do; but what of that, bob?" "only that he didn't forget," laughed the other. frank immediately glanced toward the carcase of the little antelope. "ginger! he did go and cut himself a piece from it, sure enough," he admitted. "while he thought our company not as nice as our room, still, he didn't object to sharing our meat. and, frank, he wasn't at all stingy about the amount he took, either," bob complained. "oh! well, i reckon there's still enough for us, and to spare. besides, we've got heaps of other things along in our packs, for an emergency, you know. suppose we make a pot of coffee, and start things." "that's all right, frank; i'll attend to it," declared bob; "but why under the sun do you suppose now, that sly old moqui dodged out like that?" "well, for one thing, he may have suspected us," replied frank. "what! after all we did for him, took him in, and forgave his sins, even to offering to mend any broken ribs, if he'd had any, through that horse kick? i can't just understand that," bob ventured, while he measured out enough ground coffee to make a pot of the tempting hot beverage. "he took the alarm, it seems," frank went on, indifferently. "knew we wanted to find the man who had given him the talking paper; and was afraid we might try to make him tell; or, that failing, stalk him when he went to deliver my note. and on the whole i can't much blame the old indian. suspicion is a part of their nature. he believed he was on the safe side in slipping away as he did. forget it, bob. we've learned a heap by his just dropping in on us, i think." "sure we have," replied the other, being busily employed over the fire just then. "and i was thinking what he could have meant when he pointed off in the direction i calculate the grand canyon lies, and said in answer to one of your questions: 'seek there! when the sun is red it shines in echo cave!'" "i've guessed that riddle, and it was easy," frank remarked. "then let me hear about it, because i'm pretty dull when it comes to understanding all this lovely sign language of the indians," bob remarked. "listen, then. the sun is said to be red when its setting; that's plain enough; isn't it, bob?" "all o.k. so far, frank. i won't forget that in a hurry, either." "then, when he said it looked into the cave at sunset, it was another way of telling us the cave faced the west!" frank continued. "well, what a silly chap i was not to guess that," chuckled the other. "and from what i know about the bigness of that canyon, bob, i think that this unknown echo cave must be pretty high up on the face of a big cliff to the east of the river." "why high up? i don't get on to any reason for your saying that?" inquired bob. "you'll see it just as soon as i mention why," remarked his companion. "when the sun is going down in the west, far beyond the horizon, don't you see that it can only shine along the very upper part of the cliffs? the lower part is already lost in the shadows that drop late in the afternoon in all canyons." "of course, and it's as plain to me now as the nose on my face," agreed bob. "queer, how easy we see these things after they've been explained." it did not take long to prepare breakfast, and still less time to eat it once the coffee and venison were ready. just as frank had said, there was plenty of the meat for the meal. "that was a mighty juicy little antelope, all right," remarked bob, as he finished his last bite, and prepared to get up from the ground where he had been enjoying his ease during the meal. "and for one i don't care how soon you repeat the dose," remarked frank; "only it will be a long day before you get one of the timid little beasts as easy as that accommodating chap fell to your gun. why, he was just a gift, that's all you could call it, bob." "that's what i've been thinking myself, though of course i don't know as much about them as you do, by a long shot," bob admitted. "i suppose it's us to hit the saddle again now?" "we're going to try and make flagstaff by night," frank announced, as he picked up his saddle and bridle, and walked toward the spot where buckskin was staked out. the horses had been able to drink all they wanted during the night, for the ropes by means of which they were tethered allowed of a range that took them to the little spring hole from which the water gushed, to run away, and, in the end, possibly unite with the wonderful colorado. in ten minutes more the boys were off at a round gallop. there was no intention of pushing their mounts so soon in the day. like most persons who have spent much time on horseback both lads knew the poor policy of urging an animal to its best speed in the early part of a journey, especially one that is to be prolonged for ten or twelve hours. at noon they were far enough advanced for frank to declare he had no doubt about being able to make flagstaff before sunset. "when we get there, and spend a night at the hotel, we must remember and ask if our friend mr. stanwix and his partner arrived in good time, and went on," bob suggested. just as frank had expected, they made the town on the railroad before the sun had dropped out of sight; and the horses were in fair condition at that. flagstaff only boasts of a normal population of between one and two thousand; but there are times, with the influx of tourists bound for the grand canyon, when it is a lively little place. the two boys only desired shelter and rest for themselves and their horses during the night. it was their intention to push on early the following day, keeping along the old wagon trail that at one time was the sole means of reaching the then little known wonderland along the deeply sunk colorado. after a fairly pleasant night, they had an early breakfast. the horses proved to be in fine fettle, and eager for the long gallop. so the two saddle boys once more started forth. the day promised to be still warmer than the preceding one; and the first part of the journey presented some rather difficult problems. they managed to put the san francisco mountains behind them, however, and from that on the dash was for the most part over a fairly level plateau. now and then they were threading the trail through great pine forests, and again it was a mesa that opened up before them. bob was especially delighted. "think we'll make it, frank?" he asked, about the middle of the afternoon, as they cantered along, side by side, the horses by this time having had pretty much all their "ginger" as bob called it taken out of them, though still able to respond to a sudden emergency, had one arisen. "i reckon so," replied the other. "according to my map we're within striking distance right now. given two more hours, and we'll possibly sight the border of the big hole. that was red horse tank we just passed, you know," and he pointed out their position on the little chart to bob. it was half an hour to sundown when the well known grand view hotel stood out in plain sight before them; and before the shades of night commenced to fall, the tired boys had thrown themselves from their saddles, seen to the comfort of the faithful steeds, and mounted to the porch of the hotel for a flitting view of the amazing spectacle that spread itself before them, ere darkness hid its wonderful and majestic beauty. chapter xii how the little trap worked "what do you think of it?" asked frank, after they had stood there a short time, taking in the picture as seen in the late afternoon. "it's hard to tell," bob replied slowly. "it's so terribly big, that a fellow ought to take his time letting the thing soak in. that further wall looks as if you could throw a stone over to it; and yet they say it's more than a mile from here." "yes," frank went on, "and all along in the grand canyon there are what seem to be little hills, every one of which is a mountain in itself. they only look small in comparison with the tremendous size of the biggest gap in the whole world." "and how far does this thing run--is it fifty miles in length?" bob asked. "i understand that the river runs through this canyon over two hundred miles," the other replied. "and all the way there are scores, if not hundreds, of smaller canyons and 'washes,' reaching out like the fingers of a whopping big hand; or the feelers of a centipede." "that's what i read about it away back; but i had forgotten," bob remarked. "and they say that it would be a year's trip to try and follow the grand canyon all the way down from beginning to end, only on one side." "i reckon it would, for you'd have to trace every one of these lateral gashes up to its source, so as to cross over. and that would mean thousands of miles to be covered." "gee!" exclaimed bob, throwing up his hands as he spoke; "when you say that, it makes a fellow have some little idea of the size of this hole. and to think it's come just by the river eating away the soil!" "they call that erosion," remarked frank, who had of course posted himself on many of these facts, during his previous visit to the canyons of the little colorado. "it's been going on for untold thousands of years; and as the river with its tributaries has gradually eaten away the soil and rocks, it has left the grandest pictured and colored walls ever seen in any part of this old earth." "when that afternoon sun shines on the red rocks it makes them look almost like blood," declared bob. "and already i'm glad we came. i think just now i could be happy spending months prowling around here, finding new pictures every day." "then you don't blame old uncle felix for staying, do you?" laughed frank. "sure i don't," returned the other lad, with vehemence. "and besides, you must remember that he had another string to his bow." "meaning his craze to be the fortunate man of science to unravel the mystery that has always hung over the homes of those cliff dwellers?" frank went on. "i can understand how it must appeal to a man living as professor felix has all these years," mused bob. "and think of those queer old fellows picking out this one place of all the wide country to build their homes." "that was because there could be no place that offered them a tenth of the advantages this did," frank remarked, pointing across the wide chasm to the towering heights that could be seen. "think of hundreds of miles of such cliffs to choose from! and as the softer rock was washed out by the action of floods countless ages ago, leaving the harder in the shape of astonishing shelves and buttes, these people took a lesson from nature, and carved their roomy homes by following the pliable stone." "say," bob exclaimed, "that makes me think of what i read about the catacombs of rome; how, for hundreds of miles, they run in every direction, following the course of veins of earth in the rock, that were selected by those who dug 'em." "of course," said frank, "these people built their homes up in the cliffs in order to be safe. nobody seems to know what they were afraid of, whether savage tribes, or great beasts that may have roamed this part of the country a thousand and more years ago." "and that's the bait that has drawn the old scientist here, to study it all out, and write up the history of the people who looked on this very picture so many hundreds of years back. why, frank, some of the cliffs they say are about a mile high! that's hard to believe, for a fact." "but it's been proved true," the other asserted. "the trouble is, that everything here is on such an awful big scale that a fellow fools himself. actual measurement is the only way to prove things. the eye goes back on you. why, i've looked out on a clear day in colorado, and believed i could walk to a mountain in an hour. they told me it's base was fifty miles away; and there you are." "well, we'll have to put off looking till morning," said bob, regretfully; "because the sun's dropped out of sight, and it's getting pretty thick down there in the hole. and to think that to-morrow we'll be pushing along through that place, with the walls shutting us in on both sides." "not only to-morrow, but for many days, perhaps," frank added; for more than ever did he begin to realize the enormous task that confronted them; it was almost like looking for a needle in a haystack; but if one possesses a powerful magnet, even then the bit of steel may be recovered in time. did they happen to know of any such magnet? almost unconsciously frank's thoughts went out toward that old moqui brave, havasupai, who had fled from his village because of some act which he had committed; but who was now determined to return, and take his punishment with the stoicism indians have always shown. the moqui might be the connecting link! he alone knew where the hermit had his lodging, possibly in one of those quaint series of cliff dwellers' homes, which for some reason he called echo cave. "we must ask if our friend sheriff stanwix has been here," bob suggested, as they went to their room to prepare for supper. "oh!" replied his chum, "i did that when i spoke with the clerk at the desk. you were looking after the ponies at the time, so as to make sure they'd be well taken care of for a week, or a month if necessary." "and what did he tell you, frank?" "they got here, all right," came the reply. "if you'd looked sharp when you were out there in the hotel stables, you might have recognized both their mounts; for they left them here at noon to-day." "noon!" echoed bob; "then they made mighty good work of it, to get ahead of us all that time. i reckon you're going to tell me they've gone down into the canyon, and put in several hours looking for their birds, the two fellows who've given 'em the merry laugh more'n a few times." "guessed right the first shot," frank went on, "but all that doesn't concern us one half as much as some other information i struck." "and you've been keeping it back from me, while we stood there on the piazza, admiring the wonderful view," bob remarked, with a touch of reproach in his voice. "there were people passing us, all the time," his chum explained; "and besides, i wanted to keep it until we were alone, so we could talk it over." "is it about that scheming cousin of your father's--what did you say his name was--eugene warringford?" "you got it straight enough," frank admitted; "and what i learned, was about him. i saw his name on the register, and he's somewhere about the hotel right now. i had a suspicion that i saw some one trying to get near us while we stood there, drinking in that picture; and bob, while i couldn't just hold up my hand and say for sure, i think it was that tricky abajo." "the half-breed cowboy who left circle ranch because he had some news for this eugene that the fellow would be apt to consider mighty valuable, because it meant a stake of a million or two dollars; is that right, frank?" "the same abajo," his chum continued; "which proves that those two are bound up in a plot to win this game. if eugene can only find uncle felix he intends to get that paper in his possession, by fair means or foul." "then it's up to us to put a stopper in his little bottle!" declared bob. "i'm wondering," frank proceeded, "whether they've got any idea where to look for the man who has hidden himself away for three years. perhaps they mean to keep tabs on us, and if we are lucky enough to discover uncle felix, they hope to jump in, and snatch away the prize before we can warn him." "say, this is getting to be a pretty mix-up all around," laughed the kentucky lad. "here we are, meaning to try and follow the old moqui; or failing that, wait for him to fetch us a message from the hermit of echo cave. then eugene, and his shadow, abajo, are hanging around with the idea of beating us at our game. havasupai on his part will be heading for the cave that lies in an unknown part of the grand canyon, and all the while dodging about for fear that he is followed." "yes," added frank, falling in with the idea; "and perhaps there are the moquis from his village who may have had word somehow of his return, searching for havasupai, and bent on bringing him to the bar of their tribal law. to finish the game, think of our friends, the two sheriffs, loose in the big gash, and hunting for the men who have snapped their fingers in their faces so often across the line!" "well, it sure looks like there might be some warm times coming," remarked bob. "i suppose we take our guns along with us when we're going the rounds of the sights?" "wouldn't think of doing anything else," was frank's reply. "no telling when we might need 'em. suppose, now, those two rascals the sheriffs are after should learn in some way about the value of the paper uncle felix has with him, wouldn't they just make it the game of their lives to try and capture him? and i reckon eugene, too, will be so dead in earnest that he won't stop at little things, backed up by such a reckless character as the mexican. yes, the repeating rifles go along, bob!" "this water feels fine after that long, dusty and tiresome ride, eh?" remarked the young kentuckian, as he splashed in the deep basin, and then proceeded to use the towel vigorously. "it certainly does," frank admitted, as he did likewise. shortly afterward the two boys went down to supper. the hotel had its usual number of guests, this being a favorite point for parties to start on the tour. "don't look just now," said frank, as they sat at a table; "but abajo has taken his seat right back of you. and it wasn't accident, either, that made him do it; i believe he has been set to watch us!" from time to time, as they ate, frank would report as to what the half-breed was doing; and while nothing occurred to actually prove the fact, still he saw no reason to change his mind. "and i'm going to find out if he's keeping an eye on us, so as to report to his employer, eugene warringford," frank announced, as they were drawing near the end of the meal. "that sounds good to me," bob remarked; "but how will you do it?" for answer frank drew out a paper from an inner pocket. "you see this document," he observed, with a solemn look. "well, it's only what you might call a dummy, being just an invitation i received a little while back to invest in some worthless mines over in the hualpai mountains of mohave county. i kept it, meaning to figure out how these sharpers work their game. now, when i hand you this, look deeply interested, as though it might be connected with the finding of uncle felix." "oh! i see your move, and go you one better, frank." for some little time they seemed to be conversing intently. frank would occasionally tap the document, which he had sealed up in its envelope, as though he laid great stress on it. finally he placed it on the table alongside his plate, and kept on talking. shortly afterward the boys left the table in apparently such a hurry that they both forgot the envelope that lay there, half hidden by a napkin. passing out of the room, they dodged back, and peered around the corner of the doorway. "there's the waiter at the table," said bob. "now he's found the fine tip you left there, and is putting it in his pocket, with a grin. if everybody treated him as well as that, he'd soon be owning one of these hotels himself, frank." "watch!" remarked his chum, in a low whisper. "now he's discovered the document lying there where i left it. he takes it up. perhaps he sees another dollar coming to him when he runs after us to return it." "but there's somebody at his elbow," bob went on to say; "and it's abajo, as sure as you live. he's saying something, and i reckon telling the waiter that you asked him to get the packet. there, he slips some money in the fellow's hand; and the waiter lets him take the envelope. and we'd better slip behind this coat rack here, for abajo will be heading this way in a hurry." and hardly had they carried out that programme ere the half-breed glided past, one hand held in the pocket where he had thrust the "valuable" document! chapter xiii going down the canyon trail "was i right?" asked frank, after the half-breed had disappeared. "i should say yes," replied his chum, who had followed the vanishing figure of abajo with staring eyes. "he got the precious paper, all right, eh?" frank went on, chuckling. "he sure did, and bribed our friend the waiter to let him carry it off. shows how you can trust anybody in the tourist country, where they are nearly all out for the money," bob declared, indignation struggling hard with a sense of humor. "but just stop and think how easy abajo, sharp rascal that he is, rose to my little bait?" laughed frank. "just as i expected, he was watching us all the time we examined that wonderful paper, and of course he believed it to be something for which his employer would reward him heavily, if he could only lay hands on it." bob himself was laughing now, as the full sense of the ridiculous character of frank's little joke broke upon him. "oh! my, think what will happen when mr. warringford tears open that envelope, and sees how his spy has been fooled!" he exclaimed. "there's only one bad thing about it, bob!" "what is that?" inquired the other. "eugene is, i take it, a clever fellow," said frank, seriously; "and he'll understand that this was done with a purpose. it will make him suspect that we're onto the game, and that we know he has the half-breed watching our every move." "well, what of that, frank?" "nothing, only after this we may expect they'll change their tactics more or less, and play on another string of the fiddle," the other saddle boy replied. "all right," bob remarked. "forewarned is forearmed, they say; and if we know eugene is laying low for us, we can be on our guard." "yes, that's all very good," frank went on, shaking his head; "but once we get into the big canyon it may pay us to keep an eye out for overhanging rocks." "say, you don't mean to tell me you think eugene would go that far?" demanded bob, startled at the very idea of such a thing. "i don't like to think he would; but you never can tell," frank replied. "when a man like eugene warringford sells his soul, and with a chance of getting a big stake, he is generally ready to shut his eyes, and go the limit." "but, frank, that would be terrible! one of those rocks, coming down from the face of a high cliff, would seriously injure us!" "sure it would, and on that account we must keep on the watch all the time," frank continued. "but i don't see abajo anywhere about the piazza of the hotel; do you?" "he's gone, and i reckon to carry that wonderful find of his to the man who employs him," bob remarked. "wouldn't i give a dollar to be hiding close by when he runs across eugene, and they open the envelope you sealed! wow! it will be a regular circus! can't you imagine that yellow face of the half-breed turning more like saffron then ever when he learns that we played him for a softy?" "well, if you were near by, bob, i wouldn't be surprised if you just had to stick your fingers in your ears," chuckled frank. "i reckon they will have a heap to say about it; and abajo, after this, won't take us for easy marks, will he?" bob remarked, in a satisfied tone. a short time later they were in their room. "you don't suppose now, frank, that we'll be bothered to-night?" bob observed, as he stood there by the window looking out toward the grand canyon. at that the other laughed quite merrily. "don't give yourself any uneasiness about that, bob," he remarked. "in the first place nobody would bother trying to get up here, even if they could, when so many better chances of reaching us will crop up after we start into the canyon to-morrow. then again, we haven't anything to be stolen but our rifles, and what little cash we brought along for expenses." "oh! i suppose i am silly thinking about it," admitted bob, "but some way that half-breed seems to be on my nerves. his face is so sly, and his black eyes just glitter as i've seen those of a snake do when he's going to strike. but, just as you say, it's foolish to borrow trouble, and i must get those notions out of my head." "that's the talk, bob," his chum declared, heartily. "morning will find us in fine trim to make a start into this big ditch. and before another night you'll be so filled with wonder over what you see that these other things will take a back seat." "but do you think we ever can find the hermit of echo cave?" asked bob. "i think we've got a pretty good chance, if we're left alone," came the ready reply. "meaning if this eugene warringford keeps his hands off; and nothing else turns up to balk us?" bob asked. "yes, all of that, and more," frank admitted. "but already i find myself wishing we had somebody along with us, like old hank coombs for instance, frank." "well, who knows what may happen?" said the other, a little mysteriously. "d'ye know, bob, i saw my dad winking at hank when he thought i wasn't looking; and on that account i've got half an idea he meant to send the old man, perhaps with a second cowboy, along on our trail. we may run across friends here when we least expect it." "i hope it turns out that way," declared the kentucky boy; "because hank is just what you might call a tower of strength when he's along. remember how fortunate it was he turned up when he did, at the time we wanted to follow that plague of the cattle ranges, the wolf, sallie? i reckon we'd have had a much harder time bagging our game if hank hadn't been along." "well, get to bed now," frank counseled; "and let to-morrow look out for itself." "all right, i'll be with you in three shakes of a lamb's tail," declared bob. but before he left the window frank noticed that he thrust his head out, as if desirous of making sure that no one could climb up the face of the wall, and find entrance there while they slept. bob was not a timid boy as a rule; in fact he was deemed rather bold; but just as he said, that dark face of abajo had impressed him unfavorably; and he felt that the young half-breed would be furious when he learned how neatly he had been sold. nor did anything happen during that night as they slept upon the border of the wonderland. both lads enjoyed a peaceful sleep, and awoke feeling as "fresh as fish," as bob quaintly expressed it. breakfast not being ready they walked about, viewing the astonishing features of the canyon as seen from the bluff on which the hotel stood. down in the tremendous gap mists were curling up like little clouds, to vanish as they reached the line where the sunlight fell. it was a sight that appalled bob, who declared that he felt as though looking into the crater of some vast volcano. "well," remarked frank, "they did have volcanos around here, after this canyon was pretty well formed, though perhaps thousands of years ago. great beds of lava have been found down in the bottom of the hole, so my little guide book tells me. but look away off there, bob, and see that peak standing up like the rim of a cloud. do you know what that is?" "i heard one man say," bob replied, quickly, "navajo peak could be seen on a clear morning, and perhaps that's the one; but frank, just think, it's about a hundred and twenty miles off. whew! they do things on a big scale around here; don't they? i'd call it the playground of giants." "and you'd about hit the bulls eye," his chum observed; "but there goes the call for breakfast." "i feel as if i could stow away enough for a crowd, this mountain air is so fresh and invigorating," bob remarked, as they headed for the dining room. half an hour later they were once more in front of the hotel, and interviewing a guide who had been recommended by the manager as an experienced canyon man. it ended in their making terms with john henry, as the fellow gave his name; though of course frank was too wise to tell him what their real object was in exploring the tremendous gap. that could come later on. at about nine o'clock they started down the trail that led from grand view into the depths of the fearful dip. and as they descended, following their guide, bob found himself realizing the colossal size of everything connected with the rainbow-hued canyon walls. nor was his mind made any easier when frank took occasion, half an hour later, to bend toward him, and say in the most natural manner possible, though in low tones: "they're on the job again, bob--abajo and eugene--because i happened to see them watching us start down the trail; and they had some one along with them, perhaps a guide; so we'll have to take it for granted that they mean to dog us all the time, hoping to steal our thunder, if we make any lucky find!" chapter xiv the home of the cliff dwellers although bob had anticipated such a thing, still the knowledge that it was actually coming to pass gave him a thrill. for some little time he did not say anything; but frank could see him look uneasily up at the walls that now arose sheer above their heads some hundreds of feet. frank had studied the situation as well as he could, both from a map of the canyon which he found in the little guide book, and his own observations. all the while he kept before him that admission on the part of the old moqui whom they had befriended, to the effect that the westering sun shone full in echo cave. so he expected to find the home of the hermit-scientist high up in the wall on the eastern side of the grand canyon. first he intended heading toward the east, and going just as far as they could. days, and perhaps weeks, might be spent in the search for the strange cave that had once been the home of those mysterious cliff people, which cavern professor oswald was occupying while studying the lives and customs of the long departed people who had dug these dwellings out of the rock. at noon they had made good progress; but when the tremendous size of that two hundred mile canyon was taken into consideration, with its myriad of side "washes," and minor canyons, the distance that they had covered was, as bob aptly declared, but a "flea-bite" compared with the whole. and frank declared time and again it had been a lucky thought that caused his chum to suggest that they bring the field glasses along. they were in almost constant use. far distant scenes were brought close, and high walls could be examined in a way that must have been impossible with the naked eye. of course frank was particularly anxious to scrutinize every colored wall that faced the west. the rainbow tints so plainly marked, tier above tier, called out expressions of deep admiration from the two lads; but all the while they were on the watch for something besides. when frank ranged that powerful glass along the ragged face of a towering cliff he was looking eagerly for signs of openings such as marked the windows of the homes fashioned by the strange people of a past age. during the afternoon they actually discovered such small slits in the rock--at least they looked like pencil markings to them when the guide first pointed out the village of the ancient cliff dwellers; though on closer acquaintance they found that the openings were of generous size. "shall we climb up that straggly path along the face of the wall, and see what the old things look like?" asked bob, as the guide made motions upward. "yes, we ought to have our first sight of such places," frank replied, in a cautious tone. "not that i expect we're going to find our hermit there, or in any other village that's known to tourist travel. but we ought to get an idea of what these places are like, you see. then we'll know better what to expect. and perhaps the conditions will teach us how to discover _his_ hiding place." accordingly they started to climb upward, just as many other tourists had been doing for years. there were even places, "aisles of safety," bob called them, where one who was ascending, upon happening to meet a descending investigator, could squeeze into a hole in the rock until the other had slipped by. of course it was a risky climb, and no lightheaded person could ever dream of taking it. but the two saddle boys were possessed of good nerves and able to look downward toward the bottom of the canyon, even when several hundred feet up in the air. then they entered the first hole. it seemed to be a fair-sized apartment, and was connected with a string of others, all running along the face of the cliff; so that those who occupied them in the long ago might have air and light. the boys observed everything with the ordinary curiosity expected of newcomers. frank even investigated to see if there were any signs to indicate that those old dwellers in the canyon knew about the use of fire; and soon decided that it was so. "well, what do you think about this?" bob asked, after they had roamed from one room to another. "for my part i think i'd fancy living in one of those three story adobe houses of the hopi indians, we saw pictures of at the hotel; or even a navajo hogan. but one thing sure, these people never had to worry about leaking roofs." "no," added frank, laughing; "and floods couldn't bother them, because the colorado never rose three hundred feet since it began cutting out this canyon." "and think of the grand view they had before their doors, with the canyon in places as much as thirteen miles across, and mountains in their dooryard, looking like anthills," bob went on impressively. "makes a fellow feel mighty small; doesn't it?" frank remarked, as he stepped to a window to look out again. "makes me feel that i want to get down again to the trail," admitted bob. "i'm wondering whether it's going to be much harder getting back than it was coming up." "that's always the case," frank declared, "as i've found out myself when climbing up a steep cliff. but the guide is ready for you, bob, if you show signs of getting dizzy. you have seen that he carries a rope along, just like the swiss guides do." "oh! come, frank! go easy with me; can't you?" the other exclaimed. "i hope i'm not quite so bad as that." "all the same, bob, don't take any chances; and if you feel the least bit giddy, let me know. this is a case where an ounce of prevention is better than a pound of cure. and a stout rope is a mighty good thing to feel when your foot slips." it turned out, however, that the kentucky lad was as sure-footed as a mountain goat. he descended the trail, with its several ladders, placed there of course by modern investigators, without the least show of timidity. they continued along the bed of the wide canyon. at times they followed the ordinary trail. then again frank would express a desire to have a closer look at some high granite wall that hovered, for possibly a thousand feet, above the very river itself; and this meant that they must negotiate a passage for themselves. no doubt john henry, the guide, must have thought them the queerest pair of tourists he had ever led through the mysteries of the grand canyon. but as yet frank had not thought fit to enlighten him. he was not altogether pleased with the appearance of the guide, and wished to wait until he knew a little more about his ways, before entrusting him with their secret. more than a few times during that day frank believed he had positive evidence that they were being watched. of course they met frequent parties of pilgrims wandering this way and that, as they drank in the tremendous glories of the canyon; but occasionally the boy believed he had seen a head thrust out from behind some rock in their rear, and then hastily withdrawn again as he looked. of course he could make a guess as to who was taking such a interest in the progress of his chum and himself. no one, save eugene warringford, would bother for even a minute about what they were doing, since richer quarry by far than a couple of boys would catch the eye of any lawless desperado, like those the two sheriffs were following, bent on making a haul. "frank," said bob, when the afternoon was drawing to a close, and they had begun to think of picking out the spot where they would spend the night; "tell me why you chose to head toward the east instead of the other way, where bright angel trail attracts so many tourists?" frank cast one glance toward the guide, as if to make sure that john henry was far enough in advance not to be able to catch what was said. "i had a reason, bob," he remarked, seriously. "before we got down into the canyon, so as to choose which way we would go, i talked with several men who were coming up. and bob, i learned that an old moqui indian had been seen heading toward the east late last night!" "and you think it may have been our friend, havasupai?" asked bob. "i'm pretty sure of it, from the descriptions they gave me," came the answer. "but frank, think how impossible it seems that he could have reached here almost as soon as we did; unless the old warrior was able to fly i don't see how it could be done." "i'm just as much up a tree as you are, bob," laughed the other; "but, all the same, i believe the moqui has arrived, and is on his way right now to where echo cave lies." "then he must have an aeroplane to help him out, for i don't see how else he could make it," bob insisted. "think for a minute, and you'll see it isn't actually impossible," frank continued. "he could have made flagstaff that night, just as we did." "yes," admitted bob, "that's a fact; for while he said he was tired, and wanted a mount to fly from his people, who were looking for him, still i understand that these moquis are wonderful runners, and game to the last drop of the hat. oh! i grant you that he could have made flagstaff that night sometime." "well, flagstaff is on the railroad, you know," frank remarked. "sure! i see now what you are hitting at," bob observed; "the old indian must have had money, as all his kind have, what with the tips given by tourists day after day. he could have come to grand view on the train. frank, once more i knuckle down to your superior wisdom. that's what havasupai must have done, sure pop!" "anyhow," the other continued, "it pleases me to believe so; and that the moqui is even now hurrying to make connections with the hermit in this mysterious echo cave. there's still another reason, though, why i picked out this course up the river, instead of going down. it is connected with the fact that the moquis have their homes in this quarter." "oh!" exclaimed bob, "i catch on now to what you mean. the chances are that the moqui would be prowling around within fifty miles of his own shack when he ran across the man-with-the-shining-spot-in-his-head, otherwise the bald professor oswald." "that's the point, bob." "it sure beats everything how you can get on to these things, frank. here i'm going to be a lawyer some day, so they tell me; and yet i don't seem to grab the fine points of this game of hide-and-seek as you do." "oh! well," frank remarked, consolingly; "a lawyer isn't supposed to know much about trails, and all such things. that comes to a fellow who has spent years outdoors, studying things around him, and keeping his wits on edge all the while." "i hope to keep on learning more and more right along," said bob. "here comes john henry back, to tell us he has found a good place for camping to-night; so no more at present, bob." it proved just as frank had said. the guide declared that as the sun was low down, the canyon would soon be darkening; and they ought to make a halt while the chance was still good to see what lay around them. accordingly they made a camp, and not a great distance away from the border of the swirling river that rolled on to pass through all the balance of that wonderful gulch, the greatest in the known world. they had come prepared for this, carrying quite a number of things along that would prove welcome at supper time. a cheery fire was soon blazing, and the guide busied himself in preparations for a meal; while the two boys wandered down to the edge of the river, to throw a few rocks into the current, and talk undisturbed. "there are several other camps not far away," remarked frank. "i could see the smoke rising in two places further on." "yes," added bob, "and there's one behind us too, for i saw smoke rising soon after we halted. perhaps that may be eugene's stopping place; eh, frank?" "i wouldn't be surprised one little bit. just look at the river, how silently it pushes along right here. it's deep too; and yet below a mile or so it frets and foams among the boulders that have dropped into its great bed from the high cliffs." "and they do say some bold explorers have gone all the way through the canyon in a boat; but i reckon it must be a terrible trip," bob ventured to say. "excuse us from trying to make it," laughed frank; "by the time we'd reach mohave city, where that bottle was picked up, there wouldn't be much left of us. but let's go back to camp now. john henry must have grub ready." three minutes later he suddenly caught bob's sleeve. "wait up!" he whispered. "there's somebody talking to our guide right now; and say, bob, don't you recognize the fellow?" "if i didn't think it was silly i'd say it was old spanish joe, the cowboy we had so much trouble with on thunder mountain," bob declared, crouching down. "well, think again," said frank; "and you'll remember that abajo is his nephew!" [illustration: "there's somebody talking to our guide right now." _saddle boys in the grand canyon_ _page _] chapter xv the treacherous guide "why, of course he is," declared bob; "and it looks as if our old enemies had cropped up again, to join forces with the new ones. that will make three against us; won't it, frank?" "the more the merrier," replied the other, but bob could see that he was inwardly worried over the new phase of the situation. "look at the way spanish joe is arguing with john henry!" said bob. "the guide keeps pointing this way, as if he might be afraid we'd come back, and see him talking with old joe. now they shake hands, frank. do you think any bargain has been struck between them?" "i'm afraid it has," replied his comrade, gritting his teeth with displeasure. "john henry has sold us out, and gone over to the enemy for cash. i saw him hide something in his pocket." "then what will we do about him?" asked bob, clenching his fist, as if it might give him considerable pleasure to take the treacherous guide personally in hand, and teach him the needed lesson. "that's easy," chuckled frank. "we'll keep on guard to-night, and when he sees how we hang to our guns he won't try any tricks, you may be sure." "and in the morning?" bob went on. "why," declared frank, firmly; "there's only one thing to be done--we must fire john henry, even if we have to pay him the whole sum agreed on for the week." "i'm glad to hear you say that, frank; because i'd hate to have him along. why, he might take a notion to step on my fingers when i was climbing up after him, and claim it was only an accident, but if i had a broken leg, or a cracked skull, that wouldn't do me any good, i take it." "there, joe is moving off, and we can head for camp," frank remarked, as they still hovered behind the spur of rocks that had concealed them, though allowing a view of the little camp. "but you don't want to tell john henry that we saw him making a bargain with spanish joe, i take it?" bob questioned. "that's right, we don't; and try to keep from looking as if you suspected him. now his back is turned, come along," and frank, rising, led the way. the preparations for supper went on apace. the guide was unusually talkative, bob thought, and he wondered whether it was not the result of a disturbed conscience. perhaps john henry might not be wholly bad, and was worried over having entered into an arrangement to betray his generous young employers. "what are we going to do for a guide when we let him go?" asked bob, later on, after they had eaten supper, and john henry had wandered down to the river for a dip, as he said. "we'll have to trust to luck to pick up another," frank declared. "and if it comes to the worst, we can go it alone, i reckon. i've never been up against such a big job as this, but i think i'd tackle it, if i had to. but wait and see what another day brings out." when it came time for them to retire they began talking about their ranch habit of standing guard. the guide laughed at the idea of any harm coming to pass while they were there in the canyon. "lots of other tourists are camping inside of three mile from here," he said; "and i heard the sheriff of the county himself is somewhere down in the canyon; so it don't look as how there could anything happen. but just as you says, boys; if it makes you feel better to stand guard, i ain't got a thing agin it." the night passed without any sort of attack. either frank or bob sat up all the time, with a trusty rifle ready; but there was no occasion to make use of the weapon. with the coming of morning they made ready to eat a hasty breakfast. after this was over frank found himself compelled to discharge the guide. "we've concluded to do without your services, john henry," he said, as the man stood ready to start forth on the way along the canyon, heading east. "me? let me go? what for?" stammered the fellow; turning red and then white as a consciousness of his guilt broke upon him. "here's what we promised to pay you for the week," continued frank. "we want no hard feelings about it. never mind why we let you go. you can think what you like. but next time you hire out to a party, john henry, be careful how you let anybody hand you over a few dollars to make you turn against your friends." the man tried to speak, and his voice failed him. they left him standing there, holding the bills frank had thrust into his hand, and looking "too cheap for anything," as bob said. perhaps he feared that the boys might tell what they knew about him, and in this way destroy his usefulness as a canyon guide ever afterwards. "good riddance to bad rubbish!" declared bob, after they had gone on half a mile, and on looking back saw john henry still standing there as if hardly knowing whether to be sorry, or glad over having received full pay for a week after only working a single day. "and here we are cut loose from everybody, and going it on our own hook," laughed frank. "but it would be foolish for us to think of doing without a guide if so be we can find one. we'll ask every party we meet, and perhaps in that way we can strike the right man." during the morning they came upon several parties making the rounds of the wonderland along the beaten channels. sometimes women were in the company, for the strange sights that awaited the bold spirit capable of enduring ordinary fatigue tempted others besides men to undertake one of the trips. just at noon the two boys came upon a lone chinaman sitting at a little fire he had kindled, cooking a fish, evidently pulled from the river by means of a hook and line. "well, what do you think!" exclaimed frank, as he stared at the oriental; "bob, don't you recognize that cousin of our ranch cook, ah sin, the same fellow who was down at our place five months ago? hello! charley moi, what are you doing in the big canyon, tell me?" the chinaman jumped up, and manifested more or less joy at the sight of frank. he insisted on shaking hands with both the boys. "how do? glad see flank, blob! me, i cook for plarties in gland canyon. hear of chance gettee job up gland view hotel. go there now. alle samee like see boys from circle lanch. how ah sin? him berry veil last time hear samee." frank had an idea. "see here, charley moi," he said; "you say you've been about the big canyon a long time now, serving as a cook to parties who go up and down. perhaps we might engage you to stay with us!" "me cook velly fine much all timee. you tly charley moi, you never say solly do samee!" declared the oriental, his moon-like face illuminated with a childlike and bland smile. "but we want you for a guide too, charley; you ought to know a heap about the place by this time," frank went on. "alle light, me do," replied the other, glibly. "no matter, cookee or guide, alle samee. lucky we meet. tly flish. just ketchee from water. cook to turnee. plentee for all. then go like flank, blob say. sabe?" as it was nearly noon the boys were quite satisfied to make a little halt, and taste the fresh fish which the chinaman had succeeded in coaxing from the rushing waters of the nearby colorado. later on they once again made a start. charley moi did everything in his power to prove his fidelity and faithfulness. he seemed proud of the fact that the son of the big owner of circle ranch, where his cousin worked as cook for the mess, trusted him, and had employed him as a guide. never before in the history of the grand canyon had a chinaman held such an exalted office; and charley believed he had cause to feel proud. "can we trust him?" bob asked, as evening came on again. "i've always heard that chinamen are treacherous fellows." "then you've heard what isn't true," frank replied. "a chinaman never breaks his word. over in the far east i've read that all the merchants of british cities are chinese. the japs are a different kind of people. yes, we can trust charley moi. he would never betray us to our enemies." nevertheless, that night the boys also slept on their arms, so to speak. one of them remained on guard at different times, the entire night. frank had learned caution on the range. he did not mean to be taken by surprise; though he really believed that nothing would be done to injure them until after they had found some trace of the hidden hermit of echo cave. before another twelve hours had passed he had occasion to change his opinion. the night did not bring any alarm in its train. charley moi was up several times, shuffling around, looking at the fire, and sitting there smoking his little pipe, as though in satisfaction over having struck such a profitable job so easily; but he gave no sign of holding any intercourse with outsiders. with the coming of morning they were once more on the way. frank noticed with considerable satisfaction that now they seemed to be beyond the ordinary limit of the various trails taken by the regular tourist parties. they were walking along, about the middle of the morning, when they found themselves in a lonely region, where the dim trail led along the foot of rugged walls stretching up, red and apparently unscalable, to the height of hundreds of feet. frank was craning his neck as he looked up overhead, wondering if it could be possible that there was any sign of an abandoned cliff dwellers' village there, when he saw something move, and at the same instant he jumped forward to pull his chum violently back. chapter xvi a wonderful discovery bob opened his mouth to call out, and ask what was the matter, that his chum had seized upon him so fiercely. but he held his breath, for something came to pass just then that made words entirely unnecessary. a huge rock seemed to slip from its notch up on the side of the cliff, and come crashing down, loosening others on the way, until finally the rush and roar almost partook of the nature of a small avalanche. charley moi had skipped out in a lively manner, and thus managed to avoid being caught. bob stared at the pile of broken rock, about which hung a little cloud of dust. "wow! that was as close a call as i ever hope to have, frank!" he exclaimed, with a little quiver to his voice. frank himself was a bit white, and his hand trembled as he laid it on that of his chum. "i just happened to be looking up, and saw it trembling on the break," he said. "only for that we might have been underneath all that stuff." "but did you notice the clever way charley moi avoided the deluge?" said bob, trying to smile, though he found it hard work. "yes, it's hard to catch a chinaman napping, they say," frank went on. "three times this very day i've heard the thunder of falling rocks, and that was what kept me nervous; so i watched out above. and, bob, it seemed as though i must have seen that big rock just trembling as it started to leave the face of the cliff." "well, all i can say then, is, that you jumped to the occasion mighty well. some fellows would have been scared just stiff, and couldn't have thrown out a hand to save a chum. but look here, frank, you don't imagine that thing was done on purpose, do you?" frank looked at his companion, with a wrinkle on his forehead. "i don't want to think anybody could be so mean and low as to want to hurt boys who'd never done them any harm," he said; "but all the same i seem to have an idea that i got a glimpse of a man's arm when that rock started to drop." "whew! you give me a cold chill, frank," muttered bob, gazing helplessly upward toward the spot from which the descending rock had started on its riotous tumble. "yes, and i hope i was mistaken," frank went on. "i don't see anything up there now; and perhaps it was only a delusion. all these bright colors affect the eyes, you see. then, again, it might have been some goat jumping, that started that rock on its downward plunge." "but you didn't see any goat, frank, did you?" bob asked, anxiously. "no, i didn't," admitted the other; "but then there may be a shelf up there, and any animal on it would be hidden from the eyes of those right below." they passed on; but more than once bob craned his neck in the endeavor to look up to that spot, from whence the loose rock had plunged. he could not get it out of his head that foes were hovering about, who thought so little of human life that they would conspire to accomplish a death if possible. the day passed without any further peril confronting them. charley moi seemed to fill the bill as a guide, very well. he also knew the different points of interest, and chattered away like a magpie or a monkey as they kept pushing on. bob became curious to know just how the chinaman could tell about so many things when they were now above the trails used ordinarily by tourists, who gave two or three days to seeing the grand canyon, and then rushed away, thinking they had exhausted its wonders, when in fact they had barely seen them. he put the question to charley moi, and when the smiling-faced chinaman replied, frank caught his breath. "that easy, bloss," said charley, nodding. "happen this way. long time black me 'gage with sahib, like one know out in canton. think have samee big joss some bit up here in canlon. me to bling grub to certain place evly two month. him give me list what buy, and put cash in hand. know can trust chinaman ebery time. many time now me do this; so know how make trail up-river, much far past same tourist use. sabe, flank, blob?" the two boys stared at each other, unable to say a word at first. it was as if the same tremendous thought had come to each. "gee whiz! did you get on to that, frank?" finally ejaculated bob. "i sure did," replied his chum, allowing his pent-up breath full play. "charley says he engaged himself to a gentleman long ago; perhaps it was as much as three years back, the time that the professor disappeared from the haunts of men. and, frank, his part of the contract was to come to a certain point away up here in the grand canyon, once every two months, at a time agreed on, bringing a load of food, as per the list given him by this mysterious party." "it must be professor oswald!" exclaimed frank. "i've been wondering all the time how under the sun he could have supplied himself with food these long months if he'd cut loose from the world, as he said in that note he had. now the puzzle begins to show an answer. charley moi is the missing link. he has kept the professor in grub all the time. did you ever hear of such luck? first we run across that old moqui, who has been in touch with the man we want to find; and now here's the one who comes up here every little while to deliver his goods, and get a new list, as well as money to pay for the same. it's just the limit, that's what!" he turned to the chinaman, and continued: "did you happen to notice, charley, whether this party you are working for is a bald-headed man? has he a shining top when he takes his hat off; and does he bend over, as if he might be hunting for diamonds all the time?" the chinese guide smirked, and bobbed his head in the affirmative. "that him, velly much, just same say. shiny head, and blob this away alle time," with which he walked slowly forward, bending over as though trying to discover a rich vein of gold in the seamed rock under his feet. "shake hands, bob," said frank. "we're getting hot on the trail. now we needn't have any doubt at all about the choice of the eastern route. it's the right one; and somewhere further on we're just bound to find echo cave." "then all we've got to fear, frank, is the work of eugene and his crowd. let us keep clear of that bad lot, and we're going to succeed. any time, now, we may glimpse our old moqui, returning with a message from the professor, if he sees fit to reply to your appeal. he may, though, be so set and stubborn that nothing will move him from his game of hiding. then we'll have to get that paper, with his signature, and save the mine for his family." "that's what i mean to do," replied the other, with grim determination. "if he's so wrapped up in his scheme that he just won't come out, we're going to do the best we can to save his fortune in spite of him. there's his daughter janice to think of. above all, we mustn't let that schemer, eugene warringford, get his fingers on the document." that night they made camp in a little cave that offered an asylum. the boys rather fancied the idea for a change. and they passed a very comfortable night without any alarm. once, bob being on duty near the mouth of the opening, heard a shuffling sound without. he could not make out whether it was caused by the passage of a human being, or a bear. half believing that they were about to be attacked by some animal that fancied the cave as a den, he had drawn back the hammer of his rifle, and watched the round opening that was plainly seen at the time, as it was near morning, and the small remnant of a moon was shining without. but he waited in vain, and, as the minutes passed without any further alarm, bob heaved a sigh of relief. it was all very well to think of shooting big game; but under such conditions he did not much fancy a close battle. when morning came, and he had told frank about it, the other immediately went out to look for traces of the animal. as he came back bob saw by the expression on his chum's face that frank had made some sort of discovery. "how about it?" he asked. "it was no bear," replied the other, decidedly. "but sure i heard something moving, frank, and i was wide-awake at the time, too," bob protested. "i guess you were, all right," frank admitted. "a man passed by, not far from the mouth of the cave. he even stooped down, and looked in, though careful not to let his head show against the bright background. then he went off again up the canyon." "since you know so much, frank, perhaps you could give a guess as to who he was," said bob, eagerly. "no guess about it," came the reply. "i've examined his track before, and ought to know it like a book. it was abajo, bob!" "then ten to one, spanish joe and eugene were close by!" declared bob. "say, do you really believe he knew we were in here?" "of course he did," frank asserted. "perhaps they saw us enter. but abajo also knows that both of us are fair shots. he did not dare take the chance of trying to creep in. it would be more dangerous than our going into that wolf den." "the plot seems to be thickening, frank. it won't be long now before something is bound to happen. if we could only run across the old moqui now, and hear that he carried a message in answer to your note, that would clear the air a heap, wouldn't it?" "well, we must live in hopes," replied frank, cheerfully. "and now, after a bite which charley moi is getting ready for us, we'll be off again, and tackle the roughest traveling in the whole canyon, so he says. but he knows the way, because he was led up here by the old professor, and told to come back every two months." chapter xvii the windows in the rocky walls "well, here it's the fourth day we've been out, and nothing doing yet, frank!" bob spoke gloomily, as though the unsuccessful search was beginning to pall upon him a little. boys' natures differ so much; and while the young kentuckian had many fine qualities that his chum admired, still he was not so persistent as frank. nothing could ever daunt the boy from circle ranch. difficulties, he believed, were only thrown in his way to bring out the better parts of his nature. the more a fellow found himself "up against it," as frank called meeting trouble half-way, the stronger became his character. "oh! well, now, bob, i wouldn't say that," he answered the complaint of his chum. "just think what tremendous progress we've been making right along. and if the very worst comes, didn't charley moi say that it was only a week now before he must get another stock of things to eat, and won't he have to wait at the place of meeting, for the 'learned sahib' to appear, and take them from him, as he has done so often? why, we can be in hiding nearby, and meet the professor, even against his will." "that's so," bob admitted, the argument proving a clincher; "and i reckon i'm a silly clown to think anything else." "no, you're only tired, after a pretty tough day, that's all," frank declared. "when you've had a rest you'll feel better. i'm more used to this sort of thing than you are, old fellow; but all the same we must admit that we're getting the greatest view ever of this old canyon." "that's so, frank, and it's worth all the climbing and sliding, too. but every time we've discovered signs of any of those old deserted homes of the cliff dwellers, why, we find they've been visited time and again by curious folks hoping to discover some treasure, or keepsakes of the extinct people. no chance for the old professor to hide away there." "but pretty soon we're going to discover a new batch of those caves in the face of the rock, something unknown to all other searchers. we'll find it by the aid of this same glass; and because we're looking for it, high up. in all these other cases you see, bob, there were shelves of rock above shelves; and new ladders have been made by the guides, so that anybody with nerve could climb up and up. now these ladders give the thing away. and i've somehow got the notion in my head that in the case of the rock dwellings where the professor is hiding himself, there is no outward sign in the shape of ladders." "but in that case, frank, how under the sun could the old fellows ever get up to their dens, which you said must be near the top of a high cliff?" "well, that's something we're going to find out later on, you see," replied the other, serenely. "perhaps they had some way of lowering themselves from the top by means of a rope, or a stout, wide grape vine. then, again, there may be some cleft in the rock farther away, that no one would notice; but which was used as a trail, running up into the cliff, and to the rock houses." "it does take you to figure out these things," declared bob, in admiration, as they trudged along, with charley moi in advance. "then we haven't yet got to the place where the chinese buyer meets his employer with the eatables?" bob remarked after a little silence. "the last time i asked him he kept saying it was only a little farther along," replied frank. "there, look at him stopping right now; and frank, he's grinning at us in a way that can only mean one thing. that must be where he always waits for the queer old gentleman to show up." "how about that, charley; is this the place where you hang out?" asked frank, as they hastened to join the guide. "allee samee place," replied charley moi, waving his yellow hand around him. "not know where shaib come fromee, always turn roundee rock," and he pointed to a large outlying mass that had, ages ago, become detached from the towering cliff overhead, and fallen in such a fashion as to partly obstruct the canyon trail. frank looked around him eagerly. "we must be getting warmer all the time," he remarked; "and if you just take a look at that river right now, you'll see that up yonder the rock rises up almost from its very flood. when the water is high it must sweep along against the face of that big cliff. and bob, something seems to tell me that somewhere inside of a mile or so, we're going to find what we're looking for." "oh! i hope so!" echoed bob, with a look of expectancy on his face; for he always put great reliance on the common sense of his chum; and when frank said a thing in that steady tone, the kentucky boy believed it must be so. frank called a halt then and there. "we're tired, anyway," he said, "and might as well spend the night here. besides, i just want to find a place were i can take a good look through the glass up at that cliff near the top. it faces the west, all right, you see; and the indications are that somewhere or other i'll find signs of the queer windows belonging to some of those cave houses." the camp was made, and charley moi busied himself with his fire. bob had some things he wished to attend to; while frank took the glass, and, settling down in a place where he believed he could get a fair view of the upper strata of colored rock, began carefully scrutinizing the cliff. "the time is right, because the old indian said the westering sun shone in the mouth of echo cave," frank mused, as he pursued his work, not disappointed because failure came in the beginning. frank had been at work possibly six or eight minutes when he gave utterance to a low exclamation. then he fixed his field glasses upon a certain spot as though something had caught his attention there. "bob!" he called out. "want me?" asked his chum from the spot where the fire was burning. "yes, come here please," frank continued. bob quickly complied with the request. he knew that although his camp-mate spoke in such a quiet tone, he had evidently made a discovery. frank could repress his feelings even in a moment of great excitement, which was something beyond the ability of the more impetuous kentucky lad. "what have you found, frank?" he asked, as he reached the side of the other. "here, take the glass," said frank. "point it toward that little cone that seems to rise up like a chimney above the level of the cliff top. got it now? well, let your glass slowly drop straight down the face of the rock. never mind the glint of the sun, and the fine rich color. i know it's just glorious, and all that; but we're after something more important now than pictures and color effects. what do you see, bob?" "honest now, i believe you've hit the bulls-eye this time, frank." "then you think they're windows, about after the same style as those holes in the rock where we climbed up the ladders to the deserted homes of the old time cliff dwellers?" asked the other. "sure they are; no mistake about it, either," replied bob, and then he gave a low exclamation. "what did you see?" demanded frank, as if suspecting the truth. "i don't know," came the reply; "but something seemed to move just inside one of those openings. it may have been a garment fluttering in the breeze that must be blowing so far up the heights; and then, again, perhaps some hawk, or other bird, has its nest there, and just flew past. i couldn't say, frank; but i saw _something_, and it moved!" frank took the glass, and looked long and earnestly. "whatever it was," he remarked, "it doesn't mean to repeat the act. but all the same, bob, i've got a hunch we've found the place, and that echo cave lies far up yonder in that beetling cliff." "it's a fierce reach up there," remarked bob, as he scanned the height. "how under the sun d'ye suppose that old professor could ever get up and down? too far for him to have a rope ladder; and even if he had, how could he reach the place at first? frank, all the way up, i can't see the first sign of any rock shelves, where ladders might have rested long ago." "that's so," replied the other, reflectively. "the face of the cliff is as even and smooth as a floor. nobody would ever look to find a cluster of cliff dwellers' homes up there; that is, nobody but a man like professor oswald, who has made a life study of such things, and knows all the indications. but something tells me we're pretty near the end of our long trail. the only question now is, how can we get in touch with the hermit of echo cave?" as night settled down the two boys returned to the fire, still perplexed. chapter xviii finding a way up that night they kept no fire going. frank seemed to think it best that they remain quiet, so as not to announce their presence in the neighborhood. though for that matter, it would seem that if any one were perched aloft in one of those slits in the face of the cliff, that represented the windows of the cave dwellings, the entire canyon below must be spread out like a book. nothing happened to disturb them. once frank thought he heard a distant shout, and this excited his curiosity not a little. according to what charley moi said they were now in a neighborhood where ordinary tourists never visited. he thought of the two sheriffs and the lawless men they were pursuing. could it be possible that they were destined to run across those desperate characters sooner or later? the thought was a disquieting one. it served to make frank wakeful, and his restlessness was communicated to bob, although the latter did not know what caused it. but if the fugitives from justice were loitering around in that particular part of the grand canyon, either hiding from the determined sheriffs, or looking for rich quarry, neither they or anyone else disturbed the camp of the saddle boys. again, in the morning, charley moi lighted a fire, and made ready to prepare a modest breakfast. as bob had said, their supplies were running low, and unless something happened very soon the chinaman would have to be dispatched to the nearest store to replenish the food. still thinking of the sound he had heard during the night, and which he believed must have been a human voice, rather than the cry of some wild animal, frank, while they sat cross-legged around the fire, eating the scanty meal, addressed himself to the chinaman. "how many times have you come up this far, charley moi?" he asked. the other commenced to figure on his fingers. having no counting board, used so frequently by his countrymen in laundries, until they get accustomed to the habits of the white man, he took this means of tabulating. "allee fingers and this much over," and he held up the first and second fingers of one hand. "ten and two, making twelve in all," declared bob. "well, you have served the man-with-the-bald-head faithfully and long, charley." "and in all these times i suppose you've never known anybody to be around here?" frank went on. charley shook his head in the negative. "white man, no. sometime moqui come 'long, make for stlore down canlon get glub. see same two, thlee times. charley moi see old moqui last night," the chinaman replied. "what's that you say?" demanded frank, hastily. "that you saw a moqui last night, and after we had come to halt right here?" "thatee so," grinned the other, as though pleased to feel that he was able to interest frank so readily. "just when did this happen, charley moi?" pursued the other. "flank, blob, down by river, make muchee look-look in glass," answered charley. "now, what d'ye think of that?" ejaculated bob, in disgust. "while we were away from camp for ten minutes, something happened. why couldn't it have come about when we were on deck? there's a fine chance lost to get track of havasupai; for i reckon you believe the same as i do, frank, and that the old moqui whom charley saw was _our_ indian?" "seems like it, bob," replied the other, "but don't cry yet. perhaps it may not be too late to remedy matters. see here, charley moi, could you show me just where you saw this moqui last?" the yellow-skinned guide smirked, and nodded his head until his pigtail bobbed up and down like a bell rope. "easy do," he observed, beginning to get upon his feet. "come along bob," remarked frank. "we'd all better be present. three heads are better than one when it comes to a question of deciding what's to be done." "do you think you can track him, frank?" questioned the kentucky boy, eagerly. "i'm going to try," was all frank would say; for he was very modest with regard to his accomplishments as a son of the prairie. charley moi was as good as his word. he seemed to remember just where he had happened to spy the passing indian when looking up from the making of the fire. the moqui had paid no attention to him; indeed, at the time he was creeping past as though taking advantage of the absence of the two boys in order to make a circuit of the camp near the big cliff. "find 'em frank?" asked bob, after he had seen his chum bending down over the ground for half a minute. "yes, and they are the tracks of an indian too, for they toe in," frank replied. "besides, they are made by moccasins instead of shoes or boots with heels. and if i needed any further proof to tell me our friend havasupai made these tracks, and not a strange moqui, i have it in the queer patch across the toe of his right moccasin, which i noticed when he was with us before." "that's just fine!" bob exclaimed, filled with pride over the way in which his chum seemed able to fix the facts so that they could not be questioned. "and will you start after him right away, frank?" "watch me; that's all," came the reply, as frank began to move away, still bending low in order to follow the faint traces of footprints on the rock and scanty soil. the others came close at his heels, bob with a look of assurance on his face, because he felt positive that the game would now be tracked to its hiding place; and charley moi picturing his wonder on his moon-like countenance. so the prairie lad led them in and out among the rocks, and the scrub that grew close to the verge of the river. several times he seemed a little in doubt, as the marks faded entirely away; but on such occasions his common-sense came to the rescue, and, after a look around, frank was able to once more find the trail. "here's where it ends!" when frank made this remark bob could not keep from expressing his surprise. he gaped upward at the bare-faced wall that arose for hundreds of feet, without any particular ledge or outcropping where even a nimble indian could find safe lodgment for his moccasined feet. "but, frank, however could the old moqui get up there to see uncle felix?" he asked. "d'ye suppose he made some sort of signal, and the hermit lowered a long rope with a noose at the end, which would draw him up? wow! excuse me from ever trying to fly in that way! it would make me so dizzy i'd be sure to drop, and get smashed." "you're beating on the wrong track, bob," remarked the other. "no rope could be lowered all that distance; and even if it could no one man would be able to pull another all the way up." "but there must be some way of getting to the place where the slits in the face of the cliff tell of windows. however do you think he did it, frank?" "just because you don't happen to see a ladder, bob, is no evidence there isn't a way to mount upward. one thing about this great cliff i guess you didn't happen to notice. that shows you pass things by. look again, and you'll see that it seems to have been split by some volcanic smash, ages ago. there's a regular crevice running slantingly up the face of the rock. you see it now, don't you?" "sure i do; and i was blind not to take notice of the same before," bob replied. "fact is, i did see that uneven mark, but just thought it was a fault in the make of the cliff, as a miner would say." "well, that crack extends four-fifths of the way up to the top; and far enough to reach the place where we noticed all those dark marks, which we believed must be windows of the many rooms or houses of the cliff dwellers. get that, bob?" "sure i do, frank, and after your explanation i can see what you're aiming at. but where does that ragged crevice start from down here, do you think?" frank stepped forward. just as if he had it all figured out, he bent down, and with his hand drew aside the bushes that grew against the base of the cliff. "well, i declare, there it is for a fact!" exclaimed bob, as he saw a rough opening before him, which came almost together five feet from the ground, leaving only a dark, uneven, slanting line that crawled up the face of the cliff like the photograph of a zigzag bolt of lightning taken with a snapshot camera. "there you are," said frank, with a broad smile. "unless all signs fail, here's the entrance to the mysterious echo cave. we have been more than lucky to find it with so little trouble." "just to think of it," remarked bob, as he bent over to look up into the gap as well as he was able; "here's where the queer old professor has been hiding for all this time, and no one any the wiser. but frank, however in the wide world do you suppose he found out the way to get up there?" "we would have found it sooner or later, even if charley moi had not seen the old indian moving along," replied frank, with the confidence of one who knows what he is talking about. "y--yes, i reckon we would, after you'd prowled around a little, and had some chance to look the ground over. then you believe he must have found the presence of those windows looking out of the cliff just like we did; by using a powerful glass? and, thinking that here was the very place for him to hide and study, he set about looking for the road up, and found it, very likely." "he did it by using common sense, and applying all he knew about the ways of these people of the long ago," replied frank. "and you can see that if he chose, he could have thrown that bottle out of one of the openings up there, so that it would drop in the passing current of the colorado, to be carried down-stream until somebody saw it; and finding the message to my father, sent or carried it to circle ranch." "well," observed bob, with a gleam in his eye, "now that we've found a way to get up to echo cave, have we the nerve to start in?" chapter xix fortune still favors the brave instead of replying at once to this question, as bob undoubtedly thought his chum would do, frank seemed to give a start. he dropped to his hands and knees, and seemed to be examining some marks on the ground. if ever the fair knowledge of reading tracks which frank possessed was called upon to do duty, it was now. bob, of course, could not understand what possessed his comrade; but simply stood there and stared, wondering what frank had found to cause him to exhibit such breathless interest, and all the signs of unusual excitement. when finally the lad on his knees did look up, bob saw a grave expression on his face. "there's something wrong, frank; tell me what it is?" he demanded. "i've made an unpleasant discovery, bob," replied the other. "charley!" he added turning to the wondering celestial, "go back to our camp, and bring our guns right away, both of them, see?" "yep, bloss, me unelstand. charley moi gettee gluns light away quick!" and as he said this the obliging chinaman went on a run, his pigtail and blue blouse flying out behind him. "say, whatever does all this mystery mean, frank?" asked bob, almost helplessly. "just what you might imagine; that there's danger hanging about us, bob." the eyes of the astonished bob sought the ground at the point where his chum had been so deeply interested. "then it must be something you just discovered there, and that's a fact," he declared; "because you didn't act this way three minutes ago." "i happened to discover footprints coming from another quarter," frank went on, calmly; "and they headed into this crevice, just as those of the moccasined moqui did from that side. and they came after old havasupai had gone up, for i found where they wiped out a part of one of his tracks." "footprints, and were they made by the old professor, do you think?" asked bob. "not any. fact is," observed frank, as though deciding to have the worst over, "they were the tracks of three persons, all men!" "oh! my! three, you said, frank; and that would mean eugene, spanish joe, and abajo, wouldn't it?" "just the very ones i meant," replied frank. "then they must have been hiding some place near here, and saw the moqui pass in?" suggested bob, fully aroused by now. "that seems to be what happened," frank observed. "but here comes charley moi with the guns. see how he dodges about, so as to keep hidden from the view of anybody up in those windows above, which we can't glimpse from here." when bob eagerly took his repeating rifle from the hands of the chinaman he exhibited all the evidence of great satisfaction; for he heaved a sigh of relief, and fondled his weapon in a way that caused his comrade to smile. "i feel better now," bob confessed; "because, to tell the honest truth, when you broke the news so suddenly it nearly gave me heart failure, frank, to think that if those rascals sprang out at us we would be next door to helpless. now let 'em be careful how they play their little game. but what does it all mean, do you suppose, frank?" "i can only make a guess, and that may be wide of the truth," the other admitted. "by some accident they managed to get on the track of the moqui. though havasupai thought himself smart, he was no match for such a cunning rascal as spanish joe, who is said to be the best trailer along the arizona border. and they followed him right here." "that was last evening, just when you and i stood there down by the river, looking through the glasses up at the windows of the rock houses above," remarked bob. "yes. perhaps they didn't go up right then." frank went on. "i admit that i can't just make out how long ago these tracks were made. a better trailer might, you see, bob. if old hank coombs were only here now i'd be glad to turn the whole business over to him, and play second fiddle." "but some time between dark and morning these three rascals went in here, and surprised the hermit of echo cave--is that it, frank?" "it covers the case all right," came the reply. "say, do you think they are up there yet?" asked the kentucky lad, in an anxious tone. "i think they must be, bob, because all the tracks point one way, showing that the three men never came back. if they left the cave it must have been by some other way." "no use asking why they would want to get in touch with uncle felix!" continued bob, as if bent on finding out everything he could in connection with the case. "we know what their reason was," frank made answer. "when abajo, hanging about the window of our ranch house, heard what we had to say about the message that came floating down the colorado in that bottle, and carried the wonderful news to his employer, eugene warringford, he set the game going that must end right here. he has come with the intention of making professor oswald turn over that option to him; and he'll do it unless something we can offer prevents." "but frank, if the moqui carried that note of yours to uncle felix, he would be on his guard, and absolutely refuse to sign away the papers?" "i hope he will, but i fear that those three scamps are up there right now, trying to coax or bulldoze him into signing," frank said, with a tightening of his lips, and a flash of his clear eyes. "then we go up, and put a spoke in their wheel, do we?" asked bob, looking as if he were ready to make the start instantly, if his comrade but gave the word. frank glanced around him a little uncertainly. "i've got a good notion to try it," he muttered as if talking to himself. "what's that you say, frank?" asked his companion, who had caught the words, and did not know what to make of them. "i didn't tell you, bob," frank remarked; "but during the night i thought i heard a voice calling far away yonder. and somehow it struck me at the time that there was a familiar cowboy yell about it." "old hank coombs, perhaps, frank?" suggested the other lad, quickly. "that was on my mind, bob. you know history often repeats itself. once before, just when we seemed to need hank the worst way, he came riding along as if he had heard us call. and i was wondering whether he might not be somewhere around here right now." "that would be just prime, if only we could get in touch with him," bob declared. "and, as your father wouldn't send hank alone, there'd be one more cowboy along. that would make a party of four. why, those three rascals would just shrivel, and throw up the sponge, if they saw us break in on 'em. but frank, how about making the old range call?" "d'ye know, i was just thinking it might do to try it," remarked the other. "then start in and give the whoop," bob observed. "no harm done anyhow; even if they hear it up there. and while you're doing all that, i'll just drop on one knee here, and cover the crack in the wall. suppose one of the lot should try and come out while we were off our guard. i'll make him surrender quicker than he can say 'jack robinson'!" presently there sounded upon the morning air the clear "cooee" of the range, particularly well known to every cowboy who had worked at circle ranch. frank and bob listened eagerly to learn whether there would come any response. if not, then they must take up the task of climbing that singular crevice by themselves; and finding out how affairs stood above. their suspense was short-lived, for quickly there floated to their waiting ears a responsive call. turning toward the quarter from whence it seemed to come they saw a hat waving. "it's old hank, sure it is!" exclaimed bob, with a thrill of delight; for the burden of going up against three desperate characters was more than boy nature could stand without more or less uneasiness. "that's chesty with him," announced frank, as two figures were discovered coming toward them. "why, if we'd made all the arrangements ourselves we couldn't have done better, bob. here comes our reinforcements just in the nick of time. and if eugene and his backers are still up yonder in the cliff dwellers' homes, they have stayed a little while too long, that's all." in another three minutes the boys were shaking hands with old hank and chesty; the latter with a cheerful grin on his face, as though he considered it quite a joke to break in on frank's game at the finishing point. of course they were ignorant as to how matters stood. and frank took upon himself the task of explaining all that had happened. "ther up yonder yet, then," announced hank, after he had carefully inspected the footprints, and noted that they all pointed one way; "that is to say, if they ain't got an airyplane along as would allow of them flying off. an' frank, when ye sez the word we'uns are goin' t' walk up this rock ladder t' see what sorter place the ole perfessor keeps." "then i say it now," declared frank, anxious to have the thing settled one way or the other without further delay. "foller arter me, all of ye!" called the old plainsman, as he plunged into the gap. chapter xx another surprise "one thing, we won't need torches this time, hank!" remarked bob as he prepared to follow after the leader. "i reckons not, bobby," chuckled the veteran cowman, who knew that something about the situation must have recalled their entering that cave that day where sly old sallie and her half-grown whelps awaited their coming with bared teeth. just back of hank came chesty, who was a very ambitious young fellow, and always to be counted on with regard to obtaining his proper share in every little excitement that happened. then frank filed along; and at his heels bob climbed; while charley moi brought up the rear, bent on seeing all that might come to pass. the crevice immediately began to mount upward, just as frank had anticipated it would. there were times when the climbing was pretty steep, and frank began to wonder what sort of agile man this old and stubborn professor oswald could be, to overcome such difficulties so often, while in the pursuit of his hobby. bob was soon panting, but no less bent on "keeping up with the procession," as he himself put it. they had been going back from the face of the cliff pretty much all the time, so that there was really no chance to take an observation, in order to tell just how far up they had come. frank felt sure, however, after this labor had kept up for quite a long time, that they must now be getting near the top of the break, or where the crooked crack in the face of the rock ended. he tried to picture what they would find. if eugene and his reckless backers had been in possession of the place for some hours now, they must have tried all sorts of expedients in order to compel the professor to reveal the secret hiding place of the valuable document, and make it over to them. nor would such heartless men hesitate long about adopting torture in order to force a confession from the unwilling victim. then frank wondered if the three rascals would attempt any tactics looking to holding the attacking force at bay. they were well armed, no doubt, and having such a rich treasure hanging in the scales, it might be expected that they would hate to let it slip from their covetous grasp without putting up some sort of fight. but all that could be left to old hank. for many years he had been the leading figure in all the affairs that centered around circle ranch. did the rustlers run off part of the herd, the veteran was put in charge of the pursuing force. sometimes the sly marauders got off scot free; but more often they paid dearly for their audacity in picking out colonel haywood's ranch as the scene of their foray. frank really had no fears as to the result, now that hank had arrived on the scene to direct operations. the three schemers might give them some trouble, but they could not carry the day. "please let a fellow rest up a little, hank!" came from bob, finally. the old cow puncher understood that the pace had been too warm for the tenderfoot; and he considerately halted. perhaps none of the climbers were averse to a breathing spell before the final round. it would put them in better condition for the wind-up, whatever that might prove to be. "frank," whispered bob, as he pulled at the trouser leg of his chum so as to induce him to bend down closer. "what's the row?" asked the other, in somewhat the same guarded tone, as he managed to double over, and bring his face close to that of his friend. "charley moi has just told me something," bob went on. "you know we found out before now that he's got the greatest pair of ears ever for hearing things? well, he says there's something or some one following us up this old crack!" "whew! that's nice, now. a regular procession, it seems," remarked frank. "who d'ye think it can be; and would a bear or a mountain lion pick up our tracks this way?" continued bob, who was trying to work his rifle around, so as to cover the rear. "wait! let's all listen, after i send the word along to hank and chesty," remarked frank. when this had been done even the old cowman thought well enough of the idea to wait until they could find out the nature of the sounds that had reached the keen hearing of the wide-awake chinaman. it was only half light in the break of the rock, and the passage they had been following thus far was so very crooked that no one could see more than twenty feet down the trail. still every eye was fastened on that point where the advancing man or animal would first appear. frank, too, had his rifle bearing on the spot; and taken as a whole the appearance of the little company, flattened out against the break in the mighty rock wall, was rather threatening. all of them could catch the sounds below now. whoever came up the rock ladder must be unused to negotiating such a stairway, for they rattled small bits of loose shale down at times; and frank felt sure he could hear a panting sound, very much like that which tired bob had been making a minute ago. and, as he listened, frank made a discovery that caused him to tighten his grip on that reliable repeating rifle. there were two of the pursuers! and he anticipated that the leader must come in sight ere another dozen seconds passed! there was some sort of movement now, down in the region of the little twist where the steep stairway of the old cliff dwellers made a turn. then a head and shoulders came into view. frank chuckled aloud. just in almost that last second of time he had suddenly guessed the truth, when, in this clinging figure that was staring upward, as though filled with genuine surprise, he recognized an old friend. it was mr. stanwix, the sheriff of the county! he and his mate from the adjoining division of coconino must have just had a glimpse of charley moi disappearing in the dark hole at the base of the cliff; and, being in pursuit of two shrewd law breakers, who had been known to appear in other dress than that of cowmen, perhaps the officers had concluded that here was something that ought to be investigated. frank immediately made a friendly gesture with one hand. he did not want to risk the chances of being fired upon by the officers of the law, who might take the little party for bad men. then he beckoned in a fashion that the sheriff must readily understand to mean caution, and silence. they saw mr. stanwix bend down as though he might be explaining to his fellow officer what an astonishing thing had happened. after that he came on, climbing the steep rock ladder as an exhausted person might. yet his nature was like that of the bulldog; and once he had started to do a thing, nothing could make him stop. when he arrived at a point where he could make his way alongside frank, squeezing past charley moi and bob, the sheriff of yavapai county turned an inquiring look upon his young friend. whereupon frank started in to tell him just who the other three in the party happened to be; and that they were bent upon foiling the lawless game of three rascals plotting for a big stake. in return mr. stanwix intimated that they had suspected something wrong when they saw from a little distance two persons, and one of them a chinaman, disappearing in a cleft of the rocks. further explanations must await a better opportunity, however. they were now too near the series of chambers connecting with one another to hesitate longer. besides, who could say what might not be going on up there a little further, in those holes in the wall where, ages ago, the singular people whom professor oswald loved to study about, had their homes, and lived on from year to year? old hank, when he once more started upward, seemed to have become much more cautious. frank could easily guess the reason. there was a strong possibility that the three schemers might have learned of their presence in the vicinity ere now. and of course eugene knew full well why frank and bob had come to the grand canyon from their ranch home. suspecting that sooner or later the two boys might discover the way up to the cliff house, they would be apt to lay a trap of some sort, thinking to catch them napping when they ascended. old hank could not be taken unawares any easier than might the wary weasel that has never been seen asleep by mortal eyes. frank, keeping well up by the heels of the little cowboy's boots, was ready to draw himself upward at the first sign of trouble. he knew when hank had reached the top of the singular stairway fashioned by nature for the benefit of those who built their habitations near the top of the cliff, far beyond the reach of enemies in the valley below. a few seconds of suspense followed, while chesty was following the veteran into the first hollowed-out apartment. nothing followed where frank had been expecting all manner of evil things. "perhaps they're asleep," was the new thought that flashed through his brain. he did not know what manner of man uncle felix was. now they were all gathered there in that outer chamber that might be called an ante-room of the various apartments running along the face of the cliff for some distance. even charley moi was there, full of curiosity, and willing to lend a hand after a fashion. bob looked around; just as his chum had done as soon as he entered. he saw that some one had certainly been there recently. there were plenty of evidences to that effect. old hank raised his hand with the forefinger elevated. it was recognized as a signal for absolute silence by all the others. even bob restrained his desire to ask questions; and every one listened, as if expecting to catch sounds. was that a human voice? frank started a trifle as the idea came to him. still, it might only have been an additionally strong movement of the breeze; turning some angle that caused it to give forth a sound. he turned to see if any of the others had heard, and judged from the way old hank had his head raised that he, too, had caught the sound; also that it appealed to him as full of significance. again the veteran waved his hand. this time it meant not only caution, but an invitation to advance. hank was about to pass into the next apartment, and wished the others to keep close at his heels. bob was quivering all over with the fever of suspense, as well as pent-up eagerness. he did not know just how much longer he could hold in; for he wanted to yell. still, he did not do it. since coming to this wonderland country of the southwest he had learned many lessons in the way of self control; and every day he was gaining more and more of a mastery over himself. now hank was in the second room, and still heading onward toward another hole in the wall, evidently the only means of communication between the various houses forming the little community. when he reached this, voices were plainly heard beyond. hank kept right on, heading for yet a third doorway; and whoever was doing the talking, he or they must be in that further apartment; so that in another minute frank expected to have his curiosity fully satisfied. chapter xxi the little old man of echo cave "you admit you have carried the document with you, and that it's only a question of refusing to produce it, professor?" frank recognized that drawling voice. he had heard his father's cousin, eugene warringford, speak many times, and generally in this slow way. but frank also knew that back of his apparently careless manner there was more or less venom. eugene could hate, and hide his feelings in a masterly manner. he could smile, and then strike behind the back of the one with whom he was dealing. and somehow his very drawling voice always made frank quiver with instinctive dislike. "i admit nothing, sir," came another voice, quick and nervous, yet with a firmness that told of considerable spirit. "you come upon me in my retreat without an invitation, and at first claim to be a warm admirer of my work, which you seem to have studied fairly well. but now you are taking the mask off, sir; and i can recognize the wolf under the sheep's clothing." frank had heard that the old scientist, though a small man, was full of grit; and he could well believe it after hearing him speak. and bob, who crouched close at the side of his chum, gave frank a nudge as if to say: "what do you think of that for nerve; isn't he the limit, though?" eugene laughed in his lazy way at being accused of evil intentions. apparently he had about made up his mind that there was no use in longer beating about the bush. he had the old gentleman cooped up in this isolated place, where no assistance could possibly reach him. and backed up himself by a couple of reckless rascals, no doubt eugene considered himself in a position to demand obedience. "well, my dear old gentleman," he remarked, and by the sound frank imagined the fellow must be lighting a fresh cigarette, for he seemed to puff between the words; "just as you say, what's the use of carrying the joke on any longer. let's be brutally frank with each other from now on." "very well," replied the other, quickly. "here's the situation then, in a nutshell. you suddenly appear before me, with a couple of men you claim are guides, but whom i have every reason to believe are low minions who are simply in your pay." "careful, professor," eugene broke in. "i'd advise you to go a bit slow. these men talk english, if they do look like mexicans; and they may resent being called rascals." "let that pass," continued the hermit of echo cave, as though waving the matter aside contemptuously. "at any rate, you come suddenly into my habitation here, where i have spent many happy months in solitude, wrapped up in my studies of the people of the cliffs, who spent their lives in this very place, and who have left many traces of their customs behind. my work is almost finished, and in another week i expected leaving here for civilization, with a masterly book on the subject that has mystified the world for a century." "come to the point, professor," broke in the man with the drawl; "and keep all this about your studies for those of your kind, who may appreciate them. we are concerned only about one thing; and that is a certain paper which you will presently take from its hiding-place, sign over to me, and then finish your labors here in peace. understand that?" "by good luck i was forewarned," the sharp voice went on; "and hence i made sure not to carry that document on my person. you have taken the liberty of searching every inch of these cliff houses since you arrived here, but without success. and allow me to inform you, sir, that you might hunt until the day of doom without the slightest chance of finding that paper. it will never be yours!" "oh! i am not worrying in the least, professor," eugene remarked, coolly. "you will see a great light presently, i imagine." "i have already done so, sir," came the snappy reply. "i am awakening to the fact that too long have i been neglecting my daughter; and that since this investment of mine has turned out so happily, it must become her property." "very nice and thoughtful of you, professor," sneered eugene; "and while i dislike to spoil such delightful plans, i fear i must do so. it is my nature to persist in anything i undertake. and i have made up my mind to possess that document; or make you pay dearly for my disappointment." "now you begin to descend to low threats, sir," cried the scientist, who did not seem to be a particle afraid; which proved the truth of the old saying that courage does not necessarily need a big tenement. "we have hunted high and low through this series of ratholes, and without any success," observed eugene, beginning to bite off his words, as though unable to much longer keep up the pretense of being calm. "what have you done with that old moqui who came up here ahead of us?" "ah! you saw him enter the hidden stairway, then, and that was how you learned the way to reach these cliff dwellings?" exclaimed the other, as though one thing that had bothered him was now explained. "yes, that was how it came about," answered eugene. "we have followed him like his own shadow for days, and yet he knew it not. age must have dimmed the sight and hearing of the warrior. after we saw him pass upward, on investigating, we found the stone ladder in the crevice, and we waited several hours for him to come down, for we wanted to make sure of him first. as he did not appear, we finally could stand it no longer, and began to creep up here, inches at a time. then we surprised you, and announced our intention of stopping with you." "yes," declared the scientist, bitterly. "first you pretended that you were sent out by a magazine to search for me, and get some points as to my great work here among the zunis, the hopis and the moquis. but i soon discovered that you had another motive in trying to find professor oswald. you began to hint about your desire to possess stock in certain mines, and especially in one, the ownership of which i had carried in my hand for some years. besides, i had been warned of your real intentions, and was on my guard." "what became of that old moqui indian?" went on eugene. "he climbed up, but he did not come down. we guarded that stairway closely every minute of the time. we have searched every room in this rabbit burrow that we could discover; but still he does not show up. have you put him away in some place, the entrance to which is hidden from our eyes?" the only reply to this question was a scornful laugh. as bob would say, it was as if the defiant little professor had flashed out. "don't you wish you knew?" "well, as the document and the moqui have both vanished mysteriously, there's only one thing i can conclude," went on eugene, between his teeth; "and that is they must be together at this very moment. produce the one, and the other will be found not far away." "what a wise man you are, sir!" remarked the little scientist, with a sneer. "perhaps i may prove a more successful one than you imagine," returned eugene, between furious puffs. "now, all the time i have been turning this old lot of rabbit burrows upside down i've been thinking a whole lot, professor." "bravo!" exclaimed the other clapping his hands vigorously; "it will certainly do you a great amount of good, sir, for i imagine you seldom treat yourself to such a luxury as a good hard think. and may i inquire concerning the result of your labors in that line?" "first of all, i sized you up as a mighty stubborn little bit of humanity." "oh! thank you, sir. really, i am disposed to accept that as a compliment; for you see, a man of my profession could never succeed unless he had mastered his inclination for an easy life, and had become a stoic. and what else did you happen to decide after this wonderful fit of thinking, may i ask, sir?" "this: i made up my mind that once you declined to produce that document, to secure which i have come a great distance, and undergone considerable fatigue, that no threat of bodily harm would induce you to alter your decision!" "it is really very interesting to hear you say this, sir," remarked the one who had lived in that lofty cave for many months, poring over the queer things that he unearthed from time to time in the ruins of the cliff dwellers' homes. "and after reaching such a conclusion as that, how comes it you persisted in trying to carry out your original intention?" "because i had another arrow in my quiver, professor!" remarked eugene, in a penetrating voice, that had a ring of anticipated triumph in it. "h'm! torture, perhaps?" suggested the other; "but my dear sir, nothing of that nature could make me open my lips. i would die rather than submit to your proposals." "but wait a bit, my old friend," chuckled eugene; "there are two kinds of torture, that of the body, and of the mind!" "i suppose you are right, sir," the little scientist remarked; "but honestly, now, i fail to understand the drift of your remarks." "then it shall be my pleasure to enlighten you, professor," eugene continued. "pay attention to me now, and you will quickly have the cataract removed from your eyes. is there anything in the world that you value above that document which you know by this time has suddenly increased in value many times over?" "i can think of but one thing--my daughter janice!" replied the other, quickly. "and she is far beyond your reach in the east." "ah yes, quite true, professor," the schemer went on; "more's the pity. but i think you make a mistake when you say that your daughter is the only thing on earth you value above the million that has suddenly dropped at your feet. how about this, professor?" he evidently held something up, for the other immediately uttered a startled cry. "the manuscript of my forthcoming book on the mysteries of the cliff dwellers of the grand canyon! the hard work of three long years of exile! a labor of love that i expected will place my name among the front ranks of scientists!" "exactly!" sneered eugene. "just keep back, professor, please. my men are not in any too pleasant a mood, and i would not answer for what they might do to you if you made the first effort to snatch this thing from my hands. sit down again, and let us reason together." "you wretch! now i begin to see your game. you would threaten to destroy all my precious work of years, in order to obtain a miserable paper." at that eugene laughed loudly. "it may be all you say, professor," he remarked; "but it represents a snug little fortune that i'd like to possess. the future would be mighty pleasant, once i made that fine hit. and if it appears like so much trash in your eyes, my dear man, there should no longer be any hesitation about giving it up to me. think of the work you have done. it couldn't be replaced, professor, i imagine? if now i should deliberately take a match out of my pocket like this, strike the same, and apply the busy little flame to these papers, the history of the zunis, the hopis, the moquis, and their ancestors the cliff dwellers, would be forever lost to the world, wouldn't it?" "stop, you wretch!" cried the excited hermit, who was apparently greatly alarmed at seeing his precious manuscript in peril. "ah! do you then consent to open your mouth, and tell what i want to know?" demanded his tormentor. "is there no other way out?" asked the prisoner of the cave, hopelessly. "none," replied eugene, harshly. "my men are watching for the moqui to show up every second, and with orders to shoot him on sight. so don't indulge in any hope that he can save you. there, the match has burned itself out; but remember, professor, there are others, plenty of them, where that came from. i will give you one minute to produce that paper." the scientist uttered a sigh that was plainly heard. "i suppose i must yield to fate then," he said, dismally. "but you promise to return my papers to me after i have complied with your outrageous demands?" "to be sure i will, and only too gladly," replied the other, eagerly. "i don't want to make the terms too hard on you, old man. only you must choose now between losing either the fortune, or your work of years. and perhaps we'd find the document after all, too. speak up; where is it?" "examine that rock stool on which you are seated, and you will find that it can be moved," the voice of the hermit went on, steadily. "there, now that you have over-turned the seat, you discover something in the cavity. keep your word, and place in my hands my precious packet of manuscript. threats of taking my life might not move me; but when you place in peril that on which my reputation as a scientist must be based, it is too much. thank you, sir; i see you are a man of your word. and i will sign the papers just as you may wish to have done." chapter xxii turning the tables--conclusion "come on in, boys!" old hank coombs had stood all the while this intensely interesting dialogue was going on, as though glued to the spot. indeed, not one of the party in the adjoining apartment of the cliff dwellers' cave but who had kept drinking in the conversation as though it fairly fascinated them. but when the old cow puncher realized that to all appearances the outrageous scheme of eugene had worked only too well, and that the precious document was even then in the hands of the smooth-tongued plotter, he suddenly awoke to the fact that perhaps they had waited a little too long. through the opening that served as a doorway between the apartments he jumped, followed immediately by chesty, the two sheriffs, and finally the saddle boys, with charley moi bringing up the rear. of course their unexpected coming created quite a breeze among those whom they thus surprised. the little man who wore the goggles seemed delighted, and immediately started to place himself, and his precious manuscript, in a position where he might be covered by these welcome allies. spanish joe and abajo had started to draw their weapons; but when they discovered that they had already been covered, and recognized several among the newcomers as old companions on circle ranch, they promptly elevated their hands. eugene looked just as ugly as he felt. the prize had apparently been about to fall into his hands, like a ripe apple, when this change of front had to occur. he kept his wits about him, however, and like the shrewd fox that he was, played the game to the limit for his own safety. "keep your friends back, professor oswald!" he shouted, as he managed to interpose what looked like a stone table between himself and the two sheriffs, who had their hungry eyes on him. "see here, unless you promise on your word of honor not to proceed against me for this little game that didn't work, i'll tear this paper that's worth a million into little bits, no matter what happens to me afterwards! do you hear, professor?" frank caught his breath. after all the hard work which he and bob had put in to save that precious document for janice, was it to be lost? he wanted to fly at the man, and snatch it from his hands; but did not dare; for only too well did he know that at the first hostile move eugene would proceed to put his threat into execution. to his intense surprise the little man with the big glasses seemed to be shaking as with a convulsion of laughter. it did not seem as though he worried about the fate of the document eugene held so rigidly, while awaiting an answer to his demand. "do just as you please about that, my friend," chuckled the scientist. "if it would afford you any enjoyment to destroy the paper you are holding, i wouldn't cheat you out of it for the world." "but--" stammered the defeated plotter, "it would render void all your right to taking possession of the san bernardino mine, if this document were destroyed!" "oh! dear no, not at all," exclaimed the other, cheerily. "the fact is, that paper is even now on the way to the nearest post office, addressed to my friend and relative, colonel haywood, and is to go by registered mail." "that moqui indian--" gasped eugene, falling back helplessly. "exactly, he carries the packet, with orders to let nothing divert him from his one purpose," observed the scientist; while bob nudged his chum in the side, unable to restrain his delight over the wonderful outcome of the knotty problem. "how did he get out of here?" asked eugene. "we watched the stone stairway every minute of the time, and he didn't go down that way." "oh! well, in my prowling around here, month after month," explained the hermit, "i managed to find a way the old cliff dwellers had for reaching the summit of the rocks, in case of necessity. the moqui possessed the nerve required to crawl along the face of the cliff on a narrow ledge, and make the exit. he is miles away by now, and my daughter's inheritance is safe!" "but--this paper here," asked eugene, faintly; yet with curiosity governing his actions; "it seems to be a legal document, transferring a majority of the shares of the san bernardino mine over to you if the further conditions are fulfilled within a certain time?" "to be sure," laughed the other, "that was the first copy, you might say. there was some little defect about it, which we discovered after it was signed; so a second copy was made. if you had examined that one closer you would have found that the stamp necessary to make it legal was lacking. somehow i happened to keep both copies, never dreaming how valuable this bogus one might prove." eugene threw the paper angrily to the floor. "i'm done!" he cried, shaking his head. "come on, mr. stanwix, if you are after me, and put the irons on; though i don't think you've got any show of convicting me of any unlawful game. i claim to have come here to interview this famous old gentleman about the wonderful discoveries he has made connected with these people of the cliffs. i expected to make a big sum in selling the article to a magazine. perhaps you might give me more or less trouble if you cared; but then it's another thing to show proof. and the professor wouldn't like to stay out here long months, waiting for the case to come on." "that's where you're right, my tall friend," chirped the little scientist; "and as my work is almost finished i do not mean to let anything detain me from getting my book in the hands of the printers." "hear that, mr. stanwix; he says we're going to get off easy, and you might as well wish us good day right now?" exclaimed eugene, nodding to the yavapai sheriff, whom he appeared to know. "well, there's no hurry," remarked that official, pleasantly. "on the whole, my opinion is that it would be good policy to keep you locked up until we know that the document has reached the hands of the one to whom it was sent, and who is, i believe, the father of our friend, frank, here." "i agree with you, mr. sheriff!" declared the old hermit of the cave. "because if he were set free i fear he would chase after the united states mail, if a single hope remained of stealing my property. yes, kindly keep him by you until i come around with news." then he turned to the two cow punchers, who had stood moodily by, listening to all that was being said. "i have no use for either of you men," he remarked, shaking a finger at them; "so the sooner you get down out of this place, the better. and while i continue to remain here a few days, i'm going to ask these brave lads to keep me company as a guard of honor. i've many things to show that may interest them. and i want to accompany frank to his home a little later, if possible." and so it was arranged. old hank and chesty declared that their orders had been to stay as long as frank and bob did; so they also took up their quarters in the apartments that went to make up what the little old gentleman had called echo cave. the two sheriffs took their prisoner away, to place him in some secure nook while they continued their search for the pair of scoundrels whom they had hunted so long, and were determined to get this time. as they will not be seen again in this story it may only be right to say that frank afterwards read an account in a paper of how the sheriffs finally rounded up the arizona kid and big bill guffey, arresting them after a warm resistance in which all of the participants were wounded. and in due time doubtless the bad men who had so long defied the law, paid the penalty for their various crimes. the saddle boys certainly did enjoy the few days they spent with the queer little hermit, while he completed his odd business in the rock dwellings of the ancient cliff men. they found the echo which had caused him to give the place its name, and spent many an hour amusing themselves with its astonishing power to send back sounds. finally havasupai made his appearance, bearing with him a receipt, which proved that the precious packet had been sent by registered mail to circle ranch. and then the professor announced himself as ready to take his departure from the scene of his two years' labors as a hermit, working in the interests of science. "it's a wonderful old place," bob declared as they took their last look at the grand canyon from the bluff in front of the hotel, ere mounting their horses and starting back home across the many miles that lay to the south and east before circle ranch might be reached. "yes, and we'll never forget what we've seen here," added frank. "not to speak of the adventures that have come our way," remarked bob. "tell you the truth, frank, i'll be mighty sorry when our trip is over, because i reckon it'll be a long time before we have another chance for such a great gallop." but although of course he did not know it just then, bob was very much mistaken when he made this prophecy. it happened that events were shaping themselves at that very hour in a way calculated to call upon the saddle boys to make another venture into the realms of chance, and mounted upon their prized horses too. what these events were, and how well frank and bob acquitted themselves when brought face to face with new adventures, will be found set forth in the next volume of this series, under the title of, "the saddle boys on the plains; or, after a treasure of gold." old hank and chesty accompanied professor oswald by way of the railroad to a point nearest the ranch, where a vehicle would be awaiting them. he had been greatly interested in hearing how one of the bottles that he had thrown into the swift current of the colorado had been eventually picked up in far distant mohave city; and thus his note came into the hands of his relatives. of course frank and his chum enjoyed the return gallop even more than when on the way to the grand canyon. they no longer had anything weighing on their minds, since the plans of eugene warringford had been broken up. and besides, the recollection of the astounding wonders they had gazed upon in that great canyon were bound to haunt them forever. the little professor was waiting to see them at the ranch, before starting east to join his daughter, and get his wonderful book under way. "i owe you boys more than i can tell," he declared, when he was saying good-bye; "and you needn't be at all surprised if a nice little bunch of gold mine stock comes this way for each of you, just as soon as my deal goes through, which will be in one more week." he was as good as his word, and when the mine came under his authority he did send both frank and bob some stock, on which they could collect dividends four times a year. frank looked in vain for the coming of the old moqui. charley moi did indeed turn up a little later, anxious to again meet the boys whom he had served in the grand canyon. but havasupai came not to circle ranch; and remembering how he had apparently been fleeing from the wrath of his people at the time they first met him, frank and bob could not but wonder whether the old warrior had gone back to his native village only to meet his fate at the hands of his people, according to moqui law. here we may leave our two young friends, the saddle boys, for a short time, enjoying a well earned rest. but the lure of the great outdoors was so strongly rooted in their natures that it may be readily understood they could not remain inactive long; but would soon be galloping over the wide reaches, following the cowboys as they rounded up the herds, branded mavericks and young cattle, and picked out those intended for shipment to the great marts at kansas city. but while new scenes would likely interest frank and bob from time to time, they could never forget the magnificent views that had been stamped upon their memories forever while in the grand canyon of the mighty colorado. the end * * * * * * the boys' outing library _ mo. cloth. illustrated. jacket in full color. price, per volume, cents, postpaid._ [illustration] the saddle boys series by capt. james carson the saddle boys of the rockies the saddle boys in the grand canyon the saddle boys on the plains the saddle boys at circle ranch the saddle boys on mexican trails the dave dashaway series by roy rockwood dave dashaway the young aviator dave dashaway and his hydroplane dave dashaway and his giant airship dave dashaway around the world dave dashaway: air champion the speedwell boys series by roy rockwood the speedwell boys on motorcycles the speedwell boys and their racing auto the speedwell boys and their power launch the speedwell boys in a submarine the speedwell boys and their ice racer the tom fairfield series by allen chapman tom fairfield's school days tom fairfield at sea tom fairfield in camp tom fairfield's pluck and luck tom fairfield's hunting trip the fred fenton athletic series by allen chapman fred fenton the pitcher fred fenton in the line fred fenton on the crew fred fenton on the track fred fenton: marathon runner _send for our free illustrated catalogue._ cupples & leon company, publishers new york the jewel series by ames thompson _ mo. cloth. illustrated. jacket in colors_ price per volume, cents [illustration] _a series of stories brimming with hardy adventure, vivid and accurate in detail, and with a good foundation of probability. they take the reader realistically to the scene of action. besides being lively and full of real situations, they are written in a straightforward way very attractive to boy readers._ . the adventure boys and the valley of diamonds malcolm edwards and his son ralph are adventurers with ample means for following up their interest in jewel clues. in this book they form a party of five, including jimmy stone and bret hartson, boys of ralph's age, and a shrewd level-headed sailor named stanley greene. they find a valley of diamonds in the heart of africa. . the adventure boys and the river of emeralds the five adventurers, staying at a hotel in san francisco, find that pedro the elevator man has an interesting story of a hidden "river of emeralds" in peru, to tell. with him as guide, they set out to find it, escape various traps set for them by jealous peruvians, and are much amused by pedro all through the experience. . the adventure boys and the lagoon of pearls this time the group starts out on a cruise simply for pleasure, but their adventuresome spirits lead them into the thick of things on a south sea cannibal island. _send for our free illustrated catalogue_ cupples & leon company, publishers new york the bomba books by roy rockwood _ mo. cloth. illustrated. with colored jacket_ price per volume, cents, postpaid [illustration] _bomba lived far back in the jungles of the amazon with a half-demented naturalist who told the lad nothing of his past. the jungle boy was a lover of birds, and hunted animals with a bow and arrow and his trusty machete. he had a primitive education in some things, and his daring adventures will be followed with breathless interest by thousands._ . bomba the jungle boy _or the old naturalist's secret_ in the depth of the jungle bomba lives a life replete with thrilling situations. once he saves the lives of two american rubber hunters who ask him who he is, and how he had come into the jungle. he sets off to solve the mystery of his identity. . bomba the jungle boy at the moving mountain _or the mystery of the caves of fire_ bomba travels through the jungle, encountering wild beasts and hostile natives. at last he trails the old man of the burning mountain to his cave and learns more concerning himself. . bomba the jungle boy at the giant cataract _or chief nascanora and his captives_ from the moving mountain bomba travels to the giant cataract, still searching out his parentage. among the pilati indians he finds some white captives, and an aged opera singer who is the first to give bomba real news of his forebears. . bomba the jungle boy on jaguar island _or adrift on the river of mystery_ jaguar island was a spot as dangerous as it was mysterious and bomba was warned to keep away. but the plucky boy sallied forth and met adventures galore. . bomba the jungle boy in the abandoned city _or a treasure ten thousand years old_ years ago this great city had sunk out of sight beneath the trees of the jungle. a wily half-breed and his tribe thought to carry away its treasure of gold and precious stones. bomba follows. _send for our free illustrated catalogue_ cupples & leon company, publishers new york sea stories for boys by john gabriel rowe _large mo. cloth. illustrated. colored jacket_ price per volume, $ . net [illustration] _every boy who knows the lure of exploring, and who loves to rig up huts and caves and tree-houses to fortify himself against imaginary enemies will enjoy these books, for they give a vivid chronicle of the doings and inventions of a group of boys who are shipwrecked, and have to make themselves snug and safe in tropical islands where the dangers are too real for play._ . crusoe island dick, alf and fred find themselves stranded on an unknown island with the old seaman josh. their ship destroyed by fire, their friends lost, they have to make shift for themselves for a whole exciting year before being rescued. . the island treasure with much ingenuity these boys fit themselves into the wild life of the island they are cast upon in storm. they build various kinds of strongholds and spend most of their time outwitting their enemies. . the mystery of the derelict their ship and companions perished in tempest at sea, the boys are adrift in a small open boat when they spy a ship. such a strange vessel!--no hand guiding it, no soul on board,--a derelict. it carries a gruesome mystery, as the boys soon discover, and it leads them into a series of strange experiences. _send for our free illustrated catalogue_ cupples & leon company, publishers new york the boy ranchers series by willard f. baker _ mo. cloth. illustrated. jacket in full colors_ price per volume, cents, postpaid [illustration] _stories of the great west, with cattle ranches as a setting, related in such a style as to captivate the hearts of all boys._ . the boy ranchers _or solving the mystery at diamond x_ two eastern boys visit their cousin. they become involved in an exciting mystery. . the boy ranchers in camp _or the water fight at diamond x_ returning for a visit, the two eastern lads learn, with delight, that they are to become boy ranchers. . the boy ranchers on the trail _or the diamond x after cattle rustlers_ our boy heroes take the trail after del pinzo and his outlaws. . the boy ranchers among the indians _or trailing the yaquis_ rosemary and floyd are captured by the yaqui indians but the boy ranchers trailed them into the mountains and effected the rescue. . the boy ranchers at spur creek _or fighting the sheep herders_ dangerous struggle against desperadoes for land rights brings out heroic adventures. . the boy ranchers in the desert _or diamond x and the lost mine_ one night a strange old miner almost dead from hunger and hardship arrived at the bunk house. the boys cared for him and he told them of the lost desert mine. . the boy ranchers on roaring river _or diamond x and the chinese smugglers_ the boy ranchers help capture delton's gang who were engaged in smuggling chinese across the border. _send for our free illustrated catalogue_ cupples & leon company, publishers new york the webster series by frank v. webster [illustration] mr. webster's style is very much like that of the boys' favorite author, the late lamented horatio alger, jr., but his tales are thoroughly up-to-date. cloth. mo. over pages each. illustrated. stamped in various colors. price per volume, cents, postpaid. only a farm boy _or dan hardy's rise in life_ the boy from the ranch _or roy bradner's city experiences_ the young treasure hunter _or fred stanley's trip to alaska_ the boy pilot of the lakes _or nat morton's perils_ tom the telephone boy _or the mystery of a message_ bob the castaway _or the wreck of the eagle_ the newsboy partners _or who was dick box_? two boy gold miners _or lost in the mountains_ the young firemen of lakeville _or herbert dare's pluck_ the boys of bellwood school _or frank jordan's triumph_ jack the runaway _or on the road with a circus_ bob chester's grit _or from ranch to riches_ airship andy _or the luck of a brave boy_ high school rivals _or fred markham's struggles_ darry the life saver _or the heroes of the coast_ dick the bank boy _or a missing fortune_ ben hardy's flying machine _or making a record for himself_ harry watson's high school days _or the rivals of rivertown_ comrades of the saddle _or the young rough riders of the plains_ tom taylor at west point _or the old army officer's secret_ the boy scouts of lennox _or hiking over big bear mountain_ the boys of the wireless _or a stirring rescue from the deep_ cowboy dave _or the round-up at rolling river_ jack of the pony express _or the young rider of the mountain trail_ the boys of the battleship _or for the honor of uncle sam_ cupples & leon co., publishers new york the boy hunters series by captain ralph bonehill mo. illustrated. price per volume, $ . , postpaid. [illustration] four boy hunters _or, the outing of the gun club_ a fine, breezy story of the woods and waters, of adventures in search of game, and of great times around the campfire, told in captain bonehill's best style. in the book are given full directions for camping out. guns and snowshoes _or, the winter outing of the young hunters_ in this volume the young hunters leave home for a winter outing on the shores of a small lake. they hunt and trap to their hearts' content, and have adventures in plenty, all calculated to make boys "sit up and take notice." a good healthy book; one with the odor of the pine forests and the glare of the welcome campfire in every chapter. young hunters of the lake _or, out with rod and gun_ another tale of woods and waters, with some strong hunting scenes and a good deal of mystery. the three volumes make a splendid outdoor series. out with gun and camera _or, the boy hunters in the mountains_ takes up the new fad of photographing wild animals as well as shooting them. an escaped circus chimpanzee and an escaped lion add to the interest of the narrative. cupples & leon co., publishers, new york the motor boys series by clarence young _ mo. illustrated. price per volume, $ . , postpaid_ [illustration] the motor boys _or chums through thick and thin_ the motor boys overland _or a long trip for fun and fortune_ the motor boys in mexico _or the secret of the buried city_ the motor boys across the plains _or the hermit of lost lake_ the motor boys afloat _or the cruise of the dartaway_ the motor boys on the atlantic _or the mystery of the lighthouse_ the motor boys in strange waters _or lost in a floating forest_ the motor boys on the pacific _or the young derelict hunters_ the motor boys in the clouds _or a trip for fame and fortune_ the motor boys over the rockies _or a mystery of the air_ the motor boys over the ocean _or a marvelous rescue in mid-air_ the motor boys on the wing _or seeking the airship treasure_ the motor boys after a fortune _or the hut on snake island_ the motor boys on the border _or sixty nuggets of gold_ the motor boys under the sea _or from airship to submarine_ the motor boys on road and river _or racing to save a life_ the motor boys at boxwood hall _or ned, bob and jerry as freshmen_ the motor boys on a ranch _or ned, bob and jerry among the cowboys_ the motor boys in the army _or ned, bob and jerry as volunteers_ the motor boys on the firing line _or ned, bob and jerry fighting for uncle sam_ the motor boys bound for home _or ned, bob and jerry on the wrecked troopship_ the motor boys on thunder mountain _or the treasure box of blue rock_ cupples & leon company. publishers new york the pony rider boys in the grand canyon or the mystery of bright angel gulch by frank gee patchin contents chapters i. westward ho! ii. a view of the promised land iii. tenderfeet show their skill iv. a night in the crater v. tad lend a helping hand vi. a sight that thrilled vii. on the rim of eternity viii. the city in the skies ix. chunky wants to go home x. escape is wholly cut off xi. a trying time xii. braving the roaring colorado xiii. a battle mightily waged xiv. the dogs pick up a trail xv. the mystery of the rifle xvi. a new way to hunt lions xvii. the whirlwind ball of yellow xviii. the unwilling guest departs xix. the fat boy does a ghost dance xx. in the home of the havasupais xxi. chunky gets a turkish bath xxii. a magical cure xxiii. stacy as an indian fighter xxiv. conclusion chapter i westward, ho! "ow, wow, wow, wow! y-e-o-w!" tad butler, who was industriously chopping wood at the rear of the woodshed of his home, finished the tough, knotted stick before looking up. the almost unearthly chorus of yells behind him had not even startled the boy or caused him to cease his efforts until he had completed what he had set out to do. this finished, tad turned a smiling face to the three brown-faced young men who were regarding him solemnly. "haven't you fellows anything to do?" demanded tad. "yes, but we have graduated from the woodpile," replied ned rector. "i got my diploma the first time i ever tried it," added chunky brown, otherwise and more properly known as stacy brown. "cut a slice of my big toe off. they gave me my diploma right away. you fellows are too slow." "come in the house, won't you? mother'll be glad to see you," urged tad. "surely we will," agreed walter perkins. "that's what we came over to do." "oh, it is, eh?" "didn't think we came over to help you chop wood, did you?" demanded chunky indignantly. "knowing you as i do, i hadn't any such idea," laughed tad. "but come in." the boys filed in through the wood house, reaching the sitting room by way of the kitchen. tad's mother gave them a smiling welcome, rising to extend a warm, friendly hand to each. "sit down, mrs. butler," urged walter. "yes, we will come to you," added ned. "we haven't lost the use of our legs yet, mrs. butler," declared the fat chunky, growing very red in the face as he noted the disapproving glances directed at him by his companions. "i hope you won't mind chunky, mrs. butler," said ned apologetically. "you know he has lived among savages lately, and-----" "yes, ma'am, ned and i have been constant companions for---how long has it been, boys?" "shut up!" hissed ned rector in the fat boy's ear. "i'll whale you when we get outside, if you make any more such breaks." "never mind, boys; stacy and myself are very old, old friends," laughed mrs. butler. "yes, ma'am, about a hundred years old, more or less. oh, i beg your pardon. i didn't mean it just that way," stammered chunky, coloring again and fumbling his cap awkwardly. "now you have said it," groaned walter. "go way back in the corner out of sight and sit down before i start something," commanded ned. "you must excuse us, mrs. butler. it is as chunky has said. we are all savages---some of us more so than others, some less." "it is unnecessary to make apologies. you are just a lot of healthy young men, full of life and spirits." mrs. butler patted tad affectionately on the head. "tad knows what i think of you all and how appreciative we both are over what mr. perkins has done for us. now that i have had a little money left me, i am glad that tad is able to spend more time with you in the open. i presume you will soon be thinking of another trip." "we're always thinking of that, mrs. butler," interrupted ned. "and we couldn't think of a trip without thinking of tad. a trip without tad would be like---like-----" "a dog's tail wagging down the street without the dog," interjected the solemn voice of chunky brown from his new headquarters. "i move we throw chunky out in the wood house," exploded ned. "will you excuse us while we get rid of the encumbrance, mrs. butler?" "sit down and make your peace. i know you boys have some things to talk over. i can see it in your faces. go on with your conference. i'll bring you some lemonade in a few moments," said mrs. butler, as she left the room. "well, fellows, is this just a friendly call or have you really something in mind?" asked tad after all had seated themselves. "i'm the only one with a mind that will hold anything. and i've got plenty in it, too," piped chunky. ned rector sighed helplessly. the other boys grinned, passing hands across their faces that stacy might not observe their amusement. "we want to pow-wow with you," said walter. "that means you've something ahead---another trip?" "yes, we're going to the-----" began young brown. "silence! children should be seen, but not heard," commanded ned. chunky promptly hitched his chair out, joining the circle. "i'm seen," he nodded, with a grimace. "then see that you're not heard. some things not even a pony rider boy can stand. you're one of them." "yes, i'm a pony rider," answered chunky, misapplying ned rector's withering remark. "another trip, eh?" "that's it, tad. walt's father has planned it out for us. and what do you think?" "yes, what d'ye think? he's going-----" "look here, chunky, are you telling this or am i?" demanded ned angrily. "you're trying to, but you're making an awful mess of the whole business. better let me tell it. i know how and you don't." "give ned a chance, can't you, chunky?" rebuked tad, frowning. "all right, i'll give him a chance, of course, if you say so. i always have to take a back seat for everybody. i'm nothing but just a roly-poly fat boy, handy to draw water, pitch and strike camp, gather firewood, wash the dishes, cook the meals, save the lives of my companions when they get into scrapes, and-----" this was too much for the gravity of the pony rider boys. they burst out into a hearty laugh, which served to put all in good humor again. chunky, having relieved his mind, now settled down in his chair to listen. "now, ned, proceed," said tad. "well, mr. perkins thinks it would be fine for us to visit the grand canyon." "of the colorado?" "yes." "tad knows more'n the rest of you. you didn't know where the place was. walt thought it was some kind of a gun that they shot off at sunrise, or-----" no one gave any heed to chunky's further interruption this time. "the grand canyon of the colorado?" repeated tad, his eyes sparkling. "isn't that fine? do you know, i have always wanted to go there, but i hardly thought we should get that far away from home again. but what plans has mr. perkins made?" "well, he has been writing to arrange for guides and so forth. he knows a good man at flagstaff with whom mr. perkins hunted a few years ago. what did he say the name was, walt?" "nance. jim nance, one of the best men in that part of the country. everybody knows jim nance." "i don't," declared chunky, suddenly coming to life again. "there are a lot of other things you don't know," retorted ned rector witheringly. "if there are you can't teach them to me," returned stacy promptly. "as i was saying when _that_ interrupted me, mr. perkins wrote to this man, nance, and engaged him for june first, to remain with us as long as we require his services." "does mr. perkins think we had better take our ponies with us?" "no." "then we shall have to buy others. i hardly think i can afford that outlay," said tad, with a shake of the head. "that is all arranged, tad," interrupted walter. "father has directed mr. nance to get five good horses or ponies." "then professor zepplin is to accompany us?" "yes." "poor professor! his troubles certainly are not over yet," laughed tad. "we must try not to annoy him so much this trip. we are older now and ought to use better judgment." "that's what i've been telling ned," spoke up stacy. "he's old enough to-----" "to---what?" demanded ned. chunky quailed under the threatening gaze of ned rector. he mumbled some unintelligible words, settled back in his chair and made himself as inconspicuous as possible. "pooh! professor zepplin enjoys our pranks as much as do we ourselves. he just makes believe that he doesn't. he's a boy himself." "but an overgrown one," muttered stacy under his breath. "where do we meet the professor?" asked tad. "how about it, walt?" asked ned, turning to young perkins. "i don't think father mentioned that." "we shall probably pick him up on the way out," nodded tad. "well, what do you think of it?" demanded ned. "fine, fine!" "you don't seem very enthusiastic about it." "don't i? well, i am. has mr. perkins decided when we are to start?" "yes, in about two weeks." "i don't know. i am afraid that is too soon for me. i don't even know that i shall be able to go," said tad butler. "why not?" "well, we may not be able to afford it." "pshaw! your mother just said you might go, or words to that effect. of course you'll go. if you didn't, i wouldn't go, and my father would be disappointed. he knows what these trips have done for me. remember what a tender plant i was when we went out in the rockies that time?" "ye---yes," piped stacy. "he was a pale lily of the valley. now walt's a regular daisy." young perkins laughed good-naturedly. he was not easily irritated now, whereas, before beginning to live in the open, the least little annoyance would set his nerves on edge. mrs. butler came in at this juncture, carrying a pitcher of lemonade and four glasses on a tray. the pony riders rose instinctively, standing while mrs. butler poured the lemonade. "oh, i forgot the cookies, didn't i?" she cried. "yes, we couldn't get along without the cookies," nodded chunky. "now don't let your eyes get bigger'n your stomach," warned ned. "remember, we are in polite society now." "i hope you won't forget yourself either," retorted stacy. "i'll stand beside you. if you start to make a break i'll tread on your toes and-----" "try it!" hissed ned rector in the fat boy's ear. the entrance of mrs. butler with a plate heaped with ginger cookies drove all other thoughts from the minds of the boys. "mrs. butler," began ned, clearing his throat, "we---we thank you; from the bottom of our hearts we thank you---don't we, stacy?" "well, i---i guess so. i can tell better after i've tried the cookies. i know the lemonade's all right." "how do you know?" demanded three voices at once. "why, i tasted of it," admitted chunky. "as i was saying, mrs. butler, we-----" "never mind thanking me, ned. i will take your appreciation for granted." "thank you," answered stacy, looking longingly at the plate of cookies. "now help yourselves. don't wait, boys," urged tad's mother, giving the boys a friendly smile before turning to leave the room. "ah, mrs. butler. one moment, please," said ned. "yes. what is it?" "we---ah-----" "oh, let me say it. you don't know how to talk in public," exclaimed chunky. "mrs. butler, we, the pony rider boys, rough riders, indian fighters and general, all-around stars of both plain and mountain, are thinking-----" ned thrust chunky gently aside. had it not been for mrs. butler's presence ned undoubtedly would have used more force. tad sat down grinning broadly. he knew that his mother enjoyed this good-natured badinage fully as much as the boys did. ned rapped on the table with his knuckles. "order, please, gentlemen!" "that's i," chuckled stacy, slipping into a chair. "laying all trimmings aside, mrs. butler, we have come to speak with you first, after which we'll have something to say to your son." mrs. butler sat down in the chair that tad had placed for her. "very good. i shall be glad to hear what you have to say, ned." "the fact is---as i was about to say when interrupted by the irresponsible person at my left-----" "i beg pardon. _i'm_ at your left," remarked walter. "he doesn't know which is his left and which is his right," jeered chunky. "he's usually left, though." "i refer to the person who was sitting at my left at the time i began speaking. i had no intention of casting any aspersion on mr. walter perkins. as i was about to say, we are planning another trip, mrs. butler." "where away this time, ned?" "to the grand canyon-----" "with the accent on the _yon_," added stacy. "the grand canyon of the colorado?" "yes, ma'am. mr. perkins has arranged it for us. everything is fixed. professor zepplin is going along and-----" "that will be fine, indeed," glowed tad's mother. "yes, we think so, and we're glad to know that you do. tad didn't know whether you would approve of the proposed trip or not. we are---ahem---delighted to learn that you do approve of it and that you are willing that tad should go." "oh, but i haven't said so," laughed mrs. butler. "of course she hasn't. you see how little one can depend upon what ned rector says," interjected stacy. ned gave him a warning look. "i should say that you approve of his going. of course we couldn't think of taking this trip without tad. i don't believe mr. perkins would let walt go if tad weren't along. you see, tad's a handy man to have around. i know chunky's people never would trust him to go without tad to look after him. you see, chunky's such an irresponsible mortal-----" "oh, i don't know," interrupted the fat boy. "one never knows what he's going to do next. he needs some one to watch him constantly. we think it is the fault of his bringing up." "or the company i've been keeping," finished chunky. "at any rate, we need tad with us." "then i shall have to say 'yes,'" replied mrs. butler, nodding and smiling. "of course tad may go. i am glad, indeed, that he has such splendid opportunities." "but, mother, i ought to be at work," protested tad. "it is time i were doing something. besides, i think you need me at home." "never mind, tad. when you have finished with these trips you will be all the better for them. you will have erected a foundation of health that will last you all your life. furthermore, you will have gained many things by the experience, when you get at the real serious purpose of your life, you will accomplish what you set yourself to do, with better results." "that---that's what i say," began chunky. "haven't i always told you-----" "stacy is wise beyond his years," smiled mrs. butler. "when he is grown up i look for him to be a very clever young man." the eyes of the boys still twinkled merrily, for chunky, unable to guess whether he were being teased, was still scowling somewhat. however, he kept still for the time being. "yes, tad may go with you," continued mrs. butler. "you start---when?" "in about two weeks," walter replied. "father said he would call to discuss the matter with you." "i shall be glad of that," nodded mrs. butler. "i shall want to talk over the business part of the trip." then the youngsters fell to discussing the articles of outfit they would need. on this head their past experience stood them in good stead. "now, i presume, i have said all that i can say," added mrs. butler, rising. "i will leave you, for i would be of very little use to you in choosing clothing and equipment." before she could escape from the room, however, tad had risen and reached her. without exhibiting a twinge of embarrassment before the other young men, tad held and kissed her, then escorted her to the door. walter and ned smiled their approval. chunky said nothing, but sat blinking solemnly---the best possible proof of his approbation. all of the readers of this series know these young men well. they were first introduced to tad and his chums in the opening volume, "_the pony rider boys in the rockies_." then were told all the details of how the boys became pony riders, and of the way they put their plans through successfully. readers of that volume well recall the exciting experiences and hair-breadth escapes of the youngsters, their hunts for big game and all the joys of living close to nature. their battle with the claim jumpers is still fresh in the minds of all readers. we next met our young friends in the second volume, "_the pony rider boys in texas_." it was on these south-western grazing plains that the lads took part in a big cattle drive across the state. this new taste of cowboy life furnished the boys with more excitement than they had ever dreamed could be crowded into so few weeks. it proved to be one long round of joyous life in the saddle, yet it was the sort of joy that is bound up in hard work. tad's great work in saving a large part of the herd will still be fresh in the mind of the reader. how the lads won the liking of even the roughest cowboys was also stirringly told. from texas, as our readers know, the pony riders went north, and their next doings are interestingly chronicled in "_the pony rider boys in montana_." here the boys had the great experience of going over the old custer trail, and here it was that tad and his companions became involved in a "war" between the sheep and the cattle men. how tad and his chums soon found themselves almost in the position of the grist between the millstones will be instantly recalled. tad's adventures with the blackfeet indians formed not the least interesting portion of the story. it was a rare picture of ranch and indian life of the present day that our readers found in the third volume of this series. perhaps the strangest experiences, as most of our readers will agree, were those described in "_the pony rider boys in the ozarks_." in this wild part of the country the pony rider boys had a medley of adventures---they met with robbers, were lost in the great mountain forests, and unexpectedly became involved in an accident in a great mine. the final discovery of the strange secret of the mountains was the climax of that wonderful saddle journey. from the wooded ozarks to the stifling alkali deserts of nevada was a long jump, but the lads made it. all of our readers remember the rousing description of adventures that were set forth in "_the pony rider boys in the alkali_." this trip through the grim desert with its scanty vegetation and scarcity of water proved to be a journey that fully demonstrated the enduring qualities of these sturdy young men. the life, far away from all connection with civilization, was one of constant privation and well-nigh innumerable perils. the meeting with the crazed hermit of this wild waste formed one of the most thrilling incidents. the whole vast alkali plain presented a maze the solving of which taxed to the utmost the ingenuity of the young men. however, they bore themselves with credit, and came out with a greater reputation than ever for judgment, courage and endurance. our next meeting with these lads, who were fast becoming veterans of the saddle, was in the sixth volume, "_the pony rider boys in new mexico_." here, again, the lads ran upon indian "signs" and experiences, not the least of which was their chance to be present at the weird fire dance of the apaches. the race with the prairie fire, the wonderful discoveries made in the former homes of the cave-dwellers, and the defence of the lost treasure in the home of the ancient pueblo indians are all matters well remembered by our readers. now another journey, to the scene of one of nature's greatest wonders, the grand canyon of the colorado, was absorbing the thought of tad butler and his young friends. "the question is, what'll we take with us?" asked ned rector. "yes, that's one of the things about which we wanted to talk with you," spoke up walter perkins. "you always think of things that none of the rest of us remembers." "oh, i don't know. you're all pretty good planners. in the first place, you know you want to travel light." "we aren't likely to travel any other way," scoffed chunky. "whatever we do, though, let's not travel light on food. i can stand almost anything but food---i mean without food---i mean-----" "i don't believe you know what you do mean," jeered ned. "well, what about it, tad?" "as i was saying, we should travel light. of course, we must take our own equipment---saddles, quirts, spurs, chaps, lasso, guns, canteen, slicker and all that sort of thing. i suppose the guide will arrange for the pack train equipment." "i'll speak to father about that," said walter. "i don't know just what arrangements he has made with the guide." "we can no doubt get what ammunition we need after we get to flagstaff, if that is to be our railway destination. folks usually have ammunition in that country," added tad, with a faint smile. "our uniforms or clothes we know about. we shall no doubt need some good tough boots for mountain climbing-----" "do we have to climb mountains?" demanded stacy. "climb up and fall down," answered walt. "oh, dear me, dear me! it'll be the death of me, i know," wailed the fat boy. "i'd rather ride---up. i can get down all right, but-----" "yes, you certainly can get down," laughed ned. "then we shall want quite a lot of soft, strong rope, about quarter-inch manila. i don't think of anything else. we ought to be able to pick up whatever else we need after we get out there------" "i guess that's all, fellows, isn't it?" asked ned. "all but the shouting," answered stacy. "you are well able to do that. you'd better practise up on those favorite exclamations of yours---" "what are they?" "y-e-o-w and w-o-w!" "who-o-o-p-e-e!" answered chunky in a shrill, high-pitched voice. ned rector clapped a hand over the fat boy's mouth with a resounding smack. chunky was jerked backward, his head striking the chair with a bump that was audible all over the room. "you stop that business. do you forget where you are? that's all right out in the wilds, but not in civilized society," declared ned. "whe---where's the civilized society? don't you do that to me again, or i'll-----" "chunky's all right. let him alone, ned. mother doesn't care how much noise we make in here. in fact, she'd think something was wrong with us if we didn't make a big racket. chunky, if you are so full of steam you might go out and finish the woodpile for me. i've got to cut that wood this afternoon." "no, thank you. i'm willing to hunt for the colored man in the woodpile, but i'm a goat if i'll chop the wood. why, i'd lose my reputation in chillicothe if i were seen doing such a common thing as that." "no, that would be impossible," answered ned sarcastically. "eh? impossible?" questioned stacy. "oh, yes, yes, yes. i'll write it down for you so you'll understand it and-----" "he means that you can't lose what you don't possess," explained walter. chunky grunted his disgust, but made no reply. the boys then fell to discussing the proposed trip. tad got out his atlas and together they pored over the map of arizona. after some time at this task, chunky pulled a much soiled railway map from his pocket. this gave them a more detailed plan of the grand canyon. "you see, i have to show you. when it comes to doing things stacy brown's the one on whom you all have to fall back." "you are almost human at times, stacy. i'm free to admit that," laughed tad. "yes, this is just what we want." chunky inflated his chest, and, with hands clasped behind his back, walked to the window and gazed out into the street, nodding patronizingly now and then to persons passing who had bowed to him. in his own estimation, stacy was the most important person in chillcothe. so confident was he of this that several persons in the community had come almost to believe it themselves. chunky, by his dignified and important bearing, had hopes of converting others to this same belief. as for his three companions---well, a journey without stacy brown would be a tame and uneventful journey at best. the greater part of the afternoon was devoted to making plans for the coming trip, each having his suggestions to make or his criticism to offer of the suggestions of others. though the arguments of the pony riders at times became quite heated, the friendship they held for each other was never really strained. they were bound together by ties that would endure for many years to come. each day thereafter, during their stay at home, they met for consultation, and when two weeks later they had assembled at the railroad station in chillicothe, clad in their khaki suits, sombreros, each with a red bandanna handkerchief tied carelessly about his neck, they presented an imposing appearance and were the centre of a great crowd of admiring boys and smiling grown-ups. there were many exciting experiences ahead of the pony rider boys as well as a series of journeys that would linger in memory the rest of their lives. chapter ii a view of the promised land for nearly three days the pony rider boys had been taking their ease in a pullman sleeping car, making great inroads on the food served in the dining car. it had been a happy journey. the boys were full of anticipation of what was before them. at intervals during the day they would study their maps and enter into long discussions with professor zepplin, the grizzled, stern-looking man who in so many other journeys had been their guardian and faithful companion. the professor had joined them at st. louis, where the real journey had commenced. all that day they had been racing over baked deserts, a cloud of dust sifting into the car and making life miserable for the more tender passengers, though the hardy pony riders gave no heed to such trivial discomforts as heat and dust. they were used to that sort of thing. furthermore, they expected, ere many more days had passed, to be treated to discomforts that were real. suddenly the train dashed from the baked desert into a green forest. the temperature seemed to drop several degrees in an instant. everyone drew a long breath, faces were pressed against windows and expressions of delight were heard in many parts of the sleeper. they had entered a forest of tall pines, so tall that the lads were obliged to crane their necks to see the tops. "this is the beginning of the beginning," announced professor zepplin somewhat enigmatically. "this is the forest primeval." "i don't know," replied chunky, peering through a car window. "it strikes me that we've left the evil behind and got into the real thing." "what is it, professor?" asked tad butler. "as i have said, it is a primeval forest. this great woodland stretches away from the very base of the san francisco mountains southward for a distance of nearly two hundred miles. we are taking a short cut through it and should reach flagstaff in about an hour from now." "hurrah! we're going to see the flagstaff in an hour," cried stacy, his face wreathed in smiles. "a further fact, which is no doubt unknown to you, is that this enormous forest covers an area of over ten thousand square miles, and contains six million, four hundred thousand acres." the boys uttered exclamations of amazement and wonder. "if you'd said ten acres, i'd understand you better," replied stacy. "i never could think in such big figures. i'm like a rich fellow in our town, who doesn't know what money is above a certain sum." "well, what about it?" demanded tad. "up to fifty dollars, he knows how much it is, but for anything above that it's a check," finished chunky, looking about him expectantly. no one laughed. "speaking of checks," said ned rector after an interval of silence, "did you bring along that snaffle bit, tad?" "what snaffle bit?" "the one we were going to put on stacy brown to hold him in check?" a series of groans greeted ned's words. chunky grumbled something about making a checker board of ned's face if he didn't watch out, after which the professor turned the rising tide into other and safer channels by continuing his lecture on the great arizona forest. as the train dashed on the pony riders were greeted with occasional views of a mountain differing from anything they ever had seen. one peak especially attracted their attention. its blackened sides, and its summit bathed in a warm glow of yellow sunshine, gave it a most striking appearance. "what is it, professor?" asked tad, with an inquiring gaze and nod toward the mountain. "sunset mountain," answered professor zepplin. "you should have discovered that." "but it isn't sunset," objected walter. "it is always sunset there. the effect is always a sunset effect." "in the night, too!" questioned chunky. "no, it's moonset then," scoffed rector. "in the same direction you will observe the others of the san francisco mountains. however, we shall have more of this later on. for the present you would do well to gather up your belongings, for we shall be at our journey's end in a few minutes." this announcement caused the boys to spring up, reaching to the racks above for such of their luggage as had been stowed there. all was bustle for the next twenty minutes. then the train drew into the station, the cars covered with the dust of the desert, changing the dark brown of their paint to a dirty gray. the boys found that they had arrived at a typical western town, a tree-surrounded, mountain-shadowed, breeze-blown place set like a gem in a frame of green and gold, nestling, it seemed, at the very base of the towering peaks of the san francisco mountains, whose three rough volcanic peaks stood silent sentinel over the little community clustered at their base. the railroad track lined one side of the main street, while business blocks and public houses were ranged on the opposite side. here the garb of the pony riders failed to attract the same attention that it had done further east. there were many others on the station platform whose clothes and general get-up were similar to those of the boys. but as they descended from the sleeping car, their arms full of their belongings, each carrying a rifle in a case, they caught sight of a man who instantly claimed their attention. he was fully sixty years old, standing straight as a tree and wearing a soft black felt hat, a white shirt and a wing collar. from his chin, extend almost back to the ears, there stood a growth of white bristling whiskers. as he tilted his head backward in an apparent effort to stand still more erect, the whiskers stood out almost at right angles, giving him a most ferocious appearance. tad felt a tug at his sleeve. he turned to find the big eyes of chunky brown gazing up into his face. "is that the wild man of the canyon?" whispered stacy. "i don't know. he looks as if he might be a senator, or-----" "any of you boys know where we can find jim nance?" interrupted the professor. "i reckon we do," drawled a cowboy. "well?" urged the professor somewhat irritably. "wal?" answered the cowboy. "will you please tell us where we may find him, pardner?" spoke up tad, observing how the land lay and wishing to head off friction. "i reckon that's him," answered the cowboy, pointing to the straight, athletic figure of the old man. tad grinned at chunky. "that's our guide, bub." "he looks fierce enough to be a man eater." "i'm afraid of him," whispered stacy. "he's mysterious looking, too; like the canyon." professor zepplin strode up to the old man. "mr. nance, i believe." "y-a-a-s," drawled the old man. the professor introduced himself, then one by one called the boys up and presented them, the old man gazing keenly with twinkling, searching eyes into the face of each one presented to him. chunky said "ouch" when nance squeezed his hand, then backed off. "this is mr. nance, the gentleman who is to be our guide," announced professor zepplin. "we're all glad to see you, mr. nance," chorused the pony riders. "ain't all tenderfeet, eh?" quizzed the guide. "no, not exactly. they have been out for some time. they are pretty well used to roughing it," declared the professor. "good idea. they'll think they haven't before they get through with the old grand." "how about our ponies?" asked tad. "have you engaged them?" "you pick 'em out. i'll take yon to corral after you've had your dinner." all hands walked across the street to a hotel, where they sat down to the first satisfying meal they had eaten since leaving home. "this beats the spirit meals we've been having on board the train," announced stacy, his eyes roving longingly over the heaped up dishes. "don't lick your chops," cautioned ned. "there are some polite folks here, as you can see. "what's that you said about spirit meals?" quizzed the guide after they had gotten started with their dinner. "the kind a fellow i knew used to make for his men on the farm," answered stacy promptly. "tell us about it. i never heard you mention it," urged tad. "he fed his men mostly on spirit soup. ever hear of spirit soup?" "i never did. any of you boys ever hear of spirit soup?" the pony riders shook their heads. they were not particularly interested in chunky's narration. ned frowned and went on with his dinner. "well, this fellow used to make it. he had barrels of the stuff, and-----" "how is the chuck made?" demanded jim nance. "i'll tell you. to make spirit soup you catch a snipe. then you starve him to death. understand?" nance nodded. "after you've starved him to death you hang him up on the sunny side of the house till he becomes a shadow. a shadow, you understand? well, after he's become a shadow you let the shadow drop into a barrel of rainwater. the result is spirit soup. serve a teaspoonful a day as directed," added stacy, coming to a sudden stop as ned trod on his toes with a savage heel. jim nance's whiskers stood out, the ends trembling as if from the agitation of their owner, causing chunky to shrink within himself. "very unseemly, young man," rebuked the professor. "it seems so," muttered walter under his breath; then all hands laughed heartily. the meal being finished, nance ordered a three-seated buckboard brought around. into this the whole outfit piled until the bottom of the vehicle bent almost to the ground. "will it hold?" questioned the professor apprehensively. "i reckon it will if it doesn't break. we'll let the fat boy walk if we've got too big a load," nance added, with a twinkle. "no, i'll ride, sir," spoke up stacy promptly. "i'm very delicate and i'm not allowed to walk, because-----" "how far is it out to the corral, mr. nance?" questioned tad. "'bout a mile as the hawk flies. we'll be there in a jiffy." it appeared that all arrangements had been made by mr. perkins for the stock, through a bank in flagstaff, where he had deposited funds to cover the purchase of stock and stores for the trip through the canyon. this the professor understood. there remained little for the boys to do except for each to pick out the pony be fancied. they looked over the mustangs in the corral, asking the owner about this and that one. "i'll take that one," said chunky, indicating a mild-eyed pinto that stood apparently half asleep. the owner of the herd of mustangs smiled. "kind and sound, isn't he?" questioned the fat boy. "oh, he's sound all right." "do you know how to handle a pinto, boy?" questioned nance. "do i? of course i do. haven't i been riding the toughest critters on the ranges of the rockies for years and years? don't i know how to rope anything that ambles on four legs? well, i guess! gimme that rope. i'll show you how to fetch a sleepy pinto out of his dreams." the black that chunky coveted seemed, at that moment, to have opened his eyes ever so little, then permitted the eyelids to droop. it was not a good sign as tad viewed it, and the pony rider was an excellent horseman. "better be careful, chunky," he warned. "shan't i rope him for you?" "i guess not. if i can't rope him i'd like to see you do it." "sail in. you know best," answered tad, with a grin, winking at ned and the professor. jim nance appeared to take only a passive interest in the matter. he might have his say later provided his advice were needed. chunky ran his rope through his hands, then grasping the hondo, strode boldly into the corral. "i reckon it's time we were climbing the fence," announced tad. "i reckon it is," agreed the guide, vaulting to the top rail, which action was followed by the other two boys, only the owner of the herd and professor zepplin remaining inside the corral with stacy. suddenly stacy let go the loop of his lariat. it dropped over the head of the sleepy pinto. the pinto, at the touch of the rope, sprang into sudden life. then things began to happen in that corral. stacy brown was the center of the happenings. chapter iii tenderfeet show their skill "woof!" exclaimed ned rector. "oh!" cried walter perkins. "good boy! hang on!" shouted tad encouragingly. it is doubtful whether stacy heard either the words of warning or those of encouragement from tad, for at that moment stacy's feet were up in the air. the pinto had leaped forward like a shot the instant it felt the touch of the rope. of course chunky, who had clung to the rope, went along at the same rate of speed. a great cloud of dust rose from the corral. the mustang was darting here and there, bucking, squealing and kicking. in a moment most of the other mustangs were doing likewise. the owner of the herd, calling to the professor, darted out, leaving one bar of the fence down. professor zepplin, becoming confused, missed his way and found himself penned into one corner at the far side, almost the center of a circle of kicking mustangs. tad saw the danger of their companion almost at once. the lad leaped down, and darting among the kicking animals, made his way toward the professor just as stacy's mustang leaped the bars. stacy's toes caught the top rail, retarding his progress for the briefest part of a second, then he shot out into the air after the racing mustang. "leggo!" roared the boys. "let go!" shouted the guide. "the little fool! doesn't he know enough to come in out of the wet?" "you'll find he doesn't, sir. your troubles have only just begun. you'll be demanding an increase of wages before you have followed stacy brown for a full twenty-four hours," prophesied ned. in the meantime tad had reached the professor, regardless of the flying hoofs about him. with his rope the boy drove the animals off just in time. somehow they seemed to have taken it into their heads that the professor was responsible for their having been disturbed and they were opening their hoof batteries upon him. they gave way before the resolute young pony rider almost at once. they recognized that this slender young plainsman and mountaineer was unafraid. the professor was weak in the knees by the time he had been led out. "i didn't know you were in there," apologized nance. "where's stacy?" was the professor's first question. "he's gone by the air line," answered walter. while all this had been taking place chunky had continued in his mad flight for a short distance. he had a long hold on the rope by which the mustang was hauling him. the wary beast, espying a tree whose limbs hung low, changed his course and darted under the lowest of the limbs. its intention was plain to those who knew the habits of these gentle beasts. the mustang intended to "wipe" the pony rider boy free of the line. just before reaching the low-hanging limb the pinto darted to one side, then to the other after an almost imperceptible halt. the result was the rope was drawn under the low limb. a quick leap on the part of the mustang, that exhibited almost human intelligence by this manoeuvre, caused chunky to do a picturesque flop over the limb, falling flat on his back on the other side. this brought the mustang to a quick stop, for the rope had taken a firm hitch around the limb. the sudden jolt and stoppage of his progress threw the mustang on his nose, where he poised for a few seconds, then he too toppled over on his back. the owner of the herd was screaming with, merriment, jim nance was slapping his sides as he ran, while the professor was making for the fat boy with long strides. tad reached stacy first. the fat boy lay blinking, looking up at him. stacy's clothes were pretty well torn, though his body did not seem to be harmed beyond the loss of considerable skin. "let me have that rope," commanded tad. "n-n-no you don't." "let me have that rope, i tell you. i'll attend to the pinto for you." "here, give it to me," ordered jim nance, reaching for the rope which tad butler had taken. "i can handle him, mr. nance." the "handling" was not easy. tad was hauled over the best part of an acre of ground ere he succeeded finally in getting an opportunity to cast his own rope. when, however, he did make the cast, the rope caught the pinto by a hind foot, sending the stubborn little beast to the ground. then tad was jerked this way and that as the animal sought to kick the foot free. "grab the neck rope some of you," he cried. nance was the first to obey the command. it was the work of but a moment temporarily to subdue the pinto. "take him back. we don't want the critter," ordered the guide. "i---i want him," declared stacy, limping up to the former sleepy beast. "i'll break him so i guess stacy can ride him," said tad. "ned, will you fetch my saddle and bridle? i can't let go here just yet. has this fellow ever been ridden?" demanded the boy, looking up at the owner. "i reckon he has, but not much." "why did you let brown rope the pinto, then?" "he said he wanted him." "let him up," directed tad. the mustang had another spell, but ere he had finished his bucking tad had skillfully thrown the saddle on and made fast the saddle girth at the risk of his own life. next came the bridle, which was not so easily put in place. it was secured at last, after which the lad stepped back to wipe the perspiration from his face and forehead. dark spots on his khaki blouse showed where the sweat had come through the tough cloth. "now i'll ride him," butler announced. for the next quarter of an hour there followed an exhibition that won the admiration of all who saw it. all the bucking and kicking that the pinto could do failed to unseat tad butler. when finally he rode back to the group, mr. mustang's head was held straight out. once more the sleepy look had come into his eyes, but it was not the same crafty look that had been there before. he was conquered, at least for the time being. "now, chunky, you may try him." "what do you think of that for riding?" demanded stacy, turning to the guide. "oh, he'll ride one of these days," answered the guide. "i believe you're a grouch," snorted the fat boy, as he swung into the saddle, quickly thrusting his toes into the stirrups, expecting to be bucked up into the air. but nothing of the sort followed. the mustang was as meek as could be. stacy rode the animal up and down the field until satisfied that the pinto was thoroughly broken. stacy was an object of interest to all. he was a very much banged-up gentleman, nor was tad so very far behind him in that respect. young butler chose for his mount a mustang with a white face. already tad had decided to call him silver face. the two very quickly came to an understanding, after a lively but brief rustle about the enclosure. after this tad roped out the pintos for the others of his party. this done, the boys took their mustangs out into the field, where they tried them out. the spectators were then treated to an exhibition of real riding, though the pony riders were not doing this for the sake of showing off. they wanted to try their mounts out thoroughly before deciding to keep those they had chosen. at last they decided that the stock could stand as picked out, with the exception of walter perkins's mustang, which went lame shortly after the boy had started off with him. "i guess we are all right now," announced tad, riding up to where the professor and jim nance were standing. "has either of you any suggestions to offer?" "hain't got no suggestions to offer to the likes of you," grumbled the guide. "where'd you learn to ride like that?" "oh, i don't know. it came natural, i guess," replied tad simply. "the others ride as well as i do." "then we'll be moving. i reckon you are figgering on gitting started to-day?" "yes, we might as well be on our way as soon as you are ready, mr. nance," agreed the professor. "how about the pack train?" asked tad. "the mules are all ready," answered the guide. the lads rode their new horses back to flagstaff. none cared to ride in the buckboard long as there was a horse to ride. even the professor thought he would feel at home in the saddle once more. nance observed that though professor zepplin was not the equal of the pony riders on horseback, yet he was a good man in the saddle. nance was observing them all. he knew they would be together for some weeks and it was well to understand the peculiarities of each one of the party at the earliest possible moment. reaching town the party found that the entire equipment for the pack train had been gotten in readiness. there remained but to pack the mules and they would be ready for their start. this was done with a will, and about two o'clock in the afternoon the outfit set off over the stage road, headed for the grand canyon. it was a happy party, full of song and jest and joy for that which was before them. the way led through the coconino park. some three miles out they halted at the edge of a dry lake basin, in the centre of which was a great gaping hole. the professor pointed to it inquiringly. "there was a lake here up to a few years ago," explained jim. "bottom fell out and the water fell in. ain't no bottom to it now at all" "then---then the water must have leaked out on the other side of the world," stammered chunky, his eyes big with wonder. "i reckon it must have soused a heathen chinee," answered nance, with a grin. "pity it didn't fall out the other way and souse a few guides, eh?" questioned the fat boy, with a good-natured grimace at which nance laughed inwardly, his shaking whiskers being the only evidence of any emotion whatever. "up there is walnut canyon," explained jim. "cliff dwellers lived up there some time ago." "yes, we met some of them down south," nodded chunky. "you mean we saw where they once lived long, long ago," corrected professor zepplin. "yes, we saw where they lived," agreed stacy. the way led on through a forest of pines, the trail underfoot being of lava, as hard and smooth as a road could be. they were gradually drawing nearer to sunset mountain. after a time they turned off to the right, heading straight for the mountain. tad rode back to the professor to find out where they were going. "i thought you boys might like to explore the mountain. you will find some things there well worth scientific consideration." "yes, sir; that will be fine." "you know the mountain was once a great volcano." "how long ago?" interrupted stacy. "a few million years or so." "mr. nance must have been a boy in short trousers then," returned stacy quizzically. the guide's whiskers bristled and stood out straight. the road by this time had lost its hardness. the ponies' hoofs sank deep into the cinders, making progress slow for the party. they managed to get to the base of the mountain, but the mustangs were pretty well fagged. the animals were turned out for the night after having been hobbled so that they could not stray far away. "now each of you will have to carry a pack," announced the guide. "i will tell you what to take." "why, where are we going?" asked tad. "we are going to spend the night in the crater of the extinct volcano," said the professor. "will not that be a strange experience?" "hurrah for the crater!" shouted the boys. "speaking of volcanoes, i wish you wouldn't open your mouth so wide, ned. it makes me dizzy. i'm afraid i'll fall in," growled chunky. chapter iv a night in the crater "what, climb that mountain?" demanded stacy. "surely. you are not afraid of a mountain, are you?" demanded tad. "i'm not afraid of---of anything, but i'm delicate, i tell yau." "just the same, you'll pack about fifty pounds up the side of that hill," jeered ned rector. the pack mules had not yet come up with their driver. the party foreseeing this, had brought such articles as would be needed for the night. taking their blankets and their rifles, together with food and wood for a fire, they began the slow, and what proved to be painful, ascent of sunset mountain. a lava field stretched directly in front of them, barring the way. its forbidding surface had been riven by the elements until it was a perfect chaos of black tumult. by the time the pony rider boys had gotten over this rough stretch, they were ready to sit down and rest. nance would not permit them to do so. he said they would have barely time to reach the crater before dark, as it was, and that they must make the best speed possible. no one grumbled except stacy, but it was observed that he plodded along with the others, a few paces to the rear. the professor now and then would point to holes in the lava to show where explosions had taken place, bulging the lava around the edge and hurling huge rocks to a considerable distance. as they climbed the mountain proper they found that sunset, too, had engaged in some gunnery in those far-away ages, as was shown by many lava bombs lying about the base. the route up the mountain side was over a cider-buried lava flow, the fine cinders under foot soon making progress almost a torture. tad was the first to stand on his head as his feet went out from under him. stacy, in a fit of uproarious laughter, did the next stunt, that of literally standing on his right ear. chunky tried to shout and got his mouth full of cinders. "i'm going back," howled the fat boy. "i didn't come up here to climb slumbering volcanoes." "i'll tell you what i'll do, i'll carry you, stacy," said tad, smiling and nodding toward the cinder-blackened face of his companion. "you mean it?" "of course i mean it." "i guess i can walk. i'm not quite so big a baby as that." "i thought so. have your fun. if you get into trouble you know your friend, tad butler, is always on the job." "you bet i do. but this is an awful climb." it was all of that. one step upward often meant a slide of several short steps backward. the professor's face was red, and unuttered words were upon his lips. jim nance was grinning broadly, his whiskers bobbing up and down as he stumbled up the side of old sunset. "i reckon the tenderfeet will get enough of it before they get to the canyon," chuckled the guide. "say, mr. nance, we don't want to mister you all the time. what shall we call you for short?" asked tad butler. "anything you want." "what d'ye say if we call you whiskers?" called stacy. "stacy!" rebuked the professor sternly. "oh, let the little tenderfoot rant. he's harmless. call me whiskers, if it does ye any good." "i'm no tenderfoot," protested chunky. "nor be i all whiskers," returned the guide, whereat chunky's face turned red. "i guess we'll call you dad, for you'll have to be our dad for some time to come," decided tad. "that'll be all right, providing it suits the fat little tenderfoot." stacy did not reply to this. he was having too much trouble to keep right side up just then to give heed to anything else. "go zig-zag. you'll never get to the top this way," called tad. "you know how a switchback railroad works? well, go as nearly like a switch-back as possible." "that's a good idea," agreed dad. "you'll get there quicker, as the young gentleman says." tad looked at his companions, grinning broadly. as they got nearer to the top the color of the cinders changed from black to a brick red. they began to understand why the peak of sunset always presented such a rosy appearance. it was due to the tint of the cinders that had been thrown from the mouth of the volcano ages ago. "we have now entered the region of perpetual sunset," announced the professor. chunky took advantage of the brief halt to sit down. he slid back several feet on the treacherous footing. still further up the mountain took on a rich yellow color, but near the rim it was almost white. it was a wonderful effect and caused the pony riders to gaze in awe. but darkness was approaching rapidly. the guide ordered them to be on the way, because he desired to reach the rim of the crater while they still were able to see. what his reasons were the boys did not know. they took for granted that dad knew his business, which dad did. he had spent many years in this rough country and knew it well. the grand canyon was his home. he lived in it the greater part of the year. when winter came, dad, with his mustang, his cattle and equipment would descend into the grand canyon far from snow and bitter cold into a land of perpetual summer, where, beside the roaring colorado, he would spend the winter alone with his beloved canyon. dad's was a strange nature. he understood the moods of the great gash in the plateau; he seemed literally to be able to translate the mysterious moans and whispers of the wind as it swirled between the rocky walls and went shrieking up the painted sides of the gulches. but of all this the boys knew nothing as yet. it was all to be revealed to them later. "you'll have a look over the country tomorrow," said dad. "where is the canyon?" asked tad, eager for a view of the wonderful spot. "you'll get a glimpse of it in the morning. you'll know the place when you get to it. here we be at the top. there's the hole." chunky peered into the crater rather timidly. "how do you get down?" he asked. "slide," answered ned. "i can do that, but what's at the bottom?" "the same thing. cinders and lava," answered tad. "what would you expect to find in a volcano?" "i'd never expect to find stacy brown in one, and i'm not sure that i'm going to." "all hands follow me. there's no danger," called the guide, shouldering his pack and leaping and sliding down the sharp incline. he was followed by the boys with shouts of glee. they went tumbling head over heels, laughing, whooping, letting off their excess steam. the professor's grim face relaxed in a smile; dad's eyes twinkled. "we'll take it out of them by and by," he confided to the professor. "you don't know them," answered professor zepplin. "better men than you or i have tried it. remember, they are young. we are old men. of course, it is different with you. you are hardened to the work, still i think they could tire both of us out." "we'll see about that." "whoop-e-e!" came the voice of tad butler far below them. "i'm at the bottom. any wild animals down here, dad?" "only one at present. there'll be three more in a minute." "six, you mean," laughed tad. the others had soon joined him. "how far are we from the surface?" asked walter. "about five hundred feet down. we're in the bowels of the mountain for sure, kid," answered the guide. "that's pretty tough on the mountain. i'm afraid it will have a bad case of indigestion," laughed tad. "you needn't be. it has swallowed tougher mouthfuls than you are," returned the guide, ever ready with an answer. "dad's able to give as good as you send," laughed ned. "that's good. all the better for us," nodded tad. "what about some light?" "unload the wood from your packs. this is where you are glad you did pack some stuff." in a few minutes a fire was blazing, lighting up the interior of the crater. the boys found themselves in a circular opening of almost terrifying roughness and something like a quarter of a mile across. here, in ages past, the forces of nature had been at work with fearful earnestness. weird shadows, mysterious shapes, somewhat resembling moving figures, were thrown by the flickering blaze of the camp fire. while the boys were exploring the crater dad was busy getting the supper ready, talking with professor zepplin as he worked. the voices of the boys echoed from side to side of the crater, sounding strange and unreal. the call to supper put an end to their explorations. they sat down with keen edges to their appetites. it was their first meal in the open on this journey. all were in high spirits. "i think we should agree upon our work for the future," declared the professor. "work?" exclaimed chunky, opening wide his big eyes. "yes. it is not going to be all play during this trip." "we are willing to do our share," answered ned. "yes, of course we are," chorused walt and stacy, though there was no enthusiasm in the fat boy's tone. "i am of the opinion that you boys should take turns in cooking the meals, say one boy to cook for an entire day, another to take the job on the following day." "i'll cook my own," declared the guide. "no tenderfoot experiments in my chuck." "they know how to cook, mr. nance," explained the professor. "all right; they may cook for you," said the guide, with a note of finality in his tone. he glanced up at the sky, held out his hand and shook his head. tad observed the movement. "what is it?" asked the boy. "it's going to snow," said dad. tad laughed, glancing at his companions. "what, snow in june?" questioned stacy. "you must remember that you are a good many thousand feet up," the professor informed him. "up? i thought i was down in a crater." "you are both up and down," spoke up tad. "yes, i'm usually up and down, first standing on my feet then on my head," retorted stacy. "how are we going to sleep?" "same as usual. pick out your beds, then roll up in your blankets," directed dad. "you are used to it, eh?" "well," drawled chunky, "i've slept in a good many different kinds of beds, but this is the first time i ever slept in a lava bed." true to dad's prophecy, the snow came within half an hour. "better turn in before the beds get too wet," advised dad. all hands turned in. sleep did not come to the boys as readily as usual. they had been sleeping in real beds too long. after a time the snow changed to rain in the warmth of the crater. chunky got up disgustedly. "i'm tired of sleeping in the bath tub," he declared. "think i'll move into the hall bedroom." chuckles were heard from beneath other blankets, while stacy, grumbling and growling, fussed about until he found a place that appeared to be to his liking. "when you get through changing beds perhaps you will give us a chance to go to sleep," called the guide. stacy's voice died away to an indistinct murmur. soon after that quiet settled over the dark hole in the mountain. the rain came down harder than ever, but by this time the pony rider boys were asleep. they neither heard nor felt the water, though every one was drenched to the skin. toward morning tad woke up with a start. he thought something had startled him. just then an unearthly yell woke the echoes of the crater. yell upon yell followed for the next few seconds, each yell seeming to be further away than the preceding one, and finally dying out altogether. "it's chunky!" shouted tad, kicking himself free of his blankets and leaping up. "some thing's happened to chunky!" chapter v tad lends helping hand "what is it? what is it?" cried the other boys, getting free of their blankets and in the confusion rolling and kicking about in the cinders. "what is it?" shouted the professor, very much excited. ned, dragging his blanket after him, had started to run about, not knowing which way to turn nor what had occurred. in the meantime the guide and tad had started in the direction from which the yells had seemed to come. "it was this way," shouted tad. ned headed them off running toward the west edge of the crater. all at once a new note sounded. with an unearthly howl ned rector disappeared. they heard his voice growing fainter, too, just as stacy's had done. "they've fallen in!" cried tad. "everybody stand still!" commanded dad. recognizing that he was right, the others obeyed, with the exception of tad butler, who crept cautiously forward, feeling his way with the toes of his boots, that he too might not share the fate of his two companions. dad, from somewhere about his person, produced a bundle of sticks which he lighted. he was prepared for just such an emergency. a flickering light pierced the deep shadows, just enough to show the party that two of their number had disappeared. "there is the place," cried tad. "it's a hole in the ground. they've fallen in." "chunky's always falling in," laughed walter half hysterically. with his rope in hand, tad sprang forward. "light this way, please," called butler. "hello, down there!" he cried, peering into the hole in the ground. "hello!" came back a faint answer from ned rector. "get us out quick." "what happened?" "i don't know. chunky fell in and i fell on him." "is he hurt?" "i don't know. i guess i knocked the wind out of him." "how far down are you?" demanded dad peering in, holding his torch low, exposing a hole about six feet square at the top, widening out as it extended downward. "i---i don't know. it felt like a mile when i came down. hurry. think i want to stay here all night?" "if stacy isn't able to help himself, tie the rope around his waist and we will haul him up," directed tad. "serve him right to leave him here," retorted ned. "all right, we will leave you both there, if you feel that way," answered nance grimly. "he doesn't mean it," said tad. "ned must have his joke, no matter how serious the situation may be." tad lowered his rope, loop first. "well, how about it?" he called. "i've made it fast. haul away." chunky was something of a heavy weight. it required the combined efforts of those at the top to haul him out. dragging stacy to the surface, tad dropped beside the fat boy, giving him a shake and peering anxiously into his eyes, shouting, "stacy! stacy!" chunky opened one eye and winked knowingly at tad. "oh, you rascal! you've made us pull until we are out of breath. why'd you make a dead weight of yourself?" "is---is he all right?" inquired professor zepplin anxiously. "he hasn't been hurt-----" "yes, i have. i'm all bunged up---i'm all shot to pieces. the---the mountain blew up and-----" "well, are you fellows going to leave me down here all the rest of the night?" demanded the far-away voice of ned rector. "yes, you stay there. you're out of the wet," answered stacy. "that's a fine way to talk after i have saved your life almost at the expense of my own." "pshaw! saved my life! you nearly knocked it all out of me when you fell on top of me." "here comes the rope, ned," called tad. "if you can help us a little you will make the haul easier for us." "i'll use my feet." "better take a hitch around your waist in case you should slip," advised butler. ned did so, and by bracing his feet against the side of the rock he was able to aid them not a little in their efforts to haul him to the surface. ned fixed stacy with stern eye. "were you bluffing all the time?" he demanded. "was i bluffing? think a fellow would need to bluff when a big chump like you fell in on him? i thought the mountain had caved in on me, but it was something softer than a mountain, i guess," added stacy maliciously. "what did happen?" demanded ned, gazing at the hole wonderingly. "it's one of those thin crusts," announced the guide, examining the broken place in the lava with critical eyes, in which occupation the professor joined. "yes, it was pretty crusty," muttered chunky. "you see, sir, this occurs occasionally," nodded the guide, looking up at the grizzled face of professor zepplin. "one never knows in this country when the crust is going to give way and let him down. i guess the rain must have weakened the ground." "and i fell in again," growled stacy. "you were bound to fall in sooner or later," answered tad. "perhaps it is just as well that you fell in a soft place." "a soft place?" shouted stacy. "if you think so, just take a drop in there yourself." "i thought it was the softest thing i ever fell on," grinned rector, whereupon the laugh was on stacy. there was no more sleep in the camp in the crater of sunset peak that night. nor was there fire to warm the campers. they walked about until daylight. that morning they made a breakfast on cold biscuit and snowballs at the rim of the crater. but as the sun came out they felt well repaid for all that they had passed through on the previous night. such a vista of wonderful peaks as lay before them none of the pony riders ever had gazed upon. to the west lay the san francisco peaks, those ever-present landmarks of northern arizona. to the south the boys looked off over a vast area of forest and hills, while to the east in the foreground were grouped many superb cinder cones, similar to the one on which they were standing, though not nearly so high. lava beds, rugged and barren, reached out like fingers to the edge of the plateau as if reaching for the far-away painted desert. "where is the canyon?" asked tad in a low voice. "yonder," said dad, pointing to the north over an unbroken stretch of forest. there in the dim distance lay the walls of the grand canyon, the stupendous expanse of the ramparts of the canyon stretching as far as the eye could see. "how far away are they?" asked tad. "more than forty miles," answered dad. "you wait till we get to the edge. you can't tell anything about those buttes now." "what is a butte---how did they happen to be called that?" asked walter. "a butte is a butte," answered the guide. "a butte is a bump on the landscape," interjected stacy. "a butte is a mound of earth or stone worn away by erosion," answered the professor, with an assurance that forbade any one to question the correctness of his statement. "yes, sir," murmured the pony rider boys. "a wart on the hand of fair nature, as it were," added chunky under his breath. "come, we must be on our way," urged dad. "we want to make half the distance to the canyon before night. i reckon the pack train will have gone on. we'll have to live on what we have in our saddle bags till we catch up with the train, which i reckon we'll do hard onto noon." no great effort was required to descend sunset mountain. it was one long slide and roll. the boys screamed with delight as they saw the dignified professor coasting and taking headers down the cinder-covered mountain. by this time the clothes of the explorers had become well dried out in the hot sun. when they reached the camp they found that the pack train had long since broken camp and gone on. "where are the ponies?" cried walter, looking about. "i'll get them," answered dad, circling the camp a few times to pick up the trail. it will be remembered that the animals had been hobbled on the previous afternoon and turned loose to graze. dad found the trail and was off on it running with head bent, reminding the boys of the actions of a hound. while he was away tad cooked breakfast, made coffee and the others showed their appreciation of his efforts by eating all that was placed before them and calling loudly for more. dad returned about an hour later, riding silver face, driving the other mustangs before him. when the boys saw the stock coming in they shouted with merriment. the mustangs had been hobbled by tying their fore feet together. this made it necessary for the animals to hop like kangaroos. the boys named them the kangaroos right then and there. tad had some hot coffee ready for nance by the time dad got back. the guide forgot that he had declared against eating or drinking anything cooked by the pony rider boys. he did full justice to tad's cooking, while the rest of the boys stood around watching the guide eat, offering suggestions and remarks. dad took it all good-naturedly. he would have plenty of opportunities to get back at them. dad was something of a joker himself, though this fact was suspected only by tad butler, who had noted the constantly recurring twinkle in the eyes of the guide. "we shall hear from dad one of these days," was butler's mental conclusion. "all right, we deserve all we get and more, i guess." shortly afterwards the party was in the saddle, setting out for their forty-mile ride in high spirits. they hoped to reach their destination early on the following morning. some of the way was dusty and hot, though the greater part of it was shaded by the giant pines. they caught up with the pack train shortly before noon, as nance had said they would. a halt was made and a real meal cooked while the mustangs were watered and permitted to graze at the ends of their ropes. the meal being finished, saddle bags were stocked as the party would not see the pack train again until some time on the following day. then the journey was resumed again. the pony rider boys were full of anticipation for what they would see when they reached the canyon. dad was in a hurry, too. he could hardly wait until he came in sight of his beloved canyon. but even with all their expectations the lads had no idea of the wonderful sight in store for them when they should first set eyes on this greatest of nature's wonders. that night they took supper under the tall trees, and after a sleep of some three hours, were roughly awakened by the guide, who soon had them started on their way again. chapter vi a sight that thrilled "we'll make camp here for a time, i reckon," announced dad about two o'clock in the morning. "i thought we were going on to the canyon," said tad. "we shall see it in the morning," answered the guide somewhat evasively. "you boys turn in now, and get some sleep, for you will want to have your eyes wide open in the morning. but let me give you a tip: don't you go roaming around in the dark here." "why---why not?" demanded stacy brown. "oh, nothing much, only we're likely to lose your valuable company if you try it. you have a habit of falling in, i am told. you'll fall in for keeps if you go moseying about in this vicinity." "where are we?" asked butler. "'bout half a mile from the el tovar," answered nance. "now you fellows turn in. stake down the pintos. isn't safe to let them roam around on two legs." tad understood. he knew from the words of nance that they were somewhere in the vicinity of the great gash in the earth that they had come so far to see. but he was content to wait until the morrow for the great sight that was before them. the sun was an hour high before they felt the heavy hand of jim nance on their shoulders shaking them awake. the odor of steaming coffee and frying bacon was in the air. "what---sunrise?" cried tad, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "and breakfast?" added ned. "real food?" piped stacy brown. "where do we wash?" questioned walter. "you will have to take a sun bath," answered the guide with a twinkle. "there isn't any water near this place. we will find water for the stock later in the morning." "but where is the canyon?" wondered tad. "you're at it." "i don't see anything that looks like a canyon," scoffed ned. "no, this is a level plateau," returned tad. "however, i guess dad knows what he is talking about. i for one am more interested in what i smell just now than anything else." chunky sniffed the air. "well, it will take more than a smell to satisfy me this morning," declared chunky, wrinkling his nose. "this is my day to cook," called tad. "why didn't you let me get the breakfast, mr. nance?" "i'm doing the cooking this morning. i've had a long walk and feel fine, so i decided to be the cook, the wrangler and the whole outfit this morning. how do you feel, boys?" "fine!" chorused the pony riders. "but we thought we should see the canyon when we woke up this morning." a quizzical smile twitched the corners of dad's mouth. tad saw that the guide had something of a surprise for them. the lad asked no further questions. breakfast finished, the boys cleared away the dishes, packing everything as if for a continuation of their journey, which they fully expected to make. a slight rise of ground lay a few rods ahead of them. tad started to stroll that way. he halted as a party of men and women were seen approaching from the direction of el tovar, where the hotel was located. "now, gentlemen, you may walk along," nodded the guide, smiling broadly. "which way?" asked the professor. "follow the crowd you see there." they saw the party step up to the rise, then a woman's scream smote their ears. tad, thinking something had occurred, dashed forward. he reached the level plateau on the rise, where his companions saw him halt suddenly, throwing both arms above his head. the boys started on a run, followed by the professor, who by this time was a little excited. then all at once the glorious panorama burst upon them. there at their very feet lay the grand canyon. below them lay the wonder of the world, and more than five thousand feet down, like a slender silver thread, rippled the colorado. the first sight of the canyon affects different persons differently. it overwhelmed the pony rider boys, leaving them speechless. they shrank back as they gazed into the awful chasm at their feet and into which they might have plunged had the hour been earlier, for it had burst upon them almost with the suddenness of the crack of a rifle. they had thought to see mountains. there were none. what they saw was really a break in the level plateau. from where they stood they looked almost straight down into the abyss for something more than a mile. gazing straight ahead they saw to the other side of the chasm twelve miles away. to the right and to the left their gaze reached more than twenty miles in each direction. this great space was filled with gigantic architectural constructions, with amphitheaters, gorges, precipices, walls of masonry, fortresses, terraced up to the level of the eyes, temples, mountain high, all brilliant with horizontal lines of color---streaks of hues from a few feet to a thousand feet in width, mottled here and there with all the colors of the rainbow. such coloring, such harmony of tints the pony rider boys never had gazed on before. it seemed to them as if they themselves were standing in midair looking down upon a new and wonderful world. there was neither laughter nor jest upon the lips of these brown-faced, hardy boys now. professor zepplin slowly took off his hat in homage to what was there at his feet. he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. a glance at tad butler showed tear drops glistening on his cheeks. he was trembling. never before had a more profound emotion taken hold of him. ned rector and walter perkins's faces wore expressions of fear. no other moment in the lives of the four boys had been like this. dad's face shone as with a reflected light from the canyon that he loved so well, and that had been his almost constant companion for more than thirty years; whose moods he knew almost as well as his own, and whose every smile or frown had its meaning for him. the travelers each forgot that there was any other human being than himself present. they were drawn sharply to the fact that there were others present, when one of the little party of sight-seers that had come over from the hotel picked up a rock, the weight of which was almost too much for him. the lads watched him with fascinated eyes. the man swung the rock back and forth a few times, then hurled it over the edge. the pony rider boys waited, actually holding their breath, to catch the report when the rock should strike the bottom. no report came. it requires some little time for a rock to fall a mile, and when it does land it is doubtful if those at the other end of the mile would hear the report. the faces of the pony riders actually paled. this was indeed the next thing to a bottomless pit. walter perkins recalled afterwards that his head had spun dizzily, ned that he was too frightened to move a muscle. suddenly the silence was broken by a shout that was really an agonized yell. the voice was stacy brown's. "hold me! somebody hold me!" he screamed the others glanced at him with disapproving eyes. could nothing impress chunky? the fat boy had begun to move forward toward the edge, both hands extended in front of him as to ward off something. "hold me! i'm going to jump! oh, won't somebody hold me?" even then only one in that little party appeared to understand. they were paralyzed with amazement and unable to move a muscle. the one who did see and understand was tad butler. chunky was giving way to an irresistible impulse. he was at that instant being drawn toward the terrible abyss. chapter vii on the rim of eternity tad caught his breath sharply. he, too, for the instant seemed unable to move. then all at once he sprang forward, throwing himself upon the fat boy, both going to earth together, locked in a tight embrace. "leggo! leggo!" shrieked stacy. the fat boy fought desperately. he had appealed for help; now he refused to accept it. he was possessed with a maddened desire to throw himself into the mile-deep chasm. it was all tad butler could do at the moment to keep from being rolled to the rim himself. dad, suddenly discovering the situation, ran at full speed toward the struggling boys. "grab his legs. i will look out for his shoulders," gasped tad, sitting down on chunky's face for a brief respite. "i'll handle him," said the guide quietly. "they get taken that way sometimes when they first look into the hole." by this time the others, having shaken off the spell, started to move toward the scene of the brief conflict. dad waved them back; then, with tad holding up the fat boy's shoulders, dad with chunky's feet in hand, the two carried him back some distance, where they laid him on the ground. stacy did not move. his face was ghastly. "i think he has fainted---fainted away," stammered tad. "let him alone. he'll be all right in a few minutes," directed the guide. "what made him do that?" wondered tad, turning large eyes on nance. "he jest couldn't help it. i told you you'd see something, but i didn't think fatty would be taken quite so hard. you go back." "no, i'll wait. you perhaps had better look after the others, ned or the professor might be taken the same way," answered tad, with a faint smile. nance hurried back. after a time chunky opened his eyes. he sat up, looking dazed then he reached a feeble hand toward tad. "i'd 'a' gone sure, tad," he said weakly. "nonsense!" "i would, sure." "come back and look at it." "not for a million, i wouldn't." "oh, pooh! don't be a baby. come back, i tell you. you've got to get over that fright. we shall have to be around this canyon for some time. if you haven't any nerve, why-----" "nerve? nerve?" queried stacy, rousing himself suddenly. "talk about nerve! don't you think it takes nerve for a fellow to start in to jump off a rock a mile high? well, i guess it does. don't you talk to me about nerve." "there come the others." the professor, the guide and the other boys walked slowly up to them at this juncture. chunky expected that ned would make fun of him. ned did nothing of the sort. both ned and walter were solemn and their faces were drawn. they sighed as if they had just awakened from a deep sleep. "what do you think of it, professor?" asked tad, looking up. "words fail me." "i must have another look," announced butler. he walked straight to the edge of the rim, then lying flat on his stomach, head out over the chasm, he gazed down into the terrible abyss. jim nance nodded approvingly. "he's going to love it just the same as i do." the old man's heart warmed toward tad butler in that moment, when tad, all alone, sought a closer acquaintance with the mystery of the great gash. after a time the others walked back, dad taking chunky by the nape of the neck. perhaps it was the method of approach, or else chunky, having had his fright, had been cured. at least this time he felt no fear. he was lost in wonder. "buck up now!" urged the guide. "i am bucked. leggo my neck. i won't make a fool of myself this time, i promise you." "you can't blame him," said tad, rising from his perilous position and walking calmly back to them. "i nearly got them myself." "got what?" demanded stacy. "the jiggers." "that's it. that describes it." professor zepplin, who had informed himself before starting out, now turned suddenly upon them. "he's going to give us a lecture. listen," whispered tad. "young gentlemen, you have, perhaps, little idea of the vastness of that upon which you are now gazing." "we know it is the biggest thing in the world, professor," said ned. "imagine, if you can," continued the professor, without heeding the interruption, "that this amphitheatre is a real theatre. allowing twice as much room as is given for the seat of each person in the most comfortable theatre in the world, and you could seat here an audience of two hundred and fifty millions of people. these would all be in the boxes on this side." the boys opened their eyes at the magnitude of the figures. "an orchestra of one hundred million pieces and a chorus of a hundred and fifty million voices could be placed comfortably on the opposite side. can you conceive of such a scene? what do you think of it?" "i---i think," stammered chunky, "that i'd like to be in the box office of that show---holding on to the ticket money." without appearing to have heard stacy brown's flippant reply, professor zepplin began again. "now that you are about to explore this fairy land it is well that you be informed in advance as to what it is. the river which you see down there is the colorado. as perhaps some of you, who have studied your geography seriously, may know, the river is formed in southern utah by the confluence of the green and grand, intersecting the north-western corner of arizona it becomes the eastern boundary of nevada and california, flowing southward until it reaches the gulf of california." "yes, sir," said the boys politely, filling in a brief pause. "that river drains a territory of some three hundred thousand square miles, and from its source is two thousand miles long. this gorge is slightly more than two hundred miles long. am i correct in my figures, mr. nance?" demanded the professor, turning to dad, a "contradict-me-at-your-peril" expression on his face. "i reckon you are, sir." "the river has a winding way-----" "that's the way with rivers," muttered chunky to himself. "millions of years have been consumed in the building of this great canyon. in that time ten thousand feet of non-conformable strata have been deposited, elevated, tilted, and washed away; the depression of the canyon surface serving for the depositing of devonian, lower carboniferous, upper carboniferous, permian, triassic, jurassic, cretaceous; the formation of the vast eocene lake and its total disappearance; the opening of the earth's crust and the venting from its angry stomach the foul lavas---the mind reels and whirls and grows dizzy-----" "so do i," almost shouted chunky, toppling over in a heap. "quit it! you make me sea sick-----" "i am amazed," bristled the professor. "i am positively amazed that a young gentleman---" "it was the whirling, reeling suggestion that made his head swim, i think, professor," explained tad, by way of helping out the fat boy. the lecture was not continued from that point just then. the professor postponed the rest of his recital until a more opportune time. "will you go down to-day, or will you wait?" asked the guide. "i think we shall find quite enough here on the edge of the rim to occupy our minds for the rest of the day, nance," returned the professor. the boys agreed to this. they did not feel as if they ever would want to leave the view that fascinated and held them so enthralled. that day they journeyed over to the hotel for dinner. the guests at the quaint hotel were much interested in the pony rider boys, and late in the afternoon quite a crowd came over to visit camp grand, as the lads had named their camp after the pack train had arrived and the tents were pitched. there were four tents all pitched in a row facing the canyon, the tents in a straight line. in front the american flag was planted, the camp fire burning about midway of the line and in front, so that at night it would light up the entire company street. they cooked their own supper, tad attending to this. but the boys were too full of the wonderful things they had seen that day to feel their usual keen-edged appetite. the dishes put away, the professor having become deeply absorbed in an argument with some gentlemen from the hotel regarding the "processes of deposition and subsidence of the uplift," tad slipped away, leaving his chums listening to the conversation. dad was also listening in open-mouthed wonder that any human being could use such long words as were being passed back and forth without choking to death. he was, however, so absorbed in the conversation that he did not at the moment note butler's departure. tad passed out of sight in the direction of the canyon. after a few moments had passed, dad stirred the fire, then he too strolled off toward the rim. tad, fearless, regardless of the peril to himself, was lying flat on his stomach gazing down over the rim, listening to the mysterious voices of the canyon. "i don't want you to be here, boy," said the guide gently. though he had approached silently, without revealing his presence, tad never moved nor started, the tone was so gentle, and then again the boy's mind was full of other things. "why don't you want me here, mr. nance?" dad squatted down on the very edge of the rim, both feet banging over, one arm thrown lightly over tad's shoulders. "you might fall." "what about yourself? you might fall, too. you are in more danger than am i." "dad is not afraid. the canyon is his home---" "you mean you live here?" "the greater part of the year." "where?" "some day i will show you. it is far, far down in my beloved canyon, where the foot of the white man seldom strays. have you heard the strange voices of dad's friend?" "yes, dad, i have heard. i hear them now." both fell silent. the far away roar of the turbulent waters of the colorado was borne to their listening ears. there were other sounds, too, mysterious sounds that came like distant moans, rising and falling, with here and there one that sounded like a sob. "the spirit of the canyon is sad to-night," murmured dad. "why, dad, that was the wind sighing through the canyon." "yes, i know, but back of it all there is life, there is the very spirit of life. i don't know how to explain it, but i feel it deep down inside of me. i think you do, too." "yes, dad, i do." "i know you do. it's a living thing to me, kid, as it will be to you after you know their voices better and they come to know you. all those people," with a sweeping gesture toward the hotel where music and song were heard, "miss it all. what they see is a great spectacle. to see the grand canyon is to feel it in your heart. seeing it in any other way is not seeing it at all." "and do you live down there alone?" "yes. why not?" "i should think you would long for human companionship." "what, with my beloved canyon to keep me company? no, i am never lonely," added jim nance simply. "i shall live and die there---i hope, and i'll be buried down there somewhere there are riches down there too. gold---much gold-----" "why don't you go after it-----" dad shook his head. "it would be like robbing a friend. no, you may take the gold if you can find it, but dad, never. see, the moon is up. look!" it was a new scene that tad gazed upon. vishnu temple, the most wonderful piece of architecture in the canyon, had turned to molten silver. this with newberry terrace, solomon's throne, shinto temple and other lesser ones stood out like some wonderful oriental city. all at once the quiet of the beautiful scene was disturbed by a bowl that was plainly the voice of stacy brown. stacy, his big eyes missing little that had been going on about him, had after a time stolen away after tad and the guide. his curiosity had been aroused by their departure and still more by the time they had been gone. chunky determined to go out and investigate for himself. he had picked his way cautiously toward the canyon when he halted suddenly, his eyes growing large at what he saw. "yeow! look!" cried the fat boy. both jim nance and tad sprang up. those in the camp heard the shout and ran toward the rim, fearing that some harm had befallen stacy. chapter viii the city in the skies "what has happened now?" cried tad, running forward. "look, look!" tad and the guide turned at the same instant gazing off across the canyon. at first tad saw nothing more than he had already seen. "i---i don't-----" "it's up there in the skies. don't you see?" almost shouted stacy, pointing. "what is it? what is it?" shouted the others from the camp, coming up on a run. then tad saw. high up in the skies, as plainly outlined as if it were not more than a mile away, was reflected a city. evidently it was an eastern city, for there were towers, domes and minarets, the most wonderful sight he had ever gazed upon. "a---a mirage!" "yes," said dad. "we see them here some times, but not often. my friends down there are showing you many things this night. yes they never do that unless they are pleased. the spirit of the canyon is well pleased. i was sure it would be." by this time the others had arrived. all were uttering exclamations of amazement, only tad and dad being silent and thoughtful. for several minutes the reflection hung suspended in the sky, then a filmy mist was drawn before it like a curtain. "show's over," announced chunky. "that billion orchestra will now play the overture backwards." "most remarkable thing i've ever seen," announced the professor, whereupon he entered into a long scientific discussion on mirages with the gentlemen from the hotel. tad and the guide followed them slowly back to camp. the conversation soon became general. dad was drawn into it, but he spoke no more about the things he and butler had talked of out on the rim of the canyon, literally hanging between heaven and earth. "well, what about to-morrow, mr. nance?" questioned the professor, after the visitors had left them. "i reckoned we'd go down bright angel trail," answered the guide. "do we take the pack train with us?" nance shook his head. "too hard a trail. besides we can't get anywhere with the mules on that trail. we've got to come back up here." "aren't we going into the canyon to stay?" asked walter. "yes. we'll either go down bass trail or grand view. we can get the pack mules down those trails, but on the bright angel we'll have to leave the pintos before we get to the bottom and climb down." "any indians down there?" asked ned. "sure, there are indians." "what's that, indians?" demanded stacy, alive with quick interest. "yes. there's a havasupai camp down in cataract canyon, then there are always some navajos gunning about to make trouble for themselves and everybody else. the apaches used to come down here, too, but we don't see them very often except when the havasus give a peace dance or there's something out of the ordinary going on." "and do---do we see them?" "see the indians? of course you'll see them." "are they bad?" asked the fat boy innocently. "all indians are bad. however, the havasus won't bother you if you treat them right. don't play any of your funny, sudden tricks on them or they might resent it. they're a peaceable lot when they're let alone." "one of the gentlemen who were here this evening told me the navajos, quite a party of them, had made a camp down near bright angel gulch, if you know where that is," spoke up professor zepplin. dad pricked up his ears at this. "then they aren't here for any good. the agent will be after them if they don't watch out. i'll have a look at those bucks and see what rascality they're up to now," said nance. "any chance of a row?" questioned ned. "no, no row. leastwise not for us. your uncle sam will look after those gentlemen if they get gay. but they won't. it will be some crooked little trick under cover---taking the deer or something of the sort." "will we get any chance to shoot deer?" asked walter. "you will not unless you are willing to be arrested. it's a closed season from now till winter. i saw a herd of antelope off near red butte this afternoon." "you must have eyes like a hawk," declared stacy, with emphasis. "eyes were made to see with," answered nance shortly. "and ears to hear, and feet to foot with, and-----" "young men, it is time you were in bed. i presume mr. nance will be wanting to make an early start in the morning," said the professor. "if we are to get back the same day we'll have to start about daybreak. it's a hard trail to pack. you'll be ready to stretch your legs when we get back to-morrow night." the boys were not ready to use those same legs when they were turned out at daybreak. there was some grumbling, but not much as they got up and made ready their hurried breakfast. in the meantime nance had gotten together such provisions as he thought they would need. these he had packed in the saddle bags so as to distribute the weight. shortly after breakfast they made a start, dad going first, tad following close behind. the first two miles of the bright angel trail was a sort of jacob's ladder, zigzagging at an unrelenting pitch. most of the way the boys had to dig their knees into the sides of their mounts to prevent slipping over the animals' necks. "this is mountain climbing backwards," jeered stacy. "i don't know, but i guess i like it the other way," decided walter, looking down a dizzy slope. "i hope my pony doesn't stumble," answered ned. "you won't know much about it if he does," called tad over his shoulder. "never mind. we'll borrow an indian basket to bring you home," laughed stacy in a comforting voice. the trail was the roughest and the most perilous they had ever essayed. the ponies were obliged to pick their way over rocks, around sharp, narrow corners, where the slightest misstep would send horse and rider crashing to the rocks hundreds of feet below. but to the credit of the pony rider boys it may be said that not one of them lost his head for an instant. "how did this trail ever get such a name?" asked tad of the guide. "yes, i don't see any signs of angels hereabouts," agreed chunky. "you never will unless you mend your ways," flung back nance. "oh, i don't know. there are others." "on the government maps this is called cameron trail, but it is best known by its original name, bright angel, named after bright angel creek which flows down the canyon." "where is bright angel canyon?" asked tad. "that's where the wild red men are hanging out," said stacy. "that's some distance from here. we shan't see it until some days later," replied the guide. "this, in days long ago, was a havasupai indian trail. you see those things that look like ditches?" "yes." "those were their irrigating canals. they knew how to irrigate a long time before we understood its advantages. their canals conveyed large volumes of water from springs to the indian gardens beyond here. yonder is what is known as the battleship iowa," said the guide, pointing to the left to a majestic pile of red sandstone that capped the red wall of the canyon. "don't shoot," cried stacy, ducking. "you'll be shooting down into the colorado," warned nance. "you'd better watch out." the rock indicated did very much resemble a battleship. the boys marveled at it. then a little further on they came upon a sandstone plateau from which they could look down into the indian garden, another plateau rich with foliage, green grass and a riot of flowers. it was like looking into a bit of the tropics. "here is the worst piece of trail we have yet found," called nance. "go carefully," he directed when they reached the "blue lime." for the next few minutes, until they had passed over this most dangerous portion, little was said. the riders were too busy watching out for their own safety, the professor, examining the different strata of rocks that so appeal to the geologist. he was entranced with what he beheld about him. professor zepplin had no time in which to enjoy being nervous. from there on to the garden they rode more at ease in the "boulder bed," where lay large blocks of rock of many shapes and sizes that had rolled from some upper strata. small shrubs and plants grew on every hand, many-hued lizards and inquisitive swifts darted across the trail, acting as if they resented the intrusion. chunky regarded the lizards with disapproving eyes. but his thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the guide pointing out the temple of isis that looks down six thousand feet into the dark depths of the inner abyss, surrounded by innumerable smaller buttes. the wonderful colorings of the rocks did not suffer by closer inspection; in fact, the colors appeared to be even brighter than when viewed from the rim a few thousand feet above them. indian garden was a delight. they wanted to tarry there, but were allowed to do so only long enough to permit horses and riders to refresh themselves with the cold water that trickled down through the canals from the springs far above. reaching the end of angel plateau they gazed down a sheer descent of twelve hundred feet into the black depths of the inner gorge, where flowed the colorado with a sullen roar that now was borne plainly to their ears. "it sounds as i have heard the rapids at niagara do," declared chunky somewhat ambiguously. "all off!" called the guide. "what's off?" demanded chunky. "dismount." "is this as far as we go?" questioned tad. "it is as far as we go on the pintos. we have to climb down the rest of the way, and it's a climb for your life." the boys gazed down the wall to the river gorge. the prospect did not look very inviting. "i guess maybe i'd better stay here and mind the 'tangs'," suggested stacy, a remark that brought smiles to the faces of the other boys. "no, you'd be falling off if we left you here," declared dad. "you'll go along with us." before starting on the final thousand feet of the descent the trappings were removed from the horses, after which the animals were staked down so that they might not in a moment of forgetfulness fall over the wall and be dashed to pieces on the rocks below. dad got out his climbing ropes, the boys watching the preparations with keen interest. "are you going down, professor?" asked tad smilingly. "certainly i am going down. i for one have no intention of remaining to watch the stock," with a grim glance in chunky's direction. chunky saw fit to ignore the fling at him. he was gazing off across the chasm at the temple of isis, which at that moment absorbed his full attention. "now i guess we are ready," announced the guide finally. "i will go first. in places it will be necessary to cling to the rope. don't let go. then, in case you stumble, you won't get the nasty fall that you otherwise would be likely to get." away up, just below the indian garden, they picked up the slender trail that led on down to the roaring river. they had never had quite such a climb, either up or down. every time they looked down they saw a possible fall upon rough, blade-like granite edges. "we'd be sausage meat if we landed on those," declared chunky. "you are likely to go through the machine if you don't pay closer attention to your business," answered dad. carefully, cautiously, laboriously they lowered themselves one by one over the steep and slippery rocks, down, down for hundreds of feet until they stood on the ragged edge of nowhere, a direct drop of several hundred feet more before them. the guide knew a trail further on, so they crept along the smooth wall of the canyon with scarcely room to plant their feet. a misstep meant death. "three hundred feet and we shall be there," came the encouraging voice of the guide. "half an hour more." "i could make it half a minute if i wanted to," said stacy. "but i don't want to. i feel it my duty to stay and look after my friends." "yes, your friends need you," answered ned sarcastically. "if they hadn't i never should have pulled you out of the hole in the crater." "i was just wondering how chunky could resist the temptation of falling in here. he'll never have a better opportunity for making a clean job of said walter. "he has explained why," replied tad. "we need him. of course we do. we need him every hour-----" "and a half," added ned. the roar of the river became louder as they descended. now they were obliged to raise their voices to make themselves heard. the professor was toiling and sweating, but making no complaint of the hardships. he was plucky, as game as any of those hardy boys for whom he was the companion, and they knew it. "hold on here!" cried stacy, halting. all turned to see what was wrong. "i want to know---i want to know before i take another step." "well, what do you want to know?" demanded tad. "if it's all this trouble to climb down, i want to know how in the name of bright angel trail we're ever going to be able to climb up again!" "fall up, of course," flung back the guide. "you said this was mountain climbing backwards. it'll be that way going back," chuckled the guide. "and i so delicate!" muttered the lad, gazing up the hundreds of feet of almost sheer precipice. but ere the pony rider boys scaled those rocks again they would pass through some experiences that were far from pleasurable ones. chapter ix chunky wants to go home instead of a half hour, as had been prophesied, a full hour elapsed before they reached the bottom of the trail that was practically no trail at all. tad was sure that the guide couldn't find his way back over the same ground, or rather rock, to save his life, for the boy could find nothing that looked as if the foot of man had ever trodden upon it before. he doubted if any one had been over that particular trail from the garden on. as a matter of fact, dad had led them into new fields. but at last they stood upon the surer foundation of the bottom of the chasm. "anyone needs to be a mountain goat to take that journey," said tad, with a laugh. "no, a bird would be better," piped stacy. "i'd rather be a bug, then i wouldn't have to climb," spoke up walter. "hurrah! walt's said something," shouted ned. by this time nance and the professor had walked along, climbing over boulders, great blocks of stone that had tumbled from the walls above, making their way to the edge of the river. the others followed, talking together at the tops of their voices, laughing and joking. they felt relieved that the terrible climb had come to an end. as they approached the river, their voices died away. it was a sublime but terrifying spectacle that the pony rider boys gazed upon. "this is more wonderful than niagara," finally announced the professor. "the rapids of the niagara river would be lost in this turbid stream." great knife-like rocks projected from the flood. when the water struck these sharp edges it was cleanly cut, spurting up into the air like geysers, sending a rainbow spray for many yards on either side. what puzzled the lads more than all else were the great leaping waves that rose without apparent cause from spaces of comparatively calm water. these upturning waves, the guide explained, were the terror of explorers who sought to get through the canyon in boats. "has any one ever accomplished it?" asked tad. "yes; that intrepid explorer, major j.w. powell, made the trip in the year , one of the most thrilling voyages that man ever took. several of his men were lost; two who managed to escape below here were killed by the indians." "i think i should like to try it," said tad thoughtfully. "you won't, if i have anything to say about the matter," replied dad shortly. "no one would imagine, to gaze down on this stream from the rim, that it was such a lively stretch of water," remarked the boy. "it doesn't seem possible." "yes, if they had some of this water up on the plateau it would be worth almost its weight in gold," declared nance. "water is what arizona needs and what it has precious little of. speaking of the danger of the river," continued nance, "it isn't wholly the water, but the traveling boulders." "traveling boulders!" exclaimed the boys. "yes. boulders weighing perhaps a score or more of tons are rolled over and over down the river by the tremendous power of the water, almost with the force and speed of projectiles. now and again they will run against snags. the water dashing along behind them is suddenly checked under the surface. the result is a great up-wave, such as you have already observed. they are just as likely to go downward or sideways as upward. you never know." "then that is the explanation of the cause of those up-waves?" asked the professor. "that's the way we figure it out. but we may be wrong. take an old man's advice and don't monkey with the river." "i thought you said dad's beloved canyon would not hurt him," said tad teasingly. "dad's canyon won't. the river isn't dad's the river is a demon. the river would scream with delight were it to get dad in its cruel clutches," answered the old man thoughtfully, his bristling whiskers drooping to his chest. "are you boys hungry?" the boys were. so dad sought out a comfortable place where they might sit down, a shelf some twenty feet above the edge of the river, whence they could see the turbulent stream for a short distance both ways. it was a wonder to them where all the water came from. the professor called attention to his former statement that the river drained some three hundred thousand miles of territory. this explanation made the matter clearer to them. coffee was made, the ever-ready bacon quickly fried and there in the very heart of the grand canyon they ate their midday meal. never before had they sat down to a meal amid such tremendous forces. the meal having been finished and dad having stretched himself out on a rock after his dinner, the boys strolled off along the river, exploring the various crevices. "isn't there gold down here?" asked tad, returning to the shelf. dad sat up, stroking his whiskers thoughtfully. "i reckon you would find tons of it in the pockets of the river if she were to run dry," was the amazing reply. "but," protested tad, "is there no way to get it?" "not that man knows of. the almighty, who made the whole business here, is the only one who is engineer enough to get that gold. no, sir, don't have any dreams about getting that gold. it isn't for man, at least not yet. maybe he to whom it belongs is saving it for some other age, for folks who need it more than we do." "nobody ever will need it more than we do," interposed stacy. "why, just think, i could buy a whole stable full of horses with what i could get out of one of those pockets." "maybe i'll show you where you can pan a little of the yellow out, before you finish your trip." later in the day the guide decided that it was time to start for the surface again. but the boys begged to be allowed to remain in the canyon over night. it was an experience that they felt sure would be worth while. for a wonder, professor zepplin sided with them in this request. "well, i'll go up and water the stock, then if you want to stay here, why, all right," decided dad. "i will go with you," said tad. "professor, i'll leave the rest of the boys in your charge. don't let them monkey with the river. i don't want to lose anybody this trip. fall in there, and you'll bring up in the pacific ocean---what's left of you will. nothing ever'll stop you till you've hit the sandwich islands or some other heathen country." the boys promised and so did the professor, and both men knew the lads would keep their word, for by this time they held that stream in wholesome respect. chunky, after the guide and tad had left, perched himself on the point of a rock where he lifted up his voice in "where the silvery colorado wends its way," ned rector occupying his time by shying rocks at the singer, but chunky finished his song and had gotten half way through it a second time before one of ned's missiles reached him. that put an end to the song and brought on a rough and tumble fight in which ned and stacy were the sole participants. chunky, of course, got the worst of it. the two combatants locked arms and strolled away down the river bank after chunky had been sufficiently punished for trying to sing. night in the canyon was an experience. the roaring of the river which no longer could be seen was almost terrifying. then, too, a strange weird moaning sounded all about them. dad, who had returned, explained that it was supposed to be the wind. he confided to tad that it was the spirit of the canyon uttering its warning. "warning of what?" "i don't know. maybe a storm. but you can believe something's going to come off, kid," answered nance with emphasis. something did come off. tad and nance had fetched the blankets of the party back with them, together with two large bundles of wood for the camp fire, which materials they had let down from point to point at the end of their ropes. tad had learned always to carry his lasso at his belt. it was the most useful part of his equipment. he had gotten the other boys into the habit of doing the same. rifles had been left in the camp above, as they were a burden in climbing down the rocks. but all hands carried their heavy revolvers. a very comfortable camping place was located under an overhanging shelf of rock, the camp fire just outside lighting up the chamber in a most cheerful manner. there after supper the party sat listening to dad's stories of the canyon during some of his thirty years' experience with it. the wind was plainly rising. it drew the flames of the fire first in one direction, then in another. nance regarded the signs questioningly. after a little he got up and strolled out to the edge of the roaring river. tad and chunky followed him. "we are going to have a storm," said dad. "a heavy one?" asked tad. "a regular hummer!" "rain?" "everything. the whole thing. i'm sorry now that we didn't go back up the trail, but maybe we'd never got up before we were caught. however, we're pretty safe down here, unless-----" "unless what?" piped chunky. "unless we get wet," answered nance, though tad knew that was not what was in the guide's mind. just as they were turning back to the camp there came an explosion that seemed as if the walls of the canyon had been rent in twain. chunky uttered a yell and leaped straight up into the air. tad took firm hold of the fat boy's arm. "don't be a fool. that was thunder and lightning. the lightning struck somewhere in the canyon. isn't that it, dad?" nance nodded. "it's always doing that. it's been plugging away at dad's canyon for millions of years, but the canyon is doing business at the same old stand. i hope those pintos are all right up there," added the guide anxiously. "mebby they're struck," suggested stacy. "mebby they are," replied nance. "come, we'll be getting back unless you want to get wet." a dash of rain followed almost instantly upon the words. the three started at a trot for the camp. they found the professor and his two companions anxiously awaiting their return. "that was a severe bolt," said the professor. "always sounds louder down here, you know," replied dad. "echoes." "yes, i understand." "is---is it going to rain?" questioned walter. "no, it's going to pour," returned chunky. "you'll need your rubber boots before long." "move that camp fire in further," directed nance. "it'll be drowned out in a minute." this was attended with some difficulty, but in a few minutes they had the fire burning brightly under the ledge. then the rain began. it seemed to be a cloudburst instead of a rain. lightning was almost incessant, the reports like the bombardment of a thousand batteries of artillery, even the rocks trembling and quaking. chunky's face grew pale. "say, i want to go home," he cried. "trot right along. there's nothing to stop ye," answered the guide sarcastically. "afraid?" questioned ned jeeringly. "no, i'm not afraid. just scared stiff, that's all," retorted the fat boy. the shelf of rock that sheltered them had now become the base of a miniature niagara falls. the water was pouring over it in tons, making a roaring sound that made that of the river seem faint and far away. jim nance was plainly worried. tad butler saw this and so did the professor, but neither mentioned the fact. their location was no longer dry. the spray from the waterfall had drenched them to the skin. no one complained. they were too used to hardships. all at once there came a report louder and different from the others, followed by a crashing, a thundering, a quaking of the rocks beneath their feet, that sent the blood from the face of every man in the party. even dad's face grayed ever so little. the next second each one was thrown violently to the ground. a sound was in their ears as if the universe had blown up. "we're killed!" howled chunky. "help, help!" yelled walter perkins. "what---what is it?" roared the professor. "we're struck!" shouted tad. "lie still. hug the wall!" bellowed the stentorian voice of jim nance, who himself had crept closer to the canyon wall and lay hugging it tightly. the deafening, terrifying reports continued. one corner of the ledge over their heads split off, sending a volley of stones showering over them, leaving the faces of some of the party flecked with blood where the jagged particles had cut into their flesh. it was a terrible moment for the pony rider boys. chapter x escape is wholly cut off not one could collect his thoughts sufficiently to reason out what had taken place. the guide, however, had known from the first. he feared that his charges would be killed, but there was nothing more that he could do. the bombarding continued, some explosions sounding near at hand, others further down or up the canyon, but each of sufficient force to send shivers up and down the spines of the pony rider boys. they never had experienced anything approaching this. "i'm going to stand up," declared tad, rising to his feet. "i won't be killed any quicker standing than lying down. besides, i don't like to shirk." "stand up if you want to, but keep close to the wall," ordered dad, himself rising to his feet. one by one the boys got up, professor zepplin following the example of the guide. they had to shout in speaking in order to make themselves heard above the bombardment, the roaring of the river and the cataract over their heads. "what is going on up there?" shouted tad. "mountain falling in!" "i knew it! i knew it!" yelled chunky. "i knew something would fall down as soon as i got here." no one laughed. the situation was too serious for laughter. "is it a land or a rock slide?" questioned tad further. "both," shouted nance. "mostly boulders." the rain has loosened them and they are raining down on us. we're lucky we had this shelf to get under." "from the present outlook i am afraid the shelf isn't going to protect us much longer," said tad. "keep close to the wall and you will be all right. it won't break off short up to the wall. i've seen rock slides, but never anything quite like this. you see, the spirit of the canyon was right," nodded nance. "spirits? what spirits?" demanded chunky. "is this place haunted? don't tell me it is. haven't i got enough to worry me already without being chased by ghosts? "chased by goats?" shouted the professor. "who said anything about goats?" retorted stacy. "i said g-h-o-s-t-s, spooks, spookees or spookors or whatever you've a mind to call them." "oh, i hope you are not losing your mind, stacy." "might as well lose my mind as to lose my life. mind wouldn't be any use to me after i was dead, would it?" "the storm is dying out," called ned. tad started to step from under the shelf, nance grasped and hauled him back. just then a great boulder, weighing many tons, struck the rock just above their heads, then bounded off into the river, which it struck with a mighty splash. the contact with the rocks sent off a shower of sparks, a perfect rain of them. "i---i guess i need a guardian," said the lad rather weakly. "yes, you probably would have been killed by the smaller pieces that broke off," answered nance. "be content to stay where you are." "how long have we got to stay cooped up in this half cave?" demanded stacy. "all night, maybe," answered dad. "good night!" said the fat boy, slipping down until he had assumed a sitting posture. he lay down and was asleep in a short time. stacy woke with a start when another giant rock smote the wall just above their cave, exploding into thousands of pieces from the violent contact. "stop that noise! how do you suppose a fellow's going to sleep when-----" stacy struggled slowly to his feet when he saw the drawn faces of his companions. "was that another of them?" he asked hesitatingly. "yes," answered tad, with a nod. "it is grand, but terrible." "i don't see anything grand about it. i guess i won't lie down again. i never can sleep any more after being awakened from my first nap," declared the fat boy. no one slept for the rest of the night. the bombardment continued at intervals all through the black, terrifying night. the colorado, into which billions of gallons of water had been dumped, was rising rapidly, an angry, threatening flood. "is there any danger of the river overflowing on us?" asked professor zepplin. "no. no single night's rain would do it. the rain is pretty nearly ended now, as you can see for yourself. but there's no telling how long those fellows will continue to roll down. i've seen the same thing before, but this is the worst," declared dad. "all on account of the pony rider boys," piped stacy. "miss nature is determined to give us our money's worth in experience. i've had mine already. she can't quit any too soon to suit me." after a time the guide crept out, his ears keyed sharply to catch warning sounds from above. nance had been out but a moment when he darted back under the protecting ledge. he was just in time. a giant boulder struck the earth right in front of their place of refuge. from that moment on no one ventured out. about an hour before daylight, the storm having lulled, the failing boulders coming down with less frequency, all hands sank down on their wet blankets one by one, and dropped off to sleep. when they awakened the day had dawned. the sun was glowing on the peaks of pluto pyramid and the algonkin terraces far above them on the opposite side of the gorge. tad butler was the first to open his eyes that morning. he sprang up with a shout. "sleepy heads! turn out!" dad was on his feet with a bound. then came the professor, ned and walter in the order named, with stacy brown limping along painfully at the rear. "how do you feel this fine morning?" glowed tad, nodding at stacy. "i? oh, i'm all bunged up. how's the weather?" "nature is smiling," answered tad. "all right. as long as she doesn't grin, i won't kick. if she grins i'm blest if i'll stand for it." "whose turn is it to get breakfast?" questioned ned. "what little there is to get i will attend to," said tad. "we are long on experience but short on food." still, breakfast was a cheerful meal, even though all were still wet, their muscles stiffened from sleeping in puddles, from which they were obliged to dip the water for their coffee. they enjoyed the meal just as much as if it had been a banquet, however. dad's face did not reflect the general joy that was apparent on the faces of the others. tad observed this, but made no comment. finally stacy brown discovered something of the sort, too. "dad, you've got a grouch on this lovely morning," said stacy. "no, i never have a grouch." "your whiskers are rising. i thought you had." "i'd rather have my whiskers standing out some of the time than to have my tongue hanging out all of the time," replied the guide witheringly. "i guess that will be about all for you, chunky," jeered ned. "do we start as soon as we have finished here?" asked the professor of nance. "we do not," was the brief reply. "may i ask why not?" "because we can't start." "can't?" wondered professor zepplin. tad saw that something was wrong. what that something was he had not the remotest idea. "no, we won't go up bright angel trail to-day." "why not? why won't we?" piped stacy. "because there isn't any bright angel trail to go up," returned the guide grimly. "the bad place in the trail was all torn out by the ripping boulders last night. nothing short of a bird could make its way over that stretch of trail now." "then what are we going to do?" cried the professor. "do? we're going to stay here. escape is for the present wholly cut off-----" "can't we climb up a trail lower down?" asked ned. "ain't no trail this side of the wall by the river, and the river is just as bad as the wall. i reckon we'll stay here for a time at least." the pony rider boys looked at each other solemnly. theirs was, indeed, a serious predicament, much more so than they realized. chapter xi a trying time for a moment following the announcement no one spoke. the professor gazed straight into the stern face of the guide, whose whiskers were still drooping. "we are prisoners here? is that it, nance?" stammered professor zepplin. "that's about it, i reckon. the trail's busted. there ain't no other way to get out that i know of and i reckon i know these canyons pretty well." "then what shall we do?" "well, i reckon we'll wait till somebody misses us and comes down after us." "oh, well, they will do that this morning. of course they will miss us," declared the professor, as if the matter were entirely settled. the expression on dad's face plainly showed that he was not quite so confident as was the professor. there was one factor that professor zepplin had not taken into consideration. food! there was barely enough left for a meal for one person. dad surmised this, so he asked tad just how much food they had left. "our supply," said tad, "consists of three biscuit, one orange and two lemons." the boys groaned. "i'll take the biscuit. you can have the rest," was chunky's liberal offer. "how about it?" "you will get a lemon handed to you at twelve o'clock noon to-day," jeered ned rector. "then i'll pass it along to the one who needs it the most," retorted stacy quickly. "the question is," said the professor, "is there nothing that we can do to attract the attention of others?" "i have been thinking of that," answered nance. "i wish now that we had brought our rifles." "why?" "to shoot and attract attention of whoever may be on the rim." "we might shoot our revolvers," suggested tad. "we will do that. it is doubtful if the reports can be heard above, and even then i am doubtful about any of the tenderfeet understanding what the shots mean. about our only hope is that some one who knows will come down the trail. they won't go further than the gardens, but finding our mustangs there a mountaineer would understand." "shall i take a shot?" asked walter. "yes." walter fired five shots into the river. after an interval chunky let go five more. this continued until each had fired a round of five shots. after each round they listened for an answering shot from above, but none came. thus matters continued until noon, when the remaining food was distributed among the party. "this is worse than nothing," cried chunky. "this excites my appetite. if you see me frothing at the mouth don't think i've got a dog bite. that's my appetite fighting with my stomach. i'll bet my gun that the appetite wins too." the day wore away slowly. tad made frequent trips down the river as far as he could get before being stopped by a great wall of rock that rose abruptly for nearly a thousand feet above him. he gazed up this glittering expanse of rock until his neck ached, then he went back to camp. an idea was working in tad's mind, but it was as yet undeveloped. at intervals the shots were tried again, though no reply followed. night came on. before dark dad had gathered some driftwood that he found in crevices of the rocks. the wood was almost bone dry and a crackling, cheerful fire was soon burning. "if we only had something to eat now, we'd be all right," said walter mournfully. "you want something to eat?" questioned chunky. "i should say i do." "oh, well, that's easily fixed." stacy stepped over to a rock, made a motion as if ringing a telephone bell, then listened. "hello! hello! is that the hotel, el tovar hotel? very well; this is brown. brown! yes. well, we want you to send out dinner for six. six! can't you understand plain english? yes, six. oh, well, i think we'll have some porter house steak smothered in onions. smothered! we'll have some corn cakes and honey, some--some---um---some baked potatoes, about four quarts of strawberries. and by the way, got any apple pie? yes? well, you might send down a half dozen pies and-----" chunky got no further. with a howl, ned rector, tad butler and walter perkins made a concerted rush for him. ned fell upon the unfortunate fat boy first. stacy went down in a heap with ned jamming his head into the dirt that had been washed up by the river at flood time. a moment more and ned was at the bottom of the heap with stacy, the other two boys having piled on top. "here, here!" shouted the professor. "let 'em scrap," grinned dad. "they'll forget they're hungry." they did. after the heap had been unpiled, the boys got up, their clothes considerably the worse for the conflict, their faces red, but smiling and their spirits considerably higher. "you'll get worse than that if you tantalize us in that way again," warned tad. "we can stand for your harmless jokes, but this is cruel-----" "---ty to animals," finished chunky. "what you'll get will make you sure of that." "come over here and get warm, brown," called the guide. "oh, he's warmed sufficiently," laughed tad. "we have attended to that. he won't get chills to-night, i promise you." breathing hard, their eyes glowing, the boys squatted down around the camp fire. no sooner had they done so than a thrilling roar sounded off somewhere in a canyon to their right, the roar echoing from rock to rock, from canyon to canyon, dying away in the far distance. "for goodness' sake, what is that?" gasped stacy. "mountain lion," answered the guide shortly. "can---can he get here?" stammered walter. "he can if he wants to." "i---i hope he changes his mind if he does want to," breathed stacy. "i wish we had our rifles," muttered ned. "what for?" demanded dad. "to shoot lions, of course." "humph!" "couldn't we have a lion hunt while we are out here?" asked tad enthusiastically. "you could if the lion didn't hunt you." "wouldn't that be great, fellows?" cried tad. "the pony rider boys as lion hunters." "great," chorused the boys. "when shall it be?" added ned. "it won't be till after we get out of this hole," declared dad. "and from present indications, that won't be to-night." "tell us something about the lions," urged walter. "are they ugly?" "well, they ain't exactly household pets," answered the guide, with a faint smile. "is it permitted to hunt them?" interjected the professor. "yes, there's no law against it. the lions kill the deer and the government is glad to be rid of the lions. but you won't get enough of them to cause a flurry in the lion market." "no, there's more probability of there being a panic in the pony rider market," chuckled tad. "i'm not afraid," cried stacy. "no, chunky isn't afraid," jeered ned. "he doesn't want to go home when the marbles roll down from the mountain! oh, no, he isn't afraid! he's just looking for dangerous sport." their repartee was interrupted by another roar, louder than the first. but though they listened for a long time there was no repetition of the disturbing roar of the king of the canyons. soon after that the lads went to bed. tonight they slept soundly, for they had had little sleep the previous night, as the reader knows. when they awakened on the following morning the conditions had not changed. they were still prisoners in the grand canyon not far from the foot of bright angel trail. all hands awoke to the consciousness that unless something were done, and at once, they would find themselves face to face with starvation. it was not a cheerful prospect. there was no breakfast that morning, though chunky, who had picked up a cast-away piece of orange peel, was munching it with great satisfaction, rolling his eyes from one to the other of his companions. "don't. you might excite your appetite again," warned ned. tad, who had been out for another exploring tour along the river, had returned, walking briskly. "well, did you find a trail?" demanded chunky. "no, but i have found a way out of this hole," answered tad, with emphasis. "what?" exclaimed dad, whirling on him almost savagely. "yes, i have found a way. i'm going to carry out a plan and i promise that with good luck i'll get you all out of here safely. i shall need some help, but the thing can be done, i know." "what is your plan?" asked the professor. "i'll tell you," said tad. "but don't interrupt me, please, until i have finished." chapter xii braving the roaring colorado the pony riders drew closer, dad leaned against the rocky wall of the canyon, while the professor peered anxiously into the lad's face. "i'll bet it's a crazy plan," muttered stacy. "we will hear what you have to say and decide upon its feasibility afterwards," announced the professor. "mr. nance, if a man were below the horseshoe down the canyon there, he would be able to make his way over to the bright angel trail, would he not?" "yes. a fellow who knew how to climb among the rocks could make it." "he could get right over on our own trail, could he not?" "sure! but what good would that do us?" "couldn't he let down ropes and get us out?" "i reckon he could at that." "you don't think we are going to be discovered here until perhaps it is too late, do you, mr. nance?" "we always have hopes. there being nothing we can do, the only thing for us is to sit down and hope." "and starve? no, thank you. not for mine!" "nor mine. it's time we men did something," declared stacy pompously. "as i have had occasion to remark before, children should be seen and not heard," asserted ned rector. "kindly be quiet. we are listening to master tad," rebuked the professor. "go ahead, tad." "there isn't much to say, except that i propose to get on the other side of the horseshoe and climb back over the rocks to our trail. if i am fortunate enough to get there the rest will be easy and i'll have you up in a short time. how about it, dad?" asked the boy lightly, as if his proposal were nothing out of the ordinary. dad took a few steps forward. "how do ye propose to get across that stretch of water there to reach the other side of the horseshoe?" "swim it, of course." the guide laughed harshly. "swim it? why, kid a boat wouldn't live in that boiling pot for two minutes. what could a mere man hope to do against that demon?" "it is my opinion that a man would do better for a few moments against the water than a boat would. i think i can do it." "no, if anybody does that kind of a trick it will be jim nance." "do you swim?" "like a chunk of marble. living on the plains all a fellow's life doesn't usually make a swimmer of him." "i thought so. that makes me all the more determined to do this thing." "somebody hold me or i'll be doing it myself," cried chunky. no one paid any attention to the fat boy's remark. "i can't permit it, tad," said the professor, with an emphatic shake of the head. "no, you could never make it. it would be suicide." "i'm going to try it," insisted the pony rider. "you most certainly are not." "but there is little danger. don't you see i should be floating down with the current. almost before i knew it i should be on the other side of the horseshoe there. besides you would have hold of the rope." "rope?" demanded dad. "yes, of course." "where are you going to get ropes? they're all up there on the mountainside." "we still have our lassoes." "explain. i don't understand," urged professor zepplin. "it is my plan to tie the lassoes together. we have six of them. that will make nearly two hundred feet. one or two of you can take hold of the free end of the rope, the other end being about my waist. in case i should be carried away from the shore, why all you have to do will be to haul me back. isn't that a simple proposition?" "it's a crazy one," nodded the professor. "come to think it over, i believe it could be done," reflected nance. "if i could swim at all i'd do it myself, but i'd drown inside of thirty seconds after i stepped a foot in the water. why, i nearly drown every time i wash for breakfast." stacy was about to make a remark, but checked himself. it was evidently not a seemly remark. it must have been more than ordinarily flippant to have caused chunky to restrain himself. "i move we let tad try it, professor," proposed ned. "i don't approve of it at all. no, sir, i most emphatically do not." "but surely, professor, there can be no danger in it at all. it is very simple," urged young butler. tad knew better. it was not a simple thing to do. it was distinctly a perilous, if not a foolhardy feat. nance knew this, too, but he had grown to feel a great confidence in tad butler. he believed that if anyone could brave those swirling waters and come out alive, that one was tad butler. but it was a desperate chance. still, with the rope tied around the lad's waist, it was as the boy had said, they could haul him back quickly. "professor, i am in favor of letting him try it if he is a good swimmer," announced the guide. "pshaw, you couldn't drown tad," declared ned. "no, you couldn't drown tad," echoed chunky. "not any more than you could drown me." "perhaps you would like to try it yourself?" grinned nance. "yes, i can hardly hold myself. i am afraid every minute that i'll jump right into that raging flood there and strike out for the other side of the horseshoe," returned stacy, striking a diving attitude. they laughed, but as quickly sobered. tad was already at work making firm splices in the two ropes that he held in his hand. "pass over your ropes, boys. we have no time to lose. the river is getting higher every minute now, and there's no telling what condition it will be in an hour from now." the others passed over their ropes, some willingly enough, others with reluctance. tad spliced them together, tested each knot with all his strength and nodded his approval. "i guess they will hold now," he said, stripping off his coat after having thrown his hat aside and tossed off his cartridge belt and revolver. "walt, you take care of those things for me, please, and in case i get you folks out, fetch them up with you." walter perkins nodded as he picked up the belongings of his chum. "mr. nance," said tad, "i think you and ned are the strongest, so i'll ask you two to take hold of the rope when i get started. if you need help the professor will lend a hand." professor zepplin shook his head. he did not approve of this at all. however, it seemed their only hope. tad started for the lower end of the walled-in enclosure, the others following him. the lad made the rope fast around his waist, twisting it about so that the knot was on the small of his back. thus the rope would not interfere with his swimming. he then uncoiled the rope, stretching it along the ground to make sure that there were no kinks in it. "there, everything appears to be in working order. don't you envy me my fine swim, boys?" tad laughed cheerfully. "yes, we do," chorused the boys. it must not be thought that tad butler did not fully realize the peril into which he was so willingly going. he knew there was a big chance against his ever making his goal, but he was willing to take the slender remaining chance that he might make it. "all ready," he said coolly. dad and ned took hold of the rope. "don't hold on to it at all unless i shout to you to do so. i must be left free. let me be the judge if i am to be hauled back or not." with a final glance behind, to see that all was in readiness, tad stepped to the edge of the water. chunky pressed up close to him. "is there any last request that you want me to make to relatives or friends, tad?" asked the fat boy solemnly. "tell them to be good to my chunky, for he's such a tender plant that he will perish unless he has the most loving care. here i go!" with a wave of his hand, tad plunged into the swirling waters. though his plunge was seen, the sound of it was borne down by the thunderous roar of the river. as butler vanished it was as though he had gone to his instant doom. instinctively the two men holding the rope tightened their grip, beginning to haul in. but tad's head showed and they eased off again. just a few moments more, and tad was seized by the waters and hurled up into the air. "he jumps like a bass," chuckled chunky. "quit that talk!" ordered ned sharply. "poor tad, we've let him go to a hopeless death!" all watched tad breathlessly---whenever they could see him. more often the boy was invisible to those on land. a strong swimmer, and an intelligent one, tad had more than found his match in these angry, cruel waters. though the current was in the direction that he wanted to go, the eddies seemed bent on dragging him out to the middle of the stream, where he must be most helpless of all. tad was fighting with all the strength that remained to him when an up-wave met him, caught him and hurled him back fully ten feet. butler now found his feet entangled in the rope. "he's having a fearful battle!" gasped walter, whose face had gone deathly pale. professor zepplin nodded, unable to speak. by a triumph of strength, backed by his cool head and keen judgment, tad brought himself out of this dangerous pocket of water, only to meet others. his strength seemed to be failing now. "haul him back!" ordered the professor hoarsely. "haul him back!" they tried, but at that moment the rope parted---sawed in two over a sharp edge of rock! chapter xiii a battle mightily waged the land end of the rope fell limp in the hands of jim nance and ned rector. "it's gone---gone!" wailed ned. "that settles him," answered the guide in a hopeless tone. "oh, he's lost, he's lost!" cried walter. "can no one do anything?" chunky, with sudden determination, threw off his coat, and started on a run for the river. dodging the professor's outstretched hands, chunky sprang into the water. with a roar dad hurled the rope toward the fat boy. the guide had no time in which to fashion a loop, but he had thrown the rope doubled. fortunately the coil caught chunky's right foot and the lad was hauled back feet first, choking, half drowned, his head being dragged under water despite his struggles to get free. the instant they hauled him to the bank the professor seized the lad and began shaking him. "leggo! lemme go, i tell you. i'm going after tad!" stacy brown was terribly in earnest this time. he was fighting mad because they had pulled him back from what would have been sure death to him. they had never given stacy credit for such pluck, and ned and walter gazed at him with new interest in their eyes. it was necessary to hold the fat boy. he was still struggling, determined to go to tad's rescue. in the meantime their attention had been drawn from tad for the moment. when they looked again they failed to find him. "there he is," shouted ned, as the boy was seen to rise from the water and plunge head foremost into it again. tad did not appear to be fighting now. "he's helpless! he's hurt!" cried the professor. "i reckon that's about the end of the lad," answered nance in a low tone. "there's nothing we can do but to wait." "i see him again!" shouted walter. they could see the lad being tumbled this way and that, hurled first away from the shore, then on toward it. nance was regarding the buffeted pony rider keenly. he saw that tad was really nearing the shore, but that he was helpless. "what has happened to him?" demanded the professor hoarsely. "is he drowned?" "it's my opinion that he has been banged against a rock and knocked out. i can't tell what'll be the end of it, but it looks mighty bad. there he goes, high and dry!" fairly screamed dad, while his whiskers tilted upwards at a sharp angle. tad had been hurled clear of the water, hurled to the dry rocks on which he had been flung as if the river wanted no more of him. the watchers began to shout. they danced about almost beside themselves with anxiety. no one could go to tad's assistance, if, indeed, he were not beyond assistance. a full twenty minutes of this nerve-racking anxiety had passed when dad thought he saw a movement of tad's form. a few moments later the boy was seen to struggle to a sitting posture, where he sat for a short time, both hands supporting his head. such a yell as the pony rider boys uttered might have been heard clear up on the rim of the grand canyon had there been any one there to hear it. dad danced a wild hornpipe, the professor strode up and down, first thrusting his hands into his pockets, then withdrawing and waving them above his head. stacy had settled down on the rocks with the tears streaming down his cheeks. stacy wasn't joking now. this emotion was real. they began to shout out tad's name. it was plain that he heard them, for he waved a listless hand then returned to his former position. "that boy is all iron," breathed the admiring guide. the noise of the river was so great that they could not ask him if he were hurt seriously. but tad answered the question himself a few minutes later by getting up. he stood for a moment swaying as if he would fall over again, then staggered to the wall, against which he leaned, still holding his head. "he must have got an awful wallop," declared dad. shortly after that tad appeared to have recovered somewhat, for he was seen to be gazing up over the rocks, apparently trying to choose a route for himself. "how can he ever make that dizzy climb in his condition?" groaned the professor. "we'll see. i think he can do anything," returned nance. tad walked back and forth a few times, exercising his muscles, then turned toward the rocks which he began to climb. he proceeded slowly and with great caution, evidently realizing the peril of his undertaking, but taking no greater chances than he was obliged to do. little by little he worked his way upward, now and then halting, clinging to the rocks for support while he rested. after a time he looked down at his companions. nance waved a hand, signaling tad to turn to the right. tad saw and understood the signal and acted accordingly. once he stood up and gazed off over the rugged peaks, sharp knife-like edges and sheer wails before him. there seemed not sufficient foothold for a bird where he was standing, and though a thousand feet above the river, he seemed not to feel the height at all nor to be in the least dizzy. it was dangerous work, exhausting work; but oh! what self-reliance, what pluck and levelheadedness was tad butler displaying. had he never accomplished anything worth while in his life, those who saw him now could but admire the lad's wonderful courage. they hung upon his movements, scarcely breathing at all, as little by little the lad crept along, now swinging by his hands from one ledge to another, now creeping around a sharp bend on hand and knees, now hanging with nothing more secure than thin air underneath him, with face flattened against a rock, resting. it was a sight to thrill and to make even strong men shiver. for a long time tad disappeared from view. the watchers did not know where he had gone, but nance explained that he had crept around the opposite side of the butte where he had last been seen, hoping to discover better going there, which jim was of the opinion he would find. this proved to be the case when after what seemed an interminable time, the pony rider once more appeared, creeping steadily on toward the trail above the broken spot. this went on for the greater part of two hours. "he's safe. thank god!" cried the guide. the pony rider boys whooped. "you stay here!" directed the guide. nance began clambering up the rocky trail to a point from which he would be able to talk to the boy. arriving at this spot, dad waited. at last tad appeared, dragging himself along. "good boy! fine boy! dad's canyon is proud of you, boy!" tad sank down, shaking his head, breathing hard, as the guide could see, even at that distance. after a time tad recovered his wind sufficiently to be able to talk. "what happened to you?" called dad. "i got a bump. i don't really know what did occur. the ropes are all washed away, dad. i don't know how i'm going to help you up here now that i have got up. aren't there any vines of which i could make a ladder?" "nary a vine that'll make a seventy-five-foot ladder." "then there is only one thing for me to do." "what's that?" "hurry to the rim and get ropes." "i reckon you'll have to do that, kid, if you think you're able. are you much knocked out?" "i'm all right. tell them not to worry. i may be gone some time, but i shall be back." "good luck! i wish i could help you." "i don't need help now. there is no further danger. are my friends down there hungry?" "stacy brown is thinking of nibbling rocks." tad laughed, then began climbing up the trail. nance, watching him narrowly, saw that the boy was very weary, being scarcely able to drag himself along. after a time tad passed out of sight up what was left of bright angel trail. nance, with a sigh, turned to begin retracing his steps down to the pony rider boys' party. "well, he made it, didn't he?" cried ned. "we have been watching him all the time." "there's a real man," answered the guide, with an emphatic nod. "pity there aren't more like him." "there is one like him," spoke up chunky. "who?" "little me," answered the fat boy, tapping his chest modestly. "that's so; chunky did jump into the raging flood," said walter. "we mustn't forget that he acted the part of a brave man while we were standing there shivering and almost gasping for breath." "brave?" drawled ned sarcastically. "ned rector, you know you were scared stiff," retorted walter. "well, i'll be honest with you, i was. who wouldn't have been? even the professor's mustache changed color for the moment." the afternoon passed. it was now growing dark, for the night came on early down there in the canyon. on the tops of the peaks the lowering sun was lighting up the red sandstone, making it appear like a great flame on the polished walls. "isn't it time tad were getting back?" asked the professor anxiously. "well, it's a long, hard climb, you know. all of seven miles the way one has to go. that makes fourteen miles up and back, and they're real miles, as you know." "i hope nothing has happened to the boy." "leave it to him. he knows how to take care of himself." no one thought of lying down to sleep. in the first place, all were too hungry. then, again, at any moment tad might return. midnight arrived. suddenly nance held up his hands for silence. "whoo-oo!" it was a long-drawn, far-away call. "that's tad," said nance. "we'd better gather up our belongings and get up to the break in the trail." the guide answered the call by a similar "whoo-oo," after which all began climbing cautiously. in the darkness it was dangerous business, but a torch held in the hands of jim nance aided them materially. far up on the side of the canyon they could see three flickering points of light. "it's the kid. he's got somebody with him. i thought he'd do that. he's a wise one," chuckled the guide. the climb was made in safety. the party ar rived at the base at last, the boys shouting joyously as they saw tad waving a torch at them. at least they supposed it was tad. "what do you think about waiting until daylight for the climb?" shouted butler. "i'll see what they say," answered nance. "what about it, gentlemen?" "i think it perhaps would be safer." this from the professor. "what, spend another night in this hole?" demanded stacy. "no, sirree." "please let us go on up, professor," begged walter. "yes, we don't want to stay down here. we can climb at night as well as in daylight," urged chunky. "what have you got, ropes?" called nance. "i've brought down some rope ladders, which i have spliced-----" "i hope you've done a better job on the splicing than you did on your own rope when you sailed across the horseshoe bend," shouted stacy. "if you haven't, i refuse to trust my precious life to your old rope." "too bad about your precious life," laughed ned. "well, professor, what do you say?" "is it safe, nance?" "as safe now as at any other time." "all right." "let down your ladder," called the guide. "be sure that it is well secured. how many have you with you?" "three men, if that is what you mean." "very good." the rope ladder was let down. those below were just able to reach it with their hands. it came within less than a foot of being too short. "who is going up first?" asked the guide. "the professor, of course," replied chunky magnanimously. "that is very thoughtful of you, stacy," smiled professor zepplin. "yes, you are the heaviest. if the rope doesn't break with you, it's safe for the rest of us," answered chunky, whereat there was a general laugh. "very good, young man. i will accommodate you," announced the professor grimly, grasping the rope and pulling himself up with the assistance of nance and the boys. the rope swayed dizzily. "hold it there!" shouted the professor. nance had already grasped the end of the ladder and was holding to it with his full weight. after a long time a shout from above told them that professor zepplin had arrived safely at the top. walter went up next, then chunky and ned, followed finally by jim nance himself after their belongings had been hauled to the top. professor zepplin embraced tad immediately upon reaching the trail above. the boys joked butler about being such a poor swimmer. about that time they discovered that tad had a gash nearly four inches long on his head where he had come in contact with the sharp edge of a rock in the river. tad had lost much blood and was still weak and pale from his terrific experiences. nance wrung tad butler's hand until tad winced. "ain't a man in the whole grand who could have done what you did, youngster," declared dad enthusiastically. "the question is, did you fetch down anything to eat?" demanded chunky. "yes, of course i did." "where is it? lead me to it," shouted the fat boy. "i left the stuff up at the garden, where the mustangs are. we will go up there, the professor and mr. nance approving." the professor and mr. nance most certainly did approve of the suggestion, for both were very hungry. the men who had come down with tad led the way with their torches. it was a long, hard climb, the use of the ropes being found necessary here and there for convenience and to save time. tad had had none of these conveniences when he went up. how he had made the trip so easily as he appeared to make it set the boys to wondering. baskets of food were found at the garden. the party did full justice to the edibles, then, acting on the suggestion of nance, they rolled up in their blankets and went to sleep. first, however, professor zepplin had examined the wound in tad's head. he found it a scalp wound. the professor washed and dressed the wound, after which tad went to bed. on the following morning they mounted their mustangs and started slowly for the rim, where they arrived some time after noon. the pony rider boys instantly went into camp near the hotel, for it had been decided to take a full day's rest before starting out on the long trip. this time they were to take their pack train with them and cut off from civilization for the coming few weeks, they would live in the canyon, foraging for what food they were unable to carry with them. the guests at the hotel, after hearing of tad butler's bravery, tried to make a hero of the lad, but tad would have none of it. he grew red in the face every time anyone suggested that he had done anything out of the ordinary. and deep down in his heart the lad did not believe that he had. professor zepplin, however, called a surgeon, who took five stitches in the scalp wound. on the following morning camp was struck and the party started out for bright angel gulch and cataract canyon, in both of which places some interesting as well as exciting experiences awaited them. nance had brought three of his hunting dogs with him in case any game were started. the boys were looking forward to shooting a lion, though, there being no snow on the ground, it would be difficult for the dogs to strike and follow a trail. how well they succeeded we shall see. chapter xiv the dogs pick up a trail the man in charge of the pack train having deserted them before the travelers got back from the rim, dad picked up a half breed whom the boys named chow, because he was always chewing. if not food, chow was forever munching on a leaf or a twig or a stick. his jaws were ever at work until the boys were working their own jaws out of pure sympathy. the march was taken up to bass trail, which they reached about noon of the second day and started down. no unusual incident occurred during this journey. they found the trail in good condition, and though steep and precipitous in places, it gave the pony rider boys no worry. after having experienced the perils of the other trail, this one seemed tame. from bass trail they worked their way down and across into bright angel gulch, where they made camp and awaited the arrival of chow and the mules with their tents and provisions. chow arrived late the same day. tents were pitched and settled. it was decided for the present to make this point their base of supplies. when on short journeys they would travel light, carrying such equipment as was absolutely necessary, and no more. this gulch was far from the beaten track of the ordinary explorer, a vast but attractive gash in the plateau. in spots there was verdure, and, where the water courses reached in, stretches of grass with here and there patches of gramma grass, grease wood and creosote plants with a profusion of flowers, mostly red, in harmony with the prevailing color of the rocks that towered high above them. at this point the walls of the canyon reached nearly seven thousand feet up into the air. down there on the levels the sun glared fiercely at midday, but along toward night refreshing breezes drifted through the canyon, making the evenings cool and delightful. but there were drawbacks. there were snakes and insects in this almost tropical lower land. the boys were not greatly disturbed over these things. by this time they were pretty familiar with insects and reptiles, for it will be remembered that they had spent much time in the wilder places of their native country. for the first twenty-four hours of their stay in "camp butler," as they had named their base in honor of tad himself, they did little more than make short excursions out into the adjoining canyons. the professor embraced the opportunity to indulge in some scientific researches into the geology of the canyon, on which in the evening he was wont to dwell at length in language that none of the boys understood. but they listened patiently, for they were very fond of this grizzled old traveler who had now been their companion for so long. the third night the dogs appeared restless. they lay at the end of their leashes growling and whipping their tails angrily. "what is the matter with the dogs?" demanded tad butler. "i think they must have fleas," decided chunky wisely. "no, it isn't fleas," said dad, who had been observing them for the past few minutes. "it's my opinion that there's game hereabouts." "deer?" questioned ned. "no. more likely it's something that is after the deer." "lions?" asked tad. "i reckon." "have you seen any signs of them?" "what you might call a sign," nance nodded. "i found, up in mystic canyon this afternoon, all that was left of a deer. the lions had killed it and stripped all the best flesh from the deer. so it's plain enough that the cats are hanging around. i thought we'd come up with some of them down here." "wow for the king of beasts!" shouted chunky, throwing up his sombrero. "nothing like a king," retorted jim nance. "the mountain lion isn't in any class with african lions. the lion hereabouts is only a part as big. a king---this mountain lion of ours? you'd better call the beast a dirty savage, and be satisfied with that." "but we're going to go after some of them, aren't we?" asked ned. "surely," nodded nance. "when?" pressed walter. "is it safe?" the more prudent professor zepplin wanted to know. "safe?" repeated jim nance. "well, when it comes to that, nothing down in this country can be called exactly safe. all sorts of trouble can be had around here for the asking. but i reckon that these young gentlemen will know pretty well how to keep themselves reasonably safe---all except mr. brown, who'll bear some watching." even long after they had turned in that night the boys kept on talking about the coming hunts of the next few days. they fairly dreamed lions. in the morning the hunt was the first thing they thought of as they ran to wash up for breakfast. in the near distance could be heard the baying of hounds, for dad's dogs were no longer chained up. "i let the dogs loose," nance explained, noting the eager, questioning glances. "the dogs have got track of something. hustle your breakfasts! we'll get away with speed." breakfast was disposed of in a hurry that morning. then the boys hustled to get ready for the day's sport. when, a few minutes later, they set off on their ponies, with rifles thrust in saddle boots, revolvers bristling from their belts, ropes looped over the pommels of their saddles, the pony rider boys presented quite a warlike appearance. "if you were half as fierce as you look i'd run," declared dad, with a grin. "which way do we go?" questioned the professor. "we'll all hike up into the mystic canyon. there we'll spread out, each man for himself. one of us can't help but fall to the trail of a beast if he is careful." after reaching the mystic they heard the dogs in a canyon some distance away. ned and walter were sent off to the left, tad to the north, while the rest remained in the mystic canyon to wait there, where the chase should lead at some time during the day. "three shots are a signal to come in, or to come to the fellow who shoots," announced the guide. "look out for yourselves." silence soon settled down over mystic canyon. chunky was disappointed that he had not been assigned to go out with one of his companions, he found time hanging heavily on his hands with nance and the professor, but he uttered no complaint. the professor and guide had dismounted from their ponies and were seated on a rock busily engaged in conversation. chunky, after glancing at them narrowly, shouldered his rifle and strolled off, leaving his pony tethered to a sapling. he walked further than he had intended, making his way to a rise of ground about a quarter of a mile away, with the hope that he might catch a glimpse of some of his companions. once on the rise, which was quite heavily wooded, he seemed to hear the hounds much more plainly than before. it seemed to stacy that they were approaching from the other side, opposite to that which the rest were watching. he glanced down into the canyon, but could see neither of the two older men. "most exciting chase i've ever been in," muttered the fat boy in disgust, throwing himself down on the ground with rifle across his knees. "lions! i don't believe there are any lions in the whole country. dad's been having dreams. it's my private opinion that dad's got an imagination that works over time once in a while. i think-----" the words died on the fat boy's lips. his eyes grew wide, the pupils narrowed, the whites giving the appearance of small inverted saucers. stacy scarcely breathed. there, slinking across an open space on the rise, its tail swishing its ears laid flat on its cruel, cat-like head, was a tawny, lithe creature. stacy brown recognized the object at once. it was a mountain lion, a large one. it seemed to chunky that he never had seen a beast as large in all his life. the lion was alternately listening to the baying of the hounds and peering about for a suitable tree in which to hide itself. stacy acted like a man in a trance. without any clear idea as to what he was doing, he rose slowly to his feet. at that instant the lion discovered him. it crouched down, its eyes like sparks of fire, scintillating and snapping. all at once stacy threw his gun to his shoulder and pulled the trigger. at least he thought he did. but no report came. a yellow flash, a swish and the beast had leaped clear of the rise and disappeared even more suddenly than he had come. "wha---wha-----" gasped chunky. then he made a discovery. chunky was holding the rifle by the barrel with the muzzle against his shoulder, having aimed the butt at the crouching lion. chunky had had a severe attack of "buck fever." with a wild yell that woke the echoes and sent jim nance and professor zepplin tearing through the bushes, stacy dashed down the steep slope, forgetting to take his rifle with him in his hurried descent. he met the two men running toward him. "what is it? what's happened?" shouted the professor. "i saw him! i saw him!" yelled stacy, almost frantic with excitement. nance grabbed the boy by the shoulder, shaking him roughly. "speak up. what did you see?" "i su---su---saw a lu---lu---lion, i di---did." "where?" demanded nance. "up there." chunky's eyes were full of excitement. "why didn't you shoot him?" "i---i tried to, but the gu---gun wouldn't go off. i---i had it wrong end to." dad relaxed his grip on the fat boy's arm and sat down heavily. "of all the tarnal idiots---of all! professor, if we don't tie that boy to a tree he'll be killing us all with his fool ways. why, you baby, you ain't fit to carry a pop-gun. by the way, where is your gun?" "i---i guess, i lost it up---up there," stammered stacy. dad started for the top of the rise in long strides, chunky gazing after him in a dazed sort of way. "i---i guess i did make a fool of myself, didn't i, professor?" he mourned. "i am inclined to think you did---several different varieties of them," answered professor zepplin in a tone of disgust. chapter xv the mystery of the rifle "i can't help it, i saw a lion, anyway," muttered the fat boy. "come up here!" it was dad's voice calling to them. "where's that rifle?" "i---i dropped it, i told you." "where did you drop it?" "right there." "show me." stacy climbed to the top of the rise and stepped confidently over to where he had let go the rifle before rushing down after having tried to shoot the lion. he actually stooped over to pick up the gun, so confident was he as to its location. then a puzzled expression appeared on stacy's face. "oh, it's there, is it?" "why---i---i------- say, you're trying to play a joke on me." "i rather think you've played it on yourself," jeered the guide. "where did you leave it?" "right there, i tell you." "sure you didn't throw it over in the bushes down the other side?" "i guess i know what i did with it," retorted chunky indignantly. "well, it isn't here." dad was somewhat puzzled by this time. he saw that stacy was very confident of having left the gun at that particular place, but it could not be found. "maybe somebody's stolen it," suggested the boy. "nonsense! who is there here to steal it, in the first place? in the second, how could any one slip in here at the right moment and get away with your rifle?" "you have no---no idea what has become of it---no theory?" asked the professor. "not the least little bit," replied the guide. "most remarkable---most remarkable," muttered professor zepplin. "i cannot understand it." "we'll look around a bit," announced dad. the three men searched everywhere, even going all the way down to the base of the rise on either side, but nowhere did they find the slightest trace of the missing rifle. after they had returned to the summit, dad, a new idea in mind, went over the rocks and the ground again in search of footprints. the only footprints observable were those of their own party. there was more in the mystery than dad could fathom. "well, this gets me," declared the guide, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "this certainly does." "is---is my rifle lost?" wailed chunky. "i reckon you'll never see that pretty bit of firearms again," grinned jim. "but it must be here," insisted stacy. "but it isn't. fortunately we have plenty of guns with us. you can get another when we go back to camp." "yes, but this one is mine-----" "was yours," corrected nance. "it is mine, and i'm going to have it before i leave this miserable old hole," declared the boy. "i hope you find it. i'd like to know how the thing ever got away in that mysterious manner." "maybe the lion took it." "mebby he did. funny i hadn't thought of that," answered nance gravely. then both he and the professor burst into a shout of laughter. they made their way slowly back to the point where they were to meet the others of the party. chunky, now being without a rifle, was well content to remain with the guide and the professor. while all this was going on tad and walter were picking their way over the rough ridges, through narrow canyons, riding their ponies where a novice would hardly have dared to walk. the ponies seemed to take to the work naturally. not a single misstep was made by either of them. they, too, could hear the dogs, but the latter were far away most of the time, even though, for all the riders knew, they might have been just the other side of the rocky wall along which the two boys were traveling. they kept on in this way until late in the afternoon, when they stopped and dismounted, deciding that they would have a bite to eat. "it doesn't look as if we were going to have any luck, does it, tad?" asked walter in a disappointed tone. "no, it doesn't. but one never can tell. in hunting game you know it comes upon one suddenly. you have to be ever on the alert. we know that the dogs have been on the trail of something." "perhaps deer," suggested walter. "yes, it is possible, though i don't know whether those dogs will trail deer or not. you know they may be trained to hunt lions. i didn't hear mr. nance say." they were munching biscuit and eating oranges as they rested, which must have tasted good to them. the temperature was going down with the day, though the light was strong in the canyon where they were standing. above them the jagged, broken cliffs rose tier on tier until they seemed to disappear far up in the fleecy clouds that were drifting lazily over the canyon. all at once silver face, tad's pony, exhibited signs of restlessness, which seemed to be quickly communicated to the other animal. the pintos stamped, shook their heads and snorted. "whoa! what's wrong with you fellows?" demanded tad, eyeing the ponies keenly. "smell something, eh?" "maybe they smell oats," suggested walter. "i guess not. they are a long way from oats at the present moment." tad paused abruptly. a pebble had rattled down the rocky wall and bounded off some yards to the front of them. silver face started and would have bounded away had not a firm hand been at that instant laid on the bridle rein. to one unaccustomed to the mountains the incident might have passed unnoticed. by this time tad butler was a pretty keen woodsman as well as plainsman. he had learned to take notice of everything. even the most trivial signs hold a meaning all their own for the man who habitually lives close to nature. the lad glanced sharply at the rocks. "see anything?" asked walter. "no." "what did you think you heard?" "i didn't hear anything but that pebble. the horses smelled something, though." while he was speaking the lad's glances were traveling slowly over the rocks above. all at once he paused. "don't stir, walt. look up." "where?" "in line with that cloud that looks like a dragon. then lower your glance slowly. i think you will see something worth while." it was a full moment before walter perkins discovered that to which his attention had been called. "it's a cat," breathed walt, almost in awe. "yes, that's a lion. he is evidently hiding up there, where he has gone to get away from the dogs. we will walk away a bit as if we were leaving. then we'll tether the horses securely. don't act as if you saw the beast. i know now what was the matter with the mustangs. they scented that beast up there." the ponies were quickly secured, after which the boys crouched in the brush and sought out the lion again. he was still in the same place, but was now standing erect, head toward them, well raised as if in a listening attitude. "my, isn't he a fine one!" whispered walt. walter perkins was not suffering from the same complaint that chunky had caught when he first saw his lion over in the other canyon, an offshoot from the bright angel canyon, and where he had lost his rifle so mysteriously. "take careful aim; then, when he turns his side toward us, let him have it," directed tad. "oh, no, you discovered him. he is your game. you shoot, tad." butler shook his head. "i want you to shoot. i have already killed a cougar. this is your chance to distinguish yourself." walter's eyes sparkled. he raised his rifle, leveling it through the crotch of a small tree. "wait till he turns," whispered tad, fingering his own rifle anxiously. he could hardly resist the temptation to take a shot at the animal where it stood facing them far up the side of the canyon wall. "now!" tad's tone was calm, steady and low. walter's rifle barked. "you've hit him!" yelled tad. "look out! he's up again!" warned the boy. the beast had not been killed by the shot. he had been bowled over, dropping down to a lower crag, where he sprang to his feet and with a roar of rage bounded up the mountainside. "shoot! shoot!" cried butler. but walter did not even raise his rifle. a sudden fit of trembling had taken possession of him. his was the "buck fever" in another form. bang! butler had let go a quick shot. a roar followed the shot. "bang!" "there, i guess that settled him," decided tad butler, lowering his rifle. "i---i should say it did," gasped walter. the tawny beast was throwing himself this way and that, the boys meanwhile watching him anxiously. "i'm afraid he's going to stick up there," cried walter, dancing about shouting excitedly. "no, he isn't. there he comes." "hurray!" "duck!" tad grabbed his companion, jerking the latter back and running with him. they were just at the spot where the ponies had been tethered, when a heavy body struck the ground not far from where they had been standing. silver face leaped right up into the air, then settled back on his haunches in an attempt to break the hitching rope. tad struck the animal against the flank with the flat of his hand, whereat the mustang bounded to his feet. "whoa, you silly old animal!" cried tad. "look out, walt, don't get too near that lion. you may lose some of your clothes if he shouldn't happen to be dead. i'll be there in a moment, as soon as i can get these horses quieted down." in a moment tad was running toward his companion. "is he settled?" "i don't know. his---his eyes are open," stammered walter, standing off a safe distance from the prostrate beast. tad poked the animal with the muzzle of his rifle. "yes, he's a dead one. one less brute to make war on the deer. won't old dad be surprised when we trail into camp with this big game?" exulted the pony rider boy. "yes, but---but how are we going to get the fellow there?" wondered walter. "get him there? well, i guess we'll do it somehow. i'll tell you what, i'll take him over the saddle in front of me. that's the idea. you bring out silver face and we'll see how he feels about it. i wouldn't be surprised if he raised a row." silver face did object most emphatically. the instant the pony came in sight of the dead lion he sat down on his haunches. tad urged and threatened, but not another inch would the pinto budge. "i guess i know how to fix you," gritted the boy. he was on the back of the sitting mustang, his feet in the stirrups, before the pony realized what had happened. a reasonably sharp rowel, pressed into the pinto's side, brought him a good two feet clear of the ground. then began a lively battle between the boy and the horse. "don't let him tread on the beast," shouted walter. "n-n-no danger of that," stammered tad. it was a lively battle while it lasted, but silver face realized, as he had never done before, that he had met his master. after some twenty minutes of fight, in which the pinto made numerous futile attempts to climb the sheer side of the canyon at the imminent danger of toppling over backwards and crushing his master, the brute gave up. "now you hold him while i load on the beast," directed tad, riding up. this called for more disturbance. silver face fought against taking a lion on his back. he drew the line at that. just the same, after another lively scrimmage, mr. lion was loaded on, but no sooner had tad swung into the saddle than he swung out again. he hadn't even time to get his toes in the stirrups before he was flying through the air, head first. walter had difficulty in determining which was boy and which was lion. the lion struck the ground first, tad landing on top of him. with rare presence of mind, walter had seized the pinto and was having a lively set-to with the beast, with the odds in favor of silver face, when tad sprang up and ran to his companion's assistance. tad's temper was up. the way he grilled silver face that animal perhaps never forgot. not that tad abused his mount. he never would be guilty of abusing a horse. he was too fond of horseflesh to do such a thing, but he knew how to punish an animal in other and more effective ways. silver face was punished. "now, my fine fellow, let's see who's boss here!" laughed tad. "hold him while i put aboard the baggage, walt." the pony submitted to the ordeal a second time. this time there was no bucking, and shortly afterwards the lads started for their companions bearing the trophy of their hunt with them. chapter xvi a new way to hunt lions long before they reached the meeting point they heard the long-drawn "woohoo!" of jim nance calling them in. they were the only ones out at that time. tad set up a series of answering "woos-hoos" that caused silver face to wiggle his ears disapprovingly, as if this were some new method of torture invented for his special benefit. as they got in sight of the rest of the party, the boys set up a shout. their companions, about that time, discovered that tad was carrying something before him on the pony. chunky and ned started on a run to meet tad and walter. how chunky did yell when he discovered what that something was. "they've got a cat! they've got a cat!" he howled, dancing about and swinging his arms. "i tell you, they've got a cat!" tad rode into camp smiling, flinging the lion to the ground, which caused tad's pony to perform once more. "who shot him?" cried the professor, fully as excited as the boys. "this is a partnership cat," laughed tad. "we both have some bullets in him. how many did you fellows get?" "well, i had one, but he got away," answered stacy, his face sobering instantly. "and---and he carried off my rifle too." "what's that?" demanded tad. chunky explained briefly. but he had little opportunity to talk. dad, who had been examining the dead lion, straightened up and looked at tad. "good job, boys. it's a dandy. must weigh nigh onto three hundred pounds. have much of a tussle with him?" "not any. he was dead when he got down to us." "very fine specimen," decided the professor, examining the dead beast from a respectable distance. "you lads are to be congratulated." "say, i'm going with you to-morrow," cried stacy. "these folks don't know how to hunt lions." "do you?" demanded nance witheringly. stacy colored violently. "at least i know how to stalk them," he answered. "if i lose my gun in the excitement that doesn't mean that i'm not a natural born lion chaser. anybody can shoot a lion, but everybody can't sit still and charm the lion right up to him." they admitted that the fat boy was right in this assertion. chunky had done all of that. upon their return to camp, walter and tad had asked numerous questions about the loss of the gun. there was little additional information that either stacy or the two men could give them. the gun had most mysteriously disappeared, that was all. nance was more puzzled than any of the others and he groped in vain for an explanation of the mystery, but no satisfactory explanation suggested itself to his mind. after supper the guide cut some meat from the cat and fed it to the weary dogs, who had not succeeded in treeing a single lion, though they had come near doing so several times. but they had sent the cats flying for cover, which had given chunky and the other two boys opportunity to use their guns, though stacy brown, in his excitement, had failed to take advantage of the opportunity offered to him. it was decided that the hunt should be taken up again on the following morning. nance said stacy might go with tad this time, nance taking charge of the other three boys. this was satisfactory to chunky and tad. the morning found the camp awake at an early hour. chunky and tad set off together, the former having been equipped with a rifle from the extra supply carried by the party, the guide having administered a sarcastic suggestion that chunky tie the rifle to his back so that he would not lose this one. chunky made appropriate reply, after which they rode away. the early part of the day was devoid of success. they did not even hear the bay of a hound all the forenoon. tad took their quest coolly, undisturbed. he had already gotten one lion and could well afford not to get one this time. it was different with stacy. he was anxious to distinguish himself, to make amends for his blunders of the previous day. about an hour after they had eaten their lunch they heard the bounds for the first time. tad listened intently for a few minutes. "i think they are coming this way, chunky." "if they do, you give me the first shot. i've simply got to meet another cat." "you shall have it, providing you are on the job and ready. these cats don't wait around for a fellow to get ready to shoot, as you have no doubt observed." "don't remind me of disagreeable things, please," growled stacy. "i've had my chance and i lost it. next time i see a cat i'm going to kill him on the spot. wait; i'm going to take an observation." "don't go far," warned tad. "no, i won't. just want to have a look at the landscape," flung back stacy, hurrying away, while tad stretched out for a little rest, well satisfied to have stacy do the moving about until there was something real to be done, when tad would be on hand on the jump. stacy had not taken his gun. in fact, he wholly forgot to do so, not thinking for an instant that he would have opportunity to use it. this was where the fat boy made another serious mistake. a hunter should never be beyond reaching distance of his gun when out on the trail for game. it is a mistake that has cost some men their lives, others the loss of much coveted game. choosing a low, bushy pinyon tree as best suited to the purposes of a lazy climber, stacy climbed it, grunting and grumbling unintelligibly. he had hopes that he might discover something worth while, something that would distinguish him from his fellows on that particular day. "i feel as if something were going to happen," he confided to the tree, seating himself in a crotch formed by a limb extending out from the main body of the tree, then parting the foliage for a better view. "it's funny how a fellow feels about these things some times. hello, there, i actually believe those are deer running yonder. or maybe they're cows," added stacy. "anyhow i couldn't shoot them, whichever they are, so i won't get excited over them." chunky fixed his eyes on the opposite side of the tree a little above where he was perched. "i thought i saw something move there. hello, i hear the hounds again. they've surely gotten on track of something. and-----" once more the fat boy paused. he saw something yellow lying along a limb of the tree, something at first sight that he took to be a snake. but he knew of no snakes that had fur on their bodies. the round, furry thing that he thought might be a snake at first now began whipping up and down on the limb, curling at its end, twisting, performing strange antics. what could it mean? stacy parted the foliage a little more, then once again, as had been the case on the previous day, his eyes opened wide. he saw now what was at the other end of the snake-like appendage. and seeing he understood that he was in a predicament. but chunky's voice failed him. there on the opposite limb of the tree, less than ten feet away, crouched the biggest mountain lion stacy brown ever had seen. and it grew larger with the seconds. the beast was working its tail, its whiskers bristled, its eyes shone like points of steel. it seemed as if the beast were trying to decide whether to attack the boy within such easy reach or to leap to the ground and flee. the deep baying of the dogs in the distance evidently decided the cat against the latter plan. then, too, perhaps the howls that chunky now emitted had something to do with the former question. tad butler, stretched out on the ground, found himself standing bolt upright as if he had been propelled to that position by a spring. the most unearthly howls he had ever heard broke upon the mountain stillness. "wow! ow-wow-wow! tad! help, help, help! quick!" tad was off like a shot himself, not even pausing to snatch up his gun which lay so near at hand. and how he did run! "where, chunky? where are you? shout quick!" "wow! ow-wow-wow!" was the only answer stacy brown could make, but the sound of his voice unerringly guided tad to the location. but stacy could not be found. "in the name of-----" "wow! ow-wow-wow!" howled the agonized voice of the fat boy from the branches of the pinyon tree. tad peered up between the branches. he saw stacy looking down upon him with panic stricken gaze. "for the love of goodness, what's the matter, stacy? you nearly frightened me to death." "look out!" the words, shouted at the top of the fat boy's voice, were so thrilling that tad leaped back instinctively. "see here, don't make a fool of me, too. what's the matter with you? come down out of that." "i can't. he'll get me." "what will get you? nothing will get you, you ninny!" "the lion will get me." "have you gone raving mad on the subject of lions?" jeered butler. "look, if you don't believe me. he's up here. he's trying to get a bite out of me. shoot him, as you love me, tad; shoot and shoot straight or i'm a dead one." for the first time since his arrival on the scene tad began to realize that stacy was not having fun with him. something really was up that tree---something besides a pony rider boy. "you don't mean to tell me there's a cat up there-----" "yes, yes! he's over there on the other side. shoot, shoot!" "i haven't my gun with me." the fat boy groaned helplessly. "i'm a dead one! nothing can save me. tell them i died like a man; tell them i never uttered a squeal." tad had sprung around to the side of the pinyon tree indicated by chunky. up there on a bushy limb, clear of the heavier foliage, lay a sleek, but ugly looking cat, swishing its tail angrily. first, its glances would shoot over to stacy brown, then down to tad butler. the lion, as tad decided on the spot, had gone into the tree to hide from the dogs as had the one that had been shot on the canyon wall the previous afternoon. this time the proposition was a different one. both boys were in dire peril, as tad well knew. at any second the cat might spring, either at him or at stacy. and neither boy had a gun in his hands. tad's mind worked with lightning-like rapidity. it was a time for quick thinking if one expected to save one's skin from being torn by those needle-like claws. butler thought of a plan. he did not know whether there were one chance in a million of the plan working. he wanted that lion a great deal more than the lion wanted him. he was going to take a desperate chance. an older and more experienced man might not have cared to try what tad butler was about to attempt. the pony rider boy's hand slipped down to the lasso hanging from his belt. he was thankful that he had that. the lasso was always there except when he was in the saddle, when it was usually looped over the pommel. "chunky, yell! make all the noise you can." "i am. wow-ow-wow. y-e-o-w wow!" "that's right, keep it up. don't stop. make faces at him, make believe you're going to jump at-----" "say, anybody would think this were a game of croquet and that i was trying to make the other fellow miss the wicket. don't you think-----" "i'm trying to get you to attract his attention-----" "i don't want to attract his attention. i want the beast to look the other way," wailed the fat boy. "i want to get out of here." "well, why haven't you?" "i dassent." while carrying on this conversation with his chum, tad was watching the cat narrowly. the animal was showing signs of greater excitement now. the boy decided that the beast was preparing to jump one way or another---which way was a matter of some concern to both boys at that particular instant. the cat took two long paces in stacy's direction. stacy emitted the most blood-curdling yell tad had ever heard. it served butler's very purpose. the beast halted with one hind foot poised in the air, glaring at stacy, who was howling more lustily than ever. swish! tad's lariat shot through the air. his aim was true, his hand steady and cool. chapter xvii the whirlwind ball of yellow when the startled cat felt the touch of the raw-hide rope against its leg it made a tremendous leap straight ahead. "too late!" clicked tad. "that loop is taut on you now!" "m-m-murder! look out!" bellowed stacy. for the cat's leap had carried it straight at the fat boy. in fact one sharp set of claws raked the lad from shoulder to waist, though without more than breaking the skin. that blow settled stacy. "i'm dead---ripped to pieces!" he yelled. without waiting to jump from the tree, stacy simply fell. over and over on the ground he rolled until he was a dozen yards away from the tree. "if you're dead," tad grinned, "get up and come over here, and tell me about it." stacy slowly rose to his feet. he was badly shaken, covered with dirt and with some blood showing through the rents in his clothes. "nothing but my presence of mind and my speed saved me, anyway," chunky grumbled ruefully. all in a twinkling that whirling yellow ball shot out of the tree, striking the ground before tad butler could draw the rope taut. however, the rope still hung over a limb. how the dirt flew! tad realized that swift action must come ere the beast should make a leap at them. stacy started away, but butler's sharp tone halted him. "chunky!" tad panted. "what?" "get hold of this rope with me. shake yourself. what ails you? have you got a streak of yellow in you?" "i can thrash the fellow who says i have?" roared the fat boy, springing to his feet. "that's the way to talk. come, hurry---get hold here! he's too much for me and he's going to get away from me if you don't lend a hand." "wh-what do you want me to do?" "grab hold of this rope, i tell you." chunky did so, but keeping a wary eye on the rolling, tumbling, spitting yellow ball, which was a full grown mountain lion, and an ugly brute. the king of the canyons, however, was in a most humiliating position for a king of any sort. he had been roped by his left hind foot, the other end of the rope being in the hands of the intrepid pony rider boy, thaddeus butler. tad knew well that he had a good thing and he proposed to hang on as long as there was an ounce of strength left in his body. by this time stacy had gotten a grip on the rope. "now pull steadily until i tell you to stop." slowly, digging his claws into the dirt, biting at the rope that held him fast, the cat was drawn toward the pinyon tree despite all his struggles. tad's object was to pull the beast off its feet, in which position it would be unable to do very much damage. perhaps the cat realized something of this, for all of a sudden it sprang to the base of the tree and with a roar landed up among the lower limbs. ere the beast even felt the touch of the tree limb under its feet, the brave chunky was several rods away peering from behind a rock, howling like a comanche indian. tad, too, had made some lively moves. the instant he saw that the cat was going to jump he took a quick twist about the tree, shortening the rope until it was taut. he made a quick knot, then leaped back out of the way. but none too soon. the cat pounced on the spot where he had been standing, narrowly missing the boy. but the rope was free of the limb of the tree over which it had been first drawn. the beast was free to gambol about as far as the rope would permit. the boy's mind was still working rapidly. "run to the guns, chunky. shoot and keep shooting until you attract the attention of the rest of the party. we've got to have help. we never shall be able to handle him ourselves, and i want to save him." stacy hesitated. "run, i tell you!" shouted butler. "don't stand there like a statue. go!" chunky jumped as if he had been hit, and ran limping toward the place where they had left their weapons and their mustangs. he found both, though chunky was too excited to notice the ponies at all. already they were restless, having scented the mountain lion. snatching up his own rifle, stacy fired six shots in rapid succession. then grabbing the other gun, he let six more go, but continued snapping the firing pin on the empty chamber after all the cartridges had been exploded, before he realized that he was not shooting at all. stacy in trying to reload fumbled and made a mess of it, spilling a lot of shells on the ground, most of which he was unable to find again. "we got him! we got him!" the fat boy kept chuckling to himself. "we certainly have done it this time." finally he got one gun loaded, and had fired it off six times when he heard tad butler's "whoo-e-e-e-e." chunky hurried back to his companion. "they've answered," called tad. in the meantime the latter had been having a lively time. he knew that were he to give the least possible chance the beast would bite the rope off and escape even if he did no worse. it was to prevent this that the boy exerted all his ingenuity and effort. this consisted of whoops and howls, throwing rocks at the animal, dodging in now and then to whack the lion with a piece from a limb that had been broken down by the cat in its thrashing above. the dust was flying. at times it seemed as if the lion must have gotten the hardy pony rider boy. at such times the lithe, active form of tad butler could be seen leaping from the cloud of dust while the beast followed with savage lunges to the end of its rope. it seemed impossible to tire out either boy or cat. it was this condition of affairs that stacy brown came upon on his return. he stood gazing at the scene, fascinated. "look out, tad! he'll get you!" shouted the boy. "get in here and give him a poke in the ribs," cried butler. "not for a million dollars, badly as i need money," returned the fat boy. "what do you take me for, an animal trainer?" "then i'll have to keep on doing it till mr. nance gets here to help me. this is the greatest thing we've ever done, old boy!" "yes, it'll be a great thing when the brute hands you one from those garden rakes of his. get away and i'll shoot him," directed stacy, swinging his rifle into position. "put that gun down!" thundered tad. "you'll be winging me next thing you do. put it down, i say!" stacy grumblingly obeyed. meanwhile the gymnastic exercise continued with unabated vigor. there was not an instant's pause. the mountain lion was busier perhaps than it ever had been in its life. it was battling for its life, too, and it knew it. once tad was raked from head to foot by a vicious claw, but the pony rider boy merely laughed. his endurance, too, was most remark able. stacy would hardly get within gun-shot of the beast, always standing near a tree convenient for climbing. tad was not saying much now. he was rather too busy for conversation. at last the report of a rifle was heard not far away. "answer them. it's the gang," called tad. chunky fired a shot into the air, following it with four others. it was only a short time before jim nance with professor zepplin and the two other boys came dashing up, shouting to know where tad and chunky were. they saw chunky first, on guard with his rifle as if holding off an enemy. "what's the trouble?" cried nance. "we've got him! we've got him!" yelled stacy. about that time nance discovered the swirling cloud of dust, from which at intervals emerged a yellow ball. the guide caught the significance of the scene at a single glance. "it's a cat," howled ned. "let me shoot him." "put away your guns. i guess we know how to catch lions in a scientific manner," declared stacy. "they've roped the cat," snapped the guide. "beats anything i ever heard of." he was off his mustang instantly and running toward tad. "keep him busy, keep him busy, boy. i'll fix him for you in a minute." "i don't want you to kill him." "i'm not going to. we've got to stretch him." tad did not know what stretching meant in this particular instance, but he was soon to learn. nance got off to one side of the busy scene, then directed tad to ease up a bit. the boy did so. he saw that dad, too, was planning to use his lariat, though the boy had no idea in what way. the cat instantly sat down and began tearing at its bonds. all at once nance's rope shot through the air. it caught the lion fairly around the neck. for a few moments the air was full of streaks of yellow. the cat was now fast at both ends. the neck hold was the worse of the two, for it choked the beast and soon tired him out. "now stretch him," directed the guide. "how do you mean?" "take a single hitch about the tree with your rope, so that we can straighten him out." this tad did, while nance performed a similar service on his own line, being careful not to choke the lion to death. during this latter part of the proceeding the party that had up to that time held off, now approached. "will he bite?" asked walter. "stick your finger in his mouth and see?" jeered chunky. "he can scratch, too. but we got him, didn't we? we're the original lion tamers from the wild and woolly west." "come, who is going to tie those claws together, stacy?" demanded the guide. "do what?" "tie the cat's feet together." "let the professor do it. he hasn't done anything yet on this trip. besides, i've got to stand here ready to shoot if the lion gets away. if it weren't for that i'd tie his feet." "here, you tie his feet, then. i'll handle the gun," volunteered ned, stepping forward. chunky drew back. "if some one will hold my end of the line i'll attend to that little matter," said tad. "i guess it's time i did something around here," interjected ned. "what do you want me to do, mr. nance?" "take your rope, watch your opportunity and rope the forward legs. after that is done have somebody hold the rope while you tie the feet securely together." ned roped the feet without further question, then handing the line to walter perkins, he calmly tied together the feet of the snarling, spitting beast. the same was done with the hind feet, though the latter proved to be much more dangerous than the forward feet. but the mouth of the animal was still free. he could bite and he did make desperate efforts to get at his captors. they took good care that he did not reach them. chunky suggested that they pull the cat's teeth, so he couldn't bite. tad wanted to know if they couldn't put a muzzle on. "the question is what are you going to do with him, now that you have him?" demanded the professor. "that's the first sane word that's been spoken since we arrived here," grinned nance. "we are going to take him back to camp, of course," declared tad. "of course we are. don't you understand, we're going to take him back to camp," affirmed stacy. "what's your plan, butler?" asked nance. "if you leave it to me, i'll show you." "go ahead." tad cut a long, tough sapling. this, after some effort, he managed to pass through the loop made by the bound legs of the lion. this strung the beast on the pole. "now, we'll fasten the two ends to two ponies," decided the lad. silver face and walter's pony having been broken in on the previous day, these two were chosen to carry the prize. they did not object, and in a short time the procession started off for camp, with the lion, back down, strung on the pole between two ponies, snarling, spitting, roaring out his resentment, while chunky, leading the way, was singing at the top of his voice: _"tad butler is the man; he goes to all the shows, he sticks his head in the lion's mouth and tells you all he knows. who-o-o-pe-e-e!"_ chapter xviii the unwilling guest departs jim nance didn't say much, but from the way he looked at tad butler, a quizzical smile playing about the corners of his mouth, it was plain that he was filled with admiration for the young pony rider who could take a lion practically single-handed. as yet the story of the capture had not been told. their prize must first be taken care of. this part of the affair nance looked after personally. he found a few strands of wire in his kit and with these he made a collar and a wire leader that led out to where the tough lariat began. to this the lion was fastened, his forefeet left bound, the hind feet being liberated in this condition he was tied to a tree in the camp in bright angel gulch. chunky was not sure that he liked the arrangement. he was wondering whether lions were gifted with the proverbial memory of elephants. if so, and if the big cat should get loose in the night, chunky knew what would happen to himself. the boy determined to sleep with one eye open, his rifle beside his bed. he would die fighting bravely for his life. he was determined upon that. around the camp fire a jolly party of boys gathered that night after supper, their merry conversation interrupted occasionally by a snarling and growling from the captive. "now, young gentlemen, we are anxious to hear the story of the capture," said the professor. "oh, it was nothing," answered stacy airily. "it was nothing for us. shooting cats is too tame for such hunters as tad and me. we just saw him up a tree---that is, i saw him, and-----" "where were you?" interrupted nance. "i was up the same tree," answered stacy. "i'll bet the cat treed him," shouted ned rector. "how about it, tad?" "chunky's telling the story. let him tell it in his own way." "i'll tell you about it, fellows. i was up a tree looking for lions. i found one. he was sitting in the same tree with me. he was licking his chops. you see, he wanted a slice of me, i'm so tender and so delicious-----" "so is a rhinoceros," interjected ned. "if the gentleman will wait until i have finished he may have the floor to himself. well, that's about all. i yelled for tad. he came running, and he roped the cat." "then what did you do?" questioned walter. "oh, i fell out of the tree. look at this!" shouted stacy as soon as he was able to make himself heard above the laughter, pointing to his ripped clothes. "that's where the beast made a pass at me. i'm wounded, i am; wounded in a hand-to-hand conflict with the king of the canyon. how would that read in the chillicothe 'gazette' i'm going to dash off something after this fashion to send them: 'stacy brown, our distinguished fellow citizen, globe-trotter, hunter of big game and nature lover, was seriously wounded last week in the grand canyon of arizona-----'" "in what part of your anatomy is the grand canyon located?" questioned ned rector. "i rise for information." "the grand canyon is where the pony rider boys store their food," returned stacy quickly. "where did i leave off?" "you were lost in the canyon," reminded walter. "oh, yes. 'was seriously wounded in the grand canyon in a desperate battle with the largest lion ever caught in the mountains. assisted by thaddeus butler, also of chillicothe, mr. brown succeeded in capturing the lion alive, after his bloodstained garments had been nearly stripped from his person.'" "the lion's bloodstained garments?" inquired walter mildly. "no, mine, of course. 'mr. brown, it is said, will recover from his wounds, though he will bear the scars of the conflict the rest of his life.' ahem! i guess that will hold the boys on our block for a time," finished chunky, swelling out his chest. "yes, that'll make them prisoners for life," agreed ned rector. "i think i shall have to edit that account before it goes to the paper," declared professor zepplin. "how can you edit it when you didn't see the affair?" demanded chunky. "editors are not supposed to see beyond the point of the pencil they are using," answered ned. "but they know the failings of the fellows who do the writing." "what do you know about it? you never were an editor," scoffed stacy. "no, but i'd like to be for about an hour after your article reached the 'gazette' office." "how about giving that cat something to eat, mr. nance?" asked tad, thus changing the subject. the guide shook his head. "he wouldn't eat; at least not for a while." "what do lions eat?" asked walter. "that one tried to eat me," replied stacy. "i don't like the look in his eye at all. it says, just as plain as if it were printed, 'i'd like to have you served up _a-la-mode_.'" at this juncture, jim nance walked over; with a burning brand in hand, to look at the cat's fastenings. the lion jumped at him. jim poked the firebrand into the animal's face, which sent the cat back the full length of his tether. after examining the fastenings carefully, nance pronounced them so secure that the beast would not get away. the ponies had been tethered some distance from where the prize was tied, the dogs being placed with the ponies so that they might not be disturbed by the captive during the night and thus keep the camp awake with their barks and growls. after a time all hands went to bed, crawling into their blankets, where they were soon fast asleep. late in the night nance sat up. he thought he had heard the lion growl. stepping to the door of the tent he listened. not a sound could be heard save the mysterious whisperings of the canyon. jim went back to bed, not to awaken until the sun was up on the following morning. tad butler, hearing the guide rise after daylight, turned out at the same time. tad stepped outside, his first thought being for the captive. the pony rider boy's eyes grew large as he gazed at the tree where the cat had been left the evening before. there was no lion there. "hey, mr. nance, did you move the cat?" "no. why?" "he isn't where we left him last night." "what?" nance was out on the jump. "sure as you're alive he's gone. now doesn't that beat all?" tad had hurried over to the place where he stood gloomily surveying the scene. "i wonder where the rope and wire are?" "that's so. he must have carried the whole business with him." "how could he? how could he have untied the wire from the tree? there is something peculiar about this affair, dad." whatever dad's opinion might have been, he did not express it at the moment. instead he got down on all fours, examining the ground carefully, going over every inch of it for several rods about the scene. "well this does git me," he declared, standing up, scratching his head reflectively. by that time the rest of the party had come out. "the lion's gone," shouted tad. "what, my lion got away?" wailed chunky. "and he didn't take a chunk out of me to carry away with him?" "i had no idea we could hold him. of course he gnawed the rope in two," nodded the professor. "he didn't get loose of his own accord, sir," replied the guide. "then you don't mean to tell me that some person or persons liberated him?" "i don't mean to tell you anything, because i don't know anything about it. i never was so befuddled in my life. i'm dead-beat, professor." tad was gloomy. he had hoped to take the lion home with them, having already planned where he would keep the beast until the town, which he thought of presenting it to, had prepared a place for the gift. now his hopes had been dashed. he had no idea that they would be able to get another lion. it was not so easy as all that. but how had the beast gotten away? there was a mystery about it fully as perplexing as had been the loss of stacy's rifle. tad was beginning to think, with dad, that mysterious forces were, indeed, at work in the grand canyon. while he was brooding over the problem, chunky, emulating the movements of the guide, was down on hands and knees, examining the ground. "find any footprints?" called ned in a jeering voice. stacy did not reply. his brow was wrinkled; his face wore a wise expression. "look out that you don't get bitten," warned walter mischievously. "by what?" demanded stacy, glancing up. "footprints," answered ned. "could any person have gotten in here and let the cat go without our having heard him, mr. nance?" asked tad butler. "i reckon he couldn't." "did you hear anything in the night, nance?" questioned the professor. "come to think of it, i did get up once. i heard the cat growling, or thought i did, but after i had looked out and seen nothing, nor heard anything, i went back to bed again and didn't know anything more till sun-up. i guess i'm pretty slow. i'm getting old for a certainty." "no; there is something peculiar, something very strange about this affair, professor," spoke up tad. "due wholly to natural causes," declared the professor. "no, i reckon you're wrong there, professor," said nance. "i'd have understood natural causes. it's the unnatural causes that gets a fellow." "i've spotted it, i've spotted it! i know who freed the lion!" howled stacy. all hands rushed to him. "who, what, how, where, when?" demanded five voices at once. "yes, sir, i've found it. that lion-----" "don't joke," rebuked the professor. "i'm not joking. i know what i'm talking about. that cat was let go by a one-legged indian. now maybe you won't say i'm not a natural born sleuth," exclaimed the fat boy proudly. chapter xix the fat boy does a ghost dance "a one-legged indian?" chorused the lads. "he's crazy," grumbled dad. "he has cat on the brain." "that's better than having nothing but hair on the brain," retorted stacy witheringly. "how do you know a one-legged indian has been here?" questioned tad, seeing that chunky was in earnest. "look here," said the boy, pointing to a moccasin print in the soft turf at that point. "there's the right foot. where's the left? why there wasn't any left, of course. he had only one foot." "then he must have carried a crutch," laughed ned. "look for the crutch mark and then you'll have the mystery solved." jim nance chuckled. stacy regarded the guide with disapproving eyes. "tell me so i can laugh too," begged chunky soberly. "why, you poor little tenderfoot, don't you know how that one track got there?" chunky shook his head. "well, that cowardly half breed that you call chow was crossing the rocks here when the cat made a pass at him. chow made a long leap. one foot struck there, the other about ten feet the other side. he hadn't time to put the second foot down else the cat would have got him. a one-legged indian! oh, help!" "haw-haw-haw!" mocked stacy, striding away disgustedly while the shouts of his companions were ringing in his burning ears. but the mystery was unsolved. tad did not believe it ever would be, though he never ceased puzzling over it for a moment. that day no one got a lion, though on the second day following ned rector shot a small cat. tad did not try to shoot. he wandered with chunky all over the peaks and through the canyon in that vicinity trying to rope more lions. "you let that job out," ordered the guide finally. "don't you know you're monkeying with fire? first thing you know you won't know anything. one of these times a cat'll put you to sleep for a year of sundays." "i guess you are right. not that i am afraid, but there is no sense in taking such long chances. i'll drop it. i ought to be pretty well satisfied with what i have done." tad kept his word. he made no further attempts to rope mountain lions. in the succeeding few days three more cats were shot. it was on the night of the fourth day after the escape of the captive that at something very exciting occurred in camp butler. the camp was silent, all its occupants sound asleep, when suddenly they were brought bounding from their cots by frightful howls and yells of fear. the howls came from the tent of stacy brown. stacy himself followed, leaping out into what they called the company street, dancing up and down, still howling at the top of his voice. clad in pajamas, the fat boy was unconsciously giving a clever imitation of an indian ghost dance. professor zepplin was the first to reach the fat boy. he gave chunky a violent shaking, while nance was darting about the camp to see that all was right. he saw nothing unusual. "what is the meaning of this, young man?" demanded the professor. "i seen it, i seen it," howled stacy. "what did you see?" "a ghost! i seen a ghost!" "you mean you 'saw' a ghost, not you 'seen'," corrected the professor. "i tell you i _seen_ a ghost. i guess if you'd seen a ghost you wouldn't stop to choose words. you'd just howl like a lunatic in your own natural language-----" dad hastily threw more wood on the dying camp fire. "i guess you had a nightmare," suggested tad. "it wasn't a mare, it was a man," persisted stacy. "he's crazy. pity he doesn't catch sleeping sickness," scoffed ned. "tell us what you did see," urged the professor in a milder tone. "i---i was sleeping in---in there when all at once i woke up-----" "you thought you did, perhaps," nodded walter. "i didn't think anything of the sort. i know i did. maybe i'd heard something. well, i woke up and there---and there-----" chunky's eyes grew big, he stared wildly across the camp fire as if the terrifying scene were once more before him. "i woke up." "you have told us that before," reminded dad, who had joined the group. "i woke up-----" "that makes four times you woke up," laughed ned. "you must, indeed, have had a restless night." "i woke up-----" "what again?" "you wouldn't laugh if you'd seen what i saw" retorted the fat boy, with serious face. "there, right at the entrance of the tent, was a ghost!" "what kind of a ghost?" asked dad. "just a ghost-ghost. it was all white and shiny and---br-r-r-r!" shivered the boy. "it grinning. i could see right through it!" "you must be an x-ray machine," declared tad, chuckling. "it didn't need anything of that sort. he was so shimmery that you could see right through him." "what became of the spook? did he fly up?" asked the guide. "no, the spook just spooked," replied stacy. "how do you mean?" questioned professor zepplin. "he thawed out like a snowball, just melted away when i yelled." "very thrilling, very thrilling. most remarkable. a matter for scientific investigation," muttered the professor, but whether he were in earnest or not the boys could not gather from his expressionless countenance. "what did chunky have for supper?" asked walter. "what didn't he have?" scoffed the guide. "we have to eat fast or we wouldn't get enough to keep up our strength." "i guess i don't get any more than my share," retorted stacy. "i have to work for that, too." "well, i'm going to bed," announced ned rector. "you fellows may sit up here and tell ghost stories all the rest of the night if you want to. it's me for the feathers." "you're right, ned," agreed tad. "we are a lot of silly boys to be so upset over a fellow who has had a crazy nightmare. professor, don't you think you ought to give stacy some medicine?" "yes, give him something to make him sleep," chuckled walter. the boy was interrupted by a roar from ned rector's tent. ned was shouting angrily. he burst out into the circle of light shed by the camp fire, waving his hands above his head. "they've got mine, they've got mine!" he yelled, dancing about with a very good imitation of the ghost dance so recently executed by the fat boy. "got what?" demanded dad sternly, striding forward. "somebody's stolen my rifle. the spook's robbed me. it's gone and all my cartridges and my revolver and-----" the camp was in an uproar instantly. chunky was nodding with satisfaction. "it wasn't stolen. the spook just spooked it, that's all," he declared convincingly. "but you must be in error, ned," cried the professor. "i'm not. it's gone. i left it beside my bed. it isn't there now. i tell you somebody's been in this camp and robbed me!" a sudden silence settled over the camp. the boys looked into each other's faces questioningly. was this another mystery of the bright angel gulch? they could not understand. "mebby the kid did see a ghost after all," muttered the guide. "the kid did. and i guess the kid ought to know," returned stacy pompously. chapter xx in the home of the havasupais an investigation showed that ned rector was right in his assertion. his rifle had been taken, likewise his revolver and his cartridges. it lent color to stacy's statement that he had seen something, but no one believed that that something had been a ghost, unless perhaps the guide believed it, for having lived close to nature so long, he might be a superstitious person. there was little sleep in the camp of the pony rider boys for the rest of the night. they were too fully absorbed in discussing the events of the evening and the mysteries that seemed to surround them. first, stacy had lost his rifle, the captive lion had mysteriously disappeared, and now another member of their party had lost his rifle and revolver. dad directed the boys not to move about at all. he hoped to find a trail in the morning, a trail that would give him a clue in case prowlers had been in the camp. a search in the morning failed to develop anything of the sort. not the slightest trace of a stranger having visited the camp was discovered. they gave up---the mystery was too much for them. that day nance decided to move on. their camp was to remain at the same place, but the half breed was directed to sleep by day and to stay on guard during the night. jim proposed to take his charges into the wonderful cataract canyon, where they would pay a visit to the village of the havasupai indians. this appealed to the pony riders. they had seen no indians since coming to the grand canyon. they did not know that there were indians ranging through that rugged territory, red men who were as familiar with the movements of the pony rider boys as were the boys themselves. they arrived at the cataract canyon on the morning of the second day, having visited another part of bright angel gulch for a day en route. at the entrance to the beautiful canyon the guide paused to tell them something about it. "i will tell you," he said, "how the havasupais came to select this canyon for their home. when the several bands of red men, who afterwards became the great tribes of the south-west, left their sacred canyon---mat-aw-we'-dit-ta---by direction of their moses---ka-that-ka-na'-ve---to find new homes, the havasupai family journeyed eastward on the trail taken by the navajos and the hopi. one night they camped in this canyon. early the next day they took up their burdens to continue on their journey. but as they were starting a little papoose began to cry. the kohot of the family, believing this to be a warning from the great spirit, decided to remain in the canyon. "they found this fertile valley, containing about five hundred acres of level land. they called the place ha-va-sua, meaning 'blue water,' and after a time they themselves were known, as havasupai---'dwellers by the blue water'. they have been here ever since." "most interesting, most interesting," breathed the professor. "but how comes it that this level stretch of fertile land is found in this rugged, rocky canyon, nance?" "that's easily answered. during hundreds of years the river has deposited vast quantities of marl at the upper ends of this valley. thus four great dams have been built up forming barriers across the canyon. these dams have quite largely filled up, leaving level stretches of land of great richness." "do they work the land?" asked tad. "in a primitive way, they do, probably following the methods they learned from the cliff dwellers, who occupied the crude dwellings you have seen all along these walls in the canyons here." the cataract canyon proved to be the most interesting of all that the boys had seen for variety and beauty. the havasu river, foaming in torrents over supai and navajos falls, fifty and seventy-five feet high, respectively, they found gliding through a narrow canyon for half a mile, in a valley matted with masses of trees, vines and ferns, the delicate green of whose foliage contrasted wonderfully with the dead gray walls of the deep, dark canyon at that point. for some three miles below this the pony riders followed the smoothly-gliding stream through a canyon whose straight up and down walls of gray limestone seemed to meet overhead in the blue of the sky. below they seemed to be in the tropics. during that first day in the cataract they saw another wonder, that of the filmy clouds settling down and forming a roof over the canyon. it was a marvelous sight before which the pony rider boys were lost in wonder. the bridal veil falls they thought the most beautiful wonder of its kind they had ever seen. here they saw the crystal waters dashing in clouds of spray through masses of ferns, moss and trees, one hundred and seventy-five feet perpendicularly into a seething pool below. their delight was in the innumerable caves found along the canyon. in these were to be seen flowers fashioned out of the limestone, possessing wonderful colors, scintillating in the light of the torches, reds that glowed like points of fire, stalactites that glistened like the long, pointed icicles they had seen hanging from the eaves of their homes in chillicothe. they discovered lace-work in most delicate tints, masses and masses of coral and festoons of stone sponges in all the caves they visited. there were little caves leading from larger caves, caves within caves, caves below caves, a perfect riot of caves and labyrinths all filled with these marvelous specimens of limestone. "i think i would be content to live here always," breathed tad after they had finished their explorations of the caves and passed on into a perfect jungle of tropical growth on their way to ko-ho-ni-no, the canyon home of the havasupais. "you'd never be lonesome here," smiled nance. "why don't you live down here, then?" asked ned. "perhaps i don't live so far from here, after all," rejoined the guide. "do they have ghosts in this canyon?" asked chunky apprehensively. "full of them!" "br-r-r!" shivered the fat boy. "a wonderful place for scientific research," mused the professor. "why don't you stay in bright angel for a while and study ghosts?" suggested stacy. "i decline to be drawn into so trivial a discussion," answered professor zepplin severely. "you wouldn't think it was trivial were you to see one of those things." "perhaps the professor, too, has overloaded his stomach some time before going to bed," spoke up tad butler. "you are mistaken, young man. i never make a glutton of myself," was the grim retort. "now will you be good, tad butler?" chuckled walter perkins. "yes, i have nothing more to say," answered tad, with a hearty laugh. "we are getting down on the level now," the guide informed them. halting suddenly, nance pointed to an overhanging ledge about half a mile down the valley. the boys gazed, shading their eyes, wondering what nance saw. "i see," said tad. "then you see more than do the rest of us," answered ned. "what is it?" "it looks to me like a man." "you have good eyes," nodded nance. "is it a---a man?" questioned chunky. "yes, it is an indian lookout. he sees us and is trying to decide whether or not our mission is a friendly one." "indians! wow!" howled chunky. "we are in their home now, so behave yourself," warned nance. the havasu river, which the riders followed, extended right on through the village, below which were many scattering homes of the red men, but the majority of them lived in the village itself. almost the entire length of the creek, both in the village and below, the river is bordered with cottonwood, mesquite and other green trees, that furnish shade for the quaint village nestling in the heart of the great canyon. the boys followed the water course until finally they were approached by half a dozen men---indians---who had come out to meet them. nance made a sign. the indians halted, gazed, then started forward. in the advance was the kohot or native chief. "hello, tom," greeted the guide. "how!" said the chief. "tom is a funny name for an indian," observed chunky. "his name is chick-a-pan-a-gi, meaning 'the bat'," answered jim smilingly. "he looks the part," muttered the fat boy. "tom, i've brought some friends of mine down to see you and your folks. have you anything to eat?" "plenty eat." "good." "plenty meala, meula. kuku. no ski," answered the chief, meaning that they were stocked with flour, sugar, but no bacon. "i know that language," confided stacy to tad. "it's hog latin." "magi back-a-tai-a?" asked the chief. "higgety-piggety," muttered chunky. "he means, 'have we come from the place of the roaring sound?'" translated nance. "you bet we have. several of them," spoke up ned. "doesn't he speak english?" asked walter. "yes, he will soon. he likes a confidential chat with me in his own language first. by 'the place of the roaring sound' he means the big canyon. how is jennie, tom?" "chi-i-wa him good." "that's fine. we'll be moving along now. we are tired and want to rest and make peace with chick-a-pan-gi and his people," said nance. the kohot bowed, waved a hand to his followers, who turned, marching stolidly back toward the village, followed by the chief, then by nance and his party. "this sounds to me as if it were going to be a chow-chow party," grinned stacy. "for goodness' sake, behave yourself. don't stir those indians up. they are friendly enough, but indians are sensitive," advised tad. "so am i," replied chunky. "you may be sorry that you are if you are not careful. i shall be uneasy all the time for fear you'll put your foot in it," said tad. "just keep your own house in order. mine will take care of itself. there's the village." "surely enough," answered tad, gazing inquiringly toward the scattered shacks or ha-was, as the native houses were called. these consisted of posts set up with a slight slant toward the center, over which was laid in several layers the long grass of the canyon. ordinarily a bright, hued indian blanket covered the opening. a tall man could not stand upright in a havasupai ha-wa. they were merely hovels, but they were all sufficient for these people, who lived most of their lives out in the open. the street was full of gaunt, fierce-looking dogs that the boys first mistook for coyotes. the dogs, ill-fed, were surly, making friends with no one, making threatening movements toward the newcomers in several instances. one of them seized the leg of chunky's trousers. "call your dog off, chief chickadee!" yelled the fat boy. the indian merely grunted, whereupon the fat boy laid a hand on the butt of his revolver. a hand gripped his arm at the same time. the hand was tad butler's. "you little idiot, take your hand away from there or i'll put a head on you right here! the dog won't hurt you." tad was angry. "no, you've scared him off, now. of course he won't bite me, but he would have done so if he hadn't caught sight of you." "i must be good dog medicine then," replied tad grimly. "but, never mind," he added, with a smile, "just try to behave yourself for a change." about that time chief tom was leading out his squaw by an ear. "white man see chi-i-wa," grinned the chief. chi-i-wa gave them a toothless smile. she was the most repulsive-looking object the boys ever had looked upon. chi-i-wa's hair came down to the neck, where it had been barbered off square all the way around. this was different from her august husband's. his hair lay in straight strands on his shoulders, while a band of gaudy red cloth, the badge of his office, was twisted over the forehead, binding the straight, black locks at the back of the head. the squaw wore baggy trousers bound at the bottom with leggings, while over her shoulder was draped a red and white indian blanket that was good to look upon. the brilliant reds of the blankets all through the village lent a touch of color that was very pleasing to the eye. the chief's son was then brought out to shake hands with the white men, while chi-i-wa squatted down and appeared to lose all interest in life. dogs and children were by this time gathered about in great numbers regarding the new comers with no little curiosity. the chief's son was introduced to the boys by nance as "afraid of his face." stacy surveyed the straight-limbed but ugly faced young buck critically. "i don't blame him," said the fat boy. "don't blame him for what?" snapped nance. "for being afraid of his face. so am i." the boys snickered, but their faces suddenly sobered at a sharp glance from the piercing eyes of the kohot. "mi-ki-u-la," said afraid of his face, pointing to the much-soiled trousers of stacy brown. "he likes your trousers, he says," grinned the guide. "well, he can't have them, though he certainly does need trousers," decided stacy reflectively, studying the muscular, half-naked limbs of the young buck. "he couldn't very well appear in polite society in that rig, could he, tad?" "not unless he were going in swimming," smiled tad. it was at this point that tad butler himself came near getting into difficulties. the chief's son, having been ordered in a series of explosive guttural sounds to do something, had started away when a yellow, wolfish looking cur got in way. afraid of his face gave the dog a vicious kick, then as if acting upon second thought he grabbed up the snarling dog, and twisting its front legs over on its back, dropped the yelping animal, giving it another kick before it touched the ground. tad's face went fiery red. he could not stand idly and witness the abuse of an animal. the lad leaped forward and stood confronting the young buck with flaming face. tad would have struck the indian had nance not been on the spot. with a powerful hand he thrust tad behind him, saying something in the indian language to afraid of his face, which caused the buck to smile faintly and proceed on his mission. "if you had struck him you never would have gotten out of here alive," whispered the guide. stacy had been a witness to the proceeding. he smiled sarcastically when tad came back to where the fat boy was standing. "folks who live in glass houses, should not shy rocks," observed the fat boy wisely. by that time the squaws were setting out corn cakes, dried peaches and a heap of savory meat that was served on a bark platter. the meal was spread on a bright blanket regardless of the fact that grease from the meat was dripping over the beautiful piece of weaving. the boys thought it a pity to see so wonderful a piece of work ruined so uselessly, but they made no comment. then all sat down, the indians squatting on their haunches, while the white men seated themselves on the ground. there were neither knives nor forks. fingers were good enough for the noble red man. first, before beginning the meal, the kohot lighted a great pipe and took a single puff. then he passed it to professor zepplin, who, with a sheepish look at the pony rider boys, also took a puff. stacy came next. the chief handed the pipe to the fat boy in person. stacy's face flushed. "thank you, but i don't smoke," he said politely. the lines of the chief's face tightened. it was an insult to refuse to smoke the pipe of peace when offered by the kohot. chapter xxi chunky gets a turkish bath "put it to your lips. you don't have to smoke it," whispered dad. "it won't do to refuse." stacy placed the stem to his lips, then, to the amazement of his fellows, drew heavily twice, forcing the smoke right down into his lungs. stacy's face grew fiery red, his cheeks puffed out. smoke seemed to be coming out all over him. ned declared afterwards that stacy must be porous, for the smoke came out of his pockets. then all of a sudden the fat boy coughed violently, and tumbled over backwards, choking, strangling, howling, while the professor hammered him between the shoulders with the flat of his hand. "you little idiot, why did you draw any of the stuff in?" whispered professor zepplin. "da---da---dad to---to---told me to! ackerchew! oh, wow!" more choking, more sneezing and more strangling. the professor laid the boy on the grass a little distance from the table, where not a smile had appeared on a single face. the indians were grave and solemn, the pony rider boys likewise, although almost at the explosive point. the others had merely passed the pipe of peace across their lips and handed it on to the next. in this manner it had gone around the circle. then all hands began dipping into the meat with their fingers. this was too much for the red-faced boy lying on the grass. he sat up, uttered a volley of sneezes then unsteadily made his way back to the blanket table and sat down in his place. the indians paid no attention to him, though sly glances were cast in his direction by his companions. for once, ned rector was discreet enough not to make any remarks. he knew that any such would call forth unpleasant words from stacy. the fat boy helped himself liberally to the meat. he tasted of it gingerly at first, then went at it greedily. "that is the finest beef i ever ate," he said enthusiastically. "you shouldn't make remarks about the food," whispered tad. "they may not like it." "i hope they don't like it. there'll be all the more left for me." "i don't mean the food, i mean your remarks about it." "oh!" "how many persons are there in your tribe, chief?" asked the professor politely. the chief looked at dad. "two hundred and fifty, professor," the guide made answer for their host. "they are a fine lot of indians, too." "including the squaws, two hundred and fifty?" "yes." "do they not sit down with us?" asked professor zepplin, glancing up at chi-i-wa and some of her sisters, who were standing muffled in their blankets, despite the heat of the day, gazing listlessly at the diners. "certainly not in the presence of the white man or heads of other tribes," answered jim. "say, what is this meat?" whispered chunky again, helping himself to another slice. "don't you know what that is?" answered ned rector. "no. if i did, i shouldn't have asked." "why, that's lion meat." "li---li---lion meat?" gasped the boy. "sure thing." stacy appeared to suffer a sudden loss of appetite. he grew pale about the lips, his head whirled dizzily. whether it were from the pipe of peace or the meat, he never knew. he did know that he was a sick boy almost on the instant. with a moan he toppled over on his back. "i'm going to die," moaned the fat boy. "carry me off somewhere. i don't want to die here," he begged weakly. they placed him under the shade of a tree but instead of getting better the boy got worse: the professor was disturbed. "put pale-face boy in to-hol-woh," grunted the chief. "to-hol-woh!" he exclaimed sharply. three squaws ran to a low structure of branches that were stuck into the ground, bent in and secured at the middle until it resembled an esquimo hut in shape. the frame made by the branches was uncovered, but the women quickly threw some brightly colored blankets over the frame, the boys watching the proceeding with keen interest. they then hauled some hot rocks from a fire near by, thrusting these under the blankets into the enclosure, after which a pail of water also was put inside. "put fat boy in," commanded the kohot. "take um clothes off." chunky demurred feebly at this. the professor glanced at dad inquiringly. dad nodded, grinning from ear to ear. "it's a sort of russo-turkish bath. it'll do him good. wouldn't mind one myself right now," said nance. "all right, boys, fix him up and get him in." "dress him down, you mean," chuckled ned. at a word from the chief the squaws stumped listlessly to their ha-was and were seen no more for some time. about this time the medicine man, a tall, angular, eagle-eyed havasu, appeared on the scene, examining the to-hol-woh critically. "what shall we do with him now?" called tad, after they had stripped off all of chunky's clothes except his underwear. "chuck him in," ordered the guide. the pony rider boys were filled with unholy glee at the prospect. they picked up the limp form of their companion, stacy being too sick to offer more than faint, feeble protests. they tumbled him into what ned called "the hole in the wall." by this time the hot stones in the enclosure had raised the temperature of the to-hol-woh considerably. stacy did not realize how hot it was at first, but he was destined to learn more about it a few minutes later. now the medicine man began to chant weirdly, calling upon the havasupai gods, hoko-ma-ta and to-cho-pa, which translated by the guide was: _"let the heat come and enter within us, reach head, face and lungs, go deep down in stomach, through arms, body, thighs. thus shall we be purified, made well from all ill, thus shall we be strengthened to keep back all that can harm, for heat alone gives life and force."_ _"let heat enter our heads, let heat enter our eyes, let heat enter our ears, let heat enter our nostrils---"_ up to this time no sounds had come from the interior of the to-hol-woh. but now the fat boy half rolled out, gasping for breath. ned, having picked up a paddle that lay near this impromptu turkish bath, administered a resounding slap on stacy's anatomy, while tad and walter threw him back roughly into the to-hol-woh. chunky moaned dismally. "i'm being burned alive," he groaned. "they're torturing me to death." _"let heat enter the feet, let heat enter the knees, let heat enter the legs---"_ "lemme out of here!" yelled the sick boy, thrusting a tousled head through between the blankets covering the opening. they pushed him back. "it's the paddle for yours, and hard, if you come out before we tell you," cried ned. "stay in as long as you can, stacy. i am satisfied the treatment will benefit you," advised the professor. "i'm cooking," wailed chunky. "that's what you need. you've been underdone all your life," jeered rector. throughout all of this the havasus had sat about apparently taking no particular interest in the performance. they had all seen it before so many, many times. but jim nance's sides were shaking with laughter, and the pony rider boys were dancing about in high glee. they did not get such a chance at stacy brown every day in the year, and were not going to miss a single second of this sort of fun. "a brave lion tamer ought not to be afraid of a little heat," suggested walt. "that's so," agreed ned. "for heat alone gives life and force," crooned the medicine man. he repeated the words of his chant twice over, naming pretty much every member in the body. it was a long process, but no one save stacy brown himself wearied of it. at the conclusion of the second round of the chant, the medicine man, stooping over, sprinkled water upon the hot stones, reaching in under the blankets to do so. instantly the to-hol-woh was filled with a cloud of fierce, biting steam, that made each breath seem a breath of fire. the pony rider boys, understanding what this meant to the boy inside, unable to restrain themselves longer, gave vent to ear-splitting shouts of glee. even the indians turned to gaze at them in mild surprise. "take me out! i'm on fire!" yelled the fat boy lustily. the medicine man thrust half a dozen other hot stones in, then sprinkled more water upon them. "there's one more steaming for chunky," sang tad. "there's one more roast for him," chanted ned. "we'll roast him till he's done," added walter. the medicine man sprinkled on more water. "ow, wow! yeow, wow-wow!" anguished howls burst from the interior of the to-hol-woh. then something else burst. the peak of the bath house seemed to rise right into the air. the sides burst out, flinging the blankets in all directions. then a red-faced boy leaped out, and with a yell, fled on hot feet to the silvery havasu river, where he plunged into a deep pool, the water choking down his howls of rage and pain. the fat boy's russo-turkish bath had succeeded beyond the fondest expectations of his torturers. chapter xxii a magical cure pandemonium reigned in the havasu village for a few minutes. the medicine man had been bowled over in stacy's projectile-like flight. the medicine man leaped to his feet, eyes flashing. some one pointed toward the creek. the medicine man leaped for the river. dad spoke sharply to the chief, whereupon the latter fired a volley of gutturals at the fleeing medicine man, who stopped so suddenly that he nearly lost his balance. "is the water deep in there?" cried the professor. "about ten feet," answered the guide. "he'll drown!" "no he won't drown, professor," called tad. "chunky can swim like a fish. there he is now." a head popped up from the water, followed by a face almost as red as the sandstone rocks on the great cliffs glowing off there in the afternoon sun. "oh, wow!" bellowed stacy chokingly, as the waters swallowed him up again. he came up once more and struck out for the bank, up which he struggled, then began racing up and down the edge of the stream yelling: "i'm skinned alive! i'm flayed, disfigured! i'm parboiled! pour a bottle of oil over me. i tell you i'm-----" "you're all right. stop it!" commanded tad sharply. "sprinkle me with flour the way mother used to do." tad walked over and laid a firm hand on the arm of the fat boy. "you go back there and wipe off, then put on your clothes, or i'll skin you in earnest. i wouldn't be surprised if they'd scalp you if you continue to carry on in this way." "sea---scalp me?" stammered stacy. "yes. you surely have done enough to them to make them want to. did you know you knocked over the medicine man?" "did i?" "you did." stacy grinned. "i'm glad of it. but that isn't a circumstance to what i'd like, to do to him if i could do it and get away with it. "well, how does it feel to be roasted?" questioned the grinning ned rector, approaching them at this juncture. "who put up this job on me?" demanded stacy angrily. "job? why, it wasn't a job. you were a very sick man. your case demanded instant treatment---" "say, what was that meat we had for dinner, tad?" asked chunky suddenly. "deer meat." "oh, fiddle! ned said it was cat meat and i---i got sick. i'll get even with him for that." "how do you feel?" asked the smiling professor, coming up and slapping the fat boy on the shoulder. "i---i guess i'm well, but i don't believe i'll be able to sit down or lie down all the rest of the summer. no, don't ask me to put on my clothes. i can't wear them. my skin's all grown fast to my underwear. i'll have to wear these underclothes the rest of the season if i don't want to lose my skin. oh, i'm in an awful fix." "but you're well, so what's the odds?" laughed tad. "it does brace a fellow up to have that---that---what do you call it?" "hole in the wall bath," nodded ned. "that's just the trouble. there wasn't any hole in the wall to let the heat out. oh, it was awful. if you don't think it was, then some of you fellows get in there for a roast. oh, i'm sore!" stacy limped off by himself, then stood leaning against a rock, still in his underwear, gazing moodily at the waters of havasu river. stacy was much chastened for the time being. all at once the lad started. ned rector had laid a hand on his shoulder. "oh, it's you?" "yes. you aren't angry with me, are you, chunky?" "angry with you?" "yes." "did you ever have a sore lip, ned?" "of course i have," laughed rector. "when you couldn't have laughed at the funniest story you ever heard?" "i guess that about describes it." "well, i've got a sore lip all over my body. if i were to be cross with you i'd crack the one big, sore lip and then you'd hear me yell," answered the fat boy solemnly. "no, i'm not angry with you, ned." rector laughed softly. "i don't want you to be. i'm always having a lot of fun with you and i expect to have a lot more, for you are the biggest little idiot i ever saw in my life." "yes, i am," agreed stacy thoughtfully. "but how can you blame me, with the company i keep?" "i've got nothing more to say, except that if you'll come back to what's his name's camp i'll help you put on your clothes. come along. don't miss all the fun." stacy decided that he would. by the time he had gotten on his clothes he felt better. he wandered off to another part of the village, where his attention was drawn to a game going on between a lot of native children who had squatted down on the ground. stacy asked what the game was. they told him it was "hui-ta-qui-chi-ka," which he translated into "have-a-chicken." most of these children were pupils at a school established by the united states government in the canyon, and could speak a little english. chunky entered into conversation with them at once, asking the names of each, but he never remembered the name of any of them afterwards. there was little pu-ut, a demure faced savage with a string of glass beads around her neck; somaja, round and plump, because of which she got her name, which, translated meant "watermelon." then there was vesna and many other names not so easy. chunky decided that he would like to play "have-a-chicken," too. the little savages were willing, so he took a seat in the semicircle with them. before the semicircle was a circle of small stones, with an opening at a certain point. this opening was called, chunky learned, "yam-si-kyalb-yi-ka," though the fat boy didn't attempt to pronounce it after his instructor. in the centre of the circle was another flat stone bearing the musical name of "taa-bi-chi." sides were chosen and the game began. the first player begins by holding three pieces of short stick, black on one side, white on the other. these sticks are called "toh-be-ya." the count depends upon the way the sticks fall. for instance, the following combinations will give an idea as to how the game is counted: three white sides up, ; three blacks, ; two blacks and a white up, ; two whites and a black up, , and so on in many different combinations. the reader may think this a tame sort of game, but chunky didn't find it so. it grew so exciting that the fat boy found himself howling louder than any of the savages with whom he was playing. he was as much a savage as any of them, some of whom were of his own age. every time he made a large point, stacy would perform a war dance, howling, "have-a-chicken! have-a-chicken!" the chief's son, who also had come into the game without being invited, was playing next to stacy. stacy in one of these outbursts trod on the bare feet of the young buck. afraid of his face, adopting the methods of his white brethren, rose in his might and smote the fat boy with his fist. now, the spot where the fist of afraid of his face landed had been parboiled in the "hole in the wall." stacy brown howled lustily, then he sailed in, both fists working like windmills. the indian youngsters set up a weird chorus of yells and war whoops, while all hands from the chief's ha-wa started on a run for the scene. chapter xxiii stacy as an indian fighter in the meantime there was a lively scrimmage going on near the "have-a-chicken" circle. the stones of the circle had been kicked away, the younger savages forming a human ring about the combatants. afraid of his face was much the superior of the fat boy in physical strength, but he knew nothing of the tricks of the boxer. therefore stacy had played a tattoo on the face of the indian before the latter woke up to the fact that he was getting the worst of it. in an unguarded moment the young buck put a smashing blow right on stacy's nose, now extremely sensitive from its near boiling in the "hole in the wall." not being fast enough in the get away, the young buck received on his own face some of the blood that spurted from brown's nose. "ow-wow!" wailed chunky, rendered desperate by the severe pain at this tender point. but his rage made him cooler. chunky made a feint. as afraid of his face dodged the feint stacy bumped the young indian's nose. "have another," offered stacy dryly, as his left drove in a blow that sent the young indian to his back on the turf. frightened screams came from some of the young indian girls, who gazed dismayed at the human whirlwind into which stacy had been transformed. "ugh!" roared afraid of his face, and reached his feet again. "ugh! boy heap die! plenty soon!" again the combatants closed in. there was a rattling give-and-take. "here! stop that!" ordered professor zepplin, striding forward. the chief and his indians were coming up also. the chief caught at one of the professor's waving arms and drew him back. "let um fight," grunted the chief. he next spoke a few guttural words of command to his own people, who fell back, giving the combatants plenty of room. "yes, let 'em have it out!" roared the boys. "stacy never will learn to behave, but this ought to help." stacy, having it all his own way with his fists, now received a kick from the buck that nearly ended the fight. "wow! that's your style, is it?" groaned chunky, then he ducked, came up and planted a smashing blow on the buck's jaw that sent the latter fairly crashing to earth. that ended the fight. afraid of his face made a few futile struggles to get to his feet, then lay back wearily. chunky puffed out his chest and strutted back and forth a few times. "huh!" grunted chick-a-pan-a-gi. "fat boy heap brave warrior." "you bet i am. but it's nothing. you ought to see me in a real fight." "hurrah for chunky!" shouted ned rector. "hip, hip, hurrah!" professor zepplin now strode forward, laying a heavy hand on the fat boy's shoulder. "ouch!" groaned chunky. "don't do that don't you know i haven't any skin on my body?" "you don't deserve to have any. be good enough to explain how this trouble arose?" the chief was asking the same question of the other young savages in his own language and they were telling him in a series of guttural explosions. "it was this way, i was playing the game with them when i stepped on elephant face's foot. he didn't like it. i guess he has corns on his feet as well as on his face. he punched me. i punched him back. then the show began. we had a little argument, with the result that you already have observed," answered stacy pompously. "you needn't get so chesty about it," rebuked ned. "chief," said the professor, turning to chick-a-pan-a-gi, "i don't know what to say. i am deeply humiliated that one of our party should engage in a fight with---" "i didn't engage in any fight," protested stacy. "it wasn't a fight, it was just a little argument." "silence!" thundered the professor. "i trust you will overlook the action of this boy. he was very much excited and-----" "fat boy him not blame. fat boy him much brave warrior," grunted the chief. "afraid of his face he go ha-wa. stay all day, all night. him not brave warrior." the chief accentuated his disgust by prodding his homely son with the toe of a moccasin. afraid of his face got up painfully, felt gingerly of his damaged nose, and with a surly grunt limped off toward his own ha-wa, there to remain in disgrace until the following day. "fat boy come smoke pipe of peace," grunted the chief. "no, thank you. no more pieces of pipe for mine. i've had one experience. that's enough for a life time," answered stacy. "stacy, if i see any more such unseemly conduct i shall send you home in disgrace," rebuked the professor as they walked back to the village. "the boy wasn't to blame, professor," interceded dad. "the buck pitched into him first. he had to defend himself." "no, don't be too hard on chunky," begged tad. "you must remember that he wasn't quite himself. first to be boiled alive, then set upon by an indian, i should say, would be quite enough to set anyone off his balance." the professor nodded. perhaps they were right, after all. so long as the chief was not angry, why should he be? the chief, in his unemotional way, seemed pleased with the result of the encounter. but professor zepplin, of course, could not countenance fighting. that was a certainty. with a stern admonition to chunky never to engage in another row while out with the pony rider boys, the professor agreed to let the matter drop. the day was well spent by that time, and the party was invited to pass the night in the village, which they decided to do. the chief gave the professor a cordial invitation to share his ha-wa with him, but after a sniff at the opening of the hovel professor zepplin decided that he would much prefer to sleep outside on the ground. the others concluded that they would do the same. the odors coming from the ha-was of the tribe were not at all inviting. after sitting about the camp fire all the evening, the pony rider boys wrapped themselves in their blankets and lay down to sleep under the stars with the now gloomy walls of the canyon towering above them, the murmur of the silvery havasu in their ears. chapter xxiv conclusion the night was a restful one to most of the party, except as they were aroused by the barking of the dogs at frequent intervals, perhaps scenting some prowling animal in search of food. chunky was awakened by tad at an early hour. the fat boy uttered a familiar "oh, wow!" when he sought to get up, then lay back groaning. "why, what's the matter?" demanded butler. "my skin's shrunk," moaned stacy. "it fits me so tight i---i can't move." "his skin's shrunk," chorused the pony rider boys. "his skin is a misfit." "take it back and demand a new suit if you don't like it," laughed ned rector. "it isn't any laughing matter. i tell you it's shrunk," protested stacy. "all right, it will do you good. you'll know you've got a skin. last night you said it was all roasted off from you." "it was. this is the new skin, about a billionth of an inch thick, and oh-h-h-h," moaned the lad, struggling to his feet. "i wish you had my skin, ned rector. no, i don't, either i---i wish yours were drawn as tightly as mine." "come on for a run and you will feel better" cried tad, grasping the fat boy by an arm and racing him down to the river and back, accompanied by a series of howls from stacy. but the limbering-up process was a success. stacy felt better. he was able to do full justice to the breakfast that was served on the greasy blanket shortly afterwards. for breakfast the white men shared their bacon with the chief, which the indian ate, grunting appreciatively. before leaving, the boys bought some of the finer specimens of the indian blankets, which they got remarkably cheap. they decided to do up a bale of these and send them home to their folks when they reached a place where there was a railroad. at present they were a good many miles from a railway, with little prospect even of seeing one for a matter of several weeks. after breakfast they bade good-bye to the chief. chunky wanted to shake hands with afraid of his face, but the chief would not permit his young buck to leave the ha-wa. chi-i-wa, the chief's wife, bade them a grudging good-bye without so much as turning her head, after which the party rode away, chunky uttering dismal groans because the saddle hurt him, for the fat boy was still very tender. "i know what i'll do when i get home," he said. "so do i," laughed tad. "well, what'll i do, if you know so much about it?" "why, you will puff out your chest and strut up and down main street for the edification of the natives of chillicothe," answered tad. "that's what he'll do, for sure," jeered ned. "but we'll be on hand to take him down a peg or two. don't you forget that, chunky." joking and enjoying themselves to the fullest, these brown-faced, hardy young travelers continued on, making camp that night by the roaring river, reaching camp butler the following forenoon. chow, the half breed pack-train man, met them with a long face. the party saw at once that something was wrong. "what's happened?" snapped nance. "the dogs." "what about them? speak up." "him dead," announced the half breed stolidly. "dead?" cried dad and the boys in one voice. "him dead." "what caused their death?" the half breed shook his head. all he knew was that two mornings before he had come in for breakfast, and upon going out again found the dogs stretched out on the ground dead. that there was another mystery facing them the boys saw clearly. nance examined the carcasses of the dead hounds. his face was dark with anger when he had finished. "it's my opinion that those hounds were poisoned," he declared. "poisoned!" exclaimed the boys. "yes. there's some mysterious work being done around this camp. i'm going to find out who is at the bottom of it; then you'll hear something drop that will be louder than a boulder falling off the rim of the grand canyon." "this is a most remarkable state of affairs." said the professor. "surely you do not suspect the man chow?" "no, i don't suspect him. it's someone else. i had a talk with chief tom. he told me some things that set me thinking." "what was it?" asked tad. "i'm not going to say anything about it just now, but i am going to have this camp guarded after to-night. we'll see whether folks can come in here and play tag with us in this fashion without answering to jim nance." "i'll bet the ghost has been here again," spoke up stacy. "ghost nothing!" exploded nance. "that's what you said before, or words to that effect," answered the fat boy. "you found i was right, though. yes, sir, there are spirits around these diggings. one of them carried away my gun." "we will divide the night into watches after this. i am not going to be caught napping again," announced nance. that night the guide sat up all night. nothing occurred to arouse his suspicion. next day they went out lion hunting without dogs. nance got a shot at a cat, but missed him. the next day the professor killed a cub that was hiding in a juniper tree. it was his first kill and put the professor in high good humor. he explained all about it that night as they sat around the camp fire. then the boys made him tell the story over again. nance took the first watch that night, remaining on duty until three in the morning, when he called tad. the latter was wide awake on the instant, the mark of a good woodsman. taking his rifle, he strolled out near the mustangs, where he sat down on a rock. tad was shivering in the chill morning air, but after a time he overcame that. he grew drowsy after a half hour of waiting with nothing doing. all of a sudden the lad sat up wide awake. he knew that he had heard something. that something was a stealthy footstep. the night was graying by this time, so that objects might be made out dimly. tad stood up, swinging his rifle into position for quick use. for some moments he heard nothing further, then out of the bushes crept a shadowy figure. "chunky's ghost," was the thought that flashed into the mind of the young sentry. "no, i declare, if it isn't an indian!" it was an indian, but the light was too dim to make anything out of the intruder. the indian was crouched low and as tad observed was treading on his toes, choosing a place for each step with infinite care. the watcher now understood why no moccasin tracks had been found about the camp, for he had no doubt that this fellow was the one who was responsible for all the mysterious occurrences in camp up to that time. the pony rider boy did not move. he wanted to see what the indian was going to do. step by step the red man drew near to the canvas covered storage place, where they kept their supplies, arms, ammunition and the like. into this shack the indian slipped. tad edged closer. "i wonder what he's after this time?" whispered the lad. tad thrilled with the thought that it had been left for him to solve the mystery. his question was answered when, a few moments later, the silent figure of the indian appeared creeping from the opening. he had something in his hands. "i actually believe the fellow is carrying away our extra rifles," muttered the boy. that was precisely what the redskin was doing. after glancing cautiously about, he started away in the same careful manner. tad could have shot the man, but he would not do it, instead, he raised the rifle. "halt!" commanded the pony rider boy sharply. for one startled instant the indian stood poised as if for a spring. then he did spring. still gripping the rifles, he leaped across the opening and started away on fleet feet. he was running straight toward where the ponies were tethered. tad fired a shot over the head of the fleeing man, then started in pursuit. the indian slashed the tether of buckey, stacy brown's mustang, and with a yell to startle the animal, leaped on its back and was off. "that's a game two can play at," gritted the pony rider, freeing his own pony in the same way and springing to its back. the shot and the yell had brought the camp out in a twinkling. no one knew what had occurred, but the quick ears of the guide catching the pounding hoofs of the running mustangs, he knew that tad was chasing someone. "everybody stay here and watch the camp!" he roared, running for his own pinto, which he mounted in the same way as had the indian and tad butler. tad, in getting on silver face, had fumbled and dropped his rifle. there was no time to stop to recover it if he expected to catch the fleeing indian. under ordinary circumstances the boy knew that silver face was considerably faster than buckey. but pursuit was not so easy, though the indian, for the present, could go in but one direction. the spirited mustang on which tad butler was mounted, appearing to understand what was expected of him, swept on with the speed of the wind. small branches cut the face of the pony rider like knife-blades as he split through a clump of junipers, then tore ahead, fairly sailing over logs, boulders and other obstructions. the pony rider boy uttered a series of earsplitting yells. his object was to guide jim nance, who, he felt sure, would be not far behind him. the yells brought the guide straight as an arrow. tad could plainly hear the foot beats of buckey as the two riders tore down the canyon, each at the imminent risk of his life. "if he has a loaded gun, i'm a goner," groaned the lad. "but the ones he stole are empty, thank goodness! there he goes!" the indian had made a turn to the left into a smaller canyon. by this time the light was getting stronger. tad was able to make out his man with more distinctness. the boy urged his pony forward with short, sharp yelps. the indian was doing the same, but tad was gaining on him every second. now the boy uttered a perfect volley of shouts, hoping that nance would understand when he got to the junction of the smaller canyon, that both pursued and pursuer had gone that way. nance not only understood, but he could hear tad's yells up the canyon upon arriving at the junction. "stop or i'll shoot!" cried the boy. the indian turned and looked back. then he urged buckey on faster. that one act convinced tad that the redskin had no loaded rifle, else he would have used it at that moment. with a yell of triumph the boy touched the pony with the rowels of his spurs. silver face shot ahead like a projectile. he was a tough little pony, and besides, his mettle was up. now tad gained foot by foot. he was almost up to the indian, yelling like an indian himself. the redskin tried dodging tactics, hoping that tad would shoot past him. tad did nothing of the sort. the boy was watching his man with keen but glowing eyes. the call of the wild was strong in tad butler at that moment. suddenly the boy drew alongside. utterly regardless of the danger to himself, he did a most unexpected thing. tad threw himself from his own racing pony, landing with crushing force on top of the indian. of course the two men tumbled to the ground like a flash. then followed a battle, the most desperate in which tad ever had been engaged. the boy howled lustily and fought like a cornered mountain lion. of course his strength was as nothing compared with that of the indian. all tad could hope to do would be to keep the indian engaged until help arrived. help did arrive within two minutes; help in the shape of jim nance, who, with the thought of his slain hounds rankling in his mind, was little better than a savage for the time being. "here!" shouted tad. "take him---hustle!" then young butler drew back, for nance, seeing things red before his eyes, was hardly capable of knowing friend from foe. whack! bump! buff! how those big fists descended! for three or four seconds only did the redskin make any defense. then he cowered, stolidly, taking a punishment that he could not prevent. "don't kill the poor scoundrel, dad!" yelled tad, dancing about the pair. but still nance continued to hammer the now unresisting indian. "stop it, dad---stop it!" tad called sternly. then, as nothing else promised to avail, tad rushed once more into the fray. dad was weakening from his own enormous expenditure of strength. "don't go any farther, dad," tad coaxed, catching one of nance's arm and holding on. "i guess i have about given the fellow what he needed," admitted the guide, rising. as he stood above the indian, dad saw that the man did not move. "i hope you didn't kill him, dad," tad went on swiftly. "why?" asked jim nance curiously. "i don't like killings," returned tad briefly. he bent over the indian, finding that the latter had been only knocked out. "we'd better take the redskin back to camp, hadn't we?" queried tad, and jim silently helped. in camp, the indian was bound hand and foot. the camp fire was lighted and tad went to work to resuscitate the red man. at last the camp's prisoner was revived. "now, let's ask him about the thieveries that have been going on," suggested ned rector. "humph!" grinned dad. "if you think you can make an indian talk when he has been caught red-handed, then you try it." not a word would the indian say. he even refused to look at his questioners, but lay on the ground, stolidly indifferent. "he's a prowling navajo," explained nance. "you may be sure this is the fellow, brown's 'spirit,' behind all our troubles. he's the chap who stole brown's rifle, who raided this camp, who set the lion free and who poisoned my dogs---so they wouldn't give warning." "but why should he want to turn the lion loose?" tad wanted to know. "because the navajo indians hold the mountain lion as sacred. the navajo believes that his ancestors' spirits have taken refuge in the bodies of the mountain lions." "i believe there must be a strong strain of mountain lion in this fellow, by the way he fought me," grimaced tad. "what shall we do with this redskin?" chunky asked. "shall we give him a big thrashing, or make him run the gauntlet?" "neither, i guess," replied jim nance, who had cooled down. "the wisest thing will be for us to take him straight to the indian agency. uncle sam pays agents to take care of indian problems." it was late that afternoon when the boys and their poisoner arrived at the agency. "i'll talk to him," said the agent, after he had ordered that the indian be taken to a room inside. an hour later the agent came out. "the navajo confesses to all the things you charge against him," announced the government official. "i thought i could make him talk. the redskin justifies himself by saying that your party made an effort to kill navajo ancestors at wholesale." "humph!" grunted jim nance. "what happens to the navajo?" walter asked curiously. "he'll be kept within bounds after this," replied the agent. "for a starter he will be locked up for three months. some other navajos were out, but we got them all back except this one. going back into the canyon?" indeed they were. late that afternoon the pony rider boys began their journey of one hundred miles to the lower end of the canyon. from that latter point they were to go on into still newer fields of exploration, in search of new thrills, and were far more certain than they realized at that time of experiencing other adventures that should put all past happenings in the shade. for the time being, however, we have gone as far as possible with the lads. we shall next meet them in the following volume of this series, which is published under the title, "_the pony rider boys with the texas rangers; or, on the trail of the border bandits_." a rare treat lies just ahead for the reader of this new narrative, in which acquaintance will also be made with one of the most famous bodies of police in all the world, the texas rangers. the end